#‘do it over; give ne another version’ also hurts

[nestastits]

Okay so a little headcanon/theory I have is that because the Archeron sisters retain a part of their human dna, they can have babies more easily and quicker than other fae. Which would explain why Feysand got pregnant quickly (other than sjm wanting them to have a baby cause she was pregs at the time 😭).

Now to add to this, I think it’s fairly uncommon for fae to have multiple babies at a time, so if a twin pregnancy happens it’s seen as a gift from the Mother. And because the fae struggle with conception they’ve never had any pregnancy more than one or twins. Never triplets or quadruplets. And twins only happen every so often.

Now, my headcanon is that when Nessian finally decide to have babies they break free of the faes conception “rules”. Lmao the first pregnancy they have triplet girls and when they are told this Nesta passes out in the Prythian equivalent obgyn office and Cassian’s just like: 😝😝. And I say all three are girls because nes+cass embody girl parent vibes. Like Nesta is the mom who wears matching outfits and hairstyles with her girls and Cass is the dad who wears matching tutus when playing “princesses” with his girls and paints his nails the same colors. Anyways, the fae see this as a sign from the mother and throw this huge celebration party much to Nesta’s dismay. She has the house do research on how the hell it’s even possible for the first pregnancy to happen so quickly AND for it to be triplets. No reason is found though.

The Illyrians see it as a sign of evilness and say it’s because Nesta is a witch and now she’ll have her own coven😭. Cassian of course punishes any of his soldiers that say this by making them do flying maneuvers until they literally drop out of the sky.

The birth is awful and long and Nesta just wants to give up towards the end but Cassian shares his power with her and tells her how wonderful she’s doing and how amazed he is of her. The girls all three have wings. I see one of them looking exactly like cass, the other exactly like nes, and the third is the perfect mixture of each.

When it comes time to teach them how to fly, Cassian can’t stand the thought of them potentially getting hurt so he brings in uncle azzy and uncle rhysie to help. Nesta watches from a balcony on the house of wind. Of course the girls are naturals and get the hang of it after like an hour of practice and they take midnight flights every day with their daddy while mama gets some much needed rest.

After like another century Nes+Cass decide their ready for another and to their utter shock they get pregnant with triplet boys this time 😭. And Nesta’s just like: how the fuck has this happened again?!?!? And cass again is just: 😝😝. The girls are fiercely protective of their baby brothers and will start fights over them.

I see Nessian being the couple who names their children after I guess prythians version of Greek gods? Eventually they also decide to adopt some children from Illyria. I also see Nessian as the couple who have their own little army of offspring 😭spread out over centuries of course! But they don’t stop until they have a complete level of the HoW filled with their children lmao.

Enjoy!

[mbti-notes]

INFP. I've struggled at and haven't enjoyed any type of job I've held. I think I'd be good at being a sahm, I like kids, cooking, and doing things at my own pace rather than having to meet deadlines for a boss. Two main problems with that, the first is that I wouldn't have any financial independence and would have limited options if I tried to enter the workforce later in life. The second problem is that I'm asexual and I don't think most men would be ok with having a housewife they can't bang. What other options should I consider? Part-time work? Professional nannying? Try harder to learn how to fit into the workforce? Find an ace man who also wants kids and has a high-paying career?

To sum up, in order to achieve your version of a good life, you require 1) an asexual male partner, and 2) a partner with the means and desire to support a sahm. The first point sounds quite possible as long as you plan out your search properly. Asexual people are a minority, but there are enough out there that finding a good partner isn't just a pipe dream. When it comes to matters of great importance to you, you owe it to yourself to give it your best shot.

The second point is more difficult because of economic conditions that don't really support single-income households. And modern social norms encourage both partners to be financially independent. However, remember that, at the end of the day, the best arrangement for a couple is the one that both can agree is fair, so you are only limited by your own powers of imagination. You can prioritize finding a suitable partner first and then work out the details of who contributes what later. Perhaps I'm a romantic, but I don't think it's a good idea to give up on finding a life partner. Intimate relationships are an essential aspect of human fulfillment.

I can empathize with your job struggles. Not everyone is well-suited to the kind of labor that the economy makes most available. Specialized professions require time and money for education and training. If you want to have your own kids, you also have to face the reality that time isn't on your side. You have to prioritize and make some trade-offs in order to achieve what's most important to you.

You say you haven't been able to find a job you enjoy. It's normal that INFPs want to do work they are passionate about. But reality doesn't always cooperate. You can look for opportunities to change your circumstances and move on to greener pastures. It wouldn't hurt to try out a job caring for kids just to see where it goes. But there are times in life when change is quite difficult due to lack of opportunities, and the best path left to you then is to change your perspective. Maybe you can find other ways of appreciating work, outside of Fi and your personal passion for it.

For example, one FP friend of mine doesn't looove his office job, but he does enjoy a lot of little things such as: the pride of being independent, feeling challenged by problem solving, the chance to pick up and improve specific skills, the chance to meet new and interesting people, the feeling of accomplishment when he meets a big goal, etc. He could easily walk into work with the attitude of "ugh not another day of meaningless labor", OR he could choose to be present and commit fully to all the tasks he's doing. Whenever he chooses the former, he soon gets depressed. Whenever he chooses the latter, the job seems fine and dandy.

The point is that you have a lot more control over situations than you realize. A small shift of perspective can significantly improve your overall outlook and mood. When your view of things is too small or narrow, you have far fewer chances to discover joy. But when you broaden your mind, you'll have access to more possibilities of getting something valuable from the situation.

An important part of INFP development is learning how to use Ne properly, which involves choosing to focus on the positive aspects of situations rather than wasting energy hating on the negative. When circumstances don't go your way, you have to make the most of what you already have. It is through openness and resourcefulness that NPs become highly adaptable people. Perhaps this is something you need to work on.

[gczebos]

me, a gay who loves IT: ooh, I’m gonna order Crush by Richard Siken, his stuff is great

me, an emotionally unstable gay who has a crush on her best friend: h a...oh w O w...I am...haha...unwell

[twinklelilstarkey]

Where is my girl, bro? - Qb!Rafe Cameron

Words: 2.1k+

Summary: Rafe is, finally, having the game that he anticipated for so long, but he can’t find you in the stands.

Warnings: Cursing? Female!Reader. Rafe being a sad boi for a few minutes. 

DO NOT REPOST, REWRITE OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORK!

Inspired by the iconic video “I can’t find my mama, bro” (but, of course, instead of mom, it’s his girlfriend)

One thing you absolutely hate but, for some reason, always happens to you is that whenever you really want or need to be somewhere at a certain time, something *always* happens and you end up being late. 

It could be for presentations, tests, and many other important things, and no matter what you do, it just happens. There’s no way to escape it.

Today is your boyfriend’s game. You never miss a game, ne-ver. And he has been telling you about it for way too long. Always saying how excited he is to play it, just so he can finally beat the guys that have been talking shit about his team nonstop for so long.

You did everything to get there in time. You left the college library early, went back to your apartment to take a shower and get ready. 

You did everything in time and still had at least twenty minutes to spear. So, with the time remaining, you calmly and slowly got onto your car and drove your way to the stadium with absolutely no worries. 

The time from your apartment to the stadium wasn’t all that much. Ten to fifteen minutes, max. Plus, the games are always a few minutes late. You were as relaxed as one can be.

But that’s when everything went to shit.

There was a car accident at one of the streets that connected to the stadium, so the road was closed. It wasn’t a big accident, just a tap that took one off the road slightly. No one was hurt, thankfully. But you had to do a whole different rout, where you were met with nothing but... traffic, of course.

Still, you didn’t stress. You still had time. Rafe didn’t have his phone on him anymore, so you couldn’t text him just to tell him know that you were on your way. But, still, you didn’t panic, yet.

It took you a good 15 minutes to get out of the traffic and get in the parking lot, to find almost no empty spots. 

But life’s still great, right?

You were able to park your car all the way in the back and as soon as you turned off the engine, your friends started blowing up your phone to say that the game has started.

You jumped out of the car, locked the doors and started running to the stadium. 

Midway through the ginormous parking lot, you remember that you left the lights of the car on. So, running back you went.

To say you were out of breath was an understatement.

You called your friends when you were able to get in the stadium (in as: ‘just walked through the door’) to see where they were seated, and you did that while walking at fast pace to the usual seats, slightly off to the left of the field, already expecting their answer.

And all you got as their answer was “our usual spot was occupied”, which made you stop walking and sigh to the ceiling, “we’re on the right, by the doors”.

And there you went again. Running like a mad woman, again, through empty hallways to the other side of the stands.

The game had been going on for a good few minutes now and Rafe was sitting on the bench, breathing a little heavy has he just left the field and his eyes study the stands.

“Where is my girl, bro?” He asks his teammate beside him.

His friend tries to help him find you, eyes scanning through the sea of college students and families, but soon enough he was called back in the game. 

Rafe’s telling himself many times that you are there and he just isn’t seeing you. 

You wouldn’t miss a game, right?

You pant as you make your way up to the stands. Your legs are starting to ache from the sudden running and jumping up stairs, and the urge to yell a ‘thank god’ when you spot your friends at the front seats and not all the way in the back is too intense for you to just not let out a whisper yell version of it.

“Finally!” Your friend says loudly over everyone’s loud excited voices.

You sit beside them, feeling exhausted, eyes already on the score board, scared to see that you missed any points, but you’re happy to see that you didn’t miss all that much.

You sip your drink excessively as you quench your thirst and your friend starts to update you on what you missed.

Rafe’s eyes go back to the stands as he makes his way back to the bench and he frowns at the fact that he can’t see you nowhere close to your usual spot. He looks through the sea of dark blue jerseys, trying to at least find his number on anyone and go on from there, but he just... can’t see you.

“Still can’t find her?” His other teammate asks.

“No, like... what the fuck?” He curses more to himself than anyone else, sad tone. “Where the fuck is she?”

He’s not cursing you, he’s cursing himself. Like what if he forgot to tell you that the game was today? He had stopped checking his phone long before the game started... what if something happen? Maybe he should’ve checked his phone earlier. 

Oh, god, where are you?

He lets himself fall back on the bench, eyes still on the stands, which almost made him trip over an helmet on the floor, but he didn’t seem to care all that much.

Your eyes stay on the field, watching the game continue as you try to cool down your warm body, nodding at your friend’s words and waving your arms around your face to seek some wind.

(...)

The game continues on, Rafe keeps on trying not to think too much about your absence on your usual seat, forcing himself to think that you have been there the whole game, and imagines you in previous games just to simulate some idea of your presence.

Everything is close to ending, his team is winning, as expected, yet he was still dragging his feet on the grass and letting his eyes stay on the ground as he walked back to the bench. 

He feels sad, this almost-win doesn’t even feel like a win. He never celebrated a home game win without you, and it’s weird to even think about it.

“Yo, Cameron!” His friend screams from a few feet away from him.

Rafe lifts his gaze from the ground, up to his friend. He has an outstretched arm, pointing at the opposite side of home team stands, the one’s he has been looking at for way too long.

Rafe’s heart speeds up for a bit as hope runs through his system and he stands up, almost running full speed to his teammate. He stands behind him to try and follow his pointed finger. His blue eyes scan the middle rows first and suddenly... he spots you.

You’re smiling at your friend, wearing his jersey, like always, shaking a cup on your hand and sipping the last drops of your drink at the bottom of the cup.

You are nowhere near where he thought you would be. Yeah, you’re on the front row but way off to the side, close to the doors that he had just walked through on the break.

How the hell didn’t he see you?

A wide smile spreads over his lips and his heart squeezes at the sight. He has never felt this much relief in his life. You’ve been here this whole time.

You’re not going to miss a home game win.

The last seconds of the game run out and the team starts celebrating as soon as the number zero hit the timer.

A heavy weight has been lifted off Rafe’s shoulders and he honestly didn’t even realize it was there until now. His smile is huge as he jumps around with his teammates while they chant whatever nonsense you always had trouble understanding a word of.

His helmet is on his hand, letting his hair flow away freely in the wind as his features twitch upwards in the happiness with the win of the game that has been on his mind for so long.

You smile from your spot on the stands, some people in the stands are just as loud as the team, jumping and dancing around. You can’t blame them, after so many weeks of both colleges fighting against one another on social media, yours can finally rub the win on their faces.

As the team separates to go to their girlfriends, boyfriends and family members, many people walk over to the railing of the stand.

Rafe walks towards you, smile as bright as ever, being highly contagious to you.

“Hi baby!” You squeal in excitement as he gets closer to you.

He answer back with a just as excited tone and cheesy nickname and comes closer to the stands. He climbs them a bit and you lean down to cup his face and give him the usual kiss after a game.

His cheeks are sweaty under your fingertips, but it’s not something you haven’t grown accustomed to.

When being able to pull away from the various pecks, Rafe helps you down the stands, almost against your will, and pulls you into a not so comfortable hug due to all the gear on him.

Yes, you, supposedly, can’t get on the field, but there’s too many people around you for anyone to notice, and other people are also doing it, so it will be impossible for someone to call you out specifically in the middle of such commotion. 

“I didn’t see you for most of the game.” Rafe tells you and you look up at him.

“I expected that. I got here late and supposedly our usual spot was taken.” You explain over the loud music.

“You were late?” He asks loudly, forced shock on his tone as he pulls a quite offended look on his face, “For my special game? How could you?”

You giggle at him and he breaks the fake expression so he can smile.

“There was traffic and the parking lot is completely full.” You explain.

“Excuses, excuses.” He says while waving his head from side to side comically, “You. little missy... for-got!”

He pokes your side with each word and you laugh at him again, loving his playful and excited mood.

“Did not do such a thing!” You say, playing along.

Rafe’s smile is wide and bright and god, you wish they could win everyday.

If it meant him stopping to worry so much about everything and just be this happy every day... Ugh, where do you sign? No matter what cost. You will sign that, god damn it.

As you’re about to pull away from your sweaty boyfriend, your friend stops you.

“Wait! Let me take picture!” She says.

You pass her your phone with the best of your ability and she takes it in her hands midair. You walk back to stand beside Rafe and wrap one of your arms around his waist, as his do the same, pulling you closer, completely against him.

Your friend takes as many pictures as she can of you two smiling, just for memories’ sake, but you, many family members and significant others, are interrupted by the usual voice saying a ‘please stay on the stands and do not step on the grass’ blah blah blah. 

“Thank you.” You thank your friend as she shows you the pictures from her place up the stands.

Rafe holds your waist close to him and, just like any other guy around him, he helps you up. But... Rafe is Rafe. He can only fight his urges to some extent.

As soon as your hands grab the top railing and you stand safely at the top, his hand lands a loud and hard smack on your ass.

God, you hate this man.

You send him a glare and the bastard sends you a cheeky toothy smile, so forced that even his eyes close with his cheeks. You shake your head in a chuckle and jump to the other side of the stands.

“Don’t take too long on the locker room!” You tell him over the loud music and he nods.

You’ll never forgive him for making you wait 2 hours for him to only say ‘Sorry, I had to enjoy the shower while we still had hot water’.

Never. You will take that with you to your grave.

“Sure thing, ma’am!” He says, playfully saluting you.

You smile down at him and take some steps back.

“Wait!” He says, hand on the air.

You walk back close to the railing and he smiles, climbing up the stands again.

“I deserve one more kiss, no?” He questions, standing right at eye level with you.

You bring his hair back, not letting it fall back on his eyes and cup his cheeks, giving him the kiss he so wanted and wasn’t able to get when you were standing beside him.

Rafe’s free hand holds you close to him by the back of your head, but you pull away quickly as soon as you feel his tongue touch your bottom lip.

“We are not doing all of that here.” You warn him.

He stares back at you.

“I’ll wait in the car.” You say, your lips hovering over his, pressing a last kiss on his lips.

He jumps back down to the grass and stares as you turn to grab your things from your seat. 

His last name is written across your back as well as his number. A dark blue jersey matching the one he is wearing right now.

Your friend stands beside you, so that the both of you can leave, and you give him a last look before he has to step away with his team and resume his celebrations while you go to the car.

He steps back from the stands, eyes on you and on his jersey. Rafe loves to see you wear it, it awakens some sort of possessiveness in him, but, god, he is dreading to take it off of you.

Is this good? Because I love the idea of qb!rafe, but I don’t know shit about American football, and wrote this on a free morning. Help.

If you guys enjoyed this, I’ll write a fic with qb!rafe and maybe some more imagines of him just being a jock...? Maybe?

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

IUI - The Way I Love You

bear with me here folks

I know the Idiots are usually soft af. but my lovely spouse/fiance/soon-to-be-fiance and beta @dani-dandelino hit me with an idea and I added a dash handful of angst bc i couldn’t help it

Warnings: feelings of inadequacy, fear of breakup (no actual breakup I promise), miscommunication, drunk af Geralt, past shitty relationships, happy ending tho I promise, there’s tears but they’re happy I swear.

______________________________________

Geralt only ever got sloppy drunk when Jaskier was the DD. It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t trust anyone else, it was that he didn’t trust his drunk boyfriend not to goad him into something stupid. 

The last time they’d both gotten fucked up outside of their apartment they woke up with three traffic cones and a “Speed Hump” sign in their living room. When they asked Triss what happened she sent them a video of them giggling as they tried to fit the sign into her trunk.

After hanging the sign in their apartment, they decided it may be best to take turns. 

This particular instance, they’d dropped Triss and Yen off and were on their way home, Geralt’s head lolling against the window as he fought to stay awake. 

“I’m not carrying your perky ass upstairs,” Jaskier laughed, snapping his fingers near Geralt’s ear. 

Geralt grumbled but sat up straight and leaned into Jaskier’s outstretched hand, “Radio.”

Affectionately rolling his eyes, Jaskier pulled his hand away and flipped on the radio. Geralt immediately gasped and started singing along off key and slurred. The first time Jaskier heard Geralt scream along to Taylor Swift he’d been shocked, if extremely endeared. 

“BUT I MISS SCREAMIN’ AND FIGHTIN AND KISSIN IN THE RAIN! IT’S TWO AM AND I’M CURSIN’ YOUR NAME! SO IN LOVE THAT WE ACTED INSANE, AND THAT’S THE WAY I LOVED YOUUUUUUUUU!”

Jaskier turned the volume down to a reasonable level when Geralt cranked it so loud his ears might start ringing. He rolled his eyes when Geralt started singing it to him, taking the shortcut home and trying to ignore the little pit forming in his stomach. 

When the song ended Geralt turned the radio down and picked up his hand not gripping the steering wheel, “Jask?”

“Mhm?”

Even in the car, Geralt glanced around conspiratorially before whispering, “I have a secret.”

Fear flared in Jaskier’s chest but he took a deep, calming breath, reminding himself who he was talking to. His boyfriend thought secrets were fun. Mostly because Geralt’s version of a secret was keeping what he made for dinner a surprise until Jaskier got home. He’d even felt guilty not telling Jaskier he was seeing a therapist when they’d started dating. For all his gruff exterior and suspicion, Geralt really was an open book with those he loved and trusted. Jaskier had a very different idea of what secrets in a relationship meant. 

“What’s that, love?” 

Geralt giggled as he traced the edges of a magnolia on the back of Jaskier’s wrist, “That is the way I love you.”

Luckily for Jaskier’s car, they were rolling up to a stop sign. He had time to loose his breath for a moment and fight back the initial feeling of shame and anger with himself before he pulled his hand away and gripped the steering wheel as he punched the gas. 

Through gritted teeth, he said the gentlest thing he could think of, “We don’t kiss in the rain.”

Geralt frowned, almost pouted at him, “I still love you.”

A part of Jaskier wanted to scream at Geralt, another part wanted to pull over and make him walk home, thankfully the loudest part reminded him the idiot was just drunk. He didn’t know what he was saying and he thought he was being sweet. There was also a good possibility he would cry himself to sleep in the passenger seat if Jaskier yelled at him and last time he tried to carry Geralt to bed his back hurt for a week. 

“I love you too,” Jaskier sighed as he pulled into their parking spot. 

He didn’t sleep well that night. Not because his sweaty, smelly, and fidgety boyfriend clung to him in his sleep, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about the ride home. 

Jaskier had lived in relationships like that for most of his adult life. Hell, even in his teens. They were nothing but all consuming passion with no connection to support it and left both parties jaded and lost. When he left his mentor he’d sat in Yen’s chair for hours and hours, until his arm had gone numb, and the only thing he could think was ‘never again’. 

And now Geralt thought he was being cute. The ridiculously meticulous and serious man was only ever sappy when he got drunk and now instead of reveling in it like he’d like, Jaskier was staring at the clock on his nightstand calculating how exhausted he’d be in the morning as the minutes ticked by. 

Turns out, he was at least in the land of the living by the time Geralt shuffled into the kitchen with his hands in his hair and a pained expression. 

“Feel like shit.”

Jaskier hummed in agreement as he sipped his morning tea and shifted in his seat to see better out the window. 

After popping a few anti-inflammatories and nibbling on a cracker before giving up on food, Geralt lumbered up behind Jaskier and draped his arms over his shoulders, “What’s wrong?”

“S’nothing. I’m just being… touchy.”

Geralt pressed a light kiss over the hellebore tattoo on Jaskier’s neck, “I doubt it.”

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as Jaskier laid his hand over Geralt’s arm across his chest, “I don’t want to lose this.”

“Why…? What makes you think you would?” Geralt was a little slower on the draw hungover, but he knelt next to Jaskier’s chair and rested a hand on his knee as he waited for a response. He only ever looked so worried when Roach had an abscess and it broke Jaskier’s heart. He didn’t want to say it and ruin everything. 

After a deep breath in, he mumbled out his answer, “Do you really love me like that song?”

“What song?” Geralt breathed, his thumb brushing back and forth over Jaskier’s knee.

“The uh, Way I Loved You one.”

Geralt searched his face for a beat, the crease between his eyebrows only deepening, “Of course I do.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed, biting his lip to keep it from wobbling as he forced all the air from his lungs in the hopes it would do something to stop the tears from falling. When it was clear he would lose the battle he leaned forward with his elbows on the table, hiding his face in his hands.

“You… don’t want me to?” Geralt sounded close to tears himself, but he didn’t take his hand off Jaskier’s thigh. 

“No- yes! No?” Jaskier sniffed and wiped at his face but didn’t lean back to look at Geralt, “I- Geralt I can’t just fill a hollow relationship with lust. We ha- I thought we had more? But if you want the- the fights and the hate fucking- I don’t- Geralt I don’t want that. Not with anyone but not with you. Ne-”

“Hey, hey,” Geralt tugged at Jaskier’s arm, gathering him to his chest when the brunette melted into sobs, “I don’t want that. That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry I let you think that.” He cradled Jaskier’s head to his shoulder, pressing kisses into his hair between softly spoken apologies and reassurances. They stayed there until Jaskier’s tea went cold and his sobs were closer to little gasps. 

Eventually, Jaskier lifted his head and met Geralt’s eyes, “H-how do you love me?”

Geralt licked his lips, his voice barely above a whisper, “Not- It’s not hollow.”

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to Geralt’s, “Please?”

One of Geralt’s hands came up to cup Jaskier’s cheek as he took a deep breath, “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you… I never wanted to be romantic with anyone until you. You… You make me feel… safe. I’m never bored of you or numb or sick of you. This is the first relationship I’ve had where I bother to fight, Jask. I love you so much it makes me do things I never thought to do and I’m glad and I never want to change anything about us. Never.” 

A shiver ran down Jaskier’s spine as relief flooded his whole body. His throat ached from crying and his shoulders were sore from holding all that tension in a way they hadn’t for years, but he’d never felt so good. Geralt loved him. Him. Not some tumultuous relationship or the sex or the drama of it all. Someone finally loved him for him. 

It hadn’t really hit Jaskier till then. They’d said ‘I love you’, sure, but he hadn’t really believed Geralt, just like he’d stopped believing the string of selfish lovers before him. 

“Thank Mellitelle,” Jaskier laughed, just on this side of hysterical as he tightened his grip around Geralt’s shoulders, “I fucking love how boring we are. And you. Fuck I really really do love you.”

“Even when I smell like my regulars?” Geralt teased, intentionally huffing a little extra and dosing Jaskier in his horrendous hangover morning breath.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose but smiled and kissed him anyway, “Of course.”

“Mhh,” Geralt pulled away for a moment, brushing his thumb over Jaskier’s crows feet in a silent request for him to open his eyes, “Can we go back to bed?”

“The crying does it for you, huh?” Jaskier chuckled, his voice was still weak but his laugh was genuine.

“I’m so dizzy, Jask,” squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head ever so slightly, Geralt plopped back onto his heels. If Jaskier hadn’t witnessed just how much he drank he’d say he was lying, but Jaskier was truly surprised he’d even climbed out of bed this morning.

“Mkay, up. Back to bed then.”

They settled under the blankets and tangled themselves back together. Geralt hummed, closing his eyes and squeezing Jaskier a little tighter.

New, happier tears threatened at the corners of his eyes but he pushed them down, opting to trace the corner of Geralt’s buttercup tattoo peeking out of his shirt, “I love you.”

Geralt took a deep breath in before he sighed out a rumbling, “I know.”

“No, Geralt. Really,” Jaskier laid his hand over the yellow and green ink, “I’ve said these words more times than I can count but I don’t think I ever really understood them until you.”

“Jaski-”

“I love you,” Jaskier’s interruption was far smaller and far more fragile than he had intended. His words just continued to spill out, “You’re steady and calm and I’ve never had that. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like and I’m constantly scared I’m gonna fuck it up…”

Comforting fingers ran through his hair as Geralt murmured his reply, “Me too,” Jaskier just squeezed his shoulder in a bit of solidarity and a bit of selfish comfort, “But I think we’re doing alright…”

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” Geralt started, shifting so he was practically engulfing Jaskier, “we both still love each other, and...” his boyfriend pinched him when he trailed off, pretending to fall asleep in a way that always mad Jaskier giggle, “Ow- and you use the hooks by the front door.” 

“I do, don’t I?” Jaskier sniffled, “And you used your words.”

“I’d use all the words for you.”

“All of them?”

Geralt really was drifting away this time, his words coming slowly as his arms relaxed and Jaskier felt their full weight over him, “Not well, but I would...” 

[gwynrielendgame]

Gwynriel mating bond

I have written another version of gwynriel’s mating bond snapping into place but I like this one better

They were well and truly fucked.

It was the only thought that coursed through Azriel's mind. They had been outnumbered by Hybern certainly. Even then, the courts were able to rally together and defeat the king. Unfortunately, it was nothing compared to what they were facing now. They had the geographic advantage this time though. The night court inner circle stood at the highest point as the war raged on below. Cassian and him were regrouping while also arguing over which strategy would work best. Of course, Cassian won that argument. He was the general of the night court armies after all. Amren, who was no longer of much use in a fight, stood watching over the battle. Azriel could have sworn her eyes tracked the summer court armies. Feyre and Rhysand were currently arguing over the best course of action while Mor, unhelpfully added her opinion every other moment. It was clear to Azriel that his high lord and lady also realized they were fucked. Feyre thought they should draw back and regroup, but Rhysand felt that would give the other courts enough time to back out completely once they realized this was an un-winnable fight. Azriel knew he should give his opinion, but he was much more focused on surveying the carnage below them. Koschei and his army had managed to wipe out most of the spring courts forces- unsurprising considering they were still suffering from Feyre's plans even all these years later, the Illyrian aerial forces have taken a large hit, and the winter forces were not much help in this summer heat. It was not something Rhysand or the high lord of the winter court had calculated for, but as it turns out, training all your life in the brutal cold made it much more challenging to fight in the summer heat. All things considered they still might have had a chance if the autumn court had not sided with Koschei and the dark-bringers had not denied Rhysand's request for them to fight this war. According to Eris, there was only so much convincing he could do with his father before all their best laid plans would be tossed away like trash.

"We are being massacred out there, Rhysand! If we do not withdrawal, we will die!" Feyre's frantic voice pulled Azriel from his trance.

"We will die if we withdrawal!" He shouted back. "Kallias will retreat to his lands to save his people and leave us even further outnumbered."

"I am with Feyre on this one." Cassian finally piped up. His decision may have to do with the fact that a deep cut from top of his thigh to knee was not healing as fast as it should be. He was struggling to walk which would not be an issue if he could fly but Azriel had seen a faebane arrow cut through one of his wings earlier in the fight.

Mor was not better off and if he was being honest with himself, his own siphons were starting to drain.

"What the hell do they think they are doing?" Amren squeaked. The unusual tone has the entire group staring at the second in command with raised eyebrows. Azriel even managed a chuckle at that.

The group finally looked down to where Amren was pointing, only for Azriel to feel as though his heart had stopped. Before he could consider anything else, Azriel launched himself at Cassian. He was only able to hold himself back by sheer will alone. Rhysand eventually joined in to help hold Cassian back.

"Let go of me." He snarled. "She is going to get herself killed down there."

Azriel kept his hold steady but let his eyes wander back to the battle field. A weight had settled on his chest and he thought he might suffocate. He could only imagine how Cas was feeling. He watched as the Valkyries rode in on horses at full speed. He had to give credit where it's due, the horses were a smart move. It gave them the height and speed advantage. It appeared a group of almost 200 priestesses turned valkyrie were being led by Nesta with Emerie and Gwyn flanking her.  It was quite a majestic scene. One that he knew his high lady would try and recreate in a painting. The collision with Koschei's army on the ground was intense. Azriel wanted to watch to make sure his best friend, Gwyn, would remain unharmed, but Cassian was putting up too much of a fight. Finally, Mor did the only thing that would keep Cassian safe. She knocked him out with the butt of her sword. His body went limp immediately. Azriel grunted as he set his friend down. Cassian was much heavier than Azriel would like to admit.

Watching the three females fight was always awe inspiring. They worked so well together, it was as if they were daemati and could tell each other what moves they were planning on using. Azriel's eyes narrowed in on Gwyn as her dagger found its target. Her face was set in a determined expression that Azriel had spent many training sessions watching. He wanted to go down there to aid the female that had become his best friend in the last few years, but he was afraid that he might mess up whatever system the Valkyries were already working with.

"I am going to kill her." Rhysand groaned when he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in.

"They are supposed to be with Nyx!" Feyre cried. Obviously, leaving the child with Elain alone is the priority that the high lady has latched on to. Azriel rolled his eyes.

"Well now we have to fall back." Rhysand snapped. Azriel understood why he was frustrated. It was unwise for the Valkyries to join without telling Rhysand. It completely changes strategic plans that could have already been in place. Luckily for them, there were no plans.

"I don't know about that Rhys," Mor added. "They are kind of kicking ass down there."

Azriel turned back to check and sure enough, they were kicking ass. Azriel knew they were highly qualified and that they deserved to fight in this battle. It's one thing to know that and another to send your closest friends into the heart of an un-winnable war. Even from this far away, he could feel as Gwyn's stare fell upon him. He looked toward her and suddenly the pressure that had encased his heart as he watched her on that field made sense. It hit him so hard it was like the wind was knocked out of him. He fell to his knees with a groan. Mor was in front of him before he could blink.

"What's wrong?" She sounded panicked but nothing mattered to Azriel in this moment than getting down to Gwyn and carrying her far far away. He realized how Cassian must have felt which had Azriel feeling like an asshole. He would apologize later.

"Mate." Is all he managed before he took off in flight for the red head. He had to dodge several blasts of power from enemies that seemed to appear out of no where. He kept one eye on the females though. Their fighting was graceful and brutal all at once. Nesta beheaded an enemy as Emerie shot a male that was aiming for Gwyn. Gwyn was busy using her shield to protect another Valkyrie from a thrown ax.

It was as though it happened in slow motion. With his birds eye view, he could see what neither Nesta or Emerie could see. He pushed himself faster. He could beat the male that was fastly approaching Gwyn.

"Gwyn!" He started to scream. "Behind you." She could not hear him, of course. He began screaming it over and over again. His feet had barely hit the ground when his mate finally whipped her head around to make eye contact. A mischievous smile graced her face, but Azriel could only focus on the male that was too close.

"Behind you!" He shouted once more. She turned quickly as Azriel began running full speed towards her. She did not even have time to raise her shield before a sword pierced straight through her stomach.

"No!" The strangled cry caught both Nesta and Emerie's attention. Nesta beheaded the traitor as he pulled his sword out. Azriel fell to his knees as he attempted to stop her bleeding. His hands were covered in blood after only a second of covering her stomach. He knew what it meant and it felt as though his heart was being shredded. Nesta knelt on the other side of Gwyn as Emerie protected them. Nesta grabbed for her face.

"You are okay, Gwyn. It's barely a scratch. Azriel is going to fly you to Feyre and she will heal you." Nesta's matter of fact tone began to calm Azriel. They had a plan. Gwyn would be fine.

"Fuck, it hurts." Gwyn managed to splutter out with a laugh. She coughed up blood as she said it. Nesta and Azriel shared a look.

"You are okay." Azriel was unsure of who Nesta was trying to convince by repeating that. He did not have much time to ponder that before the abrasive female turned to him. "You can fly her to Feyre right?"

It was dangerous. He would have trouble fending off attackers while carrying Gwyn. He had to try though. Tonight may end with all of their deaths. Given that there was not a safer option, he had to risk it.

"Hurry up." Emerie seethed as she shot the last of her arrows. She quickly switched to her sword as an onslaught of new enemies rushed towards them. Azriel adjusted Gwyn as he lifted her into his arms. Before he could take off, Nesta placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Nes!" Emerie shouted. Nesta went back to fighting and Azriel shot up into the air. Dodging attacks was much harder than he anticipated. He wished he could winnow but he had drained too much of his power to successfully accomplish that. An arrow skimmed the side of his calf when Gwyn finally spoke up.

"Mates huh? Who would have thought?"

"Shhh. Save your energy."

"I have always had a thing for you, ya know? I figured you would know since you are the spy master and all. Might as well tell you anyways since I am about to die." She rasped out. Her hand was resting on his neck and if he was being honest it made his heart skip a beat. Even if they were in the middle of a war.

"Do not say that." He found himself snapping. "You are not going to die. You are fine."

A small lovely smile from her distracted him for only a second when an arrow sliced through his wing and he felt them falling to the treacherous grounds below. He attempted to land on his feet, but the hole in his wing made it exceedingly difficult. He wrapped himself around her so that he could take the brunt of the fall. Azriel was already trying to reach out to Rhys to bring Feyre to them as a backup plan. They must have been busy because there was no answer. A warrior raced towards them with a sword. Azriel was too injured to fight as easily as he should have been able to. Before he could even rise to his feet, an arrow sliced through the females throat. Azriel looked behind him to see Emerie and Nesta racing towards them. A sigh of relief left his body.

“Gwyn, are you okay?” He had to check after their rough landing.

“Never better.” She choked out. He went back to covering her wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“New plan. You are going to ride back with Nesta and find Feyre to heal you.” He was feeling frantic at this point. Gwyn would only get worse as the faebane worked its magic and he would not be able to live with the fact that he could not save her.

“Hey Azriel,” she had never called him by his full name before- only Shadowsinger or Az. “I love you. You have been my closest friend and I just realized I have never said it to you before. But I want you to know that I do love you.” Her breathing was harsh and her words came out raspy. Azriel had longed for the day to hear those words, but he knew that Gwyn was saying them as a goodbye and he hated that.

“Stop talking. Save your energy.” Another of Koschei’s fighters popped up only to be downed by another of Emerie’s arrows- she must have found more somewhere.

Two more charged towards them. Azriel ripped silver majesty from Gwyn’s holster and simultaneously threw her dagger and truthteller. It sliced through both of their throats. Nesta and Emerie were almost here. He just had to protect her a little longer.

“Az,” she began again.

“Stop distracting me.” He did not want to be harsh.

He promised he would make it up to her with sweet words when they made it out alive. She grabbed his hand roughly searching for his attention. The connection between their hands sent a spark through him. He finally looked at her. Blood covered her mouth and hands, sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, her eyes were looking a little glassy, and her pale skin was even paler than normal. He knew what this meant and could not stop the tears that flowed from his eyes.

“It is okay.” Gwyn whispered as her hand came up to caress his face. “I will find you again in another life.”

“Gwyneth, I lov-“ Azriel was interrupted by an ear shattering scream.

“No!” Nesta was looking behind them.

Azriel’s head whipped back to see a female charging for them faster than he could block in his weakened state. He accepted his fate then. Gwyn and him would find death together. He squeezed her hand tightly and waited. Nothing happened though. He looked behind him again to see the female had been taken out by a winter court soldier. He peered more closely at the soldier- only to realize he was dead. Nesta and Emerie finally reached them. Nesta was wearing the mask. Azriel knew this would end in disaster. Rhysand strictly forbid the use of the dread trove in this war. He knew that Koschei was searching for it and as long as it was locked away then it was safe. Nesta might as well have delivered it to him on his door step.

“Nes, what are you doing? Koschei-“ before he could finish though, Nesta was rushing to Gwyn’s side already cutting him off.

“Koschei won’t come near me as long as I have the one weapon that could kill him.” She pointed to Ataraxia- her made weapon that was sheathed on her back. Nesta grabbed Gwyn by the face, forcing her attention. Emerie stood guard again. It gave Azriel some faith that Nesta had a plan to save Gwyn.

“I am going to fix this, okay? Gwyneth Berdara I will not allow you to die today.” Nesta’s tone was final and absolute. Azriel finally saw the harp in her hand. He watched as Nes placed a kiss to Gwyn’s cheek and then she pulled the last string.

In the next moment, Nesta was forcing Gwyn to drink what appeared to be blood- Feyre’s blood. He knew then that the harsh female must have paused time in order to obtain the blood. What was no time at all for them, must have been forever for Nes. He noticed that the fighting had completely stopped. Whether it was because the undead soldiers were enough to overwhelm Koschei’s forces or because of something Nesta did during the time pause, Azriel would not ask until he knew Gwyn would live. Emerie was on her knees, lifting Gwyn’s head to rest in her lap. Emerie began brushing pieces of hair away while whispering something in her ear. Nesta watched intently while squeezing Gwyn’s hand. Azriel realized he was mirroring Nesta’s movements. He also was squeezing Gwyn’s hand while watching her intently. Her eyes were closed, but the wound on her stomach had finally closed. It felt like eternity before her eyes began to flutter open. A weight lifted off Azriel’s chest- an all-consuming weight. They all waited for Gwyn to speak before celebrating though.

“Hey.” She managed to cough out. Emerie shouted with glee as she peppered kisses all over her face. Nesta threw her body over Gwyn’s in a desperate attempt of a hug. Azriel felt the urge to shove both of them off and gather Gwyn into his lap for the worlds longest hug. He resisted though because he knew how Nesta and Emerie were feeling. It was how he was feeling- grateful for their best friend to be breathing.

“You are in so much trouble. I cannot believe you let yourself get stabbed!” Nesta yelled at her and then proceeded to hug her again. Azriel just squeezed the hand he still had a hold of.

“We are going to force Azriel to train you so much harder because of this just so you know.” Emerie cracked a smile as tears still poured down her face.

“Sorry.” Is all Gwyn could manage. Azriel could no longer hold out. He lightly nudged Nesta off of Gwyn, then he pulled her into him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and tucked her head under his chin.

“I fucking love you Gwyneth Berdara,” she pulled away to look up at him with big shocked teal eyes that were brimming with tears. “But if you ever pull that shit again, I will personally ensure that you train everyday for at least five hours.” She immediately started laughing. It was like music to his ears. His shadows, who had been moving so chaotically since the bond snapped in place that he chose to ignore them, finally calmed down. It was as if her laugh proved that she was going to live. One stray shadow reached out to caress her cheek. She sighed into it.

“Blame yourself,” she started joking which only eased the tension in his body even more. “I was distracted by the mating bond.” She pulled away to give him a genuine smile that tugged at the bond. It was so beautiful it hurt.

“Mating bond?” Emerie screeched. Gwyn laughed again. It was music to his ears.

Gwyn grabbed him by the face and pulled his lips to hers. He could hear Nesta and Emerie squealing- so in contrast to the battlefield they were currently sitting on.

It was by far the best kiss he’s ever had. The bond was singing as were his shadows. Blood that still covered her mouth was smearing onto his, their sweat was wiping off on each other, and the dirt caked onto his hands were getting in her braid as he held onto the back of her head. It was not the best circumstances for a first kiss, but he did not care. It was beautiful and magical and every other positive adjective that he could not think of. A swipe of her tongue against his was electric. His shadows had never sung to someone as they had her. They broke apart and the smile on Gwyn’s face was worth every hardship he had to endure to get to this moment.

[fanfiction-inc]

“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

Verse: Falcon And The Winter Soldier / Captain America And The Winter Soldier / Captain America: Civil War/ Marvel Alternate Universe

Characters/Pairings: Baron Zemo/ Reader, Baron Zemo/ Female Reader, John Walker

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8971

Warnings/Tags: Drinking, smut, m/f, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex, Google translated translations, Walker is an asshole and just keeps getting worse.

Summary: Baron Helmut Zemo, world renowned racer and your sworn enemy on the track. You two have been going at it for years now, but now you two must join forces to fight back against John Walker, a new up and coming racer who is proving to beat both of you. Will you two survive the other or meet your demise on the track?

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32606833/chapters/81176392?view_adult=true

This is a mess. An absolute, blazing mess that sits before you in the middle of your workshop. The chassis was dented all to Hell, a new one having to be rebuilt and delivered to fix your custom car. The engine had parts missing that were left at the crash sight when it was towed away. One car to your name, and it was fucked up. Maybe you should have taken Stark’s sponsorship and invested in a backup. Sitting on the cement floor of the workshop, screwdriver in hand as you pry out bits and pieces of parts from the engine, taking note of the parts and working on the budget you had set out for this year's series of races, you dreaded the moment you’d see the total cost. This repair would take a nice chunk, but you still had money left over after to make sure your car was at its best. That was the thing about working with your car, it was just you and this beast of metal and speed, working as one to reach the end of the line. The screwdriver is set down at your side when you struggled too long on getting the broken interconnecting rod that links the turbine from the compressor, a sigh following as you sit back. A slow sense of dread fills you as you look at the broken parts scattering the ground, the missing parts on your list, and the purple paint that still streaks the busted carbon fiber chassis. 

Working with Zemo was a dangerous game, which you recognized even before you shook on the arrangement he had proposed. He was wicked on the course, predictable at times but at others a ticking time bomb of what his next move may be. He was dangerous, but that is what made him damn good. He took far more risk than you usually would when it came to advancement in the race. Where you held back, he pushed forward. No wonder the man infuriated you. But this plan was the only thing you had to get things back to normal, back to the way they were where you hated Zemo with a passion and fought tooth and nail to stay better than him. You would never admit it, but without your rival, what fun was the race? See, it's not only the thrill of the chase between the driver and death, inching closer and closer with each hairpin turn and the risk of the other driver's moves. No, it’s also the thrill of having someone who wants to win just as bad as you, who is just as good and will do anything to try and progress further than you. It sets a standard, something to surpass, something to stay on level ground with when you catch yourself falling. Zemo was your equal, no matter how much you hated him. And equals like you two don’t have room for a third party to jump in and surpass. The game isn’t any fun when someone fucks with the rules. He had a point when it came to beating Walker down, especially since the man was already fighting you both with molotov cocktails and rocket fire in the form of playing dirty on the track. He was bringing a war to a battle just to see if he could come out on top. Despite everything telling you to stay away from Zemo and not get involved in this scheme, that it could end badly for one or both of you, you couldn’t stand the idea of having Walker walk all over you like some doormat. You couldn’t let him walk in as if he owned the place and could rule as he pleased. 

He needed a reality check. 

Your form pops and cracks as you stand, stiff from sitting on the solid ground and stretching to relieve your body of the tension. Everything felt so wrong, and you knew you had to make it right...But was this the right way to do it? “Jesus, you sound like that rice cereal with the little elves. You know, snap, crackle, and pop?” You laugh lightly when your friend comes into the workshop, food in hand and dressed down from the usual luxury attire he wore when visiting. No suit and tie in sight, just the oil stained wife beater you had seen him in when pursuing your education in the states as he worked tirelessly on his little toys as you liked to call them. He sets the bag down, the scent of the food causing your stomach to growl and pinch with a hint of pain. Have you really forgotten to eat today? You hadn’t noticed. “Got your favorite. Do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that speaks English? I had to have Friday translate for me.”

“Maybe you should take a new hobby and learn the French language.” You retorted with a grin, the man shaking his head as he sets everything out. “Maybe I want you as my teacher, but you’re always busy with driving around in your fast little car and getting famous for fighting a Sokovian asshole.” 

“And you’re too busy tinkering away with your toys in your little workshop in New York. Truly Tony, don’t tell me you actually want me as your teacher when your toys can teach you for me.” You pause as he rolled his eyes, watching the man for a brief moment as he turned to unwrap his burger. “Speaking of said Sokovian connard, he came to the bar I was at last night.” The man paused mid bite on the thick patty before speaking with his mouth full. “Okay, spill, what did he want?”

“Well originally I thought he was going to cuss me and try to blame me for the failure to complete the race yesterday, but he showed me something. You know the young man who won the race yesterday, corriger? John Walker?” 

“Yeah, I know the guy. Races for the American McLaren team and came straight from F3 to F1. What’d he do?” 

He raises a brow when you sigh, taking a seat beside him on the desk he had set the food down on and stealing the dish he had brought you. “Zemo showed me proof that Walker hit his car and sent him flying into mine. And I believe he did it on purpose.” You explain, taking a bite of the food your companion got for you. You pause for a moment to chew before returning to your theory. “On my way to the car bay, he smirked at me, and it wasn’t a “I won” smirk- well, it kinda was, but it was rather a “I did this to you” kind of smirk. Not necessarily an evil one but one that showed he knew exactly what he had done and was proud of it. Pride in an unfair act.”

“And no flags were thrown up?” 

“Non, not a one. As our friend the Baron said,” you cringe at the term friend, “the ones watching the race possibly couldn’t tell if he had done such on purpose or by accident. I believe him about such. And I suppose that brings me to what I’m about to say next.” You take a breath, gaze conflicted and downcast to your food as you speak. “The Baron offered a temporary truce of our rivalry to take down this John Walker, thus allowing us to return to what we do best after Walker is taken down.” He listened intently before his nose scrunched at the idea of such. You two working together? Ha! That’d never work! “And you said yes to this crazy idea? What the Hell are you thinking, (first name)?” Your hands shoot up in defense, gaze rising to meet his own. “I know, I know! It’s a crazy idea, but you know as well as I do that if Zemo and I want things back to normal, back to the rivalry, we have to do this together so Walker is met with further resistance. If I could avoid it and deal with this American scum, no offense, then I would.” 

“Some taken, but I get it. I just wonder if you two will go back to the way things are after all of this. Who knows, maybe you’ll become that dreaded word you hate to associate with him in any capacity-”

“Ne t'avise pas de le dire, Anthony.”

“Friendssss.” He draws it out, causing you to roll your eyes at his antics and slap his arm with the back of your grimey hand. He pretended to show a hurt expression before chuckling when another slap came, this time to his chest. “Oh hush, we will never be friends.” 

“I guess time will tell.” A shrug followed as Stark finished the last bite of his burger, crumbling the wrapper and lining up the shot with the waste bin in the corner. “He shoots,” the paper lands in the bin, his arms going up in the air. “He scores!”

“Stop goofing around, ma amie. I asked for your help with this and now I need it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks have passed, and the Germany race is upon you. The Nürburgring, a beast of a track that many racers to this day in Formula 1 fear like a plague sweeping the track. Your mind has been racing as you pieced your car back together and got it ready for racing. What happens if something wasn’t installed in the engine right? What if you didn’t get the intake vents lined up just right? You were a perfectionist with your car, and you know deep down that it was ready for race day but it made your head sing with pain as a migraine sets in. That wasn’t the only thing that made it throb and bring you to lean against the chassis of your car. Zemo’s deal, it worried you sick. But you didn’t have time to think about it much today. You couldn’t dwell on it. You had a race to win. 

Your eyes flick up at the speakers, listening to the message. It was press conference time. You take your seat where your name tag and flag set, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd of reporters sitting and waiting to open up questioning. To your left, Walker seats himself with a boyish, charming smile that didn’t quite meet those dark eyes. He looked your way, hand held out to you. “Hey, I hate that we didn’t get to meet earlier on. I’m John Walker.” You glance at his hand before looking back up at him. He played a good game, acting innocent like the boy scout he tried to be. You wouldn’t fall for his games, but you shook his hand briefly. “(First name) (Last name).” He grinned. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you race for years now! I hate that you crashed a couple weeks ago, would have loved to have been standing on that podium with you.” 

“Oui, such a shame that was. But today is a new day, Mr. Walker.” Your gaze flickered to your right, startled by your rival taking his seat and looking directly at the pair of you. The Baron never sat beside you, even going as far as to request a seat change from the press conference coordinators. Some learned to keep you two separate, others knew it would incur drama, and drama made money. 

“Alright everyone, please take your seats and the conference will begin in one moment!” 

“Say, did you get your car all fixed up? Must have cost a pretty penny since you don’t have any sponsors.” Walker continued on, this time his gaze looking at the reporters as he gave a brief wave to the ones he recognized from the states. “Oui.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you?” You wanted to bite back, to say something and throw hands with this man, but you would be escorted out and disqualified in a snap. “Non.” A leg bumped yours under the table and you glance at Zemo who met your gaze briefly. Those dark brown eyes questioned if you were okay, a silent question that only you understood. The slightest nod was sent his way before looking at the reporters who got things settled and ready. 

“Questions are now open-” The announcer was startled with the amount of questions directed in the direction of you three, clearing his throat as he nodded to your little trio at the table. Mr. Walker!” He gestured to the reporter, watching him stand and adjust his microphone and camera. “Mr. Walker, this question is open to the three of you. Under allegations from the previous race at The Circuit Paul Ricard, many are wondering if you had caused the accident involving Zemo and (Last name). How do you feel about these accusations?” The man had the audacity to laugh and throw that boyish smile to the camera, rubbing at his face. “Look, that was not supposed to happen once so ever. As many of my fellow racers can attest, one wrong slip of the hand on your wheel and your car will eventually go off track. I got nervous, twitched, and just so happened to bump the Baron’s car into Ms. (Last name)’s car. I feel terrible, I truly do, but it could have happened to anyone with any driver. So I refute these accusations and continue to say this is an accident.” 

“And you, Baron, Ms. (Last name). How do you feel about the accusations?” The reporter gestured his question to you two now. “I respect your opinion, Mr. Walker,” Zemo began, the man smiling and sending a nod his way. “But I call, as the Americans say, bullshit.” His smile fell, darkened gaze questioning the man on what the Hell he was going on about. The reporters erupted in questioning, trying to get the attention of the two racers who stare each other down around you. You lean back a bit for them to have a better view-line, One of the American reporters calling your name. You use this moment to break the tension. “Oui?” 

“Do you believe you stand a chance as a woman against these two leading men now that John  Walker is starting to gain points and nearing your total?” You blink at his question before taking a deep breath, holding it to calm your throbbing head, and releasing it slowly. “Oui, I do. I believe I can keep up just as well as any racer. Take my racing career with Zemo. I have kept up with his old extrémité arrière.” The French reporters in the room resound in a fit of chuckles, bringing a smile to your face. “And against Walker?” You meet his gaze as he stares at you expectantly for an answer, forcing that smile he tried to use on you earlier. “I believe I stand quite a good chance, but que le meilleur coureur gagne.” You shrug, listening as the smaller drivers get asked their questions. The whole time there are eyes burning into the left side of your head, waiting until the racers are dismissed. Walker watches you as you walk out, watching the way Zemo comes up in tow as you make your way to the car bay. Something was up, and he could feel that there were clearly doubts in your mind about the accident in France. He would just have to deal with you later. “(First name), wait!” Zemo followed you into the bay, slowing from his jog to keep up with you to a stop near the desk holding your notes about the race and your vehicle. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you in person since the bar.” He paused, looking into those eyes of yours that gaze at him curiously. “Are you ready for this, fräulein?” 

“Aussi prêt que possible, Baron.” You busy yourself with inspecting your car for any last minute changes, the man watching you as you inspect and work. “Good, good. And we are still a go, yes?” 

“Oui, we are still, as you said, a go.” He grinned at you, gaze flickering down your back as he looked over your uniform. Of course he had noticed you in all aspects before, talent and skill being the top, but never had he been this close like the night at the bar and now to really see you. Maybe after all of this, even with the rivalry, you could be friends, dare he say anything more than such. “You’re staring.” You quip, breaking him from his trance to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of color lingered on your cheeks. He coughed, trying to clear away the embarrassment lingering in his form. Why was he getting embarrassed? “Just thinking about what will be left behind when I pass you on the track, mein liebe.” Your eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed, the man relaxing due to how calm you are around him. No biting his head off, no anger, just chill. You stand and give a playful shove to his shoulder, smiling at the Sokovian. “In your dreams, Sokovian. Now, get the fuck out of my car bay.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, mind now clouded by the smile that lingered on your lips. He liked when you smiled, and he had to make sure this plan worked. 

The race was gearing up to start, the same process as before coming into play. Car, balaclava, wheel. You take your moment to breathe, today your speed has placed you in second, just as the plan entailed. Zemo took the first position. He glanced your way, sending a nod in your direction, only to smirk beneath the balaclava when you flip him off like usual. The rivalry was still on, no matter what he would still have that after dealing with Walker. Still have you in one sense or another. Your glance focused in on the man across the way in the pole position opposite of you, his eyes locked on the two of you before meeting your gaze. There he stares you down, even as his helmet slipped on. The visor was flipped down at the one minute warning, eliminating the final clarifying view of his gaze. It was clear he was cautious of you, maybe even lingering with hate. 

“Fahrer! Starten...sie ihre....Motoren!

That familiar purr settles into your chest, spreading through your body like a dam breaking and flooding the valley below. It stirs up the motivation to win once more, removing any doubt from your mind as you rev your engine. Zemo was right, Walker had to be stopped. With this attitude about racing, playing his little mind games and wrecking racers, he’d get someone killed just for first place. You couldn’t allow that...but you also couldn’t allow the rivalry you have established with Zemo to be broken because of someone else. There was too much there to be lost. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, licking your lips beneath the helmet as you prepare yourself for takeoff. The lights start counting down the race. Five seconds away, one green and two red lights. You watch them count down until the bottom lines of red are fully lit, then they flash off. You’re off, following Zemo right on the tail of his car as you start into the track. This track was a beast, your mind racing as it remembers every nook and cranny of it. Seventy three corners, eleven danger points, hair pin turns, all on a 12.8 mile long course that was deadly in the onset of any weather and people who get careless with their moves. Lucky enough, the sky was only overcast. No rain, little wind to interfere with the aerodynamics and mobility of the chassis, just the perfect chill in the air to remind you where you were in this moment. You take your turns with ease, avoiding the group of cars that began to follow suit on the track behind your own. Your eyes remained locked in on every shift to your side, Walker keeping close by within each turn and danger point you went through. 

As you drive, Walker gets up past you within one of the speed trap areas, the stretch of road allowing him to be up beside Zemo and leave you on the back of their tires. Zemo had a plan, you believed in this plan… but had he just been toying with you to get closer to Walker? Doubt clouded your mind, even as you sped up in an attempt to join the boys directly in the front. Perhaps you shouldn’t have followed this plan, even as you get through the first twenty five laps, then the next twenty five. Each turn brought your tyres closer to Walkers who eyed you cautiously from time to time, as if silently daring you to pull a move like he did. Maybe you’d be caught and black flagged. Hell, that would make his fucking day if that happened. As he watched you, he had failed to notice on the wider strip of the track how Zemo began to drift further and further ahead. Then he was side tracked, Zemo slowing abruptly and stealing the attention of the young American driver. “What the Hell!?” He yelled over the roar of multiple motors, watching your car join Zemo’s side and the original speed be resumed. Now you sat beside Zemo on the track, pedal to the floorboard as you two kept your lead and basically walled Walker in. Each time he tried to drift around, one of you would shift your car just enough to keep him locked in. A grin met your lips as you drove, the energy of the race taking a whole new shift as you got closer and closer to the last lap with your rival right at your side. Tips of the chassis lined up perfectly, rear aerodynamic fins aligned like a well oiled machine. You two were in perfect sync as you put Zemo’s plan into action. Create a wall of impenetrable magnitude. If Walker tried anything, all three of you would go down. If he tried to get around, he would be blocked. There was no getting out from behind you two. 

The checkered flag waved in the quickly approaching distance, your gaze for a moment looking at your rival. The blur of purple was steady, lined with yours like that of an air jet's flight coordination. Perfectly straight, and running at full throttle like you are. As your cars pass the finish line, debate begins to rise. It was too close in the end to call, at least not right away. You slow, allowing the purple beast to pass by and enter the pit before you, a silent gesture of courtesy to the man you worked with. He sent a small nod your way when he watched you get out of your car, helmet removed along with his balaclava and revealing the joyful grin resting on his lips. Anyone else would mistaken it for cockiness, but the look in his eyes said it all. You two did it, you beat Walker in the race! He must be furious! A breath is held on your end, helmet and the fabric covering your face discarded as you turn your gaze away from the arriving racers and the man you drove along with. You were locked in on that score board, curiosity eating at you for who may have won the race. You were neck in neck with the man, the smallest push forward could earn either of you the points for the day. No names shown yet, and you anxiously leaned on the hot surface of the carbon fiber vehicle as you waited. Each noise around you from the slow dwindle of engines to low, fading purrs to the pit crews of your respective teams surrounding you, your rival, and the newcomer were drowned out by the pounding of your heart as it flooded your ear drums. It felt like hours passed as you kept your gaze locked on, ignoring the happy clamour of your crew, the clasp of hands on your shoulder and pats on your back, even down to the ruffling of your hair in glee. Then it flashed up. 

1st: (First initial). (Last name) 

1st: H. Zemo 

2nd: J. Walker

The press goes crazy over the news, each respective country reporting their amazement over the finishing results.

“Ein fehlerfreier, aber überraschender Sieg für Baron Helmut Zemo, der mit (First name) (Last name) gleichauf den ersten Platz belegt!”

“Victoire pour la championne de France (First name) (Last name) alors qu'elle rejoint le Baron Helmut Zemo dans une rare égalité!”

“In a remarkable and truly unprecedented event in The Nürburgring F1 race! Baron Helmet Zemo and (First name) (Last name) tied in a photo finish for first place, a rare occurrence that has set back American racer John Walker from the potential for first place!”

Your breath comes out shaky, slowly slipping out as reality hits you like a wrecking ball to a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs as a happy noise rings out from your lips, joining your crew in the celebration as they hug and surround you. You placed first. Zemo placed first. Curiosity met you, your gaze looking to the man who celebrated with his own crew before allowing himself a chance to settle his gaze on you in turn. There he sent a wink, a silent congratulations that made you shake your head at his antics before refocusing on the celebration. You would be standing with the man in first place on that podium, both sharing the victory wreath and spraying champagne all over the crowd of fans and your respective pit crews who were basking in the glory just as much as you two were. You couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in your form, even as you make your way not too far from your rival. For a second, just a split second, you let the rivalry go and let your smile be seen in accompaniment with his gleeful grin, shoulders bumping when you’re positioned at the podium by the F1 management crew. Press swarm to the area like flies to a summer barbecue, wanting to catch a glimpse of the rivals standing together, being on the podium and sharing first place. “Not so bad working with my, as you put it earlier, old extrémité arrière, hm?” He questioned as you two stood together, the closeness you two were forced into for the photographers far more comfortable than it would have been under any other circumstances. He blamed the feelings he had at this moment on the victory over Walker, over the rest of the racers, not even thinking that perhaps this was beyond the fact that he won but that you, his favorite rival, won alongside him. “Non, not the worst.” You joked lightly, forcing a serious face for the cameras when they began to picture you two side by side on the first place stand. He accepted the bottle of champagne before you could, holding it out. “You may have the honor, (First name).” Your fingers brush his own as you grasp the bottle with him, popping the cork and sending the bubbly to decorate the crowd. Flash after flash met you as you stood alongside Zemo and basked in the glory of the win. “How about drinks to celebrate? Even as rivals, I believe a drink wouldn’t hurt.” He whispered the question, causing your gaze to lock on his own in brief surprise. Was he serious!? “I um..Oui, sure. Meet you in town?” He nods, gaze seeming to glimmer ever so brighter as he takes his leave. Even when you separate to get cleaned of the alcohol and switch to “civilian clothing”, your smile doesn’t falter. Maybe it would be good for you to drink the night away with company that didn’t seem as bad as you once had thought before. 

As you begin to peel away the racing suit, the flame resistant material bunching at your waist and revealing the open expanses of your back, the simplistic bra strap over the back the only material seen, you fail to hear the seething man enter your car bay. “Do you know what you just did, Ms. (Last name)? Who you fucked with?” Walker puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him, his face inches away from yours. “You went and fucked with the wrong man. You could have just accepted your loss, licked your wounds, and we would have been just fine. But oh no, you had to go and fuck with my winning streak with that Sokovian piece of shit.” He huffed when you shove him back, gaze narrowed and arms crossing over your bra covered chest out of annoyance. You could care less what he saw. “I don’t see why you’re so mad, Mr. Walker. You got a taste of your own medicine after that stunt you pulled back in France. You and I both know that was no accident.” 

“You know what? Yeah, I did that. But I see you are working with Zemo now, which is also a big no-no in Formula 1. Seems we’re both sinners of the race. The greed of it.” His tone was a hushed, harsh whisper. There was no need to alert anyone that he was in your private quarters harassing you. “I’m nothing like you.” Your tone came out in a hiss, his downturned lips curving up into a grin at your response. “Oh sweetheart, I beg to differ.” He chuckled at the narrowed gaze he was met with. “You and your Sokovian boy toy need to back off. Let this happen like it should or you’ll not like what happens next.”

“And just what do you think you’ll do, John? Because all I’m hearing right now is a lot of talking with no proof of any big execution.” Your lazy grin and scoff of annoyance at his presence left him to raise his hands in mock defeat, hands coming to rest on your shoulders once more with a harsh grip that made your body tense and hold you there. He leaned in, even as you tried to lean away, his lips moving in close near your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” His tone alone makes your body betray you, the calm, cool, and collected front slipping as a shiver ran up your spine at his warning. And with that, he leaves you to get dressed for the night. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zemo texts you an address for a bar off the beaten path in Cologne, Germany, further than you had anticipated in going from the track but a welcomed change of scenery. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” The words stick with you, even as you drive the main road into the big city, looking for the bar Zemo had invited you to. It was connected to a hotel, a fancy hotel at that, with old architecture and lavish exterior. You could only imagine the interior! A nervous breath is taken as you get out of the car, gaze meeting the man you had just won with. He smiled at you, clothing casual and the air around him feeling far more comforting now than ever. The incident with Walker had left you rattled, sending your nerve endings to buzz and let your body know that you aren’t okay. Even though you felt off, you force a smile to the man who wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders and led you in to sit at the quiet bar. “So, did I not tell you the plan would work?”

“I just thought it was your cockiness talking, but I will admit, though it physically pains me to do so…” You pause, biting your lip. “Well?” You sigh. “You were right.” The words come out struggled and forced, the man's grin growing at such. “Ah~, I don’t believe I caught that.” “Oh va te faire foutre!” He chuckled at your words, hand raised towards the bartender to get you drinks. “What are you ordering?”

“Shots. We deserve something to toast our victory to, and I don’t believe champagne is your drink of choice.” He offered you one of the smaller glasses, his own raised before him as he locks those bright brown eyes with your own. “Ein Prost! To us, and our victory over John Walker. May that American schwein taste defeat again.” You raise your glass, hoping to drink away any thoughts about Walker's warning and leave it for the next day. Throwing caution to the wind, you decided right then and there that you would finally have fun and disregard the night that you sat across from your rival. Tonight you just wanted to drink. “À la vôtre!” The drink is bitter as it hits your throat and travels down your body, causing a warmth to spread soon after. Kuemmerling, a bitter concoction of herbaceous and bittersweet flavors. A drink of choice for Zemo it seemed because soon after the shots were downed, he ordered another round. 

Shot after shot after shot is taken down until your body is leaning against his own and a joke that is shaky at best from his part sends you into a roar of laughter. He holds you close, laughing right along with you. “So... It’s Barenjar?” He snorts at your piss poor pronunciation of the new liquor joining the mix, shaking his head at you as he looks on with drunken vision. “Nien, nien, Bärenjäger. Say it with me. Bä-”

“Bä-”

“Ren-”

“Ren-”

“Jäger!”

“Mick Jagger?” 

He laughs in defeat, shaking his head as he watched you. So relaxed, so calm. He hasn’t seen you like this before in his life. He’s startled by your sudden movements after downing your last shot for the night, catching you as you try to stand and stumble as your feet betray you. Your body landing against his, his arms slotting themselves around your waist as your drunken gaze catches his own. Those brown eyes of his are hypnotizing, keeping your gaze locked on his own. “I have something to confess, (First name).” He paused to wet his lips, trying to piece the words together in his hazy mind. “I have liked you since the day I met you.” He finally blurts out, fingers moving up to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “You’re infuriating, yet calming. Stubborn and determined. Your smile is lovely and those eyes…” He trails off, leaving your hazy mind questioning what was going to come after, but you hardly have time to think about it as he pressed in closer, face inches from your own. The smell of Bärenjäger and Kuemmerling lingered on his breath as it fanned over your face, those brown eyes searching for something in your own. “Can you feel it, the connection we have? Can you see that we are not just rivals now?” His tone was just barely above a whisper, questioning you with a hint of desperation to his tone. 

“Oui.” 

That was the only answer he needed. His lips are on yours with fever and desperation, hands clinging to your form for dear life after hearing the words that sent him to fully fall into the feeling of you. You were his comfort, the one constant thing in his life. His rival...but right now you were the woman he sloppily kissed at the hotel bar as the bartender tried to catch his attention to tell you that you both were cut off for the night. His hands moved to grip at your thigh and tangle in your hair, abandoning the idea of holding anything back, the liquor giving him courage to make a move on you. He has wanted to do this for years, touch you, feel you, have you there with him in any way he could. He separated only when the threat of security was offered by the bartender, lips kiss swollen and a faint pant falling from them. “Come.” His hand takes hold of yours, leading you along to the lift and up to his room for the night. This hotel that he called home for the time being would serve well for what he had in mind to do to you. He led you inside, not even waiting for the door to close as he captured your lips once more, hands taking your rear in his grasp and hoisting you up so your legs wrapped around him, back pressed up against the closest wall he could find. He held you there, lips separating to begin trailing hungry kisses down the column of your throat and allow his hands to trace along your sides. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the bare skin there, wanting what he has longed for since the day he met you. A noise fell from your lips as he lazily suckled a mark over your pulse point, your fingers tangling into his dark hair and tugging the locks when his hips grounded against your own. He couldn’t help the fire blooming in his body, needy for the creature that has teased him for all these years, The one he thought he would never have a chance with because of their hate for each other on the track. He needed you, and in your current state, you were willing to accept any touch he offered. He was just Helmut Zemo tonight. Not your rival, not the Baron, just Helmut. And you were his (First name). 

A groan left his lips when you pulled him by his hair away from your neck, hands working to take your shirt up and over your head. Throwing it aside, he looked at you with a gaze of admiration. It was similar to the gaze he gave when looking at the new modifications to his car, taking pride in the beauty of things that drove him to win. He dampens his lips, fingers lazily dragging up the expanses of your back from bottom to top, resting on the clasp of the garment covering your breast. “Darf ich?” Your nod was all he needed, the clasp undone with skilled fingers that knew precision, holding still on your back when your arms rose to take the garment and throw it in an unknown direction to be forgotten about for the time being. He wasted no time with taking one of your breasts in hand, fingers running over the sensitive bud of one while he took the other in his mouth, suckling and lavishing with his tongue. He took his time, drunken yet slowly sobering mind savoring each and every noise that fell from your lips as he toyed with your body. You’re barely into foreplay and he already has your panties soaked, the Baron being a creature that knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going without even knowing your body. He was skilled, that much was for sure in your mind as he switched to the other breast, paying equal attention to each. Those brown eyes of his don’t leave your face for a second, watching every reaction and trying to commit them to memory. If he could only have you tonight, he wanted to remember everything he possibly could. Every detail of your body, everything that drew a hitched breath or a low moan from your lips. Every shaky breath and the way your body would press closer to his greedy mouth and hand. He stored it all away. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and fancy this a pleasant dream...It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten worked up by thinking about you. 

His hand traveled downward, cupping your sex through your pants as his own grinds up against your thigh, straining through the fabric of his pants. He ached for you, for your heated skin to be pressed against his own in a delicious rut of bodies. He traced along the seam, hearing the low whine that fell from your lips as he teased you through the material. “Helmut, stop for a moment.” The man paused all actions, his gaze shifted to a worried state as he met your eyes and spoke with concern. “Are you alright, mein liebling?”

“Oui.” Your fingers trace his jaw, the man's face briefly pressing in against your palm before delivering a soft kiss to the area. A tender gesture that sent butterflies to flutter in your stomach and heart to speed further than the foreplay had already caused. “I just...Take me to the bedroom. Please?” You preferred not being right beside the door where anyone could listen in, where anyone could hold a camera up to the peephole and record the sexual pleasures of the infamous Wildcard and Baron. That would make a top headline, wouldn’t it? He gave a chuckle at your demand, nodding as he kept his grip on you, your legs wrapping just a hint tighter around him as he moved you both to the bedroom. He’s gentle with setting you down, looking down at you when you unwrap your arms and legs from his form. “Scheiße, du bist perfekt.” He slowly worked on the buttons of his shirt, working each plastic piece through the loop with fingers that were known for precision on the course. A shift in his steering, taking hold of the semi-automatic paddle-shifters as he drove, it was all well calculated and that applied on and off the track. His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, thrown aside before focusing on the belt on his pants. He gets it off with what can only be deemed a darkening gaze, knowing he’s getting closer and closer to having you. You rose to let your hands trail his chest, roaming over the lean muscle that rested there as feather light kisses met his collarbone. A shiver met his spine, shooting up in bliss as he allowed a moment to savor the feeling of you touching his skin. Your skin was so warm, so inviting. He was getting lost in everything. 

Your fingers shift down his torso, trailing his abdomen before looping in the belt loops of his pants to pull him forward, a low growl falling from his lips when you place a kiss above the waistline of his pants. Your movements were confident, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down to reveal the tent hidden behind his underwear. He swallowed thickly as he kicked his pants off, watching your every move as you cup him through the thin fabric, thumb moving to brush over the leaking tip and cause a shaky breath to leave him. “Maus-” A groan leaves his lips when a jerk through the fabric is given, his head falling back briefly. He huffed when you repeated the motion, fingers anxious to wrap around his bare flesh and feel that hot skin in the palm of your hand. But he stops you, hand wrapping around your own and bringing it to his lips once more. “Tonight is not about me, maus.” You’re surprised when the man placed his hand on your chest, lightly pushing you back to lay on the bed as he slowly sank down onto his knees, ”Es geht nur um dich.’ His lips drag slowly across your skin, trailing light kisses and nips along your abdomen and resting at the waist of your pants. He glanced up, a silent question of courtesy offered your way as his fingers loop in the band, asking permission like a proper gentleman. “Go ahead.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, his presence making you feel like you’re floating higher and higher on this ride with him. He gave a tug, your rear lifting and back arching to aid the man as he pulled your pants down and let them fall to join the scattered articles around the room. You’d have to go on a damn scavenger hunt just to find your clothes! But none of that mattered now, not when his hot breath is fanning over your needy core and face nuzzling at your thighs. He placed a kiss to your inner thigh before another followed, then another as he began to trail inward towards your covered core. “Aufgeregt?” He purred in questioning, a low rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest spilling out at the small nod he is met with, loving how he has left you damn near speechless just by being so close. Your hips jump back before he gets a grip on them, his tongue moving over the wet fabric and causing a light whine to spill from your lips. “Helmut, please.” Oh, hearing you speak his name only egged him on further, needing you. He needed to taste you, to feel you. He needed you in every way, and his drunken mind only pushed him on to pull the fabric away from your legs and stare at the glory that is you. So wet, so beautiful. He wasted no more time, bringing your legs to hook over his shoulders and delved into the intoxicating honey pot he had been offered. He started off slowly, a long lap from entrance to clit given before the motion was repeated just to hear the noise that left your lips with each swipe. Zemo was mapping you out, taking note of what areas made your thighs twitch and tense, what areas made your hips jump back at the sensitivity of his touch, and what made those oh so delicious noises spill from your mouth. 

He allows his tongue to focus in on your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a rhythm that sends your head to spin and moan after moan to spill from your lips. “Merde!” He smirked against your core when your hand shot down to tangle in his locks, needing stability after he took your clit between his lips and suckled. He repeats the motion, gaze locked on your own and watching the sudden shock of the feeling run through your body. You were so reactive, and just for him. A lazy lick is given to the sensitive bundle of nerves, watching your hips jerk lightly and seeing the tremble that began to settle into your thighs. “Close?” He questioned as if he was questioning about an everyday thing, totally not giving the impression he was getting you close to orgasm just with that sinful tongue and lips of his. O-Oui.” Your tone was shaky, breathy, eyes half lidded and watching his every move on you. “Gut.” A gasp fell from your lips when he sank a digit into your hot, needy core, arching along the way and searching for the sweet spot deep within. He wasn’t like the inexperienced boys who would just jab their fingers into their partner and hope it hits something. No, his fingers curled, probed, dragged and felt for that spot in a way that showed his experience. A second digit is added not too long after the first, probing the flesh within until he hears your moan and finds that spot that drives you to clamp your thighs around his head. A groan left his lips at the rush of slick is met with each probe, massaging that spot within you and only adding to the tension building in your core. Each throb he was met with only spurred him on. He was on a mission to bring you over the edge, and he would do anything to get you off. When his mouth returned to your still sensitive clit, tongue flicking of the bundle and including the occasional suckle while his fingers moved deep within, you were done for. A rough tug is given to his hair as your body convulses, thighs clamping around him and grinding your hips down against his eager tongue. He helps you ride out your orgasm, lapping at your clit until you give a light shove to his head to make him stop. A wicked smile crosses his features as he gives one final suckle, a squeak leaving your lips at the motion and shoving him back as much as your trembling body allows. He can only chuckle at the attempt, fingers removing from your throbbing core. He watched your gaze land on him when you caught sight of the digits, watching the man move his glance to them as if he was inspecting them before a quiet whimper left your lips when they were taken one by one into his mouth. He made it a show, teasing you as he cleaned each digit of your juices in a slow motion. Sinking down to the knuckle before returning and licking at whatever was left. “Tease.” You huffed, chest rising and falling steadily with your hammering heart. “Oh you know you like it.” He retorted, lazily letting his body climb up and over yours on the plush mattress. 

He pushed the final material separating you from him away, throwing the underwear away before letting himself settle in against your body. Zemo wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, lips joining yours as he lined up with you, one hand taking hold of your hip while the other took hold of your hair, tugging it back enough to have access to your neck. As he begins to ease himself within you, his lips attach at a section of your neck, a harsh mark left in his wake as he sinks inch by inch within the lightly pulsing core that he toyed with before. A groan was left against your skin when he was fully settled, grip rough on your hip but movements gentle as he waited for you to adjust. He was no animal, not cruel! He knew that there was a possibility for pain if he moved too soon, and even in his drunken haze he recognized the look in your eyes, the slight twinge of pain from his size alone. The stretch wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was an intrusion you weren’t quite used to when normally doing this. He lightly placed kisses to sooth you along the mark he left, trailing them up the underside of your chin, going along your jaw before soon connecting with your lips in a soft kiss. Something to distract you until you were ready for him to move. A shift of your hips was given when you tested the feeling of him in you, the moan that left your lips causing a low growl to fall from his own. He lifted his body to loom over yours, hand moving from your hair to cup a breast as he sets a slow, deep and even borderline sensual pace within your core. Slowly out until the tip stayed just barely in before plunging deeply into your warm, wet depths. He huffed with each push of his cock within your core, meeting your moans with a faint groan here or a soft growl there when your walls gripped him just right. He was losing composure with each faint twitch of your walls around him, pace beginning to pick up into a steady rhythm that developed the noise of slick skin hitting skin and the bed beneath to creak ever so slightly with each movement. “Verdammt!” He could tell how your walls began to tighten around him, how each noise leaving your lips grew louder and louder. His poor neighbors, hearing you both so vividly through the walls of the hotel. Yet he didn’t care who heard. As long as they knew that in this moment, you were his to take, that was all that mattered. Zemo moved his thumb to your clit, working the bundle along with the assault he laid on your sensitive spot deep within. Each clamp around him brought his own release to come closer and closer. “Cum for me, maus.” He demanded with a grunt, needing to feel you come undone to reach his own release. His words hit somewhere deep in you, the demand that was laced with a plea driving you to your second orgasm of the night. He groaned as he felt you clamp around him, the sensation alone causing him to remove himself from you and spill onto your stomach with a few quick pumps of his hand along his slick coated member. He pants, taking in the sight of you one final time for the time being. Messy, slickened by your own arousal and sweat. Your hair was messed up, your lips parted and panting. To add the cherry on top, you were coated in his release, a sight for sore eyes while you lay like this. He made you like this, and it swells his drunken ego. 

Slowly he eased down to lay at your side, bringing you in against him with an almost delicate kiss delivered to your temple. Your breathing slowly evened out, head resting against his chest as his fingers trail along your back, drawing imaginary patterns as his mind begins to blank. The alcohol was taking effect, causing him to enter a lull and for his eyes to flutter shut. As you lay there, catching your breath, you watch as he drifts away, a single question beginning to enter your sobering mind. 

“What have I done?”

Tag List: @darksxder | @mymagicsuitcase | @mischief-siriusly-managed | @alindeluce​

[flowerflamestars]

Let's ask the hard questions here, baby. What do you think the series would have been like had it been Nesta Archeron under the mountain?

BABE this is it-this is the best question I’ve ever been asked. 

For one thing, chaotic. For another: I think the simple substitution reframes the whole structure of the narrative. It’s not about a journey to power that fights Evil Tyranny (abused Human to Hero to High Lady).

It’s a story about the people working around, beside, under the powerful Lords- and the difficult choices they make. Less Hero’s Journey more, Look, These Are the Real Heroes.

Let’s start with Spring. We know now that the whole you killed a faery now you have to come to faeryland thing was an insanely shitty ruse. So maybe Andras is still alive. Maybe Feyre killed him and Nesta successfully protected her sisters. Maybe Tamlin is just a twat and went that one is pretty. ANYWAY-

Nesta gets to Spring. Lucien doesn’t immediately despise her, for, you know, murdering and skinning his only friend (a handy sublimation of the anger he can’t express against his High Lord). Nesta was raised in the fucking gentry and Nesta can play the game- it’s a question of willingness.

Feyre is a lot more willing to roll with weird circumstances for caution.  Nesta is, to her bones, an aggressor. Empty manor doesn’t add up? She’s going to say something so cutting, and so infuriating to Tamtam she ends up seeing all the faeries. She steels herself, refuses to be afraid of Alis, and asks questions. (See, Nesta’s first IC dinner, zeroing in on the scariest faery and refusing to flinch)

At some point, there’s a confrontation. 

But it’s not between Nesta and Tamlin. Now, in canon Tamtams is extremely willing to drag his feet on the curse. In this version, that is so much worse- sure, he’s into Nesta (Nesta, recall, just looks like sharper Feyre), but Nesta takes one look at this fragile immortal man child and roasts the shit out of him. What’s he going to do? Kill her? Negates all the stupid trouble he went to. Punish her? He clearly needs her for something.

Tamlin cannot handle that. There are no Romantic Moments. Nes spends calanmai watching faeries do weird shit out her window. She sure as fuck doesn’t drink faery wine and dance for Tamlin at the solstice. It is not happening.

 So Nesta spends a lot of time alone, wandering around. Talking to Lucien, Alis, random-ass faeries out of sheer reckless ego, reading every book in the ugly manor.

Nesta confronts Lucien. I’m going to go with after the wingless dead faerie and the head in the garden. The stupid blight conversation.

This works differently and better than Feyre’s attempts to get more information for I think, two important reasons. 1) Lucien and Nesta speak the same language in acotar. It’s all anger babes- sharp edged, sexy, bullshit. There’s no cycle of forgiveness then softening- they are the same, too the same, tired and self-hating survivalists bored out of their minds in a gilded death trap. 

and 2) Nesta and Feyre are quintessentially perceived differently. Feyre is hopeful- tenacious, young, free. She shakes up things for these old ass faeries and gives them something to believe in. It’s youth for the eternally young. 

Nesta...is not that. She gets under your skin, forever. Multiple faeries meet her throughout the books and have very extreme reactions to that- but what matters at this point, as a mortal- Nesta reads as an adult. She’s immune to glamour. Her strength isn’t kindness or an open heart, it’s fucking steel that might take your last breathe.

And look, Lucien would respond to that. Tamlin...isn’t even talking to the girl his people died to get him. The curse is almost over and they’re all going to get tortured. Nesta, has, from day one, known something is wrong- she’s so angry, and it makes it easier for Lucien to be angry.

It’s not hunting bros who become Real Friends, it’s fire and gasoline. Empowerment.

So, I haven’t read acotar in ages- but I’m pretty sure they literally couldn’t tell her about Tamlin’s curse. But Lucien can communicate around the magical fuckery- there’s a great evil. The kids in Winter are all dead because of another High Lord. 

And look, Nesta cares about dead kids. She even, begrudgingly, cares about Lucien. She does not give a single flying fuck about the High Lords.

But Lucien, in this world, is the first one to say it: Hybern. 

Amarantha is Hybern’s general, and Hybern wants all of Prythian. All of it. 

Nesta is absolutely going to walk into the fire to keep the humans- and by extent, her sisters- safe from faeries. 

Tamlin- because he does not love Nesta- doesn’t send her away. Doesn’t crush any savage hope Lucien harbored, doesn’t do shit. He gives up.

And so Spring is dragged beneath the Mountain.

Nesta has exactly two advantages on her side: she can see through glamour, so she’s not 100% disoriented and vulnerable (just..you know, terrified), and sheer force of will.

Amarantha likes will. She likes to break it, and there are so few real contenders left after her victory. 

Nesta doesn’t bargain- Nesta doesn’t beg for Tamlin’s life and love- she asks to win her own. 

Amarantha wants to crush her like a bug. Insignificant little human- but wouldn’t it be more fun to watch each little crack form?

So she gets the riddle. Tamlin’s power is thrown in like the boring chekovs gun that it is. Lucien (probably) gets beat up because Lucien always gets beat up under the Mountain. 

Nesta has two choices: she can answer the (stupidly cliched, easy) riddle right there, and try to walk out. (Nesta knows she’s not making it out alive). Or she can wait, and play the game. (She’ll be damned if she doesn’t take that insane bitch and maybe Tamlin down with her. Her only ally is Lucien and he’s being hauled off with a bleeding headwound soo..)

Nesta lets herself be dragged away. She doesn’t fight. 

Let us remember again, that the Archeron sisters are built like a triptych. A presumable almost mother maiden crone. They look alike, especially Nesta and Feyre. If Rhysie boy thinks Feyre is hot at first glance, guess what he also thinks about Nesta?

So, yes, of course he goes to offer a deal. And let’s be clear on something- when Feyre hated Rhysands guts, what did he like about her? That she was beautiful, absolutely didn’t give a fuck, and what’s that? Fought with him.

She lets him heal her, but then- Nesta won’t even talk to him. Nothing he does works. They come to agreement (which Rhysand finds fascinating, a human with loyalty, that human heart) that Nesta will listen to Rhysand’s offer if and when, he delivers to her a whole, safe, Lucien Vanserra.

Rhys frames this as emotional torture. Incentive. He doesn’t need to play evil as well- Nesta hates fucking faeries. And she knows he killed a bunch of children. 

So Lucien gets thrown in the cell. Minimally healed. About to embark on the misery train, self-deprecating laughter at the fact he’s healed, now, because of Nesta. 

Lucien: so nice of you to make sure we’re all pretty before we die, Archeron. Final night spent huddling for warmth together?

Nesta: Shut up. Shut up- tell me why the fuck Rhysand would be trying to make a deal with me.

They come to the conclusion that, while Rhysand is a monster, he also has no control of his own. He’s completely under Amarantha’s thumb, and apparently, wants out.

Nesta, because she always goes for the jugular, has another thought: Are you really going to go back to Spring after this? He gave up. He gave up and you were rotting in a cell.

Lucien, to whom Nesta is both gasoline and mean friend catnip, but who is also a Sad Boi: where else can I go?

So they make a plan. Rhysand thinks Nesta is the key to killing Amarantha? Cool, Amarantha needs to die. Tamlin is the only High Lord who has access to his power more readily? Tamlin needs to do the killing. 

What does Nesta want? There to be no Hybern coming to burn the land where her sisters live. To go back, to go home- but Nesta doesn’t think, even for a second, she’s really going to make it out alive. And if she does, as she thinks late at night, of Feyre’s laugh, or Elain’s quiet humor- how will it ever be safe? They live on the Wall.

Nesta is known to faeries now- Nesta is infamous, and there’s nothing to stop anyone, should her presence lead them back to her home.

Nesta privately decides Tamlin should die too.

So when the time comes, and Rhysand is like, I’ll protect you, you’ll be mine and you’ll be healed- Nesta says no. Nesta, because she really has never learned to back down- looks dead in the eye of the High Lord of Night, the monster who sleeps beside Amarantha and says: safe passage.

She’ll do what Rhys wants, for this: Lucien Vanserra’s safe passage to a safe place, and for Rhysand to promise not to get in her way when she answers the riddle.

Rhys still wants her to come to the Night Court- for whatever nebulous reasons he wanted Feyre to...which only make sense AFTER she’s changed by the High Lords...which Rhysie couldn’t have known, BUT ANYWAY- Nesta says yes. She doesn’t expect she’ll be alive to pay.

Lucien sulks back to Tamlin’s side, and spends a few weeks between challenges laying it on thick. A quiet whisper that grows, a perfect stroke to Tamlin’s volatile ego. How dare Amarantha, how dare Nesta- Tamlin is a Lord, Tamlin is Spring- Tamlin, who has suffered so much more than the other Lords, deserves his power back. 

Nesta is dragged out for the final challenge.

In one of the long, dangerous hallways, her guards look the other way for just a moment- for a visitor. The High Lady of Autumn knows her son is safe because of this girl. 

She hands Nesta a knife. A small gift- all she can. Steel, not ash, small enough it will go unnoticed.

Nesta is dragged before the throne, before the High Lords, Tamlin and Amarantha, Rhysand.

Nesta answers the riddle.

And when Amarantha refuses to abide the rules- Tamlin, carefully manipulated without coordinating by both Rhys and Lucien, goes apeshit.

This does not stop Amarantha from hurting Nesta. The opposite- she’s trapped in the fight between them. When Amarantha does give Tamlin over the power, it doesn’t stop- unloved by even a human, and now she’d take any chance he’d had to win her as he really was.

Nesta doesn’t stab Amarantha. Nesta lays there, bleeding to death, biding her time.

Tamlin murders Amarantha. Rhysand doesn’t beg, but he’s there, getting growled at by Lucien as he tried to staunch Nesta’s wounds.

Amarantha dies, and Tamlin, glowing with power, makes his way to Nesta. They think he’s going to heal her- to try, but Tamlin is Tamlin, so he pulls her into his arms.

Nesta, who knows she’s going to die- Nesta, who was taken from her home, her family, deprived of her life by the choices of this man- Nesta lets Tamlin embrace her, the arrogant, stupid bastard, and stabs him in the throat.

It is the golden, desperate words of Lucien Vanserra that convince the High Lords to heal her. It is Rhysand who tries first, who gives the most. After all- Tamlin had been too selfish to try, and they’d all suffered for it. Faery justice: swift and bloody.

Nesta had died victorious. Nesta died with a bloody autumn court dagger in one hand and the grip of her only real friend in the other- but death was chaos. Skies and stars and howling wind, love and blood and war.

A thousand miles away, Cassian awoke screaming, clawing at his own chest.

She climbed through blood and battle, dreams and hope, floated to an infinite sky: and found herself alive.

Breathing, whole, an immortal monster. On her way to the Court of Night with Lucien by her side. 

[inosukeslefttoe]

SO i just finished wonder egg priority and i think that with confidence i can say it has been one of my favorite animes like... ever ?? and not even from hyperfixation or obsession over it just... its so fucking real yet so simple in a way that i havent rlly seen shown in any other shows you feel ??

but first i wanna talk about how sexy the art and animation is real quick... HOMIE ITS SO GOOD LIKE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT JUST... serotonin... the characters are all so unique and iconic and fun but not over the top in their designs yknow ??? they seem like regular every day girls but they stand out and theyre all sO CUTE !!!! also i love how the style is like this soft bubbly slice of life lookin stuff with bright happy colors and the most beautiful scenes you could find but they also have the SICKEST fight scenes complete with whimsical animal helpers and terrifying villains and crazy weapons unique to each character. and the animation. god DAMN shawty i am obsessed with everything in this show. i might make a post solely about the art later lol bc i wanna get into the other stuff.

so the themes in the show right ?? it starts just as this cute lil magical girl kinda deal but within the first episode we see that like.. oh damn... thats kinda heavy... tbh i was a little shocked and thought about stopping bc yknow bad mental health BUT i was so intrigued that i had to keep going and i am SO GLAD that i did. because this show just so beautifully discusses all these heavy topics in such an eloquent and artistically expressive way. and also like, , the juxtaposition of the charming childlike vibe with bright colors and 14 yr old girl protagonists against the dark themes of suicide and so much else,, i think is just perfect. bc a lot of heavy animes are more of the seinen genre and have some middle aged dude as a protag or make the entire color palette dim or offer little relief to the pain of these heavy themes right ?? but NO not wonder egg bitches B) because these problems arent just things that ppl face later in life or just problems that need to be talked about among adults or the edgy seinen watching squad,, these are REAL problems that face people of every age, gender etc and i think its awesome that wonder egg addresses that. some may cringe at the thought of their high schooler watching animes that discuss sexual harassment, suicide, abuse, self harm, eating disorders etc,, but in reality it is the most comforting thing i have ever come across and is basically jsut free anime therapy. because not only does wonder egg present these themes to the viewers as something real that happens to all kinds of people (making said people feel heard in a way that maybe they hadnt before), but it also makes sure to vanquish all of these forms of trauma. and the way the trauma is vanquished isnt always beautiful and it isnt always just magically gone with a poof. the struggles of overcoming or living with that sort of thing are shown in such a real and relatable way that addresses every hardship trauma survivors have to go through. and i just. god i cry bro. 

oh m y GOD and the lgbtq+ rep in this show ?? like shawty... as soon as i saw episode one i was picking up on some gay/lesbian themes but then again im sapphic and project that a lot so i tend to see that sort of stuff like... everywhere... but NE WAYS... episode ten made me FUKCING CRY BRO LIke i cant believe there was a whole trans character with a whole trans pride hoodie like LKGHKDGH my heart is just so.. so fucking full thinking about him. bc like yeah i know there are trans characters in anime but i feel like theyre always very ambiguous about actually being trans or not or erased or portrayed as a harmful stereotype or theyre constantly misgendered and still refered to as their assigned gender at birth and i hate it. HOWEVEr... Kaoru.. *chefs kiss* it was so amazing to see a character straight up say “yeah im trans” in such a casual yet powerful way bc i personally have never seen that before. and i love love loved how he went into his backstory and talked to momoe about gender bc i think thats what she rlly needed and that it helped her find herself and it makes me so happy oh my god,, and the way they talked about it never seemed forced or like it was the focal point of his existence yknow ?? like yeah he existed to help momoe overcome some of her trauma but he also just existed to be HIM yknow ?? also... personally, i headcanon momoe as a trans girl even though i dont remember it being explicitly stated plus the school scenes of her and stuff would seem like they suggest otherwise ??but,,, SHAWTY THE AMOUNT OF SUBTEXT and her complicated relationship w gender is... something i feel like a cis girl would not go through so harshly yknow ?? with all of the questioning and feeling detached from femininity or feeling like ppl dont see her as an actual girl and only like her as a guy or for her masculine traits,,, but dont take my word on this bc i myself am a cis girl but that was just my take on it as someone in the lgbtq+ community trying to educate myself on the transgender community :) either way,, wonder eggs portrayal of momoe and kaoru and the way that momoe becomes so passionate about expressing herself the way she wants to as a girl is just... good lord im gonna cry its so perfect,,,.so ... i just love this show way too much. i also am honestly super lost about the relationship btwn acca and ura-acca ?? bc i was gonna mention ura-acca as a canonically gay guy bc when i was watching i interpreted ep 11 as him being in love with acca and being jealous of Azusa (bc i mean,, they lived together (i swear to god there was only one bed in that apartment) and had a daughter together and def loved each other and also when Frill said they were husbands and then when ura-acca said he wasnt attracted to azusa but he was def jealous of their relationship ??) but then i saw somewhere that theyre brothers ?? which would make sense ig since they look kinda similar and accas daughter called ura-acca “uncle”.. but at the same time its ANIME SO THEY ALL LOOK SIMILAR and referring to gay couples as siblings is an EXTREMELY common euphemism soooo... IM JUST LOST HERE... but yeah i tried doing research and found different things so i cant say anything for sure >:( however,,, if they are canonically a lil fruity for each other... when frill refered to acca as ura-accas husband i imploded dude you never hear that sort of wording in anime.. but if theyre related i am so sorry. 

god this is so much longer than i planned it to be oops but i also love the theme about like.. relying on friends to help carry your weight but at the same time not becoming completely dependent on those friends and using their support to learn how to love yourself and rely on yourself yknow ?? bc that is exactly what healthy friendships look like. bc i think ai sort of had a codependency thing goin on with koito maybe ?? but now she has a whole squad of funky friends that are so so different but all struggle with different kinds of trauma and although they fight over it, they always get through it with each other together. and they push each other no matter what to be the best versions of themselves and they teach other that getting hurt is okay because theyre always gonna be there to pick up the pieces no matter what happens. they can give each other space when they need and adapt to meet each others needs but theyre always able to balance it out with their own needs and thats such a beautiful thing in friendships especially at their age like damn i wish i had that maturity when i was 14 but no all i had was depression. another thing is that through these friendships you get to see all the different sides of each girl; you get to see them being strong or a shining light to their friends when theyre hurting but you also get to see them being hurt and weak and allowing themselves to be on the receiving end of the comfort. their friendships allows them to have weaknesses but it also allows them to highlight their strengths and thrive off of each others. I LOVE FRIENDSHIP DUDE

next i wanna briefly mention some of the themes connected to suicide that ive noticed. a big one is the survivors guilt that ai feels once koito is dead. several times she screams that she wishes she couldve gone with koito and she dreams of a “perfect world” where they committed a double suicide. one of the main reasons for her troubles is that she blames herself for koitos death and feels like it should be her thats dead... but at the same time she feels like too much of a coward to do anything now that koito is gone. she just has all these complex and contradicting feelings that wear away at her in ways that ppl that havent gone through the suicide of a loved one could never imagine. a lot of the times when things like this are portrayed in media i feel like its more in a way thats meant to guilt trip those that have taken their own lives and paint suicide as this selfish sin thats unforgivable but... not only does wonder egg reject that idea and instead portray it as a heartbreaking tragedy with,,, so so many terrible reasons, but it focuses on the feelings of ai separate from koito without blaming her in any way. not once did i feel like the show antagonized koito or that ai blamed koito for doing any of this, but they simply mourned her loss and touched on ais reaction towards the event but separate from koito herself if that makes sense. and i think that discussing survivors guilt without painting koito as the bad guy is something so beautifully done in wonder egg that can really resonate with those that have lost a loved one to suicide and have struggled with these same things.

okay i think this is the last thing ill mention,,, but HOMIE THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE BIT AT THE END. I AM. OBSESSED. i am such a whore for anything about the multiverse okay n e ways...,, not only did this make a super epic trippy ending of season one and add a little bit more magical girl whimsy to the show,, but it had such a powerful message. from the perspective of og ai,, finding out that you killed yourself in another world is... i mean its definitely not a surprise but at the same time it rlly makes you think how close og ai herself couldve been to that point and what decisions led her out of that dark place in her life. if i were in her shoes i would be terrified and id cry bc the thought of going back to such a dark place and actually going through with something like that is my worst fear and probably something that ai fears too. but at the same time,,, think from the perspective of ai two !!! like yeah its true that theres this awful terrible version of ai that dies but theres also a whole version of ai that is a superhero magical girl fighting off monsters to save countless ppls lives !! and she has a badass lizard and a gang of awesome friends !!! at first i was worried that ai two would be jealous of og ai and compare herself to her and feel inferior but like.. THEYRE LITERALLY THE SAME PERSON AND CAPABLE OF THE SAME THINGS !!! and ai two realized that !! just within the span of one episode, she went from the version of ai who took her life,, to the version of ai jumping in front of a friend to take a bullet for them and save their life. and that just inspired THE SHIT OUT OF ME. i think that ai was sent another version of herself to sort of beat her own worst enemy yknow ?? those doubts and fears that shes no good or that shes that same bystander from episode one and that she hasnt changed at all. but getting to interact with her parallel self and see her grow was just what she needed to realize that while yeah sometimes the worst thing can happen and things can be terrible but on the other hand sometimes the most wonderful thing imaginable can happen because she has the power to do either. 

so im gonna go ahead and stop rambling bc i got all my thoughts out that i wanted to for this post :D but yeah lol i might make another if i feel like it sometime. long story short: this show is perfect and it is going on my favorite of all times.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Can’t Stand It

For @ho-ne-ye.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan was having a bad day. Well, a bad week. Scratch that, a bad month.

It was March, a beautiful time out in the Arctic. For several weeks the Stan twins hardly ever saw the sun or didn’t see it at all. Closer to the holidays they traveled down south to Northern Europe, exploring the United Kingdom and the Northern Islands in order to enjoy daylight, but now that Summer was approaching and Spring was on their side, the Stan O’ War II was moving up to sail above Canada, breaking melting ice and meeting new creatures.

Today they had stumbled across an island covered in woods. The twins had docked to enjoy stable land, but of course it didn’t take long for them to stumble into trouble when they explored the island. Something about trespassing, Stan may or may not have been magically transformed into a small and cute version of himself, but then turned back to normal by a knocked-over potion. It was all a blur, and it all ended with Stan and Ford being tied together hanging over a raging fire as the clan of seal-people with war paint danced around them and singing a weird song.

Enough was enough. With a knife slipped out of a boot and a few left and right hooks, Ford and Stan managed to get away, now being chased by the angry clan and flying arrows. Stan dove on top of Ford to shield his brother from an arrow and they both scurried to their feet and ran deeper into the woods, heading for the beach, but their path was blocked by a giant monster, a half-spider, half-scorpion kind of creature with eight legs, pinchers, a sharp tail, four red eyes, and an angry kiss as it’s hairs vibrated.

Ford shot at it with his ray gun and that only made it angry. It dove for the six-fingered scientist, but Stan shoved him out of the way and soon Stan was thrown back to a tree and made very little attempts to get back up.

“STANLEY!” Ford cried out and shot at the monster again, this time hitting it in the eye. Temporarily blinded and distracted, Ford was about to grab a nearby spear thrown by a villager, pierce the monster, and leave it to bleed to death as he ran to his brother and knelt in front of him. “Stanley! Stanley, can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

“M’fine, m’fine,” The old sailor mumbled as he blinked a few times. “Just lemme catch my breath…”

Ford noticed how he had a hand to his side. He gently prided it away and was horrified to find blood. The monster must have pierced Stan. In one swift motion the eldest by fifteen minutes scooped Stan up and began to carry him to the shore. “You’ll be okay. I’ll fix you up, I can fix this.”

His brother grunted in response, his hands loosely over his wound, but Stan was losing his strength. Ford then noticed a bead of blood dripping down the back of Stan’s neck; he must have also hit his head perfectly on the tree. Ford swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bobble, and he firmly instructed, “Stay with me, Stanley. Don’t go to sleep. You might have a concussion.”

“M’tired.” He muttered in his twin’s chest. They were close, so close to home. Ford’s boots crushed the sand beneath them.

“Stanley Pines, stay with me!” Ford shouted, ignoring the way his brown eyes stung.

“Why should I?”

Ford’s heart threatened to stop. Stan’s voice had been so quiet that he had nearly missed it, but the old scientist heard every word. The wounds didn’t look that bad, Stan would be fine, he was too tough to be taken down by some pathetic monster like that, but the fact that Stan was even considering…

“Wh-Why?!” Ford repeated, mortified by his brother’s delusional question. “Why?! Because I need you! Don’t you dare think about giving up on me, Stanley, don’t you dare! C-Come on, d-d-don’t you wanna see Dipper and Mabel again? Don’t you wanna see Soos marry that Melody girl?”

Stan’s breathing was shallow against his twin’s blue jacket. “You’d be better off…”

“NO!” Ford screamed as he saw the boat farther along the beach. He broke into a faster run. “No, we wouldn’t! I swear! Stay with me, we’re almost there!”

But Stan wasn’t answering. He was very quiet. And a bit limp in Ford’s hold.

“Stanley?! Stanley! Lee! Lee, don’t you dare give up! Don’t you dare leave me, please! I… I can’t do it!” He shut his eyes at the thought and let tears flow down his cheeks as he climbed up onto the Stan O’ War II. “I can’t lose you again. Please, don’t make me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t fair.

Stan should be perfectly fine, he should be happy. He got his brother back, he had a real family for the first time in forty years, he was living out his dream with his best friend. He wasn’t alien to feeling this cruddy about himself, but at least back then he had something to work towards, something to keep him going, and something to distract him from the voices in his head. But now his thoughts were more apparent now more than ever before and they wouldn’t go away.

The fact remained that everyone would be better off without Stan. He was a mistake, the screw-up, a criminal, a con-artist, a dirty sailor, a worthless heap of flesh. No one really wanted him around, and the people who did would soon get sick of him. Dipper and Mabel called them less and less (which to be fair they have been very busy with exams on the way). And even if it was Ford’s idea to go sailing, how long would it be before he changed his mind? Or had he really meant what he said? Or had he only said what he said because he felt guilty?

No. There was no changing the old man’s mind. Everyone would be better off without him.

He walked down the dock with his hands in the pocket of his brown trenchcoat, his boots clicking against the wood gently. It was bright and shiny and beautiful without it hurting his eyes or requiring sunglasses over his regular glasses. The sun glistened on the water and a soft breeze made him comfortable. The only odd thing was that there was only one boat.

A small boat, actually. It had a sail, like their dream boat as kids, with a cabin down in the bunkers. It was plain and clean and new, with a golden pole and rims on the windows. On it sat a young lady, about early-twenties, with short blonde hair. She was odd, wearing a white Hawaiian shirt with golden palm leaves, white shorts, and had a golden watch on her wrist as she filed her nails, reminding Stan of a secretary from high school. This girl was sitting on the boat with her legs crossed, sporting white sneakers, and hummed a familiar tune, though Stan couldn’t pinpoint it.

The girl glanced up at him, put her eyes back on her work, and called, “You coming?”

Stan shrugged, his hands still in his pockets. “Depends. Where you going, sweetie?”

“Well I’m hoping to grant a handsome sailor his wish, but it’s whatever.” The woman said as she held up her hand to look at her nails boringly.

Stan smiled cockily. “Oh yeah, how so?”

“You think everyone would be better off without you, right?” The woman stood and gestured to her boat. “Wanna see for yourself?”

Stan blinked. Okay this was weird. Was he on TV? He shook his head like a wet dog and scratched next to his red beanie. “Uh… ‘cuse me?”

“You heard me. Wanna see if you’re right?”

“How are you gonna show me if I’m right or not?” Stan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The woman sighed as she glanced at her watch. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time, so here’s how it’s gonna go. I’m gonna go sailing to a timeline in which you were never born. Ford never had a twin, Caryn and Filbrick only had two sons, et cetera and et cetera. Then we can talk about where we’ll go from there. But whether you’re coming or not, this boat is leaving in thirty seconds.”

Stan looked away from the woman, down at the sea crashing against the dock gently. This didn’t make any sense. This was like something out of a cheesy movie. He didn’t have to go with this girl and see a world without him in it, but it might answer some of his questions. He just wasn’t sure if he would get the answers he wanted. Oh well, it’s not like he had anything better to do.

“Ten seconds.”

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Stan shrugged and climbed up on board. “Set sail, Ms… Hey, what’s your name, anyways?”

“You can call me Honey.”

“Okay, Honey…”

“Oh my God, he called me honey…”

“Wait wut?”

“Time to go!” The woman grinned for the first time, a sly foxy smile with sparkling eyes and beautiful lips curled upward. She stood from her seat, pulled her sail loose, and it suddenly jetted across the sea so fast it threw Stan back and he had to catch himself from falling into the ocean, meanwhile the girl in all white stood perfectly calm.

“So, where we going?”

“I told you,” Honey said calmly. “We’re gonna go see what it would've been like if you had never been born.”

“Yeah, but where?”

“First stop, Gravity Falls.” The sea around them was fading into woods and trees and dirt, and soon the bot came to such a sudden stop that Stan was thrown to the other side and sat his head on a pinetree, growling as he stood up straight on the sailboat and rubbed his forehead.

Stan looked around and recognized the woods. Yup, this was definitely Gravity Falls, but… something was off. It was gray and cloudy overhead. And they were in front of a big open patch of woods Stan had never seen before.

“What is this place?” Stan asked as he hopped off the sailboat in the mud.

“Gravity Falls.”

“I know that! I mean… I’ve never been here before.”

“Yes you have.” The woman said as she got off her ride and stood beside the old sailor. “You lived here for thirty years in another timeline.”

Stan’s eyes widened. “No… Is this where the Mystery Shack’s supposed to be?”

“You got it.”

“But…” Stan was racking his brain, thinking. “What, did Ford never come here? Cuz he went to that West Coast Tech school he never came here?”

“Nope. Ford never moved to Gravity Falls, which means no Mystery Shack.”

“I always thought there’d be a big mansion here or something.” Stan shrugged and said, “Okay, so there’s no rundown tourist trap. Big deal.”

“Eh, so you think.” Honey started to walk into the woods, giving no invitation for Stan to follow, making it easier for the conman to do so. “Do you remember what this town was like before the Shack?”

Stan shrugged with his hands in the pocket of his trenchcoat. “Not much. Just a bunch of paranoid weirdos who needed a good laugh.”

They emerged from the woods and Stan gasped at the town. It was even more worn down and cheap than it had been when Stan came thirty years ago. Broken windows were boarded up, pavement was cracked, and either ketchup or blood was splattered here and there.

“Whoa hey, what happened?” Stan asked as they left the woods and walked through the town, shouts and coughs being heard in the distance. “I know this place is a dump, but not this much of a dump.”

“Stan, do you really think your business was the only one to succeed due to the tourists coming in?” The woman in white asked. “What about the motels? Diners like Greasy’s? Stores and gas stations? All those out-of-state tourists didn’t just give money to the Shack. You’d be surprised how much one tourist trap helps the economy of one struggling town.”

“Okay, sure, but there’s no way the Shack helped out the town this much.” Stan argued, gesturing around them lazily.

“No, you’re right. Really, the town didn’t hit hard times until about five years ago.”

“Why…”

Screeching tires interrupted the old man. He and Honey watched as a very nice, rich-looking pick-up truck spun around the corner and came to a sudden stop in front of a grocery store. Stan’s jaw dropped to the pavement as he watched someone he barely recognized get out of the passenger’s seat.

Soos had a black baseball cap on backwards, wearing a cold, spiky, black-leather jacket, torn jeans, and a gothic, graphic t-shirt. His eyes were so cold and menacing, he seemed a bit taller due to holding himself up with so much pride, and when he snapped his fingers and pointed to the grocery store, five guys emerged from the truck and raided it like it was the end of the world.

“S-Soos?!” Stan gasped. “Soos, what are you doing?!” But he was ignored.

“No one can see or hear us, Stanley.” Honey said as they watched Soos’ gang drag a cashier out by her long hair and began to pumble her just because they could. Soos did nothing to stop it, even smiled a little as the girl screamed for help.

“I don't get it… Soos is a good kid! He’d never hurt a fly! Why in Moses’ name is he…” Stan couldn’t finish the sentence. He was frighteningly reminded of the Colombian gang he was once under.

“Oh, c'mon sweetie, connect the dots. Who do you think taught Soos to be a good kid?”

“His abuelita did.”

The woman chuckled and shook her head. “She tried, but as he got older it really began to hurt that his dad didn’t wanna be around him. And cuz you weren’t there to tell him otherwise… let’s just say high school never happened for him.”

“What?!”

“He dropped out of school in the eighth grade and joined a small gang outside of town. Eventually he made his way up the ranks and now his little gang terrorized the bottom half of Oregon.”

“B-But why?! All cuz I wasn’t there?” Stan asked, shaking his head. “There’s no way…”

“Stanley, who do you think taught him that he was worth something? Who taught him how to stand up for himself and give bullies left hooks? Who had him put all of his energy into hard work?”

Stan stared at his pretty tour guide. There was no way Stan did all that, no way. Sure, he liked the kid a lot, but he never actually thought he impacted Soos’ life this much. Stan looked back at this horrible version of Soos as his gang loaded the car with food and cash and they sped off, leaving the woman to bleed on the sidewalk and wipe the blood from her lips.

“C’mon,” Honey said and gestured onward. “We’ve got more people to see.”

“Okay so,” Stan followed her and racked his brain. Surely somebody benefited from him not being alive. “What about Wendy? Is she still around?”

“Nope. Without you to give her a job here in town, she had to move upstate to her cousin’s lodge, remember? She had to leave all of her friends behind and she was miserable. Still is, actually. Very quiet gal. Doesn’t say or do much.”

“Wendy? Quiet? I don’t believe you.”

The woman opened a door to a shop, but instead of the inside of the building they saw a black-haired Wendy sitting on her bed in her new room, criss-crossed, holding her pillow as she listened to depressing heavy metal.

Stan winced. “Yikes. She turned into a real Robbie.”

“That kid joined Soos’ gang, BTW.” The woman said as she closed the door.

Stan was having a hard time buying the idea that nobody actually got some good out of him not being around. "Wh-What about that lil' troll? Gideon?"

Honey snorted and led the way through town. As they walked, Stan was having a hard time buying this scenario. There was no way he made this much of a difference. Okay, sure, if he not being alive meant Ford never moved to Gravity Falls, and that meant Gravity Falls changed a bit, Stan could understand that, but there was no way this town turned for the worst all because Stan wasn’t there. There was no way the screw-up actually made things better. Right?

“Here we are.” The woman said to snap Stan out of his thoughts.

The car dealership looked mostly the same. A little more run-down, sure, and there was no Tent of Telepathy in sight, but Bud still wore that stupid straw hat with a baby-blue Hawaiian shirt and tan pants, but he didn’t look quite right, either. Heavy bags were under his eyes, looking a bit more like his wife, and the little bit of hair he had was graying a bit too early. He waved his customer goodbye with a smile, but the second they were gone he sighed tiredly and was frightened by a window being shattered by a rock.

“DADDY! GET OVER HERE!”

“Oh, boy.” Bud steadied himself and went back to the house.

“Hey, how come the little jerk’s business isn’t booming?” Stan asked, more interested as to why his biggest competitor wasn’t flourishing in a town that needed someone to believe in. “He’d do great here! He could’ve used his little camera to tell people when S-... when the gang was gonna strike, or…”

“Stanley, sweetie, how do you think Gideon started that tent?”

“I dunno, he decided to use his cuteness to get some cash?”

“Not quite. For a few years he was just a bratty kid, but then he found a journal in his playground full of mystical objects, including a magic bow-low tie. It was that journal that made him think of telepathy. Even if he was fake, it was Journal 2 that inspired him.”

“Okay, okay,” Stan held his chin. “So with no me there’s no Ford in Gravity Falls which means no journals which means no Tent of Telepathy. Fine, but the twerp’s gotta be a better person without that spooky book making him think he’s all powerful.”

The woman in white laughed and pointed to the house. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? See for yourself.”

Stan walked up to the broken window and was mortified at the state of the house. Stains everywhere, chipped and torn furniture, cracked walls, torn carpet, and in the midst of it all was a ten-year-old lying on his stomach on the couch, banging his fists and kicking like a toddler as he screamed horribly. Stan winced, but then was completely thrown off to find Gideon’s hair not white and up Dolly Parton-style, but orange and cut short.

“I WANT IT, I WANT IT, I WANT IT!” Gideon screamed as if he was being murdered.

His poor mother was against the wall, holding her heart and breathing heavy; Stan noticed the signs of an anxiety attack.

Bud slowly approached his son and tried to calm him down. “Now, sugar pie, please…” But the human beaver was kicked in the jaw, leaving a bruise and making him bite his lip so hard he bled. Bud held his mouth as Gideon continued to scream.

“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! YOU NEVER GIMME ANYTHANG I WANT! WHY YA HAVE TO BE SO STUPID?!”

“Yikes, how did not being possessed by a freaky journal make him worse?” Stan asked Honey as they walked away from the house. “I don’t get it.”

“Sure, Gideon wasn’t the best kid before the journal, but at least with the journal he had something to work towards, something to put all of his energy into, and he also had you.”

“M-Me?”

“Don’t you remember the first time you met him?”

“Yeah, he took my parking spot with that stupid van.”

“Actually, you met once before.” Honey chuckled as they walked back into the woods. “You were both at the grocery store when he was four. He was with his mom, bouncing in the buggy and demanding for candy. She gave in just to keep him quiet and tuned to pick some milk. You were across the aisle, picking orange juice, when Gideon dropped his chocolate bar while trying to open it. You noticed the candy and the boy making grabby hands at you and the candy, but you grinned, said ‘no’ firmly, picked up the chocolate…”

“... and ate it right in front of him!” Stan laughed. “I had forgotten… I didn’t know that was Gideon! I thought that was just some spoiled brat.”

“Well, it was. You were the first and only person who ever told that boy ‘no’, the only person who really challenged him and pushed him. Thanks to you, he channeled his anger and energy into trying to take you and the Shack down. But without you around to push him, he had no way to get his energy out, except his parents.”

Stan looked down at the dirt and they stopped walking for a second. “This… This doesn’t make any sense.”

“How so?”

“I’m just a screw-up!” Stan argued as he looked back up at the woman. “I’m the twin no one wanted! I’m just some loser of a conman! It doesn’t make sense that a guy like that could… it… there’s gotta be somebody to benefitted from me not existing! What about Lazy Susan? With no Mystery Shack that means no lazy eye, right?”

“Actually, Soos’ gang raided the diner and it ended badly when Susan stood up to them.” Honey winced. “She ended up not only losing her job, but her eye, too.”

Stan swore under his breath. “Fine… What about that McGucket dude? His life’s gotta be better than living at the dump with his mind all jacked up.”

The woman shrugged and led the way deeper into the woods. “Barely. C’mon, we’re going to Tennessee.”

Stan followed the mysterious tour guide back to the sailboat and this time properly braced himself for the sudden speed. Very suddenly they were racing along the sea, colors swirling by them, until they stopped very suddenly on a river. Stan’s jaw dropped to see a huge, beautiful mansion up on the hill by the river. The woman parked the sailboat by the dock and they started to walk up to the rich house, passing a weeping willow with a stone bench with a big crack in the middle.

“This is McGucket’s place?” Stan clarified.

“You got it, genius.” Honey gestured to the six horse stables, the lush garden, all of the nice cars and wagons, and at just how huge and nice and rich the mansion was. “Fiddleford still went to Backupsmore and met his wife, Emma May, and with no Ford to ask for help on a portal, Fiddleford became the inventor of not only person computers, or what’s commonly called laptops, he became the founder of the largest tech company in the country, Berri.”

The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out one of those smartphones the kids had, except the back had a little strawberry with a bite in it. “They went on to invent the first cell phone, BerriWatch, and right now they’re testing a self-driving car. Fiddleford found himself with more money than he knew what to do with and after he built his family their dream home, which by the way is the richest house in Tennessee, he simply expanded his company and made historical international deals. He’s also made huge donations to small run-down towns, like the one he grew up in, to create jobs and try to help out their economies.”

“Cool, okay, see.” Stan said with a smile, impressed by this hillbilly’s success. “One person got a good deal from me not being around.”

Honey rocked her hand side to side and led the way around the mansion, walking alongside the clear open space, passing the weeping willow and bench to move around the hill. “Just cuz he was successful doesn’t mean he was better off. Don’t forget, Fiddleford was never the greatest at handling his stress well. He invented that Memory Gun because Ford accidentally inspired him to, saying scientists have a way of creating solutions to their problems. So with no way to forget his stress and anxiety, Fiddleford drank to forget how worried he was about losing his company if he made a bad deal or if his newest invention or work or if he was putting out a good public face.”

“No.” Stan shook his head. “That goody two-shoes? No way.”

“Hey, he grew up around moonshine, he just couldn’t get his hands on it when he was living at the dump.” The woman shrugged and they came upon a stone pathway and walked down it to a small flower garden that formed a circle. “Anyways, Fiddleford was never violent, thank goodness, but he was drunk more than he was sober. He should be happy, with a wife and son and booming business to boot, but he wasn’t. He fell into depression and drank until he ended up here.”

Stan looked ahead and felt the wind get knocked out of him. There was a flat tombstone in the middle of the circle of flowers. He knew what was on there, but he still slowly approached to read what the stone said. “Fiddleford H. McGucket. 1956-2011. The angels now sing a whisky lullaby.”

Stan backed away, backing up farther than the woman was, shaking his head and even punching his forehead as he tried to think. “This… This doesn’t make any sense! Their lives were supposed to get better without me, not worse!”

“Stanley…”

“The kids!” Stan gasped and looked up at Honey. “Where are the kids?!”

The woman looked sober and she gestured back to the sailboat to go to their next stop. “Back in California.”

Stan was anxious the whole trip, though it only took a minute to get where they were going, but soon they were on the side of the road in front of a middle school. Stan watched on the boat as the bell rang and kids started pouring out. He kept his eyes peeled for his kids and he grinned at the sight of two brown-haired twins.

Dipper wore a long-sleeved blue flannel over his orange t-shirt to go with his gray pants. He still had bags under his eyes and he still had that lucky star hat to hide his birthmark, slouching a little with his backpack, but he was still here, a brilliant thirteen-year-old. Stan was a bit worried to see him looking so down and upset, but both men soon smiled as a young girl skipped out of the school.

Mabel had her long hair up with a scrunchie today and kept back with a headband, still wearing her sweaters, today wearing leggings with her skirt, and she grinned at her twin and punched his shoulder before hugging him. “Hey bro bro! Wanna go to the arcade today? I hear they got some new prizes!”

“Sure, sounds fun.”

“There, you see.” Stan sighed with relief as he watched the kids walk down the sidewalk, passing the boat. “They’re fine, they’re happy. They still got each other.”

Just then, some big buy came around the corner and bumped elbows with Dipper, making Stan’s nephew stop, and the bully shoved him onto the concrete.

“Dipper!” Mabel cried out and looked ready to punch the bully, but a guy came up behind her and grabbed her around the arms, pinning her. Another guy joined the bully and they cracked their knuckles as they gazed down at their prey.

“If it isn’t the best punching bag in town.” The bully sneered. “Feel like fighting back today, Dipstick. It’s no fun having a sparring partner that doesn’t fight back.”

Dipper growled and made a flimsy attempt to stand and punch his opponent, but the bully grabbed his wrist and punched him in the gut and kicked him down, leaving poor Dipper to huddle on the sidewalk while the two bullies hammered on him and Mabel fought to be free and help but was powerless against her capture.

“HELP! HELP! SOMEONE HE-” And Mabel’s mouth was covered, but she still wiggled and screamed.

Stan couldn’t watch anymore. He had purposely waited to give the kids a chance to fight back, but sometimes you just need a little help. “I’M COMING!”

“Stanley!”

Stan jumped off the boat and ran to the kids to pull the bully off his niece and scoop her into his arms, but his arms went right through them. He frantically tried to shove the bullies off his nephew, but again his body went right through them, like he was a ghost.

The woman stood by his side and said calmly, “I told you, no one can see or hear or feel us.”

“I can’t just stand by and do nothing!” Stan yelled at her face.

“Why not? Everyone else has. No one had ever taught them how to fight back when the world fights them, except…”

“Me.” Stan finished for her with a sigh. He made himself watch as the bullies continued to beat Dipper up, finally stopping after the ring leader kicked him in the jaw, and Mabel was let go as they ran off to celebrate their victory.

Mabel crawled to her twin’s side and checked over his injuries as he carefully sat on his knees. “Dipper! Dipper, are you okay? What hurts? Show me what hurts.”

“Ow, ow, ow,” He whined as Mabel touched his swollen eyes and busted lips. Dipper spat out a tooth and held his chest. “I think… I think they cracked a rib.”

“Let’s go home.” Mabel carried his backpack for him and had him lean on her as they wimped onward. “Mom can look at it and take you to the hospital.”

“I don’t get it.” Stan said as he watched his kids walk away. “They’re good kids! Isn’t anyone gonna stand up for them?! What about their parents?! What about their friends?!”

“They don’t have any friends.” Honey said sadly as they watched the twins. “The only friends they had ever made were in Gravity Falls, which they had never visited cuz there was no family there. And Shermie taught your nephew to keep your head down to stay out of trouble, which he’s trying to teach his kids. Unfortunately, it isn’t working out for them, and what used to be bad nicknames and gum in their hair has escalated to fights and notes to kill themselves.”

Stan bit his lip. Not those kids. Not his kids. He wanted to believe things would get better for them, but if no one taught them that they were worth something, that they could stand up for themselves, he didn't have much hope and he didn’t dare ask what their future looked like. But something didn’t sit right…

“Shermie,” He muttered without looking at the woman, still looking ahead. “Y-You said he taught his kid to keep his head down.”

“I did.”

“Why would he do that?” Stan asked. “I mean, sure he’s always been a lame square, but that’s really bad advice, even for him. He taught me and… He taught Ford to stand up for himself. Crampelter was terrified for weeks when Shermie found out he had been breaking Ford’s fingers.”

“He and Ford didn’t see much of each other.” Honey answered quietly.

Something clicked in Stan’s head. While all of this was interesting or whatever, there was only one person that Stan truly believed was better off without him. His better half, the genius, the loved son, the author of the journals, the criminal of the multiverse. His brother. Stan turned to her and asked quietly, “Where’s Ford?”

For the first time, the woman looked scared. She looked away and said, “You don’t wanna know.”

“Yes I do!” Stan bellowed and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “Please! Where’s my brother?!” This gal had been scaringly quiet about the one person Stan cared the most about.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Stanley, let’s just get back on the boat…”

“Only if you take me to see my brother! Where. Is. Stanford?!” Stan demanded darkly, his eyes pleading the woman to make his request.

The woman sighed and Stan let her go.

They slowly got on the boat and it zipped to the docks of Glass Shard. Stan blinked a few times at being back to where he grew up for the first time in forty years. Dark clouds covered the sky. Not much had changed throughout the years, but why on Earth was Ford still here? They hopped off and planted their feet on the sand, and Honey led the way as she spoke.

“Stanford was still born with six fingers on each hand. Your mother tried to assure him that it only made him special, but Filbrick did a good job of making it clear that that wasn’t the case, and things only got worse when he went to school. You weren’t there to beat up bullies, you weren’t there to tell him that he was special, you weren’t there to help him dream of a future where they would sail away and he’d be free.”

“Yeah but Ford was always a little genius.” Stan interrupted as they left the sand for dirt, the beach slowly turning into a small patch of woods. “He’d win a handful of science fairs and spelling bees and then at least Pa was okay with acknowledging that they were related.”

“But Stanford didn’t win a handful of science fairs and spelling bees.” Honey corrected sadly. “Stanley, you were the only person in his childhood that made him think that he was actually worth something. You were the only one who made him shoot for the stars and believe that he was worth keeping around. Without you to give him confidence, Stanford never expressed his intelligence and therefore never allowed it to grow at all. He did okay in school, but he wasn’t the top student. He never participated in science fairs of sleeping bees or math competitions because he didn’t have enough confidence to put himself out there. Sure he was smart, but teachers weren't going bananas over him because no one, not even himself, knew his potential.”

It started to rain, but of course the two didn’t feel it or were affected by it. “So… he didn’t go to West Coast Tech?” Stan dared to ask as they walked deeper down the dirt path, oblivious to where they were as he was thinking this through.

“No.”

“But… I thought you said he did.”

“No, I said he never moved to Gravity Falls. He never felt home.”

“So… what happened to him? What did Ford end up doing with his life?”

Honey bit his lip and refused to meet Stan’s eye. They walked on and Stan finally realized where they were. He felt ready to throw up. He waited for his guide to speak.

“Much like Dipper and Mabel, things only got worse as he got older. He got to a point where Stanford was stealing Filbrick’s boos and he even started to hurt himself. It wasn’t enough. It was all too much for him. He… He…”

“No.” Stan’s voice cracked and he was terrified when the woman stopped and motioned to a tombstone that laid among the others in this graveyard. “No! You’re lying! He wouldn’t! He didn’t!” He yelled.

“I’m sorry, Stanley.”

Stan finally made himself read the rock. He fell to his knees at the words that shined through the rain. “Stanford Filbrick Pines. 1956-1970.”

“NO!” Stan screamed and punched the ground beneath him as he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. “NO! HE WOULDN’T! HE DIDN’T!”

“Ma found him dangling from the ceiling. She was never the same after losing her baby.” Honey croaked. “He was only fourteen.”

“NO!” Stan shook his head as he ignored how wet his cheeks and eyes were now. “NO! He… He… He never needed me. He never wanted me around.”

“Yes he did.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stanley, listen.” The woman said firmly behind him. “You said it yourself that family needs each other. I know it’s hard to believe that you’re actually worth something when there’s a dozen voices in your head telling you otherwise, but just like how you need them, your family needs you. Your brother needs you.”

Stan listed his fists up from the dirt, his eyes on the tombstone without seeing. “I… I just thought he’d be… they’d be better off I hadn’t been around.”

“No one knows for sure how they change things or how much they really impact others. But you do. And even if you forget all of this, you know your family loves you enough to tell you that they need you.”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, but what’s keeping them from saying that outta pity?”

“You can’t let yourself think like that, Stanley, you just can’t.” Honey said firmly. “Your family loves you. Stanford loves you. He needs you, and if you don’t believe me, just take a look at what he’s like when you’re gone.”

“Wait what?”

Honey got on her knees beside him and showed him her golden watch. The face changed to a scene, like a tiny TV, and Stan started to find Ford back at the Stan O’ War II, kneeling beside his injured twin who laid more dead than alive on the couch. With tears streaming down his face Ford was wrapping a bandage around Stan’s head and feeling his heartbeat and checking that the bandages around his torso were well and secure.

“Stanley, Stanley please,” Ford begged as he took Stan’s hand and squeezed it. “Please don’t leave me. I need you, the kids need you. Please.”

“Whoa hey, I’m not going anywhere.” Stan said, but then his eyes grew wide and he looked up at Honey. “Am I?”

“I dunno.” She asked as she lowered her arm and smiled at him. “Do you wanna go?”

“Go where?”

Honey chuckled. “On.”

Stan blinked at her. “No. No, I don’t. If… If that knucklehead really wants me around, then I’ll stay.”

Honey blinked her eyes dry and stood up. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll get you home.”

Stan stood up and followed her back to the boat. “By the way, honey, why’d you do all this for me? What, wanted to earn your wings?”

“No, this was pure self-indulgent.”

“Wait wut?”

~~~~~~~~~~

His head hurt. His side ached a little, but his head really hurt. That didn’t matter. He had no idea why, but he had to see his brother.

Stan forced his eyes open and found his vision blurry thanks to his glasses being folded on the end table. He smiled when he saw that Ford had fallen asleep by his side, kneeling beside the couch, holding his hand, and resting his head face-first into his own folded arms. Outside it was dark, which could mean it was seven in the morning of seven at night, given the fact they were up in the Arctic.

The younger, injured twin, snorted at his brother, which made the aged scientist sit up too quickly for it to be wise, wide awake, with his hair in a gray floof and his red eyes wide and alert.

“Stanley! Thank Moses!” He cried out and stood up to better look over him. “How do you feel? Any pain? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Calm down, Sixer,” Stan chuckled weakly as he slowly tried to sit up, sensitive to the wound on his side. “My head hurts, but I’ll be fine with some painkillers, and you’re holding up two fingers like some dumb hippy.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Ford hugged him around his shoulders tightly as his whole body trembled. “I know you showed no signs of a concussion and your wound is not nearly as bad as it could have been, but i didn’t know for sure if you would pull through or what I would do without you and…”

“Geez, relax, it’s okay, Stanford.” Stan shushed as he hugged him and rubbed his back. “M’fine, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Ford said firmly and sat back, a hand still on his shoulder. “Don’t you ever think for a second that I don’t want you here with me, Stanley. I need you.”

“Yikes, where’s all this sappiness coming from, eh?”

Ford blinked at his twin and said slowly, “Y-You said you thought I’d be better off without you…”

Stan waved that away. “Ah, you say stupid stuff when you hit your brain too hard. I swear, Sixer, you’re stuck with me, as long as you’ll have me, anyways. Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t kill yourself out here.”

Ford chuckled tiredly and shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Now do we have any stew left? I’m starving.”

[diabolikscenario]

Can I get a "Mukami Version" of the Hotel room sharing scenario? ＼(^o^)／ Btw I love your way of writing!

LOL I already wrote this in my notes some days ago ! Also two others requested this. Thx<3

Skamaki Version can be found here.

[✅ SFW ✅]

Having to share a bed

Mukami x reader

It seemed like you were one bed short. Exhausted and clenching your teeth you chose...:

Character: KOU

"Ehh? M Neko-chan, you want to be with me? Oh, how exciting ~ Not everybody has the chance to sleep together with an Idol. I can't wait! Hehe, it Sounds Like a loooot of fun! We can stay up together all night, eat gummy bears and have a Pyjama Party! Hey, what kind PJ's do you have? I have a really cute one with Polar Bears on it~ Oh, I am gonna tell you some creepy stories, and when you're all scared you can snuggle up with me~! Come come, let's go!

Aftermath: Made you brush is hair in a long ass session, cried out because it "hurt." Then fell asleep face down on his pile of sweets just to get some gum stuck to his ponytail. You took the opportunity and snapped a quick picture, almost bursting out laughing. Shared the given Picture with Yuma at 2am with an ":B" Emoji.

Character: AZUSA

"Eve...me? Are you ...sure? If you want..? I will make sure to protect you... as much as I can. It..may be quiet with me but... I want to... hold you firmly and ... never let you go. My precious... Eve. Ne, I won't do anything...you don't want me to. Treating you right is my... highest priority. Shall we...go? You can take... a relaxing bath. The drive up here...surely was tiresome."

Aftermath: Immediately snuggeled up with you after you took your bath, because he was scared you might catch a cold. (After you sneezed once.) Clinged onto you so tightly you weren't even able to change your sleeping position for the whole night.

Character: RUKI

"Livestock, you're tempting me, aren't you? Is this what you have in mind? Lewd girls are surely easy to see through. Seems like you can't get enough of this temptation? Maybe getting sucked against your will? Netherless I can't deny my overall Interest... If you follow my guidelines we will surely have a lot of fun together. Oi, grab your bag and follow me to our room."

Aftermath: While Ruki read his favourite book, you scooted closer to him to get a better glimpse at what he was reading. Unfortunately, and for your loss, it was written in ancient moonrunes. Ruki took this the wrong way and saw this as an invitation to suck your blood.

Character: YUMA

"Haah? Sow, you're so lewd, I knew it. Sleeping together in a Hotel room, you know what that means, right? Yanno, you could have told me. Tsk, you wanted to have your private piece of me, huh? This is interesting, let's go. I am excited to see how big that room is! Oi, I heard there are only double beds. So watch your step, right?! Gimme your lauggage, hurry up."

Aftermath: Offered you kindly to wash your back, but tried to touch you 'all over' after 2,5 minutes, then slipped his hands to your chest just to jiggle around. Fainted after another 3 minutes because of the humidity in the bath. After regaining his senses, he swore to himself to never give in to lewd temptations again.

[centerofreality]

What if kiyru and majima found their male S/O playing yakuza 0 and they were absolutely loving it.(Shhhhh ignore the lack of logic and reason) P.S I love your headcannons.

Ohh, this is a good idea! And thank you so much! ♡ I hope you like it! This might be more angsty than you requested so I’m sorry about that!

(This headcanon is set right after the events of Yakuza Kiwami)

Kiryu and Majima seeing Male S/O play Yakuza 0 HCs

Kiryu: 

Like Majima, Kiryu is also incredibly confused, but he wouldn’t think about it for a long time. Strange things kept happening to him, he wouldn’t be surprised about a strange game...Okay, maybe a little.

He would stare at the controller. That looks so... complex... What do you mean it’s touch-screen?? He knows about the NES and the Playstation but he doesn’t know anything about... this. Not like, he’s played any virtual games in his childhood. He only played tag and other physical activities back at Sunflower.

Seeing the parts of Majima before he became a Mad Dog made Kiryu respect him a lot more. Majima was strange but a good man and Kiryu knew that.

“Who knew that Majima-san was close with Makoto-san..”

When Oda and Tachibana showed up, It made him remember how much he’s been helped by them and how it could have been better had the situation’s been different. It should be time that he visits their graves again.

“I’ll forever be grateful for what they did. I wouldn’t have been alive now without them.”

Sign him up for some Karaoke! You do all the work because he’s not really good at games. He can sing and cheer if you want?

You asked him to play one time and you didn’t think teaching someone how to play was so stressful.

*You two proceed to spend hours trying to learn*

But seeing Kiryu succeed in completing Bakamitai for the first time could be your biggest achievement yet. It was all worth it.

“I...I did it!” He’ll stare at the screen with wide eyes.

“You did!!” You’ll beam as you give him a high-five which he accepted.

Kiryu mainly plays the Fishing, Karaoke, and the Disco minigames and watches you fight. How the tables turn. Kiryu couldn’t play as well as he fights in real life.

“I caught a Great White!! Yes!!!” You’ll cheer as you smirk at Kiryu who looked disgruntled. “Why don’t you try?”

You’ll only be surprised when he caught an Oarfish larger than yours.

“It seems I win.”

“No fair!”

You two would also spend time playing the two-player mode in the Disco Minigame! You’ll only laugh because Kiryu quietly curses underneath his breath when he misses.

As he watches you do the Five Billionaires Quests, he wondered what could have happened if he experienced it as well, seeing all the money pile in easily.

Seeing all the other sidequests he was meant to be in, he wasn’t sure if he should be happy or not. He could remember some but not all.

All the other songs but Judgement have scores. Kiryu says it’s because Nishiki would beat his ass for not having a high score but you know better.

Whenever Nishiki pops up, Kiryu gets quiet but gives a small smile when he sees the interactions of Ingame him and Ingame Nishiki. Those were good times that he could never forget.

If you do the Pocket Circuit Quests, Kiryu takes his opportunity as the expert. He knows all the parts you would need for each race. He might actually ask to play it himself, it wouldn’t be the same but the thrill’s still there nonetheless.

“Y/N... Can you open the game?”

“Huh? Why?”

“...Well, I was wondering if I can play Pocket Circuit..”

His love for Pocket Circuit never diminishes. He ain’t Kamurocho’s Fastest for nothing.

Haruka also occasionally joins in with playing, grinning when she sees the familiar white suit and a red shirt that Kiryu wears during Adventure Mode. She’d also be the one to play the Cabaret Club minigames, giving her own comments when she watches or plays with the both of you. It gives her joy that she could have bonding time with her Uncle Kaz and Uncle Y/N.

“I wasn’t born at that time, right, Uncle Kaz, Uncle Y/N?”

Kiryu nodded, “Mhm. I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

Majima:

Majima would be so confused. How does this game that you found somewhere to have the events that happened 17 years ago? But he doesn’t think about it much, thinking of different possibilities as he watches you play. The more you progress, the more he gave up and gave commentary.

“Shit hurts my head, you know.”

However, when Lee, Nishitani, and Makoto were mentioned, now he was suspicious. How did this game know about those people? He has to reassure himself that what was done was done and it was just a game, so you tell him that he doesn’t have to watch you play.

“I know that these people are important to you. I can stop playing the game if you want?” You look at Majima who shakes his head after thinking deeply.

“Nah. It’s fine. If you’re the only one that has that game then I don’t mind you seeing it. It’s just the other people I’m worried about.”

Eventually, he moves on after seeing that you’re the only owner of the unknown game and even tells you about the events.

In order to lighten his mood, you’ll talk to him about his previous appearance.

“I wonder what you’ll look like with long hair but with the same clothes now. I should rent a tuxedo too.” You’ll grin at him as he rolls his eyes.

“I’ll look so hot that you won’t be able to keep your eyes off me. You gotta take the safety measures first.”

When you’re in Kiryu’s story, he’d look so excited, wanting to see what the man had in store.

“Beat him up, beat him up!!” He shouts as Ingame Kiryu fights with Kuze.

“Majima, he can’t hear you.”

He would absolutely enjoy all the heat moves, he’d tell you to fight enemies 24/7.

He’d also cackle at the sidequests. He’d poke fun at both Kiryu and his own sidequests.

“Kiryu-chan gets into all sorts of shit, doesn’t he?”

Majima would talk about the game with you almost every time the both of you are together in private.

“It’s kinda weird though. It’s like a weird, psychic game.” “Do you think that another version of me would exist somewhere?” He would ask.

Seeing Tachibana and Makoto’s story made Majima feel like shit. He’ll actually offer to play the following fight scenes despite not knowing how to really play it. He thinks he could have done better.

“Even if it’s already over with, I still feel like I’ve accomplished something.”

“I’m sure Makoto’s brother would be grateful.” You’ll tell him with a gentle smile and he’ll look at you and slowly smile back.

“I hope so.”

Majima’s moved on but he still hopes that Makoto’s safe. It was the least he could do.

If you get too tired, Majima will offer to play for you. He’ll make sure you sleep well before he stares at the headset and the controller.

“Now..How do I play this thing?”

Majima would be so into playing the Cabaret Club Minigame. He’d play it more than you. And he’d be so happy seeing the faces of the familiar girls he’s worked with before he left. He’ll openly admit to you that he misses them.

He would look like a kid sneaking off to hide something from their parents as he stares at you, holding your controller, with the intention of ranking his ladies to the max level.

“What is that you’re holding?”

“...A knife.”

You’ll gape as you see that in Adventure Mode, Majima can be styled.

“Look! It’s your new look!” You’ll point and indeed, Ingame Majima had the Mad Dog outfit.

Majima’s eyes would narrow in suspicion, “Wait, don’t tell me there’s a game about-”

“About what?” 

“Nothing. Nevermind.”

Majima would spend so much time buying so many items that you wouldn’t even need. Mainly weapons that he can beat people up with.

“Majima, how did we just lose a billion yen?”

[deadmandairyland]

Last night I finished a playthrough of Vambrace: Cold Soul, also known as Darkest Dungeon: Waifus on Ice Edition, or at least it would be if anyone was aware that this game exists. Can’t find fanart of it. Can’t even find porn of it. Once again, Rule 34 is a sham.

...So anyway, I wanted to give my thoughts on this, because I kinda liked the game. Now granted I’m a bit of a softy in general and have a high tolerance when it comes to video games, so don’t take this as word from a hardcore gamer like “This game is actually a gem and super underrated.” I mean, I have a soft spot for Dr. Chaos on the NES, so that should give you an idea on how well my opinion on video game quality translates to most people’s opinions. No, I can definitely see why this game doesn’t have a whole lot of fans: the gameplay is nothing to write home about, the characters (who are probably my favorite part of the game) aren’t nearly as fleshed out as I wish they were, and there were some game design choices that I did not care for (like autosave being the only saving option I could find in a game where choices always matter and making one mistake in a dialogue tree while going for a certain route could result in you having to start the whole game over from scratch, oh boy, isn’t that fun?).

I apparently got the neutral ending on this playthrough, according to the PS4 trophy list and what I was able to find while snooping around the interwebs. After a point, none of the images that appeared in the YouTube video I found of all the endings showed up, making me wonder if the PS4 version of this game is censored, or if there is something missing from the file in my download of the game. Hopefully it’s just the former. I can accept the former. Even if it means I finished the game with the protagonist in a Sailor Moon cosplay and somehow the powers that be decided that (SPOILERS BTW) a woman having a nervous breakdown in her home is somehow too hot for the PS4 to handle. I swear I’ve seen more nudity in a Castlevania game than what was showing in that picture. Still would be better than having to play through the whole game again and getting another ending and realizing that none of the ending images are showing up at all.

Also, and I’m going to try to say this last part while spoiling as little as possible... but I ship Lyric with all three of the people staying at the inn. Just throwing that out there. Was kinda disappointed that I could never make these four a party, especially since all three are kinda implied to be badass but we never really get to see that in action. So yeah, to clarify: I ship Lyric with Helga the dwarven innkeeper/bartender who I can only assume is standing on a box behind the bar the whole game and that’s adorable; Charlotte Lorelai, a princess who can apparently bench press 700 pounds and at some point can trick Lyric into going on a panty raid; and Mahoram, a fox boy whose name I kept forgetting while playing the game, so I ended up calling him Fucksboy because he is both a fox boy and a fuckboy. It’s a pun, you see. And yes, if you’re familiar with the game, all of this made a certain point in the game hurt like a motherfucker. Won’t say why, because spoilers, but I was not happy. And the lack of fanfic and fanart did not help. Guys, I even found Knights fanart once! How the fuck did this game featuring tons of waifu bait, including a main character with heterochromia for God’s sake, not inspire someone to draw fanart of it?

Also, check out the Characters page for this game on TVTropes. It’s kinda hilarious. Like, why did they even bother making a character page in the first place? Lyric has only one trope in her folder, and it’s about her heterochromia. Mahoram literally doesn’t have anything written in his folder. Like... why bother?

Maybe someday I’ll write a fic for it. Thing is, though, I... really don’t want to be the only person to write a fic for this game. Do you know how long it took for another Licorne fic to show up on AO3? The pressure is real. Also I have so many other fic ideas at the moment that I feel like the pirate AU idea I currently have for this game is just a really bad idea to even consider!

...

...Even if elves and dwarves in a pirate setting sounds really cool...

...

...Someone slap me, please, before I make another dumb decision here.

[funkymbtifiction]

IDK who I am?

Ok so this is kind of a whole ass mess, I started off with a question that would make it a useful read for everyone and not a waste of time, but it ended up being a bit of a personal advice question so I hope that’s ok.

What would cause unhealthiness in a type? Most of the time, i feel like i’m a healthy ENTP, but multiple arguments with my ESFJ (or ESTJ?) mom have caused me to seriously doubt myself in many ways over the years. I read that an unhealthy ENTP can be argumentative, unwilling to drop arguments, etc. These are all things my mom tells me I do, along with not taking responsibility and making excuses. I’m 18 now and we don’t argue that much but we did a lot when I was around 13-15 and kind of, ya know, going through it as teenagers do. And since my mom has basically always used these same digs at me, I’ve assumed that maybe that’s the reason that it really hurts whenever those same digs are brought up now, and basically I have a lot of self doubt and am insecure about being an immature version of my type (because that would mean that i’ve been in the wrong in so many instances in my life if everything my mom says about me is true, and i think that sentence in itself proves my mom right in that i don’t like taking accountability.) As I’m typing this, I’m wondering if maybe that fear of being an unhealthy version of my type or admitting my faults could be related to enneagram ?? Anyways, I know that nobody’s perfect and can definitely appear even worse especially in conflict, I just sometimes wonder if i’m unhealthy or a completely different type altogether. That’s another thing, I’m always trying to find an answer to things, but have a hard time settling on just one. This could be another reason for my self-doubt. I guess my question, after that exhausting story, is WHY? I go back and forth between caring or not caring about personality type, but I’m in a particular stage right now where i care and really just wanna know why i am the way i am (i’m in a bit of desperate state of mind rn lol.) I don’t know if i gave enough info for you to answer this, but what causes me to fear failure so much? Does it have to do with being raised by an ESxJ? Or is it related to enneagram? Or something else altogether? Also, am i even an entp?? you’d probably need to know more about me, but from the way I wrote this, could you give me anything? I’m asking for so much right now, I’d honestly be annoyed at me. But I’ve been so unsure about so many things lately and I just want one thing in my life I can be at least a little more sure about.

I’m sorry you are in a place of feeling like you aren’t sure who you are; if it helps, most people who embark on MBTI journeys face that, sooner or later. And it often precedes a period of self-understanding that helps you find your type, because you start focusing on how you respond to things and how you get things done, rather than what others are telling you about yourself, and linking that to specific functions.

So much hyper-focus on what your mom says about you either indicates you are a high feeler (FJ seems more reasonable than FP at this point, since it’s not about defending self from the outside world, but wondering if what others say about you is true; but if you are sure of Ne-dom, I’d look into ENFP also) or in a Fe-loop. EFJs often mistype as ETPs at first, because they don’t realize how much they lack a specific sense of self, because their entire identity is built on how others perceive, relate to, and speak to them. If this has been a persistent concern for as long as you can remember, consider EFJ (most ETPs at your age care way less what others think, and way more about how they can ‘use’ them to get what they want, since Fe is just a tool for them and not a place of ‘being’).

If you are an ENTP, you sound as if you are in a Fe-related loop, excessively ruminating on others’ external views of  you and causing you to wonder if you are really the irresponsible jerk they tell you that you are. To break this loop, you need to get back into Ti and return to building inner frameworks of logical understanding and consistency. Your natural, healthy tendency will be to notice flaws in arguments, belief systems, and logical inconsistencies, and point them out to yourself and others. You should be learning ‘how things work,’ and not worrying so much ‘how others are reacting to me.’

To gain a better understanding of oneself, you need to put your mother’s criticisms into perspective. Is she the sort of person who finds something harsh and critical to say about everyone, all the time? Or is it just you? What is the objective truth in her digs? Can you come up with specific examples of you doing the things she is accusing you of, or is it just generalization on both your part?

Immature (and at 18, you can’t be anything else, cognitively) ETPs are prone to not taking personal responsibility for themselves and making excuses about it, yes. Ti can rationalize, argue, avoid, and shift responsibility away from self (a natural behavior of unhealthy Fe) rather than simply admit, “What I did was wrong, and I’m sorry.” Arguing, for an ETP, is like breathing – they are so good at it, and so self-assured of thinking up an excuse for everything they do in order to justify their “what I want” based thinking, they forget that their “fun banter” is actually seen as “aggressive behavior” from feeling types. (Sherlock is a great example of what I am talking about.)

If you think your mom has a point, and you can come up with times when you did avoid taking personal responsibility, you have a choice – to work on next time refusing to give an excuse, humbling yourself and admitting you didn’t do what you were supposed to do, or you were selfish and ate the last bag of chips in the house, or whatever else she “gets on you” for. You can also start taking “adult initiative” and doing “mature” things around the house, to show her you are taking responsibility for your stuff, your chores, your bills, etc. The only way to convince an ESJ that you are a mature adult is to consistently act like one and show them you are being responsible with your decisions. Part of being a mature adult, regardless of type, is admitting when you are wrong and taking responsibility for the problems/pain you cause.

If she is criticizing / nitpicking needlessly, analyze her and think about her reasons why she might be doing this, or feels the need to bring others down, or is being “hard” on you in particular. There are many factors that go into people’s behaviors. Do you remind her of someone she used to know, who went the wrong way in life, and is she associating your behaviors with that person’s downward path? High Si’s are prone to instant sensory comparisons of that nature. SJs are also highly responsible people, very driven, who have a specific idea of “how the world works,” and how YOU will have to be, to succeed in it. (IE, 9/5 job, be responsible, buy car insurance, save for retirement, take care of your family, etc). This is how and why they clash with the “when I see it, I’ll know I want to do it, and do it for awhile, and then find something else to do” fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants EP types.

With parents, it’s also important to remember their bias. Their opinion of you is just their opinion. What matters more out in the world is what your boss, your coworkers, and other people who have a direct financial impact on you as an adult in the workforce think of you. Your parents have watched you grow up. Seen all the good and bad things. Things that do not matter at all in the workforce, and that nobody knows about, outside the family. Things that do not have to ‘define you’ as an adult. EJ parents can also have a lot of trouble transitioning from being “parent” to “friend” – she is used to being your “mom.” So, prove her wrong. What can you do to show her you’re an adult?

You might also be an Enneagram 9 or 6 (both, Tritype-wise, is likely) which is messing with your ability to have a concrete sense of self.

Once you’re in college, your functions will show clearer. Heavy school work / an environment where you need to please peers and teachers will bring out lower functional development.

- ENFP Mod

[raymondshields]

19 through 25? :0

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

Hmmmm.... Honestly, not that I can think of? I mean characters in my head sometimes walk up and inform me they’ve committed incest again, but that doesn’t usually make it to AO3. (Shoutout to Rhada for informing me of a whole lot of shit he did with Sisyphus, who is related to him in Mirrorverse on a fucking technicality, jfc. But also Rhada’s been committing incest by way of sleeping with Gordon, aka Minos’ son, since the bronze age so.) 

I mean, I probably overuse Toby quotes, but tbh I actually can’t think of something I overuse too much. Huh.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

I’ve already done this a lot (I’m actually answering this last because I’m trying to think of my favourite here), and. Hmmm. Honestly, I’m gonna go with IKM Minos, because while I have rambled about him before, only in DMs, and I haven’t talked about IKM much yet.

The thing is, I know as much about him as y’all who follow the series do. He’s very quiet in my headspace, and only ever comes out when I sit down and write him. But he’s four things. Four things, completely at odds with each other, and yet completely in harmony. He’s a griffon, he’s a Spectre, he’s noble, he’s feral. And everything he is can be summed up in those four traits.

He’s a griffon, to start. Half cat, half bird. All the casual arrogance of cats, all the flock behaviour of a bird, all the loyalty, all the insistence to guard. That’s what griffons do. They guard. And that’s his fundamental beginning: he’s a griffon, once you strip everything else away from him.

On top of that, he’s a Spectre. He’s casually cruel and vicious, very traumatized (how, I don’t know, he won’t tell me), he’s a strategist, he prioritizes his own survival but looks out for the others in his division, and he’s very very choosy about who he trusts to not hurt him, who he trusts he won’t hurt on purpose.

Then, his demon star, Nobility. This comes from the Age of Myth. He’s at ease with humans, can interact well with them, can slip around their social etiquette with grace, despite being nothing like them. He’s a little bit chivalrous, has honour enough, tries not to get too messy, actually does have a moral compass of sorts.

Lastly, he’s feral. Wild. Untethered and unforgiving and free. This is the opposite of his demon star, yes. But it is what he is, and he has no issues stripping free of his fancy clothes and running naked through the mud with nothing but fur to cover him and howling at the moon as he rips through prey with his teeth. 

Seems contrary, and indeed, he’s a very contrary person. The real joy in how those go together.

A griffon Spectre means he’ll guard his division. He doesn’t need to love them to have no option but to guard and protect them. He’s the leader of the flock, and he’ll do what needs doing. He’s cruel, he’s responsible, and he does what he needs to. This ties in well with Nobility, his star, because he has enough of a moral compass to know when he has to sacrifice someone, and how to feel bad about it, while his Spectreness allows him to not feel as bad about it as he could.

Naturally, most of the time, he’s noble, a bit fussy and imperious, likes his poetry as a way of speaking. But the more he’s hurt, the angrier he is, the more upset he is, that stripes away into his feral nature. His nobility is a mask and a shield for his true nature: simply a wild griffon, untethered by any rules and unforgiving to any that meet him. I’ll explore this part a bit further later on as this is the part of him that Alba really falls in love with, but this is where his personality begins to really shine. That duality between his noble, imperious nature and his honest, wild self.

He’s a hard as fuck character to write. But oh, I love the results. 

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

As answered previously, I Have No Fucking Idea But Probably Anime.

22. Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

As also answered previously, yes, because I have no other choice if I want to see my damn rarepairs most of the time, and I enjoy doing so because I like most of my fics. 

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

I answered last time as Rose’s story, but I checked my spreadsheet for what I’d forgotten and gold star me, I forgot about one I really do want to talk about: the TLC version of Seanan McGuire’s Every Heart a Doorway as a long fic! Harry Potter AUs are out. Wayward Children AUs are in as fuck.

What I know is that Aiolos and Aiolia run a school like Eleanor does. It may be located not far from Sagiverse’s Saint Shion’s University, probably Academia Terrestria. Most of the cast is TLC, Golds and Spectres mostly. It follows the adventures of one young Sasha, kicked out of her world by Hades himself after going mostly all the way through the plot of TLC itself, as she deals with coming back without her brother - a possibility she’d already made peace with - but with him still in Sanctum Greece, out and committing mass murder - the part she isn’t cool with.

She walks in during the first few chapters to meet Aiolia just as Minos - from a high Nonsense, high Wicked world where everything is the theatre and the rules make you think it’s Logic and it’s not - bolts across the room, swings a grappling hook around the chandelier, and scales the wall in the nick of time before Pandora throws her trident at him. They’re roommates. Pandora’s from Prism, Kade’s world, as the Goblin Princess so she is understandably wanting Minos dead here.

Sasha blinks, immediately goes on the defensive because hello, two Spectres, but neither know who the hell she is. Lia takes her with him as he negotiates getting Minos into the tower room with Albafica, from the Moors where he and his dad fend off vampires with a strain of woody rose poison they put into their blood, and then puts Sasha in with Pandora, who helps her figure out that just because she knows all of these faces and names doesn’t make them the same people. (This is after watching her freak out over Minos and Alba sharing a room, because she watched them kill each other.)

And then like two weeks later Alone shows up, immediately throws himself at the Dragon Prince Rhadamanthys, who is sixteen and doesn’t know how to handle a small child without a tail and shares the attic with Aiacos, who lived in a world of fire and brimstone and light and wind, moderate Virtue, moderate Logic. Sasha freaks out, Pandora sits on her, and it is discovered not that long later that Alone brought Hades with him.

I have no idea what the plot is past that point. I figure I’ll be asking Zander or another system how I should best write Alone and Hades, which is a standard possession that I want to be thinly-veiled multiplicity, because really those two things are the damn same from where I’m standing and that would be cool.

I’ll write it when I’ve got a plot. Gah.

24. Would you say your writing has changed over time?

Oh abso-goddamn-lutely. I finally figured out how to show and not tell so much, and how to vaguely fix my biggest problem that I had forever: expanding individual threads so I didn’t rush everything. Now that I’ve figured out how to do that, I’m pretty sure I could redline for another writer struggling with the same thing. One of the bits of advice someone said that really fixed my writing was the idea of one, ‘always name at least two sensory details in every paragraph’, and two, ‘for the next six months never write ‘they saw that’ ‘they felt like’ ‘they wanted to’ etc etc, and find a way to say that without saying that, take no shortcuts and never say it outright’. Once you understand why they’re telling you to do that, you can go do it again and avoid the purple prose, but it teaches you how to expand things.

Instead of just going ‘he was sad’, if you can’t say that, then what ends up happening is that you quietly restate he was sad by referencing it in his every action. Body language. Tone of voice. Show don’t tell is advice that works great with examples. Take out every ‘they were’ ‘they saw’ ‘they felt’ and you have no choice but to show it without telling it. And it makes your writing so much stronger.

Another thing I learned was that a Mary Sue isn’t a level one character, they’re a level twenty in a level-three-recommended story. Their backstory is their plotline. This one I learned from Betsy Lee, with No Evil versus Brother Swan- specifically, Ozma Angeline. Look at her child form. Now look at her adult. Her adult is the perfect idea of an edgy Mary Sue. But it’s clear the moment you see her child form, that her every adornment was gained after she first appeared. She wasn’t born that way. Every mark she has is a part of her story. I first met Angel in NE, and I got to know her. Then I saw her in BS and I was like “is that fucking Angel???” and suddenly everything made sense. That’s a well-written character. Sure, we see fuckall of her arc, but that’s when I finally understood how to write a powerful character without making them a Mary Sue. Because nothing stands in the way of a Mary Sue, they never struggle. You set the Mary Sue as their endgame, twenty years after the series ends, and you’re golden.

The last thing I really learned that helped me so much owes itself to Seanan McGuire, of course the Toby books. Specifically: Luna Torquill. This is where I learned that allies become enemies offscreen if they want to, and how to give your side characters a true arc without ever giving them the spotlight. Toby characters don’t feel like they’re just waiting for Toby herself to check in with them. They go do their own stuff when she’s not there, and actively get more development offscreen without ever feeling out of character. Luna is the most obvious example, but Sylvester, Antigone, Tybalt, and Cass all do it too. Actually, the only one who didn’t was Connor and he died and I didn’t like him anyway. Luna really showed me how to bring my side characters to life, and in that understanding helped me really get how to write a character arc.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Sneaking in metaphors and foreshadowing and recurring motifs and parallels, and doing so accidentally because I’m just that good. /lh No really, I love having parallels and shit in my writing that make me look smarter than I am, because most all of them are accidental and I only notice after someone points it out. I look like a genius. I’m bullshitting it the entire way. But when I do actively do it, and it works out, I like it even more. I love hiding little things that reinforce the storyline and atmosphere and add a deeper meaning to my work.

Like, for example. In Aeternum, specifically As We Watch The Hourglass, Tsuko pointed out that the state of the boiler room perfectly represents Minos’ mental state. She’s fine, she’s fixing things, and then outside circumstances causes her to fall apart and Alba just attempts to patch it up enough that it’s vaguely safe enough to work with, but still very very fragile and prone to collapsing at any second. Add in that she’s an engineer and this is her specialty and biggest talent, and it seems like a super cool parallel to do, especially since I really like reflecting my characters in the world around them.

It was completely accidental. I wanted to show that her sadism that canon Minos has is in there, that she isn’t totally OOC and just hasn’t yet become more like her canon form (he’s more traumatized and has gone down a path she’s only inching onto at the moment), but I also wanted them to get a damn bath so Alba could bitch about his hair, while showing that Minos is actually surprisingly useful. In order to do that, I needed the boiler room, I needed to show her fragility, and then I needed to show what was underneath that. And then I needed the threat gone so they could do other shit. In order to make that realistic, I forced her to not panic about it even though she really wanted to, and Alba did a shoddy job because we gave him like an hour and he’s running on little food and less sleep. That was it, that was my entire thought process. And on the page, there’s symbolism that makes me look smart.

When I go to rewrite Aeternum, I’ll be showing more of their early relationship, so she actually is useless onscreen for a bit, so the scene has more oomph when surprise, she has talents after all. (Later those talents will prove very important, but I haven’t written that part yet and won’t for a while.)

So yeah. Accidental symbolism. I love doing that shit. 

[mbti-notes]

I'm an INFP living what I could probably define as the worst period of my life. I'm not able to get interested in anything anymore. I spend my mornings doing the things I must do, then lay on a bed and do nothing for the rest of the day. I tried to force myself to act, but it doesn't really change anything - I'm just a robot following a task, with no passion or curiosity whatsoever. I feel nothing but pain and everything around me looks empty. I see all of these enthusiastic people around me and

[con’t: wonder where do they take that interest from. I remember when I used to be like them, but it’s like remembering about someone else’s life. I have no idea how to get back there. I look in the mirror and all I see is a stupid, flawed individual, unable to change, to learn, to socialize, to get better - just useless, really - and the more I force myself to do interesting things, to get inspired, to go out, to enjoy life, the more I feel detached from everything. I don’t know what else to do. My…]

Was there another part to your question because I didn’t receive it? Have you considered the possibility of depression and talking to a therapist? I discuss type and cognitive dysfunction but if your problem is more serious than that, then professional help might be necessary. You describe common symptoms of Si loop disconnection and Te grip judgmentalness, and both have been discussed many times before, search the relevant tags. Si loop and Te grip involve two cognitive mistakes: 1) You’re looking in the wrong direction. You look to a prior version of you and your life and want to go backward, which disconnects you from the present and the future. This produces irrational pessimism because all you can see is how nothing will ever measure up to the glorified and mythologized past. 2) You mistake your subjective Feeling judgments as objective factual judgments. You nitpick and judge everything negatively as though your evaluations are purely objective when they are merely an outcrop of your unhappy feelings. This produces a hypercritical mindset because you’re desperately looking to “correct” everything you perceive as being “wrong” (inferior Te) as opposed to getting back in touch with yourself, who you are, and what you care about (dominant Fi)

Let’s say that I believe your general claim that you can’t care about anything. Then why are you even here asking me about it? Why even bother to lift your fingers to type? Because there is obviously a part of you that not only cares, but cares deeply. Instead of listening to and nurturing the caring part of you (i.e. Fi+Ne), you repeat the “I can’t care” story to yourself over and over and over again. Why? People unconsciously repeat a dysfunctional thought pattern because they get something from it, people unconsciously hold on to pain because it serves their ego. The purpose of Si loop is usually to shield oneself from feeling the pain of hurt or disappointment.

INFPs need auxiliary Ne development in order to look forward to the future and maintain an optimistic outlook on life. It’s no coincidence that irrational pessimism is the consequence of poor auxiliary Ne development. Here’s my guess: You care about life, you care about yourself, you care about the world. You need things, you want things, you dream about things, you hope for things. But, at some point, you came to believe that it’s impossible to get any of the things that you need, want, dream of, or hope for. Thus, you shut yourself down, you told yourself over and over again that you have no desires, no cares, no motivation… and then you are spared the deep pain of disappointment. What you haven’t understood is that, by cutting out the negative emotions, you can’t feel the positive ones either, you can’t feel anything after awhile when you go into denial and shut down your feeling life for the sake of ego defense.

NFs need to live a life that gives them a sense of higher calling or purpose. By confining yourself only to the activities you “must” routinely do (Te), your spirit slowly withers and dies (Fi). By being too afraid to hope and dream (Ne), you disconnect from everything positive in the world (Si loop). Life contains progress and success just as it contains setbacks and failures. The REALISTIC way to live life is to learn from the negative in order to achieve the positive. When you can’t be realistic, then Ne is unhealthily extreme and you believe that nothing is positive as long as there is any hint of the negative, then of course it seems not worth it to ever try, because there will always be something negative to disappoint you or “taint” the purity of your dreams.

People always have a choice in every moment of the day about what kind of attitude to adopt toward the world, and it seems you keep making the wrong choice: Choice #1: Live your life realistically, face up to the negative and learn how to transform it into something positive through proper Ne development. The negative tells you where improvement is necessary. Yes, you feel the pains of failure and disappointment, but you also get to feel the optimism of hope and the joy of your successes. You grow and make progress incrementally. Choice #2: Live your life never allowing yourself to hope and dream because the prospect of pain and disappointment is too scary and you want to distance from it. Convince yourself that you are terrible, the world is terrible, and numb yourself to everything.

But, wait. You chose #2 and you still feel pain and disappointment anyway, much deeper pain than you ever imagined possible. Why? Because there is a part of you that will always wish for something better and it cannot be silenced, it won’t settle down until you actually DO something to make your life better, not just to enjoy empty pursuits but rather to find a higher purpose and calling to care about. Not allowing yourself to hope and dream for more is like cutting off a limb or gouging out your own eyes, i.e., choice #2 (the pain of self-harm) hurts much much more than choice #1 (the pain of hard work) over the long run. Wishing is different from hoping. Wishing is passive and helpless; Hoping is active and initiating. Wishing means wasting your life away criticizing and complaining about how things are impossible; Hoping means envisioning new possibilities and caring enough about yourself to bring them to life.

The trigger of Si loop is different for each individual. Some infps tried and failed too many times in life, some were raised by parents who discouraged positive Ne use, some never learned how to plan and get organized, some got hurt terribly and never got over it, some chose the wrong path under pressure and eventually felt powerless to change course, etc. Resolve whatever unresolved pain that got you stuck in this place. 

To get out of inferior grip, engage your dominant function and develop the auxiliary function as explained in the study guides. Instead of comparing yourself to the past, envision a better you for the future, then make it happen. The energy for self-improvement comes from self-love and the desire to make the most out of your potential. Reflect on who you are, envision who you want to be, what you really need and want out of life, what you hope to achieve in life, how to develop your talents and skills, and how you can contribute something positive to make the world a better place than if you hadn’t existed.