#You would need to re-write how they interact slightly; at the very least change how Shinichi views (Kaito or Ai) before ships can happen

[dcmkanswers]

Ah, sorry, I should've worded it better as "is there any way Hattori doesn't have better chemistry". I know Gosho is never going to make him an actual love interest, but narrative-wise he's almost the only one who Shinichi actually seems to want to spend the rest of his life with

-

To say he's the only one is disregarding the explicit want from him to be with Ran. But I do get what you're saying, that Heiji and Shinichi have some of the best chemistry that works juat as well in a romantic sense as it does the 'bros for life' Gosho is writing. In terms of pure writing, I think the relationships Shinichi has with Ran and Heiji are both written similarly. Especially when his 'something bad's happened' sense goes off for both.

Heiji has pretty much exactly as much chemistry with Shinichi as people read. Not something one needs to 'read into' to notice, nor is it subtle, so. Gosho not having any intention of making DC gay kinda helps with him being okay to show the two caring about each other as much as he does. Intimacy is easier to show when the person writing is doing so with a situation they're comfortable with, so even if it's just as friends, it's easy for people who want it to be more to enjoy it as well.

It's one of those things that makes me wonder why I see the phantom thief/detective gay ship represented more often than the loud, energetic detective/friendly, flair for the dramatic detective. If you're opting to not go with the baked in ship of ShinRan, HeiShin is a 'look to your left and boom, another ready-made ship that needs very little change aside from 'make 'em gay/queer''.

#Anon #Question! Answer! #Even if this is a less an answer to a question and more extra response to previous but eh #Ships like KaiShin and CoAi are ships people claim have chemistry #And while they do; it's not an intimate sort of chemistry #Kaito and Shinichi don't even have friendly chemistry; it's just a rivalry without too many antagonistic feelings involved #Conan and Haibara at least sync up and work well together when they need to #Even if I feel that the problem with them is that they don't click together in their normal lives to be written as romantic chem #They're more the friends that insult each other; but not take it too far; and they have each other's backs if something bad happens #You would need to re-write how they interact slightly; at the very least change how Shinichi views (Kaito or Ai) before ships can happen #Makes HeiShin unique among the fanon couples with just how little needs to be changed for the pairing to work

[americasmarauders]

in your eyes - Bucky Barnes

author’s note: so remember when I said I wouldn’t write Bucky anymore, only that one time? yeah, so I said, you know, like a liar. I saw the first episode of falcon and the winter soldier and that was all it took for me to fall into the ‘bucky barnes simp’ hole all over again. I made an entire one shot based on a single piece of a dialogue from the first episode. the story starts right before the first episode and ends right after the last. I spend an entire month and a half working on this please give it some love.(pls reblog i beg of you) Huge thanks to @batarella and @glorified-red for beta-ing this. ily <3 hwo knows, if people love it enough I might give a part 2. 

summary: her quiet job in the library got louder when Bucky walked into her life. (Bucky Barnes x telepath!librarian!reader)

WARNINGS: i do write a bit about addiction in this, if it makes you uncomfortable, please do not interact. it’s not heavy, or graphic, but the reader does experience abstinence. be warned.  no spoilers for tfatws, but i do reccomend you watching it. 

words: 11,416

mastelist

#

#

It was all so loud usually. When she first discovered her ability, it was like there were suddenly a thousand voices yelling inside her head all at once. She remembered falling to her knees, clutching her ears and crying out as the voices shouted different things at her. 

 Then the Professor came, promised her to help control her own mind. She didn’t want to trust the guy, even if he said he had the same power as her--even if he said everything would be alright. But the headaches were getting worse, the voices were getting louder and louder. She took him up on it and left her home to live in his boarding school. 

She met interesting people and--at the end of her stay--she achieved what she was there for. It took 4 years of her life, constant nightmares from reading too much of her colleagues' minds, and several isolated afternoons - more than she wanted to admit. Nevertheless, she could finally go to a concert or have a normal college class without crying from pain. 

She lived a normal life after her time at the Institute. She mostly ignored how her teenage years were far from the ordinary, or how sometimes she could hear a random thought from the person sitting next to her if the thought was loud enough. There were days when everything got too much, days where she lost control. She would stay in her house with noise cancelling headphones on (even if it didn’t work like that, it somehow helped) just going on throughout her day as quietly as possible. Tom knew she would get sick, even if working at the library rarely made her go into her lockdown modes. 

The library calmed her in a way. The thoughts were rarely disordered and loud, more focused and quiet. It fascinated her that even in their thoughts, people respected the quiet environment the library required. But sometimes, someone would appear with a troubled mind, something  books couldn’t even soothe. 

There was a regular now, he was one of those people whose thoughts were always all over the place; she couldn’t pick them apart, words would fly through her head -  words she often associated with the book he was reading. She wouldn’t know, it was Nancy that talked to him most times.

He always sat at the same old, worn out armchair, talking with the older people in the library as if they were the only people he was comfortable with. Sometimes, she would be restocking the books and see him looking at old newspapers. She never got the courage to talk to him. She figured her curiosity wasn’t enough to muster up the bravery needed to utter a word to him. 

Tom was on leave that day. He was stalling his doctor’s appointment, telling her his back pain wasn’t that serious, but she knew better. Every so often she would hear a whisper of pain in her head and she knew her boss wasn’t alright. It had taken her months, but she finally convinced Tom to go and get his back looked at. 

So she was working the counter that day: checking books off, admitting them, and then separating them so she could reshelve the books the next day. It was pretty boring work, repetitive, and she wondered how Tom kept busy all day when she finished all of her chores in a couple of hours. 

“Excuse me,” she heard, standing up as a reflex. Her eyes trailed up to the person standing in front of the main desk. It was the Loud Man (that was what she had taken to calling him). “I want to check this off.”

“Yeah,” she said, breathless. She was hearing too much from him, too many random words. It made her feel dizzy. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

She took the book from his hands, her fingers brushing slightly at his leather gloves, her thoughts suddenly got even more flooded at the slight touch. She could feel a rising nervousness in him, so much it blended with her own nerves. She quickly retrieved her hand, hoping she hadn’t seemed impolite. 

She sat back at her chair, looking at the book. “The Hobbit, huh?”

“I’m re-reading it,” he said, his eyes sincere, “I read it when it first came out.”

She looked at him funnily. “You read it in 1937?”

His expression froze, the slight smile morphing into a frown, his loud thoughts got louder with a single word: ‘lie’. “That’s a funny joke.”

She smiled at him, not taking his comment too seriously. “I’m a funny gal.”

He laughed, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was like he was only checking off  a box of social convention. It quickly faded to an impatient expression, and she could tell he wanted to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. 

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he mentioned.  

“Oh,” she muttered, “I’m usually reshelving things, Tom operates the front desk but he went to the doctor. I’m the only other person who works here, so,” she trailed off, “I’m Y/N.”

“Bucky,” he responded, his face slightly tensed. His eyes hovered over everything in the library, as if he was trying to find something wrong in it. 

“Nice to meet you, Bucky," she handed the book back to him. "It's due next week. Don't be late with it.”

“I'll return it tomorrow,” the words slipped from his mouth. 

“Fast reader?” she asked. 

“Got nothing else to do,” he shrugged, the word ‘lie’ once again swimming in her head in the mess of thoughts she received from him. 

He gave her one last smile and disappeared into the library. His thoughts got distant, but they lingered in her head. Flashes of pain, bright white lights, and screams littered her mind. She shook her head trying to get rid of them. It rarely worked, not with thoughts so persistent. 

Her head started to pound as the thoughts got more intense somehow. That never happened before, usually she could only hear people that stood near her and she was sure Bucky walked all the way to the back - he wasn’t close to her in any way. 

Her hand shook as she fished out her headphones. She put them on and connected them with her phone. Playing her music was a hopeful distraction, detering her brain enough to quiet down everything. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly, just like the Professor had taught her. He used to say a quiet and strong mind was the key to ward off stray thoughts. 

It helped clear the thoughts, the mess of words only leaving whispers of broken thoughts in the way. She grabbed those and put them away, shoving them inside a mental box of lost thoughts. She did that with all the others, it helped keep her mind organized. 

She didn't know how much time had passed when she opened her eyes. She always took too much time clearing her mind, she would forget the outside world. Peter used to poke fun at her for that, drawing penises on her face. When she came to her senses she would always run after him, ready to tackle him to the ground. It was always useless: you can't outrun Peter. 

She noticed Bucky leaning on the frame of the front door. It was getting darker outside, an orange hue illuminating his eyes perfectly. Her breath hitched for a second before recomposing herself. 

“Good nap?” he asked, the smallest smirk on his lips.

“I wasn’t napping,” she smiled, shaking her head. She checked the clock and saw it was way past closing time. It didn’t go unnoticed by her that he had gone out of his way to stay with her when he should have gone home. “Why’d you stay?”

“Everyone left,” he said, “and I thought it wasn’t safe to leave you in a trance alone in an empty library.”

“I wasn’t in a trance,” she took her headphones off, resting them around her neck, “I was… clearing my head.”

He looked at her funnily, “Busy day?”

“It’s been weirder than usual,” she responded, smiling. She sat back down and logged off the system.

“How weird is working in a library?”

She scoffed, lighty. “You have no idea,” she smiled mischievously.

She picked up her things, keys in her hand. She left the front desk, going to Bucky’s side. “Thanks for staying,” she said, “You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem,” his hand brushed the back of his neck with a timid smile, very unlike his general physique and stance, “I had nowhere else to go.”

She could feel his thoughts bubbling underneath her skin, wanting to come out and flood her brain with confusing images and words. Whispers of faint words echoed through her mind, soft enough that she couldn’t distinguish what they were. 

“I find that hard to believe,” she said, words slipping out of her mouth faster than she could stop it. Old habits she supposed. She could always keep thoughts of other people to herself, it didn’t seem fair to them she could hear their thoughts, the least she could do was keep them to herself. But when it came to her own, they just came out of her mouth before her conscience could stop her. “I mean,” she started, “a guy like yourself -  good looking and all - must get a lot of people just, um, throwing themselves at you.”

He breathed out, an awkward expression on his face. She could hear one word clearly: ‘lie’. “I don’t date a lot,” he stated, “Not really my thing.”

She changed her approach to the conversation, sensing the uncomfortable energy he oozed. “Oh,” she muttered, “It’s okay, I mean, I don’t date a lot either. I barely leave my flat actually,” she brushed a single piece of hair out of her face, “I hate crowded spaces, and I have just the weirdest habits. You know, not a lot of people are into women who work at a library and barely make minimum wage,” she mumbled, her hands in her pockets restraining her hands for gesturing too much just like she always did,  “I have a lot of issues too, at least that’s what the Professor used to say to my therapist before each session, which is fair and--oh God, I’m sorry, I just rambled.”

He chuckled (an actual chuckle), a full light-hearted laugh, one that rumbled throughout his chest. “It’s fine,” he said, “I like listening to you talk.”

She heard the words ‘like’ and ‘quiet’ shoot through her mind. She smiled at him shyly, looking down at the ground. “I don’t know how to respond to that,” she laughed awkwardly, “Thank you again, for waiting and being, I don’t know, just nice, I guess.”

He smiled, a slightly bigger smile then he had given her the entire time they’d interacted. “Yeah, yeah,” he shook his head, “No problem.”

Both of them walked out the door. She turned and locked it, then pushed a button that activated the security systems of the building. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said whilst shrugging. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he went down a few steps of the main staircase. “I’ll see, uh, see you tomorrow.”

She saw him go down the steps, listening to the faint echoes of his thoughts in her head. She felt the tips of her mouth curl up, watching him go as the sun set on the horizon. She hadn’t felt that before, that sense of mystery, of wonder and curiosity. His mind was in shambles, broken pieces of it laying in every corner of his brain, and she heard all of it. It compelled her, even if it felt completely wrong to be so enthralled by someone’s mind. 

She felt inadequate for liking his mind when he didn’t even know she could listen to it. It wasn’t the first time she felt that way. She remembered a boy from the shop near the Institute, she loved hearing his thoughts. She rarely left the Institute, but when she did she would always sneak to the store to buy a popsicle as an excuse to admire him. Sometimes he would smile at her and her brain would malfunction for just a second, his thoughts flooding her and overwhelming her every time that happened. 

She anticipated it was only a matter of time before that happened with Bucky again. She didn’t exactly know if that was a good thing, if she should indulge in the latent curiosity and table herself further with his mind - with him. 

The sun set in the horizon, the orange glow fading to the blue of the night sky. Walking down the streets, she could still hear remnants of his thoughts inside her head, his imprint already set on her. She wondered how long it would take for it to fade, if it would fade and if she wanted it to.  #

#

He gave her one last look before walking away from her. She could feel him uncomfortable, it lingered in her head longer than it should. He lingered in her more than he should. Her eyes followed him on his way out of the library. His mind was confused and tired, it left a trail of breadcrumbs calling for her to solve the mystery that was.

Tom’s doctor ordered maximum rest. Apparently, the problem in his back was more serious than both of them anticipated. The doctor ordered as much rest as Tom could have, meaning more breaks and leaving early. That also meant she had to do double the work - she wouldn’t mind at all had she not left a pile of returned books to shelve. 

She put her headphones and drove the cart full of books through the library all afternoon. Usually not a lot of people came in on a Monday afternoon to check out books, most were local teens that were there to study or make out. She always pretended not to know which ones were there to actually study or not; the thoughts always flew out to her when they were there to snog, most times it was hard to contain the shit-eating grin that would want to rise. 

She felt someone touching her shoulder. She jumped slightly, startled at the touch. Turning around, she saw Bucky, his thoughts overwhelming her. She rested the headphones around her neck, pulling out her phone to pause the music. “Hey, Bucky,” she breathed out, trying to contain the images and words in her head, “What are you, um, how you doing?”

“I’m good,” he smiled at her, looking down at the ground, “Um, Tom’s not at the front desk and I gotta return the book.”

“Oh yeah,” she took the book from his hand. It was still warm from his touch, “I thought you wouldn’t come today, to be honest.”

“I said I was,” he looked at her intensely, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“Well,” she smiled awkwardly and averted her eyes to the ground, “People sometimes say things they don’t mean.”

She didn’t realise what she said until it was out of her mouth. She remembered how he was uncomfortable around her, and how he would think about lies just as he told her something. Embarrassment flooded her senses, she felt heat rising to her cheeks. 

He looked at her weirdly, as if he was analyzing her. The more he looked, the more she listened to his mind. Words of suspicion floated around, she swallowed dryly and nervously at the thoughts. Echoes of screams and a crushing sense of guilt came through, she wondered what had happened for him to think of that. She wondered if she was the one person that caused him to think like that. 

“I’ll return it for you,” she said, motioning for the book, trying to get the attention off of her. 

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, “D’you mind if I get another?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” she said, “I’ll wait for you - at the front desk, I mean,” backing away from him, she accidentally bumped into a bookshelf,  “Not, um, not any other way.”

He stared at her and nodded slightly. She turned around and walked to the front desk, cringing at her inability to mutter coherent words to him without stumbling in the middle of a phrase. Something about him made her lose all of her composure, she didn’t know if it was the constant flood of thoughts and memories she listened to from his mind or just him making her nervous. 

She sat down at the chair behind the front desk, and rubbed her face, as if it would rub the embarrassment out of her. Sighing, she returned the book for Bucky. Just as the day before, his thoughts lingered in her head, images that meant very little to her were calling out.

“Why’s Tom not here?” he asked. She looked up at him, his blue eyes piercing through her. It was the first time she noticed his eyes, and somehow, it made everything worse. Instead of whispers, she heard everything clearly. Fools said the eyes were the windows to the soul. She knew better: someone’s eyes told her what they were thinking, what they were feeling. And she could tell Bucky felt a lot. 

“Um,” she looked back down to the book she just admitted back, moving it to the pile of books to reshelve. “He’s on leave, doctor’s orders.”

“Back pain was somethin’ serious then?” he responded, handing the new book to her. 

“Yeah, I told him to get that checked out, turns out I was right,” she shrugged, getting the book, her eyes still fixated on the computer. She felt the leather of his gloves graze the tips of her fingers, and a searing pain shot through her head. She brought the book down to the table, closing her eyes hoping the pain would stop. “Brave New World? Revisiting the classics, huh?” she struggled to keep a whimper from emerging from her mouth. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out. She heard a whisper of concern run though his head, “Um, are you alright? You don’t look very well.”

She shook her head, faking a smile, pretending she wasn’t getting a thousand thoughts from everyone in the library- especially Bucky’s thoughts - blasted at maximum volume on the speakers of her mind. “Just a bit of a headache.”

“It looks serious,” she could hear the leather from his gloves squeaking as he rested his hands on top of the counter. 

“I’ll be fine,” she gritted through her teeth. It had been years since she was last in a position like that, her head throbbing with thoughts that weren’t hers. “I have these all the time.”

She heard his thoughts of concern louder than the others. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

She dismissed his question, not wanting to dwell on his concern longer. “Here,” she handed the book back to him, her other hand closed in a fist, “it’s due next week. Don’t be late with it.”

“I won’t,” he said, his tone slightly strained. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she shook her head, her eyes closed and teeth gritted, choosing not to question how he would return that book tomorrow. She fisted both of her hands, her fingernails sinking in the skin of her hands. “Yeah, it’s fine,” she whispered to herself.

She heard his footsteps moving away from her, she sighed in relief, hoping it would mean her mind was going to calm itself and the headache would fade. Instead, the footsteps grew closer to her once again and then the leather of his gloves was grazing the skin of her arm, helping her stand up and guiding her somewhere.

“Imma take you to the hospital, doll” Bucky stated, not leaving room for discussion. 

“No,” she tried to shake off his hold, “My shift’s not over, I can’t leave.”

“You look terrible, and you’re clearly in a lot of pain,” he grabbed her arm again, “You need to go to a doctor.”

“Doctors won’t solve this,” she once again freed herself of his hold taking a step back from him. More of his thoughts flooded her mind, a mess of memories and guilt overwhelming her. “They never solve anything,” she breathed out, her voice breaking, “I just need to rest.”

“Doll,” he dragged, his tone temptive and careful. 

“No doctors,” it was the first time she had looked in his eyes willingly. There was a sort of weird determination in her eyes, one that came with years of terrible experiences with doctors. Hundreds of appointments that left her more desperate than before, endless tests and thoughts heard that she didn’t have any fix, as if she was broken in the first place.

His jaw tightened and his intense eyes fell upon hers. Her throat dried up under his gaze, her head unbearably heavy with his thoughts and hers. “Fine,” he growled, his hands moving to the pockets of his jacket, “Fine.”

“I need to go back to work,” she backed away from him, slowly. “I--I’m sorry,” she whispered, not sure why she was apologizing to him. 

“It’s okay,” his jaw was still tight, his eyes were still intense lingering at her. She couldn’t even appreciate his gaze at her, and how if she was a normal person,--if she didn’t have that goddamn gene--she would have let her heart skip a beat and feel coy under his gaze. “It’s your choice.”

There was a stubbornness to his stance, something that told her he wouldn’t be backing down so easily. She couldn’t go to any doctor, she couldn’t risk anyone finding out. She didn’t want to go through the tests and the never-ending questions, whether it was out loud or not. There was only one person who could possibly help her, and she refused to go to him. 

She backed away from him quickly, turning around and heading to the front desk once again. Her headphones found their way to her ears, and she started to blast her music at full volume, hoping, or rather praying, it would help ease her headache. She put her phone in her back pocket, grabbed the book she had just returned. 

The cart wove between the shelves with ease under her direction. She could still feel Bucky’s presence within the library, it was like carrying an iron ball tied to her feet at all times. Unlike the day before, he was more troubled, he felt more things and more intensely. It was too much. She wondered what happened for him to be so restless. 

The music hardly helped, it somehow made it worse. She couldn’t shake the tangled thoughts and think for herself, and the music disturbed even more. She dropped her headphones, frustrated. Her head pounded, desperation rose in her. She refused to call Professor, he would not help, he would only rub in her face that she shouldn’t have left. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if you stayed at the Institute, Y/N,’ she could imagine him saying if she closed her eyes. 

“Are you better?” turning around, she saw Bucky, his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. His eyes were focused down, his shoulder slightly hunched. It looked like he was ashamed of asking her if she was alright, almost as if it was his fault that she was in pain. It was, but she didn’t hold it against him. She was certain it wasn’t his fault. 

“Not really,” looking at him, she analyzed his expression. His jaw was tense, she could see his hands were fisted inside his pockets, “I just need to sleep.”

He nodded slightly. “You sure you don’t want anythin’?”

Her head tilted slightly and her mouth quirked up a little. She could tell he wanted to charm her, she heard the word bounce around her head faintly--the guilt was louder, though she could barely hear anything else--and she would lie if she said she didn’t like his attention. “I am” her hands entangled together, her knuckles tight, “but thanks for the offer.”

“Yeah, yeah” he breathed out, his hand brushing the side of his leg in a nervous habit. “I need to go,” he pointed back at the door, his face stony. 

He gave her one last look before walking away from her. She could feel him uncomfortable, it lingered in her head longer than it should. He lingered in her more than he should. Her eyes followed him on his way out of the library. His mind was confused and tired, it left a trail of breadcrumbs calling for her to solve the mystery that was. 

#

#

She sat cross legged on her bed, her eyes closed. There were candles around the room, the lighting dim and warm. The smell of  incense was strong, it swallowed the entire room. It was necessary, she needed that to ground herself to the real world, and not lose herself in her mind. 

 Since calling Professor was not an option, she tried to take matters into her own hands. She was going to untangle the knot of thoughts Bucky had left in her head by herself. It could potentially be dangerous, if she wandered too far who knows what could happen. She had taken the necessary precautions, but she had  only done that before under the careful and judgemental eye of the Professor. It was the first time  she was doing it alone, it scared her to think what could go wrong. 

She breathed in calmly and concentrated on the knot in front of her. Her head was a whole other world, it could be molded to her will, she felt safe in it. Now, it was a black empty space, the only thing filling it was herself and the pulsating mess of thoughts Bucky had gifted her. 

Kneeling in front of it, she carefully picked apart superficial thoughts, setting them aside. They didn’t matter to what she was there to do, they were only random words and snippets of his day-to-day life that she was sure were not the ones causing him so much pain. 

It didn’t take long for her to reach what pained him. It was surprising to see the amount of thoughts in front of her, usually it was much less. People tended to blow things out of proportion often, little things could cause a world of hurt to themselves. Bucky seemed to take a lot of pain, underestimating his grief. A typical mentality of someone who lacked the confidence, who didn’t trust themselves enough. 

She picked a single memory and entered it. 

The lighting was dim, a yellow glow swallowed her. The room was dirty and disgusting, the tiles that were once white tinted an yellowish gray. It looked like a room used for medical procedures, judging by the sheer amount of medical-like instruments littered around the desks. There were no calendars in sight, she had no way of knowing when the memory had happened. 

There were at least 5 or 6 people in the room, all surrounding a metallic chair. She approached the scene, carefully. Standing beside the chair, she saw Bucky.

He couldn’t be much older than he was when she met him. His hair was slightly longer than it was currently, just brushing his forehead. He was shirtless, his skin glistening in the faint lighting of the room. His hand was tied to the chair. His temples bruised from something she hadn’t figured out yet. His chest moved violently, struggling to breathe properly. And his left shoulder? There was a red swollen scar there. She doubted the wound was fresh, more like reopened. Maybe they tried putting a prosthetic there and it failed. It was likely they hadn’t administered any painkillers in the procedure, and she felt anger boiling inside her at the thought. 

“James Barnes, 3255...” he trailed off, muttering under his breath. His eyes were halfway closed, it looked like he barely could keep them opened.

“Попробуй снова,” try again, one of the doctors said. 

Her eyes lingered on the doctor that had just spoken. He looked evil, and she felt in her bones he was. His smile was wicked as his eyes lingered on Bucky struggling to catch his breath tied to that chair. All of the doctors looked sadistic and malefic. She felt goosebumps flood her skin, disgusted by the situation. 

The machine started whirling. An appendix lowered into Bucky’s left eye, another lowering to his right temple. Someone put a protection on his mouth, and she could see Bucky trying to free himself from his ties. Something told her, even in an altered state of mind he was already conditioned to know that noise and that feeling were bad news. She swore she saw his eyes flicker to hers just before everything started. 

The screams - his screams - bounced on the walls and filled her soul in a terrifying way. Tears came to her eyes as she carefully studied what was happening to him. His hands formed fists, his knuckles totally pale on his flesh hand. His eyes were shut violently, his mouth open in a painful way. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she couldn’t. She wanted to hug him and take him out of that awful place, but she couldn't. It was all a memory, it already had happened and she couldn’t do anything about it. 

The doctors recited words in russian repetitively. Her eyes traveled to the doctor holding a red notebook. The wicked smile never faltered, completely ignoring the man in pain in front of him. She felt a urge she had fought so hard to suppress: she wanted to invade their brains, pick them apart and tear them down from the inside. She wanted to scream and shout at them and destroy everything in the room with a single thought. The fact that she was inside a memory and couldn’t physically change anything bothered her little. The anger and sadness she felt were real.

The machine stopped humming and Bucky stopped screaming. When he opened his eyes, she saw something that utterly terrified her. His eyes were empty, devoid of emotion, very much unlike mere seconds before. They were wide open, focused forward, looking beyond the doctor that was hovering over him. 

“Soldat?” one of the doctors asked, a wicked smile forming on his lips.

“Готовы соответствовать,” ready to comply.

The room became blurry and she was sucked out of the memory. She stood there in front of the knot of thoughts. A feeling of inadequacy overwhelmed her, and she willed herself out of her own mind. She shouldn’t have done that, not without his permission. He didn’t even know she could hear his thoughts, much less explore the memories he had left with her. 

She gasped for air as she came back to her senses. Bucky was much more complicated than she had anticipated, and the guilt he carried around with him wasn’t blown out of proportion and unwarranted. He felt as if things he had done, whatever those things were, had been his responsibility. But she knew more about the mind than him, she knew that that person she had watched be tortured was not him. Those eyes told her nothing, and his eyes told her everything and more. Those eyes were from someone who was a puppet, stripped of free will and agency. So maybe his guilt was warranted, but it didn’t mean it was his fault.

She rubbed her face and laid in her bed, looking up at the ceiling. Her heart raced inside her chest, the adrenaline of doing something so wrong settling on her. She would have to be honest with him.  She let a shuddery breath, as she realized she was at the point she avoided when meeting people. The fear of rejection was crushing and familiar and with time she realized it was easier to push people away, not forming connections deeper than trivial than to explain what she was. But Bucky was different, she felt it in her bones. And she wasn’t willing to let him go. #

#

Tuesdays were fuller than Mondays, but only slightly. Maybe one or two more students came in, trying to get ahead of the curve and not procrastinate their studies more than necessary. The amount of work she had was enough to keep her busy throughout the day, even without Tom’s help. 

She hummed the song in her headphones, weaving her way through the shelves, puting the few books that were returned that day back where they belonged. It was the part of her job that gave her the most pleasure. It gave her a sense of control and order, something that had lacked almost her entire life, especially while she was at the Institute. Professor had controlled everything back then. He controlled her and Peter and all the others to be something that most would not have chosen to be if given the choice. It made her feel helpless and tiny. But she had freed herself from that reality, much to Professor’s dislike. And now she could happily find her control in tiny things, like putting books back on their shelves. 

“How come I always come when no one’s at the front desk?”, her headphones fell to her neck as she turned around to look at Bucky. He wore a shy smile on his face, clutching two books tightly in his gloved hands. His thoughts were quieter that day, but still present and loud. She doubted it was enough to give her a headache, but it was enough to leave a mark on her mind.

“Well, I’d say it’s just your luck,” the corners of her mouth quirked up. “Wanna check those out?” she pointed at the books in his hands.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. She started walking towards the front desk, Bucky at her tail. “So, are you better?”

“Yep,” she nodded, getting behind the desk and taking the books out of his hands, “Told you I just needed to rest.”

“Doll,” his head tilted, his eyes carefully analyzing her. She heard worry bounce around his head, “you looked like you were about to drop dead.”

She shook her head, a smile creeping its way to her face. “It’s more common than you think, it’s fine, Bucky, really,” dismissing his worry, like it was the best way to earn his trust. “For whom the Bells tolls? Really diving into the classics, huh?”

“Need some comfort,” he shrugged. “It’s been 80 years since I read these, it felt like the time to re-read.”

“80 years,” she dragged, “You look a lot younger.”

His face became briefly stony, his brain going haywire for a second before he relaxed and gave her an awkward laugh. “You’re a lot funnier when you’re not in pain.”

“Aren’t we all?” she slid the book over to him. “It’s due next week, don’t b--”

“Be late with it, I know,” he completed, “I’ll return it tomorrow. Like always”

She heard words of charm and flattery from his mind. It was a timid voice saying it, if she had been distracted she wouldn’t have heard it. Her eyes trailed downwards, her smile tiny and shy. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’re lying.”

“How’d you know better?” his eyes narrowed at her and his head tilted to the side. She found it absolutely charming that he did that when he was confused. 

“I read minds,” she said, seriously, her face impartial, very much unlike mere seconds before. 

“That’s funny,” he laughed, pointing at her. 

She opened an awkward smile at him, looking carefully at his expression. His mind told her he thought she was pranking him, being funny to charm him. She wasn’t. “I know you think I’m trying to charm you,” her eyes looking at her feet, her fingers entwined in a nervous habit, “but I’m not,” she finished, whispering. 

She could hear confusion clearly in his thoughts. It wasn’t exactly at how she could read his mind, more to why she was telling him the fact. “I can hear your thoughts very clearly, they’re very loud,” she whispered. After all these years of experience with this power, it never got easier telling people about it. “And I didn’t think it was fair to listen to your thoughts - you think a lot you know? - all so loudly and clearly,” She couldn’t look at him, her eyes were still cast downwards in shame, “If you want to, I can explain how it is, we can go for a walk or whatever.”

She could feel his intense gaze on her skin, she didn’t dare to look up. Disappointment was one of the things she hated the most, one she had dealt with a lot. Seeing it in his face would surely break her heart, even if only a little bit. “Fine,” she heard him say it, airly, “But you’re paying.”

She looked up and his expression was impassive. But his eyes were twinkling with a sort of curiosity and wonder that could only mean good things. A weird sort of relief washed over her. She let out a sigh, her features relaxing. “Great,” she brushed a piece of her hair out of her face, “great,” she breathed out, “I just need to close this place.”

“I’ll wait.”

#

#

“Tell me what that boy’s thinking,” he said, pointing to a little boy by the pond feeding the ducks happily. 

Her eyes trailed to the kid, trying to focus on him. It was an exercise she hadn’t done in a while, since she had left the Institute really. “He’s happy he’s with his dad,” she reported, “he doesn’t see his dad often and he misses him.”

“What about the dad?” his hands were in his pockets, his gaze locked on the dad sat on the bench just behind the kid. 

“He’s guilty he doesn’t spend enough time with his son,” she added, her eyes following the posture of the man. His eyes were fixed on his son, watching his every move. It was clear he felt some sort of guilt towards his son, and it was easy to assume that by his stance alone--if you were observant enough. Bucky was, “He works two jobs to pay the child support. He can’t find time between them often.”

 “How do I know that you didn’t just meet those people and they told you their life story?” Bucky questioned, his gaze intense and locked on her. They stopped beneath a tree, orange sun rays peeking from between the leaves. 

“It’s the first time I've ever seen them,” she plopped down beneath the tree, crossing her legs childishly, “I barely leave my apartment.”

He stared at her, his gaze strong and judgmental. Huffing, he calmly got down and sat beside her, his legs spread out in front of him. He crossed his hands on his lap, and her gaze locked at his left hand. She wondered if the arm was still the same as the one she had seen in his memory. That arm sent chills down her spine, it was intimidating and terrifying, the red star staring at her menacingly. “Why, though?”

“I can’t, really,” she shrugged. She looked up, her head tilting to the side, considering her words. “I have these lockdowns when I’m surrounded by too many people. It hasn’t happened in years but,” her eyes closed, the memories of the last lockdown she had flooding back at her. She saw her younger self falling to her knees in the middle of the Institute’s lobby, screaming and clutching her ears, “but it happens, and I’d rather not go through that. I’m not in speaking terms with the person that can help me and I’ll do anything to not talk to him again.”

His lips formed a thin line. A hum trembled his chest, his head resting on the tree behind them. “How much have you seen from…” his jaw clenched, his voice quiet and hesitant. 

“Not much,” she dragged. “I stopped after I realized that I, um, that I was…”she found she couldn’t complete the sentence under his strong gaze. “It wasn’t fair to you for me to see anything, not without you knowing.”

“What did you see?” he gritted through his teeth, his eyes watery and sad. 

“I saw,” she gulped, her voice straining with emotion as she looked deep into his eyes, “I saw you, um, tied to a chair. You were so out of it,” she shook her head, tears flooding her eyes, “you were mumbling your name and some numbers. And then,” she sighed, picking up strength to continue, “and then they - they broke you.”

“What else?” he growled, his hands in fists. His eyes were no longer sad, there was a latent anger in them. It made her sad that she was the cause of his anger, or rather the target. 

“Nothing,” she shook her head, “nothing else. Nothing other than random words from your day to day.”

He considered her for a moment, his eyes hovering her face frantically. She tried her best not to listen to his mind, trying to focus on elsewhere, on someone else. But he was like a magnet, and she could help but to be attracted to him and his thoughts. Words of confusion, anger and infatuation floated in his brain and echoed in hers. “Can you turn it off? Your...thing?” he pointed to her head almost in disdain. She knew better than to believe his gestures.

“Not exactly,” she hugged her legs, her chin resting on her knees. “If I could, I would have, a long time ago.”

They remained in silence after that. He looked at the clouds, considering everything she had just told him. She looked everywhere but at him, trying to stray her mind from him. It felt impossible,  he became her gravity center, and she couldn’t really escape it. She found that she didn’t want to. 

“How did you get the…” he tried to find the right words, “the mind reading thing?”

She laughed at his silly phrasing. “I was born with it,” she looked down at her hands, her cheeks feeling hot. “Professor picked me up and took me to the Institute after I turned 13 because of it.”

“That sounds like a cute way of saying you were kidnapped by the guy,” he commented, his tone serious and his eyes on her. 

“I wasn’t,” she tilted her head towards him, as if she was telling him a secret. “I went willingly, actually. The nightmares were getting worse and the headaches,” her eyes locked with his for a brief second as she brushed a piece of her hair out of her face, “well, headaches like yesterday’s are light ones compared to those. And the Professor, he promised to help me control it.”

“That doesn't sound suspicious at all,” she could hear him roll his eyes in disdain. 

“He did help me,” she assured him, “but at the time, I didn't realize that it would come with a cost.”

“I’m guessing he wanted something out of you,” he inferred, “that you weren’t willing to give.”

“Something like that,” she responded, her voice vague and distant. Remembering the things Professor had planned for her made her scared and, most of all, angry. Angry he dared to think she would be so desperate to abide by his wishes. She had learned that following his plans brought her nothing more than frustration and loneliness, he robbed her and her friends of a stable childhood so they could become his pawns. “He wasn’t a good person.”

“I get that,” he whispered, his head down, looking at his hands. He opened and closed his left hand repetitively. The anger he had felt once she had told him what she had done came back, but directed towards someone else. 

“Listen, Bucky,” she turned her whole body towards him. Her hands itched to grab his, but she knew neither of them were prepared to cross that line, “I’m truly sorry that I… couldn’t control myself. I figured that if I could decipher your thoughts the headaches would stop, but I didn’t realize how much you kept hidden,” she confessed, her fingers fiddling with themselves in a nervous habit. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, I want to give you a chance to tell me these things yourself, that’s why I told you.”

He looked at her for a moment before responding. “You told someone who you’d only known for a couple of days your biggest secret,” he recited, almost as if he had been rehearsing the line in his mind over and over, “because you felt bad.”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds foolish,” she grumbled. “I know what’s like not to be given a choice, and I wanted you to have the choice to, you know, walk away from me,” she finished, her voice just above a whisper. She struggled to keep her tears at bay, a couple of them spilling and running down her cheeks. 

“Why would I walk away from you?” he asked her, sincerity in his eyes. 

“You wouldn’t be the first person,” her eyes were cast forward, looking way beyond the park. She didn’t bother cleaning the tears that were rolling down her face. “And you wouldn’t be the last, certainly.”

“Doll,” he dragged, his voice low and beautiful, “I wouldn’t.”

She could barely hear his thoughts over her own. She couldn’t think straight anymore, too many emotions flooded her own senses, it was all too much. Her hands rubbed her eyes, trying to rid them of the tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry.”

“It’s okay,” he shook his head. “But, seriously, don’t tell your biggest secret to someone you barely know.”

She laughed at his suggestion, her smile watery. “I won’t, don’t worry,” her head tilted to the side, her eyes carefully studying his face. It was the first time she truly took him in. His face was so wonderfully beautiful. His nose and his lips were perfect. But it was his eyes that would always fascinate her. So wonderfully blue and so beautifully deep. It was impossible to not fall in love with him with those eyes. 

He got up and brushed his gloves on the sides of his pants. He offered her his right hand, “How’d you say we get that coffee now and you tell me the craziest things you’ve ever seen people think?”

She smiled sincerely at him, her eyes looking up at him in admiration. She took his hand and she let him guide her.

#

#

“Doll, you need to start staying at the front desk,” he leaned casually on the side of the bookcase, looking calmly at her as she turned around to face him. “What if someone important comes in and there’s no one there?

She felt amused at Bucky’s teasing and smiled. “Tom’s supposed to be there, he must have just left to do something,” she stated, smugly. “Besides, you’re the only important person that comes here. At least, to me you are,” she tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. 

He bit his lip and looked at her in a way that made her melt. “Aren’t you a charmer.”

She could hear clearly in his thoughts he was amused by her behavior, the word ‘charm’ levitating around her brain. “I learned from the best,” she shrugged brushing past him and walking towards the front desk. 

She heard his heavy footsteps behind her. “Are we still up for tonight?” his voice had an edge that wasn’t there before. She sat down on her chair behind the counter as her eyes carefully analyzed his face. His jaw was tense, his eyebrows were furrowed and his fingers were tight around the book he meant to return. 

“I’ve been up for it every day for the past month, Bucky,” she narrowed her eyes at him. His jaw clenched even more in a way she didn’t know possible. She tried to ignore his thoughts and the words that bounced around her brain. “What are you trying to say?” she asked softly, taking the book from him gently. 

He sighed, resting his elbows on the counter he leaned in. “Sam needs my help,” he said, his voice low and tired. She could tell he wasn’t telling her the full truth, but she didn’t push it. 

“Oh,” she muttered, typing away to return the book he brought. “So you’re cancelling?”

“Doll, I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important,” he stated. She could tell he was sad, his eyes told her so, and so did the words in his head.  It pained her to see him give up their time together. It was cherished by both, and she suspected it was maybe one of the only moments of the day Bucky didn’t have to hold everything in. Mostly because she could see everything he was hiding. 

“Don’t,” she stopped him before he could further apologize. “I understand, an Avenger’s calling you,” she whispered, a devilish smile on her lips, “how could you not answer it?”

“I can think of a lot of ways,” he gritted. He had told her his qualms with Sam Wilson, but it only seemed like friendly teasing and nothing else. Nothing too serious, that's what she judged it to be. 

“Bucky,” she warned him, “there are more important people than me, and Sam is definitely one of those. Don’t feel guilty, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“Y/N,” he never used her first name. He would call her ‘doll’, or ‘love’ or even sometimes ‘sweetheart’, but never by her first name. Hearing it leave his lips sobered her up quickly, “there’s no one more important to me than you.” 

Her mouth hung open in complete shock at his declaration. Her brain short-circuited for a moment, before recomposing herself. She opened her mouth to respond him but he quickly beat her to it. 

“I’m truly sorry, love,” he shook his head, his eyes cast downwards. 

Her eyes hovered him quietly for a second before slipping the book to him. “I extended the due date. Two weeks and nothing more,” she said, sternly. “You know the drill, Bucky.”

“Don’t be late with it, I know,” he recited. His eyes lingered on hers for longer than it normally would. It felt as if he was memorizing her, studying the little details of her face, the little quirks of her personality. She felt heat rising to her cheeks, like every time she was under his intense gaze. He looked downwards for a moment, his mouth slightly opened. “I won’t be gone too long, just a couple of days.”

She got up from her chair and walked to his side. She bit her lip as he watched her go around the front desk. He leaned on his arm, casually standing there as she looked down at her feet in front of him. “You have my number, I’m just a phone call away,” she muttered shyly. She couldn’t handle this flirty interactions with Bucky. Mostly because she would have to juggle her own thoughts with his. But there was something about his demeanor at that moment that put her at ease, she didn’t feel the need to juggle both of their thoughts, only to embrace them. She let herself feel the butterflies and be fully flustered under his charm. It felt nice. “I’m gonna miss you,” she whispered. 

“Yeah, me too,” he looked at her eyes, deeply and soulfully. She didn’t know how she hadn’t melted at the spot. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The corners of her mouth quirked up. “I know,” her lips brushed his cheek. She quickly kissed it and looked back at him. “You should probably go. Don’t wanna keep Sam waitin’.”

He smiled at her one last time before leaving her. His smile, there was something different about that. It felt sincere and genuine, unlike all his other smiles that were usually caused by awkwardness and embarrassment. She had seen something completely different in that smile, something she couldn’t exactly place yet. 

#

#

She arrived quietly at her apartment, carrying a bag full of groceries and flowers for her tiny garden out in the fire-escape. Her upstairs neighbor had complained about it for months, until he joined and now she shared it with him. She had plans to make the whole building to contribute to the little garden, she was almost convincing her downstairs neighbor and she was a pivotal person. 

The apartment was too quiet, unlike normally. There were always whispers of her neighbor’s thoughts echoing through the walls, the busy sounds of the streets, the shouts outside from people going by their day. 

“I know you’re here,” she shouted to her apartment, “you weren’t subtle about it.”

“I knew you wouldn’t talk to me, otherwise,” Professor rolled in. He hadn’t changed a single bit since the last time she had seen him. His clothes were the same, his bald head glistened the same way it did, and his chair was just as stoic as his face. She hated him and seeing him in her apartment only reminded her of that.

“That’s cause I don’t want to talk to you, Professor, I thought I had made myself clear,” she growled, resting the bag and the flowers on the kitchen counter. “Why are you here?”

“It has come to my knowledge you’ve been having your episodes,” he said, robotically. 

“I’m not having any episodes, I'm fine” she muttered, her back turned to Professor. She cursed Peter mentally for being a fucking snitch. Next time she saw him she was going to give him a piece of her mind. 

“You’re not,” he corrected her. As usual, she only heard him in a tone of superiority and condencense, he always knew best. “We know what happens when you let yourself go with other people’s thoughts, child.”

“Don’t call me that,” she gripped the counter, her teeth gritted and her eyes shut. Her hands felt clammy, almost slipping from the counter. She had escaped the Institute, she had sworn she would never go back, for fucking Peter to bring Professor to her again. She knew Peter did it because he was worried. It still didn’t make it sting less. “I said I’m fine, I have everything under control.”

“How long have you been taking the suppressing pills?” he asked her, his voice judgemental and cold. 

She turned around to face him for the first time. He was impossible to read, he always made sure of that. As much as she begged him to teach her how to do it, to help her block out thoughts and stop people from getting into her head, he never really did it. She had to discover for herself, and, in that, she never was as effective as him. “It’s none of your business,” she scoffed. “It’s not like I’m of any use to you anymore, Professor. I’m sure you have a brand new shiny pawn you can play with that’s even better than I was. Besides,” she added, crossing her arms on her chest, “you gave me those pills.”

“They’re for emergencies only, Y/N, not continuous use,” he shook his head at her, his piercing through hers, She looked down avoiding his gaze, her jaw tight. Her head started to feel heavy, and she didn’t know if it was his prying or something worse. “Do you remember the last time you used those same pills continuously?”

Her teeth gritted and she closed her eyes to stop him from seeing the tears accumulating in them. She looked at him, her eyes completely angry and full of hurt, “I'm a lot stronger that I was back then,” she gritted. 

“Bad things happen when you repress your power,” Professor warned, leaning on his knees. “You learned that the hard way.”

“I haven't taken them in days.” she stated, trying to keep her head focused and her voice free of emotion. Professor considered her for a moment. She could feel him prying in her head, searching for traces of a lie well told. She knew he wouldn’t find any, she told the truth, even if it was half of it. 

“I know you’re not telling everything,” he told her, his hands fiddling with the orange vial temptevely. “What are you hiding?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. When she was younger, she wouldn’t even consider behaving badly around him. Now, she knew better. “I don’t owe you any explanations, Professor. I don’t even understand why are you here,” she pointed accusingly at him. “You've done a pretty good job showing you don’t care all my life, I find it hard to believe you care now.”

His eyes found hers, as always completely unreadable. But she saw the little details, the way his jaw tightened slightly, the way his fingers opened and closed the cap of the bottle nervously. It was hard to tell if the tick was fabricated or not, she could never tell with him. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll be in touch,” he wheeled himself towards the door. 

“Please don’t,” she said clearly as he exited her apartment.

As the door closed she let a shuddery breath, laying on her couch in exhaustion. She let a couple of tears fall from her eyes, quickly drying them after. She had cried because of Professor too many times in her life, she would not cry for him one more time. 

Her phone vibrated on her back pocket. She sniffed and fished out, checking what was the cause of the notification. ‘Just arrived. Call me’ from Bucky. Her heart picked up, smiling at her phone happily. 

It rang a couple of times before he picked up. “You’re late,” she said, before he had the chance to say anything to her, “you said a couple of days.”

“I’m sorry, doll,” he breathed out, “it took longer than anticipated.”

“It’s okay,” she shook her head, a smile on her face. “The book, though, you’re gonna have to pay a fee for being late.”

He laughed at the other end of the line. “First time I ever return it late, can’t you make an exception for me?”

“I didn’t do anything, it was Tom,” she stated quickly. Her lips adorned a permanent smile, so much it barely seemed Professor had just left her apartment. They stayed quiet before anyone said anything.

“I missed you,” he whispered, her heart racing in her chest as he recited the words. 

“I missed you too,” she replied back, her voice soft and full of emotion. She tried to contain her tears, an accumulation of feelings from just before and that moment but she couldn’t. “I was so lonely, I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too, love,” he sighed on the other end of the line. She could imagine him looking down at his feet, a silly smile on his lips. His eyes were twinkling in her mind the way that melted her, he looked absolutely beautiful as usual. “Do you want to go out? I owe you 2 weeks worth of coffee.”

She looked at the ceiling, trying to contain her heart and failing miserably. “Yeah, yeah, I’d like that,” she breathed out. 

“I’ll pick you up in 20.”

She hung up the phone and got up from her couch, a silly smile on her face. Her smile soon faded after she realised what she had done. She was only off the pills for 2 days, it wasn’t enough time for her powers to normalize. Without Bucky present, the abstinence wasn’t as noticeable. Sure, she could hear everything more clearly, the music her neighbor had stucky in his head, or the busy thoughts of a random person passing on the sidewalk. But Bucky always had a thousand things in his head, and that surely would be a problem. 

She was telling the truth to the Professor. She wasn’t taking them continuously, only a couple of times a week, when Bucky’s thoughts were always the loudest. But she hadn’t told him that she had stopped so late, later than she should have. She was toeing the line again, just like she had done when she was a kid and the prospect of not listening to everyone all the time seemed too good to be true. 

A sigh escaped her lips, her heart racing inside her chest, not for the right reasons. She hoped she could control it, keep her latent power at bay just like she did everyday. It was easy to fool herself like that. She forgot how addicting Bucky could be, how wrapped up in him she would get. It was almost an experiment: how would she deal with Bucky’s mind when her power was at the most raw. She wondered if she should be curious or scared. 

Her hands sweated as she unpacked her groceries. A cold rush ran through her spine, and she remembered the symptoms she experienced the last time she was off the pills. Dread settled in her, anticipating what was about to come. She cursed Professor, her stupid mutated gene and those fucking pills. She often wondered what would have happened if she never manifested any powers, how her life would have played out. 

Then, her senses were flooded by Bucky. She whipped around to the door, seeing the shadow of his feet lingering outside. Her head felt heavy and there was a pain blooming, something much worse than the ones she’d endured when she first met him. It was a side effect, she should have expected that. She leaned on her table for a moment, trying to get used to the pain. The knock echoed through her apartment. She barely registered it, his thoughts flooding her. It was all so incoherent, flashes of yellowed memories and newer ones ran through her head. She heard her name screamed in his head over and over again, his voice whispering pet names he had given her with images of their time together. 

She opened the door and there he was, standing in front of her. He wasn’t wearing his traditional gloves, and he had dodged the leather jacket of a simple longed sleeved t-shirt pulled at his elbows. It was the first time she saw his arm being displayed so freely, so unashamedly. He wore a boyish smile on his face, holding a bouquet of yellow and purple flowers meant for her. “I brought you flowers,” he handed the bouquet to her, his eyes twinkling with a charm she hadn’t seen in him before.  “You said you wanted to expand your garden,” he justified with a shrug, his eyes on the bouquet. The smile never left his lips. 

She almost forgot about her symptoms, letting his charm encapsulate her and warm her heart. She accepted the flowers, their smell overwhelming her. She stepped aside for him to come in, he ducked his head and got in the apartment quietly. It wasn’t the first time he had been over, but it was still odd to see him in her place. It looked smaller with him in it, less lonely. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, closing the door. Her hands glued to the plastic wrapping of the flowers. She wiped her other hand on her pants, gulping nervously. If before she thought his thoughts were loud, in that moment it seemed like they were being blasted in amplifiers at maximum volume. “How’ve you been?” she stuttered, her mouth dry. 

“I’m good, good,” he laughed looking down, his hands on his pockets. She could tell he wasn’t lying, for the first time she asked him that question he actually answered it honestly.  “How are you, doll?”

She grabbed a pot and some dirt to stick the bouquet in it from the cabinet under the kitchen island. “I’m okay,” she replied quietly. Resting the supplies next to the sunflower she had just bought, a wave of nausea washed over her. She felt the color drain out of her face, feeling lightheaded. Her hands gripped tightly around the backrest of a chair, trying to not collapse to the floor. 

She heard him rush to her side, his hands supporting her. The cool touch of his metal arm was contrastant with how hot her skin felt at the moment. “You don’t look okay,” it was like he was yelling in her ear, but she knew his voice was barely above a whisper. “What happened?”

“I’m off my pills,” she gripped his forearms, her eyes shut close. She tried organizing her head, separating her own thoughts with the thoughts of others. 

“Let me get them for you,” he guided her to the couch, gently sitting her down. 

“No,” she reached for him, her voice dying in her throat. Her hold on his wrist was weak, her eyes closed. The light only worsened her headache, she couldn’t bear to open her eyes. “There’s none left.”

“What d’you mean there’s nothing left?” he asked her, his voice strained. She knew he tried to contain his worry, but it slipped out in his tone. If she wasn’t so sick, she would have appreciated his care. “It seems like something important to have.”

“Professor took ‘em,” her words slurred, “I can’t take more, Bucky.”

“Why?” he hesitated, “what happened?”

“My powers,” her jaw clenched at the sharp pain going through her head, “I just wanted to spend time with you, Bucky, but the pain…” the tears spilled from her eyes, her eyes still closed. The grip on Bucky was tight, she was holding onto him like he was her lifeline, the only thing grounding her to the real world and not her head. 

He sat beside her, his hands hovering over her, unsure of what to do. She heard a sliver of guilt going through him, and sadness overwhelmed her because of that. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. 

“No,” she shook her head, wrapping him up in her arms, “it’s my fault. You’re amazing, Bucky, and I couldn’t stay away,” her tears wet his shirt, her head resting on his shoulder snuggly. She couldn’t help but notice the safe feeling that overwhelmed her in that moment. It was almost like it was where she belonged, safe in his arms. “Your mind… it’s just so beautiful, you’re so beautiful, Bucky. And I was greedy, I wanted you to myself, even if it meant a little pain.”

“A little?” he asked, his voice laced with a sassiness she hadn’t seen before. 

She laughed quietly, looking at his face. His blue eyes were sincere, full of emotion and thoughts she could never bring herself to decipher. “A lot,” she sighed, her eyes fixated on his.  “I fell back into old habits.”

“I get it,” he assented, his eyes cast on hers, looking for something she didn’t quite know what it was. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Stay,” she whispered, her heart beating fast inside her. “Please, stay.”

And Bucky did. For the first time, someone who had met her, all of her, stayed with her. That only made her love him more. He hugged her tightly, his head resting on the crook of her neck. “I’ll stay,” he reassured her, his thumb caressing her shoulder gently, “I got you”

She mumbled ‘I’m sorry’ like a prayer on his shoulder. It was too much input, her own emotions and his blended and her tears were their escape. “I shouldn’t have unloaded this on you,” she sniffed, breaking the hug. “It’s not fair.”

“Hey,” he gently pushed her hands out of her face. Her face was swollen and her eyes were red, but she could tell he didn’t care, she heard the word ‘beautiful’ bounce around in his head. “I can take it.”

She shook her head, words unable to escape her quivering lips. “Hey, stop,” he said firmly but lovingly, “listen to me,” he grabbed her face delicately, his fingers brushing her cheeks delicately. “I can take it, doll. Trust me. I have my demons too,” he whispered, “and they don’t scare you. You don’t scare me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t look away from his eyes. The sincerity in them disarmed her completely, the little restraint she had completely gone. Her breath hitched at the sight of the glimmer in his eyes and the love in his mind. “Thank you,” she mouthed, her voice gone. 

“You’re welcome,” he smiled at her, the boyish grin he had sported when he arrived back. “How about I make you some tea?” he got up, walking a few steps to the kitchen. He moved around like her tiny little flat was where he belonged. “I make a mean chamomile tea.”

She laughed quietly, her brain slowly calming down, her fever settling. “I’d like that.”

#Bucky Barnes #TFATWS #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #one shot #marvel fanfiction #Sebastian Stan #bucky barnes x librarian!reader #my masterlist

[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | one

A/N: Here’s the beginning of my new mini-series!  I hope you all enjoy it.  It will definitely be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, so be prepared!  There will be five parts!

SUPPORT MY WRITING HERE: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                                   *     *     *     *     *

Brock Boeser felt like he was at some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, with everybody around the circle introducing themselves and their similar predicaments.  The group was in a big meeting room at the local community centre, and when he walked in, he saw a group of dads playing basketball in the gym.  He sort of wanted to join them instead of being here, in this room, with all these people that he didn’t know talking about what they were going to talk about, but he’d done this back in Minnesota, at his mother’s behest with his siblings, and he was going to do it here, too, in Vancouver, to make her happy and ease her mind and to make sure that he was easing his own mind.  

“Um, hello everyone.  My name is Brock Boeser.  I’m from Minnesota, but I’m living in Vancouver.  And um, I’m here with you all because my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.”

“Hello Brock,” everyone smiled at him, and he smiled and nodded back.

“So it was your dad that was diagnosed,” the leader, a kind, older woman named Esther who had greeted him at the door and stuck with him until everybody sat down, egged on a conversation.  He knew she was doing it because he was new; everybody in this room probably already knew each other.  A part of him actually wondered if anybody knew who he was.  “When?”

“Um, he—he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2010,” Brock revealed, stuttering it out.  He knew he’d have to be open at these things – open so people could empathize with him, open so he could empathize with others – but it was still tough for him to do so.  “But he—it’s—it’s not just Parkinson’s.  Two years after he was diagnosed, he was in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury.  In 2017, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  He beat it but then in June it returned to his liver and chest.  In July, he had a heart attack and his heart stopped beating for 15 minutes.  I was with him and—I—it’s—it’s a lot, as you can imagine,” he tried not to start crying right then and there.  Imagine that – first meeting with a Parkinson’s Society of BC support group and he’d bawl like a baby.

“Goodness me, Brock,” Esther said.  “He has support at home?”

“Um, well, money isn’t an issue now, but when I was growing up my mom worked three jobs to make sure we were all taken care of,” he revealed.  “I’d pitch in too wherever I could, obviously.”

“But it’s been tough for a number of years.”

Brock paused.  It had been tough for a number of years.  It had been really tough for a number of years.  He nodded his head.  “Yes ma’am.  I try to take it day by day.”

Esther nodded as well.  “I don’t know if you pray, Brock, but I know a couple of members around the circle do, and, well – you’ll be kept in all our prayers.”

Brock saw a few people nod their head.  Another older woman, probably his mom’s age, clutching a rosary; a Sikh man dressed in a casual suit; a younger woman, probably in her thirties, with short blonde hair.  He appreciated the sentiment.  He knew that people took prayer very seriously – that people suffering took prayer very seriously.  It was, realistically, one of the kindest things somebody could ever say to you: “I’m praying for you.”  “Thank you very much,” he said, nodding his head once.

***

There was an arrangement of cookies at the end of the meeting.  Even after the 90 minutes of everybody talking about their experiences and emotions, they apparently liked to stick around afterwards as well just to mingle.  It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom, he thought.  It didn’t all have to be about Parkinson’s or about sick people or losing your loved ones all the time.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about the news.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about sports.  The weather.  Anything.  Anything to make a connection with someone beyond something so tragic.  

After stuffing an entire Fudge-O cookie into his mouth, he looked up to see a young woman staring at him, holding her trenchcoat in her arms.  She was smiling to let him know she was friendly.  He was embarrassed because he knew she just saw him stuff an entire Fudge-O into his mouth.  “Hi,” he said, his mouth still full of cookie, the sound of his voice reflecting that fact.

“You’re Brock Boeser, right?” she asked sweetly.  “You play for the Vancouver Canucks?”

“Yeah,” Brock couldn’t help but smile.  He swallowed the rest of the cookie even though he didn’t really finish chewing it.  “That’s me.  Are you a fan?”

“My step-brothers are more so than I am,” she said.  “But I’m a fan of the team, yeah.  I’m Grace Gillespie,” she extended her hand to shake his.  “God, they’re not gonna believe me when I say I met you.  They’re gonna freak.”

Brock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly.  “Do you—I mean, do you want a picture?  I don’t mind at all.  I’ll sign an autograph on a napkin if you want me to.”

“Well…it’s a bit awkward to ask you at a Parkinson’s Society of BC meeting, but we could go to the Starbucks down the street and I could buy you a coffee.”

Brock was slightly taken aback at her forwardness.  He shouldn’t have been.  Girls came up to him all the time.  All the time.  And they were most definitely not shy.  But he wasn’t exactly expecting it to happen here, of all places.  A bar, sure.  Out with Petey or any of the other guys, absolutely.  But not here.  “Yeah…yeah sure,” he stuttered out.

“Then we should go,” Grace smiled.  She turned to look behind her.  Brock saw Esther picking up a few Oreos.  “Thank you for leading another great session, Esther,” Grace said.  

“Oh you are most welcome Miss Gillespie.  How is Hamish these days?  You didn’t speak much today.”

“He’s been doing fine lately.  His caregivers have been working around the clock for him.  They just work wonders, don’t they?”

Esther nodded.  “They are angels on Earth.  Anyways – we’ll catch up next week,” she said, leaning slightly on her leg to look beyond Grace and to Brock.  “I hope to see you here again next week, Brock.”

“Thank you, Esther.  See you next week,” he said, realizing he made the commitment before he could even realize what he was saying.

***

“I take that was your first meeting?” Grace asked as she set down the two lattes on the table against the window where Brock was waiting.  

“Was it really obvious?” Brock asked.

Grace shrugged her shoulders.  She didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious.  “It was the stuttering that gave it away, at least to me.  I know I stuttered a lot the first few times I came to these meetings.  I wasn’t the most comfortable talking about my dad’s condition to a room full of virtual strangers.  But within just a few months I realized the people in that room are the kindest, most empathetic, most amazing people that I’ve ever interacted with.  So I became a lot more open.”

Brock was transfixed by every word that Grace was saying.  “So you’ve been coming here a long time,” he said.

Grace nodded.  “My dad got diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was fourteen.  I didn’t start coming here until I was about eighteen, though.”

Brock knew he shouldn’t ask.  He knew he shouldn’t.  But his brain had ulterior motives, and his mouth – well, his mouth listened to his brain, because it apparently needed to know.  “Is your—is your dad like my dad?” he asked.  “Does he have, like, other problems complicating things?”

Grace shook her head.  “No,” she said softly.  “But the Parkinson’s is enough for him.  I mean he was diagnosed just short of ten years ago and he’s already on puréed foods.  It’s not—I mean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t regularly develop that fast.  But that’s…I don’t know how you do it.”

Brock didn’t know either.  Some days he didn’t.  “I just take it day by day,” he said simply, just like he said in the meeting.  “If I think about it too much…that’s when it’s bad.”

“I hear ya,” Grace said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “But let’s…not talk about this for too long.  Do you like Vancouver?  Do you find it nice?”

Brock appreciated the change in topic.  “I love it here,” he nodded his head, smiling.  “The city’s great.  The fans are great.  My teammates – I mean they’re amazing.  What do you do?”

“I’m a dance teacher at Goh Ballet – little kids and teens, mostly.”

He wasn’t expecting that.  She was drop dead gorgeous, sure – Brock wasn’t blind – but he wasn’t expecting to hear she was a dancer.  “Do you, like, dance in the real ballet?”

Grace snorted slightly at his phrasing of ‘real ballet’.  “No.  I pursued it only up until a certain point.  I was good, but uh, I stopped when my dad got diagnosed.”

“Why?  Don’t they always tell people like us to have, like, an outlet or whatever?”

“They do.  But I loved my dad more than I loved dance.  And I would have rather spent the time that I was spending on dance with him instead.”

He understood where she was coming from, and he wasn’t there to judge her.  “And your brothers you mentioned, did they help too?”

“Oh no no no.  Sorry – I should have specified.  I’m an only child.  Like, the only child between my parents.  But they divorced when I was six and when my mom re-married I gained two step-brothers, Jasper and Theo.”

“How was the divorce?” Brock found himself asking.

“You ever see footage of a nuclear bomb exploding?” Grace giggled as she asked the question.  It caused Brock to laugh too even though the analogy she was making was dreadful.  “It was awful.  The type of divorce nobody deserves, you know?  I became a pawn, basically, and my parents would only speak to each other through lawyers.  Even stuff concerning me.  It was bad.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was.  But it’s the only life I know,” she said.  “He was lucky my mom ended up marrying another rich guy.  I mean, my mom only marries rich men,” she giggled slightly again.  “That’s how Jasper and Theo became my step-brothers.”

“So your family has money?” Brock clarified.  “What’s it from?  Dad a lawyer or something?”

“Not exactly,” Grace said.  “My dad and his brothers own a private equity firm that started like this,” she pinched her fingers together, “and went like…” she continued, spreading her fingers and moving her hands around her like a bomb explosion.  “Gillespie Brothers Investments.  I’m sure as a Vancouver Canuck you’ve heard of them.  I mean they wanted to buy the Canucks before the Aquilinis.”

Brock hadn’t heard of them, but he now knew he’d have to do some snooping when he got home. “I haven’t heard of them.  But I mean – sounds like they were successful.”

“Three billion dollars is pretty successful to me,” Grace quipped.

“B—Billion,” Brock sputtered out.  “With a B.”

“With a B,” Grace nodded.  Brock had no idea he was sitting across from the daughter of a billionaire.  She didn’t act like a billionaire.  Not like Brock knew what billionaires acted like.  He’d never met one before in his life.  Well, besides Francesco.  “But tell me more about what you like about Vancouver.  What about the nature?  I always kind of fine a good long walk along the Seawall or through Stanley Park really clears my mind from all…this.  What about you?”

Brock smiled.  “I find the white noise of downtown clears my mind.”

***

“You want my number,” Grace said as a statement rather than a question as she and Brock exited the Starbucks.  They were kicked out.  They’d been there for so long that they’d been kicked out because they were closing.  Their coffees had gotten cold.  They hadn’t ordered new ones.  And now they found themselves on the deserted sidewalk, jackets put on hastily, and Grace came up with that.

Brock looked down at her.  They’d been able to look into each other’s soul for the past few hours.  “Of course I want your number,” he said.  There was no reason to hide it.  No reason to deny it.  No reason to have to wait until next week to see her again as they sat around in a circle in a community centre talking about their parents.

He took out his phone.  She gave him her number.  He texted his name to hers so she’d have his.  When that dance was done, she looked up at him.  “I’m really glad I met you tonight,” she said, her voice sincere.

Brock nodded.  “I’m glad I met you too.  I—I really enjoyed this.  And I mean—I needed it.”

Grace smiled, nodding her head.  “I needed it too.”

“D’you—” Brock stopped, trying not to get too far ahead of himself.  “D’you need a ride home?”

“Oh no no, my driver is right there,” she motioned her head towards a black Mercedes waiting by the curb.

Brock hadn’t noticed the car until now.  “Chauffeur?”

“Billionaire dad,” she winked.  Brock understood.  She took a few steps back before smiling one more time.  “Call me,” she said, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the Mercedes and getting into the backseat.  Brock watched as it drove off, making a right at the end of the street.

He would definitely be calling.

#brock boeser #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fic #brock boeser fan fic #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks imagine #vancouver canucks fic #vancouver canucks fan fic #brock boeser blurb #vancouver canucks blurb #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fan fic #nhl blurb #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fan fic #hockey blurb #peaceful easy feeling series

[flipomatic]

Perfectly Ordinary

Summary: Oh, they were going to take a break. That was fitting, since Ayaka was doing the same. Maybe, and this was a stretch, maybe they could take their break together. Getting lunch in town was a normal thing to do, and doing it with a friend would be even more ordinary. Especially if that friend was Lumine.

“I, um.” Ayaka started to speak, then hesitated as Lumine’s eyes snapped to her. There was a weight to that stare, a question that Ayaka couldn’t fully understand. “Would you like to join me around the city? I do not need to be back at the complex for another hour.”

Author Note: I just finished Ayaka’s first character quest and I needed to write something for them.

Word Count: 2300

__________________________________________________________

As the sun filtered in through the window, shining high in the sky, Ayaka carefully signed another document. She’d been working since it first peeked over the horizon, preparing for a large upcoming festival. This was one she wouldn’t be able to attend, as she was responsible for supervising the event. That was unfortunate; ever since her first festival she’d longed to go to another.

The thought of inviting Lumine hovered in the back of her mind as well, of sharing the festival with her if she could. She’d seen the traveler a few times since then, bustling up and down the hills with Paimon in tow. Lumine was always helping someone, always smiling, selfless, and kind; that was what Ayaka liked about her. The way she stepped up for others was inspiring.

Ayaka hadn’t read a single word in the last few minutes, lost in her own thoughts, so she shook her head to snap herself out of it. Those were musings for another time, when she didn’t have work to do. She went back to the top of the form, re-reading it to make sure it was correct.

It would reflect poorly on the Kamisato name if the festival went badly. It was important to get this right. They would need to source lumber for building stalls, which this document would arrange. She just needed to check the numbers.

As Ayaka continued to read though, she was soon again distracted by a beam of light cast from the window. It moved slowly throughout the day, and now cast its light directly on her desk. Again, she found herself pausing in her work, this time to raise her hand into the beam.

Ayaka stopped herself; this wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing. The longer she worked, the more easily distracted she became.

Perhaps it was time to take a break.

She’d worked hard all morning, after all. It wouldn’t hurt to take time for lunch and besides, she’d be more focused later. That was what Ayaka told herself as she pushed her chair back and stood, stretching out her back in the process.

It would be nice to get out, to do more ordinary things. Ever since the festival she’d been trying to go more often, to walk around town and interact with others. Maybe she could even make new friends. Ayaka wanted to do more and more normal things, along with her duties to the clan and the people. It was a balance she was still trying to find.

With the sun out today, and work that would be best done later, it was a good time to try. Ayaka stepped out around the curtain that divided her space, to where Thoma was working. He had his head down, hand moving quickly as he composed a document. His eyes came up as Ayaka approached.

“What can I do for you?” Thoma asked, pausing writing and setting his quill down.

“I will be stepping out for the next hour.” Ayaka declared smoothly, leaving no room for objection. Not that she thought Thoma would, of course. “Please continue preparing for the festival.” That would alleviate some of her guilt for delaying her work.

Thoma merely smiled up at her. “Alright, have fun out there.” He added a wink on the end, though Ayaka didn’t understand why. There wasn’t anything particularly fun happening in town today, just the regular running of businesses and movement of people.

Ayaka nodded back at him, deciding not to ask for clarification. If there was something amiss, she would find out when she left. She turned away from Thoma and walked out of her quarters, then through the Kamisato complex.

Within a minute she was out of the building and strolling down the path towards the center of town. There were a few people out today, but no more than usual. They moved up and down the paths along with her, passing by without incident. She wondered what Thoma had been talking about; everything seemed normal so far.

It was warmer out in the sun, but just slightly. The weather was mild, an ideal temperature for walking around town. It had been cold this morning, so Ayaka was glad to feel the change.

As Ayaka reached the merchant stalls, the crowd thickened slightly. At least ten people were gathered in the center of the path, watching something that Ayaka couldn’t see. They all had their backs to her, blocking her view. This was concerning, especially if there was a problem. She might need to step in, but first she had to find out what was happening.

When Ayaka reached their backs she could hear the sound of clashing metal, along with a very familiar voice. Immediately Ayaka relaxed. If she was here then that meant…

“He’s going up!” The high pitch voice called. “Don’t let him get away!” That voice could only belong to one individual. To the left side, over the heads of the bystanders, a treasure hunter had appeared. He was climbing one of the stalls, trying to quickly scurry up the fabric side of it.

“On it.” The reply, from a much calmer voice, sent a trill down Ayaka’s spine. She was here. A gust of wind swept under the treasure hunter, who yelped as he was dislodged from the stall.

Ayaka stepped to the side, trying to move around the still growing crowd. One of the people near the back seemed to notice her, which caused him to quickly apologize and step away so she could pass through.

On the other side, the fight had already ended. Lumine stood over the fallen treasure hunter, sheathing her sword. Paimon flew over to her, chattering about how well the fight had gone. A guard stepped forward to take the treasure hunter into custody.

Every time she saw Lumine, Ayaka felt something strange in her chest. It was something like warmth, or perhaps burning; despite all the words in her vocabulary she wasn’t sure how to describe it.

She felt it now, searing through her as Lumine looked over with slightly widening eyes, and then a stunning smile. Ayaka couldn’t help but smile back.

The crowd around her had started to disperse, with a few people stepping forward to talk with Lumine. They pulled her attention away from Ayaka, who stepped aside to wait for a chance to speak with the traveler.

The citizens shook Lumine’s hand profusely, before loading her arms with a pile of flowers. After a minute they left as well, clearing the road for passage once again. Lumine carefully tucked the flowers into her bag, where they somehow fit easily.

Ayaka closed the distance between them, extending a polite greeting despite her excitement. “Good afternoon.”

“Hi Ayaka! It’s good to see you!” Paimon returned the greeting loudly, while Lumine nodded back. A small smile was present on her lips.

“You as well.” Ayaka looked between the pair as she stopped in front of them, eyes settling on Lumine. “What brings you to Inazuma city today?” It had been a while since she’d seen them.

“The usual, just out saving the world.” Paimon replied, drawing a chuckle from Lumine.

They certainly were, at least that’s how Ayaka viewed them. “You did a wonderful job with that treasure hunter.” Ayaka could’ve sworn that Lumine’s cheeks dusted pink at the compliment, but perhaps she imagined it.

“All in a day’s work.” Paimon spun in the air, flipping to Lumine’s other shoulder. “I think we’ve done enough for now, what do you think?”

“You’re right.” Lumine looked up at Paimon while she responded.

Oh, they were going to take a break. That was fitting, since Ayaka was doing the same. Maybe, and this was a stretch, maybe they could take their break together. Getting lunch in town was a normal thing to do, and doing it with a friend would be even more ordinary. Especially if that friend was Lumine.

“I, um.” Ayaka started to speak, then hesitated as Lumine’s eyes snapped to her. There was a weight to that stare, a question that Ayaka couldn’t fully understand. “Would you like to join me around the city? I do not need to be back at the complex for another hour.”

Lumine’s eyes softened, and Paimon answered for her as she often did. “That sounds great!” Lumine nodded, marking her agreement. “Where are you headed?” Paimon asked next.

There wasn’t really an answer to that. “Nowhere in particular.” Ayaka felt embarrassed for a moment, that she was out with no goal in mind, but reminded herself that this was Lumine. They had shared the journal and the festival together; she wouldn’t judge her for this. “Just getting some lunch and walking around.”

“How about dango, there’s a great stand down that way.” Lumine pointed down the hill, where the next area of stalls were set up.

“That sounds perfect.”

With that decided, the three turned to walk in that direction. Ayaka asked about the treasure hunter they apprehended earlier while they moved, and then listened as Paimon recounted the tale of how they caught him. Lumine cut in occasionally, providing corrections to Paimon’s exaggerations. They were a funny duo, playing off each other in this way.

It was a long story, that was just wrapping up as they reached the dango shop. “And then, he tried to run. That’s when you arrived!”

“He didn’t get far.” Lumine added dryly as they stopped in front of the dango shop. There were a few different choices today.

Each of the three ordered a different type of dango, which they received after a few minutes. They turned to walk back up the path while they ate, back up the hills towards the complex.

Paimon flew slightly ahead, quiet as she was engrossed in her meal. Ayaka and Lumine walked side by side behind her, each carrying their stick of dango.

“How’s it been going, doing ordinary things?” Lumine asked, the side of her right arm brushing Ayaka’s left one slightly. She carried her dango in her left hand.

“I am enjoying them, especially when you are here.” Ayaka responded honestly, before taking another bite of her dango. She had the stick in her right hand, where it was easier to eat from. She was distinctly aware of how their two empty hands nearly touched with each step.

Lumine only had a couple dango left. “Where should we go next?” They still had about half an hour until she needed to be back at the complex.

“Let’s just walk. That is a normal thing to do, right?”

“It is.” Lumine nodded, smiling over at Ayaka. Her eyes carried a welcoming warmth, the kindness Ayaka adored.

As they reached the stalls where Lumine had fought earlier, again there seemed to be a crowd gathered. This time they were watching some kind of a magic show, being performed in front of a stall. The crowd filled most of the path ahead.

When Ayaka felt a gentle touch on her left hand, she nearly froze everything three feet around her. Only the knowledge that Lumine was next to her prevented her from doing so. When she looked down, she saw that Lumine’s hand had carefully grasped hers, gently encompassing her fingers.

“It’ll be easier to stick together this way.” Lumine said, tugging softly to guide Ayaka around the crowd. She called once after Paimon, who was drifting towards the show.

Ayaka allowed herself to be pulled, still too surprised to so much as protest.

It was just hand holding, something friends did. Ayaka knew this, but it didn’t feel normal, the thundering of her heart so loud she was sure Lumine could hear it. The pulse of heat up her neck urging her to both pull away and hold on as tight as she could.

They quickly weaved around the crowd and back onto the path, but Lumine didn’t let go. Instead, she readjusted her hand so that their fingers were more closely intertwined. Lumine turned to her with a smile. “I’m glad I didn’t lose you.” Paimon, who had fallen behind, shouted at them to wait for her.

This was a perfectly ordinary behavior, and yet Ayaka’s heart was racing.

“That makes two of us.” She tightened her hand without thinking about it.

The two continued up the path, finishing their dango as they walked. It felt different than before, but Ayaka could get used to this. Her heart had largely settled, leaving a steady thrum of electricity under her skin. Lumine’s hand was pleasantly warm in hers.

When they reached the complex, it was time to part ways. About an hour had passed and Ayaka promised to be back by then. She reluctantly released Lumine’s hand so she could address the pair.

“We should be back by next week.” Paimon said, no longer angry about having been left behind.

“Please do come by when you are, we must do this again.” Ayaka’s eyes were locked onto Lumine’s as she spoke, hoping to convey her genuine feelings.

“We will, I promise.” Lumine asserted firmly, eyes steady and certain. She held eye contact for a moment, and Ayaka wondered if she had something else to say. Then, as if breaking a spell, Lumine turned away. “Let’s go, I think I heard a rumor at the dango shop.”

“Aye aye!”

For a few seconds, Ayaka watched them go. Her hand felt empty now, after all that time.

As she went back inside, she wondered if she should keep a journal. It wouldn't be like the one her mother wrote, but instead would capture the incredible things she experienced. These ordinary things she’d been doing were certainly turning out to be quite extraordinary.

Especially if she kept doing them with Lumine.

#ayaka x lumine #lumine #kamisato ayaka #lumine genshin impact #genshin fic #genshin fanfiction #idk how to tag this #fluff #hand holding #it's cute #i enjoyed the character quest #so freaking much #i just had to #flip writes

[honkster]

Why the Dream SMP’s way of storytelling is IMPOSSIBLE to recreate in any other medium.

This has been in the back of my mind for the longest time. I think I finally got it.

People have talked about this before, and they’ve put forward some good points, and good for them – most of them are correct. It’s the way the ccs interact with each other, it’s how plot is mixed in with banter, that’s all good! I wanna put more out there.

So you know how you open a book to read, you start a new show, you sit down to watch a movie – that’s all produced by some sort of company, someone who made it specifically for you to enjoy. You expect a certain dramatic flair to it, certain cinematic choices, certain ways of writing, certain camera angles, certain reactions to things. That’s just ingrained expectations of things now.

The DSMP? Doesn’t have that.

The low expectations work very much in its favor. It’s a Minecraft role-playing server with a bunch of famous youtubers/streamers, who are all good friends and have great dynamics with each other. So when you expect “just another Minecraft video” but in stream form, or you watch the videos because there are certain people in them, you don’t expect to be dropped into extreme lore and sensitive topics, realistic situations proposed in game form, a combination of serious stuff and just fun times with friends goofing around – and you’re pleasantly surprised.

We, the fandom, are used to it a bit more now. How excellently they manage to make a serious story in such a “ridiculous” medium, how much it affects us all and gets our creative juices flowing. But even the ccs can’t predict some of the things that happen. And that’s fun.

The whole election ending the way it has? That was on us. And it made some of the most angsty content there has been in the DSMP. People still theorize about the arc and make connections to now – that’s pog!

Fundy being adopted by Eret – that sparked the whole “Fundy just wants a dad – let’s get him some love” thing that made FundyWasTaken and other Fundy+someone ships happen. I see a different person paired with Fundy every week, and somehow, I agree with all of them. I really got into Fundy because of that stream where Eret “slept through the adoption” and Fundy confronted his real dad and spent time with his granddad. That little stream gave us more insight into Fundy’s whole character (Nevermind Fundy showing off his acting skills – you go you funky little fox), but also justifies some of his actions now. DryWaters? Wanting to kill Technoblade? Fucked up reasons, but we still love him.

Phil being broken out of house arrest ahead of time – still made a great stream and Phil agreeing with Techno’s want for revenge – that made us all very happy. The SBI!!! The AE! And that’s also a thing!

That even if we do know or have predicted what’s going to happen, begged it out of the ccs basically, it is still incredibly fun to watch. Where some books/shows/movies fall short and reveal too much and end up being “too predictable”, they’re not fun anymore. I read this somewhere before, that sometimes holding back EVERYTHING from the reader, and relying on shock value to make a good story is just bad. Whereas if you progress the story naturally and let the reader make some predictions of their own and then they end up being right – that’s a lot of serotonin right there. It’s the re-readability that makes it slightly better the second time.

The DSMP takes this concept and fucking yeets with it. Letting fans engage in the story, letting them theorize and then be right, even acknowledging the fanart that was made, just engaging with the community that their roleplay created – that makes it so much more fun. I bet that even if the whole script was revealed to the fandom we would still watch every plot stream. Even if we knew vaguely what happens in the stream, we would tune in and enjoy every second of it. Because the ccs are just that good, we love them that much, we love this plot that much.

Oh and the unpredictability helps too. Tommy in exile was the vague concept of a lot of the streams – it’s taken that and ran with it in a lot of different directions. All quite enjoyable.

Having said all of that… The fact that this type of telling a story is impossible to recreate in any other medium is… kinda saddening? It is incredibly unique, and I’d say has things that not a lot of the people that produce mainstream media would even consider. “Just friends hanging out” – how would that make the script progress? “Engagement with the fandom, even considering their wishes for the characters” – but we’re telling a story here!

The only thing I can think of that would come close to the vibe, would be just a bunch of writer friends coming together, thinking up a universe and general plot, and then each deciding to write a few of their own characters in that universe. When one author focuses on their main characters, the side ones can feel left in the dust, or not fleshed out. The DSMP is just “every character can write their own story”, which takes a lot of the strain from the “main writers”. But the general thing of “just friends hanging out” would be taken away from it. We’re being serious here, why would we change the tone so quick?

With all of that in mind… I kinda wanna make some predictions? And I don’t know if they’re correct, but it’s fun to theorize. See?

1. L’manburg will die.

And not just because Techno has 54 withers. The country is cursed – it definitely is. There is little sentimental value that can be felt for a few flimsy stilts built on top of a crater. It might go out in a blaze of glory, with the withers (Is history repeating itself an interesting enough plot point to recycle a whole arc?), but it might just be forgotten. Yeah there have been some angsty headcanons about how “no one cares about L’manburg anymore, save for two people” and it just gets abandoned, but how about it just becoming irrelevant?

This all comes back to Dream, it always does! His want, need for the server to be “one happy family again”, it just means one thing. He wants the server to return to the peaceful anarchy that it was before L’manburg. No rulers, no factions, no nothing.

That’s never going to happen.

Try as he might, Dream cannot affect that change that L’manburg did to the server. The introduction of a faction, one that can exist without the interference of a higher power – why do you think so many factions have sprouted up since? And it’s not even serious factions a lot of the time, it’s just a few friends deciding to build their bases on a plot of land that they claim is a nation now. L’manburg has changed the mindset of these people, now an alliance with somebody is a political move. An alliance doesn’t exist if it doesn’t have a faction, and that faction can remain neutral for only so long.

Basically, L’manburg introduced the factions mod into the server.

And the fact that every faction now has enough relevance to hold weight in a war also means that every nation on the server is doomed to follow the downfall of L’manburg. Eventually, they will get into a fight they can’t win, go up against the wrong people, anger someone they shouldn’t have. All factions will either be destroyed, or lose relevance, until their creators, residents and such just… move on.

(And really you can go into meta and talk about real governments and compare them, but it’s far more simple than that. The server isn’t built for peace, it isn’t meant to be a relaxing place where you can just vibe, it may have been made for a few friends to play Minecraft together, but it has turned into An Author’s Curse. The curse that follows any kind of story being told – the fact that peace is boring. People watched the first streams of the DSMP because they liked the ccs, and that’s valid. But how many more people tuned in to watch the war streams because there was PLOT and there was CHAOS and there WASN’T CALM PEACE ANYMORE – that’s the curse of every writer. That you can write about someone just living their life drama-free, you can make interesting peace with characters or circumstances, but it’s always leading to one inevitable conclusion – war, drama, because people read that. And at this point, it’s just a predictable outcome. No matter how much you say that you are retired, that you’re done with violence (Technoblade), something will happen that will prove to you that you believed in people too much. No matter how “neutral��� you may be in the matter, no matter how much you claim that you have no allegiance (Philza), you will be forced to pick one, because out of all the bad things, you pick the least worst one, the most appealing to you, the one that can benefit your want of revenge.

And I can go on, but this is far too deep for one simple reason – The Author’s Curse is so prevalent here because THERE ARE ABSOLUTELY NO STAKES. It’s a video game – you die? You respawn. Something gets destroyed? You can just rebuild. Sure, you’ll want to kill the person who did wrong to you, but whatever they did wrong can just be replaced, remade, recreated. So why not have wars? Why not cause massive amounts of destruction “for the plot”?

It’s literally a playground. How all authors have their little playground with their characters that they meticulously plan out, the DSMP is that playground for all of these people.

And it’s fun! Sure! I like it! I’m just really skeptical whenever someone in character says that they “just want peace”, “are retired”, “swear off violence”, “are building just a little city for themselves”. Because you can do that, nothing wrong. But eventually, no matter how much you distance yourself from all of the chaos happening, all of the wars, you will return.

Because it is just much more fun.

It’s the curse. A cursed cycle.

And everyone is in it.)

2. The prison.

I don’t have anything on the prison because I don’t have anything on the book. Yeah I’ve done a whole post where I overanalyze what it could be, but it doesn’t make it any clearer. Whatever it is, it’s made out to be a huge plot point, something that can only be revealed when the prison is finished.

Cursed. The prison’s reason for being constructed is the book, but the book is only relevant when the prison is finished. We can only wait, and theorize, as we do.

(My only theory is that the book is information about another op on the server. Or at least something related to op or creative mode. Dream only fears one thing on this server, and that’s Technoblade, so if his one fear is the most skilled player on the server, what else could give him existential fear?)

3. The SBI.

Again, I don’t have anything! Yeah the reunion seems to be going smoothly, one member at a time, but there is already conflict in their beliefs among each other. And all that’s happened is a vague “maybe one day we’ll strike”.

Is history repeating itself an interesting enough plot point to recycle a whole arc?

Is L’manburg’s destruction AGAIN really necessary to hammer home the idea that no one likes that place anymore?

I don’t know. Whatever happens, no one’s in the right. No one’s in the wrong either. They’re all not good people and that’s that on that.

4. The Clingy Duo.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

That’s all.

(Okay seriously? All of these arcs are connected. You know what happens when everything seems to be connected to one another?

A giant, dramatic final showdown between the two opposing sides.

Cause it’s just Chaos vs L’manburg. Those are the sides. People that want L’manburg to exist and people that want it gone. There are no other sides, there isn’t someone who’s like “Well maybe it can exist if we do this and this” cause no one wants to put in anymore effort into this cursed country. The only people were the clingy duo and now they’re separated and everyone is just leaving and Tommy is on the Chaos side like at this point he doesn’t care about L’manburg he just cares about Tubbo but he has to convince Tubbo to leave L’manburg but will Tubbo be convinced but will Tommy even consider leaving L’manburg and breaking free from its curse AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Goddamit.)

5. The Egg?

Dunno shit about it. Like the prison – it seems important, but we’re just not being given enough information. Is it a coincidence that the moment Dream commissioned the prison the Egg popped up? Or are the two directly related?

I don’t know. But as long as someone is finding ways to fight the Egg, that’s fantastic. Bad juju indeed.

6. Oh the Butcher Army want to kill Dream!

Hah.

Okay I’ve seen people make the case that the Army is just a bunch of people with trauma repeating the cycle of ab*se that they went through and yes.

Just yes.

And the fact that no one is actually looking at it that way and no one is there to like.. help them or even help them understand that what they are doing is just irrational, even though their reason for doing it and the result they hope to achieve is YES and the only thing that a lot of the people of the server who want peace should try to go for as well, they cannot stand up to Dream on their own. They just can’t, they will get punted into exile. They need allies, and they need powerful ones, people that have also been wronged by Dream and want him gone.

But the cycle continues, and no one knows where it ends.

(Okay but from a writing perspective? Getting rid of Dream is the end goal. It is the be all end all of all conflict, well… most of it, at least most that’s related to the supposed “good side”, or “the side that’s been most victimized”. But from the same perspective, that side is just… no longer. It has proven that is just as bad, if not worse than the final boss. I have to agree that Techno has to pay for his crimes, even though I like him a lot, but Techno did in fact cause insane damage. Yeah L’manburg rebuilt, yeah Wilbur probably caused more – still he isn’t completely free.

But that’s a discussion on morality more than laws.

L’manburg is doomed to die. Dream is doomed to be fought, and probably won against (simply because he has won far too many times already, you know how everyone seems to hate OP characters…). But the Butcher Army is doomed to fail against Dream. So how does that work?

Welp.

Is history repeating itself and interesting enough plot point to recycle a whole arc?

The answer is no.

I’ve repeated that question three times now, and the answer to it is no. No it is not. L’manburg can be destroyed again, and it can be rebuilt again, but the sentimentality that people feel for it will not remain. The cycle of history ends somewhere, and it’s not too far a fetch that it ends here.

So what happens when Technoblade, Philza and Tommy roll up to L’manburg with withers and a destruction wish, only to be met with a bunch of traumatized children with axes and a death wish?

Well, I’ll spare the details, but from a purely writing standpoint…

The two sides team up.

Think about it – The Butcher Army doesn’t care about Technoblade anymore. They’ve seen that Dream is the one pulling the strings, they know that even if they do care about trying to eliminate Technoblade again, they have to get rid of his strongest ally – Dream. But through their anger, they’ve lost their fear. You should fear Dream, he’s a fuckin op. Techno is correct in not wanting to go against him.

But after Tommy? After seeing the Butcher Army at their lowest, screeching about Dream being the villain?

Will Techno finally go past his thinking of “government is evil, always government is source of problem” and realize that Dream has the most evil government in mind for his rule?

I’m still kinda sad that Techno isn’t making the conclusions he should about Dream. But he’s starting to – and really, the SBI-Butcher Army team up is the most logical thing that could happen.

Watch me be completely wrong or miss something and I’ve got ALL of it wrong. I would love that.)

(Also it’s very funny to me that Dream is literally simping for Techno while he’s just here like “Listen bud I would stab you on sight if you didn’t have creative mode”. Dream KNOWS that Techno can and will kill him given the opportunity. Techno knows that that opportunity may never arise.

It’s a weird type of stalemate, to be sure. But goddamn is it interesting.)

Anyway... if you read through all of this... I could bake you a cookie? Thank you! I like to ramble.

#dream smp #gooood its just a block game #ITS JUST A BLOCK GAME #...dammit #anyway #debate me #on everything please

[mrpenguinpants]

Hey so that Dainsleif quest huh 👀

[Spoilers for those who haven't played it yet ofc]

.

.

.

These are just some disorganized initial thoughts for your consideration:

So I'm pretty sure his "travel companion" that he keeps mentioning is our twin

Does that mean our twin has gone to the exact same places as we've been going?? Dainsleif seemed to be familiar with all the locations we visited in Mondstadt but I suppose that could've been from an even earlier journey

And the possibility that the Abyss is trying to mislead us bc we hadn't encountered any abyss mages since Dvalin 🤔🤔🤔 what do they want??? We know (kinda) that our twin is watching our progress and that they're the prince/princess of the Abyss so like are they trying to keep us from getting in the way of their plans so as not to accidentally hurt us? Though something tells me we're gonna get tangled up in it one way or the other lmao

Dainsleif said that his goal is to oppose the Abyss so perhaps he's got his own secret plans to try to stop our twin (as is also supported by what he said at the end of the mortal travails video about proving ourselves worthy of stopping "her"/Lumine probably)

Also turns out I'd been pronouncing his name wrong the whole time lmao I had been saying dains-leaf instead of dains-lif

No Vision as confirmed by his full character model

Also his eyepatch is more of a phantom of the opera mask lmao

Important observation he looks like post timeskip Dimitri from a distance when I had to meet him in Dvalin's Lair I legit thought he was Dimitri for a sec XD

Anyway those were my thoughts about the new quest lmao my internet was cutting out the whole time while I was trying to play like dsfkdksjf pls I just wanted to talk to blond eyepatch man

Important part of this post: 

I took a lot of pictures of Dainsleif if you want to use them as references (or appreciation).  The pictures are under the read more tag so if you don’t want spoilers, don’t read anything and skip to the read more. 

Also, he calls you and your sibling “idiots” through money.

He asks for 500 mora and (this is probably just a coincidence but considering Zhongli tips Xiangling 888 mora I’m sus). The number 250  [二百五] or ( èr bǎi wǔ) means “idiot”. 

If someone calls you 250, they can say (nǐ shì wǔ bǎi) or “You are [250]”. But if you give someone 500, this can be taken as saying two people are stupid (250 + 250 = 500). I mean, that’s probably not how it works but I think it’s funny to imagine Dainsleif being too polite to call us stupid. 

---

I know right? When I saw the leak for it and seeing it confirmed in patch notes, I was so confused. Wha-Why are you here so early? I wasn’t expecting you for another 5 years at least. I’m happy to see you and your beautiful model in game but at the same time I was so worried that we were going to get crumbs of interactions. Same thing with Guizhong in Zhongli’s story quest. Genshin please...finish your stories (that’s fucking hilarious coming from me considering I still have a part 2 to Childe that I need to write), but I’m honestly just happy that he’s in the game. But yes 👀👀 more lore food. 

You know, I was talking about the archons a bit with @maagdalen and, I may have been misunderstanding or reading the wrong message, but they brought up the idea that what if the archons’ personality is based on their regions country's? So for example, Venti’s personality adopts the German mentality because Mondstadt was modelled after Germany? Obviously, I have no idea if that’s true because I’m not from or am German but in the context of Liyue and Zhongli. I can definitely see some sort of connection. 

But some food for thought:

“But cyro archon is very viable since she's suppose to be a kind hearted person that needed to be cold for the sake of freedom. or peace. something like that.”

 “Sorry, but this is stupidly Russian style. No matter what you say, people will always be dissatisfied. Of course it's not that bad...but it's something to think about.“ 

But yess, @svnflowery​ said the same thing. That Dainsleif was Lumine’s “guide” the same way Paimon is our guide. I actually think that’s an interesting idea. That Lumine has gone to the exact same places as we’ve been through. It actually makes me wonder (since we can play as both her and Aether), that Lumine went through the same story line as Aether. She met Venti, Zhongli, everything that’s happening right now. She’s already been through, then when she reached the Khaenri’ah chapter she failed. So she decided to spin the clock back and change destiny. I mean, this is me spit balling and I don’t think this happened but it’s something to think about. 

You know funny enough, hasn’t Venti been asleep for a while? Either way, he doesn’t really strike me as the type that truly wants to be an Archon. He says in his voicelines as well that “that’s a problem for Mondstadt to deal with”. So it would be easier for the Abyss Order to mess some things up. While Zhongli has been alive for 6000 years and I highly doubt Abyss Order can do anything to him haha. If we’re going on that “Lumine has already been through this journey” she could be trying to re-make or lead us on the same path. 

I wouldn’t be surprised if Dainsleif was our guide, then when Lumine spun the clock back and aligned herself with the abyss, that’s when they split. That could be a reason why he’s trying to oppose the abyss order but really I think it’s because the Abyss Order’s goal is to basically set the world on fire (or something like that). I always pronounce character names wrong and I don’t understand why people make such a big deal out of it. You know who I’m talking about, my pronunciation isn’t completely shit to the point you don’t know. So why do you keep yelling at me??

Also. The most important part of his quest was it was “Aether’s version” of the “We will be reunited” trailer. 

It even showed the crushed dandelion flower and the ruin guard footprints. IT’S OUR SISTER. 

I knoww, I was searching for his vision and got weird pics but that’s alright, I LOWKEY HATE THE OPERA MASK SO MUCH. GIVE ME ACTUAL MASK. THERE GOES THE “SEPERATE COLOURED EYE” ART OF KHAENRIAH PEOPLE. Yo, knock off Dimitri let’s go. 

I love Dainslief’s english voice but I hate Xiao’s en voice. What a dilemma. I usually play in chinese but wow does Dainslief sound old. Jp is slightly better but I hear grandpa vibes. Korean isn’t bad and I actually don’t mind korean xiao so korean we shall go. It’s weird. I like Dainsleif english voices, Xiao chinese voice, paimon korean voice haha. Jp is usually just good all around but I have preferences. But tyty for telling me your thoughts! I’d love to hear about the Xiao quest that just dropped. Beautiful boy 

sweats 

yeah about that...xiao scammed me. I wonder if his speech changes based on what you say. i kind of doubt it though. 

I’m looking at his outfit from every angle while Xiao stays pretty in the back. 

I like that you can see his magic arm there. 

While on this side you can’t. 

I swear this is for research. IM TRYING TO SEE IF HE HAS A VISION. IM INNOCENT!!

he also has some sort of weird...blue thingy on his foot?

Im using Xiao as a personfication of me BUT TELL ME YOUR SECRETS 

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin lore #genshin impact lore #genshin spoilers #genshin impact spoilers #genshin khaenri'ah #genshin impact khaenri'ah #genshin lumine #genshin impact lumine #genshin aether #genshin impact aether #genshin dainsleif #genshin impact dainsleif #lumine #aether #dainsleif #genshin 1.3 #genshin impact 1.3

[satansbooks]

Obey Me Headcanons

Reader is gn also winchester.

warnings: swear words. I don't know what to put in this. it's my first time actually so definitely be prepared of messy writing and some grammar mistakes?

a/n: hey! I hope you like it since I started watching supernatural again. I thought why don't I give it a try. I didn't add belphegor since this headcanon/fic takes a place in the first month of the whole exchange program. ✨here you are✨

word count: 1,7k

summary: reader is the youngest sibling of winchesters, end up in devildom.

okay so, you and your brothers were after a stupid shapeshifter for two weeks now and let me tell you that, being in a same car with your annoying brothers for two weeks without getting any rest to deal with them was sucked.

this shapeshifter (you guys were guessing he was an alpha since he was fast and wasn't struggling with shifting.) was homicidal maniac to be honest. he killed more than thirty children in a two weeks row and they were so random. like he was killing for fun. there were not any pattern or connection between them.

town to town, city to city. you and your brothers chased him non stoppingly. your body was craving for some bed to sleep on. or a pillow. or anything that is soft and resting. these leather seats were hella uncomfortable.

and still, still you had a very little information about him. he was leaving lots of trace for you to find him. he seemed like he was enjoying your little chasing game. well that makes one. because you were this close to lose your shit.

you were watching stars from your side of the car window while driving (the road was soo empty. you were sure you could drive with your eyes closed). your older brothers music was keeping you company on a low sound level to not to wake them up. normally Dean wouldn't trust you with his car but he was tired. after all he was driving for two weeks with a very little rest. he needed some sleep. at least more than six hours. and Sam, well he just likes sleeping and napping.

so when your vision blurred suddenly you act quick to pull over. without any second you found yourself in a room. it was like a court room with eight chairs. different animal shadows was painted on the walls behind the court chairs. dark decorations and purple&black flags all over the place. only some candles were lighting the whole room.

spooky?

later you found out you were in devildom as an exchange student for a whole year just because some fancy underground elite wanna show off to three realm that he's the one and only king that can bring peace and serenity. you were his little experiment.

anyone could tell you were beyond being angry. you were frustrated. and nothing, nothing you do could change that.

or you thought...

he knew keeping you under his control would be hard so he decided to do what he can do best.

dealing.

if you could stay here without giving him or the house of lamentation any trouble for a month, he was going to release you. but he was sure you would want to stay here after you spent a month. (he knew thanks to barbatos..)

you didn't say anything to him. you knew your brothers would come to get you before that. even if it means they have to destroy whole "devildom". you were sure. also you didn't have anything to use against these demons except your tattoo (which would only work if one of them wanna take over your body.) so the best option was keeping your mouth shut and agreeing with them. you just had to wait for a month.

first night was hard.

not that it got any easier for some time.

you couldn't sleep but who could have blame you. you were in hell. it doesn't matter which fancy name they were calling it. it was hell. the sulphuric smell was unbearable and of course you only had silver knives with you (you were carrying them in your shoe. they were kinda small but since a lot of creatures has a weak spot for silver the size didn't matter. you wished it could harm demons too) so you were unarmed.

they seemed nice tho. they were kind to you (most of the time) especially Beelzebub. so you thought to give them a shot. what could have happen worst?

Lucifer realized the runes you used to seal your room when he was bringing some paper work to your room about exchange program.

these kind of runes were useless here. but he didn't want to say anything to you, clearly you needed them.

Mammon was your 'first' guy. he was with you on your way to RAD and also in your classes. (Lucifer made sure that you two have the same class schedule) eventually you started talking with him because it was impossible not to. he was charming, talkative and funny. you would be lying if you said you wouldn't enjoying his company during your time with him. (especially after the whole pact thing. it only brought you two closer.)

you were quick to remove all runes in your room after that.  because you and mammon started watching movies together. sometimes Beel and Levi would join you.

and when you were not, you were with Asmodeus.

your father was trying to keep a balance between his kids and his hunting business, most of the time you were with your brothers. they were pretty protective over their younger sibling. that actually explained why you didn't have any friends.

so when asmodeus asked you to come shopping with him you were slightly shocked?

yeah, of course you and your brothers went to shopping but it was because of some necessity not for fun or spending your time.

but your nervousness passed quickly around him. he was lovely, and so very kind. you actually liked how straightforward he was. and this little "shopping sprees" turn into your things.

your first and genuine interactions with all of the brothers were on a dinner.

they were trying to scare mammon by using the so told "ghosts" in their house. they were just joking around but even the thought of them made the second eldest shudder.

you didn't say anything because you were enjoying your well-cooked meal which was from human realm (they decided to put some human world food in their menu in order to make you feel more comfortable)

"there's no such a thing as ghosts!"

Mammon said without waiting more. you could sense the anger mixing with fear in his voice. then you feel a sudden urge to laugh.

"oi, what are ya laughing at human!"

"of course there is Mammon. they're pretty common. I'm sure there is one in this house."

you couldn't stop your laughter. there wasn't anything funny about it actually but come to think of it, he was one of the most powerful demon in three realms and scared of low level creatures like ghosts?

brothers always forgot they actually have a hunter in their houses---

they all asked tons of questions about ghosts and other stuffs you've been hunting.

satan was the most curious one about this topic. he asked you many questions about them after dinner. of course he read all about them but it was just basic informations to be honest. (and they all sounded like a fairytale tbh)

please don't be surprised when he actually arranges some kind of hunting trip with you to examine them closely. lucifer didn't know about that.

but figured it out when two of you showed up to RAD very late, smelling like rock salt and fuel.

you gave him one of your notebooks (you started to take notes about the creatures you're hunting with your brothers just like your father did. you already had four notebooks for now. it was like diary.) to study. he appreciates it. :''

okay here's another thing, your older brothers appetite was something you've never seen before. or you thought before meeting with Beelzebub.

when you met Beelzebub for the first time you didn't mind his eagerness to eat that much. (Dean was your family's Beelzebub lol.) obviously you couldn't eat as much as he does but your company kept him happy.

he was giving you big-bear-hugs whenever you talk about your brothers or how bad you missed them. (he feels you :'))

you two started to go diners or whatever they were calling it so often. he was kind and thoughtful. even invited you to join him for workouts. (since you're not going hunting trips anymore, you decided to join him on gym to keep yourself and your form steady.)

after gym you usually would watch a show called "I'm an unstoppable powerful wizard but still don't know how to fall in love with someone so I'm hunting other creature's to forget about my massive heart-break but it's not really a heart-break." which was a good show to be honest.

thats how you got close with Levi. he already was impressed your skills as a hunter ('they're like, out of an anime!' he thought) so he invited you for long gaming sessions in his room. since you were always in a car. it was difficult first. but you got used to it. (he was good at teaching)

you spent tons of sleepless night with him: watching movies and animes, playing games, reading and re-acting manga scenes.

the most challenging demon to communicate was lucifer. he already met your brothers. and he didn't like them. he had a strong prejudice about you. he thought you were just like your brothers.

but after some time, when you started to get more comfortable around other brothers it also effected your relationship with the eldest.

and it all started with a dumb question.

he was doing some paperwork for lord diavolo with you about the exchange program. when you sighed for the millionth time in an hour. he had no choice but ask what was the problem.

"can you look into my eyes and ask me what do I truly desire?"

he was confused?

"I mean there's a Lucifer in human world who can bring people's darkest desires. so I was wondering if you could do the same."

now he was more confused.

there was a Lucifer in human realm? and what was his ability again?

when you try to explain him and failed over and over again you decided to show him.

and you two started to watch Lucifer.

he actually enjoyed spending some alone time with you.

after a month, your brothers never showed up. you didn't want them to. Lucifer said he taken care of them. and he promised that he didn't hurt them.

even if you missed your brothers too much. you knew one year wouldn't hurt anyone.

after all maybe that 'underground elite' was right. he was the one and only who could bring peace and serenity over the three realms...

and you were very thankful to him.

#supernatural #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #crossover #obey me headcanons #headcanons #winchester!reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #oh no i hope i dont suck #first try looolll

[xpao-bearx]

《Original post here》

Part 2 HERE

SUMMARY: [Supernatural TWD AU] In which Negan is a kinky incubus, Rick Grimes is your secret guardian angel, and Daryl Dixon is a gruff monster/demon hunter. Three drastically different men who can only agree on one thing: making you theirs.

PAIRINGS: Reader x Negan, Reader x Rick Grimes, Reader x Daryl Dixon (Polyamorous Ships)

RATING: Mature/18+/Romance & Smut. Please be prepared and do NOT report.

NOTE: This is actually my first time ever writing an xReader story series as well as writing on Tumblr (I usually only write on Wattpad). As such, it probs won't be perfect though I would SERIOUSLY appreciate your *respectful* feedback and support!

I understand writing xReader content can get a lil tricky, so please just keep in mind that not everything Y/N says or does would be something that you'd do IRL or even approve of. Also, sometimes I may not help but put a teeny bit of myself in Y/N...

Lastly, I recently got back into the TWD fandom after a looong ass time and I'm taking a while re-watching the whole show. So I apologize in advance if my portrayal of any of the characters are rusty or I may not remember too much of the events from the show, but I promise to do my very best and hope y'all enjoy~!! \(^o^)/

DEDICATED TO: The wonderful @blccdyknuckles and @negans-attagirl 💖

"Heavenly Sins"

Part 1

The sounds of laughter and easygoing chatter filled your ears as you walked closer to the church, a light breeze blowing through your F/C floral dress and the sun blinding your eyes. It was Sunday, most residents of the small town of Alexandria having gathered for mass.

It was a day like any other; peaceful and happy, children giggling and chasing each other around as their parents socialized outside before church could start.

Your heels clacking rhythmically on the pavement, you were just about to enter the building before a familiar voice called out.

"Y/N!"

Spinning, a huge smile instantly reached your ears as you saw none other than Carl Grimes waving enthusiastically at you as he jumped out of a car. From the driver's seat, his father soon followed as he stepped out.

Rick Grimes--dedicated sheriff of this fine town. His usual uniform forgone, instead replaced with a casual navy coloured suit. His baby blues met your E/C, flashing you a bright smile of his own that rivalled the sun itself.

Carl was running towards you now, and once in front he gave you a big hug.

"Settle down, cowboy! It's as if you haven't seen me in forever." You chuckled, ruffling Carl's hair affectionately.

"That's 'cause it did feel like forever." Carl pouted, eventually letting go as he looked up at you.

Before you can reply, Rick patted Carl's head and greeted you. "Hey, Y/N. How are things?" He asked in that endearing Southern accent of his.

"Just fine." You nodded, grinning before you couldn't help but let your gaze wander around a bit. "No Judith?"

It was then that Rick's smile faltered, but just barely. You nearly didn't catch it. "No. She's with her mom."

Rick was divorced from his ex-wife, Lori, after he discovered her cheating on him with his also now ex-bestfriend Shane Walsh. After the divorce, Shane and Lori quickly moved to the neighbouring community of Woodbury together and agreed on joint custody of the kids.

It really made your blood boil; you've interacted with Lori only a few times before so you didn't really have much of an opinion on her...that is, until, you learned what had happened between her and Rick. You knew it wasn't any of your business, but you cared about Rick a lot and he sure as hell didn't deserve to get cheated on.

"Oh." Was all you could say, quite stupidly. Your cheeks reddened, mentally slapping yourself before clearing your throat. "Will I see her in the daycare tomorrow, though?" You were a daycare teacher and even though you loved all of the kids, Judith was your favourite. She was simply such a sweetheart.

Rick nodded, his smile softening. "You got it."

You couldn't continue the conversation as the bells rang, making you jump out of your skin. Carl, noticing this, laughed which made you playfully roll your eyes before slinging an arm around him as all of you went inside.

♡♡♡

You took your place near the back of the church with Carl and Rick. Once everyone was settled and done singing, the service began and Father Gabriel stood on top of the podium. A few minutes into his sermon, the interruption of a motorcycle revving loudly outside sliced through the air. Gabriel flinched in surprise, and it was obvious he was desperately trying to keep his cool. Finally, when it was silent again, you found yourself biting back a smile knowing all too well who had caused the ruckus.

It seems Rick knew, too, judging from how his jaw clenched and his hands turned into tight fists.

The doors were thrown open, making Gabriel flinch once more and some of the congregation turning in the pews to look. But poor Gabriel quickly fumbled with his Bible, raising his voice just a tad to regain their attention.

There was a low whistle accompanying the approaching footsteps, but the congregation did their damn hardest to ignore the latest visitor.

"Damn... I assumed the church would be a lot more welcoming than this." A husky voice whispered, and you at last couldn't hold back as a smile broke through.

"Negan." You whispered back, turning slightly in your seat to see he has taken the spot behind you. His leather clad arms lackadaisically resting on your chair, the musky scent of his cologne invading your senses oh so wonderfully. "Fancy seeing you here."

"What? Is it really that surprising, darlin'?" He grinned, presenting a row of perfectly straight white teeth. "I go to church."

"Not all the time." You pointed out.

"Ah..." He chuckled softly, hazel eyes twinkling. "That's 'cause Father Creepy McGee over there is just that. Creepy. As. Shit."

You bit the inside of your cheeks, suppressing your laughter. True, Gabriel did have his moments, but he wasn't that bad. That didn't change the fact that Negan knew exactly how to tickle your funny bone, though.

He was new to Alexandria. It was a lovely town, but since it was relatively small not a lot of people want to move here not unless it was families looking for their children to grow up in a safe environment. Which was why it was quite a shock to find out that a single man like Negan chose this destination, and even more so when he took everyone aback with his infamous pottymouth and rather inappropriate charisma.

He had moved just a couple of houses down from yours, and you made it your mission to befriend him. Right from the get-go, he had piqued your interest and curiousity. He was different from everyone else--even possessing an air of mystery about him--and that definitely intrigued you. And also, perhaps you were just too nice and didn't want him to feel outcasted. Although, that didn't seem like an issue to him at all.

"Want one?" You were brought back to reality when you saw Negan's hand outstretched with a pack of cigarettes.

"Dude, we're in church." You reprimanded, frowning.

Negan didn't say anything, only cocking a brow and still with that same shit-eating grin. You sighed, finally giving in as you swiftly grabbed one and stashed it away in your purse for later.

"Y/N." You turned to the left, Rick's icy gaze piercing you. "Pay attention."

"R-Right. Sorry..." You mumbled sheepishly.

Carl, who was sitting in the middle of you and Rick, had dozed off. Rick nudged him, but the brunette only groaned softly and snuggled into Rick's chest. Defeated, the sheriff sighed and was just about to listen again to Gabriel before Negan cut in.

"Rick!" Negan purposely raised his voice, knowing it would get a rise out of the other man. "Didn't even see ya there. Howdy, cowboy!"

Rick grimaced, and it looked like he was just going to ignore Negan though he knew that if he did that then Negan would just irritate him even further. "Good to see you, Negan." He forced himself to say.

"Only you can say that while giving me such a deadly side eye, Grimes." Negan snickered. "How have you been? How's the wife?"

Rick flushed, his fists in a tight ball again and it looked like his nails would be digging into his skin. You abruptly swung into action, placing a hand on Rick's own.

"Rick..." You said gently. "It's okay. Calm down."

Rick did, his shoulders drooping as if a heavy weight had been lifted. He can barely pay any attention to Gabriel now, then you suddenly stood up and grabbed Negan's arm.

"We need to talk. Now."

"What, we going for a quickie?" Negan smirked, but that soon faded when he saw your serious expression. He sighed dramatically, reaching his full height as he towered over you before following you out.

At this point, you didn't care if people saw what transpired or would even start gossiping. No one, not even Negan, was allowed to harass Rick. He has helped you through so much shit--more than you'd like to admit--and you at least owed him this much.

Once outside, next to where Negan parked his motorcycle, you exploded. "What the fuck is with you?! You leave Rick alone, or I swear to fucking Christ I will--"

"Woah, woah, woah! Hold your horses, missy!" Negan guffawed, his hands up in mock surrender. "I mean, I like 'em feisty, but goddamn! Watch your fucking language."

"Tch. You're one to talk."

"Did you just scoff at me?" He raised his brows, putting his hands in his pockets as he slowly drew closer to you. A devilish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, tilting his head slightly. "No one's ever fucking scoffed at me and didn't regret it soon after."

You frowned, letting out a huff as you met his gaze challengingly. "As if you'd do anything to me."

He was silent for several moments before chuckling, leaning back against his motorcycle. "You're right. I have too much of a soft spot for ya." He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it then taking a drag. He drew his head upwards, puffing out the smoke. "Whaddya say we just forgive and forget? I truly am sorry. You can even tell Rick that I am metaphorically down on my goddamn knees begging for forgiveness~"

"I'm not forgiving or forgetting anything until you actually face Rick and apologize yourself." You muttered. And without another word, you spun on your heel and strutted back inside the church with your head held high.

Negan's intent stare lingered where your ass had just been, taking another long drag and letting out a small laugh to himself.

His eyes suddenly glowed a crimson red, a smirk playing on his lips.

Oh, he really did pick a GREAT one.

#The Walking Dead #TWD #The Walking Dead AU #TWD AU #Alternate Universe #AU #Romance #Smut #Mature #Story Series #Reader #Female Reader #x Reader #Negan #Rick Grimes #Daryl Dixon #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #JDM #Andrew Lincoln #Norman Reedus #Incubus!Negan #Guardian Angel!Rick Grimes #Monster/Demon Hunter!Daryl Dixon #Negan x Reader #Rick Grimes x Reader #Daryl Dixon x Reader #Reader x Negan #Reader x Rick Grimes #Reader x Daryl Dixon

[someguynamedstevewrites]

My Roommate is an Apparition: WHAT A HORRIBLE NIGHT TO HAVE A DAD - Part 2

Based on characters created by @reddpenn

————————————-

Oh man, am I late on posting this.  So many things going on.  Not to mention figuring out how to follow up the first part.

It seems people really like the first-person narration from “A-Pink-Ciation of Culture”, so I went with that again with this piece.

Almost DAILY, I get likes or re-blogs and the occasional follower despite not having posted anything since March.  I’m very curious and would like to hear from you readers about what you like about my writing and what appeals to you.  Eventually, I want to make a living off of writing, but until that time, I definitely could use any and all feedback.

Anyway, now that that’s out of the way, on with the story!

 From the Diary of Lily, March 1st, 2020:

Okay, diary, I’m coming to you because I honestly have no idea where else to go to try and sort through the evening I just had with my Dad and Tulpa.   I can’t put my finger on it, but something about tonight just... bothers me!  It’s like I’m on pins and needles and can’t stop thinking about, well, a LOT of stuff.  Just... hear me out and maybe it’ll make sense if I put this all down on paper (I.E. You).  I just spent the last twenty minutes trying to talk things through out loud, but that got me nowhere so here goes nothing:

First off, my Dad came to visit a week earlier than what I had planned, and immediately sets up shop in my living room with his NES and copy of Castlevania III.  Only problem was I hadn’t talked with Tulpa about his visit since I was expecting him until NEXT weekend.  I kept thinking that the last thing I wanted was for anything weird to happen during his visit.

Which, looking back on it, was a really stupid thing to worry about.

I mean, Dad’s a pretty open-minded guy and he’s quite weird himself.  He’s actually quite proud of his weirdness (embarrassing as it is sometimes).  He tends to under-react to all kinds of things like it’s no big deal.  I’ve even asked him why he doesn’t freak out about some of the stuff he comes across in real life or on TV, and he just tells me, “I’ve seen weirder.”   (If some of the stories he’s told me are true, then he has.  He really, REALLY has!)

For example: if Tulpa had come into the room holding a... I dunno, a plate or something, like would that really freak my Dad out?  Pfft, No!  He (maybe?) wouldn’t see her, all he’d see was a “flying saucer” (he deliberately would make that lame pun too), and then get back to his game.  Then later, he’d try and tell me about the real flying saucers he saw years ago, or something.

Since I had assumed that Dad wouldn’t have been able to see her, it eventually clicked in my head that what I was actually worrying about was, “what would Tulpa think of my Dad?”  He’s a huge Goofus that likes to make bad jokes, tell tall tales, and play video games!  And even if he did weird her out, it’s not like she could go anywhere... right?  I mean, she might avoid interacting with me because of him, but...

Oh...

Oh wow...

I just read what I just wrote and I can not believe I was being THAT irrational!  ( Man, people are stupid sometimes; me included!)

Avoid me because of my DAD!?   That’s gotta be the dumbest thing I’ve ever thought!   It’s not like he LIVES here or anything!   He’s not the one paying the rent; I am!  And... I’ve gotten to know Tulpa pretty well these past few months, but... I guess I still have a lot more to learn about her.  Case in point:

————————————-

So Tulpa tells me that she wants to meet my Dad, and after coming to my senses somewhat, I say she can sit in so long as she doesn’t touch anything (see flying saucer explanation above).  A few minutes later, she walks in looking like the tall girl from Keep Your Hands off Eizouken (I had to look the name up; I couldn’t remember it for the life of me).  By that I mean, she’s coming in as a tall, lanky, skinny, somewhat pale skinned girl looking to be about my age.  She’s wearing some modest clothes and, if I’m being honest with myself, they looked kind of cute in that outfit they had on.  It was a nice ensemble.

Then Dad says “Hi” to her.

...

Let me repeat that in case it hasn’t clicked with you yet.

My Dad GREETED her!

He! SAW! Her!

When I asked her about it later, she said to me that she thought that since he’s my Dad, then whatever it is that allows me to see her could be something my Dad has too.  So far, her theory has been proven right, but... I’m not one-hundred percent sure, because Tulpa... well... she changed.

And I’m being literal here, too!  She no longer had that transparency to her like usual.  She had a nose!  She had ears!  She had five fingers!  And she looked...

...well...

...good.

Tulpa said she had never tried doing this before, but figured that in the off-chance that her hunch was correct, she wanted to make a good impression on my Dad.  (Why do I keep thinking about that old joke in movies and TV shows about the overprotective Dad that threatens the boy about to go on a date with their daughter?)  She even went so far as to create her own “clothes”, saying she knew they’d be important.  Considering that she doesn’t wear (or need) clothes any other time, I ask her how she came to that conclusion.  I still have no idea what she meant when she suddenly bellowed out, “GOOD...!  GRIEF...!  HE’S...!  NAKED!”

[Edit:  It’s from Spongebob, because of course it was.]

So I’m not sure if Dad could see her because she purposely made herself opaque, or if he would have been able to see her if she wasn’t in her human “disguise” (and yes, I’m calling it a disguise and I’ll explain why a bit later, okay?).  But either way, she walks in and my Dad just starts chatting away like so:

————————————-

“Hi there! You must be Lily’s roommate!” says Dad.

At this point, I’m kind of frozen solid on the couch, just watching and listening as everything unfolds in front of me like it’s being burned into my retinas.  You know that saying about slow-motion train wrecks? Y’know, about how you can’t look away from them? This is probably why I remember the conversation so well.

“Heh...Hello,” she responds back nervously.

“I’m Lily’s Dad,” he says as if it wasn’t obvious, “Hope you don’t mind if we play some games out here.”

Tulpa shakes her head and stutters out, “No...N-not at all.”

“Great!” Dad responded with a smile that said, “Even if it was bothering you, I’m still going to take up the TV and play video games.  So nyeh!”  I’ve lived with him long enough to know that he’s not someone who would give up the TV without a fight.

(...gee... that kind of reminds me of someone now that I think about it...)

Tulpa then asks, “M-mind if... I watch?”

Dad gives her this big, goofy smile and responds with a, “Sure thing!” since despite him never admitting to it, he always liked having an audience around when he played games (or almost anything really) in hopes of “schooling” them. (Why he didn’t go into teaching, I will never understand.)

As soon as Dad turns back to his game and un-pauses it, Tulpa smiled, sat back, and looked content (Although it was a little weird seeing her smile with a nose to go along with it.) This snaps me out of my stupor long enough to scootch over to Tulpa and chat with her.

“You actually want to watch him play?” I ask her once more because the mere thought that she’d be interested in something outside of cartoons still hadn’t registered in my head, yet.

“Yeah...” she says as she starts to stare at the screen like she usually does during her cartoon time. “...sounded... familiar,” she said before looking up slightly while lost in thought, “...Simon... Belmont... Mega... Man... Kid... Icarus...” she said again as though that meant something. To me it just sounded almost like some kind of madness mantra, but...

“Oh! You mean Captain N: The Game Master!” my Dad chimed in out of seemingly nowhere.

“YES!” Tulpa said with excitement (worth noting that she doesn’t look excited very often, but when she does, she practically glows). “I remember...” she said before pausing to collect her thoughts and form the words she wanted to say. If I could have, I would have warned her about my Dad’s tendency to pounce on any hesitation in a conversation to take it over.

“Man, I haven’t seen Captain N in decades,” he said wistfully, “Surprised someone young as you remembers it.   I was in High School when that show came on!   When did you see it?”

“Ummm...” she hesitated, “...reruns... when I was... a kid.”

(As I’m writing this down now, I realize she was trying to hide her actual age from Dad. She looked to be in her early twenty’s like I was, but if she said she saw it when it came on the air originally, that’d make her over thirty years old at least.)

“Ahhhh! I see you have good taste in reruns!” Dad complimented.

“Th-thank you,” she stuttered back. As I listened to the awkward conversation of father-roommate bonding, I found my eyes constantly turning towards Tulpa. Not out of adoration or anything, but more like... studying her.

————————————-

On the one hand, she looked like the Tulpa that I had known ever since she became my roommate months ago.  But on the other hand, they somehow weren’t.   It’s kind of like when someone changes their looks a bit for maybe, I dunno, a night on the town, a job interview, a wedding, or something else along those lines.  Only in her case, “dressing up” meant adding additional body parts she didn’t normally have.

(To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure what to think about that...)

I’ve always been a firm believer of people being themselves, and being allowed to be themselves.  I can’t stand situations where people are unable to truly express themselves or feel comfortable.  Way I see it, life is too short to be spent worrying over stupid stuff that makes people miserable just so they can come off as normal.

Sometimes it’s because of social norms and expectations; those unspoken rules of life that people are supposed to just magically “know”.  Like if someone was going to a church or temple service, social norms say they need to wear their “Sunday Best” with stiff, itchy clothes that are dry clean only.  If I was able to go to a sermon wearing a baggy college sweatshirt, sweatpants, and slippers, and NOT be judged like I’m some kind of crazy hobo, it would have definitely made something like that more appealing to me.

Now I have nothing against anyone that likes to dress up in fancy clothes and wear them out and about; I mean, everyone likes different things, right? The point is that if I’m going to do something that makes me uncomfortable, it should be because I wanted to do it for myself.   I don’t think I should bend over backwards making myself feel bad (physically or mentally) for someone else’s sake.  Sure, call me selfish if you must, but I just can’t advocate for doing something that makes you feel bad because you wanted someone else to feel good.

I’m just thankful no one in my family has ever tried to push anything on me.  Sure, they’ve suggested things to me before, and of course made sure I didn’t do something stupid that would injure me or worse when I was too young to know better.  But overall, my family has given me a lot of freedom to do what I want, dress how I want, and be who I want to be.  Now that I think about it, I’m kind of lucky that way.

(I hope I’m making sense on this. Re-reading this, I’m not entirely sure if I do.)

————————————-

Anyway, I’m looking at Tulpa and watching them carefully, trying to figure out if they were comfortable looking like that or not.  She’s just sitting there watching my Dad play Castlevania III, and he was now on the haunted pirate ship with Trevor and Sypha.  He was breezing through at a pretty good pace and sharing an anecdote about how Warren Ellis figuratively gave him the “Turd Cape of Shame” on this old message board back when the Castlevania series on Netflix was just an idea back in 2007.  (I still am not entirely sure if that story is true or not.)

“Hey Lily,” Dad asks suddenly out of the blue, “got anything to drink?”  I offer him some lemonade, he accepts, and I go to the kitchen to pour him a glass.  As I’m doing this, I hear Dad ask Tulpa, “By the way, I don’t think I caught your name.  What was it again?”

“...Tulpa...” she says back to him.

My body freezes up for a moment as I realized that “Tulpa” is not an ordinary name.  I mean the first time she told me her name, it sounded like some kind of Pokémon.  Once again, that irrational fear of my Dad being weirded out or something enters my head, but is dispelled almost immediately.

“Tulpa?” my Dad says aloud to himself, “That’s a very interesting name.”

“T-Thank you...” she says back.

I walk in with a glass of pink lemonade and set it down on a little, folding TV dinner stand that was given to me when I first moved out for college.  I slowly sit back down again as I keep an eye on Dad.  His facial expression is the same as usual: relaxed.  You could call it a poker face, but I’ve seen him play poker and he is BAD at poker.

“Anyone in your family Buddhist?” my Dad asks casually.

I step in, “Dad!  What kind of a question is that!?”  And I meant what I said too. Who even asks something like that!?

“I was just wondering,” he says before once again shutting up and focusing on his game.

This is one of the things about my Dad that bugs me to no end: he likes to be cagey sometimes.  He’ll say something vague with the sole purpose of making the other person curious, confused, or both.  It leaves, like, questions in the back of your head that just start gnawing at your brain and won’t stop chewing away at your gray matter until you finally ask him to explain what the heck he was talking about.    He does this on purpose to “bait” people into asking him questions or to continue with what he’s saying.  So annoying!

I sigh, “Why’s that, Dad?”

He gives a little smile and continues, “Oh it’s just that this isn’t the first time I’ve heard the name “Tulpa” before, that’s all.”

NOW he has my total undivided attention and Tulpa’s too as we both unconsciously lean forward.  Practically in sync, we both say, “It’s not!?”

He’s still smiling as he says, “Nope.  First time I heard that name was when I was doing some monster research for a Castlevania Wiki I had been working on a while back.”

Tulpa practically gulps, “M-M-Monster...?”

“Well not really a monster,” he says back, “more like... a supernaturally, artificially created person.” 

(There are some times when my Dad can be down right spooky and creepy.  This was one of those times.)

Full Metal Alchemist immediately pops into my head, and without even hesitating, I ask, “Like a Homunculus?”

“Nah, more like...” he says before pausing his game and turning to Tulpa and I, “...an imaginary friend.”  Tulpa and I both tilt our heads in confusion.  Dad picks up on this and by now, he is practically glowing at this opportunity to share some weird thing he just happens to know something about.

He explains, “So there’s this word in Tibetan called “Sprul-Pa” which means “Manifestation”, okay?  And in early Buddhism, this is used as the explanation for how Gautama Buddha could travel to heavenly realms and come back again.  You could say he created a clone of himself in the other realm and then transmitted his consciousness to it from his body on Earth.  Kind of like a-”

By now, Tulpa and I were clearly on the same wavelength as she asks, “a Shadow Clone!?” at the exact same time I was thinking of it. Believe it!

Dad’s silent for a moment as he thinks to himself before finally going, “...uhhh... I guess... you could say that. I was thinking “Dream Body” but I suppose a shadow clone could work too.”  My Dad used to watch Naruto with me on Toonami years ago, so he knew full well what a shadow clone was.

He turns to face us as he continues talking, “The thing with a Tulpa is that it’s something made from nothing. A Homunculus, using your example, Lily, requires having the materials necessary to make an artificial being on hand before you can create them. But a Tulpa is willed into existence out of nothingness. It is created from the thoughts of the creator; known as a “Thoughtform” in some cases.”

(WHEN did my Dad even learn this stuff!?)

“The difference between a Tulpa and an imaginary friend,” my Dad continued to say, “is that while an imaginary friend is just that, someone that exists in your imagination, a Tulpa is made when someone’s thoughts are so strong that they will their imaginary friend into existence.”

I look over at Tulpa, and she is totally absorbed in what my Dad’s saying.

“Now from what I’ve read...” Oh my God, Dad! What have you even been reading!? “...it’s very difficult for one person alone to have enough psychic power to will a sentient being into creation. But if you had enough people thinking the same thing, and thinking about it hard enough, then, hypothetically, a Tulpa could be created.”

“So what you’re saying is if enough people think Bigfoot is real, then they can actually make it real just by believing in them?” I snark.

“Yeah, pretty much,” my Dad replies without detecting my snark at all.

“Or like...” Tulpa chimes in, “...how Tinkerbell is saved... by believing in fairies and... clapping hands?” I was a bit surprised Tulpa knew that since I couldn’t recall Disney’s Peter Pan having that scene in it.

Dad thinks about it for a moment, and then goes, “Hmmmmm... yeah! That too, I suppose.”

Right about then, Dad gets a notification on his phone. He pulls it out, looks at it, gets a somewhat serious look on his face, and then stands up and says, “Hey, I gotta make a phone call real quick. Mind if I...” he trails off.

“Yeah, sure thing, Dad,” I say back. He heads down the hallway to the guest bedroom and closes the door as he makes his call. It’s now just Tulpa and me in the living room, and we were both feeling super awkward. I turn to Tulpa and say, “So... did you know anything about all that?”

Tulpa shook her head, “N-n-no. First time I... I ever heard of... of it.” I could tell she was feeling nervous. She had started stuttering pretty badly.

All this time, I knew Tulpa was an apparition, but I never thought about what kind of apparition she was. It never really dawned on me that an apparition could have an origin story. With Tulpa, she was just... kind of there for me, and I never really questioned it. Her being her somehow felt, I dunno... “natural”, I guess.

I never thought I really needed to learn more about Tulpa, anyway. I mean, outside of the occasional mischief, Tulpa was perfectly harmless. Worst thing she ever did was the Pinkening (still don’t know how she did that), but that was partly on me because I was being a big dummy. Overall, she’s always been friendly, kind, and fun to be around, and that‘s always been good enough for me.

“You, uh...” I start to say, “...want to talk about it later?” Tulpa looks ahead of her kind of blankly, and I immediately add, “It’s okay if you don’t want to, Tulpa, I just-“

“Talk about what?” She asks, now looking at me kind of confused.

“About...” I trail off as I try to find the right words, “...about what my Dad just said and about... I dunno... where you came from?”

Tulpa clearly hadn’t thought about it before. She leaned back against the couch and audibly sighed (I think that was the first time I ever heard them sigh!), before saying, “I... don’t know... Lily...”

“Don’t know where you came from, or don’t know if you want to talk about it?” I asked her.

She thought for a moment before saying, “Both...”

I wanted to say something more to her, maybe give them some kind of reassurance, but I just couldn’t as long as my Dad was here! The frustration of wanting to talk about something with someone, but not being able to because of other people being around, is just AGONIZING!  If only Dad would hurry up and leave, but when he says he’s going to beat a video game, he’s going to beat a video game.  Problem was he hadn’t even made it to Dracula’s Castle yet, so who knew how much longer it would be?

Then Dad comes back in and says, “Hey, sorry about this, but I need to get going.”

HAAAAAALLEJUAH!!!

“Oh sweet merciful powers that be, THANK YOU! “  I thought to myself.  I was worried things were going to get all cringy like a bad self-insert fanfic.   “Aww, that’s too bad,” I fibbed out of politeness.  I mean, he’s my Dad and I love him and all, but... y’know...

“Yeah, I got a call from work and they need me to help out with something. ‘Fraid I have to cut my visit short, Lily.” My Dad powered off the Nintendo system and began packing it up. But then he suddenly stopped, looked up, then looked back at me and said, “Hey, you want to borrow my NES for a bit!?”

Dad suddenly leaving to take care of something for work happens every now and then, so that was no big surprise. But Dad suddenly saying he has to leave to take care of something and leave his NES in MY care!? THAT scared the pants off me!

“Oh my God, Dad... you’re not dying are you!?” I ask with a half-serious tone.

“What!? No! What gave you that idea!?” He shoots back.

“Because that’s the NES you’ve had ever since you were a kid! You have NEVER let anyone else look after it! EVER!” I remind him because it is one-hundred percent true.

His lame-sauce excuse was: “Hey, both of your uncles used to look after it!”

And then I remind him, “That’s because you all lived in the same house with grandma and grandpa!  Y’know, because you were all kids and everything!”

“They still took care of it,” he pouts.

“Only after they sneaked into your room, de-hooked it, and snuck it over to their room!  You know I’ve heard the stories at the family gatherings!, right?” This is all completely true.

————————————-

My Dad is the oldest of three, and at family gatherings, like around Thanksgiving, he and my uncles used to tell as many embarrassing stories about each other as possible like they were trying to one-up each other. Like, “Hey, remember that time you stuck a LEGO tire up your nose and had to go to the Emergency Room?”

And my uncle’s all like, “I WAS FOUR!”

Good times....

...now where was I?

Oh right!  Why leaving the Nintendo was a big deal!

————————————-

“C’mon, Dad,” I plead, “The only way I can see you willingly giving away your Nintendo, even if just for a little while, would be if you were on your death bed and filling out your last will and testament. So go on, spill it, what’s up with that?”

My Dad just had this look of offense on his face like I had seriously wounded him with my words. “I am NOT that overprotective of it!”

“Yes you are.”

“Okay, I am,” he admits way too quickly, “but I just thought that you having it might be a good idea in case you finally get some free time coming up. Best way to enjoy it is to play it, after all.”

I chuckle, “Dad, the only way work is going to give me enough time off to sit on my butt and play video games is if some horrible catastrophe caused the art store to shut down. Like, I dunno, a deadly virus or something.”

[EDIT, APRIL 12th, 2020: ME AND MY BIG FAT MOUTH!

AAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!]

Dad chuckles and say, “Yeah... you got a point there. Still, I think between you and your roommate, you’re both responsible adults now who can get some enjoyment out of it. I’m sure I can trust you two to take good care of it,” he says before raising an eyebrow, “or is there some reason I shouldn’t leave it here!?”

“Relax! We can look after it, Dad. Nothing’s going to happen to it,” I say as I whip my head back so fast it could have made a sonic boom. Just as I suspected, there was Tulpa sitting down in front of the Nintendo about ready to poke it with her finger. “Isn’t that right, Tulpa?” I say while looking straight at her.

“Y-yes...” she mutters.

Dad smiles at the two of us and then suddenly, out of the blue, he gives me this big ole bear hug and pats me on the back!  It’s the same kind of hug he gave me on my first day at school, when I was leaving for summer camp, and when I moved into my freshman dorm for college.  It was the kind of reassuring hug that says everything is going to be fine.  “Ohhhhhhh, look at you growing up and being all responsible! I’m so proud of you, Lily!”

“Dad!  Can’t breath, Dad!” I say before he finally lets go.

“Oh yeah, tomorrow, when you get a chance, make sure to pick up a couple packages of toilet paper,” he says casually, “your bathroom’s running low and now would be a good time to stock up.”

[EDIT April 12th, 2020: HE FREAKING KNEW! 

HOW!?!?!?]

“Thanks for the tip, Dad,” I respond before saying the thing that led to my Dad saying the other thing that would make my brain do somersaults for the next few hours and ultimately come to you, dear diary, “What brought up that little nugget of wisdom? Dad-ly Intuition?”  (Yes, that pun was intentional.)

“Well I’ve always considered myself to be a little psychic here and there,” he says about twenty-three seconds before the door closes and forty-five seconds before my face faults, “and you’ve always been a little psychic too, haven’t yah?”

“Sure Dad, I’ll catch you later,” I say waving goodbye.

“Take care, Lily!  Keep in touch!  Love you, sweetie!” he calls back as he’s walking into the hallway heading out,

“Love you too, Dad” I say as I close the door and lock the deadbolt. With that family obligation out of the way, I was feeling much better not having to worry about next weekend, not having to worry about Tulpa and Dad, and could just chill and relax and-

It was right about then that my eyes shot wide open as I stared ahead of me at nothing in particular.  The gears in my head started turning faster and faster as the past few months living here started to tie together.  Tulpa looks at me, slightly concerned.  She’s still in her “disguise”, but looks genuinely concerned.  She waves her hand it front of me and my mind is working at warp speed, so it doesn’t even register.

“Are you... okay... Lily?” she asks.

I slowly turn to look her in the eye, and then ask her flat out:

“Am I Psychic!?”

#my roommate is an apparition #reddpenn

[dramionecommentfest]

Reader Profile: Kiwi05622

The Dramione Comment Fest is the fest where readers take center stage! We’re excited to feature profiles of some of our readers throughout the course of the fest. First up, we have the most delightful and lovely @kiwi05622​!

Location: Middle East Hogwarts House: Slytherin Pronouns: she/her When did you start reading Dramione? How did you originally find fics to read?  I started reading in 2017… I think. Or was it 18? I'm not sure anymore. But one of those years lol! So yes, I'm still relatively new to the fandom. But I have devoured so much that it's come to the point where all the stories I've read have started to mingle with each other, and I can't tell you which story is which unless it had a massive impression on me and stood out. How did I find fics? I had this friend of mine, who was a closeted fic reader (I will never forgive her for not introducing me to this world sooner) that kept on dropping these obscure hints my way whenever Harry Potter would come up in our discussions, which was often. She would call me and ask what I'm doing, and my answer would either be, I'm reading HP, or watching one of the movies. She never once judged me or asked me why I'm spending so much time re-reading and rewatching, and I love her for that. One night, she got a little frustrated with me when I whined about NEEDING MORE of it, and she snapped. She was like KIWI JUST GIVE ME TWO CHARACTERS THAT YOU LOVE, and I shyly replied Hermione and Draco? She had the audacity to sigh (she is not a Dramione lover by any means). She sent me a link to Ao3 with a message "Welcome to my life, and I wish you luck stepping foot inside this black hole. Bye.” because I didn't know better. I didn't know what I was getting myself into, I clicked on the FIRST link I found, and this is how Bleak Manor by Pushthebutton became the first story that made me -surprisingly- fall in love with Dramione and fan fiction.  How have you gotten more involved in the Dramione community? What platforms/websites have you participated in, and which do you like? I'm not VERY involved in the fandom, if I'm honest. I'm an introvert by nature. Even though I started reading years ago, I only started joining Facebook groups last year. From there, I stumbled onto Tumblr (which was the weirdest platform I've ever been on, but now I LOVE IT), which then led me to Discord. This is where I'm currently stationed. I'm not as active as I used to be on Facebook. I also reached out to many people on Discord and found friends that I no longer call "internet friends," and I find it easier to communicate to authors over there.

Tell us about any reading preferences or practices!  Okay, I won't talk about my past habits, because looking back, it was really unhealthy. But I remember I used to read at every waking hour; I would only *sleep* to generate energy to keep ongoing: Goodbye food and social life. However, now, I dedicate time to reading, and it's usually 2 hours before I sleep. So I'll have dinner, and then open up my kindle and read until my eyes can't stay open. My days are usually spent talking to friends and doing many things that need to get done. I started off reading with my laptop until my boyfriend got annoyed by the bright lights emanating from my screen (honestly I didn't even think about reading from my phone). He later suggested reading from the iPad, and I stuck to that for a fair bit, until one night, I ran out of battery, and I couldn’t find the charger, so I reluctantly read from my phone, which I later obviously loved. I could read on the train, while making dinner, taking a walk (because we all need to exercise at some point). Then, after my boyfriend was SURE this wasn't just a phase, and I'll probably be reading for the rest of my life, he surprised me with a kindle, and the rest is history.  

Do you like to leave comments? If so, what is your advice for leaving comments?  If I'm completely honest with you, sometimes. I'm guilty of moving on from a chapter to chapter without taking a moment to comment. Telling myself that I'll go back and let the author know how much I enjoyed this part or that part. But I forget. Once I'm done with a story, I want to MOVE ON to the next one. However, in the past year, I've made an active effort to write down everything I feel on my phone while I read on my kindle, so I can go back and paste my review. That’s the other thing, I read SO much from my kindle, that it makes it so easy to forget to go back online and submit a review. And with Discord, I usually read with my friends, and sometimes the author will be there while we talk, theorise and flail all over their work. It's a much more interactive experience. I think authors would prefer that over a thank you. This isn't to say that a thank you doesn't go a long way or isn't appreciative, but honestly, how many times can an author say you're welcome? Or thank you for reading? This takes me to the second part of your question. The one advice I would give is, don't expect a response back. Do it because you genuinely liked it. Suppose we keep expecting and wanting the author to respond, especially if a chapter gets SO MANY reviews. In that case, it might seem disheartening to the reviewer, and they're left feeling unseen or that their review was lacking, which isn't the case most of the time. Tell them how it made you feel, which parts did you love, which string of emotion was plucked and left vibrating in your chest. Tell them that. But also, saying a simple thank you is enough. Personally, I would go to the last chapter and tell the author how much I've enjoyed their story if it's a story that was posted years or months back. If it's a story published years ago and they seem inactive, I would slide into their DMs and flail all over the story. You'd be surprised how many actually respond.

What is your all-time favorite fic you’ve read?  ALL TIME FAVOURITE is such a difficult question to answer. So I’ll compromise and tell you which one I really really really LOVE but also list a few that I can't be parted with. If my room was caught on fire and I had all these stories in front of me and I had to only choose ONE I would say Risk Reward Ratio by @MissiAmphetamine and its sequel! Okay, I know I cheated, but *sigh* honestly I love it. And I’m not sorry about it either. It's not what you would typically hear because it's not really a fluffy story and there are some questionable actions, plots and let’s not start discussing their relationship. But you see, I enjoy a story that questions my morals sometimes, where I find myself asking “what would I do in this situation?” Plus, as you’ll see below, I have a thing for angst with a happy ending. That being said, I also love love love these stories and they each hold meaning to me, because I've read them at various stages of my life: 

Redemption by @anondracomalfoy (wonderfully written story and very enjoyable!!! It’s a memory trope mixed with some suspense)

Revert by SUPRNTRAL LVR (this is when I found out that I can actually cry while reading a story lol) 

Remain Nameless by @heyjude19-writing (I will FOREVER love this story and no one can taint it for me. If you ONLY knew how much this story means to me *cough* I spent every moment I wasn’t reading this making her moodboards that's how much it moved me *cough*)

The Art of Betrayal by @hathawaywrites

Across The Hall by @takingflight48 (this one just hold a special place in my heart)

Thirteenth Night by Nelpher (This is the story that changed my mind about memory loss trope which is my LEAST favourite)

Nightmares and Nocturnes by @olivieblake (one of the most creative and unique war stories ever written)

Hindsight by @floorcoaster (This changed my mind about T rated stories)

Broken by @inadaze22 (this taught me a lesson to READ THE TAGS, but the pain was worth it)

Sugar and Spice by @inlovewithforever (ummmm do I need to say more? This is one of the best triads I've ever read)

Looking Glass by @kyonomiko​ (Every time I'm in a rut I go back to THIS and it never fails to bring me back to life and remind me why I fell in love with these two. It's light hearted, funny and has my second OTP. it's a win-win for me)

Find Your Way Back by @willhavetheirtrinkets​ (Musyc) (I will forever rec this story to everyone)

Pound of Flesh by @pennilynnovus​ (HELLO STRIPPER DRACO! This one tore my heart out, I love it!)

Honestly, the list can go on and on and on. There are just SO many good ones out there that I haven't mentioned yet, but I wanted to list only a few that I will always go back and re-read. Also, just because I haven't mentioned the ones that we keep seeing everywhere, doesn't mean I didn't enjoy them or loved them! 

What fic gave you the most feels? Definitely “Risk Reward Ratio.” It gave me SO much feels. Some were good, and some were pretty bad. It took me on a wild roller coaster ride. I was happy, sad, angry, happy, sad, angry. I laughed hard in some places, I cried even harder in others, I wanted to pull my hair out MOST of the time, and some parts were oh so good the butterflies wouldn't settle the fuck down. But ehh I like what I like, and I'm unapologetic about it. :D

Who is your favorite side character from any Dramione fic? This one is easy! Theo-fucking-Nott! Without a shadow of a doubt. You want to make him the most awesome sidekick character, go right ahead. The best bro, be my guest. The one that has secret feelings for Hermione? GIVE ME THAT TRIAD!!!!! You dare to make him evil? FUCK YES! I'm SO here for it. Even if he is one, I will STILL love him. I always get slightly giddy when Theo makes an appearance, and I tend to enjoy the story that much more. He's an interesting character to me because he's ambiguous. Canon never gave us much about his personality and reading how everyone interprets him makes him one the most versatile characters in my humble opinion. :D

Last question: Do you really like kiwis?? Hahaha!!!! Yes, I really do. This name was given to me by the people who were worried I had a mild obsession with kiwis. You don't have to ask me what I need from the store, because my answer would always be “we've run out of kiwis, BRING ME SOME MORE.” However, let me just make it clear that I'm not a heathen and I don't eat them with their skin on (no judgment if you do).

Thank you so much, Kiwi, for sharing with us! The Dramione community is lucky to have you <3 

Don’t forget, sign ups for the Dramione Comment Fest close February 6, 2021. Check out the rules here and sign up for the fest here.

#dramione comment fest #dramione #dramione fanfic #dramione fest #reader profile #we heart readers #kiwi is the best #we heart kiwi #dramione fanfic recommendations

[saundraswriting]

Cosmogyral

I decided to participate in a writing challenge for a great author, Georgie at @bonkywobble. This is the first of two prompts for this challenge. I hope you enjoy it! 

SUMMARY: Cosmogyral: (Adj.) Whirling around the universe. Bucky stops whirling about the universe once the reader enters his life. 

This is being posted on my writing blog instead of my main blog @saundrasays. Please check out my other works if you wish. 

Masterlist // Ao3

Recovery was hard. Shuri and everyone in Wakanda did what they could for him. They were able to somehow fix his brainwaves into being triggerless, but he still had so much trauma to work through that some days he could barely move. There were days that the weight of the world bent his back, his hands were stained red. His time in Wakanda helped him learn how to be human again, caring for the goats and interacting with people, he even relearned his strength. He was able to train and spar and not kill and that did great things for his mental health. He was stable, but not happy. He wasn’t sure what would make him happy anymore.

“Hey, Buck.” A deep voice came through the sparring room. Bucky looked over from where he was working at a punching bag. His eye brightened significantly seeing you and Steve come through the door.

“Y/N! Hey. Good to see you too, Steve.” Bucky smiled, walking over to them. Steve shot Bucky a knowing grin at the enthusiasm but said nothing.

“We came to move you out of basic training, dingbat.” You were rocking back and forth from toe to heel, excitement palatable. “You based all your checks and Shuri and the others gave the recommendation for a return to New York.” You were grinning from ear to ear. You and Bucky had grown close over the events with Zemo and the almost Civil War.

You were one of the few that successfully drove attention from the in-fighting to the bigger problems, also pointed out that the Accords as they were written were terrible. Your involvement led to a peaceful reconciliation and explanation instead of a practical disbandment of the Avengers, much to yours and everyone’s pleasure. You worked closely with everyone to get their opinions and strived to find solutions, one of those was a location change. You suggested a move to somewhere out of sight, fit for training and bonding. No one was against you and as such you were along for the ride to collect one of the remaining members.

“Wait, what? I can go home?” Bucky froze, mouth slightly open and eyes wide. Then slowly, like a sunrise a grin crossed his face. His eyes scrunched up and he had dimples on his cheeks. The shoulders that seemed to be weighed down by something relaxed and eased, making him seem younger.

“Yep! We are gonna help ya pack and then get you home. Well sort of. We don’t live in the city proper anymore. But I think you will like this better, anyways.” You put your hand to the side of your mouth to whisper. “It was my idea.” You winked and turned quickly on your heel. “Hurry the hell up, oldies. We got shit to do and places to be.” You trotted out of the room hollering for Shuri, even though you knew exactly where she was.

“You heard her. Let’s get a move on. She waits for no man, let alone to 100 year old super soldiers.” Steve clapped Bucky on the back. Bucky huffed and nodded. The two of them cleaned up Bucky’s small mess and then slowly made their way to his small house to pack his meager belongings. They knew you would find them eventually. You had friends in Wakanda too.

A few hours later, Bucky’s last two years of his life were packed in discreet plain cardboard boxes the fit easily into the back of the Quinjet. Bucky had already said his goodbyes and was anxiously waiting in a sit behind Steve. You were at least on the ramp, loitering in your goodbyes, you were laughing and waving as the door closed. You settled down for take off and noticed Bucky’s look.

“You do know that not having a lot of thigs isn’t a bad thing, right? That just means you weren’t meant to settle down there. The next place I hope for you is a forever place and if not, I’ll help you find it. We have all the time you need. You aren’t alone anymore.” You said. You were trying to comfort Bucky, but knew you fell short.

“I guess that is true. I was too busy learning to heal and get healthy to be worried about stuff. I can get things now. I can have stuff.” Bucky said. He grabbed your hand and squeezed.

“Yep. You get to be a person now, isn’t that great. Decisions are all around you.” You said. You squeezed his hand back. “I know I just said that but to make the move easier and a bigger surprise, I did choose some of the things for your room, which if you don’t like we can change.” You let go of Bucky’s hand before settling down in your chair.

“This is your captain speaking. We have reached cruising altitude. I would like to thank you for flying Stark Air and Have a wonderful day.” Steve said from the cockpit.

You sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose. “Great. Thanks, Steve. I have so much shit to do. I have three godamn reports to file and a STRIKE team to brief for Fury. I’ll be in the tech room if you need me.” With that you headed off to a small room to the side, where you began briefing the team you’d mentioned and reviewing the reports you needed to file.

“Bucky, you can sit up here. I don’t bite.” Steve said. He and you had worn civilian clothes, Steve was relaxed in his seat, letting the auto pilot have control. “I hope you liked your surprise. I hope you like your surprise. She worked very hard on it. She’s sweet on you.”

“Nah. She’s sweet on everyone. I am sure I will like it. She gets me pretty well. When I first woke up here, after Shuri cleared me of triggers, she was one of the first people I met. She happened to be walking through the lab and somehow knew that I was uncomfortable with the prodding even though I didn’t know. Then in a snap, she was everywhere. Not maliciously, just comfortingly on the edge of my radar, especially at the beginning. It’s no wonder, why I love her the way I do. She means a lot to me. Right now, I am okay with it being sweetness and softness and warmth. If one day it becomes thick and heavy and hot then I am okay with that too.” Bucky said. He couldn’t look Steve in the eye, only able to focus on his fingers, rubbing his human fingers against his cybernetic ones.

“Well then. I think I am embarrassed, and I was the one who mentioned it.” Steve could feel the heat on his cheeks. He laughed softly. “I am happy for you Bucky. I really am.”

The two of them chatted for most of the ride, finally you joined in after getting your work done. All too soon though, the jet alerted everyone to the start of the descent, forcing you all to return to your seats. Upon arrival, the boxes were left to be delivered later by a shield team. You and Steve had explained the upstate compound to him while packing in Wakanda, the solution to many problems, a training ground for new Avenger candidates and such. Your trio headed straight to Bucky’s room, the anticipation making you tremble.

“This is my room, but you look more excited.” Bucky pointed out. The two of you had been walking next to each other from the hangar but every few feet somehow, you’d shifted to the right or left, orbiting each other. Steve could barely stomach the nauseating aura the two of you put off. You couldn’t stop smiling and your kept clapping every few steps laughing in excitement.

“My love language is acts of service for a reason, buckaroo. I like doing things for the resident dumbass.” You grinned, reaching for Bucky’s hand, that was already reaching for yours. Steve silently gagged from behind the two of you.

The three of you reached the room, but Steve kept going. This wasn’t something he wanted to intrude upon. He had seen and heard enough with all your questions you had for him. You and Bucky stopped in front of his door. There was a biometric scanner next to the door but also a regular lock. You pulled a single key on a goat keychain and handed it over, your fingers trembling. Bucky grabbed on, his fingers brushing yours. You didn’t let go just yet.

“Welcome home, Sargent James Buchanan Barnes.” You took a deep breath and let go of the keys.

“Thank you. I promise, there is no need to be nervous. You did this for me, out of the goodness of your heart, I will love it.” ‘I already love you.’ He thought, he swallowed the words down though. He unlocked the door, ignoring his own nerves and pushed the door open.

His room had several big windows with a window seat, overlooking the acres and acres of land. There were shelves along one wall, several filled with books already, and movies. There were several plants hanging near the window seat. The walls were a muted blue/gray color and the sheets were chocolate color with what looked like a dozen pillows. The ceiling however was covered in a projection it looked like. It was too real to be painted but too artificial to be real. It was soothing and inviting and had just the right things to make him feel welcomed into his new home.

“The ceiling is something Shuri helped with. It is a projection from tech in the top of your walls. You can change it to project and sky from anywhere. Just ask SKYNET.” Bucky looked at you in awe. You had worked so hard to make him a place to call his own. “There are some books, movies, video games. The computer and tablet and phone are loaded to go with logins and apps and payment methods, I wrote down all that in a notebook in the desk too. I have a re-education guide for pop culture there too, same one I used for Steve except yours is more cause documentaries and I know you’d enjoy it more. I stocked the kitchenette with stuff already, nothing super perishable but snack foods and such.” You were rambling to cover your nerves; you both knew it. The more you spoke the more embarrassed you got. The more you talked the more Bucky felt his whole world shift, his entire existence tightened, to you and only you.

Recovery was hard, especially had been hard on him. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing or where he was going. He was just floating, purposeless until you.

“Do you like it?” Bucky realized he had been staring not at the room but at you while you were talking. He could see the love and care you put into the room, not just the room but into your wordless confession.  

“Yeah, I love you.” Bucky grabbed your hand, pulling you into a tight hug.

#saundrasays #bonkyshalfwayto1k #saundraswriting #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift’s ‘Folklore’: Album Review

It’s hard to remember any contemporary pop superstar that has indulged in a more serious, or successful, act of sonic palette cleansing than Swift has with her eighth album, a highly subdued but rich affair written and recorded in quarantine conditions.

While most of us spent the last four months putting on some variation of “the quarantine 15,” Taylor Swift has been secretly working on the “Folklore” 16. Sprung Thursday night with less than a day’s notice, her eighth album is a fully rounded collection of songs that sounds like it was years in the interactive making, not the product of a quarter-year’s worth of file-sharing from splendid isolation. Mind you, the words “pandemic hero” should probably be reserved for actual frontline workers and not topline artistes. But there’s a bit of Rosie the Riveter spirit in how Swift has become the first major pop artist to deliver a first-rank album that went from germination to being completely locked down in the midst of a national lockdown.

The themes and tone of “Folklore,” though, are a little less “We can do it!” and a little more “Can we do it?” Because this new collection is Swift’s most overtly contemplative — as opposed to covertly reflective — album since the fan favorite “Red.” Actually, that’s an understatement. “Red” seems like a Chainsmokers album compared to the wholly banger-free “Folklore,” which lives up to the first half of its title by divesting itself of any lingering traces of Max Martin-ized dance-pop and presenting Swift, afresh, as your favorite new indie-electro-folk/chamber-pop balladeer. For fans that relished these undertones of Swift’s in the past, it will come as a side of her they know and love all too well. For anyone who still has last year’s “You Need to Calm Down” primarily in mind, it will come as a jolting act of manual downshifting into actually calming down. At least this one won’t require an album-length Ryan Adams remake to convince anyone that there’s songwriting there. The best comparison might be to take “Clean,” the unrepresentative denouement of “1989,” and… imagine a whole album of that. Really, it’s hard to remember any pop star in our lifetimes that has indulged in a more serious act of sonic palette cleansing.

The tone of this release won’t come as a midnight shock to anyone who took spoilers from the announcement earlier in the day that a majority of the tracks were co-written with and produced by the National’s Aaron Dessner, or that the man replacing Panic! at the Disco’s Brendon Urie as this album’s lone duet partner is Bon Iver. No matter how much credit you may have given Swift in the past for thinking and working outside of her box, a startled laugh may have been in order for just how unexpected these names felt on the bingo card of musical dignitaries you expected to find the woman who just put out “Me!” working with next. But her creative intuition hasn’t led her into an oil-and-water collaboration yet. Dessner turns out to be an ideal partner, with as much virtuosic, multi-instrumental know-how (particularly useful in a pandemic) as the most favored writer-producer on last year’s “Lover” album, Jack Antonoff.

He, too, is present and accounted for on “Folklore,” to a slightly lesser extent, and together Antonoff and Dessner make for a surprisingly well-matched support-staff tag team. Swift’s collabs with the National’s MVP clearly set the tone for the project, with a lot of fingerpicking, real strings, mellow drum programming and Mellotrons. You can sense Antonoff, in the songs he did with Swift, working to meet the mood and style of what Dessner had done or would be doing with her, and bringing out his own lesser-known acoustic and lightly orchestrated side. As good of a mesh as the album is, though, it’s usually not too hard to figure out who worked on which song — Dessner’s contributions often feel like nearly neo-classical piano or guitar riffs that Swift toplined over, while Antonoff works a little more toward buttressing slightly more familiar sounding pop melodies of Swift’s, dressed up or down to meet the more somber-sounding occasion.

For some fans, it might take a couple of spins around the block with this very different model to become re-accustomed to how there’s still the same power under the hood here. And that’s really all Swift, whose genius for conversational melodies and knack for giving every chorus a telling new twist every time around remain unmistakable trademarks. Thematically, it’s a bit more of a hodgepodge than more clearly autobiographical albums like “Lover” and “Reputation” before it have been. Swift has always described her albums as being like diaries of a certain period of time, and a few songs here obviously fit that bill, as continuations of the newfound contentment she explored in the last album and a half. But there’s also a higher degree of fictionalization than perhaps she’s gone for in the past, including what she’s described as a trilogy of songs revolving around a high school love triangle. The fact that she refers to herself, by name, as “James” in the song “Betty” is a good indicator that not everything here is ripped from today’s headlines or diary entries.

But, hell, some of it sure is. Anyone looking for lyrical Easter eggs to confirm that Swift still draws from her own life will be particularly pleased by the song “Invisible String,” a sort of “bless the broken roads that led me to you” type song that finds fulfillment in a current partner who once wore a teal shirt while working as a young man in a yogurt shop, even as Swift was dreaming of the perfect romance hanging out in Nashville’s Centennial Park. (A quick Google search reveals that, yes, Joe Alwyn was once an essential worker in London’s fro-yo industry.) There’s also a sly bit of self-referencing as Swift follows this golden thread that fatefully linked them: “Bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to L.A.,” she sings. The “dive bar” that was first established as the scene of a meet-cute two albums ago makes a reappearance in this song, too.

As for actual bad blood? It barely features into “Folklore,” in any substantial, true-life-details way, counter to her reputation for writing lyrics that are better than revenge. But when it does, woe unto he who has crossed the T’s and dotted the I’s on a contract that Swift feels was a double-cross. At least, we can strongly suspect what or who the actual subject is of “Mad Woman,” this album’s one real moment of vituperation. “What did you think I’d say to that?” Swift sings in the opening lines. “Does a scorpion sting when fighting back? / They strike to kill / And you know I will.” Soon, she’s adding gas to the fire: “Now I breathe flames each time I talk / My cannons all firing at your yacht / They say ‘move on’ / But you know I won’t / … women like hunting witches, too.” A coup de gras is delivered: “It’s obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together.” It’s a message song, and the message is: Swift still really wants her masters back, in 2020. And is really still going to want them back in 2021, 2022 and 2023, too. Whether or not the neighbors of the exec or execs she is imagining really mouth the words “f— you” when these nemeses pull up in their respective driveways may be a matter of projection, but if Swift has a good time imagining it, many of her fans will too.

(A second such reference may be found in the bonus track, “The Lakes,” which will only be found on deluxe CD and vinyl editions not set to arrive for several weeks. There, she sings, “What should be over burrowed under my skin / In heart-stopping waves of hurt / I’ve come too far to watch some namedropping sleaze / Tell me what are my words worth.” The rest of “The Lakes” is a fantasy of a halcyon semi-retirement in the mountains — in which “I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet / Because I haven’t moved in years” — “and not without my muse.” She even imagines red roses growing out of a tundra, “with no one around to tweet it”; fantasies of a social media-free utopia are really pandemic-rampant.)

The other most overtly “confessional” song here is also the most third-person one, up to a telling point. In “The Last Great American Dynasty,” Swift explores the rich history of her seaside manse in Rhode Island, once famous for being home to the heir to the Standard Oil fortune and, after he died, his eccentric widow. Swift has a grand old time identifying with the women who decades before her made fellow coast-dwellers go “there goes the neighborhood”: “There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen / She had a marvelous time ruining everything,” she sings of the long-gone widow, Rebekah. “Fifty years is a long time / Holiday House sat quietly on that beach / Free of women with madness, their men and bad habits / Then it was bought by me… the loudest woman this town has ever seen.” (A fine madness among proud women is another recurring theme.)

But, these examples aside, the album is ultimately less obviously self-referential than most of Swift’s. The single “Cardigan,” which has a bit of a Lana Del Rey feel (even though it’s produced by Dessner, not Del Rey’s partner Antonoff) is part of Swift’s fictional high school trilogy, along with “August” and “Betty.” That sweater shows up again in the latter song, in which Swift takes on the role of a 17-year boy publicly apologizing for doing a girl wrong — and which kicks into a triumphant key change at the end that’s right out of “Love Story,” in case anyone imagines Swift has completely moved on from the spirit of early triumphs.

“Exile,” the duet with Bon Iver, recalls another early Swift song, “The Last Time,” which had her trading verses with Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol. Then, as now, she gives the guy the first word, and verse, if not the last; it has her agreeing with her partner on some aspects of their dissolution (“I couldn’t turn things around”/”You never turned things around”) and not completely on others (“Cause you never gave a warning sign,” he sings; “I gave so many signs,” she protests).

Picking two standouts — one from the contented pile, one from the tormented — leads to two choices: “Illicit Affairs” is the best cheating song since, well, “Reputation’s” hard-to-top “Getaway Car.” There’s less catharsis in this one, but just as much pungent wisdom, as Swift describes the more mundane details of maintaining an affair (“Tell your friends you’re out for a run / You’ll be flushed when you return”) with the soul-destroying ones of how “what started in beautiful rooms ends with meetings in parking lots,” as “a drug that only worked the first few hundred times” wears off in clandestine bitterness.

But does Swift have a corker of a love song to tip the scales of the album back toward sweetness. It’s not “Invisible String,” though that’s a contender. The champion romance song here is “Peace,” the title of which is slightly deceptive, as Swift promises her beau, or life partner, that that quality of tranquility is the only thing she can’t promise him. If you like your love ballads realistic, it’s a bit of candor that renders all the compensatory vows of fidelity and courage all the more credible and deeply lovely. “All these people think love’s for show / But I would die for you in secret.”

That promise of privacy to her intended is a reminder that Swift is actually quite good at keeping things close to the vest, when she’s not spilling all — qualities that she seems to value and uphold in about ironically equal measure. Perhaps it’s in deference to the sanctity of whatever she’s holding dear right now that there are more outside narratives than before in this album — including a song referring to her grandfather storming the beaches in World War II — even as she goes outside for fresh collaborators and sounds, too. But what keeps you locked in, as always, is the notion of Swift as truth-teller, barred or unbarred, in a world of pop spin. She’s celebrating the masked era by taking hers off again.

Taylor Swift “Folklore” Republic Records

#taylor swift #folklore #review

[tsukikoayanosuke]

7, 8, 9, 10, 13, 14, 16, 27, 35 & 39

[It’s a lot again 😅 hope you don’t mind :D]

I might be going way too far with these answers, so please bear with me ^^’

Sorry for the long rambles but these are my answers!

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Oof. This is hard. There’s actually a lot of paragraphs that I like throughout the writing process. I can re-read and just pick which is my favorite, it’ll be different every time.

But, I think the thing currently going on with TW:OPT can be summed up in this Once Upon a Time… (I was being dumb and I thought prose is just poetry without rhyme)

So, this drabble is written on the run. There’s not really deep thought and I can’t even remember why I wrote it in the first place. From the date I posted it on Tumblr it was in the middle of Octavinelle Arc.

But, in this small crappy prose-poetry, it has one of the themes in TW:OPT: happy vs sad ending. This is something that I want to build since in the early stage. The theme of TW:OPT is second chances for the reincarnated villains, giving them a happy ending, something way better than the original ones.

So, if you look for example the two lines about the Queen of Heart:  

The Queen of Heart was forgotten by Alice like it was just a bad dream

The Queen of Heart will always be remembered by Alice as his dear friend and the greatest queen

The first line is what happens to the original Disney Alice’s Queen of Hearts, while the second line is what happens to Riddle, the current reincarnation of the Queen of Hearts. It’s a good change for Riddle’s life.

However, like everything, there has to be something to balance it. 

After all, good endings cannot exist without bad endings.

Can the good guys really live with the bad guys in harmony? After all, all Disney movie always has “good wins, evil lose” theme. If the “evil side” wins, wouldn’t that mean the “good side” loses? Is that even a good thing or even possible?

After all, the One-Eyed Captain found his happy ending to sail away once again. What will happen to him in his next life?

This line becomes the question. What will happen to the already-set happy endings? Would they just disappear to change into bad endings to keep the balance?

.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I’m debating between many dialogues, but I think the one piece I’m most proud of is in Chapter 97. I'm cutting a lot of the narration and just focus on the dialogues because it becomes too long.

Riddle: What happens that day? The day when everything went downhill. Azul: Didn't anyone tell you already? Riddle: I want to hear it from your or Jonah's mouth. What happened that you must curse him? Azul: Pretty simple, really. I told him not to come here that day, and he did To make it worse, that boy was stupid enough to go back against our agreement. Riddle: Just that? Azul: Oh, please, dear Crimson Ruler. I don't want to hear that from you. Have you forgotten about your reign before? Riddle: I know what I did was tyrannical, but I want to be better. Azul: Because of the captain told you too? Riddle: No. This is my choice to change. Just like it was your choice to curse him. He trusts you, you know? He knows that you wouldn't go back against your own words, which was why he was willing to sign another contract with you. Azul: If he trusts me that much, why is he against me? If he trusts me, why did he choose to save his stupid friends than agreeing with me? Tell me, Riddle Rosehearts...Why does he choose you instead of me?

We all know what happened during Octavinelle Arc and I don't deny that this sounds cheesy or slightly ooc. And let me just say this, there's no intention of this become a love triangle or whatsoever.

There are two things I want to highlight in this exchange: Riddle's growth and Azul's decline.

Riddle, after everything happened in Heartslabyul and Savanclaw arc, finally putting his foot down on where he wants to stand. He wants to be a better person, more than just the feared Crimson Tyrant. That's why he's helping them. Not because the boys are breaking the rules, not because someone tells him to, but Riddle is willing to risk it all, even his unique magic (as we see at the end of this chapter and the next) to save his friends. Again, this might sound ooc and I apologize, but from my perspective, this is a logical step of development for Riddle.

Meanwhile, Azul is showing more and more decline from this until the end of Octavinelle Arc even Scarabia Arc. For Azul who knows how easy people can leave and mock when you have nothing, seeing Jonah leave him and siding with the anemones is basically a betrayal. He can't think rationally when it comes to the betrayal and we see how brash he can be with anything related to Jonah throughout the arc where all of their interaction nearly kills Jonah.

If Riddle-Jonah is a coming-of-age story, Azul-Jonah is a broken friendship story.

.

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

This is a hard one to write. You might think I’ll just answer with TW:OPT, but honestly, all multi chapters fanfic has their own difficulties, so I can’t choose which is the hardest.

For Twisted-Wonderland: Our Precious Treasure, where I do treat this as a novel-writing practice, keeping the consistency with the theme, plot points, and characterization.

For Private Tutor, Angel of Death, Philza Minecraft, actually coming up with new ideas is hard because I don’t based this on anything, and just write anything once a week. In addition that I’m still new in Dream SMP fandom so characterization won’t be the strongest thing.

For both TWST MC Hybrid AU and Magical Girl AU, giving the massive cast equal spotlight and actually not getting lost is quite a challenge. Both AU has seven main characters and I need to give them the same amount to screen time.

And don’t get me started with those smut. I won’t be talking about it because I’m keeping it family friendly. Those has their own problems XD

.

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

As I said, every fic has their own problems, even one shot. So, I’m looking through my works and trying to figure out which fic I wrote the fastest but had the most fun.

I think I’ll go with A Wish for a Proposal because the comfort in this fic with Ace going heads over heels for Deuce and being doki-doki all the time. And the kiss under a shooting star, AH! Poetic cinema~

I do enjoy when I wrote how Ace thought keeping a toy ring as childish but he ended up using it to confess to Deuce and thinking that it’s not as childish as he thought.

.

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

There are good writing advice that I had head, one of them came from On Writing: Great Character Descriptions! by Hello Future Me. He has so many good advices in writing and I highly recommend him.

He said that “when describing characters it’s good to focus on their movements that can tell the readers of who the characters are”. As someone who has many troubles in writing physical description, this is actually a great alternative, especially when you want to go thought the “show don’t tell”.

After watching the video I tried to write something. I ended up writing Jonah’s father, Benjamin, in Chapter 137

The owner of the inn was an old man who, coincidentally, also shared the 'Argentum' surname. Benjamin Argentum was a man with slouched back from the burden of the world, white strands on his reddish-brown hair and tired, but kind, black eyes. He walked slowly with his walking stick, claiming that his knees were never that strong since a cart accident during his younger days. The way he speaks was gentle like everyone's favorite uncle/grandfather, along with the delicious appetizer that he had prepared a few minutes ago on the reception table. The spices he used reminiscent of the spices Jonah used in his Ramshackle Kitchen. There was no way all of these were coincidences. Crowley wouldn't doubt if Jonah Argentum ever grew old, he would be looking exactly like the warm innkeeper.

I want to highlight how Benjamin is a kind old man ("He walked slowly with his walking stick, claiming that his knees were never that strong since a cart accident during his younger days”, ”The way he speaks was gentle like everyone's favorite uncle/grandfather”) but has his own problems (”a man with slouched back from the burden of the world”), and very similar to Jonah (”The owner of the inn was an old man who, coincidentally, also shared the 'Argentum' surname”, ”The spices he used reminiscent of the spices Jonah used in his Ramshackle Kitchen”, “Crowley wouldn't doubt if Jonah Argentum ever grew old, he would be looking exactly like the warm innkeeper.”)

It’s not the best descriptions, because most of the example used highlight only one most recognizable feature while my description highlight nearly everything. I still need some practice.

.

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

“Write what’s mainstream”.

Here’s my problem with it: sometimes anything that’s mainstream is not my thing. I like to challenge what we are given and give it a spin. 

I mentioned before that growing up with Indonesian TV Series that only centers around love, riches, and cheating, I grew tired of it. That was why I once tried to make a script for a group of friends creating a classical music band and mental problems. 

I’m not the first one to make an adaptation of TWST, but I think I’m one of the first, at least in AO3, that make an adaptation with Male MC. Among the Female MC or Female Readers story with a hint (or too much) of Romance, I want to give something for the small group who wants Male MC or something more platonic to read.

I always want to push slightly further, trying something that I haven’t seen at first glance, giving varieties. I will admit that would always doubt whether me writing something different is even worth it or not. But when I saw that yes, this is worth it, I gain more confidence and become bolder in my twist.

Going against the mainstream is risky, but we'll see whether it's worth it or not.

.. 

16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Oh no... Does it have to be a romantic pairing?

Okay. I don't really have an OTP. I mean, I like ROnah and JonAzul, but I don't think I can't live with writing only about them.

So, romantically, I don’t know. But, this doesn’t help with platonically either because I find enjoyment in writing all relationship. Just pushing the limit of my writing, you know?

So, I don’t think I can answer this because I’m a coward XD

.

27. How do you feel about collaborations?

A mixed bag.

So currently I'm in at least 2 collab projects: TWST MC Hybrid AU and Arisu in Alternate Wonderland. In the former, I'm the group leader, while in the latter, I'm just a writer.

Both sidea are different experiences. With AiAW, it's definitely lighter because this is basically retelling TWST but with seven Yuus. However because of this freedom and the possibilities of anything, I cannot predict whether my oc action will affects in the future or how they would interact with other ocs in the project.

With Hybrid AU, since this is a fantasy au, anything can happen. Plus as the main writer, I can see and plan clearly which event will be important and setting the characters' arc. It's definitely harder to organize because of the various idea that we want to write.

So, yeah. Collaboration can be two things for me: a scripted roleplay or a freestyle roleplay

.

35. Would you ever kill off a canon character?

*looking at draft for TW:OPT Book 2*

Maybe...?

.

39. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

I remember when I was a kid, I wrote a fanfiction where it only features OCs, and someone gave a review, ranting about the lack of canon characters. I, of course, sulked a bit but then just keep writing.

However, what I usually do when it comes to comments is take them into considerations. During Scarabia Arc I got a comment that the Jonah-Azul therapy moment is kinda weak, and rereading it, I can see that. Which was why the next part of the therapy Arc I tried to connect them further. So compare the JonAzul scene in the last part of Chapter 124 with the first part of Chapter 126. At least for me, I prefer the latter because there's more intimacy.

#40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers #the captain is answering! #the captain's rambling

[yndigot]

Question: do you have any headcanons/a personal favorite explanation for how Branson could have possibly wanted to return to Downton after being in America? I've been going in circles with his character and what is/isn't shown on screen, but I feel like something major must have happened for him to travel back after being away.

I wish I had really good thoughts instead of just long, rambly thoughts. But my best idea that isn't re-writing the stuff I wish Julian had done with more care is to over-analyze what Tom says and try to wrestle it into something that makes sense!

Like, the straightforward answer is that I think NOTHING Julian gives us justifies this. I'm kind of not sure why he brought Tom back. Don't get me wrong. I want Tom there because I like him and I like the way he interacts with the rest of the family, but Julian didn't seem to write him very consistently re: what he wants out of life, especially after Sybil dies. And not in a way that reads to me like a "grief is making him directionless" deliberate choice. More like "idk what to do with a character like this if he's not shit-stirring, so now that I've integrated him into the family, I don't know where to go next."

I think Julian has a real problem writing working class characters and showing them having desires that don't either a) serve to uphold the aristocracy or b) get painted as sinister in some way. Thomas vacillates wildly between the two -- his ambition to have a life outside of service is often cast as sinister, and then his "redemption" is being the good servant. (Don't get me wrong -- I think if Thomas has to stay in service, he's probably much happier running the place than taking orders, but he gets "rewarded" by having his place in correct order confirmed.) See also: the way Julian seems to treat Anna's "friendship" with Mary as though it's entirely sincere and devoted and uncomplicated by the fact that she depends on Mary and the family for her salary, her husband's salary, housing, and childcare. (I don't have trouble believing Anna would have a certain fondness for Mary after many years, but I find things about the way their relationship is portrayed as though it's uncomplicated and transcends class to be uncomfortable.) And Daisy's ideas about wanting better rights and questioning the monarchy are played for laughs and come across kind of childish. Basically, I do not trust Julian for one second to try to get into the head of someone who, the first couple series establish, is an Irish republican and socialist. Because as much as I enjoy it, I believe Julian writes Downton to glorify institutions that early Tom would want to dismantle, which means he's either a source of trouble, or he needs to be watered down and neutered. We get the first for the first three series and the second going forward from there.

Tom going to Boston feels to me like Patrick Gordon and the endless murder trials -- a storyline that I think got away from Julian and then had to be wrapped up without changing the status quo, even if it was a waste of our time in the process. (I swear I really enjoy the show, I just think it has a lot of flaws!) I just don't think there's a lot there to build on. I went back to check, and the stated reason is that he didn't like starting over again in a new country and didn't like taking Sybbie so far away from family. That's fine? I guess. I loathe that he comes back saying that American capitalism is somehow better than European capitalism and he's kind of digging it now. That's just uncalled for. (I do appreciate that the greater social mobility of the US might appeal to him in that it strips the absolute top layer of society in the UK which is determined exclusively by birth, but I prefer a Tom who wants to dismantle the class system, not just escape the aristocracy and live in a class system that is slightly more permeable to people who get lucky. Julian's bullshit about "American capitalism is all down to hard work so that's why it appeals to someone like Tom!" makes my skin crawl.)

I can think of some things I wish happened in Boston! I don't think they're headcanons in the sense that I think they almost certainly having nothing to do with what we're actually given (and may in fact lowkey contradict some of it), but I'd love to see (or write, if I ever get off my ass) fic that actually deals with what it's like for Tom to be in a job and a life that isn't tied up in the aristocracy anymore for the first time in years (even when he was in Ireland with Sybil, I feel like it would have hovered over them) and confronts what he likes about being in business with his cousin -- and what he doesn't. I know it's 0% supported by canon and even contradicted by it and his new love of sucking capitalist dick, but I like to think of Tom seeing his cousin's purely capitalist enterprise and beginning to form the idea of starting his own business based on a cooperative model. Is it believable that Talbot & Branson has any elements of the cooperative model in the way it's run? Probably not, but I like to pretend. I think, despite the fact that he says he gets on great with his cousin and there wasn't any bad blood between them when he left, it would be interesting if there were some ideological differences about the business.

The absolute most interesting thing that could have happened to him in Boston would have been to see him re-introduced to radical politics, but canon pretty clearly contradicts that and in fact has him become less and less radical as time goes on. Unfortunately. But I'd read the hell out of a fic that explored the way the Irish in the US were funding radical movements back in Ireland and Tom getting sucked into that. I'd also love to see him involved with the GAA or Gaelic League in Boston (or in Yorkshire, tbh -- I want more Tom and the expat community in general). /tangent

Genuinely, working with what we're given, my actual headcanon is super boring. Again, I do think that Tom's life/career drift after Sybil's death is at least as much a product of Julian not knowing what to do with the character as it is a conscious choice to show him lost and grieving (though we do get hints of that), BUT let's go ahead and interpret it as Tom feeling lost and directionless after he's lost his wife and the life the two of them planned together in Dublin. (Let's also set aside whether he'd actually be able to return to Ireland following the establishment of the Free State -- he's working under the assumption that he's lost his wife and his country in the space of a few months and can't get either back.) That's a huge loss and a lot of grief, and the two are compounding each other, and he gets into kind of a rut at Downton over the next few years. I think it's reasonable for him to think "Maybe I can just move and start over, and it will shake up my life, and this lost, listless feeling will be fixed!" And then it turns out that, actually, depression and grief and mourning for your wife and the life you planned together doesn't go away when you go to a new country! It doesn't fix things, it just takes away a lot of the support system he had in Yorkshire (the family generally, but mostly Mary tbh, and Isobel a bit, and maybe people at his church if we look outside what Julian lets us see). I think when he says that starting over in a new country all over again was too much, maybe that's what he's getting at. He may be writing to his cousins and keeping in touch, but presumably he hasn't seen this cousin face to face in years. He may have a few other contacts in Boston in the immigrant community. He can find a church and a community with the GAA and/or Gaelic League and other organizations like that. But these aren't people who've been in his life in a meaningful, daily way for a long, long time. He relied really heavily on Mary (and Matthew for the first year or so) and whatever the rest of his community in Yorkshire looked like at a very vulnerable time in his life, and I think maybe he underestimated how hard it would be to leave that and start over. For all that I whine about the way Tom's written later on in the series, I actually really like his friendship with Mary and Matthew and the way he and Mary seem to drift together after Sybil and Matthew die. I think it works very well and is very believable that, despite the fact that Mary wasn't jumping to welcome him into the family, they would become incredibly close.

Starting over is hard. He's probably trusting Sybbie to someone like his cousin's wife or a woman recommended to him by the local church while he's at work in Boston, and at Downton he was leaving her with the nanny while he worked, but she was in the family home, with her grandparents and aunts in and out of the house all day, and being with a stranger in Boston may have been hard on Sybbie. Also, to go from having a relationship with George that was probably more like siblings than cousins to being separated was probably difficult. Part of the problem could be that Sybbie was having trouble adjusting. And he fell into being the agent because the position was open, and he was drifting after Sybil died, and he needed an occupation, and it feels like he fell into the thing with the cousin because he felt like he was in a rut and wanted something different, and that's what was offered. I'm not sure stumbling between things that are available is the same as making conscious choices about what you really want out of life. Looking at it that way, maybe it's not so surprising that whatever he had going on in Boston never quite gelled. That doesn't necessarily make me think it makes tons of sense for him to come straight back to Downton -- I can think of other choices I'd make for him if the initial plan with the cousin doesn't work -- but for all that he disapproves of aristocracy, I do think he loves the Crawleys and regards them as family by the time he tries moving to Boston.

All that feels unsatisfying. I'd love a good take that had something big happen in Boston, though. Old girlfriend from back in Ireland has also immigrated? Old boyfriend? Is he lying when he says he and his cousin didn't have a falling out? Did he manage to get himself into politically related legal trouble again? (I can't quite make that last one work in my head because while he doesn't seem to mind destruction of property, he seems disinclined to participate in anything that might lead to people getting hurt, and I think he'd be very hesitant to put his neck out in a big way once he's Sybbie's only living parent, but it would be interesting if someone could come up with something. Labor organizing goes sideways, maybe? Even though he seems to be leaning into capitalism more than I like...?) You definitely make me want to come up with something better than the hints we get.

#meta #this got very rambly #i'm not sure it's coherent #but it sure did take my mind off job searching #so thank you so much for asking me to unload tons and tons of random tom thoughts #writing this very rambly meta about tom made my brain calm down tremendously

[honkster]

Okay so I did miss a few things

Mainly stuff that either I didn’t think were important enough to address or I just didn’t think of.

Let’s get to it.

1. Techno betraying Tommy.

2. Ghosty bois coming back.

3. Tommy and Quackity as ab*se survivors.

<_><_><_>

I try to be as un-biased as I can whenever I say “From a writing perspective”, I kind of disassociate and look at the story how I would write it if I had to. You know, purely analysing the characters without the attachment I feel for them as a viewer.

But I don’t have to do that to say that Techno is not going to betray Tommy.

I get the angst – oh do I get the angst. I’m a fan of angst, I used to write only it for a while.

But Dream. You know how much Techno cares about Dream?

He’d rather read his donations than not risk Dream’s wrath at avoiding the admittance of Tommy in his house.

Techno has shown that he cares more for Tommy than he fears Dream (Fear is probably the wrong word here. Neutrality as he bides his time until he can strike – much more Blade. Because no matter what, Dream is just a temporary ally to Techno, much like what he started to view Pogtopia as.) He is shielding Tommy from him, he is reluctantly reminded the he owes Dream a favor, he dismisses his role as Lycomedes in this myth that’s so accurate to the story. Not even once in the streams Tommy and Techno did together (and the subsequent Techno or Tommy solo streams) did it seem that Techno was even considering a Tommy and Dream meetup. Yes, the favor is looking to be another Chekhov's gun, much like the TNT under L’manburg, but whoever said it means that Techno will succumb to Dream?

When did we decide that Dream cashing in his favor with Techno doesn’t mean that the pig will take that chance to betray Dream?

When did we decide that Dream cashing in his favor with Techno means that Dream trusts Techno unconditionally and won’t try to betray Techno?

Dream and Techno are in a unique stalemate currently. Techno can’t harm Dream, not when he has creative mode, and for Dream Techno is far more useful as an ally. That favor that Dream is holding over his head? That is the one-up he has on Techno. Until, perhaps, Techno pulls a Spirit and decides that Dream doesn’t control him…

Is this better anxiety than angsting over Techno potentially turning Tommy in? :)

(Bonus: I’m pretty sure that Techno and Tommy are even when talking about betrayals. Tommy established a new government in front of Techno, Techno blew the government up. Techno isn’t going to betray Tommy because he’s still salty. Tommy was slightly petty when he huddled under Techno’s house, but he seems to have gotten over that and now it’s just sibling banter.

They betrayed each other and then were angry at each for it. They’re even, stop the angst.)

<_><_><_>

Another thing I keep seeing despite everything…

The Ghosty bois returning.

Schlatt through possession, Wilbur through some method Philza may find months after the moment he first wrote it in a book.

My answer is… What’s the point?

Okay, you bring back Schlatt. What’s he gonna do, re-establish Manburg?

As if.

So he possessed Quackity/Tubbo. Again, what’s he gonna do? L’manburg is not the same thing that it was before, when Schlatt and Wilbur first found their power. It’s not a place where words mean more than weapons, where no armor is worn yet wars are won. Since L’manburg’s pacifist dictators have died/been changed to more violent ways, L’manburg has adapted to the landscape of the server and become just like every other faction – fighting wars with weapons.

So again, what would happen if Schlatt returned, in one form or another? The moment someone realizes what happened, he gets taken down. No one likes Schlatt, no one is on his side, everyone would stab him in his weak heart and twist the blade to “just make sure” he is truly dead. No one will rally behind him, he will have no power. You don’t gotta worry about that ghosty boi.

Wilbur? Well, if we dive into meta and what the cc himself has said, it’s going to take more than just a totem of undying to bring him back. And from a writing perspective, Ghostbur needs to come to terms with himself. Him just forgetting the things that he did, the people he harmed and just being wholesome – that’s not the end of his arc. It’s not even the middle. Ghostbur has a long way to go to be at peace with himself and stop haunting the server, to move on to the afterlife.

Him being brought back to life, to return to what he tried to forget, and then most definitely being killed again, quickly or after he’s able to do more damage, returning to his Ghostbur form… Well, that can do two things.

1. It could, possibly help him come to terms with Alivebur’s actions, being so suddenly dropped into his life again and forced to confront the trauma of it all. It could, possibly, maybe, slightly start him on the path to being at peace again.

2. It resets his progress so far.

I know which option is more interesting, more… character-developing.

Sadly, that one is the less likely option.

More trauma doesn’t help deal with previous trauma. Things would have to go a very specific way for Ghostbur being brought back to life to be actually helpful to him. Ghostbur isn’t an amnesiac, not in the way where his memories were just given a soft reset and his only job is to find things that would help him unlock them again. He’s a ghost, no one can fully understand how he works and what he needs, and how he may act if he is brought back to life after being dead for so long.

Not even another ghost.

Who’s to say that Schlatt, if he ever appeared in-character, in ghost form, isn’t just as confused as Ghostbur? Who’s to say he isn’t “traumatized enough” for selective memory? Who’s to say that Schlatt hasn’t moved on like Ghostbur hasn’t been able to?

Wilbur’s not gonna come back soon, if at all. His arc, coming to terms with making L’manburg the way it is now, has relevance to the current events happening (especially since L’manburg’s death seems to be inching closer and closer, and Ghostbur seems to be only related to it, out of all the things in the server.) but it has very little plot-changing importance. Who’s going to listen to the ghost of the man that made this mess happen in the first place? Definitely not the people making similar mistakes to him!

<_><_><_>

Oh I don’t like talking about ab*se. I’ve had enough of Dream and his manipulation of Tommy, it’s why I hated the bastard so much.

But this? Quackity and Tommy having the same mixed feelings towards their manipulator, a deep hatred and also a deep attachment, resulting in just a lot of confusion whenever the bad guy in question is brought up?

Yeah I got nothing.

Mainly because Tommy and Quackity haven’t interacted in that way just yet. Most people, in-character, don’t realize what Quackity went through (that’s a problem for a lot of the characters though, how their trauma is almost invisible, but very loud in terms of their actions.) or at least don’t realize that Quackity wants Schlatt back. Cause no one wants Schlatt back – what are you, crazy?

It is definitely an interesting parallel. How both of them were manipulated, then suddenly left the manipulator, how both of them were introduced to different ways of coping. Tommy with Techno, someone who cares about him and is determined to get revenge on their behalf, someone who is just sensitive enough to realize that you shouldn’t do certain things when talking to the traumatized person. Quackity with The Butcher Army and El Rapids, being given an outlet for his anger and confusion, a way to hide the pain he feels and focus on something entirely else, something he can actually understand and not question endlessly as he slowly goes insane. A way to do good, to try and do good things for other people, or at least fight the bad ones, even though you are utterly baffled at what is going on inside you.

...I’ve been dancing around this for a long time but uh… From experience, both of those ways are valid.

Listen, listen. Facing your trauma, going on the tough path of healing from it and coming out a different person, one not affected by whatever was done to you – that’s good. That is a good recipe for moving on to bigger and better things, this should be the path taken.

But (not) realizing your trauma, and instead deciding to flourish in spite of your manipulator, becoming stronger than them or even fighting them (or whoever you blame for your trauma) head on and WINNNING, purely out of spite and anger that you were actually that weak or that you didn’t notice what they were doing to you, remembering the things that you thought were normal and now being horrified at what your life was like…

The whole SMP needs therapy. They all need to have a sit-down, and a talk, and come to certain conclusions about themselves and whoever wronged them, and repeat that for a few days (weeks, months maybe). They all need to learn healthy ways to cope.

But this is the Curse. The Author’s Curse.

Therapy is boring.

Yes, we love these characters. Because we love them, we would much rather see them healthy and well-adjusted, and ending the cycle of ab*se.

...But the SMP isn’t peaceful enough for that.

More from the writing perspective – the foundation of the server right now is violence. Endless, gruesome violence, it has become the number one way to deal with whatever is plaguing you. Talking has worked once (The Pet War (?) ending), but even then it was after extreme violence. And this will continue, because any other way of dealing with things has just become… irrelevant. Some people can only speak one language, and it’s not one that is healthy.

So not only do all of the people on the server need to be shouted at for being so violent, bullied into considering more peaceful options for things, but also the people who cannot or will not change their mind, because they have become delusional with their power and only believe in that singular language, must be eliminated.

It all comes back to Dream. It all comes back to more violence. The Curse cannot be broken.

But… It can be, if used properly, a way to at least eliminate most of the evil in the server.

You’d need a whole guidebook for that though.

And the problem wouldn’t be fixed.

That server reset’s gonna be a huge part of the lore!

<_><_><_>

And I know I may be coming off as aggressive here like “Oh stop making up headcanons that will never happen” but that’s not my intention because if I truly took that standpoint I would be incredibly hypocritical. I thought Techno was going to be this battle-hardened warrior, able to detach himself from everything in this world to focus on war – mans turns out to be the most secretly caring person in the server. I sometimes dismiss characters that turn out to be actually really powerful (Ranboo, for one. BBH and Puffy for three.), I’m wrong on a lot of things.

So honestly, if you have an AU for Ghostinnit or Ghostbo (Toast) or Dadschlatt or Dream redemption arc, or just irl AU, Harry Potter AU, Starinnit – fucking amazing. You play out your canon-divergent dreams you funky little writers/artists. I’ll stay over-analyzing stuff over here, don’t mind me! Your ideas are super cool, and you can bully me for not having any hcs and never thinking of an AU of my own. /gen

#dream smp #dream smp analysis #dream smp theory #honkmeta #dream smp meta #gotta start using those tags #and as always #tell me im wrong on something! #debate! #i put this stuff out here to be ridiculed dont worry about hurting my feelings im too smol to bully you /lh

[border-spam]

Leech Lord AU

Tyreen Calypso / Tyreen DeLeon / God Queen Calypso / Holy Mother Tyreen (differences from canon)

List of character traits and  world-building facets for this character within my AU that differ from / are of more importance than in canon. 

One of these coming for Seifa shortly. Same AU as all other twins content I’ve written. TW: drug use.

Troy’s is HERE

Traits: ✓ Positive x Negative:

✓x Confidence is not a façade.

Unlike her twin, Tyreen's self confidence is rock solid to an unquestionable level. Her God Queen persona is not an act, it's her natural disposition ramped into overdrive.

✓ Highly Empathic.

Ty is very emotionally charged as a person, and is notably in-tune in general to the energies of people she is in proximity with. She has always used this to her advantage, capable of reading a room very cleanly and modifying her behavior and approach to play on the emotional state of others.

✓ Excellent Actor.

Her enjoyment of positive attention since childhood nurtured her into a very convincing natural performer. She can switch her emotion worryingly easily from sorrow to mirth, and it can be difficult to tell at times which is the actual genuine state she is feeling.

✓ Extremely Adaptable.

Tyreen is almost impossible to deter as she automatically approaches any situation with complete belief she will overcome it. She is not easily stopped by plans going awry or not panning out, and rarely breaks momentum. Ty is so naturally assured of achieving whatever goal she is aiming for, that she see's barriers others would see as impassable, as mere setbacks.

✓ Highly Charismatic.

Her ability to draw the billions of worshippers that now compose the COV is no fluke. Between her natural charisma and intuition, and the excellently researched scripts and persona Troy writes for her, Tyreen is extremely magnetic to others.

✓ Natural  Leader.

Her rock solid self confidence and personal strength makes Tyreen highly attractive to those looking for guidance and a personality they can lean on. Her royalty is unquestionable, she was born to be a God Queen, and is very, very aware of it.

x Incapable of admitting fault.

Ty's extreme self confidence and regard for her own opinion means she cannot face failure. She will aggressively, to at times a physically violent level, defend her actions and beliefs regardless of whatever evidence is presented to her that shows she is incorrect or made a mistake.

x Easily loses control of herself in high pressure situations.

Her highly emotionally charged and empathic personality can leave her unable to control her reactions when under stress or pressure. While Troy's response to conflict or risk is to become exceptionally calm and dangerously in control, his twin's is the opposite. Tyreen can easily descend into screeching, violent tantrums, or lash out physically and verbally at people she sees as the source of the emotion she is currently experiencing, regardless of if they are at fault. She is often a danger to herself and others, and cannot be trusted to stay in control when stressed.

x Self centered.

Tyreen's galaxy revolves around Tyreen. Tyreen is Tyreen's universe. She's aware that there are people she should value, she should value Troy, she should value Seifa, she should value the other Saints like Mouthpiece, but she does not feel that value. This can lead to her questioning herself at times, there is concern eating her internally that maybe she actually doesn't feel anything for anyone else, but she knows that's wrong. She knows that's weird, and Tyreen isn't a freak, so she avoids dwelling on it.

x Manipulative.

Tyreen learned at an early age that getting what she wanted was easier if she played on what the other person wanted too. She's woven this so tightly into who she is over time, that she is no longer really aware of when she's actually manipulating someone, Troy being the most common victim. If you asked her, she'd convince you she was being completely genuine and had the other person's needs at heart. It's a lie.

x Illogical.

Her firm belief that she is automatically correct and infallible is a huge threat to her, and despite having endured injury and hardships over the years due to not listening to advice or ignoring facts in favor of her own opinion, she is not open to changing.

x Greedy.

While The Leech has amplified this negative trait 100 fold, it's still one of Tyreen's natural characteristics. Her greed by mid COV is insatiable, her hunger impossible to extinguish. Nothing will ever be enough. Any satisfaction she finally feels at achieving or gaining something she has lusted for is short lived, The Leech consuming the sensation and leaving her chasing it desperately again. She is endlessly spiraling downwards, she can never be content. She is cursed.

x Values her life over anyone else.

Tyreen has built her throne on the bones of family. She has opened her arms to billions, given lost souls the belonging they craved, become a mother to the heaving masses of damaged minds across the Galaxy, but it does not contain a single person she would die for. There is no one she wouldn't kill to survive. Leda knew. Typhon knows. Troy... Troy would snap your neck before you managed to finish asking if he does.

Backstory:

Bl3 canonical backstory till landing on Pandora where the AU begins, with additional points of:

Completely incapable of physical contact with any living organism bar Troy. Her power is wildly uncontrollable, and absorbs through any barrier within seconds. Its been this ravenous since the day it first revealed itself when the twins were 8 years old, and has never given her a moment of relief from its constant hunger since.

Did not receive as much attention as she deserved as a young child due to her parents needing to provide constant care to her deathly ill twin. Tyreen suffered in silence for a long time during this period, too immature to be able to explain to her mother and father how she felt.

The Leech negatively warps her over time as it feeds within. Tyreen would have blossomed into an extroverted, empathic, loudly spoken center of attention without its influence as she grew. A positive, if slightly needy woman, with an irresistible charisma and penchant for theatrics. Her feelings for Troy would not have decayed into something so grotesque, and she could have been happy. Her insatiable, yearning, demanding half of The Leech has doomed her to inescapable misery.

Personal:

Likes:

Positive attention and recognition.

Care or concern towards her emotional state, or mental/physical wellbeing.

Very few foods, but has a great love for citrus fruits and cured meats.

Textured fabrics, her inability to touch others has over time left her quite sensitive to tactile sensations, and she is a huge fan of expensive, high end fabrics and clothing created from them

Smoking. While she has little appetite for food or drink, joints and clove cigarettes are her go to relaxants. She enjoys the physical sensation of holding and smoking one, as well as the mental relief provided by the herbs Troy grows and dries for her.

Horrendously bad romance movies. The more cringe, the better. She's seen everything, and forced her brother to watch at least half. She knows in a way she's living vicariously through them, but it feels like an innocent pleasure.

Interacting with her fans and worshippers. Tyreen is very loving and open towards the COV cultists, and genuinely sees them as the family she was able to choose to have. This doesn't change that she values them less than insects however, and she's as likely to pause for a selfie with one as she is to husk them seconds later.

Dislikes:

x Her natural hair colour.

The dark brown was Leda's. Her eye shape is Leda's. Her mouth is Leda's. She doesn't want to see her mother in the mirror, so she's focused on those parts of her that remind her the most for changes in her aesthetic. Bleach, heavy eye makeup, liner to try and alter her lip shape. Tyreen is happy with her appearance, but it's her appearance she wants to see. Not the memory of her greatest fault.

x Being challenged.

While Ty is aware there are people who's opinion's she needs to heed, like Troy and Seifa in the earlier years of the COV, she doesn't like following their instructions. It's a personal insult to her deepest core when she has to choose to not follow her own volition. Over time, it breeds contempt inside her that she doesn't care enough to quell. A trusted advisor will become someone to eventually mock, a valued sibling or mentor will become the enemy, a burden, someone she knows better than. Tyreen hates so easily, it's like breathing.

x Being looked down on.

Tyreen is a God. There is no question, no space for disbelief. She is a deity, she is not human, she transcends that term. Ten billion people across the galaxy praise her hallowed name nightly, so the idea of some corporate scum fucking bastard acting like he's above her in a meeting room, sitting in a suit he thinks is showing off his wealth when she could literally buy the company that made it, is an insult she cannot bare. Troy has to accompany Tyreen in any face to face interaction with a sponsor. He has to do the talking, he has to control the situation. Without her twin to maintain her calm, Tyreen would tear these people to chunks of viscera. She cannot abide mockery.

x Her Father.

While Typhon genuinely believes he did his best for the twins and was trying to protect them from the horrors of the Galaxy, he has ended up becoming the focal point of every single thing Tyreen loathes. The indignity of being controlled by this tiny, weak little man. The insult of being caged on a planet he decided to enslave her on. The shame towards the overbearing control and fear he showed her as she grew up on Nekrotafeyo. She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

x Her Brother.

Troy took everything she could have been away from her. It's that simple. He did. There is no way to defend what happened. Regardless of her consuming him in the womb, regardless of what he wanted or not, he crippled her for life. He destroyed her Siren power, he stole her future, he tore any happiness she could ever have felt away from her, and left her with nothing but hunger, and hatred, and need. He's also the only person in the universe who knows her. He's the only person who cares for her. She despise him so much, she despises him so much that it almost feels like love.

x. Herself.

Not human. Not divine. Just a Leech. Just a fucking monster.

Physical differences to canon:

- Scarring is more noticeable:

Ty was glassed in the face in their first week on Pandora. Their first week. One of their earliest attempts to approach a bandit camp, and she'd had a broken bottle swung at her before she could even open her mouth to start Troy's rehearsed speech. It was also the first time she'd husked after landing, and was in self defense while the blood blinded her. The scars across her nose are jagged, and a little more set into her cheeks in depth.

- Left hand has long term damage:

Her hand sustained severe damage in a childhood incident. The white glove she wears is more to hide what she perceives as a weakness than to protect others from her powers. Cloth does practically nothing to prevent The Leech  consuming what she touches, a lesson she learned the hard way in the trauma that lead to her fingers being crushed.

- Troy was attached to her stomach:

Tyreen began to absorb Troy early in the pregnancy before her Siren power flowed into him when they had merged enough for it to consider them the same being. He was attached shoulder to her sternum, and was born with her wrapped around his smaller body. Separating them did no long term damage to Tyreen, unlike her twin, but she has a massive puckered scar running from below her sternum to her navel. This is very cool if you ask her, and the sole reason she doesn't display it is to keep their origins secretive, not due to any form of shame.

Asks are open! Any regarding AU will prob get priority for now as I work to flesh it as we go

#tyreen calypso #troy calypso #calypso twins #borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #leech lord #my hcs #my writing