#why is that every fucking damn time they have to change the title in french

[fallen-gabrielle]

EVERYBODY LOOK AT THIS!!

I’M FINALLY GOING TO WATCH A DETECTIVE CONAN MOVIE IN THE THEATRE!!!!!!!!!!

🤩🤩🤩

🥳🥳🥳

#detective conan #detective conan movie #the bride of halloween #halloween no hanayome #la fiancée de shibuya #why is that every fucking damn time they have to change the title in french #having the time of my life #TAKE THAT. DEPRESSION #i’m just happy y’all #i need this right now

[sapphicwhxre]

ASTERIA'S 2.5K FOLLOWER FIC REC LIST

i read fics just as much as i write them so here are some of my favourites. tysmsm for this milestone, i love you all <3 quick note: i didn't re-tag anyone if i recommended more than one of your works because of the tag limit.

───────── girls ─────────

hermione granger

tuesdays - @stupxfy

probably one of my all time favs for hermione. it's just so well written and adorable and fluffy and yes.

if i could tell her - @hellounicorn

pining, pining, PINING. the way these emotions and hermione's described is just... art. perfection. there's a happy ending and it is so worth the build up.

darling dearest - @dracolvr

fluffy goodness. read to be hopelessly in love with hermione ─ which, let's be real, we all are.

november rain - @pansydaisy

uhm i love this one sm. it's so simple but amazing ─ everyone has their days like this and having hermione to cure them? it's what everyone needs.

i need more - @15-dogs

i sobbed the first time i read this. it'll break your heart but it's so amazingly written that it's worth the sadness. actual gut wrenching / mindblowing writing.

how the potter girls react to you in lingerie - @pottersanime

the title. need i say more?

honeyed eyes - @minty-malfoy

HEAVEN. being hermione's first kiss as friend? but both of you idiots liking each other? oh my god, sign me up.

hugging her from behind - @pastanest

again, the title. read to feel 🥺💙

grey days - @pepperimps01

PANSMIONE 😌😌 it's angsty with a happy ending and i love it sm. this does such a perfect job of capturing pansy and hermione's relationship growing and having its ups and downs with just a few paragraphs. honestly so good

grenade - @hellounicorn

another one that'll make your heart shatter. but in the best way. these are the fics i live for where the you can't help but feel like it's really happening to you and hermione and god it's so fucking powerful. underrated writing right here in general. and also pansmione is the loml so it hurts in that way.

honeybees - @pansydaisy

fluffy aesthetic heaven.

lead the way - @teacup-tai

more pansmione but this is pure filthy thinking and satisfies all the sexual tension dreams pansmione shippers have.

two queens in a king sized bed - @shysneeze

domestic christmas morning with hermione and it's angelic.

would you still love me if i turned into a worm? - @minty-malfoy

one of those blurbs i never imagined i'd read or love so much. not to mention it's spot on and adorable.

pansy parkinson

right and wrong - @starrkidmalfoy

a first kiss and the overdone trope that i will never get sick of, the bitch who's soft only for you. the descriptions in this are perfection and the writing is beautiful <3

messed up - @writseo

toxic, messed up love fics will be the death of me. insane how well you captured it all and i just yes damn fucking props.

pansy parkinson imagine - @moonlight-imagines

*screams* THE BEST FRIEND BANTER + THE ENDING OH MY GOD OH MY GOD ─ I SCREAMED WHEN I FIRST READ THIS. I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE IT.

dating pansy would include - @lotsoffandomimagines

ABSOLUTE POWER COUPLE SHIT and to this day, pansy saying "jealous much?" when being scolded for pda remains iconic.

grey days - @pepperimps01

as i said before: PANSMIONE 😌😌 it's angsty with a happy ending and i love it sm. this does such a perfect job of capturing pansy and hermione's relationship growing and having its ups and downs with just a few paragraphs. honestly so good

new rules - @silversslytherin

excuse me this is immaculate ─ pansy is the best friend and the second you see that she's also the best s/o, you're done for. perfection.

study "dates" - @turning-dreams-into-chaos

the title is self explanatory and this whole thing is fluffy heaven <3

how the potter girls react to you in lingerie - @pottersanime

read the title, thank me later.

lead the way - @teacup-tai

more pansmione but this is pure filthy thinking and satisfies all the sexual tension dreams pansmione shippers have.

traitor - @hufflepuff-writings

a masterpiece where pansy chooses the wrong side in the battle of hogwarts. this ties up so well and the writing is so powerful.

back alley love potions - @a-simple-imagine

this actually hurts but in a beautiful way. watching pansy give draco a love potion is such a fucking concept and this is executed incredibly.

my little bunny - @emmamarie7708

pansy making you do this is so dirty yet she's slightly sweet and i am a sucker for it. god is a woman and her name is pansy fucking parkinson.

pansy parkinson imagine - @moonlight-imagines

i'll let pansy beat people up for me all day. they put me in madame pomfrey's, feel my girlfriend's wrath.

ginny weasley

blissful - @enyastasia

fluffy ginny goodness. the friends to lovers? the amazing kiss? 🥺🥺🥺💞💞 this fic lives in my heart <3

bubble pop electric - @hunnypot-imagines

this is hotter than a lot of actual smut and the chemistry is so... wow. ginny weasley owns me.

dear ginny - @alyssamalfoy

how does this short ass letter manage to make me feel so much. it's sorcery but i don't even care, it's beautiful.

wildflower - @pansydaisy

will i ever get tired of cheeky i love yous? not when loves like ginny weasley and ayli's so so pretty writing exist.

all i want - @hellounicorn

ouch. fuck you harry :) quite possibly the best ginny fic i have ever read. insanely talented writing, i genuinely feel every touch of emotion you put down and you need to know how amazing that is. keep breaking my heart.

linny hcs - @bluebirdlinginthenest

who doesn't need good linny content in their life?

how the potter girls react to you in lingerie - @pottersanime

sexy bitch, fuck me up.

willow - @padmeamiala

ginny is the loml. her brothers can cry about it.

bellatrix lestrange

attempting to bake with bellatrix - @carters-coffee

MY FAVOURITE BELLA FIC ─ there's not enough bellatrix fluff out there but this makes up for the lack of. heaven.

bellatrix prompt - @carters-coffee

this gives me chills. she knows she's a bad bitch and that's what we love about her.

change of plans - @dumb-sbian

why THE FUCK have i not had a rainy morning with bellatrix? she can sleep and mumble something just like this and i'm still head over heels for her.

being tortured as bellatrix's girlfriend - @writings-of-a-british-fangirl

definitely a concept BUT this makes me feel some type of way and i recommend giving it a minute of your time 😌

bellatrix finding out you're a muggleborn - @carters-coffee

the beauty, the nuance omg. this is art.

bellatrix prompt - @carters-coffee

yep jealous bella. trust me, im all yours mommy <3

sex with bellatrix would include - @onegayastronaut

so short but... sign. me. up.

luna lovegood

never leave - @/deactivated

luna smut is hard asf to come by and this is my favourite. it's so luna and the pain over her not knowing, not getting that closure about how you feel until this is an amazing rollercoaster.

she - @hunnypot-imagines

the beauty of falling in love with luna, through this majorly talented writing. ten out of fucking ten. i will not elaborate but there's also majorly good association in this imo.

silver berries and flickering fireflies - @duskgrangers

i love this fic so much. she's so herself and that is why we ✨ simp ✨ and the scene set just sounds so prettyy

how the potter girls react to you in lingerie - @pottersanime

luna + this title? yes please, ma'am i am simping.

would you still love me if i turned into a worm? - @minty-malfoy

put me in your pocket luna. im begging you.

dancing in the rain with luna - @/deactivated

only luna would get you a dress to go dancing in the rain and this is the stuff of blissful, fluffy dreams.

hugging her from behind - @pastanest

short and cute, do me a favour and read it :)

dating luna lovegood would go like - @glossymalfoy

life is NOT worth it if you don't read these cute little headcanons and imagine dating ravenclaw's baddest bitch.

linny hc - @bluebirdlinginthenest

like i said, who doesn't need good linny content?

cho chang

strawberry kisses - @pansydaisy

the only cho fic i've been able to find and it's SO WORTH IT. the cutest, it flows so well, and i absolutely love it. i need this with cho tbh.

fleur delacour

toutes les etoiles - @coffee--writes

im in love with fleur and this amazing writing. and for the first time since i started high school, my three years of taking french feel good for something.

being best friends with fleur would include - @harrypotter-imaginess

not romantic but actually so sweet pls. i want this friendship in my life so bad.

nymphadora tonks

dating nymphadora tonks would include - @imaginesforgirls

dating her + that warm little feeling of bliss that only HCs can give you

taking care of her after the war - @random-imagines-blog

this kind of hurts in that good ass way and i lovee it. they're simple hcs but i feel for tonks so much and then there's that warm lil feeling when you're the one to put her back together aand now my primary life goal is to help this woman heal.

───────── boys ─────────

harry potter

phosphenes - @minty-malfoy

ok shakespeare, the fuck?? this fic will never not get me right in the heart. the angst, holy fuck. and for once, the reader doesn't hurt harry and let draco walk all over them and it's just done so well. the transition from a toxic relationship to a sweet, loving one PLEASE. it's beautiful.

happy memories - @15-dogs

how does this manage to be so. smutty and fluffy at the same time? this is one of those short ones that has lived in my head, rent-free since i read it. and tbh any fic that includes expecto patronum is guaranteed to be good.

come back to me - @wondernimbus

right from the beginning, it's a mess of emotions both good and bad. that kind of good ass writing that hits you in the heart <3

making out with harry potter would include - @badfvith

read this title. done? now thank me later.

harry prompt - @thoseofgreatambition

harry x a sarcastic swooning bitch is an elite trope idc. short and sweet, i'm marrying this fic.

keep your eyes on the prize - @rowema-ravenclaw

first of all, showing harry up and second, pure fluff (and a little steam) right after. i also love how she writes harry in general because he's totally safe/in love with the relationship but still has that awkward lovable shyness and i just... *sighs*

always - @pansydaisy

uhm i will always love him and always reread this a thousand times so its a fit title + a good read.

late night studying - @lumosandnoxwriting

fuck studying, let his hand stay in my shirt. once again recommending fluffy bliss in the form of a short read that makes me feel things <3

would you still love me if i turned into a worm? - @minty-malfoy

he's so stupid. but he still loves you + this is from our resident perfectly talented writer so its a win.

cuddling after a rough quidditch practice - @badfvith

harry james potter is : b a b y

gryffindor's victory - @rowema-ravenclaw

make me gryffindors fucking cheerleader because HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT. AND THE WRITING IS IMMACULATE PLEASE. just read it, you won't regret it.

draco malfoy

silent treatment - @slytherinwh0re

andy's mad talented and this is just... insert a cheesy chefs kiss. unbelievably adorable but so fucking hot and an actually good smut plot (which is rare lmfao). remind me to give draco the silent treatment every time im upset.

rewards - @malfoysstilinski

so hot PLS. hype him up for the match and get your reward, bye. so good.

reading between the lines - @minty-malfoy

i've said this a thousand times but that's what happens when you've got a mad talented mutual BLESSING everyone with beauty like this. butterflies and warm feelings all around when i read this 💓

point of view - @draconisxcaput

its angst for hermione and fluff for you but overall ethereal writing. i am never going to recover from the pure talent that this is.

im not kidding im dying - @malfoysmatrioshka

i hate being sick with a passion but this... this would make it worth it.

hogwarts express - @/deactivated

draco fucking you because he knows harry's watching. the shit of legends and god is it hot.

draco laughing at you because you can't walk after sex - @glossymalfoy

*motions to the title* fluff with this loser 😌

the cheeseburger - @slytherinwh0re

really short read but this is one of those things i just. didn't know i needed. you're missing out and haven't even realised it if you haven't read about introducing him to cheeseburgers. and that ending is so funny/in character to me i fucking love it.

four am - @malfoysstilinski

domestic draco 🥺 but also sad draco 🥺 and then fluffy draco 🥺

hugging him from behind - @pastanest

real short and it'll brighten your day <3

would you still love me if i turned into a worm? - @minty-malfoy

how is it that this is so stupidly adorable. i love it 💘

ron weasley

heather - @hellounicorn

always making me cry with your fics i swearrr. this is a must-read. having someone but them not really being yours is a beautiful trope and this fic absolutely does it wonderful, poetic justice. your angst is addicting.

apple pie - @pregnant-piggy

ABSOLUTE DOMESTIC BLISS I AM IN LOVE. i don't even like kids or baking that much but this made me so soft. the whole cozy, heavenly vibes from this fic yes yes yes.

jealousy - @writeroutoftime

cliché jealousy turns friends to lovers and i am a sucker for it all over again <3

shaking and trembling - @ronsbadidea

if ron doesn't finger fuck me and then make a cheeky comment about it in class later then WHAT IS THE POINT :(

mixed signals - @iamthecabbage

i've always figured ron is this awkward idiot cutie with a crush and yea, this is it.

fred and george weasley

i love you, but you don't - @george-fabian-weasley

fred's a character i really don't read for often but goddamn. it's the saddest, most beautiful mix of rejection and pain and fred desperately caring but not in the way you want him to ─ an angsty masterpiece.

cockwarming george - @roonilwazlibimagines

because of this filthy gem, i one hundred thousand percent believe that he could make me cum without even fucking me and this is just... it's a good fucking read.

would you still love me if i turned into a worm? - @minty-malfoy

their responses are so wonderfully chaotic and adorable and GOD you're missing out if you haven't read these lil blurbs.

─

#harry potter x reader #hermione granger x reader #pansy parkinson x reader #luna lovegood x reader #ginny weasley x reader #draco malfoy x reader #fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #cho chang x reader #nymphadora tonks x reader #bellatrix lestrange x reader #ron weasley x reader #fleur delacour x reader #harry potter #fic recs #masterlist #smut #fluff #angst

[fairyaali]

hello love! Can I please request a somewhat spicy sub!chat noir x reader? Maybe where the reader is kinda feeling him up and leaving him hickeys and he’s a purring and moaning mess? Maybe he’s begging her to keep going and who is she to say no to such a sweet baby kitty? If that’s not too much of course😌 tysm

Hello bb ! I hope that this satisfied your sub! Chat needs hehe (i know it satisfied mine so) I really love how this came out and maybe i’m willing on continuing another part from here) Thank you so much for this request ! <3

Pairing: Chat Noir X Reader

Warnings: NSFW, characters are aged up in college here :), swearing.

Tags: Sub!chat, Dry humping, begging.

This is how it all went down. He saved you from an akumatized villain. He flirted. You flirted back. Then you guys started hooking up.

You didn’t understand why Chat Noir would do this with a civilian but like every other person on this planet, he has his needs. He would knock in a pattern on your window so you knew it was him and you would let him in, you’d talk for a bit, ask each other about your day until one of you breaks and pushes the other on the bed or against the wall. He was good in bed. Very good. You knew you’d never grow tired of this affair. To top it all off after you both finished you’d sit in bed and talk about all sorts of things. Aliens, Conspiracy theories about the media, gossip about people and sometimes he’d even play Mario Kart with you.

There were no strings attached. You both made it clear from day one. There couldn’t be. You both didn’t have the time for a relationship, you both didn’t have the energy for one so you simply stuck to the title ‘fuck buddies’ until one of you decides to back out. This night was different though. A smile didn’t appear on your face when you hear the familiar knock on your window because you were stuck cussing at your computer screen and rubbing your head in frustration. You had an essay to explain Shakespeare and his works but for some reason you kept deleting all that you’ve typed because you couldn’t put your thoughts into words.

He knocked again, quickly this time. “I know you’re there, beautiful.” His voice was muffled through the glass.

You huffed and put your laptop on the bed before stomping to the window. You opened it and were met by the hero grinning at you. You, on the other hand, didn’t have a pleased look on your face.

“I’m not in the mood Chat.” You state and were about to close the window again but he held it to stop you from closing it.

“Ma Belle, did I do something wrong?” He asks, a frown on his face.

You shake your head. “No, I just have this stupid essay that I’ve been trying to type out for the past four hours.” You sigh and make your way back to your bed, rubbing your temples.

He follows you inside and closes the window behind him.

“Maybe I can ease your stress for a little bit.” He says, a smirk on his face.

You simply shoot him a glare and he chuckles nervously, putting his hands up in defense.

“Okay. No sex. Got it.” He sits beside you and looks at what you’re typing.

“You know you can leave right? If you’re horny you can go to your other side bitches.” You say as you type away, your eyes glued onto your screen.

Chat purses his lips, like he held himself back from saying something and shook his head.

“Maybe I came here for some company.” He says.

You snort and chuckle. “Yeah right.” You say sarcastically and look at him, but he wasn’t smiling. You gulp and your smile fades away. Did he seriously come over because he feels lonely?

His face was leaning closer to your and you were leaning closer too. No. You had to finish this stupid essay.

“Stop distracting me kitty.” You whisper and kiss his nose quickly before looking back at the screen.

He groans and falls back on the bed, playing with the pillow.

“I can help you if you’re writing about Shakespear, I wro-“ He stops himself from talking and you turn around, quirking your eyebrow at him.

“You wrote an essay like this?” you questioned.

He visibly gulps and shakes his head.

“Do you go to college?” You question further.

He chuckles nervously. “You know I can’t tell you that mon ange.”

You stare at him for a moment before looking back at your screen. You decided not to pry further, he seemed uncomfortable talking about his personal life and you decided to respect his wishes.

Your phone started to ring and you see that it’s your friend from college Marinette. You pick it up.

“Hey Mari.” You say as you type.

“The deadline has been changed to next week!” She exclaims happily.

You were filled with rage.

“what?” You deadpanned.

“Yeah apparently some students asked to change it because they were having difficulties so he changed it to next week instead of tomorrow morning.”

“I literally asked him to extend the deadline three days ago and he refused. I swear to god I want to kill this son of a bitch” You groan and clutch your fist in anger.

She sighs, “I know girl, but hey at least you’ve got more time on your hands!”

Marinette always tried to be positive when she could and you appreciated that but honestly you needed to vent. “Yeah, thanks for letting me know Mari.”

“No problem! Bonne nuit.”

“Bonne nuit.” You sigh out before you end the call.

You groan out in frustration and shut your laptop.

“What happened?” Chat asks.

You get out of your bed and start to pace around.

“I have been working on this essay for the past four days, knowing very well how stupid it was that the deadline was only five days for a two thousand word essay on fucking Shakespeare and when I ask to extend the deadline, the son of a bitch replies with an angry email saying theres enough time and that im just lazy.” You finally breathe and chat was about to say something but you cut him off.

“But when his privileged French pupil ask him to extend the deadline of course he agrees and you know what, I think it was Adrien fucking Agreste who asked him because hes the fucking pretty model boy who has everybody on their knees for him just because of his high status.” You sit down and without realising you start talking about a different subject.

“Yeah, I get it, everybody wants to fuck the pretty blond guy with money, I would too but at least I don’t look like a thirsty bitch every time he talks to me, some girls in my damn college have literally no chill and I swear to god one day I want to make him my bitch, make him weak for me to show those bitches what i’m capable of.” You were breathing heavily at this point and your face was flushed red.

You always thought Adrien was attractive, everyone did but whenever he talked to you, you responded normally to him unlike other people who constantly laughed at everything he said to try and get in his pants. He was a good guy but he was too well known for his own good and it made you uninterested in him. You thought he was out of your league, that’s what those french bitches told you at least. They belittled you just because you’re foreign - you knew they were just jealous that Adrien was always the one to come up to talk to you unlike them.

That was enough ranting for now. You look at Chat who was staring at you wide eyed, his cheeks glowing red.

“You don’t need to say anything, it’s just-“ You look down at his body and notice something. “Chat..why are you hard?”

He crosses his legs over the other awkwardly to try and hide it. “W-What are you talking about?”

You stand up and walk over to him and he walks back until he’s pressed against the wall.

“What? You get hard thinking about me making someone weak?” You whisper to him and he looks away from you. “You want me to do the same to you kitty?” You kiss his ear and he shudders, nodding slowly. Your hand moves down from his chest to his belly and your lips move from his ear to his jaw. Chat tilts his head back and a frenzy of purrs emerge from his parted lips. He was aroused, in a state of euphoria even with your small, light touches. Your hand moved lower until it reached down to the tent he had in his suit. It was painfully tight for him. Your fingertips lightly brushed over the bulge and he cussed under his breath.

“Fuck.” He whispered while you continued to touch his clothed erection and lick up his neck. He kept purring and moaning at the same time. You loved seeing him worked up like this. Your lips latched on to a certain spot on his neck and you sucked on it harshly, nibbling at it when you got the chance and putting more pressure with your hand against him.

He was a mess, grinding against your hand and breathing heavily.

“Ma Belle – merde,” he couldn’t even speak without stuttering. “I want more, please.” He begs and you look up at him, noticing the red mark on his neck and feeling very pleased with yourself.

“More what, kitty?” You whisper and remove your hand from where it was.

He groans in frustration.

“More – I-I want you to touch me more.” He pleads. “Please.”

You smirk at him and pull him to your bed, pushing him back on the bed and getting on his lap. Before he could react you put your lips on his and start to grind on top of him.

He moans against your lips and throws his head back, holding onto your hips for support. You could tell that he wanted to take his clothes off but you wanted him to come right then and there.

Your hips move against his, the friction pleasing you the same, causing you to moan but grin at the worked up blond beneath you.

“Shit, shit I’m close.” He whimpers and closes his eyes, moving his own hips with yours to get more pleasure.

It felt so good but you knew you couldn’t finish with him, maybe you could continue after but your hopes disappeared when you heard the beeping coming from his ring.

“Mon Ange I-“

“Shut up and come for me kitty.” You groan out and quicken your movements causing him to part his lips and hold onto you.

His body shakes and he spews out cuss words in French while he comes undone, thrusting his hips up and whimpering.

You’re both breathing heavily, looking at each other both dazed and tired. You were about to lean in for another kiss but his ring starts beeping furiously.

You hop off of his lap and watch as he groans while he gets up, uncomfortably moving because of the mess he made between his legs.

“I’m sorry I cant finish you off.” He says, pouting at you.

“It’s okay Chat, I think you’ve done enough today.” You wink at him and he chuckles bashfully.

“Until next time Mon ange!” He says and opens the window.

“Bye Kitty.” You blow him a kiss and with that he’s off.

Maybe you could actually finish yourself off to the thought of him being a mess for you but before you could even do anything, your phone beeps and you see a notification from Adrien Agreste.

 “Did you hear that they moved the deadline for the Shakespeare essay? Pissed me off tbh.”

It was like he knew you accused him of something and to top it all off this was the first time he’s ever really texted you. It was weird but maybe you shouldn’t think much of it. Right?

#chat noir #chat noir x reader #adrien agreste #mlb #adrien x reader #miraculous ladybug

[soulmate-game]

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 5: Overprotection

Disclaimer: Dick was adopted when he was 12 in this fic. Just for math’s sake.

—*—*—*—*—*

“What.”

Damian stared at his father, face carefully blank. Bruce grimaced, shifting.

“I said, you have a half sister. Biological.”

Four sets of eyes bored into him, from all of his sons. They were gathered not in the Batcave for once, but just one of the sitting rooms in the Manor.

“... and what, Father, does that have to do with the French class visiting Gotham?” Damian asked again, posture steadily growing stiffer and more and more stone like. He was trying hard to suppress emotions, but not even he was quite sure what those emotions were yet. Anger? Fear? Resentment? Probably. He might have detected some excitement there too, deep, deep down. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for this.

“Well. I’ve kept up with her life, but last time I checked she had no idea that she was adopted. When her birth mother died, it was right around the time I adopted Dick. She was still an infant, and I knew I was not equipped to handle taking care of a baby—“

“Father,” Damian interrupted again. “You sent her off. Have her up for adoption,” he said slowly, as if realizing that that would have been his fate had his father known about his existence earlier, as well. It was almost ironic, considering how Bruce seemed to have a problem with adopting other children nowadays. Bruce nodded.

“She was adopted by a couple in France. Paris, to be exact. I’ve kept up to date, asking them to just send me a letter or email once or twice a year about the general stuff she’s been up to. Nothing too invasive. A few pictures. And last time I asked them, they said that she had no idea about being adopted or that I was her father,” Bruce sighed again, running a hand over his face. “But I think she does.”

“Why?” Jason asked, confused as everyone else to the change in subject. Except Tim and Damian, who seemed to be quickly connecting the dots.

“Oh boy,” Tim breathed. Bruce just nodded.

“Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She is the one who organized the trip for her class to come here, to Gotham. She is the one who entered and won our international internship competition, and turned that into an excuse to get her entire class to come here for two weeks. To get to know the place she will be living for her internship next year, after she graduates Lycee, France’s version of highschool essentially.”

Tim winced. He had been in charge of the internship competition, and Bruce had given him free reign. He had chosen the winner without even thinking to run it by his adoptive father.

“Bruce—“ Tim tried, but the man just held up a hand.

“I don’t blame you. I haven’t been paying too much attention to her life, and I didn’t expect her to do something like this. But we know now that, if she does know and this isn’t a giant coincidence,”

“Unlikely,” Dick agreed, wincing. “Possible, but unlikely.”

Bruce huffed in agreement. “Then, we know she is very resourceful, determined, and has skills that impressed Tim enough to choose her out of tens of thousands of contest participants worldwide.”

“The minimum requirement for a Wayne,” Damian finally managed to bite out, still coping with this proverbial slap in the face but doing his best to handle it. He was seventeen damn it, and had come a long way from who he used to be. He could handle this. He could. He would.

Bruce rolled his eyes, and then leaned forward with his hands braced on the table. “Okay. So now we need to make plans.”

“Plans?” Jason asked, frowning. “For how you’re gonna tell her without getting your faces plastered over every tabloid in the city right?”

“No,” the older man shook his head. “Plans to keep her alive, unharmed, and unaffiliated with us until she leaves. I will not be making any public appearances unless absolutely necessary, so trips to the Tower are out of the question—“

“Are you…” Jason’s eyes were wide. “Trying to keep her out of our Shitshow? Because yeah, kudos to you even if it took you way too long to learn, but if she went through all this trouble to come here then it's probably too late.”

Dick nodded. “If she’s anything like you and Damian, there’s no way she’ll back off easy. Avoiding her will only make it worse on you, and probably the rest of us too.”

Damian stared straight into his father's eyes, glare sharp and searching. “What is this about, Father? You have not worried this much about any of us—“

“Because none of you were as naive!” He barked, quickly catching himself and taking a breath. “You all had a way you could benefit from this life. A way I could help you. But Marinette has both of the parents she has known her whole life, they treat her wonderfully. They care. She’s never had to worry about constantly moving, or fighting, or going hungry. The only deaths she has ever experienced have been from afar and due to natural causes. She designs as a hobby and has no problem with socializing or handling emotions in a healthy way— introducing her to our life holds no benefit for her. The only thing it can give her is unnecessary danger and risk and secrets.”

“Yeah, well. I guess Batman doesn’t know everything, does he?” A new voice startled them all from the doorway, making everyone's head whip over to see who had managed the near-impossible and snuck up on all of them.

Standing there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, was a short part-Asian woman in her late teens. Her midnight black hair was cascading down her back in one thick braid, tied off at the end with an indigo ribbon. Her eyes were a piercing cobalt blue, matching those of Bruce perfectly. Her jaw was clenched, and the infamous Bat-glare coming from her was directed right at the person who made the expression infamous in the first place.

“Marinette,” Bruce breathed, shoulders squaring. “Your plane isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

“It won’t,” she agreed. “I took a portal here. You see, my extensive research into Batman’s known habits and tactics, which I started after I figured out about your alter ego last year, informed me that you tend to go to the extremes to protect people you deem incapable of protecting themselves, and are also prone to idiotic self-sacrificing behavior in the form of purposely making yourself look like an ass.”

Jason chuckled. “She’s got you down to a T, B,” he quipped with a grin despite the caution still in his eyes. “But let’s back up a bit, little Spitfire. What’s this about a portal?”

Marinette pushed off the doorframe, walking closer to the scattered group. Tim and Jason were spread across one sofa, Damian on the other with Dick, and Bruce was occupying an armchair. Marinette just walked until she stood where she could easily be seen by everyone, but also had nobody at her back.

“The portal is part of a bigger story. Like, the fact that father dearest wanted to protect me so badly that he placed the JLE in Paris, but didn’t realize that relations with that branch were so bad that the JLE never informed him or the JLA about getting kicked out of France and reassigning themselves to Italy. Bruce never kept a close enough eye on the city, because he wanted to keep emotional distance, and therefore was completely blind to when a supervillain showed up and terrorized Paris for almost five years,” she continued, her glare never leaving Bruce’s face.

“I found out about being adopted when I was eight. I found out who my biological father was when I was thirteen. Last year, I finally put in the work to connect Bruce Wayne to Batman. And yeah, I never told Maman and Papan, because they have never completely understood me. They wouldn’t have understood that I was fine with having no contact with you, back then. That my snooping had nothing to do with being unhappy with them as my parents. They would have immediately assumed they were inadequate when I am merely curious by nature. But then I ended up being chosen to be one of the child heroes that fought said domestic terrorist that showed up five years ago. And I sure as hell couldn't tell them that a magical artifact showed up on my desk one day and that the god inhabiting it told me to fight the monsters the villain made and just, just go with it. I couldn’t tell them when I went from being one of two Parisian heroes to being the leader of a team. I couldn’t tell them when my elderly mentor, unable to fight by our side but who had at least provided emotional support and knowledge, passed away and gave me his title and responsibilities. I’m sick and tired of being protected, Monsieur Wayne,” Marinette didn’t seem to notice the tears that had begun to fall.

“I’m sick of it. I know you were trying to keep me safe, but I fought a war I wasn’t prepared for. I died, thousands of times. But my own powers and the powers I have my partners brought me back to life. Over and over. I don’t need protection, damn it. I don’t need you to distance yourself, because you're the only fucking person I can call a parent who might understand,” she held out a hand, her scowl turning into a gentle smile. “I have so much I need to talk about. Before I drown under all these secrets. Please. I’ll go back through another portal before my parents notice I’m gone, but I’ll be back in town tomorrow when my plane lands. Just. Please, don’t push me away. That’s all I ask. I want to get to know you, all of you. I… I need family who understands.”

“Thousands.” Bruce repeated, all of them still recovering from Marinette’s very sudden, info-dumping speech. “You died… thousands of times?”

Marinette laughed, but it was a sad sound. No mirth there. “I gave my friend a magical artifact that reverses time, and the artifact that gives me my own powers can reverse any damage from a fight I use it in. Even death. Sending untrained teenagers to fight a villain three times their age makes some kind of failsafe like that kind of necessary.”

“Fuck,” Jason cursed under his breath. “Well. You’re welcome to join the living Zombie club,” he offered. The girl snorted, giving him a watery grin in thanks.

“I’m sure you know about my stance on powers and metas,” Bruce decided to say, wincing immediately after. That wasn’t what he meant to say. At all. He earned another brief glare for it.

“I’m not a meta, and I only have powers when I use the artifact to transform, thereby borrowing powers from the miniature god that the artifact houses. Think of it like doctor fate, but my gods are actually not parasites and my powers are much more… specialized. I had to learn combat on my own, and I was able to train in my sleep with the past users of this artifact. That includes people like Fa Mulan, Joan of Arc, and someone you actually know— Hippolyta. I’ve mastered more fighting styles by now than I care to remember, and I’ve done gymnastics since I was three. I don’t know if my parents told you that in their letters. I even won the gold in the nationwide France gymnastics competition two years ago. I assure you, I don’t rely on my powers nearly as much as you might think.”

Bruce swallowed. “I can… greet you when your class arrives.”

Marinette grinned. “Well, that’s a start.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Idk what happened, I don’t know if I like this at all but oh well. I’m posting it anyway. Maybe one of you will like it. I… couldn’t really find any other way to do this so oh well. Also, I think Mulan was a past Dragon..? But I put her as a Ladybug because I Can.

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl @iamablinkmarvelarmy @meme991001

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #b!dbwm2020 #bio dad bruce wayne #platonic daminette #platonic brucinette #day 5 #not my fave at all

[duhragonball]

I was curious to hear about what you think of the anime splitting DB & DBZ into separate shows. Personally, I get Toei’s logic and find it ridiculous how some extremists & purists act so hostile/resentful about DBZ being treated as a sequel to DB, especially since Akira Toriyama didn’t have any problems with it.

I agree, anon, there's really not much to the name change. The way I understood it, the manga kept the same title, "Dragon Ball", from start to finish, while the anime changed to "Dragon Ball Z", mostly to put a fresh coat of paint on the series, I suppose. I always understood the "Z" was a reference to Toriyama's intention to bring the story to a close, which turned out to be ironic, since the Z portion lasted so much longer.

But yeah, that's basically all it is. There was a clear division between one and the other. Z has Gohan and Vegeta, and OG Dragon Ball does not, for example. But you can make a similar case for other parts of the story. The division between kid Goku and adult Goku, in the Piccolo Junior Saga. I've long maintained that there's a very clear border around the halfway point, when Goku fights Recoome. Before that moment, everyone was worried about Dragon Balls, and after that moment, it became all about Super Saiyans. And you could make a case for the post-Frieza stuff being a very different story from what came before. I watched the opening theme to the French dub of DBZ once, and the visuals kept emphasizing Goku for the "Dragon Ball" part of the song, and Buu-Era Gohan for the "Dragon Ball Z" part, like the Buu stuff was Z alone. So there's plenty of other candidates for places to draw the line if you wanted to cut the story in two.

Ultimately, "purist" fans are going to do what they always do, and a lot of them use these artificial divisions to arbitrarily declare the point where the show stopped being "good". It's the same bullshit as the myth about Toriyama wanting to end it with Frieza. There's no truth to that, beyond Toriyama considering it and eventually deciding to continue. A lot of people think he planned to keep Goku dead after the Cell Games, and was forced to bring him back to appease the fans, but that makes no sense either. Goku returned *very* soon after the chapter where he died. Fans act like he was absent from the comic for seven years, just because he was dead that long, but it was more like a few months. But a lot of fans like to perpetuate that myth, because they think it justifies their dislike of the Buu Saga. "Oh, it could have been good if Toriyama hadn't been hijacked by Goku stans, so now it's terrible."

As far as I'm concerned, the post-Frieza stuff is the best part, and I think the Saiyans and Frieza are good but overrated. I also really dig the run from Mercenary Tao to Piccolo Junior a lot. This is probably why I never tried to play the whole "It was great until X," because there's ups and downs for me. And the ups are very long, and the downs are still pretty good, so I don't try to convince people that my opinions are facts. "Oh, well Toriyama got a new assistant after General Blue, and then he left around Raditz and came back when Trunks showed up, and that guy was the one who made it kick ass." That's dumb.

Like, with JoJo, I can understand preferring art styles and characters, which change over the course of the series. Part 8 just looks different from Part 4, and some folks like one more than the other. I mostly dig Part 7 for the horses and the scenic views of the continental U.S. Not everyone would agree. But I don't see a lot of folks saying things like "Oh Part 6 is terrible because Araki overdosed on Bad Comics Pills in the early 2000's." No, just say you don't like it, and move on.

But Dragon Ball is pretty damn consistent, other than the art style getting more angular over time. People will talk about the shift from fantasy to scifi, but Z ended with the boys fighting a genie in Superheaven, so how scifi is that? You don't have to like the later stuff, but it's not so easy to put it in a box like that.

But the fandom snobs love to act like their opinions are objective truths. "Oh, the Saiyans arc was better because Goku and Vegeta's hair actually moves." Really? Is that what this show is about? Hair animation? I like the Cell episodes because he's a fucking monster from the future, and that's rad as hell. I guess I was too busy having fun to notice that the *hair* isn't as well animated.

Actually, let me flip that around. The Androids/Cell/Buu episodes are superior because everyone is jacked in those. Early Vegeta's costume was all baggy, but after Namek he had the big horseneck and Bulma made him a uniform so tight that you can see his entire asscrack. That's *better*, as far as I'm concerned. Tien always looks swole as hell, but he's extra jacked in the Cell Saga, and that's the way I like it. Everyone who disagrees is a plebian.

It sounds pretty dumb, doesn't it? But that's what these elitists do. They pick on some minor infraction and tell you it's unlovable beyond this point, and if you do love it, there must be something wrong with you. Well, I'm here to say there ain't, folks. Toriyama's still making this stuff, so don't try to tell me he regrets the later material. If the Buu Saga is so terrible, why does everyone keep making sequels to it? Toriyama could just ignore the parts he doesn't want to use, the way he apparently ignores GT.

It's like the Terminator movies. I bought a box set recently because I never saw 4 or 6, and I thought it'd be fun to watch them all in order. But I already know the later movies have nothing to do with each other. T3 killed off Sarah Conner off-screen, but she's alive in T6. Basically, every movie after T2 is trying to be a direct sequel to 2, without bothering to acknowledge the others, because different people made 4, 5, and 6, and I guess they all hated 3. So they just did their own thing. Toriyama could do the same thing whenever he wants, but he always seems to make an effort to acknowledge his older stories. He doesn't de-age Gohan or change Bulla's name. Because he remembers working on the Cell and Buu stuff and he still respects it enough to keep it. I know people don't like how Videl turned out in DBS, but that process started way back in 1995.

I'm not saying people shouldn't have opinions, but acting like the letter Z ruined 60% of the story is kind of reductive, to say the least. Sometimes, things change, and they may not change the way we want them to, but that doesn't mean they're "ruined" or that other people can't enjoy them.

#dragon ball #ask duhragonball

[artificialqueens]

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 41 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Hi everyone! Okay so, in this chapter, they begin working on a new musical, and I URGE you to check it out if you haven’t: The Scarlet Pimpernel. Also! I made a playlist with every song we’ve used as chapter titles, including the upcoming ones pretty much through the end of the story. Click here for previous chapters or here if you’d rather read on AO3. And thank you SO MUCH to wonderful betas: @saiphl, @sillylittlecandycane!!! XOXOXO

Chapter Summary: New semester, new school musical: and Courtney’s star is finally on the rise.

Chapter 41: You Are My Home

It was weird having Roy back home for the holidays, Adore thought, watching him tell a story to Bob, Jamin, and Thorgy, commanding all the attention as usual, sipping from a solo cup and gesturing wildly. It was even weirder to see him getting sloppy-drunk as the night wore on--Adore supposed that college was a bigger challenge than he’d planned for, and maybe he needed to blow off some steam. Still, seeing him grope Courtney as he bent her over Thorgy’s pool table was certainly...something different.

It was over a month since the night of her break-up with Tati, that near miss where she’d come so scarily close to a confession. Once in a while, late at night, she’d have a brief twinge of regret for not being honest. Most of the time though, she felt like she’d absolutely made the right call--their friendship was stronger than it had ever been. So Roy’s dumbass horndog behavior tonight was actually making her laugh.

Maybe it was Courtney’s eye rolls as he rubbed against her, but Adore didn’t find Roy nearly as annoying as she used to. He was no longer a looming, oppressive reminder of her hopeless crush. He was just a guy who came back from college to awkwardly hang out with his high school friends over winter break. A guy who was currently grinding pathetically against his girlfriend, trying (and failing) to get some affection.

“I thought you were gonna teach me Vanessa’s tricks,” Courtney said, pushing him away gently as she lined up her cue.

“I’m trying, but I need to get close,” Roy said, pulling her ass back against him. He leaned forward and murmured something into her hair, something which made her burst out laughing.

“Ummm...no offense, babe, but I don’t really feel like you’d be on your A game tonight,” Courtney said, still giggling.

“Rude,” he pouted.

Courtney looked up, catching Adore’s eye and sending her another exaggerated eye roll. Adore smiled back at her, shaking her head.

“Do you want to sleep over tonight?” Courtney asked.

“Yes,” Roy said, moving her hair aside to kiss her neck.

“Not you!” Courtney said, swatting him on the shoulder before giving Adore an exasperated look. “I meant Dory.”

Adore knew that it was petty, but she couldn’t help the slight thrill that Courtney was choosing her over Roy. It didn’t mean anything--they’d gotten back into their old habit of Adore staying with her every time Bonnie worked a night shift, and she knew that’s all it was. And anyway, it probably wasn’t going to happen, given the way Roy was now pouting and whining.

“Why her? She gets to see you all the time!” Roy argued, indignant. When Courtney didn’t immediately cave, he tried a softer tactic. “Please, baby, I miss you so much…”

“Fine. You can have the floor,” Courtney said, taking Adore by such surprise that she didn’t have time to cover her mouth before a loud cackle of laughter escaped.

“You are the meanest girlfriend in the entire world,” Roy said.

“I know.” Courtney leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.

-

PEARL: How was your sleepover?

ADORE: So weird

PEARL: Did all three of you pile into Courtney’s bed?

ADORE: Ew, not that weird. No, Roy slept on the floor in a sleeping bag and Courtney and I slept in her bed. So like...just awkward as fuck.

PEARL: What’s wrong, you don’t like spooning her while her boyfriend is 2 feet away?

ADORE: Ugh

PEARL: Wanna come over today? Trin’s gonna be here in like an hour

ADORE: I can’t. I told Court I’d go ice skating with her and Roy.

PEARL: Well well well, how cosy

ADORE: Shut up

PEARL: The three musketeers

ADORE: SHUT UP

Adore sighed. She supposed it was probably strange that she’d been spending her whole break hanging out with Courtney and Roy, but it wasn’t her fault. Courtney invited her everywhere and Roy was just...always there. Besides, when it really came down to it, she liked Roy. And she liked how happy Courtney was when all three of them were together. And to her relief, they’d chilled out a lot on the PDA, now more like an old married couple who teased each other constantly and bickered playfully, using Adore to settle every disagreement.

So, if they had to be the Three Musketeers for another week, Adore was actually fine with that.

-

The musical for their senior year was The Scarlet Pimpernel, and Courtney was absolutely beside herself with glee when she landed the lead. All weekend, she listened to the soundtrack on repeat, falling in love with the music and story and her character, a French actress named Marguerite who was embroiled in a complicated love triangle with her British aristocrat husband and her French revolutionary ex-lover. She sang the songs over and over until she knew them by heart, and drove everyone in the household bonkers with her attempt at a French accent.

They had their first cast reading on a Monday evening in mid-January, and as usual, Mrs. Maguire had them sing through their songs as best they could. Courtney was especially excited when it came time to sing her duet with Adore, who was cast as her brother. It was a gorgeous, sappy ballad and one of her favorites in the show, always making her tear up.

Adore began a bit tentatively, since she hadn’t spent nearly as much time listening to the soundtrack as Courtney, but after a few bars, she got into it too, the drama of clinging to her “sister” as they waited in jail, facing the guillotine together.

“You are my home You make me strong And in this world of strangers, I belong to someone You are all I have You’re all I have; I need you so…”

Courtney, of course, had already memorized every word, and she sang directly into Adore’s eyes, arms wrapped around her neck.

Later, in her office, Mrs. Maguire was sitting pensively, brow furrowed in concern when Thorgy came in to let her know that the crew was finished cleaning up.

“Thor...let me ask you a question. I need a...second opinion.”

“Sure.”

“Do you think it was a mistake casting Courtney and Adore as siblings?”

“How so?” he asked carefully.

She cleared her throat. “Well...do you think they have too much of a...how should I put this...romantic vibe?”

Thorgy burst out laughing.

“Mrs. Maguire...girl…you don’t know the half of it.”

“So, I didn’t imagine that?”

“No. They’ve always been like that,” he told her.

“I mean, I knew they were close friends, but...isn’t Courtney still dating Roy?”

“Yeah...yeah. But…well, you saw it.” Thorgy chuckled again.

“Oy.” Mrs. Maguire picked up a cast list. “I may need to change some things around.”

The next day, a solution fell into her lap when Willam came to see her during the fourth period, looking more distraught than she’d ever seen him. Apparently, he was committed to the show choir for the Spring, and there were a bunch of scheduling conflicts with rehearsals, making it damn near impossible for him to play the title role he’d gotten. It was unsettling to see a kid who was normally as cool as a cucumber so upset.

“I don’t want to quit, I love doing the plays so much,” he said tearfully, and she jumped up to give him a hug.

“Of course you don’t want to quit. Listen, honey, it’s your senior year. We can definitely figure out a way for you to do both, okay? I might have to shuffle some casting, but it’ll all work out. I promise.” She hugged him again, patting him on the back.

“If you tell anyone I cried, I’ll key your car,” came his muffled voice, and she laughed, promising to keep his shameful secret.

Once he left, she sat back down, a relieved sigh leaving her. This could work out perfectly.

She spoke to all the kids individually about their new casting. Bob was over the moon when he found out he’d be taking over Willam’s title role: the wealthy aristocratic Percy, Courtney’s new husband, who uses his foppish clothing obsession as a cover in order to go into France and rescue his friends from the guillotine. And Willam was thrilled that not only did he still have a part, but a good one--taking over Adore’s role as Courtney’s brother, Armand. Adore was also delighted--she now had Bob’s role, a radical and sexy French revolutionary and compelling villain. After reading the script closely a few times, she asked Mrs. Maguire if it was necessary to play her new character, Chauvelin, as a man.

“Can’t I be a radical leftist woman instead?” she asked, during that first week of rehearsals.

“I don’t see why not,” Mrs. Maguire answered, tossing out a casual, “Courtney, Chauvelin is now your ex-girlfriend, not your ex-boyfriend.”

Courtney looked up with wide eyes before smiling and nodding, giving Adore a sassy wink. This show was certainly going to be interesting.

-

As a gentle knock sounded, Courtney rolled over slightly, whimpering. She was achy and feverish and felt absolutely awful. And to make matters worse, she’d missed two whole days of rehearsal with no telling when she’d feel better. At this rate, Mrs. Maguire would probably be giving her part away to her understudy, a freshman who’d never even been in a play before.

“Come in,” she said weakly, tears collecting in her eyes as she thought about how unfair it all was. She’d worked so hard, taken ensemble roles and been an understudy herself and helped with ticket sales and sold ads for every program and never complained, and now she was probably going to lose her one chance to be the lead in a musical.

Adore pushed the door open, offering a sympathetic, “Hey, babe, how ya doin’?”

Courtney tried to lift her head, even that small movement making her wince in pain, hot tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Don’t get up!” Adore rushed to her side, placing a few books on her nightstand. “I just came by to bring your homework.”

“Thanks,” Courtney said, sniffling.

“What’s the matter?” Adore pressed a cool hand to her cheek, lips turned down in a frown as a tear slipped down Courtney’s face.

“I’m just worried that Mrs. Maguire’s gonna give my part away,” Courtney admitted.

“Don’t worry about that. It took all of today’s rehearsal to get through half of ‘The Creation of Man.’ We have plenty of shit to work on without you. Besides, no one but you could do that part justice, anyway.”

Courtney blinked back her tears, gazing up at Adore with a grateful expression.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I promise!” Adore laughed, climbing into her bed to sit beside her. “Stop worrying, okay?”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get sick too?” Courtney said, pulling her blankets tighter around her shoulders.

“Nahh. You know Bonnie makes me do that dumb FluMist vaccine every year. I’m invincible.”

“I don’t think that’s actually true,” Courtney said, covering her mouth with her elbow to cough.

“Well, whatever. It’s worth it to hang out with my best friend.” Adore smiled down at her, and Courtney felt like she might cry all over again.

“Thanks, baby,” she murmured softly.

“Omigod, also...the craziest shit happened today at lunch, I have to tell you about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, okay so first of all...did you know that Violet applied to Columbia early-decision and got in?”

“Wow.”

“Wow is right!” Adore exclaimed. “I mean, I know she’s smart, but she doesn’t give a shit about school. But apparently she got like, practically a perfect score on her SATs. And then everyone else started talking about what school they want to go to and they have all these plans and backup plans and I just...I had no idea our friends were like...so school motivated. It’s fucking weird.”

It surprised Courtney too...maybe not as much as Adore, because she’d figured that Trinity would have ambitious school plans, and Fame as well. And Pearl, well Pearl wasn’t very scholarly, but she assumed that she’d want to go to an art school or something.

“And I guess you’re probably planning to go to UCLA and move in with Roy or something,” Adore mumbled.

Courtney let out a rueful laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t have the grades for that.”

“What?” Adore looked confused. “Your grades are fine.”

“They’re okay. I could probably get into a Cal State. But Ms. Patterson told me in the fall that any UC is a pipe dream. So I’m probably gonna just do two years at a community college and then transfer.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” Courtney said, a deep sigh leaving her. “It’s for the best. We’ll save a bunch of money. My dad said he’d pay for my room and board, so I can still move out, thank god.”

“Move out where? Are you staying in the area?”

“No...but I dunno exactly. People say that Santa Barbara City College is good. Or Santa Monica college. It would be so great to be by the beach.”

“Ugh, I’d love to live near the beach. What I really want is to just move to LA, get some shitty retail job or whatever, and work on my music. I’m like, so close to convincing Bonnie what a good idea it is.”

“Adore! Omigod!” Suddenly, the aching in Courtney’s exhausted body didn’t matter, as she hoisted herself into a seated position to look directly into Adore’s hazel eyes. “We should be roommates!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! It would be perfect! Don’t you think?!” A smile lit up Courtney’s eyes, so big she thought it might split her face in two.

“Well...yeah, maybe...that could be cool.”

“I know, right?! Omigod, we’d have so much fun, and we could totally save money!” Courtney exclaimed, reaching forward to pull Adore in for a hug, her ecstatic joy pushing aside any thoughts of giving the flu to her friend.

Adore hugged her back, a light giggle slipping from her lips as she said, “I guess now we have a plan, too.”

-

Courtney was bone-tired. By the time she got over the flu, she’d missed a full week. Between catching up on her classes, the extra rehearsals, and struggling to memorize her lines, not to mention playing referee to Karen and Muriel’s latest argument over whether it was appropriate for Karen to have overnight guests, she felt like she could sleep for a week.

But she’d already agreed to this Saturday rehearsal, and she knew she needed it anyway, so she dragged herself out of bed and showed up at the theatre with an extra-large frappuccino that didn’t seem to help her exhaustion, but did make her jittery and off-balance.

That’s probably why she missed her cue, while working on her scene with Adore. At least, that’s what she would claim if anyone asked.

It was the scene in Act One where Adore’s character, Chauvelin, was trying to convince her to leave England and come back with her to Paris. She’d been zoning out a bit while Mrs. Maguire talked to Adore about the scene, explaining that her character needed to be angrier. Courtney really wasn’t paying attention like she should, but it was something about how Adore was supposed to be extra angry because not only did Marguerite abandon the French Revolution to marry a British aristocrat, but she’d also abandoned her.

Anyway, she wasn’t prepared when they started up the scene again, for the intensity with which Adore spoke her next line: “You do not belong in this cold land, with no one to understand you...to touch you.”

Adore let her fingers graze Courtney’s cheek before grabbing her waist and pulling her in roughly. A small gasp left Courtney’s lips, staring into Adore’s burning hazel eyes.

“The girl I knew could not bear this another moment,” Adore said, in a hoarse stage whisper.

As Adore inched closer, mouth softly parted, Courtney’s heart raced, fingers digging into Adore’s shoulders, eyes wide...

“Uh, Courtney?”

Courtney’s head snapped up, towards Mrs. Maguire’s voice. “Yes?”

“You’re supposed to push her away.”

“I know,” Courtney said, cheeks burning. “I was just trying to, um...act conflicted about it.”

“Wow, good work. We really believed you,” Mrs. Maguire said, and Courtney shoved Adore backwards, making her stumble slightly, nearly tripping over her feet.

“Oh god, are you okay?” Courtney reached for her hand to steady her.

“Yeah, sorry, I, uh…”

“Why don’t we take this section again, from Marguerite’s line ‘What do you know of it?’” Mrs. Maguire said, disguising her amused chuckle as a cough.

“Yeah, sure, okay.” Courtney brushed off her hands, hoping that the burning in her cheeks wasn’t obvious to everyone watching.

-

“So, Karen’s into Palm Reading now, huh?”

“Uh huh,” Courtney laughed. They were sitting around the tree in their usual lunch spot, Courtney sharing her mother’s latest passion by attempting to read Adore’s palm.

“So is that shitty broken one my lifeline?”

“No, this one is your lifeline…” Courtney said, finger trailing across Adore’s palm, making her giggle.

“And? What do you think?”

“You’re gonna live a long time.” Courtney grinned at her, eyes shining.

“Fuck,” Adore pouted. “You sure? Can I change that?”

Willam let out a braying laugh.

“Yeah, I know what you mean, lesbian. Personally I want to die young and beautiful.”

“One out of two isn’t bad,” Violet shrugged, earning a punch on the shoulder. “Ow!”

“Good one,” Trinity giggled.

“Watch it, cuz. I could punch you, too,” warned Willam.

“You just fucking try it. I dare you.”

“Guys, please calm down,” Fame interjected. As always, the voice of reason.

Still holding Adore’s hand, Courtney touched her palm again, shivers traveling up her arm.

“Stop it,” Adore said, biting her lip, but making no move to pull her hand away.

“A long, long life…” Courtney continued, flashing her winning smile.

Adore smiled back, but then off Violet’s intentionally loud scoff, she cleared her throat and finally snatched her hand back, just as Bob approached the group.

“Hey, uh...I need to speak to my wife,” Bob said, and Courtney laughed, getting up and following him a little ways away from the group.

“Is everything okay? Do you need-”

“What’s going on with you and Adore?” he asked quickly, head tilted down at her, brow slightly furrowed.

“What do you mean?” Courtney’s thoughts started racing, her heart beating quickly.

“Don’t play dumb with me, I’ve known you since we were 4.”

“I’m not playing!” Courtney said. “Maybe I’m just dumb?”

Bob put his hands on his hips, glaring at her. After a moment, he narrowed his eyes and said, “He really loves you--”

Courtney sighed. “I know, Bob. Okay? You don’t think I know that? And I love him-”

“--More than you deserve.”

Courtney looked at him for a long moment, a sarcastic comeback on the tip of her tongue, which she swallowed down, defeated, shifting her gaze to the ground.

“I know.” Her voice broke on the last word, a lump rising in her throat.

Bob’s voice seemed to soften a little, saying, “Look...I’m just trying to-”

“I know, you’re looking out for your friend,” Courtney said tiredly, still avoiding his knowing brown eyes. Tears stung in her own eyes. “I get it.”

“No. I’m looking out for my friends.”

At that, Courtney looked up at him, surprised.

“You’re my friend too,” he continued. “And Adore’s my friend. And I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Courtney bit her lip, nodding. “Me neither,” she managed to whisper, before a single tear began to burn its way down her cheek. Bob pulled her in for a hug.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I know.” Courtney sniffled against his shoulder. “You’re a good husband.”

“Oh yeah? Then why aren’t you in the kitchen making me some pie?”

Courtney laughed, parting from him with a good-natured shove.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “I really do love him, you know.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He smiled ruefully. “Things can’t ever be easy, huh?”

“No, I guess not.”

He pressed one last fatherly kiss to her forehead before leaving to join his own lunch group. Courtney took a moment more to collect herself, then walked back to the tree.

“What was that all about?” Pearl asked. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just some stuff about the play.”

“I’m so excited to see this play, it’s all you guys talk about,” Tati said.

“Yeah, better live up to the hype,” Trinity warned.

“Oh, it will,” Adore promised her with a charming grin. “We’re fucking amazing.”

“Damn right it will. Although, let’s be honest, I would have been a much better Percy than Bob,” said Willam.

“Ehhh…” Courtney grimaced.

“Fuck you, cheerleader!” Willam exclaimed, chucking an orange slice at her face.

“No I mean, you’d have been great in the campy parts, but the sincere romantic stuff? Not so much.”

“Yeah, remember last year? You two were the least believable teen romance ever,” Adore laughed, and Courtney joined in, nodding.

“Exactly.”

“Are you saying I can’t play it straight?” Willam looked deeply offended.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what we’re saying,” Adore told him.

“Oh yeah? Well, watch this…Come here, Virginia.” He grabbed Tati, who immediately squirmed away.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, pushing him onto the grass.

“Sorry.”

“See? A straight guy wouldn’t have listened,” Violet commented drily, making all of them crack up.

#rpdr fanfiction #tree house kisses #scorpio #veronica #adorney #adore delano #courtney act #bianca del rio #bitney #pearl liaison #willam belli #bob the drag queen #lesbian au #high school au #m/f au #angst #fluff

[poxar]

Just read some manifesto about how to write Latino characters.

The idiot kept talking about how they don’t speak Spanish (often) so because of that Latinos must also not speak Spanish that often…

The leap of logic and self-indulgence. Like admit it bro you just don’t speak Spanish lmao 😂. That’s perfectly fine. Not every Latino has to be Hispanic as in Spanish speaking some of us speak French or Chinese or Arabic or Portuguese but are still Latino it’s okay.

But living within a Hispanic community means that people within that community only speak Spanish or speak it idk 85% of the time?

It’s how immigration works. Go to any Korea town, Chinatown, Russian town, the people in those ethnic groups tend to speak in their native tongues and have businesses that cater to their people within their respective communities in their languages. It’s not even that hard to find in the real world.

Also code switching is a thing all immigrants do. African Americans do it when they slip into AAVE. Immigrants do it when they slip into their native tongues and they still switch into other versions when they speak with their relatives vs other members of their communities. Like the way I speak to my brothers and sisters for example is not the same way I would address my elders or church members or something like that just like co-workers. We have a lot of things in common. And I think that’s wonderful tbh 🥰

Like the case for most immigrant kids is like they go to school and try their best to assimilate because that’s what their parents tell them to do and fuck were bullied OD so society tells us to assimilate or perish tbh. So we do we just abandon our culture when we leave the house. But the minute we enter the house we switch back to the old ways and we HAVE TO speak in our native languages because that’s what our parents/grandparents speak in and understand. That’s literally it. You just learned immigration assimilation and integration 101 congrats 🍾🎉🎊.

OP didn’t even mention immigration at all… but somehow their Latinx???? 😭like okay imma have to take your card away sis. I’m not saying everyone is fresh off the boat like my green card ass having parents. I know some people who aren’t… and honestly fuck them they straight up turn into Republicans which is like the most fucked up shit. Not saying all but I don’t like it! The assimilation and integration went too fucking hard.

It’s crazy to me how some people who really live in a god damn bubble are given a fucking platform to be talking about shit they’re clearly not even apart of. I saw the post and I’m not linking to it because honestly it doesn’t need anymore notes. It has like 10k from both white and black people who don’t know wtf they’re talking about. It’s annoying as fuck. -_-

Like for the love of god, just ask a fucking Hispanic person what it was like to live. Like if you want to create an authentic story or character. Just ask someone from the community and ask them about their life. People love sharing stories, and now you have something that connects you to someone and to a whole community.

Instead of reading bullet points from some antisocial loser who probably doesn’t even leave their fucking room and their social interactions with other people within their community stops at the drive-thru window at their local Wendy’s. I can smell their dumbass little privilege.

Being the daughter of immigrants and being from the Bronx and also living in NYC forces me to be diverse. I can’t be ignorant about socializing unless I want to be a complete jackass. Like for real. If you’re closed off and xenophobic in New York it’s by choice… it’s definitely a reality for some people but not for me and I’m glad and blessed for that. 😩

And tbh OPs takes were too generalized and basic. Every Hispanic/latino whatever you wanna call us idc at this point is attached to our specific culture.

This mf didn’t seem to have one ☝️ it was just…

We don’t all speak Spanish and we don’t all eat tacos and burritos…. And I’m like…… okay first of all burritos are Tex-mex like technically they’re AMERICAN you ask any Mexican that and that’s what they will tell you. It’s not a Mexican dish but something created here like pizza or whatever.

Tejanos and Mexicans who lived in Texas and Arizona and what not, before the whiteys came and just manifest destinied that shit, (chicanos) had their own way of cooking that has changed over the years due to war, colonialism, and just good ol’ evolution. A lot of people forget that Mexico owned that area and people been living there and had been for generations. There’s a lot of history that’s been kind of stomped out, appropriated, and then white washed and then abandoned. It’s not really given the respect it truly deserves and it’s sad. I’m sorry guys that I don’t have any sources on this matter but I do know of a lovely book.

La Frontera/Borderlands: The New Mestiza

I think it’s a fantastic read and a great way to dust off your Spanish speaking skills and learn what being American means to some people. Chicanos are what I’m referring to when I’m talking about the Mexicans who were annexed after the Alamo and the Spanish war America had with Mexico. It’s not a perfect term tbh but it’s the best I can do lol.

God I’m so fucking hungry

I SMELL A RAT 🐀

Lmao 😂

It’s pathetic lmao. I hate you and you’re dumb lol. Not you reading this, the person who made that awful post about how to write a Latino that just boiled down to just slap a Latino title and don’t bother making them Hispanic (which means Spanish speaking) because why would that add anything to their culture or sense of identity lmao 🤣 musty ass bitch.

I’m not even Mexican bro and I felt the need the need to step in because you’re not just going to disrespect my friends like that.

I get mad because I had a lot of friends who were illegal, who were scared of being deported, of fucking graduating high school or even applying for college and outing their family.

Like these are real fucking people. They pay taxes, they laugh and create and dance and live along side us. I wish them health, wealth and safety tbh because a lot of people don’t. And it’s so heartbreaking to me because they’re culture is so gorgeous and worth paying attention to. It is literally right there. They have the connections to their ancestors. Like cmon now, everyone is always looking for something new. 😞

Oh and here’s a cooking channel! Fuck it why not!

Aquí estas doñita Ángela con sus dos hijas Brenda y Mary. Buen Provecho!

This lady OD cute and she make good ass food 🥰 she’s Mexican Mexican though not Chicano

#me #personal #dominican #african diaspora #latinx #Latino #writing #creating #character #character creation #culture #diversity #immigration #why diversity is needed #why you’re dumb #get out there and start asking people #don’t be listening to everything without questions shit #like Jesus #y’all need to read some books #something tells me this person isn’t even Hispanic tbh #like their shit was waaaay to basic #chicano #Mexicans #Mexican food #Youtube

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fiancé: Chapter Six

Characters: Steve Rogers x Female Plus-Size Reader

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY

Summary: A lie about your best friend at a Christmas party spirals into world news, but a previously unknown threat leaves you having to now live the lie of Steve Rogers being your fiancé.

Originally based on the prompt ‘Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancé,’ by @alloftheprompts.

A/N: The whole series will include swearing, alcohol, threat, violence, apartment sharing, protected sex, and more tags to be added!

The title has been taken from the Ella Fitzgerald song of the same name.

The Fiancé Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

Read on AO3

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

It’s Only A Paper Moon

WEDNESDAY

“I am in heaven.”

“Doll’, this is Y/N’s wedding, not yours.”

“We have the whole place to ourselves, I can try on one thing, right?” 

Well, the first part of that is true. Sitting on a couch not designed for sitting on, you play with your hands in your lap as your gaze travels the room. Nat had, she’d told you before you’d left that morning, bought the whole place out, for the sake of sensationalism, security and it just seemed like something a very famous person would do.

‘Sensationalism’ is so far so successful; there is a crowd of people similar in size to the one at the cake shop outside, trying to look through the French windows, though you’re located at the back of the shop. As for security, it means Nat doesn’t have to plant people inside and you won’t get crowded and overwhelmed by people coming up to you, and for seeming like something a famous person would do? Yeah, probably, you don’t know.

“Just have some fun,” Nat had said as you’d gone down in the elevator. “It’s just trying on some dresses and having a fun time with your friends.”

Fun.

You’d nearly laughed. But, you’d just smiled and nodded, because that’s what you do now, smile and nod and go along with things. If you don’t, that leads to conversations, and conversations lead to you having to admit to things, like the panic attack you’d had that morning as you’d dressed or the fact you have feelings for your best friend and every moment of this week is both wonderful and torturous. 

Speaking of... you haven’t seen Steve today.

Last night, after you’d woken up from your nap, you’d showered, masturbated while in there, ‘cause, hey, things had only gotten more stressful, and changed and wandered downstairs, but Steve was nowhere to be seen. Then you’d heard sounds of machines in the gym room and realised he was working out. He’d left a note for you on the island, though, saying there were leftovers in the oven of what he’d cooked. You’d eaten alone, watching TV.

You did that for about two hours, and Steve didn’t emerge once, still working out. You hadn’t thought anything of it, though, he is super-human. So, you’d gone to bed, leaving him a note in return saying thank you, you hadn’t wanted to disturb him and that you were going to bed, with a little drawn smiley face.

There’d been no note when you’d come down after calming yourself and pulling your shoes on, not wanting to be caught out like yesterday morning, just Nat.

But space is good for you two.

Even if you never usually go this long without at least messaging each other.

But this isn’t a ‘usually’ time.

“Y/N?”

The Christmas jazz music filters back into your hearing as your head snaps up to look at Dolly, sat on a gorgeous pale pink shell chair, her big eyes wider than usual.

“Yeah, sorry?”

Her smile is wide and her eyes seem to be only getting wider. “I can try on one thing, right?”

You nod as you smile. “Uh, yeah. As bridesmaids, you probably actually should try something.”

She releases a sound akin to a squeal and claps her hands together. “Great! What colour do you want for us?”

“Uh...” Oh, you know this, you talked about it with Nat in the car... “... Red.”

Bridget looks at you, then exhales a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, I thought you were gonna carry on and say ‘white and blue’.”

Your lips twitch as you tilt your head. “Come on, we’re not gonna be that on the nose.”

Bridget raises their eyebrows but before they can retort a woman, Sally, appears with an ice bucket, a bottle of champagne inside, and three glasses. All three of you give some kind of very grateful sound before thanking her as she sets them down on the glass table before you. You also all cheer as she pops the champagne, (God, who are we... desperate for free alcohol, that’s who), and thank her again as she fills the glasses and hands one to you each.

Beaming, she stands back, her hands clasped together. “Can I get anything else for y’all?”

You hum as you quickly swallow your mouthful. “Mmh. Yes, please. Do you have any dresses in red, for these two?”

She glances at them, her gaze sweeping over them and you realise she’s expertly measuring them, and nods. “Absolutely. What style would you like?”

“Uh, any, we’ve got time.”

Her beam grows as she nods. “Wonderful, I’ll be five minutes.”

You take another sip as she trots off to the back room. Much like at the cake shop, you’d said to the shop attendants assisting you, all five of them now having nothing to do but assist you, that you will try everything and anything. Like Damilola, they’d looked delighted, probably used to, as you’d seen on reality shows, people coming in with very specific requests.

And, boy, do you all have the time to try every damn thing on. Dolly and Bridget have the day off, Yvette being very understanding at the short notice, officially, though unofficially she probably isn’t too pleased to not have her best receptionist and the Head of IT on the same day.

Who am I kidding, she never breaks a sweat. Probably a good time to get those interns trained up, too.

You also have the time as you were meant to be visiting two places today, though the first hadn’t exactly gone to plan. In other words, you’d walked out.

“Oh, our, uhm, our plus-size section isn’t very large.”

You fold your arms as Bridget raises their eyebrows and Dolly narrows her eyes.

“Oh? And why not?”

The woman, Candace, looks between you, her cheeks pink. “Oh, because we, uhm...”

You raise your eyebrows, placing your hands on the counter. “I’m about to blow your mind, Candace, but bigger people get married, too. And you’ve just lost my custom.”

You’d walked out seconds after, a smug smile hinting on your lips as Candace had called after you, practically begging for you to return, that they could order whatever you wanted in, but you’d just kept walking, Bridget telling Candace to save it as Dolly looped her arm through yours.

Nat had apologised profusely once you’d gotten into the SUV she was going to spend the day ferrying you three around in, saying it hadn’t occurred to her to check, as Dolly and Bridget had stared at her, still unused to being in her presence.

Of course it hadn’t occurred to her.

This place, though, The Pearl... It’s gorgeous. Despite not having felt offended at the last place, just angry and exasperated, you couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. What if this was going to be your whole day? Going from place to place just because they were dumb and exclusionary? You’d felt welcomed the moment you walked in, though, all five assistants and Sally smiling as they greeted each of you in turn, and all Sally, obviously the senior member from how she led the conversation, had done was ask you your usual dress size and that had been it.

You look at the interior again, taking in the pale pink and white walls, framed photos on them of dresses or models in them, or real people on their wedding days in them, the plush cream carpet, the crystal chandeliers, the gorgeously decorated Christmas trees in each corner, the fairy lights adorning the counter by the front door.

Yeah... I can have fun here. And why the fuck not? Trying on dresses is always fun, no matter what, and there’s free champagne and I’m here with Dolly and Bridge’.

Sitting back on the pale pink couch, the tightening in your chest easing, you sip your champagne with a smile.

Am I a champagne person now? This week’s telling me yes.

Bridget stretches their legs out as they sigh contentedly. Looking at you, they smile softly. “How are you feeling about the interview?”

You pull a face as you hold the glass between both hands. “You know about that?”

“Uh, it’s been trending on Twitter for the last two days is all anyone’s talking about.”

You groan as you take another, longer sip.

“So how do you feel?” Dolly gently repeats the question.

You smile lightly, looking between them with raised brows. “How do you think?”

She smiles softly, endearing assurance in her tone. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/N.”

 You open your mouth, then close it. Then again... you can talk about it freely with these two, they’ll understand without feeling guilty or worrying too much or treating you like a breakable vase.

You exhale a breath, one you feel like you’ve been holding for days. “I don’t know, it’s live and we haven’t been able to get an idea of what they’re gonna ask yet and... I just don’t want to think about it too much, really.”

Bridget rests their arm on the back of the couch, turning their body to you. “That’s not like you. I’ve watched you spend months preparing for one meeting.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not.” They point a finger at you. “This is a meeting, and you’re pitching your marriage.”

You have no idea how close to the truth that is.

You take a breath. “Can I practise on you two, then?”

Both of them perk up, smiles wide.

“Absolutely!” Dolly enthuses. “We’ve been dying for you to tell us all the details, we’ve been so patient.”

“And a little bit offended,” Bridget adds good-naturedly with an arched brow.

“I know, I know,” you smile, even as your chest twinges.

“It’s fine, two birds, one stone, you can make up for it now and practise,” Bridget says, holding their glass on their knee and fixing you with an expectant gaze and adopting a stereotypical news reader voice. “So, how did this happen, when was the first kiss, the first fondle, the engagement, I want every dirty detail, and the romantic details, too.”

“Okay,” you say through your laughter as Dolly giggles. “All right, all right... God, I’m gonna need more champagne.”

—

He could see the headline now; Cap Goes To Seek Former Flame’s Approval!

At least it would be better than the one’s that had been written when he’d gone on two dates with Sharon. Had that been why they’d both ended it? The media pressure, the questions, the constant hounding? No, but maybe that had been a factor in it. Sharon is great, but... He hadn’t felt a real connection, and neither had she.

He’d only felt that connection a few times in his life, so he knew when something was worth fighting for.

"Engaged, hm?” Peggy Carter fixes him with her gaze, an eyebrow arched, and, God, nothing ever passes her by, not even now.

A smile pulling at his lips, he raises his own eyebrows a little. “Peg—”

She exhales a laugh. “You can’t tell me, I understand.” Lacing her fingers together on her stomach, she smiles. “I do like her.”

“You’ve never met her,” he reminds her gently.

“I know,” she adjusts her head on her pillow, “but the way you talk about her makes me like her. How is she doing with all of this?”

He nods, his own hands clasped together. “Okay, I think. She’s tough.”

Peggy looks at him, her jaw moving minutely. “Hm.”

“What?”

Her lips lift a little, her features soft. “People called me tough. Said I handled things okay. But I can’t tell you how many times I cried in my office, then pulled myself together. I don’t mind crying, it’s very therapeutic, but I would have hated them to see me do it, hated what they would have twisted it into. Or even some of my friends, how they might have gently told me to maybe cut back my hours or something like that, to take on less. But just because I cried it didn’t mean I couldn’t handle matters.”

Steve opens his mouth when she continues, “Did you know that after you went into the ice our relationship is all anyone wanted to talk to me about? Interview me about? Even when I became Director of SHIELD the same questions followed me around, ‘What do you think Steve would think? Would he be proud? Do you still miss him?’”

Something in him twists as he looks at her. “I’m sorry, Peg.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Lord, I’m not saying it to make you feel bad, Steve, still so dramatic...” Her features soften again, but her gaze fixes on his. “I’m just trying to give a little perspective, having been in the position she is. It’s not easy.”

He exhales a long breath, his shoulders dropping a little. “That’s what I’m afraid of, actually.”

Her brow dips. “What do you mean?”

“Like you just said, it’s not easy being with me.”

“Steve Rogers...” His gaze, having lowered, meets hers again, and he finds it faintly incredulous. “... It’s the easiest thing in the world being with you. You are easy to be with. It’s the rest of the world that’s the problem.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “I liked where that was goin’ but that last part doesn’t make me feel any better.”

She huffs out a laugh, tilting her head. “But the rest of the world doesn’t matter, though, does it? Not if you’re with someone you love, hm?”

He looks at her, his lips lifting a little higher. “No, it doesn’t.”

—

“... So, it was only a couple of weeks ago... We were out at the park we like to walk in, you know the one, I go on about it all the time, the trees are always on my Instagram ‘cause it’s just so pretty, ‘nd it’s quiet, y’know, we’re in the middle of winter, and it’s dark, no one wants to really be out walking, except us...”

 You’ve had a bit more champagne than you probably should, but, hey, go away, morals, this is a nice story.

“... so we’re walking, and we’re just talking, and then we stop, and we’re looking up at the stars...”

Dolly, Bridget, Sally, and the other five shop assistants, Donna, Nicole, Max, Jamie and Priya all sigh together at the imagery, and your eyebrows raise and you nod in an expression of, ‘I know’.

“... and then he just gets down on one knee and asks me to marry him.”

They all sigh again, a couple of them putting their hands to their chests and ‘aww’ing and you nod as you sip your champagne because, yeah, that is very cute.

Good one, me.

“What did he say? How did he ask you?” Max asks, all the assistants bunched together on a long couch they’d dragged over.

You take another, longer sip of champagne because what did he say...

“... Oh, well, that’s just between me and him,” you say with a coy smile and they all boo good-naturedly.

Nice one.

“That’s such a lovely story,” Sally smiles warmly and you return it before raising your eyebrows.

“Shall we carry on trying these gorgeous dresses?”

They all cheer and the assistants get to their feet and scurry off to the back to find more for you and Dolly and Bridget. You look at your two friends, Dolly in a yellow ballgown, Bridget in a multi-coloured floral suit, and beam. You are wearing an ivory lace number that hugs your figure and then flows out just below your hips, and are trying very hard not to spill champagne on it.

The session had quickly escalated into Dolly and Bridget trying on whatever they wanted between red dresses, and you just putting on whatever was brought out. You’d told Sally you were here to get an idea of what you wanted, but that you’d be returning very soon. Nat has scheduled in another dress shopping day for Friday and you’d quickly messaged her about half an hour ago while you were changing to cancel wherever that was and make it here. She hadn’t argued.

You’re also giving little bits of details here and there to practise for the interview, your first kiss (at your place after watching a film), when you’d said I love you, (at his place after having dinner and watching a film together), and the story of how he proposed. You’re going to have to remember all this to tell Steve, though, so you keep making notes on your phone as you get changed.

You’ve also sent him a message because you still haven’t spoken.

You know he’s with Peggy, though, so he absolutely won’t be checking his phone, but... 

It just feels strange.

“Right...” Your attention comes back into the room as Sally and Jamie appear with an armful of dresses each, “... We have a vintage style one here that we think y’all are gonna love.”

Dolly claps her hands together as Bridget gasps dramatically.

“Vintage? Oh, he’s absolutely gonna love that.”

You don’t know why that makes you feel warm. It’s not like he’s actually going to see you in it... Unless...

—

“... Thank you so much! ... We will! We’ll see you Friday!”

You have to practically drag Dolly out of the back doors of The Pearl, the three of you giggling as you wave at the assistants. Who knew you could become such firm friends with people in the space of in five hours? Well, two bottles of champagne will do that.

You’re on the higher end of tipsy, in a lovely, warm, chatty way, and you have lined your stomach and soaked some of it up, Sally having ordered you all food so you wouldn’t have to leave and 1) Face the crowd, and 2) You couldn’t be bothered to leave, really.

The crowd is also the reason you’re leaving out the back doors, none of you wanting to face the horde outside. It has grown throughout the day, people desperate to get even the tiniest glimpse of you and what you’re wearing. Priya had closed the curtains after an hour, though, and they’d had two of their security guards stationed outside the front doors and it was just bliss. You’d had the chance to forget all about the outside world and just have some fun. Moving across the staff parking lot for The Pearl and a couple of surrounding shops, people haven’t had the chance to get in because it’s guarded, and the man whose job that is looks up from his newspaper in his little station, then looks back down.

Bliss.

Nat waits for you in the SUV, those sunglasses on, one hand leaning against the steering wheel.

“Such a ‘top’ pose,” Bridget stage-whispers and you’re all falling into giggles again.

You’re still gigging as you climb into the car, you in the passenger seat, Dolly and Bridget behind you. Nat’s lips twitch as she raises an eyebrow.

“Did we all have a fun time?”

“So fun.” Dolly, who is usually the most intimidated by Nat, which isn’t surprising considering she has a crush on her and they’ve both only met her three times before, including today, launches into a glowing review of the shop and day, “Everyone was so nice and the dresses and suits and jumpsuits and shoes are gorgeous, I can’t wait until we go back, oh my God, it’s all I’m gonna think about tomorrow...”

Nat’s smile lingers on her lips as she heads towards Dolly’s apartment, Dolly carrying on for the whole journey with Bridget occasionally butting in to add a comment. You laugh the whole way, your cheeks almost hurting from how much you’ve been grinning.

Nat parks up outside Dolly’s building, and turns in her seat, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head and meeting Dolly’s gaze, which provokes a pink blush to rise on her cheeks.

“Sounds like a really good day, then.”

Dolly just nods now, swallowing lightly. “Yep.”

Glancing from her to Bridget, Nat smiles and you think you hear Bridget let out the quietest of sounds. Wanting to save them both, or maybe they don’t want to be saved, they could be loving gazing into her eyes, who knows at this point, you turn to them, too.

“Oke doke, we’ll see you later, Doll’, I’ll text you when Sam and I are on the way.”

Bridget’s eyes whip to you, their mouth dropping open. “Sam’s picking us up?!”

You can’t stop your smile from widening, your eyebrows rising. “Yeah.”

“Oh my God, right, I need to go home and get ready now, Doll’ get out, I only have three hours, oh my God...”

Dolly is laughing so hard she nearly trips out of the SUV, and one hand is on your chest as the other wipes at your eyes as you laugh. Dolly waves from the pavement as she grins before she trots into the building, and all feelings of intimidation have left Bridget as they point ahead.

“Step on it, Nat, this is a national emergency, go...”

Nat just shakes her head as she turns back around, but she’s still smiling and you’re still laughing. “All right, all right, don’t worry, hold on...”

And, boy, does she mean it.

How does she drive this fast and this safely.

—

There’s just something about getting ready for a night-out while you’re tipsy. 

Sometimes, if you haven’t had a chance to pre-drink, you have a few moments of ‘ugh, do I really want to go out, I can’t be bothered, there’s that new show out, I’m so tired, oh my God, what if I do something embarrassing...’ but now, the champagne having only worn off a little from what you made yourself for dinner, and, okay, it probably didn’t help that you also made yourself an alcoholic beverage to have with it, you’re still quite buzzed.

Steve hadn’t been home yet and Nat had left a few minutes after making sure you were inside the penthouse so you’d been able to play your music and yell along to it. You’d been able to take your time getting ready, trying on a few outfits before settling on a true classic number that makes a lot of appearances on nights out because 1) you look amazing in it, and 2) you look really damn amazing in it.

You’d even, Nat having requested it, taken a selfie once you were ready and uploaded it to your Instagram story, along with a few gifs of glasses clinking together and someone dancing.

Job done, you’d returned to the group chat you have with Dolly and Bridget and sent them the picture, accompanied with, ‘time to fuckin party’. You could send them a picture of you in a bin bag and they’d still reply with the same thing they do for every photo, and you would for them.

Bridge’ 🌟: Y E S

Dolly ✨: WHO IS SHE???

Bridge’ 🌟: INCREDIBLE, SHOW STOPPING, AMAZING, ICONIC, LIFE CHANGING

Dolly ✨: I LOVE IT

They swiftly send their own photos.

You: LOOK AT US

Bridge’ 🌟: WHO ARE WE

God, they’re great.

You ignored the slight, unpleasant flip in your stomach at seeing Steve’s message, that he sent an hour ago and you haven’t replied to yet.

I hope you had a good day, have fun tonight x

You message each other every day so you never send ‘kisses’, so this just makes you think he’s done it to soften the blow of a slightly blunt message. Is it blunt? Or are you reading too much in to it? He has had a busy day based on what Nat told you when she’d driven you to the penthouse. He was seeing Peggy all day and then going over to Bucky’s to see him, and then they are going to have their own night out.

That’s busy, right.

Whatever, he doesn’t have to reply all the time, it’s fine.

You reply:

Thanks, you too! :-) x 

Which is the kind of reply you’d give to someone at work.

You’d ignored your phone vibrating as people, strangers, react to your Instagram story, slipped it into your bag and headed downstairs.

If you were an ego-maniac, Sam’s reaction on top of your friends would just make your head explode.

“Well, hello, ma’am!”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Nu-uh, let me look at you... Wo-ow. You look amazing.”

“Stop it... but thank you, I know.”

The moment you got into his SUV, (does everyone get one the moment they join SHIELD?) he has music playing that you can both sing along and dance in your seats to. Bridget had told you to pick them up last to give them more time so you swing by Dolly’s place first and she looks gorgeous as always in a short, glittery pink dress with matching eyeshadow and lipstick, her blonde hair curled and bouncing.

You give little squeals as you see each other, despite having only seen each other a few hours ago, and she’s definitely still buzzed, too. Sam gives her the same reaction he gave you and, God, you love him.

As you pull up outside Bridget’s building, you can’t stop meeting Dolly’s gaze in the rear-view mirror, your lips twitching. She’s doing a worst job than you at hiding her smile, her hand in front of her mouth, and you’re both trying so hard to stop a laugh.

It escapes when he gets out of the car and closes the door and you’re both turning in your seats to stare at Bridget as they walk out, gorgeous as always in a buttoned up, black blazer with no shirt underneath and matching black shorts, one side of their head freshly shaved. Dolly’s hand darts out and grips your arm as Sam approaches them and kisses their cheek and they’re both smiling but you can’t hear what they’re saying and you hate SUVs, are these things sound-proof, I’ll ask Nat...

As they climb into the car, you and Dolly are staring at Bridget, smiling. They just raise their eyebrows, grinning and say, “Hey, girls.”

“Well, hello.”

“Hi.”

You have to once again stop a laugh as Sam starts to drive, turning the music up, and you were all soon yelling along to the songs.

Now here you are, at a roof-top bar, being escorted to a table that had been reserved for you. Usually, you’d go to your favourite bar opposite work but Sam had gently insisted that you move it to another place he was more familiar with and where he could have better access to an exit and eyes on you. For a place simply titled The Venue, it’s very nice up here; it’s large, fire pits and heaters dotted around so you can’t feel the cold, a stunning view of the city, low, sultry tunes playing, a dance-floor in one corner, everything either purple, red, or gold. There’s even table service, and you recognise a few people dotted around.

“Is that—”

“Oh my God, yes...” Bridget whispers back to Dolly’s question as they stare at a table a little way away.

Your lips twitch as you each take a seat at a wooden table with a candle on it, the chairs red and plush. Your server informs you that a tab has already been set up for you, so you each grab a menu and debate for a good few minutes about what to get, the server standing patiently. Settling on cocktails, the server leaves with a beam, promising to be back in a few minutes.

“God, this place is fancy,” Bridget says, turning in their seat to get another look at everything. 

“And we actually have a table!” Dolly sighs delightedly.

“Perks of being Mrs America, huh?” Bridget turns back around to look at you, their eyebrows raising with a smirk.

You snort, your cheeks heating. “Not quite yet.”

Bridget opens their mouth but Dolly gets in first, gasping suddenly. “Did you see the news by the way?”

You pull a slight face. “No, I don’t tend to look at it anymore.”

She beams, her eyes sparkling. “Well, what happened at the dress shop, at the first place, everyone’s talking about it. People are so happy you said something and brought attention to it, there’s so many discussions being had about the wedding dress industry and the fashion industry in general when it comes to plus size clothing.”

The server returns before you can reply, and as she sets your drinks down you feel heat rise on your face again as you bite at your lower lip, pride spreading through you.

Well... Great power, great responsibility... I could get all kinds of stuff to be talked about... Note to self, change world tomorrow.

The three of you take long sips of your chosen drinks, humming in delight at the taste. As you lick your lips and set your glass down, Bridget places their arms on the table and leans forward.

“Now, come on, Y/N...”

Your eyebrows raise. “... What?”

Bridget tilts their head. “What’s he like in bed.”

You give your best scandalised gasp as Dolly laughs and Bridget smirks, continuing, “He’s kinky, isn’t he? It’s always the quiet ones...”

“Bridget Sanderson,” you gasp again, even as you grin, Dolly’s laugh infectious, “A lady never tells.”

“Well, you ain’t no lady so spill.”

You take a long sip of your drink to buy some time.

Could you? Should you?

Well, I’m in this far... And they won’t let it slide...

Licking your lips, you lean forward and lower your voice. “All the details?”

Dolly giggles and claps her hands together as Bridget grins. “All of them, you saucy bitch.”

—

Who knew you were so imaginative. Who knew you could remember every detail of every fantasy you have ever had about your best friend. Who knew you could think up such filthy, delightful things. Who knew you’d start comparing these imaginings with actual things you’ve done in your life, and that Dolly and Bridget have done with their sexual partners.

Who knew all three of you could drink so much.

Sorry to whoever’s paying the tab. The government? Shit, sorry, government, no wait, no I’m not, another round!

As the server, Melanie, you found out is her name while ordering the second drink, brings you your fourth drinks, you’re currently in the middle of laughing so hard it hurts at a story Dolly is telling of a sexual encounter, tears streaming from your eyes.

“... and then...” She dissolves into laughter herself, leaning over. “... and then her cat came in and it just, it just sat on the bedside table and made eye contact with me and...” God, you bloody love her laugh. “... she was doin’ such great things and sayin’ such good dirty talk but all I could do was stare at this cat and I just felt like apologising to it... and then it just started licking itself!”

Bridget is practically curled up in their chair as they laugh and you’re having to wipe at your cheeks, practically crying. Once you’ve all calmed down, you blow out a breath and massage your stomach.

“Oh my God, Doll’, I can’t believe you never told us that story...”

“I’m gonna wanna hear it again every day,” Bridget says, running a hand through their hair as they grin.

Dolly beams, sipping her drink. “I’d forgotten ‘bout it, think I repressed it.”

“So Steve’s into dirty talk, too, huh?” Bridget asks, sipping their own drink.

You nod several times, because part of you had always just thought, with him being such a great commander and leader, that he would be... and you’ve already told them that he is. “Mmhm, he’s made me come by jus’ his words alone.”

“No.”

“Get th’ fuck outta here.”

You nod smugly, your tongue catching your straw and you take a long sip. Not a total lie, you’ve imagined his voice in your ear several times... with a vibrator helping you along. And, hey, you won’t feel guilty about any of this ‘cause this is boosting his image... to your friends.

Dolly’s eye are wide and she and Bridget lean in, wanting more sordid details. You grin, happy to oblige and divulge more of your fantasies.

“So, it was when he was away one time ‘nd he called me ‘nd—”

“Excuse me?”

All three of you pause and turn to look at a woman, close to your age, smiling as she pushes her brown straight hair over her shoulder.

“Hi.”

“H’llo.”

“Hiya.”

“Hey,” she says, holding a phone in her hands as she looks at you. “I’m sorry to bother you, but can my friends and I get a photo with you?”

You blink, and look at her. Did... Yeah, you heard it right. Photo? With you?

You nod quickly, realising you’re just staring and silent. “Oh, yeah, sure, absolutely.”

What the fuck is happening. I hope I don’t sound as drunk as I feel. Or look it, oh my God, are my eyes open properly?

You push yourself up and, oh, fuck, yep, you’re drunk, and step around your chair as the woman beams and beckons her five friends over.

“Thank you so much!”

Bridget offers to take the photo, the woman very grateful, and she and her friends introduce themselves, a little tipsy and giddy with nerves and being with a celebrity, oh my God, I’m a celebrity, this is hilarious...

You stand in the middle, your arms around the girls either side of you, and you smile, making sure your eyes are open properly, as they pose. Bridget takes a few photos before smiling and handing the phone back to the first woman as they break away from you.

“Oh my God, thank you so much!”

“You’re so pretty!”

“We’re so jealous of you!”

You just smile and nod, trying to appear a little more sober.

“Thank you, have a nice night!” you call as they wander off, still giddy with excitement and all wanting to look at the photo.

Sitting back down, blinking, you look at Bridget and Dolly. They’re looking at you, blinking, too. It’s Bridget who finally speaks.

“... So, as you were sayin’ ‘bout gettin’ absolutely railed by America’s Finest?”

The three of you dissolve into giggles again, Dolly throwing her head back as Bridget leans over the table and your hands cover your mouth.

“Hey!”

Oh my God, I really am a celebrity.

Your wide smile lingering, you lower your hands and look up at the woman. You hear a chair scrape back on the stone floor somewhere as you pause. Hang on, you know this woman—

“You worthless bitch!”

Dolly screams as the woman throws some kind of small can at you and you’re suddenly drenched in a thick, liquid, your eyes closing just in time. Someone else screams as you hear Bridget shove their chair back and yell obscenities at the woman, lunging for her, but suddenly other voices are there, and they must be pulling the woman away because her own screams are coming from further and further away.

You’re frozen in your seat, hands half-raised. People are shouting around you but you barely listen. Dazed, your hands continue moving up, as they had been doing to protect yourself, and you wipe the liquid away from your eyes, and slowly open them.

You can feel the cold now, the heaters and fire-pits worthless, the liquid sticking to your skin and clothes. Or maybe you’re just shaking because you’re in shock.

You suddenly realise someone has been talking to you. Your head moving, you meet Sam’s gaze, suddenly feeling his hand on your back. His features are soft and his voice is gentle, but you can see the rage in his eyes.

“I got you, it’s all right. Can you get up? And we’ll get you out of here?”

You nod and lower your gaze, going to reach for your bag.

“It’s all right, I got it,” he says and your eyes move to his other hand, confirming that he does.

Getting to your feet, Sam’s arm goes around your shoulders and your feet are moving. People are still shouting, some trying to take photos, but there are people pushing them away, giving you and Sam space to head towards a door he’s leading you to.

It’s paint, you realise suddenly. Blue paint. You look back down at yourself again, watching it stain your skin and clothes.

“Where’s Bridge’ and Dolly?” you hear yourself ask.

“Another agent’s got ‘em, don’t worry, she’s gonna take ‘em home.”

Sam shoves the door open and you step into a stairwell, two men stood inside it. One of them moves to your left and you see an elevator, which the man opens by typing in a code on a keypad. Sam’s hand is still on your back, gently guiding you into it. The doors shut as the man types in another code, and Sam drops his hand from you and presses a button marked ‘B’. The elevator starts to descend and you stare at the doors.

“We’re gonna get you home, all right?” Sam says quietly, and you just nod, not caring to ask if he means home home, or the penthouse.

You hear him unzip his jacket. Yeah, it is hot in here. Your skin is warm all over and your throat feels tight, and you can’t quite take in a deep enough breath. Then you hear the sound of something ripping. Your gaze darting to Sam, he holds a section of his polo shirt in his hand and offers it to you. You stare at it, your brain putting the pieces together, and then you take it. You wipe at your eyes, mouth and face, and Sam zips his jacket back up and looks at you.

“You okay?” His voice is quiet again and you’re grateful for it because even the sound of his shirt tearing has made your heart beat faster.

“That was the woman from my work, who got in, wasn’t it?” you ask blankly, your volume matching his.

He shifts a little, scratching at his jaw as you hear him release a breath. “Yeah.”

You nod, swallowing hard and you wish the lump in your throat would go away. “Right.” He opens his mouth when you continue, finally meeting his gaze, “Why did you do that, Sam? You’ve blown your cover, surely, or they’ll know I’m being watched.”

He gives a light smile. “People will expect you to be watched, it would’ve been suspicious if no one stepped in.”

“Ah.” You start to wipe at your hands.

Sam tilts his head slightly, his smile softening. “And I wanted to get you out of there.”

You meet his gaze again, but you don’t have the energy to smile, despite the sentiment being touching, and just nod. His eyes linger on you as you look back down at your hands, concern swiftly replacing his smile. 

The elevator slows then comes to a halt, the doors sliding open a moment later, and the cold night air washes over you as you both step out into the underground parking garage, yet another one, Sam’s hand returning to your back. The place is silent, and you spot Sam’s SUV amongst a few other cars, both of you heading towards it. He gestures to someone in another car but you don’t care to look, assuming it’s another agent.

He moves a step ahead of you to open the passenger side door and you stop abruptly.

“What?” he says instantly, tensing.

“The paint. It’s gonna ruin the seat.”

He looks at you for a moment, his features relaxing into a smile. “Ah, that’s all right. That can be taken care of.”

You get in after he nods, and he places your bag on your lap. Closing the door, he jogs around to the driver’s side as you buckle your seatbelt then settle your hands over your bag, gripping it along with the piece of his shirt. Your eyes focus and stay on the dashboard as he secures his own seatbelt and puts the car into ‘drive’.

The barrier is more guarded than the other parking garages you’d been in this week but that hasn’t stopped paparazzi and occupants of the building from gathering, assuming that’s how you’d leave the area. You keep your eyes on the dashboard as lights flash and people shout.

Shouting, always shouting.

Sam doesn’t drive as fast as Nat, but he’s goes at some speed when you’re out on the main road. “Steve’s gonna meet us at the apartment,” he says after a couple of minutes, keeping his eyes on the road, “He was out with Barnes.”

“Okay.” Your voice sounds small to your own ears, distant.

Neither of you talk.

You look at your hands, the paint dry and barely having come off from when you’d rubbed at them in the elevator.

You start rubbing at them again, then use your nail, trying to scrape what you can off.

“Shit...” Sam murmurs suddenly.

Glancing up at him, you find him looking in the rear-view mirror every few moments.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s followin’ us.”

Your stomach drops, and exhaustion hits you like a fucking freight train. From his reaction, you guess it’s not a news van.

Sam presses a button on the steering wheel and the sound of dialling fills the interior.

Nat answers on the first ring.

"Where are you?”

“Nat, we’re bein’ followed.”

“Shit. All right, there’s a car on the way. Change your route.”

“Okay.” He takes the next left, and you know your heart should be pounding but you’re just so tired.

“How far away are you?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Sam replies, glancing up at the rear-view mirror. “We’re definitely bein’ followed, Nat.”

“The car will be there in three minutes. Keep taking turns, it’ll follow behind them.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N, nearly home,” Sam murmurs.

“Mhm.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Nat asks, her voice a little softer.

“Mhm.”

Sam glances at you as he pulls up at a red light, his lips pressing together. “Not long now.”

“Mhm—”

The sound twists into a gasp as you’re thrown forward slightly, the seatbelt catching you. Sucking in a breath through your teeth, you lift your head and look in the wing mirror as Sam spits out a curse.

A car, its bonnet dented, is reversing... then it speeds towards you again.

“Sam—”

“I see it.”

“Sam, what’s going on?” Nat demands to know as Sam pushes his foot down on the accelerator, the SUV lurching forward.

“We just got hit, they’re tryna ram us.”

“Are you both okay?”

Sam’s expertly weaving through the traffic, leaving horns blaring in your wake, but he just keeps going.

“Y/N, you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” It’s an automatic response, but you think you are. Physically, at least. Whiplash will properly rear its head soon, though.

A faint memory comes to you, however, of Sam telling you all the SHIELD cars have been built to absorb the impact of things like this, it having happened a fair few times, leaving the occupants with minimal damage, if none, so maybe not.

“Are they still following?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Think we lost ‘em.” He only slows his speed a little, though.

“You’re right, the agents are following them now, just get back here as quick as you can.”

“All right.”

The call ends and Sam glances at you.

“Y/N, you gotta tell me if you’re not okay, are you hu—”

“I’m fine, Sam, thank you.” You swallow hard, the lump still in your throat.

He falls silent, leaving you be, and you’re grateful for it because you’re so fucking tired.

Several minutes later, he pulls up at the penthouse building and he makes you wait, sliding out of his seat and jogging round to open your door. People stare as he ushers you across the main foyer to the elevator that’ll take you up to your floor but you just look ahead. Thankfully, Sam doesn’t say a word as the elevator ascends and you just look at the doors. When they slide open at the penthouse floor and you step out into the tiny circular foyer, you let Sam get his keycard out, opening the door.

And then the noise washes over you.

People talking, to each other, over each other, on phones, demanding, ordering, snapping. You hear the door close and feel Sam behind you as you slowly walk down the short hallway, then into the living room area.

There are agents everywhere, maybe about twenty, all stood around, talking. Loudly.

They don’t look up at you as they continue on with whatever they’re doing, typing on tablets, staring at tablets, standing over a hologram of what you realise is the floor-plan of the penthouse.

“Y/N.” Your eyes dart up to Nat as she approaches, striding across the carpet. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Tired.”

“Okay.” Her gaze scans you, assessing, and you’re too drained to care that she knows you’re lying. Her hand settles on your arm gently and she holds your gaze, her voice lowering. “We analysed what this is, okay, we got the can of it from the woman, and it’s just paint—”

“Who is she?”

Nat pauses at your abrupt question, and you know she’s weighing up what to tell you. Her hand doesn’t move from your arm as she speaks, “Her name’s Marise Daniels. She’s one of Steve’s stalkers, we’ve been aware of her for a while.”

Stalkers. One of.

“Oh.”

“She...” Sam starts to say, choosing his own words carefully. “... She isn’t meant to be out, especially after what happened at your work.”

“Apparently there was a system error. Someone’s seriously fucked up,” Nat continues, the information new to you both considering Sam’s hissed release of a breath.

“Is that why these people are all here.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard your own voice sound so lifeless.

Nat pauses again, weighing her words again and, God, just tell me. “Someone tried to break in. They got into the elevator and overrode it, got up here but they couldn’t get in. The tampering alerted our systems but by the time we got here they’d gone. We’re checking CCTV footage now and asking people if they saw anything.”

You look at her, her words barely feeling like they reach you. “So why are all these people in here.”

Her hand is gently rubbing your arm now, and it’s faintly starting to ground you. “They’re checking the security systems in place here, making sure they’re secure or reinforced.”

“Okay.”

“They’ll be gone in thirty minutes, I promise.”

“Okay.”

She takes in a breath and smiles lightly. “How about we—”

“Agent Romanoff?”

A muscle in her jaw ticks slightly but she turns to the agent, her eyebrows raising. “Yeah?”

The agent lowers her phone from her ear. “Captain Rogers has helped to apprehend the suspect. He’s on his way over. Agents Moore and Lane are taking the suspect back to HQ.”

“All right, tell them to...”

Nat’s voice drops out of your hearing, and your gaze drifts to the stairs. Sam’s hand settles on your back, rubbing gently, and you remember that he’s there.

“I’m gonna... gonna go upstairs and wash this off,” you mumble to him, and you don’t hear if he replies as you move forward.

People don’t look at you, continuing with their business, talking, talking, talking. You reach the top of the stairs before you know it, opening your bedroom door. You close it behind you, muffling the sounds of the people downstairs.

Removing your shoes, you drop your bag to join them on the floor as you head to the bathroom. You pull your outfit off, letting it drop to the floor, too, you can deal with it later, hopefully the washing machine will get it out.

You turn the shower on and step under the water. Head down, you watch some of the blue paint start to wash off, swirling and whirling in the water and disappearing down the drain. Only a little, though.

You have to use your hands and the body-wash to get it off. Scrubbing at your skin. Scraping at it.

You’re in there for twenty minutes. Scrubbing. Scraping.

When you finally make yourself get out your skin feels raw. There’s still a faint stain in some parts, though. You grab a towel and use it to continue rubbing at your skin, blue now staining the cream softness of it. The rest of your skin is dry by the time you make yourself stop and you pull the robe on.

Then you look at yourself in the mirror.

The lump returns to your throat and tears fill your eyes. You look... drained. And you fucking feel it. You’re exhausted. So exhausted, in every single way. You’ve spent all week fighting so hard to stay up-beat, to stay positive, to make this work, to see the good sides, but the world isn’t allowing that. You’d just wanted to yell at the woman, Marise, that you are doing this to keep him safe, that he is in danger, and you are just doing this to keep your fucking best friend safe.

The fact there’s still some blue paint staining your cheeks and neck is what makes the tears finally spill down your face. Sniffing, you swallow hard and grab a hand towel, wetting it and scrubbing at your skin once more.

It’s not moving.

You inhale a quiet, shuddering breath, almost a sob, as you stare at your reflection, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.

Three gentle knocks sound on your bedroom door.

“Come in,” you say automatically, your voice cracking, and you wipe at your eyes.

You look up as the door opens and see in the reflection... Steve.

He pauses, the door nearly closed behind him. You sniff again as you look at him, his eyes assessing you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” you answer. You shrug then, your features crumbling. “... It’s not coming off.”

The door closes and he’s moving towards you.

“Come here, it’s okay...”

As you turn from the mirror, you’re then enveloped in his embrace, your cheek pressed against his chest as he holds you. A jagged sob escapes you as your arms go around him, holding onto his shirt, gripping it.

“It’s okay...” he murmurs again, and you feel his voice rumbling in his chest, his chin resting on your head.

You’ve tried so hard to stave off tears all week that now that you can, now you don’t care anymore, now that you’re so tired, they’re not stopping. The front of his grey shirt must be damp, now, and your throat hurts and your chest is heaving but you just let the tears come and come, and he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t say anything, just holds you, his hands occasionally stroking your back and arms gently.

It’s not until you start to draw back that he does, guiding you to the sit on the rim of the bath.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with one hand. “Still a bit drunk, I think.”

A corner of his mouth lifts a little as he crouches down before you and takes the hand towel. “You don’t need to apologise. You can cry as much as you like.”

Your own lips lift for a moment as you sniff, and then you want to cry all over again as he starts to gently dab at the stains on your face and neck. You watch him, your eyes tracing his nose and mouth, the small, concerned lines on his forehead. If he got into a fight with the suspect earlier, there’s no sign of it. His hair doesn’t even look tussled.

Your eyes continue moving and meet his. He lowers his hand and inhales a quiet breath.

“I’m sorry, about all of this, Y/N.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence. “Steve, it’s not your fault.”

He looks almost pained at that, shaking his own head. “I could’ve prevented you being in this situation, though, I knew the risks of—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt sharply, surprising you both, but you continue on, “I already know what you’re going to say, and I will take it all, all of this, if it means I get to be your friend. Like we’ve said, we’re a team in this. I really wouldn’t want anyone else as my fake fiancé or as my friend.”

A smile pulls at his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to take all this, though, you shouldn’t—”

“No, I shouldn’t. But I will.” Your hand has found his free one, and grips it gently.

He turns his hand over instantly, curling his fingers around your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His smile softens.

“I think the world’s finally gonna see the stubborn pain in the ass I have to deal with.”

You exhale a laugh, and his smile widens at seeing yours.

“Well, it’s only fair others should have to suffer,” you say, shrugging a shoulder.

“You’re right there.” He resumes dabbing at your skin as you look at him.

“How was your day?” you ask quietly after a few silent moments, knowing he’ll just ask how you are if it stretches any longer.

“It was okay.” He’s dabbing at your chin now. “Peg says hi, and that she understands what you’re going through.”

God, you just want to cry all over again.

Your chest warms as you smile. “Really? Maybe I should go on your next visit.”

“I think she’d really like that.” His thumb is still brushing over your knuckles, and you wonder if he realises he’s still doing it. “She knows this isn’t real, though, think she figured it out.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect anything less. How was Bucky?”

“Fine. He says hello, too.”

“Wow, everyone’s being so kind to me today.”

He arches an eyebrow at you as you laugh, trying to stop himself from doing the same. “I don’t know whether it’s a good sign or not that you’re already joking about this.”

“Humour’s a great coping mechanism, you know that.”

He’s still smiling, but you can see the concern returning, so you quickly continue, taking your hand from his so you can raise a finger, raising your eyebrows, “Well, Doll’ and Bridge’ told me to tell you, by the way, well done, on having me as a fiancée.”

The corners of his mouth lift higher, now reaching his eyes. "Yeah, I know how lucky I am.”

“Oh, and, you proposed to me in our park, by the way.”

He tilts his head as you smile somewhat smugly. “Did I, now?”

“Yeah, under the stars.”

His eyebrows raise as he smiles widely. “Wow, you’re also very lucky, then.”

You wave your hand slightly. “I said a lot of stuff today, I’ll have to fill you in. I made notes.”

He chuckles as he lowers the towel from your face and rises to his feet. “You can show me my homework tomorrow.”

You watch him as he moves to the sink, dropping the towel into it, then raise your hand suddenly. “Oh, there was a dress I actually really liked there, too.”

 “The one you sent me a picture of?”

You freeze, staring at him as he turns to you.

“... What?”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he moves back towards you, unlocking it, then taps on a couple of things before turning it towards you.

Ohp.

And there you are.

In the vintage style dress, cascading flutter sleeves stopping just below your elbows, tight on your breasts and with a v-neckline, satin gold, your hand on your waist, beaming at your reflection in the gold mirror at The Pearl. 

Ah, now you remember sending it...

“... Yeah, that’s the one.”

“It’s really nice,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he offers you a hand to get to your feet. “You look great in it.”

Your face heats as you take his hand and get up, shrugging a shoulder and smiling. “Oh, well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Your hands drop, yours going to your side, his going into the pocket of his jeans. Looking up at him, you give a light smile, which he returns.

“You okay?” he asks softly, and you nod after a moment.

“Yeah. Just so fucking tired,” you say with a slight laugh. “Think I’m just gonna sleep now.”

He nods, his teeth grazing over his lower lip. “That sounds like a good idea. What a fuckin’ day, huh?”

You snort, your eyebrows raising. “Yeah, for both of us.”

He sighs, as if remembering that, oh, yeah, someone had tried to break in, too. “The agents have all gone, now. The place is even more secure, it’s like a fortress.”

“Well, that’s good.”

You head into the bedroom, and he follows you out, moving to the door. He opens it, turning to you, and you share another smile.

“Sure you’re okay?” he asks again, and you bite at your lower lip.

Stay.

You widen your smile. “Yeah. Just very ready for sleep.”

He nods, taps his fingers against the door and smiles. “All right. Goodnight. I’m just down the hall if you need me.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

Your smile lingers for a moment as the door closes, then fades as you hear him walk away.

—

Halfway down the stairs, Steve pauses, his hand on the railing.

He considers turning around.

Going back up the stairs.

Opening your door.

Taking you in his arms again.

After a minute, he carries on down.

—

In your pyjamas, phone in your hand, you climb into bed, sinking into the soft safeness of it.

You unlock it, finding several messages in the group chat from Dolly and Bridget, asking how you are, saying they’re home safe, that Sam had filled Bridget in and they’d filled Dolly in, that they both hope you’re okay.

You send a message back saying that you are okay, you’re tired, and that you’ll speak to them tomorrow, and you hope they’re okay.

There’s a message from someone else, too.

I’ve just seen what happened on the news, I really hope you’re okay x

I’d have a normal life with Aaron.

Where the fuck did that come from?

But you can’t help thinking it.

He’d slipped into your mind when you’d masturbated that morning. You hadn’t wanted to think about it. You’d just imagined him, out of curiosity at first, as he’d posted a photo on Instagram of him at the gym again, just to imagine what he’d be like, you do it with most people to pass the time... and then he’d stayed in your mind.

It had seemed... more real than when you’d imagine Steve. Probably because Steve is your best friend and you shouldn’t be thinking of him that way and you don’t want to ruin what you have, you really don’t, and Aaron... Aaron is the kind of person you could take a chance on.

You feel tears start to prick at your eyes because this is fucked, this is all so fucked, and you love your best friend and you can only think that in it’s entirety without your brain shutting down when you’re drunk or tipsy because it’s the only time your mind is free and you love him, you love him, you love him, you love him...

But there is no fucking way you will ever risk losing him as a friend.

—

Comments and reblogs make my day in a way I can’t describe.

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Tagged: @herb-welch​, @jobean12-blog​, @gifsbysimplysonia​, @multireality​, @saltyspiceduh​, @sergeantangel​, @sarcasm-is-my-native-tounge​, @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky, @dispatchvampire​, @superapplepie​, @rynabarnesrogers-reading​, @im-not-great-at-making-up-names​, @imaginedreamwrite​, @thesefleshfailures, @mrsbarnes32557038​, @tellthemall-i-saidhi​​, @tacohead13​​, @opalsandlace​​, @notsomellowmushroom​​, @river-soul​, @ollypopp​, @byssheplease​, @kimberliinabox​, @ughofcourse​, @sebbystanlover-vk​, @vale0413​, @donutloverxo​

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #marvel fanfic #my writing #flamehairedwritings

[justniaaa]

Unravel Me (3)

Rating: 18+ NSFW

Work Count: 3.8k

Pairing: Christopher “Rio” Martinez x black!oc

Warning: Panic attack, anxiety, self doubt, swearing, use of the “n” word

A/N: Hey loves! So excited to finally share the third chapter with you all! Forgive me for the late posting, I wanted to be a post once a week type of writer but that seems to be not the case, especially with my semester starting soon and a new job being in the works. But please bare with me, I will try and make sure you guys get content even if it’s not consistent.  Thank you for reading my story and please like, comment and reblog. Alright enough of my ramblings,  Enjoy and happy reading! <3

Summary: Toni forms an unsuspecting friendship with Christopher that turns into something more. As her feelings towards him continue to grow she starts to  unravel the secrets that surround him and in return, he unravels her completely.

Chapter 3: Welcome back

“Finally,” Toni said with relief as she pulled up in her Honda Accord at Lux. She made sure to get to the bar early and was happy when she got there with five minutes left to spare. Taking a moment to herself before going in, she tried to occupy her mind with checking her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror. Try as she must, doubt began to settle in the forefront of her mind, in if she was making the right decision. 

Toni felt her heart begin to beat faster and faster. Out of breath, and body hot she turned her AC on at full blast, Dr. Simone’s instructions ringing in her head.

--------------------------------Flashback------------------------------------------

Now Antonia if you ever feel like you’re going to have an anxiety attack, I want you to try this breathing exercise called “Calming Breath”.”

Toni listened to her therapist Dr. Simone with rapt attention, “Honestly doc, I’ll take anything to just stop this shit, excuse my french.”

Dr. Simone chuckled, amused by her slip up. “No need to apologize, Antonia. How many times do I have to tell you this is a place where you can express yourself freely without judgment?”

“I know, I know.”

“Now like I was saying before, I want you to try an exercise called “Calming Breath.” What that entails is you taking a long, slow breath through your nose, and holding your breath to the count of three then exhaling slowly through your lips. It should help you relax your muscles in your face, shoulders, and stomach. We can practice a couple of times if you would like.”

Toni shook her head in understanding, “Thanks doc, but I think I got it.” After a few seconds of silence, Dr. Simone gave her a knowing look. “But just in case I don’t have it, can you repeat the steps again?

----------------------End of flashback-------------------------------------------

Hearing Dr. Simone’s directions, Toni began her breathing exercises, breathe in, hold, breathe out. She did the steps a couple more times until she slowly felt her heartbeat go back to normal. Softly smiling Toni was proud of herself for getting her anxiety in check until she looked at the clock on her dashboard.

She had two minutes until her shift started.

“Fuck, I can’t be late when I’m literally sitting right in front of the place”

Toni made sure she had all her belongings and shut off the ignition, quickly hopping out and closing her car door. Walking to the entrance, she took in the building, like every bar it looked mediocre in the daytime, with its red brick and black awning. But at night that’s when it’s beauty really shined especially when they turned on the fairy lights outside that gave the establishment a welcoming shine. She reached the entrance and was debating if she should walk-in or call Avery, but before she could decide the door swung open, almost hitting her in the face.

“Woah!” Toni said, quickly jumping back and almost breaking her neck in the process from her heeled boots.

“Oh, shit my fault ma!”

Toni heard a low voice apologize as she was looking down at her scuffed boots. Anger and embarrassment flooded through her, she was angry because her boots had white marks all over them and embarrassed because of course, this would happen to her of all people.

“Shit, you not crying right? Your shoes are fire but they not worth your tears.”

Is this nigga for real?

Toni finally looked up to show the man she wasn’t having a breakdown, “First of all, I’m not crying, I'm pissed and second of all the door is literally glass how did yo-?!”

“Oh shit Antonia?!”

Startled by the interruption, she stared confused at how he knew her name. A few seconds passed until the realization set in after she took in his dark skin and short box braids. He’s had the same hairstyle since college.

“Sean?!”

“Yoo! I can’t believe it’s you!” Sean came in for a hug as Toni stood there in shock, her hands came up awkwardly to hug him back. “It’s good to see you girl! How you been?!”

I’m emotionally damaged, I haven’t had sex in months and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.

“I’m good, and I go by Toni now mostly. How are you?”

Sean shook his head, “My fault, my fault.”

Her question wasn’t answered as Sean took a step back, eyes roving over her body. He had a smirk on his lips as he took in her black sheer top, fitted black jeans, and her slightly damaged snake print block heeled boots. “Damn Ant- I mean Toni, you look even better than you did in college.”

Toni was grateful that he caught himself and at the same time she sucked her teeth. “You are so full of shit, reminds me of back in the day when you would flirt with all the girls in our Humanities class, and Honey would get pissed at you for it.”

His smirk noticeably dropped, showcasing that her sister was a sore topic. Trying to lighten the mood Toni bumped him with her hip, “Anyways, I can’t believe you still work here, looking cute with your all black ensemble on.” He was wearing black, from the t-shirt to the jeans and even his Vans.

It reminds me of a certain someone.

“You know how I do.” He told her, popping his faux collar, “My I.T hours are slim to none sometimes, so a couple of months ago I asked Avery for work to keep me above water.”

Toni let out a harsh breath, “That’s why I’m here too, I just hope I can remember my orders, hell even how to make drinks properly...”

Sean nodded and wrapped his arm around Toni’s shoulders, noticing her growing unease. “Hey, no need to be nervous. You know this bar like the back of your hand and from what I remember I know you would’ve brushed up on your skills before you even thought about calling Avery for a job. I got your back, with whatever, so stop worrying about stupid shit.”

Toni looked up at him and saw the sincerity on his face. When they met freshman year he always treated her like a sibling, making sure to help her out if she ever needed him.

“You getting soft on me nigga?” Toni asked, breaking the sappiness between them. She lightly punched his stomach, making Sean playfully wince in pain. She laughed and wrapped her arm around his side, “Damn, you really are soft Sean.”

“Shut up killa, before I tell Avery on you for being rude to his favorite employee.”

“Now that I’m back, I think that title comes back to me,” Toni gestured to herself.

“Fuck out of here.”

They both chuckled as they walked to the entrance, the joking continuing between the old friends.

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

Toni had been at the bar for hours, and like Sean said she quickly got back into the swing of things. When she walked in three minutes late because of her small catch up with him, she was worried Avery was going to wring her neck especially since it was technically her first day. But all he did was yell out, “Toni, baby welcome back!” His New York accent prominent.

The Italian man looked mostly the same if not a little gray on the edges of his once all black hair. The last time she saw him he didn’t have crinkles near his eyes when he smiled but Toni thought they fit him perfectly. Avery had a small belly now and wore a red dress shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves, showcasing his tattoo of his favorite pinup girl Bettie Page on his forearm. After all these years he still hadn’t strayed from the black slacks always saying, “The color never shows the stains of a bad night.” After introducing Toni to the rest of  her coworkers he went to the backroom to meet with some associates, letting her know he would be back to help out later.

It was ten o’clock and Rihanna’s Work was playing in the bar, making the mass of people sway to the music and talk with drinks in their hands. The crowd seemed to not be getting any smaller and Toni was taking people’s drink orders as she was making other customers drinks. She didn’t remember it being this busy on just a regular Wednesday night, but she could guess as areas started to get more gentrified the crowds began to change. 

The hanging lights gave Lux an intimate glow but provided enough light for people to see each other. Stools were lined up in front of the bar, and they were all filled with customers, laughing and drinking, some of them eating onion rings and french fries or whatever other bar snacks that were served. The wooden booths that were along the wall, gave patrons the option to be more personal and away from the crazy that was the bar counter.

“Hey Toni, I need a pitcher of Budweiser,” Rosa, her coworker, stood next to her, her voice was slightly raised because she was trying to be heard over the volume of the chatter.

“Gotcha babe,” Toni got out the plastic container and put it under the spigot, pulling the lever. As the brownish-gold liquid poured, she looked out into the mob, watching individuals coming in and out of Lux. Sean was vaguely seen from where she was standing, checking ID at the door. Toni stopped the stream of beer and turned to Rosa, handing her the pitcher, “Thank you!” The blue-haired woman said with a smile, leaving to go tend to her customer.

Toni was about to put her hand out to stop Rosa before she got too far. Wanting to let her know she was going to take her fifteen-minute break, when she heard, “Can I get a Jack on the rocks?”

Toni frowned, in confusion at hearing the deep voice that had been on her mind for the past several days. Was she thinking about him too much, that she conjured him up somehow? She slowly turned to the individual that never failed to give her goosebumps whenever she laid eyes on him. In his usual calm demeanor, Chris was sitting at the bar, looking at her with a raised brow and smirk playing on his lips.

And he looked good, really fucking good.

He had on a black button-up and a chain around his neck that made the eagle tattoo on his neck stand out on his tan skin. She didn’t know if it was possible but he looked even better than when she saw him last.

Fuck me.

Toni bit her lip from her sinful thoughts and got a glass from behind the bar, beginning to make his drink. She glanced up and saw him watching her with his dark eyes, making her downcast her gaze. Not wanting him to notice her slightly shaking hands as she got ice out of the chest, Toni finally spoke, “Well, look who's back.” she said while she poured the liquor into the chilly glass.

Chris looked amused as she put the drink down in front of him and in the process of releasing it his hand came up, holding onto the glass as well, making his fingers come in contact with hers.

“Missed me?” He asked both of their hands still on the drink and unmoving as they checked each other out.

Toni shrugged, “Hardly.”

“I think my feelings would be hurt if I actually believed you ma.”

Toni grinned at his words, “How was work? I didn’t think you would be back so soon.”

“Cut ties with some of my partners for fucking up the numbers, but shit is all good now.”

Toni went to reply when suddenly Avery came up next to Chris, he put a broad hand on his shoulder, “Toni I didn’t know you knew Rio.”

She moved her hand away from Chris’s touch and picked up the rag that was on the counter, cleaning up the sticky bar top. Toni felt like Avery caught her hand in the cookie jar and from his knowing look, it seemed like Avery might have the same sentiment as well.

Toni cleared her throat, “We just met, actually.” She didn’t really understand where the hell “Rio” came from when she had been calling him “Chris” for the past several weeks.

“Well let me introduce you two then, Rio this is Toni my returning employee and one of the best damn bartenders, I’ve ever had and Toni this is Rio, the co-owner of Lux and your boss,” Avery said making introductory motions between the two.

Toni’s eyes widened and she stopped fake wiping the counter. My boss?! How many businesses did this man have?

“That shits all semantics Avery, you're the real boss of this place. I’m just here to be a helping hand,” Chris said, giving Toni a pointed look, showing her that it wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

“I suppose.” Avery patted Chris’s shoulder again with a grin, then turned to Toni once more, “I think it’s time for your fifteen Toni the crew and I can handle it if another wave comes in.”

Toni nodded, “Thanks Avery, and nice to meet you, Rio,” she said sickly sweet. Toni left the rag on the counter and squeezed behind Rosa, leaving from behind the bar. She took a look behind her and saw Chris and Avery talking and her usually chill boss didn’t seem all that happy. Toni walked outside, seeing Sean sitting on a chair, his fingers moving quickly on his iPhone. He looked over when he saw her walk out, and gave her a smile displaying his pearly whites. “I was right, wasn’t I? Shit was like you never left.”

“Yes negro, you were right.” Toni said leaning against the window, her feet becoming achy.

“You can take my seat sis. I need to be standing anyway or Avery will have my ass if he catches me sitting again.”

Toni laughed, “Thanks.”

Sean got up and let her sit down, standing in silence. He kept glancing over to her while opening his mouth and closing it like he wanted to ask Toni something. After the third time of this, Toni sighed, “What Sean?”

“Nothin, Nothin…”

She gave him a sour look until he finally broke, “What’s with the name change?” Sean put his hands up in mock surrender, “Don’t get me wrong Honey and some of your friends called you Toni but you’ve never told anyone that they had to do the same.”

Toni went for nonchalance not wanting to alarm him, “I just thought Toni was better, it definitely helps with the awkwardness of people calling me Antonio all the time until I corrected them.” She thought that would be enough for Sean, because what she said made total sense but Toni was very, very wrong.

“Bullshit,” Sean said, making her mouth fall open.

“What do you mean, bullshit!?”

“You loved watching people get red in the face when you corrected them, so whatchu sayin’ is bullshit. We haven’t seen each other in a minute but I still know you, so give me the real reason before I call Latoya.”

They both knew her mom couldn’t hold water sometimes and even if she didn’t know the real reason, Toni didn’t want Sean talking to her and possibly unearthing secrets that she tried to keep buried for as long as possible. She took in a breath and crossed her arms. At first she didn’t know what to say to appease her old friend, as he waited for an explanation but she decided to stick to the truth as close as possible.

“I just wanted a change, I went through a hard time and to completely be rid of it, I made the decision to have people just call me Toni rather than Antonia. It really cemented for me that I was a different person than I was before.” Toni fiddled with a loose string on her jeans, “I mean my parents still call me Antonia and there are certain family members as well that do it too, but in my everyday life, I stick with Toni and the solace it gives me.”

Sean appeared satisfied with her answer, but Toni noticed there was a little squint to his eye like he knew that wasn’t the full truth but he let her statement stand.

“So, I’m probably hella corny for this and I know you won’t let me live this down but..”Sean outstretched his hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Toni.”

His expression was sincere and comical at the same time and it made Toni grin, “Nice to meet you too, Sean Puff Daddy Combs.”

Sean sucked his teeth, “Here we go with that Puff Daddy shit.”

A party of people came walking up as they were laughing, making Sean check their ID’s ending their conversation.

For a few minutes, Toni was scrolling through Instagram readying herself to go back inside soon when she saw Chris walk out of the bar. He was standing at the threshold and he seemed to be scanning the parking lot. When it appeared he didn’t find what he was looking for he went to turn back around, but he suddenly stopped when he saw Toni sitting in the corner.

Toni waved her hand, “Sup, Rio.”

Chris snickered and walked towards her, getting close enough that Toni could smell his cologne. He looked down at her as she looked up at him. “I can start calling you Rio if you prefer. I mean I have my own hang-up with my name, so it’s really fine,” she said.

“Nah,” He said, a matter of fact.

He didn’t supply any other explanation so Toni gave a soft “Okay,” and leaned back into the chair. Sean gave Chris a head nod as he kept doing his job and telling an apparent drunk couple, that they couldn’t come into the bar, much to their dismay.

“I didn’t know you had a problem with your name, I’ve been calling you Antonia since we met,” Toni turned her attention back on him, taking notice that he had a blunt in his hand and was lighting it up with a skull covered lighter. His gold rings glimmered from the lights coming from the windows of the bar.

“It’s my own personal shit, but shockingly I don’t mind hearing it from you.”

“Is that right?” Chris said. He took a hit and held in the smoke until he released it into the cool air, through his nose and mouth. Toni was mesmerized by the tendrils of smoke, she didn’t understand how he made even smoking attractive but everything Chris did turned her on. He offered her the blunt, probably thinkings that’s why she was staring but Toni declined, not really into smoking much like she used to because of a bad trip she had years ago.

“You probably think I’m weird as hell, that I pick and choose what people can address me as.”

“Nah I get it, some believe knowing a person’s real name makes you have power over them.”

Toni knitted her brow, “Do you believe that?” she asked him. Chris took another hit and rubbed his beard like he was mulling over the question.

“I tell my associate’s my name is Rio ‘cause I don’t want them to get to close, too familiar. When they start to get too comfortable and start to think we friends or some shit than that interferes with my business and I can’t have that.” Chris began playing with his rings like it was a tick of his that he probably never noticed he had, “So yeah I think having knowledge of someone's name can have some sort of power.”

She sighed and crossed her leg, “I think I agree with you, but if you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you care about me knowing your real name? It's not like we’re exactly friends.”

“Oh shit, we not?” Chris said feigning shock, “ Damn mama that’s fucked up.”

Toni rolled her eyes, “Oh please.”

Chris grinned at her and licked his lips, throwing the finished blunt on the floor and ashing it under his black and white Converse. “You’re different and if you gonna be my girl, I think it’s best if you know who I really am right?”

“Your girl? You haven’t even taken me out on a date, so how in the hell am I going to be your girl?”

“Right, Right,” Chris said. His phone began to ring and he took it out of his dark blue jeans and muted it, his eyes never straying from Toni. “So let me take you out this Friday.”

Toni snorted thinking he was joking but stopped short when she realized that he didn’t even crack a smile, “Wait you’re serious?”

“Dead ass”

Chris’s phone rang again and this time he did look at it, with an evident scowl. Abruptly he said, “I gotta go Antonia, but I’ll text you the details,” Chris kissed Toni’s cheek and turned to leave, in the process he took his keys out of his pocket.

Toni’s eyes were wide as hell at what just happened. She blinked a couple of times to get out of the fog that took over her mind and noticed that he was almost to his Range Rover.

As he walked further away Toni yelled out, “Wait I don’t even have your number!”

He took a look over his shoulder, “It’s straight, I got yours!”

She went to nod then paused, “Wait, what?!”

Toni heard Chris laugh as he got into his car, turning it on. He sped out of the parking lot, leaving her to watch his taillights disappear into the LA traffic. Sean came over to where she was sitting and heavily sighed fatigue, and annoyance relevant in his form. “Got damn, did you see how fucked up they were? Imma have to tell Avery I need help ‘cause I can’t take ID’s and pat them down while babysitting grown-ass adults. Fuck that shit.”

Toni didn’t say anything, her thoughts still on what transpired seconds before. Sean took notice of the silence and softly elbowed his friend, used to her having a sarcastic quip. “You good? What did I miss?”

I’m going on date,” Toni said, feeling a glimmer of happiness.

Tag list: @aria725​ @kikilovesdankmemes​ @briannab1234​

#rio good girls #rio x oc #rio black!oc #rio good girls imagine #manny montana #manny montana imagine #myfic #chapter 3 #unravel me #interracial fic #rioxoc #rioxblack!oc fanfic #nbc good girls

[unibrowzz]

Mod (finally) reviews all 67 winners of the Eurovision Song Contest Part II: The 1960s

Welcome back! To this...

Whatever you wanna call it, I can barely call half of these “reviews” but ANYWAYS.

The 60s are. Mid-table. Not a tremendously bad decade by all means, but they’re also the only decade to have three songs in my “would refuse to listen to” category, which is an achievement. 

I’m sure you can all guess at least two of those songs by now!

Without further ado, let’s move on to what I think of the winning entries from the 60s.

1960: Tom Pillibi

Country: France 

Artist: Jacqueline Boyer

Language: French

Thoughts: Whenever I was younger and enjoyed singing, I was frequently told that I had a "nasally" voice. I never knew what this meant, and I rarely heard my own voice to hear what it meant. Since people told me I had a nice voice, I continued to sing without fixing it. But now I'm older and know a tiny bit more about music, I can finally hear what they meant. Jaqueline here had a very nasally voice and a very high song to go with it. You can hear the notes being directed through her nose and sinuses rather than up from her diaphragm and mouth, resulting in a voice which sounds impressively high… but also very thin and flimsy. There's no resonance or depth to these notes, she sounds like a kid half her age trying to sing. Maybe that's what she was told to do, but given how this song is about a girl telling us about the shit her cheeky boyfriend tells her, I'd like to think not. Then again, this IS the 60s.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? United Kingdom- Bryan Johnson- “Looking High, high, high”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 54th

1961: Nous les Amoureux

Country: Luxembourg

Artist: Jean-Claude Pascale

Language: French

Thoughts: I know this song didn’t compete for France, but have you ever heard a more aggressively French song than this? This is one of the most sultry, seductive songs in this lineup; like it just feels like the song itself is trying to seduce me and is going to offer me a glass of fine red wine before leading me to a candlelit bedroom and a four-post bed with rose petals scattered across it or some shit. That or it's gonna blow a long stream of cigarette smoke right into my face. One or the other. Going back on track, I like this song. Granted I wouldn’t call it a favourite or anything, but it’s still a Hell of a lot more likeable than most of the other 60s winners, and Hell, you could even argue this one is a lot more admirable given how the lyrics of the song are intended for a male lover of the singer’s. Which, for the early 60s, makes this a bigger deal than it would be nowadays. The singing is buttery smooth, and the song itself has a bit of a skip to it. It’s a very appealing song, and one I appreciate just a little bit more than the other songs from the 60s.

Is this my personal winner for this year? 50/50

If no, what is? France- Jean-Paul Mauric- “Printemps, avril carillon”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 26th

1962: Un Premier Amour 

Country: France

Artist: Isabelle Aubret

Language: French (Translation: “A First Love”)

Thoughts: You know whenever you play a CD too much and it eventually becomes all scratched and worn down so whenever you play it it skips back to the same part over and over again before unsticking to play a bit more of the song, but keeps getting stuck over and over? Yeah, imagine a whole song like that. This song just drones on, with no charisma or vocal animation to break up the monotony. I don’t even think the rule “well it was the 60s” applies, since this isn’t really a song that needs flashy setpieces, costuming, dancing or anything; it just needs a charismatic singer. And, unfortunately, Aubret just isn’t one, in my opinion.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? United Kingdom- Ronnie Carroll- "Ring-a-Ding Girl"

Personal ranking (out of 67):  62nd

1963: Dansevise

Country: Denmark

Artist: Grete and Jørgen Ingmann

Language: Danish

Thoughts: Oh fucking finally, something unique for once. Which is very surprising because, from what I've seen and heard, the early contests weren't all that kind to songs which didn’t fit a certain criteria. If anything, most songs which came off as being unique with different sounds, instruments, and moods compared to the rest of their years ended up pulling up the rear in last place, more often than not with nil points. So it's nice to see a song which not only has unique elements to it (ie, a brooding sultry guitar accompaniment and a steady sweeping tempo), but is also in a stereotypically "ugly" language do well this early on.  Getting back on track, this is one of those songs I find tends to be a cult favourite, especially amongst vintage and retro fans. And why wouldn't it be? It's a breath of fresh air in an era where so many songs sounded exactly the same, just in a different language. This is one of the few fan favourite winners where I can see the appeal myself.

Is this my personal winner for this year? Yes

If no, what is? N/A

Personal ranking (out of 67): 27th

1964: Non ho l’Eta

Country: Italy

Artist: Gigliola Cinquetti

Italian: (Translation: “I’m not old enough”)

Thoughts: If that title isn’t off-putting enough, then I don’t know what is. You’re all probably well aware of this right now, but I don’t like this song. At all. Everything about it just makes me feel creeped out and kinda dirty every time I hear it, which is a shame because the melody on its own is very pretty. It’s the song equivalent of flicking through re-runs of Top of the Pops and landing on a segment where Jimmy Saville is hosting; it just sends a disgusted shiver down my spine and I have to turn it off as quickly as possible.  Which, given the lyrics of this song, is understandable. Think about it; you’ve got this visibly nervous, very young, still-legally-a-child-in-most-countries teenager, singing about how she “isn’t old enough” to be in a relationship with someone who seems to be older than she is. Maybe it’s just because I don’t speak any Italian, and the meaning is all semantic and context based, but this is my personal opinion at the end of the day, and, unfortunately, these lyrics just come off as really creepy to me. This song reminds me a lot of the song “Baby, it’s Cold Outside”, in that the lyrics used to be totally innocent and sweet, but to a modern listener come off as shockingly creepy and off-putting, and you’re not sure if it’s down to a change in slang and colloquialisms or if the past really was that messed up. Just like how in "Baby it's Cold Outside", a line asking "does this contain alcohol" now sounds like "have you spiked this with something", what was once “I’m too young and naïve to be in a serious committed relationship” now comes off as “I’m underaged, please leave me alone”. Doesn’t help that Cinquetti was underaged, hated the song, didn’t want to perform, and only showed up because she was forced to by a pushy manager. Which, for the 60s, was par for the course.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Germany- Nora Nova- "Man Gewöhnt sich zu Schnell an das Schöne"

Personal ranking (out of 67):  66th

1965: Poupée du Cire, Poupée du Son

Country: Luxembourg

Artist: France Gall

Language: French (Translation: “Wax doll, stuffed doll”)

Thoughts: And now we come to Non ho L’eta’s ugly little sister in that, just like with that song, there’s a weirdly sinister edge to this one that I just can’t shake off. My French isn’t fantastic, admittedly, but every line of this song seems like it has another, less innocent meaning. Like the whole song is one big double entendre. Which, given how this was written by Serge “I made a 16 year old sing about blowing dicks when she thought she was singing about lollipops” Gainsborg, wouldn’t surprise me. Dodgy lyrics aside, this song is just… terrible. Songs which repeat the same motif over and over are a dime a dozen in older Eurovision, though most of them at least spice it up with a key change, adding more instruments to the instrumental, or even just having a nice melody. This? Is just an uncharismatic, uninterested teenager barking the same few notes over and over again ad nauseum. I know it was the 60s and that the contest was way more restrictive in how songs could be performed, but there’s just… no enthusiasm or animation or anything to make this charming or remotely enjoyable. It’s just shouty, unpleasant, and lacking any semblance of charisma. And I don't care if it's "important", it fucking sucks and we deserved a better song as our “first uptempo winner” of the contest.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? The Netherlands- Conny Vandenbos- “‘t is Genoeg”

Personal ranking (out of 67):  67th

1966- Merci, Chérie

Country:  Austria

Artist: Udo Jurgens

Language: German (Translation: “Thank you, my dear”)

Thoughts: I’m so conflicted on this song. It’s very beautiful, emotional, dramatic... BUT. I just find it so forgettable, I’m sorry. I’m struggling to even talk about it right now. Do you know how long it took me to even finish this mini review? Too damn long. I forgot all about this song mid way through it. So at the recommendation of a friend I put this one on so I could review it whilst it plays and… it’s just a very sleepy song. Udo Jurgens is a good singer, I won’t deny that, but, God, he sounds like he’s nodding off as he sings. The first minute and a half of this song sounds like one big yawn. And that’s over half the song wasted just building to a climax, since I don’t think this song has a chorus, and for a song this short and slow I just don’t think it’s wise to put your climax right in the middle. I feel it would be better if it had two climactic parts or just put the climax right at the end of the song so the whole song is spent building that suspense. Shoving it smack in the middle of the song just makes it feel shorter. Also the fact it’s a piano song reminds me of Non ho l’eta and I don’t need to repeat myself to remind you that’s a bad thing, so, moving on.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Italy- Domenico Modugno- “Dio, come ti amo”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 45th

1967: Puppet on a String

Country: United Kingdom

Artist: Sandie Shaw

Language: English

Thoughts: You know, I was pretty shocked to find out this song is a Eurovision song. Partially because I didn’t realise just how old Eurovision actually is, and partially because as somebody who grew up in Britain in the 2000s, I was just bred to believe the UK is inherently shit, has never won ever, and is incapable of sending songs people actually cherish and remember. But that’s a rant for another day. Anyways, this is the song Poupée du Cire wishes it was. It’s charming, it’s bouncy, it skips along so merrily you forget how the lyrics have aged about as well as a pint of milk left out in the sun for too long.  Then again, I think the lyrics were outdated even back then. I suppose what sets this song aside from the other “60s entries with sexist lyrics sung by young women who didn’t want to be there” is that Shaw is a damn good performer, and hides her disdain expertly. If she wasn’t so vocal about how much she hates this song, you’d swear she loves it, her performance is that charming.

Is this my personal winner for this year? Eh

If no, what is? Portugal- Eduardo Nascimento- “O vento mudou”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 24th

1968: La la la

Country: Spain

Artist: Massiel

Language: Spanish

Thoughts: And the award for most creatively bankrupt name goes to…  Granted, 1968 was one of the dreariest years I’ve watched, so it’s pretty easy to see why a song like this would have done well. That said, this is a really bland song, and even in a year as dull as 1968, I still don’t think this should have won. It’s the kind of song which relies on repeating itself ad nauseum in order to get stuck in your head, and let’s be honest here, that makes it more annoying than anything else. There’s only so many rounds of “la la la” you can take before you feel like rupturing your own eardrums with a knitting needle after all. I don’t really have anything else to say about it, it’s just mildly annoying and not that good.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Norway- Odd Børre- “Stress”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 55th

1969- Four Winners, One Contest

France: Un jour, un enfant

Artist: Frida Boccara

Language: French

Thoughts: Well this is objectively the best of the four songs we have here, and it’s also my favourite winner from France, so at least it has that going for it. Though, let’s be real, I’m hardly a big fan of France’s winners, or French ballads in general. So this is… a big emotional ballad. What more is there to say? It’s big. It’s emotional. The lyrics are nonsense because God help us if we have songs with strong emotions this early on in the contest. Summary: Very nice, but lacking substance. Personal ranking (out of 67):  21st

Spain: Vivo Cantando

Artist: Salome

Language: Spanish

Thoughts: I’m not really what you’d call an advocate for bringing back a live orchestra, but, man, songs like this sure turn me into one. The live version of this song is in a whole other league compared to the studio version; like it is just pure, infectious, Spanish cheer. It’s an absolute blast to listen to, and I strongly recommend checking out the live version before going anywhere near the studio. Summary: Infections, but choose live over studio because it’s better okay. Personal ranking (out of 67):  20th

The Netherlands: Der Troubadour

Artist: Lenny Kuhr

Language: Dutch

Thoughts: I mean.... The guitar solo is impressive at least. I’m sorry, I don’t see the appeal in this one. And I feel so weirdly alone in that stance. So many people I know have this song in their top ten best winners list and I just don’t understand it. I just find it very dull and repetitive, and the singer’s voice is definitely an acquired taste. To me she just sounds like she’s forcing her voice lower, like a reverse falsetto or something. And that’s all I really have to say about this one. I just… don’t  like it that much, or at least not as much as everyone else I know seems to. Summary: I don’t “get” it. Personal ranking (out of 67): 53rd

United Kingdom: Boom-Bang-a-Bang

Artist: Lulu

Language: English

Thoughts: Ah yes, the forgotten UK winner. Everybody knows Lulu did this contest once, and everybody knows Boom-bang-a-bang was a British entry, but I swear nobody knows she actually won. Probably because she had the audacity to tie with other countries, the horror. And that’s the most interesting part of this song because it’s otherwise  just kind of alright. It’s very twee and sweet, and if I didn’t know that “bubblegum pop” was a genre reserved for one-hit-wonder nobodies and not decade-defining names then I’d say this is a perfect example of it. It’s just a decent-ish fluffy pop song with very saccharine fluffy lyrics. Standard British Eurovision pap, if you ask me. Summary: Cute, but lacking substance. Personal ranking (out of 67): 25th

So who really should have won in 1969? Either Spain or Monaco if you ask me. That kid had charm.

#eurovision #mod's winner reviews #these took sooooo long to format lmao will draft the 70s and 80s tonight so i can post them on time tomorrow #ESC winners

[sensenoi]

Rating Every Single Name of the Wind Cover

Why? Because I can. I am not a graphic designer, just a person with opinions. 

Criteria for consideration: Must be a cover in a published edition of The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. Hardcover, paperback, and ebook are all fair game, as are foreign language editions. Some editions reuse the same cover art, in which case I only rate one cover. Some editions modify cover art from another edition. If the differences are substantial, I’ll rate both.

Kindle March 2007 Edition

Ah, the famous shirtless redhead cover. This cover is a bit infamous in the fandom for being both bad and cringey. This is not good art. It’s cheesy. The shirtless aspect is silly, and the windswept hair is so windswept, you’d think Kvothe was in a tornado. Nice balance with the title and author text, although it looks like the title and author text are slightly off center.

3/10

Hardcover April 2007 Edition This is just a zoomed in crop of the above cover, which is a little lazy. It does make for a better cover image, except the creepy goat man bust has nothing to do with the plot of Name of the Wind. So I suppose they cancel out.

3/10

Mass Market Paperback April 2009 Edition

I despise this cover. It’s a lazy design, and the photo manipulation is terrible. Points I guess for good title text placement. But the photo manipulation is so! So! Bad! This is also the start of the trend of a hooded, cloaked figure with his back to the viewer staring out into the void. It is a bad trend.

2/10

Paperback UK June 2008 Edition

We’re still with the hooded, cloaked figure, but at least he’s facing front this time. I like the embellishment on the ‘W’ in the title text, although it gets a little pumpkin viney. Overall, it’s an ok cover. It doesn’t make me cringe, but it doesn’t grab the viewer’s interest, either.

4/10

Paperback Spanish May 2009 Edition

Same image as the previous cover, but this one is uncropped and has a different plant border. I’m not sure how successful the changes are. On the one hand, shrinking the image of the figure makes the figure look more mysterious, which is good. But on the other hand, this is a bad plant border. I thought there was some corn on the right side for a minute.

4/10

Hardcover 10th Anniversary October 2017 Edition

10th Anniversary edition got fancy, and it shows. I love the ruin influence in the title text, which is a great callback to the use of ruins in the novel and also a more creative and unexpected choice than making the title text leafy. That being said, the “of the” in the title text is very oddly formatted and doesn’t fit the style. The cover illustration is pretty great, with lots of symbolism for old fans while still maintaining visual interest for new readers who are browsing and happen to pick the book up. The Cinder statue is delightfully creepy and much more relevant to the novel than the dumb pan statue from the earlier cover.

9/10

Paperback Turkish March 2007 Edition

Another trend starting here: Cloaked figure staring out at a city in the distance. I like the painting, at least what I can see of it. I find the choice to crop out most of the painting really bizarre. Is this supposed to be a telescope we’re looking through? And the leaves look like lily pads. The title and author text leaf embellishments are quite nice here, but I don’t know why there’s a metallic color shift. Overall, a poor use of space.

4/10

Hardcover German March 2007 Edition

Oh look! A cloaked figure staring at a city. What a surprise. I rather like the title text design, which is pretty creative and a good way to make the title visually appealing. I wish the city in the painting weren’t so damn faded and distant – I think it’s a mistake to keep the visual focus on the figure exclusively and only hint at the city beyond.

6/10

Paperback Portuguese September 2009 Edition

This cover is terrible. I would say the worst, but there’s more still to come. Anyways, this is incredibly bad. We’re once again with the hooded, cloaked figure with his back to the viewer, which is a lazy and uninteresting pose. The image is badly photoshopped and looks like an alternate movie poster for The Blair Witch Project. There’s nothing interesting about the image, nothing that interests the viewer. The title font isn’t boring, I guess. That’s the only good thing I have to say about this. 1/10

Paperback Portuguese July 2009 Edition

Still another cloaked figure staring off at a distant city, but this is one my favorite versions of this trope. The city is far enough in the middle distance that the figure is the main focus, but we can still see enough of the city to see that it’s cool looking. I’m glad to see the bridge from the books, which is a nice detail.  The title text does a good job of filling in the empty space of the painting without crowding the other elements.

9/10

Paperback French November 2009 Edition

This is the same cover image as before, but it’s been cropped so that the figure is centered. I don’t like the change – the balance is better when the figure is off center. Also, the title text is way too big and dominates, which is unfortunate because the Spanish cover had such a lovely balance throughout. 7/10

Hardcover Dutch July 2007 Edition

Yet. Another. Hooded figure. Staring. At a city. Wow. This one has a tree, at least. The image is… fine? I might be kinder to it if I hadn’t seen several better iterations of this right before. Because so much of the image is shrouded in fog, there’s very little to go on in terms of visual interest. And while I don’t mind the shadowed, muted color scheme, it also means that there’s very little to distinguish the cloaked figure and make him intriguing. The shadow initials behind the title text is horrific and obscures the title somewhat, so docking a couple of points for that. 5/10

Hardcover UK January 2017 Edition

Ahahahaha. This looks like the My Neighbor Totoro edition of Name of the Wind. It’s very silly and lighthearted, but wholly inappropriate for a book whose reading level is above first grade. If this was a kid’s book, I’d give it full marks. But Name of the Wind is very much for adults, and this cover is way too young and childish.

1/10

Paperback Polish August 2008

YIKES. I cannot figure out which scene or location from the book this image is trying to evoke, which makes me think the cover artist did not have the book or a text excerpt to work from. What the hell are those weird horse skulls? Why is this taking place in a desert? Why is the texture so bad? So many questions. And the effect on the title text is bad.

0/10 YES WE CAN GO LOWER THAN 1

Hardcover Russian 2010 Edition

This looks like the cover to a Dungeons and Dragons manual. I suppose that’s supposed to be from the Dracchus scene with Denna, but the image doesn’t look quite right for Name of the Wind. It’s just so generic fantasy. I also don’t like how the image is cropped top and bottom to make way for a very generic marble background. Still, the image is colorful and exciting, even if it could be the cover for any fantasy novel ever.

5/10

Paperback UK 2011 Edition

What the FUCK happened here? Who let this shit happen?

-10/10

Hardcover Finnish August 2010 Edition

Ooooh, more Miyazaki fanart! This is actually quite lovely, and it fits the tone of the books much better than the kids book cover from before. I love how soft and gentle the painting is. Notice the color balance. I don’t know if this cover really ‘grabs’ you or draws interest, but it’s one of my favorites of the bunch.

10/10

Paperback Bulgarian October 2010 Edition

I reserve the right to change my opinion later, but this may be the worst contender in the cloaked and hooded figure from behind category. I actually had to double check that this wasn’t a reused image from the mass market paperback edition, but nope! This is a brand new cover image, and it’s absolute shit. The lighting is so dark it’s impossible to make out details, the balance is way off, and the cover and title text are placed over the figure (aka the only object of interest) instead of the boring, generic storm clouds.

0/10

Hardcover Lithuanian 2011 Edition

YIKES times two. This cover art is truly awful in ways I didn’t know could still happen. Kvothe’s face looks ‘off’ because the facial proportions are all wrong. The blue mystical katana is bizarre because there’s no magical sword, much less a katana, in the story. And is that a photo of Stonehenge in the background? With yet another hooded figure?! I do like the gold foil of the title and the golden dragon embellishment, but the rest of this is such shit.

0/10

Paperback Serbian February 2011

And we’re back in the safe territory of a cloaked figure staring off at a distant city! All these covers are starting to run together, but this is a new cover art. It just looks like all the others. Once again, it’s fine. The city is a little too distant and greyed out to hold interest, and the figure is kind of generic.

5/10

Paperback Italian 2008 Edition

I do not know what happened here. Who is this figure supposed to be? I cannot for the life of me figure out which character this is. It’s a shame, because it’s well-done art with a cool character and costume design. The title and author text obscure the image, though, and the shadow on the text is so extreme it’s hilarious.

0/10

Hardcover Hungarian 2009 Edition

This is just boring. There’s no information conveyed here, nothing interesting or arresting to attract the viewer’s attention. The translucent overlay on the title is an odd choice.

2/10

Paperback Persian 2016 Edition

I believe this was originally a fanart of Kvothe (correct me if I’m wrong please), but it’s a good one. The tree shadow in the back is distracting and obscures the handle of the lute on his back, though. I wish there was more here – it feels very spare in an unintentional way.

6/10

Hardcover Georgian 2016 Edition

Cloaked and hooded figure staring off into the distance, check. I’m not crazy about this one – the art is very soft in a blurred kind of way, and it reads as a little humdrum. The tower in the distance is quite dull – it looks like a modern office building.

4/10

Hardcover Italian October 2016 Edition

The title text is a little too high – I don’t like how it covers the figure’s chin. It’s not a bad idea to make Kvothe’s green eyes a focal point, and it’s certainly more of an original idea than most of these covers have shown. But the muted color pallete drags the whole mood down. It’s not evocative, just kind of damp.

5/10

Hardcover 10th Anniversary French November 2019

I LOVE this cover. It’s gorgeous. I love the gold foil, love the text, love the clouds. It’s stunning and timeless. Amazing.

10/10

Hardcover Latvian October 2013 Edition

It’s a cloaked figure with a city in the distance, but he’s NOT looking at the city! What!! I’m rather surprised at how few covers feature Kvothe actually playing the lute – this may be the only one, actually. I don’t like the bottom fade, and I think the design is a little generic fantasy. But it’s a nice balance, and the title text is fancy and eye-catching.

7/10

Paperback Polish 2017 Edition

This cover artist also clearly wasn’t working off an excerpt from the book. The character design is so off and unlike Kvothe, except for the cloak. Wall texture looks like a photo manipulation, which is cheap. This whole thing is bad.

0/10

Hardcover Russian 2015 Edition

What is with the Stonehenge imagery? And why is that guy floating off of Stonehenge in a modern hoodie? Why is that one leaf in the top right so huge? Why is the title text red and difficult to read? At least there’s a broken lute, I guess.

1/10

Paperback Chinese May 2012 Edition

This is incredibly lazy and the photoshop job is terrible and generic. Zero effort was put into this cover.

0/10

Hardcover Russian 2011 Edition

I’ve been pretty harsh on Russia, mostly because the Russian covers have been terrible. This is ok-ish. It’s very generic fantasy, and the castle looks like Hogwarts. But it has visual interest, even if the title text color is garish.

2/10

Japanese 2017 Edition

I quite love that they turned Kvothe into an anime character. And he’s doing stuff, too, and not just staring out into the middle distance. There’s so much imagery of the broken lute in these covers, so it’s refreshing to see the other part of this scene – when Kvothe loses his shit and finally calls the name of the wind. Fun cover, good artwork. The red title text works here because it matches Kvothe’s hair.

9/10

WORST:

BEST:

#The name of the wind #kingkiller chronicle #patrick rothfuss #book cover art #books #apologies for poor image quality i was working with what god and goodreads gave me #which was variable image quality i guess #I've been told I'm very judgemental so I decided to put those judgey skills to good use

[etinarcadiabayego]

Can you give us a sneak peek on what is going to happen next on the listening?pls feed us momma

Okay, okay. I give. I haven’t had much time to write and whatnot with my art stuff and everything else, but I did have about 3,000 words written for chapter 27. Again, I’ve been really busy and don’t have a clear indication myself how everything is going to go until I really just sit down and write it out, BUT I’ll post what I’ve got under a “Read More” here for you guys. You all deserve something for this painful wait. :) Keep in mind it’s not completely proof-read and is subjected to change, but here you all go. <3

The Listening - Ch. 27 [Chapter Title Pending] “Feel like getting some food? I’m starving.” To Max, Warren’s voice was muffled and far away, like it had also been dragged under the same waves that overtook her and Nathan. She had to wonder then if she was the same person now that she had surfaced. Max closed her eyes and let the blackness take over. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t the same. She hadn’t surfaced, not completely. She was in a perpetual Dead-Man’s Float, and treading water. None of what happened in the library was any part of her batshit crazy visions or photo ventures. It happened. For real. Whatever real was anymore. She kissed Nathan. And he would never know. ‘Which is for the best, Max,’ she kept telling herself, but felt guiltier and guiltier every time she tried to skew that mantra into an agreeable truth. ‘Why me?’ “Max?” Stella’s concerned chords snapped her back into reality. The feeling was even more intense and sickening as Warren’s flivver of a car rattled into full stereo. The crackle in her ears became a deafening roar. “Yeah?” “What are you craving? We’re heading to the Two Whales.” the bespectacled girl asked once again, her mouth turning downward with more worry. “Craving? Uh. I…I think I’m okay. Sorry.” Max didn’t think she sounded like herself anymore. She had to swallow again and again, attempting to coat her throat with moisture. The heat of the car didn’t help, felt like it was baking the life out of her by the second as it rushed up her neck and magnified in her face with recent memories. “I’m not all that hungry.” Warren chuckled, trying to lift the atmosphere Max knew she was projecting at that point. “Really? If I were researching as much as you – and I have – I’d have a heck of an appetite by now.” When neither Stella nor Max said anything more, he then asked, “How goes the time travel project, anyway? Use any of the info I passed along to you? Did you turn it in to Mrs. Grant? Do you need any more help with this other stuff you’re looking into?” “Jeeze, Warren. Just because you can fire off questions as fast as a supercomputer doesn’t mean she can answer them as fast,” Stella said with a light laugh and a shake of her head. Max saw his sheepish grin as he gave her an apologetic glance in the rear-view mirror. “Right. Sorry.” “Though I do have to say, time travel sounds interesting!” Stella added, trying to coax Max out of the shell she reinforced around herself. “Uh…” Max was at a loss for words, Warren’s flurry of questions turning into flies as they entered and buzzed around her eardrums, and Max couldn’t help but wonder if Stella was trying to make her feel more at ease in order to help or to further churn the waters for her rumor mill later on. Max was too out of it to discern. Their curiosities were only becoming irritations for her then, and she wished they would stop. “It’s, um…Well, it’s going.” With a reserved laugh of her own, she added a quiet thanks to the end of it all. “Are you okay?” Stella asked. That hit another raw nerve. “Stomachache,” Max replied, short and to the point. Of course she wasn’t okay. That damned question only made her remember Nathan all the more—above her, encased in a halo of light, flushed and flustered and… Max clenched her jaw to stop her brain from imploding, but she couldn’t help her repetitious worries from consistently returning. This feeling was awful. Absolutely awful. But rewinding then was her only option. The way he looked at her just wasn’t normal. Not for him. Not that long ago he despised her very existence. Sure, maybe they were some semblance of the definition of friends now, but if she hadn’t rewound, all of that would have been destroyed. All their progress. All the good. Not that his kiss wasn’t good. ‘God…’ It was all like guzzling a heap of concrete that lined and filled her gut. It hardened into a cinderblock, made her sick with its weight. She didn’t want to be reminded that it wasn’t just a peck, or that it wasn’t only once, or that he was so fluid with the way his lips moved against hers. So patient and so gentle. At the start, at least. Max couldn’t help but let a small gasp of disbelief slip out. It mixed with the shadow of an unexpected laugh. She shivered, afraid of herself in that moment. Near the end, he was rougher, more demanding, and she became compliant. She had tried to keep up. What scared her the most was that she wanted to keep up. ‘And he was almost into French territory! I felt his tongue! At least, I think I did. A little. Maybe. Oh my God, Max, you are such a loser! The hell’s wrong with you?!’ They drove over a big bump. Max sighed, unknowingly pulling in her lower lip, thinking of his. Soft, if a little dry. Tentative and needy all at once. ‘And that sound he made. That feral growl…And he was shaking. Did he hate it? I’m definitely not experienced with any of…that. He probably hated it. Uuuugh…’ Another big bump. Max blushed redder and redder as Warren braked for a stop sign that could have been substituted with her head. The lack of movement made her feel more vulnerable, like he and Stella could see into her thoughts with all her dirty little secrets. ‘Good Lord, I don’t even know what to think anymore! Just forget about it! It didn’t happen for him now! It doesn’t matter!’ But even before they were trapped in that closet, there was a moment between them. Like at the Vortex party, there was…something. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge. And another bump. ‘WHY?!’ As Max had another freak-out with herself, Stella piped up, “Well, we’ll think about it when we get there. Get a homemade muffin or some soup and crackers to soak up your stomachache, yeah?” She twisted her body and gave Max a hopeful smile. A sweet gesture, Max thought. Stella was a lot like Warren in a way, despite her gift of gab. Still, Max was hesitant, wanting to get back to Blackwell and… ‘And what exactly?’ She had no idea how to even look at Nathan now let alone speak with him. If she was this bad alone, she could only imagine how much worse she’d be in his vicinity. It was only a matter of time. She hoped she could get over this whenever that time came. In the end, she surrendered. “Okay.” As the familiar sight of the diner came into view, Max noticed that the paparazzi had significantly died down over the past few days. Some reporters were still hanging around, blatant sore thumbs that stuck out among the bay’s fisherman and trucker population. They reminded Max of the day Nathan’s parents paid a visit to Blackwell. Varieties of people that didn’t quite fit within the scene of such a small seaside town. Max wondered if the homeless woman was still out back of the restaurant. If she was, she was no doubt trying to keep herself scarce in the wake of all the unwanted visitors. It was ironic to think that both parties thought of each other as parasites in a way. Ironic and sad. It was for the best that she didn’t sit on those thoughts. For now, space was good. Space was necessary. For all parties. Nathan looked like he needed some as much as her after finding out what they had at the library. So, she’d give it to him. This was a good thing! Procession time! Everything else at the library was stressful and tiresome all on its own with Sean lurking around. Why was he even there? What did he know about all of this? Max exhaled and patted her bag. She felt the outline and crinkle of the tabloid article within, pushing herself further into the fabric of her seat. She wouldn’t have minded if a monster spawned within its filling and pulled her into its plush depths. Stella and Warren talked about the beached whale in light of their new surroundings. Apparently, the poor creature was still there and had died the past night. There wasn’t any word of anyone moving it anytime soon. Max cringed. She hoped Nathan hadn’t heard about it, ever-worried about him and his initial reaction to the sea beast. His precognitive nightmare certainly didn’t help him, was another terrifying thought for Max as well. Max swallowed again and took out her phone as her body became a wisp. The Two Whales? What was she thinking? What about Joyce? Maybe even Chloe? Too many variables, but she just kept going, like she was on autopilot. She followed Warren and Stella, slipping in and out of air currents after they parked and exited the vehicle. Floating along, trembling, her mind wandering back to the library’s events once again. She couldn’t stop it. The diner door shut behind them, and its bell made a loud ding against the frame. Max reentered the atmosphere with a start as Warren and Stella raised their hands in a wave at some familiar faces. Max’s eyes met the grease-stained tiles of the floor as soon as they glimpsed the hues of Kate Marsh. On the topic of space, Kate surely needed more. Max had yet to tell Warren about her budding friendship with Victoria and Nathan, and she didn’t want him to find out like Kate had, didn’t want to disappoint anyone else with the obvious lack of initiative on her part to just tell the fucking truth. How would she ever explain it, though? Regarding Victoria, it was like she treaded a fine line between friend and foe, and regarding Nathan… Max felt the burst of yet another blush take over her rosy complexion. She hated this, this sickening churning in the bowls of her system. How she kept moving forward with balanced steps, she didn’t know, and she refused to question it lest she lose her momentum. “Hey, guys!” Kate greeted. Despite it all, she gave Max another honey-laced smile. Sickly-sweet with the culpability Max carried with her. “Looks like you picked up a stray,” said Luke Parker, another Blackwell student that was part of Warren’s diverse group of friends. “Sorta,” Warren replied. “We met up at the library. Thought we’d extend the offer for food to Max.” He, too, gave Max a sugary smile. The more it happened, the less she felt she deserved them. “Ah.” The noise Luke made in response was short and noncommittal. It reflected his cynical personality. He pushed up the bill of his cap to show off a suspicious glint in his dark, oval eyes. Max could never tell if Luke liked her or not. She didn’t know him that well, but his pessimistic outlook with everyone and everything seemed to just be who he was. It nevertheless made Max all the more wary to join their party for the evening. On one end of a booth, Kate sat with Alyssa, and on the other sate Luke and Brooke. Warren and Stella continued to exchange pleasantries with them, and Max just…hovered. Among Kate’s distance, Luke’s nihilism, Brook’s stink-eye, Alyssa’s indifference, Warren’s unintentional obviousness, and Stella’s lack of knowing much about Max herself, it was hard for Max to blend in with them. In a surprising turn, it was Kate who tried to break the ice. “I like your outfit, Max.” She paused to weave her hands around her mug. “You look really…official.” Her comment made Max genuinely smile, her innards loosening a bit out of their tight knot. It helped. A little. “Thank you.” Stella suggested the three sit across at the counter and continued their conversation from there. While Warren and her swiveled around to talk, Max stayed facing the steaming kitchen. She stared down the dessert case to her right, focusing too hard on a chocolate chip muffin. Every once in a while, she thought she saw them jitter, like dark ants stuck in the gooey, sugary top. Or… Something was moving. Through the glass, on the other side, creeping its way across the jukebox that was situated on the far wall was a lowly cockroach. “Gross,” Max mumbled. She was soon hit with a wave of shock and pain as the jukebox stuttered to life, and then died out in a burst of static. The diner’s patrons were silenced, cut off like the music. Max seethed, her head tightening as she turned to face…no one. Nothing. All of the guests had gone. Only empty seats remained. She realized she was no longer in the bay—her bay. She was somewhere else. This feeling, this pressure, this sensation of being lost, yet found, was the same as the others. It was like her visions, her photo jumps. Ethereal, quiet, and very, very lonely. She was suddenly the last living life form on the planet. And then, like the other times, the voices started. First a bit low, echo-y. Then, they grew. With them came the manifestation of figures in one of the booths. It was her and Chloe. “I pledge allegiance to Max and the power for which she stands.” The sitting, smiling, joyous Chloe’s voice bounced off the walls. “This isn’t a toy, Chloe. I do have to be careful how I use it.” Max found herself mouthing the same words with which her doppelganger replied. Booth Chloe almost launched herself out of the roof. “Screw that! Of course it’s a toy! The best toy ever! You can bang anyone with no strings attached, rewind and boom! It’s like it never happened!” “Grow up.” Max continued to be tied to her other self’s words. “Maybe you made a move on me and I would never know!” “Yes, that’s what I did.” She felt the humor of the situation, slightly smiled as she imagined her other self was doing. It was almost like muscle memory. She thought, ‘Maybe here…wherever here is…is safe.’ “You can rewind time, Max. That’s fucking insane! We have to play!” ‘Oh. So that’s…the whole story…? Huh.’ Max was becoming strangely calm. Warm. Comfortable. ‘Here is…good…’ Her muscles untensed, and she felt as though roots pulled her to the stool. ‘Here I don’t have to worry about much of anything anymore. No powers. No Rachel. No Chloe. No…Nathan…’ A small surge in her chest made her shiver and question her whereabouts for the briefest of seconds. Max turned her head. It was such a heavy weight, a hard effort. The scenery shifted with her. Where was she? Surely not the diner. Yet, it was the diner. That’s where she was. With Warren and the others. The Two Whales… “Or…whatever…” Her concerns quickly lifted, replaced again by the inviting, blanketing warmth this place offered. There were people slipping in and out of her vision, in and out of the layers of red and orange, in and out of things familiar and not. Here she could see them come and go at her leisure. Layers and layers of…realities? An assumption that seemed the most logical. Where was this place? How was this possible? Maybe it was a side effect of her powers? Messing with time, of course, was bound to have repercussions. Worse than measly nosebleeds and headaches. Surely. Still, this place was…nice. Max lazily smiled and closed her eyes, rolled her head to the side… …and was met with the cold blues of Joseph Prescott. Before she could react, the man’s hand was reaching out, his long fingers becoming tentacle-like as they snaked around her tiny neck, cold and harsh. She couldn’t gasp, the pressure too great and too sudden. The serenity melted away and was replaced with instant terror. Joseph looked tired, haggard. His hair from the time on the beach was a faraway fantasy compared to the unruly waves he now had, and the shadow of facial hair was prominent in this light. His eyes were sunken and dark, red-rimmed as if he hadn’t slept in centuries. More than exhaustion, however, the coldness they held visibly prickled with that enraged electricity she knew too well. Choking, Max’s arm came up to meet his. Contact. He wasn’t a vision. He was very much tangible, real. As he sat next to her, his form stiff and straight, his hand at a leveled squeeze around her throat, his breathing rattled. And then, he spoke. “You…” As if realizing what he was doing, he released her. His look morphed into another Max recognized: Despair. His icy glare then melted and fell to the floor, a dam ready to burst. Max coughed, feeling the heat and marks his fingers and nails left behind as they dug into her skin. She scrambled to her feet, backed away as quickly as she could. She stumbled. Gravity felt different here, almost like she was weightless, yet feebler instead of freer. She couldn’t talk. It was too hard to concentrate, and she was too much in shock. Her brain detonated. There was a crater left where words wanted to be. He spoke to her again. “You shouldn’t be here.” He paused, but his head never looked back up. He was raspy. “You’ll only make things worse.” “Wh-Wha-?” “Trying to fix things never works, no matter how many times you try. Some things just…are.” His voice was becoming metallic. And Max could taste it. ‘Wait…’ “Max! Honey, your nose! My God, you’re drippin’ all over the counter!” There was a roar of thunder before it broke to the clanging of silverware and hiss of the fryer. Joyce, whose drawl she’d know anywhere, was trying to help Max soak up the blood flowing down her chin with some tissues straight from her purse’s motherly supply.

#asks #caulscott #fic: the listening #chapter 27 #wip #sneak peek #first 3000 words #a gift for y'all for waiting so damn long for me #etinarcadiabayego #chichiricatsan #fanfiction #fanfic #life is strange #lis

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.3.9 “Joyful End Of Joy”

This title is such a weird choice. This time it’s not a translation thing, but a Hugo thing. He decides not to focus on Fantine’s reaction to the surprise, but on the other girls’ reactions. It’s weird, but I think it also works, because it serves to highlight how unusual Fantine’s reaction really is. The rest of the girls shake off the abandonment pretty quickly, because none of them made the same attachments as Fantine. Her devastation is highlighted by their mirth.

The men keep up the pretense long enough to even turn and wave at the women, laughing. I get the impression they’re giggling at their prank, but the girls probably think they’re just being jaunty. Also, I wish I had a better visual of the area. I imagine them kind of blending in with the crowd, maybe turning a corner or something out of sight, and then heading to wait for the stagecoach.

Again, Hugo shows the difference between Fantine and the others. While Fantine repeats herself with “Don’t be long,” the other grisettes are more preoccupied with what the surprise might be. Also, so far Fantine’s really only had two lines, since one was about the horse, and the next two lines are nearly identical to each other.

“You’d think piles of chains were flying off into the heavens.” I love the visual of this line so much. There are so many visuals in this book that I wish I had the skill to draw. This line’s an interesting one. My first instinct is to say that the metaphor feels backwards? “Piles of chains flying off into the heavens” sounds to me like saying these men that could have held these women down are leaving. But that seems backward. Unless perhaps that’s the opinion of the other grisettes aside from Fantine? My other thought is that maybe it’s not really a good thing or a backward metaphor. These chains which are the men are flying off, but the next ones could be even worse, could leave the rest of them in the type of situation that Fantine is now left in. These specific chains have flown off into the heavens, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more waiting in the wings.

The fact that Fantine gets the most important, foreshadowing line is interesting to me because it’s a very specific observation. “That’s strange,” she said. “I thought the stagecoaches never stopped.” The group has just spent the last 8 chapters mocking Fantine’s head-in-the-clouds state of being and how she doesn’t notice anything. And yet she notices this little detail and points out that the stagecoaches don’t usually stop. (I like this from the headcanon that she’s autistic, too. Social cues etc are harder to pick up on, but a change in a weird little detail like when the stagecoaches stop is something she notices because it’s wrong but no one else notices or cares.)

Favourite then insults Fantine and says she knows nothing of life and essentially calls her a simpleton while making fun of her observation. What is Favourite’s problem? She’s really the only one aside from Tholomyes who gets actual dialogue mocking Fantine. God, this whole group is so awful. The next line is “Some time passed this way.” I can’t tell if Hugo is saying that some time passed where they were just staring out the window, or if he’s saying some time passed where they were making fun of Fantine. Either way, this constant picking on Fantine is so cruel, from all of them. Especially Favourite and Tholomyes. It seems like Favourite is in the best situation out of all of them, too: she’s the eldest, has her own home, and is cheating on Blacheville with Tholomyes. Maybe she’s guilty and that’s why she’s so aggressive towards Fantine; she’s trying to convince herself there’s a reason she’s doing this thing with Tholomyes. I don’t know.

It seems like Fantine has never really had stable friendships in her life. These girls have been having affairs with the students for two years. It might be the longest Fantine has every really had a friendly, familiar, consistent relationship with other grisettes outside of work. And it seems like the other grisettes, particularly Favourite, really take advantage of that naivety to mock her.

Why is Favourite the only one so preoccupied with the surprise? She was the one to ask for it properly, to announce it the morning of and get everyone up early, to keep reminding everyone of it, and now to read the letter. Nobody else seems to be as obsessed with the surprise as her. No one else has dialogue mentioning it. She’s like the “leader” of this little group, so it stands to reason that she’s Tholomyes’ counterpart and that would make her be the one who thinks about the surprise kind of in tandem with the fact that Tholomyes is the one orchestrating it. But I still think it’s odd that nobody else seems to care as much as she does. It almost sounds like an insecurity, a point of anxiety for her? Everyone but Fantine seems to be expecting Gifts. I actually wonder now if this is why they are unsurprised by the letter being a parting one. What they think is going to happen is that they are going to get parting gifts; instead they get this letter and a paid for meal. It’s a letdown, but the leaving is expected, I think.

Before I get into the letter, I just want to point out how weirdly classical the line “they desire our return and offer to kill the fatted calf for us” is. The rest of the letter just sounds like a regular letter, but that line in particular sounds like I’m reading Homer or something.

The men start off their letter explicitly pointing out the class differences between the themselves and the grisettes. Despite the fact that Favourite’s mother lives with her, the men obviously don’t see that as similar to their own, rich parents. Hugo says earlier that Fantine is, essentially, a child of France. The students seem to see all of the women in that way, as crude orphans who have been taken in and socialized by Paris. The men then contradict themselves, quoting their parents as calling them “prodigal sons” and then in the next sentence calling themselves “virtuous.”

I can’t find anything on the Bossuet line; I assume it’s a pun that I don’t know enough French and/or Bossuet literature to understand. “Fleeing to the arms of Laffitte,” I assume, means running back to high society, back to rich families and political connections and all that stuff. They’re no longer slumming in Paris with working girls, they’re going back to the safety of the society of banking and politics and all that. I don’t know what the “wings of Caillard” is referencing, because the only Caillard I can find is Gaspar Caillard, whose writings aren’t translated into English.

The gall of them to straight up call the girls “the abyss,” man I hate these men. They see these women as a fun little jaunt into lower society. These women, who are without family (or the same kind of family as these men), who are very poor and probably teetering on the edge of penniless, are the closest these students can get to this “abyss.” I bet they think they did some sort of fucking charity, too, and treated these girls to a “good time” for two years or something before dropping them. Ugh.

“It is necessary to our country that we become, like everybody else, prefects, fathers of families, country policemen, and councilors of state.” Reading this line just makes me feel so disgusted. That men like this, who are slimy and manipulative and selfish and uncaring like this, are the ones who are going to become people in charge of the infrastructure of their local society and who will have power over people in similar positions to these grisettes. It reminds me of Bamatabois, who not only was able to harass Fantine and then get her nearly thrown in prison, but was also a juror at Chapmathieu’s trial. Twice he has the power to decide someone’s freedom; I imagine these law students will have similar positions in their own respective towns. It’s also such a gross flaunting of their social position, telling these women that they have all these opportunities and connections and money to become whatever they want, and these women are left in barely-paying labor positions on the edge of total poverty.

(This is also a really important piece of characterization, I think. It contrasts massively with the students we see later on, who come from rich families (minus Bahorel, I suppose) but who are dedicated to the betterment of others.)

Something I don’t quite understand is the paying for dinner thing? Why? Is it just because they knew maybe the girls wouldn’t be able to afford it? Why do that one niceness with such a cruel prank? Was it like a last “look at us, we can afford one last lavish meal before we vanish” sort of thing?

Favourite is so odd to me. She decides that if this prank was Blacheville’s idea, it makes her fall in love with him. She says “No sooner loved than left,” which makes me think it’s a sort of “you don’t want it until it’s gone” type of thing. But I’m also wondering if it’s a comment on potential cleverness. She only likes him more now that she thinks he’s clever enough and cunning enough to come up with and pull off a joke like this one.

Then the realization that it was actually Tholomyes comes. None of them seem surprised (neither are we). They laugh about it and I assume that, again, the “Vive Tholomyes” is a celebration of his cleverness at this elaborate joke. But they seemed to know that the end was coming, so it’s just a funny and interesting ending to them, rather than a boring goodbye. Also, I wonder if they would have been more upset if the dinner had not been paid for.

I don’t have much to say about that last visual of Fantine crying in her rooms, except for fuck Tholomyes. Also, what a damn bombshell for Hugo to drop on us, spending all that time describing Fantine and then in the last sentence revealing a child.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 1.3.9 #les mis #les mis meta

[elyvorg]

Kaito Momota: Even Better In English

Here’s a noteworthy topic involving Kaito that I’ve never really talked about before on here, not even in my ridiculously lengthy commentary of the entirety of V3: his localisation differences from the original Japanese. Specifically, the fact that he’s a better-written character in the English localisation. Only very slightly, but in a way that I’m pretty sure was done deliberately by his localiser. And it’s not even that he’s different, as in the localiser having made up something entirely new about him that didn’t exist in the original – it’s just that they took what was already there in his character and tightened things up just a little to make it come across more clearly and make more sense. Admittedly I’m still pretty new to my interest in original/localisation differences in media, so I don’t have a huge host of examples to draw from, but this is something I imagine doesn’t happen very often at all.

(Disclaimer: I am not fluent in Japanese and have therefore not played through the entire game in its original Japanese form. I just have enough grasp of the language to be able to more or less understand things with the help of a dictionary, and I’ve used this to check out the Japanese versions of various bits I was interested in, which, because it’s me, included a lot of Kaito. So my knowledge of this is definitely incomplete – if I’m wrong or missing something big, do let me know! Regardless, I still think the parts I do know about are interesting enough to be worth discussing.)

Maybe let’s not have him sound like an asshole?

The first and most general thing of note is that, in Japanese, Kaito’s speech pattern is really rough and rude-sounding. Like, delinquent-street-thug, almost-makes-Mondo-sound-polite levels of rude. Granted, I’m not an expert in this as I’m not fluent, but one thing that does stand out to me as significantly worse than your average rough-teenage-male-Japanese is the word Kaito consistently uses for “you”.

Most characters with this sort of speech pattern use omae, or perhaps omee, a more slurred equivalent of it, which comes across as kind of impolite, but only in a sense that the speaker is an informal and impolite person in general, not that they’re trying to be specifically rude towards the person they’re using it for, which is usually just everyone. But rather than omae, Kaito almost always uses an even ruder variant, temee, which in my (admittedly limited) experience is only ever used when you’re actively trying to insult the person you’re using it on. It can be pretty reasonably translated as not just “you”, but more like “you jerk” or “you bastard”. And Kaito uses this for everyone. Even Shuichi and Maki, his best friends whom he literally dies for.

It’s really bizarre. Rough speech full of contractions and slurring alone would probably be fine in that it wouldn’t change how Kaito appears to treat others. But the fact that he chooses to address everybody else this way makes it come across like Kaito is an arrogant, hostile asshole who doesn’t care about anyone except himself and sees others as beneath him, which could not be further from who he is, what the actual hell.

English doesn’t have such a wide variety of speech patterns and ways to address people as Japanese, such that it’s not quite possible to translate this kind of thing directly. But what English does have that Japanese doesn’t is a much greater variety of swear-word intensities, so one way that localisation often gets across this kind of nuance in speech patterns is by making characters use an appropriate amount of swear words to match the original level of roughness. If Kaito had been localised completely faithfully, his speech would sound a lot like someone such as Mondo or Miu, full of F-bombs and other high-intensity swear words, which would give him a much more unnecessarily hostile tone. (And while Mondo is actually a decent person who cares about others in spite of the way he talks, him sounding hostile on the surface is part of the point with him, whereas it really shouldn’t be for Kaito.)

So, happily, the localiser decided not to faithfully localise Kaito’s speech pattern, because they evidently realised it was unnecessarily hindering the way he comes across in terms of the kind of person he is. As it is, Kaito’s English speech is still very casual, but his coarse language only extends to the level of lots of “damn”s and “hell”s and only a few very choice instances of “bastard” towards Monokuma, with almost nothing stronger than that. He’s still not exactly polite at all, but, unlike in Japanese, it also doesn’t sound like he’s actively trying to be rude. Which is only appropriate, considering that one of the most important things about Kaito as a person is how much he cares and is always trying to help the people around him and encourage co-operation, and that he values communication as something that’ll let him do that. Being unnecessarily rude isn’t going to help, and you’d think he should understand that!

It must be a really odd experience for someone fluent in Japanese to play through the original version of the game and have to slowly come to the realisation that Kaito’s a hell of a lot nicer than he sounds based on how he talks. Turns out actually all the “you bastard”-ing is just a weird quirk of his speech that somehow doesn’t even remotely mean he doesn’t care about the people he’s referring to like that. I also can’t help but worry that a lot of Japanese players might therefore never actually realise just how good of a person Kaito is because of this. (Which, geez, there’s already enough of a problem in English of people somehow not managing to pick up on how one of Kaito’s most defining character traits is his selflessness and desire to help everyone, and that’s with his improved speech pattern. Imagine that but worse.)

…There is one possible reason I can see for why Kaito’s Japanese speech pattern is so at odds with the kind of person he is. It could be that this is meant to be a remnant of pregame Kaito, who was an asshole who really didn’t give a fuck about anybody except himself and whom I can definitely imagine casually referring to literally everyone with temee. It seems that the Flashback Lights that created everyone’s characters somehow weren’t quite able to alter their original speech patterns, despite rewriting everything else about them to the point that, for all meaningful intents and purposes, they’re completely different people and their original selves are effectively dead. So our Ultimate Astronaut Kaito just casually accepts his speech pattern as normal for him without having ever consciously questioned why on earth he calls everyone, even his closest friends, “you bastard”.

But while I can appreciate that being there as a hint to the twist, if that is indeed the reason it’s a thing, I still think it’s a lot more worthwhile to make sure that Kaito doesn’t implicitly come across as a hostile asshole every time he opens his mouth. So I still think the localiser made a good call to change this.

Luminary of the Stars! and its less-shiny (but louder) equivalent

Let’s move on to some more specific words and phrases unique to Kaito’s character. His most iconic catchphrase, even more so than the impossible being possible, is him calling himself the Luminary of the Stars. So what was this in Japanese? Something equally impressive-sounding, right? Well… only kind of. In Japanese, he calls himself “uchuu ni todoroku Momota Kaito”. Uchuu ni todoroku literally means “to be famous in space”, so to translate that as directly as possible while having it sound right in English, I’d probably go for something like “the universe-famous Kaito Momota”.

The first thing about this is that, while it seems to fit Kaito at a glance, I’m really not sure he actually cares that much about being famous. Sure, ideally he’d like loads of people to know about him, but I don’t think that’s quite the point for him. It’s less that he wants a lot of people to superficially know who he is and more that he wants to have an influence on people and to have inspired them and changed them in some way. I really believe he would much rather have a meaningful influence on just a small handful of people than to be only superficially known by thousands or millions without any of them really caring. So “famous” isn’t quite the right word for what Kaito really wants to be.

(Hmm, though it seems I’m overlooking a double meaning in that todoroku can also mean “to roar/reverberate”, which I guess gives it a bit more of a sense of him having an impact than it would in English, even though that meaning would sound kind of odd on its own. (The French localisation of his title apparently went entirely with this meaning and translated it as something to the effect of “Kaito Momota, the roar from space!”, which… I’m kind of losing my mind trying to picture Kaito actually doing that.))

The other issue with the Japanese title, though, is that it’s just provably not true. As a mere astronaut trainee, Kaito isn’t even world-famous yet, much as he might (potentially?) like to be. And even if he was, the only way in which that would equate to him being universe-famous is if aliens don’t exist at all and so the Earth is the only part of the universe in which being famous mattered. Otherwise, if aliens do exist (and Kaito very much hopes they do!), they have undeniably not heard of him, so he isn’t famous throughout space at all. He never will be; no matter how many space missions he might go on in his future, a human lifetime just isn’t long enough to actually meet, well, probably any of the aliens that are out there, but even more definitely not all of them.

So Kaito making a repeated point of calling himself “universe-famous” in Japanese just kind of comes across like… empty boasting. Which is not remotely how Kaito actually is – yes, he talks big about his intentions, but he always wants to follow up his words and is genuinely trying to do so even if he can’t always quite manage to live up to them as much as he’d like to. By that token, he shouldn’t want to make grand claims that he knows are already completely impossible for him to ever live up to. And, sure, he always says the impossible is possible – but the thing about that catchphrase is that he’s never actually talking about things that are literally impossible, just things that might seem impossible, in order to inspire people to believe they’re not and that they can make it happen if they try.

Kaito calling himself something that he knows full well is literally never possible for him to actually be only really works as a fiction that he’s putting on: something he knows isn’t true and everyone else knows isn’t true, but maybe they’ll choose to buy into it and pretend it’s true anyway because it’s fun and maybe a little inspiring just to imagine it. It’s similar to the ridiculous stories of his childhood “adventures” he told in his FTEs that were very obviously just make-believe even though he acted like they were real – and it’s also kind of like how Himiko insistently calls herself a mage. And, well, I suppose that works well enough for Kaito’s character in and of itself.

It would have totally been an option to just directly translate this as “universe-famous” and leave things at that. That sounds perfectly fine in English, after all, and it’s less silly than the French take on it. But Kaito’s localiser apparently decided that, no, they could do better by Kaito than that. They could do much better.

“Luminary” can mean, as far as I’m aware, three different things. One is some kind of esteemed, respected figure in an academic field. So that’s sort of a match to the “famous” part, but that’s definitely the least relevant meaning here. The second and far more important meaning of “luminary” is someone who inspires and influences others. That’s exactly what Kaito is, so much, to Shuichi and Maki and even to everyone else! That’s what he cares the most about being to people – far more than he cares about being superficially “famous”. And then the third meaning is “an object which emits light”, usually specifically in terms of celestial bodies like the sun or stars. Which isn’t literally what Kaito is, but isn’t that just wonderfully fitting with his space theme and the “of the Stars” part of his title? (And it also means that any metaphors about him being “bright” or “shining” or something to that effect are especially appropriate.)

In the localisation, then, while it may sound like an overblown ridiculous fiction, Kaito’s self-proclaimed title of Luminary of the Stars is actually completely true and accurate. Nobody can deny that he’s someone who inspires and influences others! And while the “of the stars” part could be taken as an untrue exaggeration that he’s also a luminary to aliens all across the cosmos, it doesn’t have to mean that. It can simply mean that he’s associated with the stars in some way, which he is, since he’s an astronaut. If Kaito wants to call himself the Luminary of the Stars, why the hell shouldn’t he? It’s not wrong.

So I love that Kaito’s “title” was changed to this in the localisation, not only because I like being able to use the word “luminary” as a neat shorthand for the way he inspires people, or because I like to use light-based metaphors about him being inspiring like that, but also because I love how it’s more than just a fiction, even if it may seem like one at first glance. Kaito calls himself the Luminary of the Stars not just as an idealised image of him that other people can maybe buy into and be inspired by, but also as something that he’s actually trying to be. Because he wants it to be true. Because he’s trying to make it true. And because, in the end, it is more true about him than Kaito himself really believes it to be deep down.

[Edit: turns out that maybe actually the “roaring” meaning I briefly mentioned above is in fact the primary meaning a Japanese-speaker would be getting from Kaito’s original title, and with that in mind I wrote some extra thoughts about this.]

There wasn’t anything better to call you, bro

There is one notable part of how Kaito is localised that worked better and was more nuanced in the original Japanese, namely the part where Kaito begins to call Shuichi “bro” sometimes once they’ve started training together. In Japanese, while everyone usually addresses each other by their surnames since that’s normal for Japanese high school peers even if they’re pretty good friends, this part is instead Kaito beginning to call Shuichi by his given name with no honorifics, which is a sign of extremely close friendship. It’s a lot more of a big deal and a meaningful gesture than simply the English “bro”.

However, losing that nuance isn’t the localiser’s fault, because the connotations of the names and honorifics people use for each other are completely different between English and Japanese and this could never translate directly. The localiser had to do the best they could, so while “bro” doesn’t quite have the same intensity as the given-name-with-no-honorifics, it does at least come across as a sign of close friendship and trust.

Because the localiser didn’t want to make Kaito sound as ridiculously over-the-top with this as Mondo and Taka do with their whole “bro” thing, they only had Kaito call Shuichi “bro” sometimes, and he still uses Shuichi’s name a lot of the time. Which is a sensible choice, but it sadly means that a bit more nuance from the Japanese was unavoidably lost. One delightful part of the Japanese that I wish could have been replicated in English is how, at the end of trial 4 when Kaito coughs up blood in front of everyone and pushes away Shuichi’s offer of help as he leaves, he reverts to calling him “Saihara” for the first time in two and a half chapters, making that moment even more painful than it already was. In English, since Kaito only calls Shuichi “bro” sometimes, there’s nothing meaningful about him not doing so on one specific occasion and so this just can’t work.

Then during their conversation through the hangar window in chapter 5 (after half a chapter of not talking to him at all and therefore not using either name), Japanese-Kaito pointedly calls him “Shuichi” again as soon as Shuichi tries to bring up Gonta’s trial. It’s the perfect way for him to make it immediately clear that things are okay between them and they’re still friends. This even causes Shuichi to think, “Thank you for calling me by that name again”, which is just adorable – he really appreciated having someone who cared about him enough to address him that way and didn’t want to lose that! (This line was replaced in English simply by “Thank you for being my friend”, which is admittedly also adorable but somewhat misses the point the original line was making about Shuichi being glad they’ve made up and are still friends.)

Heroes and sidekicks and… small businesses?

Back to things that the localisation improved on, it’s time for the most interesting part of all this, and possibly the most bewildering thing about the Japanese (if you can believe that things could get more bewildering than casually calling your closest friends “you bastard”).

In English, Shuichi and Maki are Kaito’s “sidekicks”, and in that context, Kaito refers to himself as the “hero”. While this makes it sound like Kaito sees himself as greater than them and that they only exist to make him look good, that’s actually the exact opposite of what Kaito means by this. Kaito only makes someone his “sidekick” when he believes in their potential to be amazing – perhaps even greater than him – and his role as the “hero” in this arrangement is actually to give them as much support and guidance and inspiration to help them reach that potential as he possibly can.

Obviously, Kaito’s personal definitions of the words “hero” and “sidekick” in this context are very different to the usual ones. But there is at least some sense behind him using these words. Kaito is training his sidekicks to grow stronger and reach their full potential, so one could say he’s training them to become heroes themselves. In the regular definition of the word, sidekicks don’t only exist to back up the hero and make him look good; they’re also essentially junior heroes who are working under the main hero’s guidance to eventually one day become just as good as him. So while Kaito’s own definition of “sidekick” only partially overlaps with the usual definition of it, it’s not the worst word he could have chosen for this.

So what does Kaito call his sidekicks in Japanese? Just the English loanword saidokikku, since he’s fluent in English and would know exactly what that means? A Japanese word that means basically the same kind of thing? No – it’s “assistant”. (This is joshu, and it’s the same word that Sayaka used in DR1 when she declared herself to be Makoto’s “assistant”, so it seems to have exactly the kind of connotations you’d expect.) And rather than a “hero”, Kaito calls himself… their “boss”. (This is the English loanword bosu, the connotations of which I’m not sure about at all. For these purposes I’ll be assuming it’s equivalent to the English word, but there may be something I’m missing here.)

Which… just makes things sound very bizarrely like Kaito is running some kind of small business here. (“Boss” alone may not necessarily imply a business context, but next to “assistant”, it totally does, unless I’m missing something in the Japanese connotations.) The words Kaito used for this in English may have been a somewhat misleading representation of what he actually means by them, but it’s way worse in Japanese. Assistants only exist to help the boss out with his jobs and follow his instructions. This makes it sound not only like Kaito is greater than them and they exist to make him look good, but also that all Kaito wants to do is boss them around and have them do exactly as he says, which is even more completely not the point of what’s actually going on here. From the word “assistant” alone, there’s absolutely no connotations that they’re junior bosses, bosses-in-training who are going to learn the ropes of “business” from him and eventually graduate to bossing other people around themselves. And even if they were, being a “boss” isn’t something they would want to aspire to be that would be achieving their full potential anywhere near as much as being a “hero” is. This whole thing is so much more bewilderingly removed from the actual point of Kaito’s training and guidance that I find it difficult to buy that even someone as ridiculous as him would have ever thought these words made sense to use.

…I will give these terms one thing over the English ones, and that’s the implication that the boss can’t be a boss on his own. Heroes can be heroes even if they don’t have sidekicks, at least in the usual definition and not Kaito’s – yet one of Kaito’s problems is that he’s afraid he’s not really a hero if his sidekicks don’t actually need him. And, well, a boss can’t be called a “boss” any more if he doesn’t have anybody to boss around.

(Okay, at this point I’m going to have to stop and point you towards my lengthy post about Kaito’s hero issues, because I’m starting to get deep into said issues and rather than repeating a lot of what I said in that post I’m going to somewhat assume people already know what I’m talking about.)

So, consider Kaito’s Harmonious Heart event and it’s key line, “I can’t show weakness in front of my sidekick”. Obviously, he’s wrong, and he should be able to feel safe showing weakness to his sidekicks and know that doing so doesn’t constitute failing them or make him any less of a hero. Part of why sidekicks are there – in the regular definition of the word – is so that they can help the hero out with things he’s not strong enough to handle on his own! Helping the hero when he needs it is supposed to be one of the points of a sidekick!

But, while it’s painful that Kaito manages to miss the point here so badly, it makes sense that he does, given the fact that he’s seeing himself as a hero. The core of Kaito’s issues is that he has an extremely childlike view on heroes and believes he needs to be completely invincible and perfect in order to truly be a hero who can inspire people. He has no grasp of the concept that the most inspiring heroes are really the ones who struggle and suffer but manage to win in the end despite it all, and therefore that having weaknesses doesn’t stop him from being a hero at all.

In Japanese, this scene has nothing to do with heroes; this line is instead something to the effect of “a boss can’t show weakness in front of his assistant”. And… this entire concept of Kaito’s issues doesn’t work nearly as well when put in this bizarre context of a small business that his Japanese choice of words brings to mind. Strength and weakness aren’t nearly as much the point in a business setting. Technically, a boss can show as much weakness to his assistants as he likes, because they work for him and so he can do whatever he wants. If anything, it should be the assistants who are afraid of showing weakness to their boss in case he decides to fire them for not being good enough. Obviously none of this applies to Kaito’s definition of “boss”, but then it’s just very difficult to grasp where he even got the misguided idea that he in particular can’t show weakness (even though it’s fine if others do), because it sure as hell wasn’t from that word. And it should be even more obvious to Kaito that his “assistants” are allowed to help him when that’s literally meant to be the point of an assistant. It’s right there in the word! They’re there to assist him! (And it’s equally right there in the word in Japanese; the first kanji in joshu is the kanji for “help”.)

So, yes, Kaito being completely misguidedly convinced that he’s not allowed to show weakness to Shuichi is the whole point of his issues, but it makes so much less sense that he would actually misunderstand this so badly in Japanese when he frames things using such bizarre terms. It only makes so much sense in English because he’s making it about heroes in his head.

I remember way back, when I was still figuring out Kaito’s issues, that for a while I was stuck at “it’s so tragic that he believes heroes can’t ever show weakness to their sidekicks or they’d be a failure; what kind of hero stories has he been reading to make him think that?” and assuming that was basically a rhetorical question with no real answer – until I realised that, wait, there was evidence of him actually buying into these sorts of too-simplistic hero stories and that this was the entire point. But if I’d seen the Japanese version of the game instead, I’d have just got stuck on the unanswerable question of “why the hell does he think bosses can’t show weakness to their assistants?????” and I’d probably never have figured out Kaito’s issues any further than that at all. Which would be a crying shame.

And, see, these terms of “boss” and “assistant” could just have been translated directly. They have direct enough English equivalents, so there’d have been nothing actively wrong with leaving things like that. But rather than just settling for that, evidently Kaito’s localiser looked at this, realised what the intended point was, and decided that they could get that point across much better using different terms, so they did.

More heroes and not-quite-heroes

There’s more to this hero thing than just bosses and assistants, though, because there’s a couple of other contexts outside of the sidekick thing in which Kaito talks about heroes in English.

Perhaps the one most pointedly relevant to Kaito’s issues is the part where he’s talking about how he looked up to Ryoma because of his own passion for tennis. He describes Ryoma as a “hero”, which is a word choice that’s absolutely vital for understanding why Kaito was so harsh on Ryoma’s weakness and never even realised he could maybe help with it until it was too late. Because that’s exactly the same unrealistically perfect standard for heroes that Kaito holds himself to: heroes aren’t allowed to be weak, ever, or they’re a failure to anyone who ever looked up to them. And in Japanese, Kaito’s line about Ryoma also calls him a “hero” (literally the English loanword hiiro). But the connection to Kaito’s own issues is a lot less clear, since the notion of Kaito not being allowed to show any weakness in order to keep inspiring people is instead framed with the word “boss”.

Yet I’m so certain that this connection, this ridiculously high standard that Kaito only holds himself and Ryoma and nobody else to, is still the point and something very much intended by the original writers. Kaito needed a very, very good reason to not be willing to help Ryoma with his obvious weakness when he usually always tries to help anyone weak and suffering – because if Kaito had reached out to him, Ryoma would probably not have died. And tennis is not the most obvious choice for Kaito’s favourite sport, since it’s not a team sport focusing on communication and co-operation. So the only sensible reason for the out-universe writers to have made tennis be his favourite sport anyway has to be that they wanted Kaito to be uncharacteristically harsh on Ryoma and only Ryoma, and the way to do that with Kaito is to make it so that he used to look up to him. On the surface this would seem like an entirely counterintuitive way to make someone want to help a particular person less than normal – but not if it’s Kaito, because of his issues about heroes. The writers had to have known what they were doing.

So it’s bewildering to me that the writers didn’t then realise that they should make this connection more apparent by having Kaito use the same word for both himself and Ryoma in this context. Obviously it makes no sense for him to think of Ryoma as a “boss” – but instead, surely, this would make the writers think that Kaito referring to himself as a “boss”, in the “can’t show weakness in order to inspire people” sense, is completely ridiculous, and maybe actually “hero” is a better word for it, just like he used for Ryoma.

(And it’s absolutely wonderful to me that, despite that the original writers who consciously wrote Kaito this way somehow missed the obvious thing to do here, his localiser got it and fixed things to be the way they always should have been.)

Another time Kaito talks about heroes is that he describes himself as a hero when he’s announcing his Brilliant Plan to help everyone escape in chapter 5 (the plan that’s really him desperately trying to prove himself to Shuichi after the mess that was trial 4). And this is also “hero” in Japanese, for once – the only time Kaito calls himself a “hero” and not a “boss”.

There might be some logic behind this. In that analysis post about Kaito’s hero issues I linked, at one point I talked about how there’s essentially two different kinds of hero Kaito’s thinking of – the luminary kind of hero who inspires people through words, and the action kind of hero who Gets Shit Done. In English, Kaito makes no lexical distinction between these two types of heroes, even though there’s almost certainly a meaningful distinction in his mind, since he looks up to Shuichi for being an action hero and feels like his own luminary brand of heroism doesn’t match up to that (even though it totally does; give yourself and your strengths more credit, Kaito!). In Japanese, these are two different concepts in Kaito’s head – the luminary kind is a “boss”, while the action kind is a “hero”, aka the thing Kaito is trying really hard to finally be when he comes up with his totally-not-haphazard-and-aimless escape plan.

But even so, I feel like using two different words for this is the wrong call. If we do that, we lose out on all the fun implications of Kaito questioning whether Shuichi is really his sidekick during trial 4. Said implications are that Kaito is afraid Shuichi isn’t really a sidekick because he’s already a hero and doesn’t need Kaito at all. In Japanese, Kaito still questions whether or not Shuichi is really his “assistant”, which he still actually means in his own Planet-Kaito definition of “someone who needs my support” – but because of the word he’s using, that doesn’t then come with the implication that actually Shuichi’s already a… “boss”? Because the inspiring type of person that the word “boss” equates to in Kaito’s head is not the same thing as the person-who-gets-shit-done that Shuichi is undeniably being during this trial – the notion that Shuichi’s the real “hero” here seems like it has a lot less to do with this whole “boss” and “assistant” thing that Kaito is questioning.

(So the localiser realising what’s going on with Kaito in trial 4 and changing his boss-and-assistant thing to actually be about heroes in order to better tie everything together and get that across was, again, the best call.)

The last context in which Kaito talks about heroes in English is when he’s talking about stories: telling Shuichi and Maki in chapter 3, shortly after calling himself a hero, “Each of you are the heroes of your own stories! So act more like it!”, and saying in the chapter 5 hangar conversation, referring to himself, “It’d be a crappy story if the hero gave up so easily!”. On these occasions, in Japanese, he uses the term “main character” (shujinkou) instead of “hero”. Which is appropriate given the context about stories, I suppose – but then again, the word “hero” also equally brings to mind the idea of fiction, and, since heroes are usually main characters, can be taken to mean basically the same thing in the contexts Kaito’s saying it here.

And since it’s the word “hero” in English, that means these lines can also be linked into Kaito’s hero thing in ways that they can’t quite in Japanese. By saying that Shuichi and Maki are the heroes of their own stories, he’s essentially telling them – just like I described when talking about the connotations of “sidekick” earlier – that they’re heroes-in-training who will reach their potential and become full-fledged heroes one day! Which doesn’t connect at all in Japanese when they’re just his “assistants” who are also “main characters”. Not only that, but the fact that Kaito’s already referring to them as heroes carries with it the slight implication that maybe they don’t really need support from him as his “sidekicks” and can already manage on their own without him. That is indeed one of Kaito’s biggest worries going forward, at least with regards to Shuichi, which has already very vaguely begun to surface there in early chapter 3. And that doesn’t work in Japanese either, because that’d be him worrying that Shuichi’s already a “boss” or something; see my point about trial 4 above.

Meanwhile, Kaito continuing to describe himself as a hero in late chapter 5, despite the utter mess that was his “heroic” escape plan earlier that chapter, is a rather lovely moment because it shows that he’s still willing to give himself a chance as a hero and hasn’t given up on his ability to make a difference despite everything. It could even be taken to be relevant to his standards for heroes, since he’s talking about what makes a hero story good – and all he’s saying is that heroes need to not give up, not necessarily that they need to not have weaknesses at all. So this could maybe be a sign of some very important growth from him on that front! This line has an impact in English that just isn’t quite there as much in Japanese when he’s only calling himself a “main character”, rather than a “hero”… or a “boss”, I guess, since that’s the one where he’s not supposed to have weaknesses and would make absolutely no sense in this context about stories, geez.

My overall point for this section being: in Japanese, Kaito uses three different words in different contexts for what he simply calls a “hero” every time in English. While there’s some kind of logic behind his choice of a different word each time, it still feels like the Japanese writers seriously missed a trick by not realising they could tie all these things together. Having him use the exact same word for it in English every time just makes the core point of Kaito’s issues so much more cohesive, even though they’re still exactly the same issues that he has in Japanese. I absolutely love that his localiser realised this and made these changes even though they really didn’t have to.

In conclusion: how even.

With the number of times I’ve gleefully used the word “luminary” to describe Kaito being inspirational, or talked about his standards for heroes in a way that is deeply connected to how he behaves in front of his sidekicks, it is so, so strange to me that none of that is even possible when talking about him in Japanese. Kaito is still the same character in Japanese; nothing meaningful about his personality or his actions or his beliefs are different (well, as far as I know from my limited knowledge) – but talking about him and the way he is just makes so much more sense in English.

Let me describe it like this. If you’d somehow shown me both the Japanese and the English versions of Kaito’s story without any prior context and asked me to guess which one was the original and which one was a localised adaptation (assuming I was fluent in Japanese, and also assuming the characters being Japanese wasn’t a pretty big hint)… I would have been dead certain that the English was the original, and then it was localised into Japanese afterwards. It reads exactly like some Japanese localiser saw the English version, didn’t quite pick up on all the nuance of Kaito’s hero thing and how vital that was, and so when they localised it into Japanese they changed a few things without really realising that that’d dilute the point and make it less cohesive – not exactly out of bad intent, but simply because they didn’t understand it well enough to know better, since they’re not the original writers.

It’s utterly incredible to me that the truth is the exact opposite of that. It’s incredible that the original Japanese writers somehow wrote this whole thing about Kaito’s issues regarding heroes (and I really am like 99% certain they knew exactly what they were doing here and it’s not me just reading too much into it) but somehow didn’t realise that actually having him use the word “hero” in more contexts, including the most important one, would help that along and tie it together more.

But not only that, it’s also incredible to me that this managed to get fixed in the localisation. I think it’s amazing that Kaito’s localiser was able to look at everything about him in the original version of the story, understand what the main point was even though it’s a lot less clear in that version and they’re not the person who wrote it, and then decide, “You know what? This is already really good, but I’m going to tighten it up and make it just a tiny bit even better.”

Mad, mad props to whoever that person is – I’m so glad that they and not one of the other localisers who worked on the game happened to get assigned to Kaito. If someone less perceptive than them had been given the job, everything would have remained the still-good-but-not-quite-so-cohesive jumble that it is in Japanese, and ultimately, I’d understand and appreciate Kaito’s character significantly less than I do today.

#danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v3 spoilers #kaito momota #ramble #character analysis #localisation #kaito's hero issues #happy birthday kaito! #and here's the second of the kaito rambles i finished for today to celebrate! #(both of them together add up to even MORE kaito rambling than the hero ramble from last year)

[artificialqueens]

Crying In My Prom Dress (Cracker x Jujubee) - Mumu

AN: Couldn’t get the Prom Queen Fantasy runway out of my head, so I wrote something for it! Read on AO3 here.

Summary: Jujubee knows she’s not winning prom queen. Brianna makes her night better.

Jujubee is bored out of her mind. Whoever said that prom is the highlight of your life must not have had very much of a life to begin with, because Jujubee has been to basement parties better than this. Then again, school dances are always boring, so maybe she should have known.

She’s been standing at the edge of the dance floor for what feels like hours, swirling a cup of punch in her left hand. Thank the heavens the stoners had the good sense to spike it a few hours before. If not for the alcohol, Jujubee probably would have ditched by now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Shea, head thrown back in the middle of a laugh. She looks absolutely gorgeous tonight, with red petals clipped into her hair, her pink dress shimmering under the cheap neon lights. She looks like every little girl’s dream.

Jujubee can’t help feeling childish in her own gown, an 80’s inspired tulle number. She loved it when she first picked it out, but now, eyeing Shea’s form-fitting choice, she sort of feels like an over-decorated cupcake. Jujubee’s stomach twists watching Shea, and she chugs the rest of her punch to cover the jealousy. It’s not like Jujubee isn’t popular, or pretty, but every school has a hierarchy. For as long as she can remember, Shea’s been at the top, and Jujubee has been playing second fiddle to her. The worst part is that Shea is genuinely a good person, which makes her impossible to hate.

Jujubee checks her phone again. The screen lights up: 11:55. Five minutes until prom queen is announced, and then Jujubee can slip away and get some real food. She’s been through three cups of punch by now, and all she’s eaten all day is some popcorn because her dress has a built-in corset and she’s not about to test the universe by risking a popped zipper. Maybe her empty stomach has something to do with her sour mood. Regardless, she’s craving fried chicken really bad right now.

“Girl!” Raven stumbles over, grabbing her arm. “You look stunning!”

“Fuck, did you pregame, Rav?” It’s a rhetorical question, given the fact that the girl looks absolutely slammed. It’s a miracle the administration even let her in. “Back up a step, your breath smells like vodka and I’m not tryna get that all on me.”

“Sure did, and fuck you,” Raven giggles. “C’mon, come dance with us!”

That sounds like the last thing Jujubee wants to do, especially cause she can barely breathe in this dress, but she knows it’ll be impossible to convince Raven to let her mope around on her own. Jujubee lets herself be led into the huddle her friends have made in the middle of the dance floor, plastering on a friendly smile.

“Juju!” Shea immediately wraps her in a warm hug, talking at a mile a minute. “Where have you been? This song is such a bop! I love your dress, purple looks so good on you.”

Jujubee feels a flash of guilt, realizing suddenly that she’s kept herself isolated this whole night.

It’s not Shea’s fault, really, that she’s a shoo-in for the prom queen title. It just hurts that Shea doesn’t even care about popularity or crowns and yet she’s constantly winning those things. Jujubee doesn’t trust herself not to be a bitter bitch about the whole thing, so she’d figured it would be best to avoid Shea for the night. It would be completely on-brand for her to make some petty little jab as a way to bring attention back to herself and soothe the blows to her ego. Jujubee doesn’t want to risk ruining the moment for her best friend, no matter how rocky their relationship.

Lucky for her, Shea has the attention span of a goldfish, and the girl is already back to grooving along to whatever the DJ is currently playing without Jujubee having to answer her question. Small mercies.

“Ladies and gentlemen, can I please have your attention?” A voice booms from the DJ booth. Everyone turns to face it. “The time has finally come. It’s my pleasure to announce to you the nominees for this year’s Prom Queen!”

Jujubee feels the bile rise in her throat. Shea grabs her hand and she flinches at the unexpected contact.

Shea shoots a concerned look at her. “You good, girl?”

“Yeah,” Jujubee lies. “Just nervous.”

“Mhmm,” Shea murmurs. “Don’t be, yeah? We got this.”

Easy for you to say, Jujubee wants to snap. She doesn’t. Shea’s done nothing wrong. It’s not her fault that the girl is prettier and nicer and more charismatic than Jujubee can ever hope to be, and it’s certainly not her fault that Jujubee’s being a bitter Betty tonight.

“Farrah Moan!” The DJ bellows.

A light swings over to a pink-haired girl to Jujubee’s left. Jujubee thinks she remembers her from French class last year. All she really recalls about Farrah is the pounds of highlighter she came to school with every day. By the looks of it, nothing has really changed: Farrah is practically metallic under the spotlight.

Jujubee applauds politely and resists the urge to roll her eyes at the girl’s fake smile. Everybody knows Shea’s going to win. Why do they even bother announcing the nominees?

“Shea Coulee!”

Shea shifts, stepping away from Jujubee so the spotlight falls solely on her. She smiles brightly. She looks radiant, and Jujubee feels that pang of jealousy again. It’s not fair that Jujubee has had to try twice as hard to even come close to the level of popularity Shea attained during her first month here. Then again, nothing is ever fair with Shea. The girl is just god’s favourite.

The light swings away from Shea after a few seconds, falling onto Raven next, and Jujubee lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

“Juju,” Shea says, mistaking her envy for nervousness. “Chill. You’re an amazing person. This doesn’t define you, okay?”

Jujubee doesn’t trust herself to respond over the lump that’s in her throat and the jealousy clawing at her insides, so she just offers the other girl a soft smile and a nod.

“Jujubee Inthyrath!” The light settles on her, finally.

Jujubee tries not to squint against the brightness. She squares her shoulders, flashing her most dazzling smile and blowing a kiss into what she thinks is the general direction of the DJ booth. The direct light is blinding, and Jujubee sees green and red spots at the back of her eyelids when she blinks.

After a few counts, the light shifts back towards the DJ booth again. She tries to recenter herself, shaking her head lightly.

“Bright, right?” Shea laughs good-naturedly at her dazed expression.

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” Jujubee jokes in response, swallowing over the jealousy that seems to have made a home in her throat tonight.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” The DJ says, dragging out the last word.

God, hurry up, Jujubee wants to complain. She fixes her best ‘runner-up who’s happy for her best friend’ look on her face instead. She’s been practising her graceful loser smile in the mirror for two months, and she’ll be damned if she lets any of her pettiness show now. As much as Jujubee thrives off of attention, she knows she will never be able to forgive herself if she messes this moment up for Shea.

“Your St. Charles Prom Queen is…”

Jujubee digs her nails into her palm.

“Shea Coulee!”

Besides her, Shea gasps, face breaking into a wide smile. The awful part is that Jujubee is absolutely sure she’s genuinely surprised. Shea’s never been one to expect anything to be given to her.

She forces her fake smile even wider, hugging Shea fiercely. “Congrats!”

“Oh my god,” Shea lets out an incredulous laugh. “Oh my god!”

Jujubee feels like her heart is being ripped out of her chest. She wonders if it would be suspicious to start crying. Probably, she decides. She’ll save her tears for later. Her cheeks hurt from maintaining the face-splitting grin she’s glued to her face, but she keeps it there anyways.

Shea shuffles towards the DJ, who drapes the sash around her and places a crown on her head. She still looks absolutely shocked at the outcome, tearing up a bit. Their friends gather around her, squealing their congratulations and crushing Shea in hugs.

Jujubee watches the scene unfold in front of her and can’t suppress the bitter chuckle that passes her lips. Everything is happening in slow motion. The neon lights dance across Shea’s features. Her eyes shiny are shiny with tears, and she’s slightly shaking as her hands go up to touch the crown on her head.  

Jujubee gets the feeling that all her friends are having their glorious teenage coming-of-age moment and she’s just an audience member sitting in the theatre. They’re only a few feet away, but they seem to be in a whole different world.

There’s a soreness building at the back of her throat. She has to leave, now, before she ends up having to explain why she’s crying over Shea’s win. Jujubee’s eyes dart around the banquet hall. Everyone seems to be occupied with congratulating the newly crowned queen.

Now is a good time as any, she supposes, so she slips out of the back doors and into the night air.

Jujubee takes a seat on a nearby bench, flinching at the cold steel pressing into her thighs. She shivers as a breeze blows by, suddenly acutely aware of how unpractical her dress is for San Francisco’s late-night weather.

The tears have been building all night, and now that she’s finally out of Shea’s sight, Jujubee lets them fall. Once she starts, she can’t stop, and before long she’s fully sobbing. She grinds the heels of her palms into her eyelids with complete disregard for her eyeshadow. Her hands come away a mess of glitter, mascara and pink pigment.

“Um, are you alright?” A voice asks.

She whips her head around so fast she almost breaks her neck. A girl is standing there, in a hot pink gown. Her platinum blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a voluminous updo.  Fuck. This girl fully just witnessed Jujubee having a breakdown. She sniffles, wiping at her eyes and trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

“Yeah, uh-” Jujubee’s voice strains on the word, and, to her horror, she feels another wave of tears coming. She opens her mouth to reassure the girl that yes, she’s totally fine, thank you so much, but ends up bursting into tears again. Her dignity is officially gone. Every bit.

“Oh no, please don’t cry!” The girl slides onto the bench next to her.

She pats Jujubee awkwardly. After Jujubee shows no signs of stopping, she just sits quietly next to her, hand still on the small of Jujubee’s back, letting her cry it out. Jujubee has never hated someone as passionately as this girl right now. Can’t she just leave her alone? This is mortifying.

The girl pulls her hand back from Jujubee like she’s been burned. Fuck. Did she say that out loud?  A sidelong glance at the girl’s hurt expression confirms her suspicions.

For what feels like the millionth time tonight, Jujubee feels guilt pooling in her stomach. This time it crawls all the way up, burning as it builds in her throat.  Jujubee half-falls off of the bench in her haste, stumbling over to the bushes. She proceeds to hurl her guts out. Well—it’s more of a dry heave, really, since Jujubee hasn’t really eaten anything in the past few hours to throw up, but it’s embarrassing nonetheless.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” The girl rushes to her side, doing her best to hold Jujubee’s hair out of her face.

Despite her condition, Jujubee still manages a sarcastic, “Just peachy, thanks.”

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, wincing as it comes away smeared with hot pink gloss. The girl helps her back to the bench, taking a seat next to her.

“I’m Brianna,” The girl offers.

“Juju,” Jujubee says.

“Wanna talk about it?” Brianna asks.

Jujubee almost snorts at her. In less than five minutes of meeting this girl, Jujubee’s managed to sob, throw up, and make a bitchy comment towards her. Brianna still wants to play therapist?

“Okay,” She says quietly, surprising herself. That was not what she meant to say, at all. But Brianna brightens considerably next to her, and suddenly Jujubee doesn’t have the heart to take it back. Besides, she sort of owes it to Brianna after being a bitch, Jujubee reasons. It’s not at all about the fact that Brianna’s kind of pretty and Jujubee needs to vent.

“Where do I even start? This night has been a mess.”

Brianna takes her hand gently. Jujubee tenses, but lets Brianna brush her fingers over her own. It’s strangely intimate. It’s also far more comfortable than it should be, given she and Brianna are complete strangers.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you aren’t comfortable,” Brianna whispers.

Jujubee feels something unfamiliar swell in her chest. She almost feels like crying again, but out of a different reason than before. She can’t really remember the last time someone was willing to listen to her feelings, nevermind being as gentle with her as Brianna is being right now.  Usually, Jujubee would scoff and call herself pathetic for even considering opening up to this girl, but something about the mess that tonight has been has made her stone-cold exterior crack a bit. She takes a shaky breath in and out.

“No, I want to,” Jujubee says. She feels the other girl’s gaze but doesn’t meet it, staring down at the crystals on her shoes instead. She worries a loose cobblestone with her left heel. “I didn’t win prom queen.”

Brianna makes some kind of shocked noise next to her. When Jujubee peeks up at her, the girl looks like she’s trying her hardest not to laugh and to stay supportive.

“You think it’s ridiculous,” She says, a touch of amusement behind her words. It’s an accusation, but there’s no bite behind it.

“No, I don’t!” Brianna shakes her head. Her updo wobbles dangerously at the movement. Jujubee quirks a brow at her, and Brianna flushes. “It’s just… you look absolutely beautiful. Why let some stupid popularity contest ruin your night?”

“Oh,” Jujubee says, slightly reeling from the compliment. “This old thing?”

Thank god for her quick wit, because otherwise Jujubee definitely would have been stammering some sort of awkward “thank you.” She’s suddenly hyper-aware of how Brianna is pressed close against her side and how their fingers are laced together in the blonde’s lap.

“It’s just, my best friend, Shea? She won, and I know it sounds terrible, but I can’t help but feel super jealous. She’s just perfect, you know? She doesn’t even have to try. And I’m just-”

She laughs self-deprecatingly, gesturing at herself, “Well. You see me.”

“Juju, don’t downplay yourself,” Brianna says. “You’re amazing.”

“How do you know?”

Brianna furrows her brow. “Oh. Oh! Uh, you don’t remember me, do you?”

“Remember you?” Jujubee racks her brain for any memory she might have of Brianna. Nothing. Surely she would have recognized this barbie look-alike if she ever ran into her in school?

“Jesus,” Brianna reddens. “I must have seemed so creepy then, just coming up to you out of nowhere?”

Jujubee must still look confused because Brianna explains further. “We’ve had classes together since seventh grade. I was in your homeroom this year.”

This time it’s Jujubee’s turn to feel embarrassed. God, she’s such a bitch.

“Oh my gosh,” She buries her face into her hands. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t sweat it,” Brianna laughs. “You know who I am now, so that’s what matters, yeah?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The music leaks out of the banquet hall and wraps around them, bass throbbing. Jujubee breaths in the night air deeply. It’s always the after-party silence that she’s liked the best. That feeling of shivering in the chilly breeze and walking home barefoot, heels in hand. The atmosphere always makes her slightly nostalgic for an experience she’s never had and can’t quite name.

“Do you want to dance?” Brianna asks.

“Hmm? I like it out here,” Jujubee says. “If you don’t mind.”

Brianna smiles at her. She looks pretty when she smiles, Jujubee decides. The corners of her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunches up.

“We don’t have to go back inside,” Brianna says. “We can just dance here.”

“Oh! In that case, uh, sure!” Jujubee stammers. She’s barely gotten through the sentence before she’s mentally kicking herself. Of all the times to be socially awkward, of course it happens to her while talking to a pretty girl.

Brianna stands, brushing down the feathers on her dress. She extends a hand that Jujubee takes. Brianna’s palm is warm, and the skin-to-skin contact makes fireworks go off in her chest. Jujubee meets Brianna’s eyes tentatively, snaking a hand around the blonde girl’s waist.

She hears the song change into something slower, and Brianna guides her into a gentle sway. She can feel her cheeks flushing, and her teeth tug on her bottom lip. It’s quiet, save for the leaves crunching beneath their heels and the faint music leaking from the hall, but Jujubee doesn’t mind. It feels peaceful.

She’s always been hopeless romantic, has dreamt of slow-dancing at prom since she was five. Her younger self watched those Disney channel movies that cumulated with a girl being swept off her feet by the football captain religiously.

This is different from all of the scenes she dreamed up when she was younger. There’s no parting of the crowd, no spotlight illuminating her. There’s no crown on her head. But somehow, Jujubee doesn’t really mind.

“This is so cheesy,” Brianna laughs softly.

“This is our rom-com moment, I guess,” Jujubee agrees, grinning. “I don’t mind though.”

“I’ve liked you since seventh grade,” Brianna admits. “You walked into class with a pink streak in your hair and immediately cracked a joke that made everyone laugh.”

“You remember that?” Jujubee’s impressed. She remembers that hair. It was such a pain to have to re-dye her roots every few weeks that she’d sworn to never touch a semi-permanent colour again.

She tells Brianna this, and the girl laughs, gesturing to her updo. “You’re lucky you don’t touch your hair! I’ve been dying mine this icy platinum forever.”

“What? I totally thought that was natural,” Jujubee marvels. “What’s your normal colour?”

“It’s more of a honey shade,” Brianna explains.

Jujubee cocks her head, trying to imagine Brianna with a warm-toned colour. She’d look nice with it. “That sounds pretty.”

The song playing from inside the hall finishes, and the two girls step away from each other. Jujubee shivers, already missing the warmth of Brianna’s hands around her waist.

“Cold?” Brianna asks sympathetically.

“Yeah, my dress is fluffy but it’s still really thin,” Jujubee answers. Her stomach growls, loudly, and she flushes. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten anything in a while.”

“We can go get Denny’s if you wanna leave?” Brianna offers hesitantly. “I drove.”

Jujubee pauses at the request, considering.

“I’d like that,” She says, finally. “I think we have a few years worth of stuff to catch up on.”

“Yeah, well, conversation always flows easiest over pancakes,” Brianna says with a wink.

The action gives Jujubee butterflies. Yes, she would very much like to get to know Brianna better. Something tells her they’ll be awfully close in the future.

#rpdr fanfiction #jujubee #miz cracker #shea coulee #cracker x jujubee #high school au #lesbian au #crying in my prom dress #mumu #as5 #rare pair