#I lied I am actually doing a really simple short pages of

[grimdarkqueen]

WIP

[dapper-lil-arts]

Any tips for an amateur writer? I've been writing a pmd:eos fic series on ao3 that's been getting praise, but I still feel inexperienced

Yooo pokemon mistery dungeon explorers of sky? Hell yeah best pokemon game to make fanfic of, easily. its an absolute BANGER Ok i got a few pieces of advice for ya, i don't mind sharing! 1 - One of the most important ones for me personaly, is to know and understand yourself and your own style of writing. By what i mean its like; you get an idea for a story, or a concept. But knowing your writing style, your capability to write scenes, and even the characters in question, do you KNOW that you can write this story? Its actually pretty important; Because writing takes up a LOT of time and effort, and if you just start blanking halfway into it, you'll have wasted so much time with a story that you don't exactly know how to do. I personaly have so many ideas, but i only execute on the ones that i am aware i can work on, and would know where to take, even if the idea is small. (For example, i had an idea for writing a fic of rarijack but only when theyre older, after the events of FIM. I started writing immediately because i knew exactly that i could do it; and am already 25 pages in and might finish today, heh) 2 - Write horizontaly, not verticaly. by that i mean; don't start at the beginning and work from there, consider all of your story's structure before you even start, act 1, 2, and 3, and its most pivotal moments. Much like you would sketch a drawing before lining and coloring, its important as hell that you are planning all your setups and payofss in advance, all of the arcs and character progression in tandum and stuff. This applies well to the first advice too! Don't be afraid to make an ugly ass sketch of a story, as long as youre aware that this is indeed a story you can make. Make the skeleton before adding the meat, and only after do you add the makeup. And as you write, more ideas will come to you! 3 - This one is more for my own, personal taste, but never be afraid of writing multigenre! By that like. If you're writing romance, dont be afraid to put action, if you're writing drama, dont be afraid to put a moment of comedy here and there; stories are infinitely more interesting when they're not just one note, not just a single tone! And the readers would absolutely be delighted on having moments of respite or shock, it keeps them on their toes. 4 - This one is hard to execute, and i cant give examples that arent long, but like. None of your scenes and sequences should be just what they are in the surface. Like; A character knows something that the other doesnt, or the audience knows something that neither character knows, or the underlying conflict is constantly clashing silently. A short example i can give is a scene in on of my fics in which a character was being asked about her past, and she spoke ernestly, but every once in a while i'd add a "She lied" after the information she provided; And i didn't need to add anything else, that in itself is enough for the audience to understand and consider why this character is doing what shes doing, and just that simple little thing added an really interesting layer to the simple conversation. Essentialy, there's no reason why a conversation should *just* be a conversation in your stories, and there is no reason why you should have filler for the sake of it. Pacing is important, and you can make every single scene and chapter on your story interesting, nothing stops you but you! The "She lied" thing is specialy important, because you don't have to treat your audience like babies. I didn't explain why she lied, because if any reader was paying attention, they'd understand completely, everything would simply click. A character can sometimes say something, and all you need to do is write the tone of their voice, and the reader can already connect the dots, or even something as simple as describing a facial expression or body language without explaining why it is what it is; It makes your story more engaging! I have a million other advice, but i felt like these were the most important ones i specificaly could provide. Good luck!

[feverdreamjohnny]

Olden Times of Nowhere, MI

It's always funny to refer to something that's only been developed for like, 10 months as "old," but what can you do in the world of the cutting edge? Where everything from a week ago is old hat?

ANYWAY I am insomniac at the moment so I decided I would talk about some fun tidbits that changed after Nowhere MI's conception, since the project's story planning has received many, many pages of lore in the past few months.

THE ORIGINAL GAME:

The original James wasn't going to Nowhere to find his brother. In fact, the "original James" wasn't James at all! It was a voiceless character with no real identity who's sole purpose was as an avatar for the player.

The player would've been driving their car before they get into a wreck (after swerving to dodge a clown), and wake up dazed and confused in the eloquently titled "Hell Town." The locals stole all of your car parts as a prank and you had to go on a journey to retrieve them all in order to leave. To do this, you would simply get a double jump and the ability to grind on floating veins leading to other locations. That was the full extent of the original game's mechanics and story. No brothers, no gun, no dodging, no inventory, no upgrades, no real protagonist. Just simple platforming and silly NPCs. It was heavily inspired by Crypt Worlds after all, and scope-wise it was meant as a short Patreon-exclusive game to remind my supporters why they supported me month after month.

The original location (that would eventually become Nowhere Crossing) was sparse and flat, with strange cubic buildings towering up into the sky, each emitting a distinctly colored "radio bubble" off an antenna at their peak, which was used to help mark where each building would take you. There were no unique characteristics for the buildings outside of that, and there were no locks gating progress, instead the sole thing keeping you from moving forward was whether or not you had the required upgrade to clear whatever platforming challenge lied ahead. I ended up changing this because I wanted the beginning of Nowhere to feel more restrained so you could actually map out the space BEFORE it branches out into a non-linear adventure, instead of being immediately thrown several locations to go and no way to actually explore them until you came back later.

There was also a scrapped hub character named "Doctor Louis" who the player could talk to that was just a kid in a greyscale, heavily-edited luigi halloween costume. The joke was that Doctor Louis gives toddlers steroids and enters them into pitbull arenas. That was it. Anyway it's not hard to see why he was scrapped in favor of "Local (Big Juicy Ass)," a modern classic in character design.

There was also a stronger emphasis on clowns for some reason. This was eventually replaced with monkeys that all had their own specific theme (Building monkey likes the tower! Sexual monkey stands by the weird meat area! Wow! I hate it!), which ultimately led to funnier non-sequitur gags.

Anyhow what was there was really short, and it didn't get far before I got sidetracked to work on a collab project that winter, so the project went dormant for months before I resumed it earlier this year, and began to try and make it worth shipping to Patreon. It was during this revival period a big change came in the form of Concord.

HERE COMES THE GUN, DOO DOO DOO DOO~:

I eventually committed the cadinal sin of adding a gun to a game that didn't need it. Because I was bored. And needed something to spice the game up.

There was no combat planned at this point, instead the gun was an amusement tool that would let the player pick dialog options by shooting them, and if the player felt particularly incensed by a character, they could obliterate them for fun. At this time the upgrade that would eventually be named "Concord" was just a faceless firearm called "Inner Darkness," since I liked the idea that getting the gun turned a fun little adventure in a weird town into some kind of hellish power fantasy where it was up to the player to decide whether or not they would randomly shoot all of the townsfolk on a whim.

Originally NPCs would die permanently when shot to death, and as a result the game was going to be designed such that NPCs had no major connection to progress. This changed when I decided to give the gun a face and a name, and before long, a sweet and pacifistic personality in complete juxtaposition to its intended function. This was the beginning of "Concord the Sentient Revolver," and as such I made it so NPCs respawned after death with a lore reason that made killing inconsequential, that way there'd be no guilt associated with the fun of exploding a monkey into meaty gibs because you were bored.

THE OLD GODS:

Prior to the game's connection to a larger story I had been writing, the earliest incarnation of Nowhere, MI proper had its own world lore involving some kind of god-level cataclysmic event. There was once a figure named "Big Brother" who was responsible for sculpting all of the supernatural lifeforms the player comes across out of a base element called rot (the weird meat part of Slumber District, the little shadow guys, the hell divers, etc. were all big brother's creations). This idea didn't last long before he was retired in favor if the poltergeist/zeitgeist system the game has today, which cites a global reactor detonation as the source of the game's weirder content.

I'll probably have more fun stuff to talk about some other time (like more tidbits from early in the game's development), but for now that's all, folks. It's 7:30 AM, and Johnny needs sleepy.

[hedgehog-moss]

wait can you please explain to me why a french book has more words than an english book? they say the same thing, yeah? why 400 more pages in french version? does it just take more words to speak in french, or is the actual content more…. descriptive in a way that takes more words to understand? i’m not as stupid as it sounds like i am. thank you

That's not a stupid question! You do literally use more words to express an idea in French (generally speaking). Translators call this the expansion / contraction ratio of languages. Translating a text from English to Romance languages like Spanish, French, Italian typically makes it 20-30% longer. Other languages like Chinese or Korean will result in a contraction. Appropriately enough, the French term for "expansion ratio" is "taux de foisonnement" which has an expansion ratio of +33%.

It's a combination of factors:

word length: English uses so many monosyllabic words, unlike languages with mainly Graeco-Latin roots. It can be a headache for translators who translate online stuff because apps designed with English in mind have tiny frames and buttons meant for tiny English words and if you can't modify the layout, your language might just not fit... Same problem when you translate subtitles, or small signs in public places (“Please wait here” is 16 characters in English, vs. you need 15 characters in French just to say ‘please’ / s’il vous plaît...)

rigid syntax: in French you can't use shortcuts like "word length". You've got to say "the length of the word". We don’t have concise adjectival structures like X-friendly, X-based, X-prone, and often need to use an entire clause (“which is prone to...”) to translate them. Articles are mandatory (e.g. you would need to start this sentence with "the articles" rather than "articles"), the possessive form can’t just be a quick apostrophe (not “Mary’s friend” but “the friend of Mary”) etc.

a general preference for simple, active, direct and pared-down writing in English vs. a preference for 'diluted', passive, indirect, embellished phrasings in French. French adores grammatical emphasis / redundancy while English hates it (I saw a translation recently where the English phrasing was “This explains—”; the French one was: “C’est donc ce qui explique”, I.e. “It is therefore that which explains—”) Someone very accurately commented on my last ask “French goes on and on enjoying itself.” English style guides are absolutely obsessed with advising writers to prune their sentences, use straightforward syntax, remove 'unnecessary' words, while this really isn't perceived as evidence of good writing in French. Writing talent rather lies in “savoir manier la langue” / knowing how to wield the French language, and keeping your sentences direct and to the point doesn’t demonstrate your ability to do that...

English prefers connecting ideas implicitly rather than explicitly, which is easy to do with short, straightforward sentences. I was translating a text the other day that was full of logically-linked sentences, e.g. “This is part of a larger problem. We won’t solve it without tackling [other thing].” English doesn’t mind this staccato style but French finds it ugly and much prefers to use one long, flowy sentence, eg “Seeing as it is part of a larger problem, we won’t be able to solve it without—” or “This is part of a larger problem, and consequently it won’t be solved unless—” I remember reading a bilingual edition of a novel in which the original French went “Il s’acquitta du montant puis, après avoir froidement salué, il sortit.” The English translation was “He paid the fee, coldly bowed, and went out.” The French version says “He did X, then, after doing Y, he did Z,” while in English the ‘then’ and ‘after’ are implied by placing actions one after the other (in the first example, the ‘consequently’ is similarly implied.) French likes to add tool-words everywhere in order to keep its more convoluted sentences clear, by making all the logical connectors visible.

So this mixture of etymology, grammatical differences and just plain cultural preferences (which of course stem from the nature of the language) is how you end up with a 700-page book in English becoming a 1000-page book in French...

[you-usuratonkachi]

I still don’t get why El should break up with Mike,she looks happy with him :/

For me the Duffers can’t write,that’s it

I would have agreed on S3, but S4 brought up the issue of Mike being unable to tell her he loves her and how she feels like he's just idolizing her for her powers and by how that whole issue was handled, it feels to me like his respose wasn't satisfactory in the slightest.

Not only was he unable to tell her he loved her as she expressed her doubts and cried in front of him when she was without powers, when he does tell her he loves her it's prompted by someone else, during a moment of emotional stress, quoting someone else, STILL talking about her powers, when she has her powers back. Not to mention, the whole speech is meant to urge her to fight.

That monologue didn't solve the problem AT ALL. If anything, it confirmed her fears.

Which is why, if I was her, I would break up with him. Because he doesn't seem to understand the problem and that alone would make me feel like he doesn't really love me for ME.

Not to mention his monologue paralleled what papa told her before he died. Since her whole character arc is to leave behind everything that trapped her in her life, to finally find herself, by the way they framed the whole situation with Mike, it also feels like she should leave Mike behind too.

I wouldn't be saying this if they handled S4 differently, but right now? They are not very good together.

I mean, Lumax had that super cute, super simple but meaningful scene where Max laughs after a long time and Lucas goes "I missed it. Your laugh" and it's so powerful because you can tell he SEES her, missed her, they aren't even shown half as much but their relationship got such good development.

Can you imagine S4 Mike telling that to El? Not once did he mention a personality trait or soemthing about her that didn't relate to her powers. He romanticized their first meeting (we see that when he says "It's not fate" too) and talked extensively about what she can do. And when it came to actually talk about who she is, he could only say she's a superhero. Which ties in with the whole am i a monster? doubt she had. Except she already solved that issue. She knows she's not a monster, she left the real monster behind when papa died. She didn't need Mike to tell her that, in fact, he had already told her that when they fought the first time. She needed Mike to love her for something OTHER than that.

He didn't.

He didn't mention one single thing that wouldn't make her doubt his feelings.

The issue she had with him at the beginning of the season? Still there. The difference between his arguments during their first fight and his monologue is just that he added "i love you" (prompted).

So yes, if I was El i wouldn't be happy with that. I would only feel like there's no return. He failed her. Romantically.

She's happy with him because she does love him, but the point here is: does that suffice to keep the relationship going? Is their relationship what she wants? And I think at this point it's not. It keeps falling short compared to her expectations. She feels like she has to be someone "cool" to keep him interested (she lied about her situation when she didn't have her powers).

So yeah, I think to fully find herself and her value beside her powers, she should break up with Mike.

I'm not saying Mike is a bad person (well he wasn't good either this season but that's beside the point), I'm saying he has overly romantizised circumstances (based on what he said) and his inferiority complex doesn't help their situation. They bring each other down without really intending to.

And that's not good for her. She's working on herself, but he needs to work on himself too, so right now they are onto two different pages, and that would most naturally lead to a break up to me.

[tricksters-captain]

Benny Watts/The Queens Gambit imagines - From Pawn to Pen Part 4

AN: I’m sorry I missed posting last week. I’m currently going through a hard break up and it’s really taking a lot of energy out of me so I struggle to write at the moment. 

Overall Summary: You’re a young journalist for Chess Review, with a love for chess and a desire for knowledge. One day at a tournament, you come across the famous Benny Watts...

In this chapter: You return to Boston for the week. 

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3)

Pairing(s): Benny Watts x Fem!reader

Word Count: 1,940

Warnings: Some strong language

You smiled as you looked at the copies of ‘Chess Review’ on the racks. 

Your first front page piece for Chess Review. 

They had used one of the pictures of Benny that you had taken at the hotel and you were pretty proud of your photography skills. 

You picked up a copy and took it inside to pay for it. 

On second thought, you picked up two so you could mail one to Angelie. 

You left the store quickly after and started to walk back to your apartment. 

Boston was busier than you had remembered and you finally had some time to sort out the apartment after your article went down well with the big man. 

You opened the door to your apartment and put down your groceries on the kitchen counter top. 

The last tenant hadn’t left the place in too bad a state, just a carpet stain here and there and a broken lamp. 

You had bought some paint to redecorate your living room and bedroom since it seemed too boring after where you lived in Paris. You had spent the last couple days painting and then you finally left to go check out your title page. 

The books that Benny had given you were still on your small two person dining room table where you had left them when you first got back. You looked over at them and furrowed your brow as you thought about whether you are actually going to bother to read them or not. 

Your phone started to ring and your frown disappeared when you realised it was probably Angelie. No one else had your number besides your work. 

“Hello?” You answered it, taking the phone off the wall as you leant beside it. 

“Miss (Y/L/N)?” You’d recognise that voice anywhere after listening to it so much over the last tournament. 

“Benny Watts?” You asked, almost in shock. 

“Have you read those books I leant you yet?” He asked, not even bothering to confirm it was him. 

“It’s been four days.” You told him flatly. 

“You could’ve easily gotten through at least two of them by now.” Benny challenged you which caused you to shake your head (even though he couldn’t see). 

“You know, Benny Watts, I do have a life to live.” You defended yourself to which Benny found amusing. 

“So, you’re back in Boston since you picked up this phone.” Benny changed the subject completely. 

“How did you even get this number?” You asked, genuinely curious and a little worried. 

“You really think Chess Review won’t hand over your telephone number to their favourite US chess player?” 

“You got it from Beth Harmon then?”  You teased the boy to which he responded with a dry laughter. 

“Ha Ha. Very funny.” Benny retorted, “If you’re in Boston, it means you currently aren’t working. Fancy an educational trip to New York City?” 

“Benny, I told you. I’m not coming to New York.” You reminded him about how you declined previously when he asked. 

“Come on, just for the weekend? We’ll play some chess, do some tourist shit and eat some food?” Benny asked, trying his best to persuade you Benny Watts style. 

“I’ve also told you before that I don’t play.” You felt a small bubble of excitement in your stomach as you considered going to New York but you quickly squashed it down. 

“What are you afraid of?” Benny asked. Deja Vu. 

“Why are you pushing this?” You closed your eyes as you let your head roll back to press against the wall. 

“Because I see that same light that’s in Beth Harmon, that’s in every decent chess player when you see a chess board.” Benny confessed to you. 

“I’m sorry, Benny. You’ll just have to find someone else to play with. I don’t want to be apart of this little game.” You hung up the phone with a sad sigh before Benny could respond. 

You found yourself looking at the books again. 

You picked up Benny’s and you opened it...

“I’ve been waiting all day for your call.” You half scolded Angelie as you answered the call. 

You heard Angelie’s laughter through the phone and it made you home sick. 

“Je suis désolé!” Angie apologised. “This new project has me so busy, constantly on set, costume changes, make up changes, redoing scene..!” 

“It sounds awful.”  You chuckled, 

“It is! You wouldn’t understand... You’re just a big time American journalist.” Angelie pouted. “Anyway, how are you?” 

“I’m okay.” You lied. 

“Menteuse!” Angelie called you out. “Tell me the truth. What is bothering you, Mon Cher?” 

“Benny Watts called me today.” You had filled her in on the tournament with him once you had first arrived back in Boston and she had already previously told you off for not taking his offer to New York. 

“He did?!” Angie gasped. 

“Yes, he did. He got my number through work and called me to ask if I had read the books he gave me which I haven’t because it’s been less than a week since. the tournament.” You explained. 

“That boy is in love with you, I am telling you now.” Angie was always the hopeless romantic type. It’s how she has had her heart broke so many times. 

“The boy wants to play chess with me to assert his masculine dominance over me and boost his ego with an easy win.” You argued. 

“You are always so negative about men! You hardly know this one!” Angelie groaned. 

“He’s Benny Watts. That’s all I need to know.” 

“I think you should go to New York and meet with him.” Angelie told you. You hadn’t even informed her about the fact he asked you again. 

“I think I should stay here and enjoy my first weekend off in six months.” You shook your head at the idea. 

“(Y/n), you only live once and how many girls are invited to New York by the Benny Watts?!” 

“Probably quite a lot.” You knew Angie was only trying to hype you up but you couldn’t help but knock her down. 

“Even if that is so. You could probably get another article out of it. Benny Watts and his life in the big apple?” Angie suggested. 

“I’m sure ‘LIFE’ has already done that piece before.” You pushed another idea aside. 

“Trust me, (Y/n). You need to stop being so afraid of the unknown and who knows, maybe you’ll enjoy yourself?” Angelie had had enough of the negativity from you at this point. 

There was a sudden knock at your door. 

“I’m sorry, Angie. Someone’s just knocked on my door, I’ll have to call you back.” You looked over at your front door and wondered who it could be. 

“Ça va. Call me back!” She told you as the knock occurred again. 

“Je t'aime.” You hung the phone back up on the wall and went over to your door. 

You opened it and you felt your face go white at the sight of who stood there. 

“Jesus, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Benny Watts. 

BENNY WATTS.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked him. 

“Well,  you wouldn’t come to me so I came to you.” Benny shrugged. 

“You can’t just stalk someone. This isn’t okay. This isn’t cute!” You were bewildered. 

“This isn’t stalking. It’s simply coming to Boston to visit a friend.” He defended himself as he stood out in the hallway. 

“I wouldn’t call us friends, Benny.” You scoffed. 

“Ouch.” Benny put his hand on his heart. 

You went to close your door on him but Benny stopped you. 

“Wait.” He pleaded. His cocky demeanour suddenly dropped. “Look, I know this is weird but I really wanted to see you.” Benny started to explain. 

“I––” He cut you short. 

“–– This isn’t some game. I just want to help you. I want you to play chess again. I want you to play with me.” Benny stayed with his hand against the door and his foot in the gap as he spoke. 

“This is crazy, Benny.” You told him, your eyes locked on his as you felt your heart race. 

“I know.” Benny stepped back. “I’m staying in the hotel down the block. I’ll be here all weekend. If you don’t want to see me, then don’t. But if you change your mind. I’ll be around.” 

You watched him back away from the door and head back down the stairs. 

Benny fucking Watts. 

You rushed back to the phone and dialled Angelie’s number. 

“Bonjour?” She answered, 

“You’ll never guess who was at the door.” 

You ended up tossing and turning all night. 

You caved in at around 3am and started to read Benny’s book again. 

You finished it by the time the sun was rising. 

You had a cold shower to wake you up at around 9am and then you stared in the mirror as the thoughts racked your brain. 

You walked over to your chess set that rested on the dresser top and you took it over to your bed, opening it up. 

You set up the board and stared at it.  

You picked up the queen. The same queen that Benny had held in the photo you took. 

You caved. 

You dressed and did simple make up before heading to the hotel that Benny had told you he was staying. 

“I’m looking for Mr Benny Watts.” You asked the elderly lady at the front desk. 

“He’s staying in room 306 but I’m almost certain I saw him leave about an hour ago for breakfast.” She informed you. 

You thanked her then sighed. 

You left the hotel lobby and started down the street. There was plenty of places to eat around the hotel, you almost considered just waiting in the lobby for him to return. 

Then you saw it. 

Through a window of a small diner. 

The famous black hat. 

You pushed open the diner door and walked towards the booth where Benny was sat. 

He had his back to you but he didn’t seem surprised to see you when you sat down opposite him.  

“Morning.” He greeted you as he munched on some pancakes. 

“I won’t play chess with you.” You stated. “I won’t play chess with you but I will spend the weekend with you and you can talk about it.”

Benny remained silent as his brown eyes watched you carefully. 

“I finished your book.” You told him. “I'm ready to learn.” 

Benny placed his knife and fork down, picking up the napkin beside his plate to wipe his mouth. 

“Great.” He nodded, interlinking his fingers above his food as he elbows rested on the table.  “Let’s begin.” 

(WHAT HAPPENS NEXT HERE)

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[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

hey so i'm hoping to get some writing advice about creative burnout? like i seem to write in fits and spurts. some months i can churn out a oneshot or chapter everyday and some months i can do one (1) creative thing only. so i'm wondering how to prevent creative burnout and how to just create more smoothly <3 thank you!

Creative Burnout & How To Ward Against It

First, I’d like to preface this all by saying you’re definitely not alone. You probably already know this, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded.

I know from personal experience that creative burnout can leave you feeling hopeless, detached from yourself—the kind of identity crisis no one needs in 2020. 

So buckle in, folks. It’s a dosy.

I. The Symptoms

Not to be the local WebMD page here, but signs of burnout can include:

Procrastination (more than usual)

Dreading writing and feeling stuck or overly perfectionistic when you try

Physical tiredness and/or irritability

Feeling like everything is monotonous

It’s more than just writer’s block. It’s a physical and emotional exhaustion response to something that goes deeper than a simple lack of inspiration. In my experience, and from a bit of research, I’ve found that what your brain is really looking for is dopamine.

Dopamine is essentially your brain’s chemical reward system for doing something interesting or exciting to you. As someone who is diagnosed with ADHD, I have chronically low levels of dopamine, so this is a constant struggle for me—but it is absolutely made worse by creative burnout.

II. The Problem

Studies have shown that the more we do A Thing the less that thing will give us dopamine (unless a component of the activity changes regularly). This is because eventually our brains desensitise to the stimuli provided by the activity, and subsequently, we become disengaged.

But it’s not necessarily The Thing (i.e. writing) that becomes boring. Actually, more than a few factors could be at play here, and the first step to finding a solution is to identify the problem.

1. ENVIRONMENT LACKS EXCITEMENT/CHANGE—

Sometimes, the monotony of everyday life can feed creative burnout. This becomes especially applicable in quarantine when you’re not leaving your house.

What we don’t realise is that even something as small as the variables of driving to and from work, or interacting with passing coworkers, gives us dopamine. So if you have the same routine every day that does not involve any added variables, your brain will begin staunching that dopamine supply.

2. EITHER TOO EASY OR TOO CHALLENGING—

In 1975, Hungarian-American psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, coined the term “flow”, which refers to a heightened state of creativity and concentration on an activity. Csikszentmihalyi posited that if your skill level is equal to the level of challenge in any given activity, you will experience this state of flow.

The chart below is taken from Csikszentmihalyi’s own study on the subject of flow and motivation. It examines “your skill level” on the x axis in relation to the “challenge level” on the y axis.

Essentially:

Too much challenge + not enough skill = anxiety, worry (which might lead to procrastination and perfectionism)

Too much skill + not enough challenge = boredom, apathy (which might lead to monotony, irritability, and other depression-like symptoms)

Skill level = Challenge level = Flow

3. NOT ENOUGH “ACTIVE” STIMULATION—

When it comes to dopamine seeking, there is a distinct difference between active and passive stimulation in the brain.

Active stimulation is any form of activity that you have to actively engage in. For instance; exercising, doing a crossword puzzle, or reading a book. These kinds of activities not only give you dopamine, they also facilitate critical thinking and problem solving thought processes, which act as catalysts for creativity.

Passive stimulation, on the other hand, comes in the form of television, social media, and YouTube. It’s anything you can consume without having to actively engage. Passive stimulation will indeed give your brain dopamine, however, it won’t activate your creativity.

The problem also lies in the speed at which you receive the dopamine from passive activities. Passive stimulation is so easy to access that the more you consume, the harder it becomes to pick up active stimulation. Your brain expects a hit of dopamine just by picking up a phone or turning on the TV—it becomes addicted to the quick fix of a Netflix binge.

III. The Solutions

Based on the problems mentioned above, I am going to list a few solutions. Keeping in mind that not every solution will work for everyone, these can act as both preventative measures and remedies for someone who is currently burned out.

1. CHANGE UP YOUR ENVIRONMENT/ROUTINE—

Aim to do at least one thing per day that will add “variables” to the monotony. This can be as simple as going on a long walk, dressing up in that bold outfit you always wanted to wear to the office but never did, or sitting at a different workspace in your home.

Anything you can do that’s simple, but might provide an extra variable to your day to spice things up. Note: this shouldn’t be the same thing every day.

2. CHALLENGE YOURSELF MORE—

If you find yourself bored by your work, try challenging yourself more. This could mean setting goals for yourself that go a bit beyond what you’ve been doing. 

For example, if you’ve been writing 500 words per day, see if you can beat your own word count every day for the next week. If you’ve been writing mainly fluff pieces, switch it up and do an angst piece. See if you can write a book in a month, or start a blog where you don’t write fiction at all!

Anything you can do to add a little kick to your workload. Note: Beware of challenging yourself too much! This can lead straight back into burnout.

3. CHALLENGE YOURSELF LESS—

If you’re on the flip side of that coin, and find that you are anxious, procrastinating, and perfectionistic when it comes to writing, fret not. Just because you’re experiencing any of these things, doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing the job with your skillset.

It just means your perception of the job needs to be shifted.

Procrastination, at its heart, is a fear of failure, which results in actively avoiding the negative emotions associated with the task that causes this fear. Perfectionism is a type of procrastination that is a combination of a fear of failure and a fear of success (or, more accurately, other’s critiques of your success) all at once.

Neither have anything to do with your actual skillset, but they have everything to do with your perception of your skillset. Obviously, this is a harder thing to fix, as it has to do with deeply ingrained levels of self-esteem.

What I can offer you is a tactic to trick your mind into thinking you’re capable.

If you have a task, big or small, and you are feeling overwhelmed by it (like you might go curl up in bed and scroll Tumblr), immediately break that task up into smaller tasks. Keep breaking up the smaller tasks until you have the smallest possible part of the bigger task without doing nothing.

Then do that smallest possible thing.

If your goal is to write a 2000 word one shot, a small part of that task is writing half of it. An even smaller part of that task is breaking the one shot up into “scenes” and writing one scene. For instance:

Jude wakes up to a sore throat, a runny nose, and a fever.

She tries to go to work, but Cardan, being the mother hen that he is, threatens to never make her another grilled cheese sandwich (her favourite food) ever again if she doesn’t stay home.

Jude agrees begrudgingly, and Cardan sits her down in front of the TV with a bottle of Gatorade. He leaves to go get medicine from the store.

When Cardan comes back, Jude is worse than before. He makes her soup and saltine crackers and spoon feeds her.

She complains the whole time and, in her feverish state, threatens to never buy him another bottle of wine (his favourite food) ever again if he doesn’t let her feed herself.

Each bullet point represents one “scene” of about 200-400 words each. Obviously, there will be more details that you work out as you write. But with these five smaller scenes, your goal is no longer writing the 2000 word one shot. Your goal is writing the first of the five scenes.

If you complete the smallest possible task, you can stop, and you’ll still feel like you’ve accomplished something because you can cross off that task from your list. But chances are, by the time you cross off one task, you may have inspiration enough to keep going.

4. ENGAGE IN ACTIVE STIMULATION—

Since active stimulation has been proven to turn on the creative “tap”, try incorporating more of these activities into your daily routine:

Exercise: As the resident couch potato, I hate to say that exercising is good for creativity, but it is. Even if it’s just going on a short walk, so long as you’re moving.

Reading: Sometimes you have plenty of ideas, but no words to fit those ideas. Fill your well of words by carving out an hour or two each day for reading a good book.

The Creative Process: In the writing world, the creative process is a process of about 20-30 minutes that the writer partakes in every day before they start writing. This process should be creative, but also have nothing to do with writing. You can try colouring in a colouring book, painting, organising a page in your bullet journal. Anything that is creative but does not make you think about everything you have to do that day. Think of it as creative meditation.

Listen to music: Having APD, I personally can’t listen to music while I write. However, studies have shown that if you listen to at least ten songs per day, it will significantly benefit your dopamine levels and overall mood. If you’re like me and prefer to work in silence, maybe stick on a couple songs during your creative process. If you can manage music and writing together, get out those headphones!

5. KEEP A REGULAR SCHEDULE—

I know this is the most cliche point in the book, but it’s valid. This doesn’t mean do the same thing at the same time every day over and over, because ultimately we’re looking to avoid monotony. 

But having pillars of structure to bolster the excitement can definitely work to keep you from slipping into burnout. Going to sleep, waking up, and having your meals at relatively the same time every day are good examples of this. 

Feel free to change up the things you do between breakfast and lunch, but make sure you have those pillars of consistency so your brain knows that a break is on the horizon and doesn’t get tired.

6. PACE YOURSELF—

This is particularly difficult for those of us who are coming out of a creative burnout, but I urge you to pay special attention to this one. If we are suddenly hit by inspiration and the writing is flowing and flowing and flowing, eventually we will hit the point of highest dopamine capacity for writing.

Not putting a check on the flood of inspiration coming out of a creative burnout, I’d argue, is actually a guarantee that many of us will experience burnout all over again. It becomes this vicious cycle in which we are trapped.

While it feels great to write non-stop and receive immediate validation for that work, try to limit yourself to how much you’re writing and how immediately you post your writing (if you plan on posting it).

Whenever I finish a one shot or a chapter of something, I like to allow at least one day for editing before I post. This timeframe is important, because it acts as a buffer of rest between writing marathons. 

You can take however long you need for the editing process, but definitely make sure you have a set amount of time in place. Otherwise, your brain might not have enough time to come down from what is essentially a writing high, and you will always need to reach greater heights in order to achieve that same level of dopamine.

~~~~

Overall, the most important things to take away from all of this are: 

Change up your environment

Keep your brain actively stimulated 

Have pillars of structure between which you can run about chaotically to your heart’s content

PACE YOURSELF!

Hope this helped. Happy writing!

-Em 🖤🗡

Writing Tip Masterlist

Fic Masterlist

Celebrate 2K with me!

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

😡🤬ANGER MANAGEMENT (PART 1)🤬😡

Prompt: Y/N has the life she’s always dreamed of: a good house, a nice car, a fat paycheck, her dream job and some loving friends. Her life feels like a fairytale...but just like every fairytale she’s not safe from the villain, the problem with that? He’s not only an incredibly hot Scotsman but also a fucking pain in the ass!

@drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan

Word count: Long-ish

Pairing: Drew McIntyre x Reader

Warnings: +18 smut, clit stimulation, angst, dirty talking, cursing, name calling,(possible part 2?Idk)

Notes: I think it’s time for me to face my biggest fear: Drew McIntyre! 😂 all jokes aside, I’ve lost count of how many one shots I have written and soon after deleted about this handsome hunk. There are so many good stories of him out there that I’ve always felt like mine were actually horse shit compared to those so I’ve never had the courage to make this Scottish wet dream an official brand of my writing, but I’m looking forward to achieve new accomplishments on my writing in 2021, so here goes nothing folks! Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

“Oh Thank God! Just the woman I wanted to see”

I turned around to meet Becky Lynch, one of the few dear close friends I’ve made while working for the WWE as a massage therapist.

“Hey Becks! What’s up?”

“Y/N I need your help, I was doing some training with the guys when suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder and now I feel like I wanna cry”

“Oh Becky, c’mon let’s go to my office”

Once we got there I mentioned for her to sit on the massage table.

“So tell me exactly what you were doing”

“I was doing some regular weightlifting, then all of a sudden I felt this sharp pain stretch from my elbow to my shoulder”

“Ok, did you warmed up before hand?”

“Yes”

“Did you added the weights in progressively or were you in some sort of competition against Sheamus, Cesaro and McIntyre as to whom could perform a proper weightlifting faster?” I crooked my eyebrow

“Y/N! You know I would never do that” She tried to hide her shame for being caught

“Becky, I know you! I know how competitive you are and how competitive you GET when you train with Sheamus, Cesaro and the Scottish prick.”

“They started ok?! They said I was no match for them, so I had to make them swallow word by word” She said slightly angry

“Calm down” I chuckled “And I presume you won?”

“Of course I won! As if they stood a chance” She scoffed

I touched her shoulder and palmed the back of her upper arm til I reached her elbow

“And your prize for that my darling is” I looked into her eyes “Six muscular knots, probably some small damage to your elbow nerves resulting in a little trip to the physical therapists and shit ton of pain, congratulations! Are you happy now?”

“Oh no!” She whined “Y/N, please don’t send me to the physical therapists, they will eat my ass off and they’re gonna tell Hunter about this. Please Y/N, please tell me you can fix it?” She stared at me with begging eyes

“Becks” I sighed “I can undo the muscular knots but I ain’t no fairy godmother! If you have some sort of nerve damage that’s up to the physical therapists...there’s nothing I can do about that honey”

“Please Y/N give me some of the red magical relief juice you gave to Kofi” She pleads

“Red magical relief juice?” I asked confused

“Yes, Kofi said he had this horrible pain from an injury and you gave him this red magical relief juice that helped him better than any medicine! Please give that to me too!”

I laughed before answering

“Oh Kofi, Kofi... it’s not an juice, it’s a liquid... a toner. A home made medicine I learned with my grandma. Technically I’m not even allowed to use that, but I know it works, better than these crap versions of Vick’s Vapor Rub” I tossed a little small green package in the trash can.

“Can you give that to me?” She asked with her eyes full of hope

“Fine” I said and she smiles widely

“But, you have to promise me that you will stop with these stupid and senseless competitions! They could permanently damage your nerves you know?!”

“Ok I promise”

I took a small plastic bottle from the cabinet and filled up with some small amount of the toner and placed the bottle inside a small paper bag. I also gave her a little bit of my grandma’s famous ointment in a tiny tin can.

“Alright, so here’s what you’re gonna do: once you get to your hotel room, you’ll take a hot shower and before you put your clothes on, you’re gonna rub the toner from your neck to your elbow all over your shoulder and back upper arm” She nods and I proceed “Then right after you’re going to take a small amount of this ointment” I show her the little tin can “And rub it all over your shoulder, back upper arm and elbow. Right afterwards you get dress with a long sleeve shirt and go to bed. Remember that you cannot leave your skin exposed to the cold air of air conditioning, because if you do it will make your pain and damage way worse! Do you hear me?”

“Yes Ma’am”

“If in three to four days you still feel any sort of pain you’re gonna have to go to the physical therapists”

“Ok”

“Becky I’m serious”

“Okay Y/N I got it” She smiles softly

“Good, now please, don’t tell anyone about this” I shook the little bag “And tell Kofi to keep his mouth shut. I know he means well but I could get fired for this”

“My lips are sealed” She pressed her lips in a thin line

“Thank you” I chuckled “Now, go on and take 20 drops of this” I give her some Ibuprofen “And come back in 20 minutes”

“Why?” She asks confused

“Because we still have to undo those knots and it’s not gonna be the fun kind of pain my dear”

“Argh” She groans

One week later

I was finishing tidying up the massage table from the session I just had with Bayley when someone knocked on my office door

“Come on in”

“Hey Y/N” Seth Rollins said in a voice full of pain as he tried to walk towards me

“Seth are you ok? Jesus, you look like somebody just kicked your balls so hard that they went up to your throat! What happened?” I tried to hold back my laugh

“A long story involving Cesaro and Drew. Moral of the story is my back is fucked up, do you think you can help me?”

“Can you lay down here?” I patted the table

“I guess so” He made his way to it excruciatingly slow as I helped him to lay down

“Where’s the pain worst?”

“My lower back” I touched and he gasped in pain

“Do you think you could give me some of that red magical relief juice?” He whispered so only I could hear it.

Of course I wasn’t surprised about him knowing of the “magical relief juice” since he and Becky were together I figured she told him.

“Did Becky told you?”

“Only today, once she saw I was in a tremendous pain...When she was using it I pressed her to tell me who gave it to her but she didn’t wanted to say, she said it was her fairy godmother”

I couldn’t help but smile at Becky’s inside joke and loyalty. I truly love that girl.

“Sure thing Rollins, just please don’t-“

“I won’t tell anyone Y/N don’t worry! Your witchy recipe is safe with me” He chuckled “Ouch fuck, that hurts” He groaned

“Did you bring any jacket on with you?” I laugh

“Yeah Becky told me to”

“Ok, let’s get start it”

Forty minutes and a relaxed thankful Seth Rollins later. I was finishing washing my hands while Seth pulled the zipper of his jacked up. I could feel his eyes on me

“What is it Rollins?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“If the question is if I am a 450 year old witch then my answer is, you will never know” I whisper as I turn to face him with a smirk

He laughs before saying “Well I’m sure you are sweetheart” He winks playfully “But that’s not the question though unfortunately”

“What is it then?”

He looked at me with a sense of caution before asking

“Why do you hate Drew so much?”

“McIntyre? The Scottish prick? The shitty bearded version of Gastón from Beauty and The Beast?” I ask in disbelief

My hatred for Drew McIntyre goes way back to 5 years ago. To make a long story short he has being a pain in my ass every since I started working here. It all resumes to the bad flirting and endless fights. We’ve always fought at least 3 times a week for as long as I can remember. It’s like a weekly ritual for us, and our fights are always petty and ridiculous such as who will get in the elevator first or who will rent the last SUV car.

“Yeah...” He answers slightly embarrassed

“Well that’s simple, he’s an asshole! A smug fucker who thinks he’s the most beautiful man to ever walk the earth and that every woman alive must fall for him in all fours”

“Is there anything else beyond that?” He asks

“No! Of course not!” I lied. As if I could tell him about my deep sexual desire for the Scotsman

“Are you sure? I mean, you must agree with me that he is very beautiful” Seth answers

“I’m not saying he’s not. I have eyes, so trust me, I know he’s hot as fuck and a very handsome man but that doesn’t mean that every woman on this company wants him!” I scoffed

“Does the ‘every woman’ equals Y/N?”

“Why are you asking me this?” I asked aggressively

“Look, there’s no need for you to get all defensive ok? I’m your friend and I’m just asking this as a friend. I’m not coming for you by any means” He says with a soothing voice

“Sorry, it was just my automatic response”

“It’s okay sweetie”

“But Seth...why this question now?”

“Let’s just say that I may or may not have heard some backstage talk and I would like to know this from your own mouth instead of other people’s”

“Backstage talk? About what?” I ask angrily

His eyes widened “You know what? Let’s forget I ever men-“

“No no no Rollins you’ve started this now you will finish it!” Now I was really angry

“Fuck, I should’ve kept my mouth shut” He murmured

“But you didn’t! So spit it out”

“Ok...I’ve heard one of the girls say that the reason why you hate Drew so much is because you kinda have a hidden want for him to fuck you but since he’s ‘not interested’ you get pissed off” He whispered

“I WHAT??? WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT?”

“Y/N please keep your voice down! Somebody is gonna hear you”

“I COULD GIVE TWO FUCKS IF SOMEBODY CAN HEAR ME! Who’ve said that Seth?” I was boiling with rage

“Sweetie, I’m not gonna tell you who’ve said it because I know you will-“

I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and whispered

“If you don’t tell me who’ve said that right now Rollins I swear to God on God in heaven that I will cut your balls off and shove them down your throat!”

He gulped

“Now who’ve said that?”

“Carmella” He whispered and I smiled letting go of his collar “Y/N please don’t do anything stupid!” He said as I removed my coat

“Don’t forget to rub the toner on your back once you’re out of the shower” I patted his shoulder and made my way to the door

“Y/N where are you going? Y/N please whatever you’re thinking about doing it, just don’t ok? She’s not worth it! Y/N PLEASE!”

But his screams were now faint as I make my way down the hallway to find the blond gossiper girl.

I finally find Carmella “talking”, to Sheamus in one of the hallways.

“Oi Y/N, how’s life treating ya lass?” Sheamus smiles widely at me, making his usual greeting. At any other day it would’ve made my afternoon happier to find that amazing Irish man, but not today! I was so furious that I ignored him and went directly to Carmella

“Would you mind telling me why the fuck are you not only minding my business but also spreading rumors about me and McIntyre?”

From where I stood I saw Sheamus visibly gulp

“Hey Y/N, what do ya say about we go to tha catering grab some coffee huh?” He said urgently pleading

“So? I’m waiting for an answer” I said to her fully ignoring what he just said

“Well Y/N, from woman to woman, I think we both can agree that it’s no rumor. It’s quite visible, to not say pathetic, the way you can’t deal with rejection my dear” She batted her lashes

“And what exactly are you implying?”

“The obvious Y/N! That you want Drew in between your legs but he doesn’t! I mean, let’s face it, he’s too much of a man for you anyways! It’s not like you can handle him, because we know you can’t” She measured me from head to toe making me feel very conscious about the difference between her slim toned body and my thick one full of curves.

I know that most of the men’s in this company usually date or even have one night stands with women who were body equivalent to their own - slender and beautifully toned - , but that doesn’t mean that they didn’t saw my own curvy beauty. Hell, I even got some dinner invitations from some of the guys! Cesaro, Baron Corbin, Finn Bálor and even Seth Rollins (before he got with Becky) were some of them.

“I bet that I received more dinner invitations in a week than you in a year” I scoffed

“But not from the man you want the most right darling?” She evilly grins and I see red! Pure rage in it’s rawest form took ahold of me and I jumped towards her neck but a pair of strong arms stopped me from attacking her.

“Wow, easy now lass” He said

HIM! The cause of all this gossiping with my name, I couldn’t get even more angry even if I tried.

“Let me go McIntyre!” I roar

“Uh, enjoy it while it lasts Y/N, it’s as far as you’ll ever get anyways” Carmella chuckles

I tried to wiggle out of his arms “What the fuck did you just said bitch? I’ll feed you your own teeth you fuck-“

I couldn’t finish my sentence thanks to Drew, who lifted me off from the floor and tossed me on his shoulder, taking me to back my office.

“What are you doing? Let me go! I’m gonna punch her stupid rat’s face!”

“No you won’t”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m preventing your ass from getting fired!” He answers

I tried to release myself from him, but who was I fooling? The man is a brick wall, I couldn’t let myself go not even if I tried hard!

Once we got into my office he locked the door, placing himself in front of it and released me.

“Don’t you never, EVER, dare to manhandle me like that again! Do you hear me?” I stare at him with my eyes full of rage

“You know Y/N, all that anger is not good for you...you could have a heart attack” He chuckled

I was so mad, that tears of anger rolled down my cheeks as I cut the small distance between us and begin to punch his torso, arms or whatever I could reach

“I HATE YOU! YOU’RE THE REASON WHY I AM NOW A FUCKING BACKSTAGE GOSSIP SUBJECT! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU’RE SO FULL OF YOURSELF AREN’T YOU HUH? SHITTY ASS GASTÓN!”

I was starting to loose my strength due to my ferocious attack, and I would be damned if I let him see that...

When suddenly everything changed, the air in the room thickened and I saw myself now pressed against the door with my hands forcefully pinned on top of my head.

“Aww, that was sweet princess” He smirks confidently

“What are you doing Drew? Let me go” I murmured

“Oh it’s Drew now huh? Why the sudden change love? What happened with ‘Scottish prick, asshole and Gastón’?” He cackled “What’s wrong princess? Not feeling so confident and in charge anymore are we?” He pouts

“You’re hurting me” I lied

“Nu uh, we both know that, that’s a lie. I know you Y/N, every inch of you so don’t you lie to me now! That’s not what pretty little girls like you do” He reprimanded me

I felt confused and slightly turned on by his whole dominant character. But still I felt the urge to fight back.

“And what do you know about me McIntyre? NOTHING! So don’t YOU dare to pretend that you do! You know nothing about who I am or my needs, so quit the act”

He laughed before saying “And that’s where you’re wrong princess” He towered over me, securing my wrists with one of his hands while the other grabbed my cheeks making my lips pout(like one would with a child) and tilted my head up to meet his blue gaze.

“You see Y/N, we’ve known each other for what? 5 years? I’ve done a lot of observing in those years... I became quite good at reading you” He leaned forward..his beard,lips and mustache brushing against my own lips

“So I know for a fact that what triggered you into fighting Carmella wasn’t what she said...But the fact that what she said is true” He searched my eyes for confirmation and when he found it he smirks in appreciation

A murmured ‘Fuck you’ came out of my lips the best way I could since he had this vicious grip on my cheeks.

“Oh Y/N, Y/N... what am I going to do with you princess?” He asks amused as he release my cheeks “I must say though... I agree with almost everything Carmella said” He vaguely added

Pure humiliation filled me, the thought of him knowing that deep down I had a thing for him which wasn’t reciprocal at all made my stomach turn. I felt the tears of humiliation start to rise to my eyes, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure to see that he had broken me. Instead I reached for the safety of the one thing I knew I could do: fight!

“You let me go right now you fucker or I swear you will regret it!” I said as threatening as I could

“Oh my, won’t you look at that? Kitty has claws huh?” He chuckled lightly

I took advantage of his distraction and yanked my arms as fast as I could out of his grip. The action caught him by surprise, giving me the upper hand to turn around to unlock the door so I could leave. But his surprise didn’t last long as for he saw what I was about to do and pressed me against the door once more, instead now my back was the one facing him so he pressed his semi hard bulge up against my ass with my hands and face now pressed on the wooden door.

“Where do you think you are going princess? We’re not done talking just yet” He whispers in my ear, making my whole body shiver.

“As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me” His lips were glued to my ear “I almost, I said almost, agree with everything that she said..except for one thing”

“If you’re gonna say that-“

“Maybe I’ll have to buy you a ball gag, since you don’t seem to ever know when to shut up...or maybe I should choke you instead,what do you say?”

I gulped loudly

“Or even better, I should fuck your mouth..bury my cock so deep on your throat that you will have no other option but drool all over yourself” He pressed his bulge harder against my ass “, that will make you shut up! I can already imagine how gorgeous you will look with my cock shoved down your throat” He moaned “Would you like that princess? Would you like for me to show you where’s your place? Where you really belong?” He grinds his erection on my ass and the feeling makes me moan softly

“Drew...” I pleaded

“The only thing I don’t agree with Carmella” He continues his previous statement ignoring my plea “Is that I’m too much of a man for you. To be honest I think you’re the only woman in this company who can actually handle me! The only one who will love and beg to be fucked faster and rougher..” His hands let go of my wrists and roam down to cup my breasts roughly, pulling me even closer to his body

“The only one who is the perfect fit for me...who will let me use every single hole as I please” He bites my ear making me gasp for more air.

“Won’t you Y/N? Do you want me to use you like the good little whore that you are?”

My head was buzzing with excitement, I could feel the now very wet pool of desire in between my legs. To think that all of my darkest fantasies with this man were about to come true made me moan a faint ‘Yes’ to him

He grunts at my positive response while one of his big hands unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans so his hand could sink down the fabric to find my very wet core.

“Hmmm I’ve been waiting 5 years for this lass...Fuck, you already feel amazing on my hand I can’t wait to feel this pretty little pussy around my cock” He growls

“Fuck Drew, please” I whisper

“It’s Sir to you, my good little pet” He smirked “Now tell me, do you think I should fuck you right here, right now so that everyone in this company can hear me make you my fuck toy or should we head back to the hotel? What do you say pet?” He asks as his fingers firmly circles my clit making my legs shake

“W- Whatever pleases you Sir” I stuttered

“I see you’re a quick learner huh?” He chuckles amused “I say, let’s show this roster who is the only woman who can properly handle me” He says as he removed his fingers from my core and licked them clean while staring at me. I softly moan to that scene and he smiles deviously before whispering

“Strip now pet and show what a beautiful fuck toy you are for Sir”

To be continued...

Please let me know if you would like to see a part 2 🥺?

[90gemini]

Falling Up 🌇 Steve Rogers x Reader AU

Summary: A meet cute on a morning train between pediatric intern Steve and reader.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: big crowds, just too much fluff ngl

A/N: hope this makes you smile, i really love this AU, might be a part 1 of a whole series:)

Every single morning, as if on cue, approximately two minutes before my train leaves the station near my apartment, I come to the realization that if I do not get into full sprint mode right that second, I will miss my train and then be late to my first class and then have to walk in embarrassed while everyone is already inside and then proceed to feel embarrassed over it the entire day. So, considering the fact that I never seem to make myself leave the house just a few minutes early, for the past three years that I have been going to college, almost every morning I run into the train the last moment before the doors close completely out of breath, and have to subtly work on composing myself much longer than I am comfortable to admit.

Yet today, without even realizing, I got out of my apartment solid seven minutes earlier than usual. My roommate and I were so engaged in our conversation about the events of last nights party so we walked out together still invested in the drama which left me pleasantly surprised with the time I was left to spend before my train leaves after we went our separate ways. The extra time opened a whole lot of opportunities for me, almost made me believe I should wake up earlier every morning and not leave for class at the last possible moment. So, with the 420 extra seconds I got today, I managed to actually dig my earphones out my bag, plug them in and wait for the train with the sounds of my morning playlist filling my mind.

Inside the train, when I wasn’t preoccupied by catching my breath but also, even more importantly, focusing on not making it too obvious I was out of my breath, I became very much aware of my surroundings, noticing everything and everyone around me.

There was a girl sitting down right across from where I was standing, she looked about my age and she held a little baby in her arms, slowly rocking it and I noticed the way she was looking totally spent but the moment her baby made this cute laughing sound, a smile spread on her face completely overshadowing the exhaustion in her eyes. Next to the door was an older woman not so subtly judging everyone who was sitting down and has not offered her to sit and right next to the door was a man sitting down and sleeping like a log. I had the urge to wake him up and ask him when he has to get down or if he has already missed his stop, but in all honesty, it was too early in the morning for me to be considerate like that. While continuing to carelessly look around, my eyes landed on something that opened drawers in my memory I did not even know existed.

It was a book cover. A simple white background featuring a boy with frizzy hair who was flying over a drawn-on city with the words ‘Falling Up’ in the middle. So many moments of my dad reading poems from that book to me before bed when I was a kid came up and instantly forced a smile on my face.

In my head, I started reciting the words to my favorite poem from that book, remembering my dad teaching me how to read with those poems when my eyes fell on the arm holding the book and the man attached to it.

And God, was I thankful for the boosted-up heating in the train this morning because that made him take off his leather jacket and throw it over his arm, leaving only a thin, too tight white shirt to cover his upper body and it worked amazing for me that the shirt wasn’t doing its job well.

I heard the sound of the door opening and saw way too many people try to make their way into the train making it way more crowded which pushed the mystery man to move closer to me. Not as close as I wanted though.

My mind was focused solely on him that at one point I wasn’t even aware what station we were at and have I maybe missed mine, but I found myself not caring at all. The point my eyes landed on his face I was basically addicted. His hair was a gorgeous mess, a bit outgrown but looking so good. And, oh my God, his eyes. I was so upset I am only seeing them under the fluorescent light of the subway because I am positive that it would be an out of body experience seeing them under the sunlight.

At that moment I was sure he was the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on and was already cursing myself because I knew I was too nervous to talk to him and will regret that forever.

His lips would occasionally move into a small, barely noticeable grin while he was reading and every once in a while, his tongue would go over his lips leaving them all full and glistening which led to a whole new set of unholy thoughts entering my brain. And his fingers, the way he flipped over the pages was just so-

‘’May I help you somehow?’’ I was snapped out of my trance by his voice and met his eyes that were looking into mine with the coldest, most unimpressed expression as if he was in front of the most annoying person to ever grace the Earth.

‘’Shit, sorry,’’ I apologized quietly and pulled out one earphone to hear him better because no matter how rude it looks he is going to be right now, his voice was just heavenly. ‘’I zoned out when I saw that book.’’ I pointed to the book in his hand and his eyes followed the direction my finger was showing as if he was surprised I wasn’t staring at him but at the book. I was most definitely staring at him though, but I don’t plan on revealing that. ‘’My dad used to read it to me when I was a kid so just seeing the cover brought back too many memories. Sorry.’’ I said in a soft voice and gave him a forced smile hoping he was not going to talk to me again because I really don’t want to be yelled at by the most attractive man alive at 7.23am on a Tuesday in the subway.

‘’You know this book?’’ his voice broke the short-lived silence between us, making my head snap up to look at him again and I was met with a much softer face adorning an adorable smile. ‘’You must think I’m so weird for reading poetry for children.’’ He let out a small laugh which was, without exaggeration, the greatest sound I have ever heard in my life.

‘’No, I think it’s cute.’’ A sly smirk found its way on my face as I felt my usual confidence come back now that I knew he wasn’t planning on yelling at me.

‘’So, you think I’m cute?’’ The smirk on his lips, on the other hand, was not as subtle as mine was as he turned more towards me, quickly closing the book and focusing his eyes on my face.

‘’I didn’t say one thing about you being cute, I was talking about the book.’’ I lied to keep my cool even though cute truly wasn’t the first word that came to my mind when looking at him. It would be something more in the neighborhood of I-would-drop-on-my-knees-for-you-right-this-momentor whatever.

‘’Okay, so you don’t think I am cute?’’ he leaned closer and licked his lips instantly sending shivers down my spine. This man is too much for me to handle right now.‘’Because I think you are really cute.’’ He whispered loudly enough only for me to hear and moved away a bit to fully appreciate my flustered expression because he obviously was aware of the exact effect he had on me.

‘’Well, I guess you aren’t that bad yourself.’’ The fact that I was not literally falling apart in front of this god cosplaying as a man is still not something I can understand. ‘’And thank you.’’ Saying that my voice got super quiet, and I could see him grin proudly at my reaction.

‘’You are welcome,’’ he didn’t finish that sentence and looked at me asking for my name.

‘’Y/n.’’

‘’Y/n.’’ he repeated and stepped closer to me with an excuse of letting someone else pass and giving them space. ‘’That is a real pretty name.’’ I smiled to say thank you and looked at my feet for a second to get myself together.

I didn’t even run to catch this train yet I’m still out of breath.

‘’I am Steve by the way.’’ He stretched out his free hand in my direction but not for one second broke the eye contact between us. ‘’It’s so nice to meet you, Y/n.’’ God, just to hear him say my name was killing me.

‘’Nice to meet you too, Steve.’’ I connected my hand with his much larger one and was painfully aware of the fact he must have heard the soft sound I made the second my skin first touched his.

‘’So,’’ he continued while slowly pulling his hand from mine. ‘’do you like poetry in general, ‘’he lifted the arm with the book and nodded towards it. ‘’or is it just this one book you like?’’ he asked with so much interest in his voice making me absolutely thrilled he was keeping the conversation going.

‘’I love poetry.’’ I kept my answer short because forming decent sentences was a though job while looking at this man and seeing the way he was looking at me.

‘’What kind?’’ he adjusted in his spot somehow that he was even closer to me, leaving basically no space between us, yet to everyone else it seemed normal because the morning rush in the New York City subway never was famous for the spaciousness.

‘’About love.’’ I said softly and witnessed his expression changing from the cocky, overconfident one he had on, to a completely soft one.

‘’Same here.’’ He replied and as if he can do it on cue, looked even more deeply into my eyes. ‘’I like reading about how people feel things I have never felt, it lets me to feel the emotion without risking being hurt.’’ He confessed to me and I couldn’t believe a guy that has such a hard exterior is ready to share that much emotion after talking to a stranger in a train for only a few minutes. But I was thanking all the gods he was.

‘’That’s much deeper than my reason for loving it.’’ A small smile appeared on his face as he looked at me to continue. ‘’I just like reading about love and watching movies about love and basically everything about love. Makes me feel all warm around the heart.’’ He let out a small laugh reminding me why it’s my new favorite sound. ‘’That must sound so cheesy.’’

‘’I don’t think it’s cheesy. I think like it is really nice to love love.’’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘’It’s cute.’’

‘’So you are calling me cute?’’ I looked at him with a raised eyebrow as he let out a huff once again leaning all into my personal space.

‘’I am. I have once before too.’’ He whispered near my ear and I know he knew just what he was doing to me.

‘’What poets do you like the most?’’ he moved away leaving me upset over not feeling his breath on my neck anymore.

‘’I don’t read a lot in English.’’ I fumbled with the edge of my jacket and lowered my eyes to focus on my boots because his face was way too distracting. ‘’My dad is not from here and I got the gene for loving poetry from him so most of the things I read are in his mother tongue because it’s really the only way to keep myself from forgetting it.‘’ Making a mental note to call my dad tonight because it’s been too long, I suddenly became extremely aware that I am sharing so many personal information about me with a random man I met on the subway. ‘’So yeah, most of the poets I read, never got international fame so you unfortunately didn’t have a chance to hear of them.’’ I felt a dash of electricity go through my body when he put his hand under my chin tilting it up so we can once again face each other.

‘’Don’t hide that gorgeous face doll.’’ Dear Lord, I can’t believe I might actually die on a train because of a hot, poetry reading guy. ‘’I’d love to read some of that poetry you like if it is translated.’’

‘’I don’t know if any of it is translated but you can check, I can write down some of the names for you.’’ I said quickly really happy that he wants to read something I will recommend, still recovering from that ‘gorgeous’ comment.

‘’I don’t have anything you can write it on, we can just-‘’

‘’Oh, I have a piece of paper to write it on to, it’s no problem.’’ I interrupted him while flashing him another smile and started digging through my bag for pen and a paper only to have his hand stop mine making me look at him with confusion written all over my face.

‘’I was thinking something more in the lines of you writing your number in my phone,’’ he took his phone out his pocket and directed it at me. ‘’then I can text you and we can meet up so you can tell me more about those poets and maybe translate some for me on the spot if you want to.’’ The smile was evident on his face when I took the phone out his hand and started writing my number into it.

‘’I would really like that, Steve.’’ I gave him his phone back with a smile a bit too big for the cool persona I was trying to present myself as.

‘’Well, I am really looking forward to it, Y/n.’’ he returned the big smile and focused his eyes on my face once again.

‘’Can I ask you something?’’ I looked at him curiously.

‘’Anything, doll.’’

That nickname is going to kill me.

‘’How come you are reading poetry for children?’’ he left out a chuckle and gazed over the book in his hand.

‘’There are two reasons, actually.’’ He shifted from one leg to another and started talking kind of nervously. ‘’Firstly, this book is something I always come back to for some reason. My grandma bought it for me when I was just a kid and I reread it for too many times, so I always go back to it because it’s safe. Something like playing Friends in the background because there is nothing else to watch but it always makes you feel good, you know?’’ I nodded and he continued. ‘’Second is that currently I am interning at the pediatric wing at the hospital downtown and kids love me reading these poems to them so I always find a few I think they would like the most when I am getting to work in the morning.’’

‘’That is really amazing, Steve.’’ I put my hand on his forearm and looked at him with so much affection in my eyes. ‘’Those kids must feel really special having you read to them, it’s really heartwarming you do that even though you don’t have to.’’

‘’They are going through too much shit, if I can make it any better for them, I will.’’ How pathetic is it that talking about kids with this guy I met literally minutes ago, makes me think about having his kids?

‘’That is really too sweet.’’ I had plans on saying so much more to him, but I heard the automatic voice announce how my station is next. ‘’Shit I have to go; this is my stop.’’

‘’Oh.’’ He said and I swear I could hear some disappointment in his voice. ‘’I guess I will see you again?’’ he asked as if he is not sure if that is going to happen.

‘’You most definitely will see me again.’’ I looked at him fondly again and I don’t even know what force gave me the confidence to do so, but before making my way to the door I got on my tip toes and kissed his cheek.

‘’Bye, Steve. See you soon.’’ I said while walking away from him but still keeping my eyes on his as I saw him put his hand on the place I kissed him with a small smile on his face.

‘’See you soon, Y/n.’’ Was the last thing I heard before exiting the train, completely sure that I won’t be able to focus today in class.

But I don’t mind.

really hope you enjoyed this, any comment on it would truly mean a lot!<3

[interstellarflowers]

Professor Parker Ch. 1| Professor, Peter Parker x Student, Reader

a/n this fic doesn’t follow the marvel cinematic universe but assume that peter has been what he’s been through with the exception that tony lived, and bruce is still bruce, sorry but i just can't deal with endgame hulk/bruce rn emotionally or mentally. im sorry nat is still dead but dw i'll actually treat it with respect unlike endgame like goddamn where was her funeral, am i right? the stages of grief thing they did was interesting though. im sorry i digress, this is set in nyc (because heyo im a new yorka) and the avengers/stark tower is still a thing, peter is fucking traumatized and has turned kind of cold as a result. this fic may contain a smut chapter in the future? not sure yet, where this fic goes depends on the feedback, thanks for reading also sorry im not the proudest of this first chapter so ill probably edit it but promise itll only improve from here just not in the best mental state rn

University life wasn’t exactly everything that you imagined it to be. There was hardly time to do anything that people claimed was good about coming to university. The parties, the epic heartbreaks, and romances, they were just nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was nothing particularly extravagant about your experience thus far. You went to class, studied, and went to your internship. Your internship was probably the most exciting thing about your life at the moment, you were lucky to be accepted into the Stark Industries student internship, the company paid college tuition and only required around twenty hours of lab work a week, you couldn’t complain. Of course, the exciting part of the whole ordeal was the name attached to it, “Stark,” not that you had ever met him, but it was nice to have a unique feature like that in such an impressive student body.

So here you were on the first day of your third year of university. You lived off-campus, about a five-minute walk from the Stark Tower, but a twenty-minute subway ride to your campus. However, having an 882 square foot space to yourself was really nothing you could truly complain about despite the distance. The studio apartment being yet another benefit reaped from Stark Industries. Thank you Tony Stark, the unseen benevolent God in your life.

Typically you would start your mornings off quietly and in no rush, a shower, a cup of coffee, maybe some studying before heading off to your campus, but your phone had other plans for you today. Instead of your alarm going off like it was supposed to, you were woken up by the sound of a particularly loud car horn, and oh how grateful you were for that. As soon as you were jolted awake you shifted to grab your phone and turned it over to see an alarming 8:40am glaring back at you.

Holy shit. You were late.

You scrambled out of bed nearly face planting several times in your hurry to get dressed and only barely ran out the door with everything you needed at 8:47am.

By the time you managed to get to the subway and clamor onto the right train it was already 8:55am. Out of breath and panicking, you considered your options. You could explain after class, you could shoot an email, there were a plethora of things you could do but none of them seemed to justify being late as a third-year to a level 500 class. You had googled all of your professors while registering for classes as was common practice. You couldn’t find a RateMyProfessor on Professor...Parker? You were pretty sure it was Professor Parker, but you do remember seeing on the STEM department page that he was currently a Ph.D. student, so you could only hope that as a fellow student he would be at least a little understanding towards your lateness.

You stood outside of the lecture hall huffing and trying to catch your breath at 9:32am, psyching yourself up, you pushed open the door to the class and attempted to go unnoticed. The class was in a lecture hall despite being only composed of around thirty students, so if you were lucky maybe nobody would even see-

“Ms.(y/l/n), I presume?.” Shit.

“Professor Parker?” Shit.

“You are aware that class starts at 9am, and not 9:30am, would this be correct Ms.(y/l/n)?”

“Yes, Professor, it’s just that I had an emergency.” The lying route. Not exactly the highlight of your academic career.

“I regret to inform you that I only take valid excuses Ms.(y/l/n), please take a seat, and next time, don’t bother disrupting class halfway through the lesson.” Fuck. You mustered a quiet “ok,” and a small nod before escorting yourself to the back of the room, thirty-something eyes following you until you sat down.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the class, it was just too embarrassing, time moved forward but you couldn’t help but be stuck on what had just happened. For the first ten minutes after sitting down you felt like dropping out of the whole class out of sheer fucking humiliation. This was of course before you reminded yourself that this class was a requirement to graduate in your field of study. You quietly bargained with yourself before sighing quietly and settling on the conclusion that Professor Parker was just a dick. A dick who certainly didn’t deserve the satisfaction of you switching out of his class. If he wanted to be like that, you decided, you would simply return the favor.

“I know, Ms.(y/ln), why don’t you tell us DeBroglie’s equation?”

“With pleasure, Professor Parker.” Yeah, you’d return the favor alright.

“Ms.(y/l/n), you stay.” Fuck that. You looked the other way and feigned ignorance as you kept making your way towards the door. About to leave, the door shut on your face.

“What the fuck!” You jumped before turning around and you felt your face heat up.

“Ms.(y/l/n), please refrain from using profanities in my classroom.”

“I’m sorry Professor Parker. I was just startled.”

“Mhm,” he took his glasses off and laid them on his desk, “Just don’t do it in the future Ms.(y/l/n).”

“Of course. My name is (y/n), by the way, Professor Parker, you can just call me that, actually, I prefer that people refer to me by (y/n).”

“Rest assured, I’m aware of your name, Ms.(y/l/n). My name is Peter, but you can continue to call me Professor Parker.” You could have sworn that you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knew what he was fucking doing, asshole. You held back from rolling your eyes into the back of your head.

“Of course, Professor Parker.”

“As you know, Ms.(y/l/n), I did request that you stay after class.”

“Oh? I sincerely apologize Professor Parker, I really didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sure, Ms.(y/l/n).” Fucking. Dick.

“Well, what exactly did you want Professor Parker? I do have another class soon.” Professor Parker narrowed his eyes at you in obvious distaste before reaching behind himself into a bin underneath his desk and pulling out a stack of papers,

“These are the handouts you missed from the beginning of the class. Textbook requirements, syllabus...Crucial information to have if you care to succeed in my class Ms.(y/l/n).” So coldly, so maliciously, Professor Parker placed the stack into your arms.

“I take my work very seriously, Ms.(y/l/n), I do my part as your professor so I only have the simple request that my students do the same.” You nodded feeling your face heat up again.

“Of course, Professor Parker, it won’t happen again,” you said with a tightlipped smile.

“Mhm,” Professor Parker turned around and began shuffling around some paper and without giving you a second glance said, “You are dismissed.” You nodded and hurriedly made your way out of his classroom. Of course, you had lied. You didn’t have another class until late in the afternoon. So you called your coworker instead,

“Hey, Harvey.”

“(y/n).”

“Wow, okay, don’t get too excited.”

“Sorry, just woke up.”

“Tsk, the early bird gets the worm, Harvey.”

“I don’t want a worm.”

“Fuck you. I’m headed to the lab, can I expect you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You had been working with Harvey for around four years now, he was quite the impressive specimen, having attended MIT and graduating Summa Cum Laude at age 20 was no easy feat, he was closer to Tony Stark than you would ever get, he was quite personable, and you couldn’t deny that he was quite good looking. You’d never tell him that though, he didn’t need another ego boost. Besides, you had some connections of your own.

“Hey, (y/n).”

“Banner!”

“Can we expect Harvey today?”

“Honestly, not sure.” You both knowingly smiled at each other before you made your way over to what he was working on,

“Do you ever get bored here?”

“With you and the other idiot always running around? How could I?” You laughed,

“No, seriously, like wouldn’t you rather be doing nerd shit with Tony or something? Isn’t it a little tiresome babysitting us?”

“Tiring? Maybe sometimes, but not nearly as tiring as doing ‘nerd shit’ with Tony. He’s exhausting,” Bruce smiled at his own joke, “I don’t mind playing babysitter at all kid.” He fiddled with the handle of a mug that read, “Don’t be so Na Cl,” which you had gotten him a year back as a joke, but he still used it.

You really loved Bruce for all he was. Since losing your family back in 2012 during the battle in NYC, you didn’t really have any familial figures. But since landing this internship you found yourself with a parental figure again, and you would never be able to put into words how much it meant to you, so you didn’t. Besides, you didn’t want him to feel pressured about it, especially after everything he had been through himself. Frying half your body and losing the love of your life in such a short span of time was really nothing less than horrifying. Yet, here he was, smiling, laughing...You loved him for it.

“First day of junior year? How was that?”

“Shit.”

“Huh?” Bruce stopped tinkering with the device in his hands and looked over at you, “I’ve never heard of a course being too hard for (y/n) (y/l/n), what is it? Aerospace? Quantum?”

“No, just one giant dick.”

“Pardon-”

“My professor, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“Ah, I see. If he’s really harassing you (y/n), I don’t mean to overstep, I really think we should alert administration, what’s his name?” Bruce took a sip of his coffee.

“Professor Parker,” Bruce choked on his coffee, “Oh my God, Bruce, are you okay?”

“Yeah-” he said, still coughing, “Just a little too strong.”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce caught his breath, “What did he do kid?”

“He’s just a dick that’s all.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do something about it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I don’t know what you could do anyways. Thank you though.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised.”

Sitting at your desk stressing over school work at 3am, it was nothing out of the ordinary for you. Everything appeared ordinary. The ordinary cup of tea, the familiar glow of your computer, and a morning chill creeping through your window. It was all so breathtakingly normal until there was a rap on your window. You took an earbud out of your ear, certain you were just hearing things, you looked to your window. Holy shit.

You opened your window wide so that he could crawl in.

“(y/n)?”

“Mr.Spiderman.” Still too in shock to fully process the situation you started to take in the scene in front of you,

“Please, it’s just Spiderman.”

“Oh-Oh my God, what happened?” Head to toe the suit seemed to have blood seeping through, tears in the body of the suit revealed gashes and a bullet wound.

“Bad guys. I know this guy-said he knew a medical student close by, you are (y/n)? Right?”

“Y-Yeah, but I’m really just a student, I’m not really a prof-”

“This guy, he said you might as well be.”

“I don’t know Mr.Spiderman, really, maybe I could take you to the hospital though.”

“-Spiderman, it’s just Spiderman, listen, (y/n), you know I can’t go to a hospital, it would ruin this whole secret identity thing I got going on here, and this guy, he’s probably the smartest guy I know, so if he says you can handle it, you can.” You swallowed and nodded,

“Yeah-” you wring your hands together, “Yeah-Sorry, let me go get my first aid kit.”

[viviae]

The Red Plague: An Analysis

Ok, I’m to preface this that I am not at ALL a student of medicine or science I am just a humble blogger who really likes diseases, literary analysis, and the science behind death. This will also be a STUPIDLY long post so I am letting you all live by putting it behind a readmore this time

This goes without saying but there is a content warning to this. I’m talking about death, stages of decay, rotting, corpses, vomit, and other gross medical stuff. There will be NO images however. I subjected myself to viewing those images and I will not condemn you all to view them. 

I’m going to start this off making sure everyone is on the same page and post an image from the art book about the Red Plague itself

So let’s start with the canonical facts about the plague first

Average life expectancy was 3-7 days once symptoms show, Averages are also liars which means it could’ve taken a little bit more than 7 days or under 3 days to die. 

Spread by the plague beetles, exact method of transfer is unknown but Julian was force fed one and contracted the plague however they are safe to keep in containment.

Plague beetles also infected nonhuman objects like the water supply which is shown as a thick ichor. This ichor no longer possesses infectious properties at the time of the story

Julian believed that it had to do with a corruption in the blood hence the usage of leeches 

The Lazarus started as a containment center before becoming a crematorium, meaning people believed that it was spread from contact or things like that

HOWEVER This is not the first appearance of the plague as it would show up at locations Lucio stayed for too long but no note if it spread from these locations. 

It’s not a disease, its a curse.

So, this is one nasty plague on our hands. Most diseases that are this lethal would never be able to spread as much as it did unless it could spread from corpse contact or through other means like a carrier. I think that it could be spread through a combination of both which would add an additional need for cremation. 

Corpse Disposal & Spreading

Historically during plagues you would simply toss bodies into mass graves or ‘plague pits’. This would be, substantially, easier than what they do in Vesuvia. Cremation is not an easy process and is an art form. The heat needed for a cremation alone is incredibly hot and needs special methods to be contained. Not to mention the tedious cleaning process to make sure ashes don’t damage the heat element. So you are telling me that Vesuvia... went through the process of rowing away their dead to the middle of a lake to do mass cremations because it was the easiest? Yes they would’ve run out of grave space a while ago but no one is saying they can’t go make a plague pit out in the woods for half the work.

Now granted, I understand the imagery of making Asra wade through bodies of rotting corpses to find the apprentice’s bloated corpse is uh,,, graphic. Or making us stumble upon an open plague pit of bones in the woods with you LI is not what most people call romantic. (you’re welcome for that image) So they could’ve just made mass cremations on a separate island for tone reasons but that’s BORING.

Not a lot of diseases are actually capable of surviving in dead body simply because when we die our bodies lose the necessary high heats for them to multiply and survive. But this isn’t a disease in a traditional sense, its a curse to Lucio. And this is Lucio we are talking about, some one who is famously afraid of death and dying, which was grafted by a demon of pestilence who is obsessed with worms (cough maggot symbolism and death by disease cough). So I propose that the plague is spread in addition to plague beetles but by dead bodies themselves. This would put additional pressure on proper corpse disposal and the need for cremation. This fact would also explain why plague doctors were present at the boats leading to the Lazarus instead of simple plague carters (rowers?) as doctors would probably have to keep a closer eye on proper disposal of bodies.

As for how I think the beetles themselves spread the plague, I think it’s probably in a similar way as to how Lyme Disease is spread. I can’t name any disease that is spread by beetles themselves off the top of my head but ticks are pretty similar to beetles (I am not an entomologist). Lyme disease is spread by infected ticks biting into the hosts skin and regurgitating its stomach contents that includes the bacterium for the disease. 

This would explain why Julian got the plague pretty awful real quick. He consumed all of the plague beetle’s contents and Lucio didn’t have to try and force a beetle to bite Julian, which would’ve given Julian time to fight back. This is also working with the fact Lucio got bit by a plague beetle when running from Morga in his tale. He most likely contracted the plague, or perhaps he contracted the curse then and later on got re bit, in that bite. This would also explain the ichor that infects the water in the south end. Beetles are significantly larger than ticks, and so they might have a need to empty their stomach contents more and its more waste produced. 

Symptoms and Inspirations

The Red Plague is obviously, influenced by the Bubonic Plague in terms of symptoms and Tuberculous in treatment. I will list some of the common symptoms of Black Plague and signs and be comparing these to the Red Plague. I cannot stress enough that I do not have any knowledge in medicine but I don’t think the dev’s are all doctors so we are on even ground.

There are generally speaking three types of plagues; Bubonic (Most common type of The Black Plague and mainly targets your lymphatic system), Pneumonic (When the Plague enters and infects the lungs), and Septicemic (When the plague enters the blood stream, either form can lead to Septicemic)

Bolded Symptoms are what are obvious symptoms the Red Plague has taken from these three variations of plague. Italic is Lucio specific. 

High Fevers

Chills

Headache

Muscle Pain

Weakness

Seizures

Swollen black lymph nodes known as Buboes (Bubonic)

Internal Bleeding (Septicemic)

Gangrene (Septicemic)

Shock (Septicemic)

Vomiting Blood (Bubonic & Septicemic)

Coughing Blood & Mucus (Pneumonic)

Shortness of breath (Pneumonic) 

The Red Eyes

By far the most obvious symptom of the plague and its trademark. Consider this the equivalent of Buboes to the black plague. This is the first obvious symptom that marks you for dead and probably one of the first symptoms to show after a possible resting phase. 

Apparently it takes each eye individually as seen with Julian or it may not take both? The stage we see Julian in isn’t the clearest but I’m assuming he was rather early on with a pretty serious case. 

It’s also a debate of what exactly is going on with the red stringy bits under neath the eyes. For the sprite models it appears to be veins under the eyes that have been aggravated. While in the concept art above it has a more liquid and viscous look which is probably blood. And in Julian’s CG of him dying of the plague he has no marks around his eyes. So I’m saying its a fun combo of all of the above.

Essentially I think that the plague is causing the blood vessels in the eyes to pop and do serious damage. There can also be a foreign growth to occur behind the eyes or just magical nonsense, doing additional damage to the veins surrounding the eyes and cause bleeding from putting stress on the veins. 

The Arms and Lower Extremities

Ok, remember how I talked about Lucio’s fear of death and how its incredibly likely that the plague is manipulating his fear? In death there are various stages of decay, and different functions occur at each stage. And one of these functions is Livor Mortis. 

Livor Mortis is when your blood cells rupture out of your veins and die. These dead blood cells sink down to your body based off of gravity where they settle. This is seen as a purple color on the skin based on gravity, normally the back. This can be disrupted by any disruption to the body, but depending on time you are likely to receive lighter marks based on its previous position. 

What I think is going on all over the body is veins are rupturing and the body is going through an extreme form of living Livor Mortis. Just that it’s in red and not purple because this is the “Red Plague” and not the purple plague. And due to the patients still being alive when Livor Mortis is occurring it simply pools into the extremities instead of one specific location, with the fingers and bottom of the foot being the most severe. To add to the veins popping suddenly the subtle bruising through origin points to where the red vein-y look begins remind me of my own experience of having four veins burst in my arm. 

Julian had reason to believe he could use leeches to treat the plague and in typical plague doctor fashion of “They were right but not exactly” he was on the right track! Using leeches to drink the settled and dead blood would be beneficial to the patient. As likely leaving these areas to accumulate dead blood would put it at serious risk of rot, since maggots first grow on open wounds and areas affected by Livor Mortis. 

Julian might not have been curing the plague but what he was probably doing is preventing a lot of people from developing gangrene and needing amputations. A beneficial skill for a previous combat medic to utilize and what might have drawn additional attention to him. Julian’s uses of leeches could also explain why Lucio does not have any of these red marks since Julian is his personal doctor and Lucio would spare no expense for his treatment. 

Lucio’s Unique Symptoms 

Portia’s route mentions that due to Lucio’s longer surviving time he developed unique symptoms. We don’t know much details about this besides he was extra miserable and was confined to his bedroom most the time. From my provided list above I think that generally speaking the Red Plague is a combination of Bubonic + Septicemic plagues.

However, Pnuemonic plagues were considered especially deadly, but rarer. Lucio is described as having a cough when he has the plague and generally a wheezy voice. It wouldn’t be odd to think the plague had spread into his lungs due to the increase longevity he had. 

There is a dramatic irony in Lucio losing his lungs to sickness as well. Morga tells us about how when Lucio was very young he almost drowned and that instilled a fear of death in him at a young age. He’s also a man with a lot of stamina who can run in the freezing cold carrying a fully grown apprentice on his shoulder or run away from Morga who also possesses a lot of energy. Lucio has trained his lungs to be stronger more so than the average person, and now with his downfall he loses them. 

It goes along with his general want of having a new body as well. You can rebuild muscle mass although hard, but recovering from illnesses that target your lungs? You’ll almost never get back to the same degree you previously were. 

The imagery of the dead is also present in the animal itself used to spread the plague. Although the beetle comes from Lucio’s tribe, beetles play a role in decomposition. Beetles like to come after the body has been nearly completely rotten, after the maggots and wasps consume most of the dead flesh beetles come in and eat the scraps. Beetles are also used in skeletonizing items, one example I think of off my head is a man who had his amputated foot skeletonized by beetles for keeping.  So these beetles are coming in and spreading a plague that forces the body to go through stages of decay while living, for their own food. Just like Lucio’s tribe came in and slaughtered other tribes for their own need to eat.

The plague was handcrafted to torture Lucio for his inability to finish his end of the deal. That’s why it uses imagery of dead bodies, it steals Lucio’s lungs from him, and why even the dead can cause severe damage. 

Of course this is all my own theory and analysis of the plague but thank you for reading all of this. 

[bvccy]

Tenderness and Ferocity | 5. The Fourth Day

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Reader Fic Synopsis: The Winter Soldier is starting to make stupid mistakes in the field, which is Bucky's way of trying to wrest back control and sabotage his handlers. Hydra brings a new doctor to figure out what's wrong with him and fix it. As she spends time with him, she becomes fond of the Winter Soldier, and he becomes fond of her. Bucky has other ideas. Or, a fic in which the Winter Soldier is the good guy and Bucky is actually the bad guy. Warnings for this chapter: Angst, Smut, and Dubcon (our boy receiving) Word count: 4171 Read on AO3: [link] [Previous Chapter] [Fic Masterlist] [Next Chapter]

"Man only plays when in the full meaning of the word he is a man, and he is only completely a man when he plays."

— Friedrich Schiller

He stepped in the room the next day and she was waiting for him, as always, sitting down quietly. There were no machines on the table, only some papers… and a plate of plums. She smiled at him as he came in, and saw him smiling back this time.

"Come in. Close the door. We won't share any with them." she jokingly whispered referring to the guardsmen outside. He obeyed and went to take his seat.

"How are you today? Are you well?"

The Soldier nodded without thinking.

"Help yourself to them, by the way." she said, pointing to the plate. The GSR had shown her how much he liked them. "They're not easy to come by around here, better make the most of it."

Now that he had permission, he took a slice and relished the feeling of actually enjoying something he ate. It was a new experience with, yet, an old familiar reaction.

"Today's session is going to be as short or as long as you want it to be. I just want you to do one thing: write on this paper ten sentences…" and she slipped before him a page and a pen, his attention still on the plums, "beginning with the words 'I am'."

His eyes snapped up to her. Seeing that she was serious with her simple but impossible request, he grabbed the pen and stared at the page. He immediately felt like a dumb ox; what was he supposed to write?

"I won't watch, if you want. I'll just stand over there, and you can call me over when you're ready. Alright?" She was smiling and being friendly, but that didn't stop him from feeling tricked somehow. It was, oddly enough, a familiar feeling — that of a schoolboy caught unprepared for a test.

She stood up and went to stand by the door, leaning against the wall while she looked outside through the slot that let in the light from the hallway.

'I am' — what, exactly?

The first thing that came to his mind, of course, was that he was a soldier. He was a man too, but both options felt stupid somehow, vapid. He was also alive, but was that the sort of thing she expected? Was it that simple? Was it a trick?

He barely touched pen to page before lifting it again, dissatisfied and angry. After a few minutes, hearing him grunt and shuffle, her attention went back to him.

"Done already?" She knew he wasn't but walked back anyway, and pretended not to notice how he tried to sink his bulk in the bare wooden chair and hide behind the empty air. "Really, nothing at all?" she asked as she stopped beside him. "Surely you can think of something…" She sounded more teasing than frustrated in her chastisement, but he still avoided her eyes. He heard her sit back down and felt her amused stare burn into his cheek.

"Well, what are you?" she started, pretending to think. "You are a man, right?"

He nodded.

"And — You can write any kind of sentence, such as… You are in a room, yes?"

Nod.

"And you're such and such feet tall. You're sitting down. You are awake. You are dressed. You are writing. You are thinking. You are young… or, are you old? What do you think?"

He finally looked back up at her, in innocent confusion.

"We don't have to decide on that, then. How about… Are you happy?" she tried.

He still hadn't written anything, and seemed even more uncomfortable with himself.

"Too much, I guess…" She got up to walk closer and rested her thighs against the table's edge. "Well, you're healthy. Right?"

Nod.

"And strong. And handsome…"

He looked up slowly at that and found her looking down at him, gently but with focus.

"Did you know that you're handsome?"

"That's eleven sentences."

"Oh… Is it?"

She hesitated for a couple of heartbeats, thinking, then decided. What would a man do?

Slowly, she slipped her knees between his spread thighs, gripped the back of his chair with her hands, and leaned ever-so-slightly in. To the side of her, she heard the pen clatter on the table as it slid from his limp fingers and he leaned back. Away from her? Oh. No matter.

Her right hand, hot and soft, came down to caress the side of his face, and she bit her lip tightly to keep a too-excited smile from breaking out. His eyes looked straight up into hers and his lips parted on their own when she tilted her head on the way to kissing him, but with an involuntary impulse he leaned back further against the chair.

"I can't." he said — half-chocked, half-conviction.

"It's alright, I… I won't…" she started, taken aback by how definitive his rejection was.

"It's not that. I can't…"

"What do you mean 'you can't'?"

"I can't touch you."

She finally leaned away from him, if only a little. "…Who said that?"

His fists clenched impotently, one on his knee the other still on the table, and finally he admitted: "The Director."

She backed up further to look at him and think about what that meant. In the back of her mind, she was relieved that his rejection didn't actually come from any revulsion to her, but only to disobeying orders. "Why would the Director tell you not to touch me?"

He was sat down quietly as ever, but never had a man looked more desperate to run away.

"Soldier." she called a bit more firmly. "Why would the Director say that?"

"He c— saw me…" he confessed.

She let him simmer in his guilt while she considered the implications, which were altogether too delicious and threatened to run away with her. Keeping her voice calm, she dug further. "What did he see you do?"

The Soldier only huffed and swallowed his words, bracing his feet against the floor, looking down to the ground, fighting with himself like a half-domesticated beast. When he didn't answer quickly enough, she dipped down, perching on her high heels, and leaned with her hands against his knees to look up searchingly into his eyes.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to" That's a lie. "but you know I'm not like him. I won't get angry with you, or disgusted…" and she watched his face carefully for the twitch of the muscles that predictably came at the corner of his mouth. There was an admission there, but also curiosity. "You can say anything." she soothed, rubbing his knee comfortingly. "How bad can it be…?"

Very.

"Come on, tell me… What happened?"

Thread by tenuous thread, he allowed her to unravel that which held his chest in a tight grip. "I was dreaming. About you."

She looked at him in a sly, satisfied way, having finally caught him in the lie she'd long since suspected; but now she didn't have the heart to reproach him. The fact that he had dreamed of her only added a personal satisfaction on top of the professional one. He's recovering more quickly than he let on. Not only dreams, but lies too.

"And what were you doing in your dream?"

He shifted and, instead of counting the cracks in the concrete, moved his attention to his left, to a dark corner, ever further from her eyes. She knew what it was, otherwise she wouldn't have asked, and he partly hated her for it. For how close she was when she asked him that. For how she rubbed his knee in a way that made him throb.

"It wasn't… I wasn't myself in my dream."

"How do you mean?"

"I wasn't there at all, like I didn't exist. There was this other this man, he didn't look like me, or sound like me, or think like me — I don't know how I know what he thought. I guess I was him, but I wasn't."

"I see... And how did the Director find out what you were dreaming about?"

A certain part of him wanted to kick her off him and choke her and break her neck for making him feel that way, for making him a coward in front of her — her of all people. But another part, more in control and much more encompassing, knew he couldn't stand to see her so much as afraid. It was a strange feeling, to want to kill someone — to want it, not just be ordered to — but also want to protect her from anything and everything in the world and see her alive and happy and just see her, every day.

So he took a deep breath and willed his eyes back to hers, waiting wishfully before and beneath him, and sucked in one good long look to work up the nerve to barely admit: "He saw me… How I was… because of you." The Soldier shifted, wanting her hot little hands off his knees but she held on and pressed forward.

"How could he see you?"

"Through the cameras. He came in soon after." He remembered clearly the supercilious sneer, the lazy gait, the direct command, and his own shame and fear and anger. "Ordered me not to touch you, not to tell you about my dreams."

"When was this?"

"The… the first morning." and he didn't need to explain which day or how many ago.

"Was it a nice dream, at least?" she dared to ask.

"Not exactly."

That knocked a bit of her glee off, until she noticed the leer of longing in his eyes.

Without giving herself the chance for one more treasonous thought, she raised herself back up. To the Soldier's surprise, her hands went straight to his belt and started tugging, unclasping, clumsily pulling it out like a dead snake.

"What—"

"The Director might have said you can't touch, but he never said anything like that to me. Arms behind your back."

He had enough wherewithal to realise what she was asking for wasn't exactly respecting the spirit of the order, but he also had enough sense to not argue. So the Soldier put his arms back behind the seat, and allowed her to tie his wrists together with the thick black belt — a useless effort as he could probably break it off if he tried.

After she finished a few thorough loops and knots, her hand lingered on him, then up his metal arm, his shoulder, his neck, threading through his tousled hair before finally cupping his cheek in a touch so small and warm and timid as to be completely unfamiliar. And he saw in her eyes the same surprise he felt, as if discovering a new world that could only bridged through another.

She turned and sat sideways across his lap, her other hand holding onto the back of the chair, her feet dangling a few inches off the ground. He brought his knees in a bit closer to make a comfier seat — he could hardly feel the weight of her, but at the same time that delicious little pressure was all his body knew.

She took her time settling in, working up the courage, thinking, fearing… and he felt ready to just break out of the belt-binds and pull her closer and crush her against him, but she finally got the nerve, and leaned in, and with her eyes never leaving his placed one chaste kiss against his mouth.

The Soldier stayed still, suspended in tension against the chair, against her hopeful gaze, against the welcoming scent of her cheek — and inwardly, worst of all, felt a forgotten part of himself brace for impact like an anchor sinking fathom after slick fathom in soft ink.

She closed her eyes when she went to savour his lower lip, then his scruffy chin, the sunken cheek, the hard outline of his cheekbone… He opened his mouth hungrily and leaned in to chase after her but she kept her kisses punishingly pure — as if he was nothing better than a love letter or a child's bruised knee or a venerable family cat.

When her kisses reached his throat he could — finally — bury his face in her hair at least, and breathe her in to burn from inside his lungs out through his whole body, and stay there forever. She must have found that flesh particularly satisfying; she parted her lips and opened her mouth and bit, just gently, across his skin, then lapped over the damp muscle that arched in tension there and thrummed with his moans.

Slowly, she allowed herself to feel him, strength leaving her arms as more of her soft chest leaned into his, rubbing the black t-shirt against his feverish skin and his heart nearly leapt out to join hers. He could feel her cant her hips on his thighs as her wet kisses moved from one rough jaw, to the other, then down his neck where wet heat pooled, lapping, lapping against his muted groans.

She leaned back to look at him, blushing and dizzy, and offered up her mouth with a teasing smile. He dipped to take it, but she just pulled back — once, twice, then a terrible third. "I thought you weren't supposed to touch me." she cooed against his starving lips. "Naughty, naughty boy."

An uncharacteristically pitiful sound ground past his teeth as she got off his lap and balanced herself between his eagerly widening thighs. He didn't even have time to shift in his pulsing discomfort before she crouched back down, legs held primly tight in her skirt, and started shoving his t-shirt up.

By this point, he didn't dare think about what she wanted from him anymore, so he decided not to think at all and let his head lean drunkenly back.

She could only roll it up so much before his thick bound arms stopped it, but it gave her enough to admire under the dismal light. He could feel the trembling in her fingers as she traced his chest, his ribs, his tensing abdomen, and suddenly his legs were bracing against the floor again.

Her elbows rested on his thighs as her fingers caressed their way downward until they reached, just gently tip-teasing, the edge of his trousers, but didn't pull them down nor move closer to where he was aching. Her lips left kisses on his damp stomach, what was left of her lipstick smudging blood-red wherever she found a particularly admirable divot to sink into. She didn't even bother to look up at him, nor did she lavish his body with any particular aim — she seemed content to just kiss what she found for kissing's-sake, healing one imaginary wound at a time with the complete abandon of someone who found life worth living only in a singular beloved.

Those ticklish explorations and her torturous hands were scraping at the edge of his restraint and soon he could barely keep himself from pulling at the knots around his wrists — tensing before remembering to sit still, then pulling again, one arm trembling the other changing calibration with a mind of its own. The chair too was scraping against the naked concrete in his longing to get away, to get closer, to get more of her, and the sound could barely cover the traitorous echoing of his moans.

His hips tried in vain to reach, at least a little bit, any part of her body, thrusting up into the infinite indifferent air between them, but all he managed was to rub himself again his tightening pants, and even that was just about enough, but not nearly.

"I need…" He couldn't finish begging because he didn't know how, wasn't supposed to know how, but it still seeped through every sound he made.

With her mouth still suckling on a shapely curve of muscle at his waist, she looked up, and her little claws sunk into his thighs at the sight of him: heaving, dishevelled, completely at her mercy. Those large grey eyes, now glassy and pleading, searched her face from behind the tendrils of his hair that fell to frame the marble-pale angles of his face — that face which used to be so stoic, so frightfully empty, now chipped away by a patter of kisses to reveal underneath a peachy-soft and blushing boy, who was forced to grow too fast.

She raised herself off him, suddenly abashed and pitying, and his heart stuttered with the panic that she was leaving… but she stayed right there. Within the bulky frame of his legs, she balanced herself on one high heel and kneeled with the other on the small space left on the chair between them. Her hands caressed his heavy head, brushed his hair away, and she rested her lips above his brow in a silent and continuous kiss.

He was so warm, she could feel it through his clothes, could almost feel the throbbing and churning of his desire in time with his whimpers as he took what little she offered and rubbed himself gratefully, desperately against her small, hard knee. His head fell forward suddenly as his whole body curled in on itself in her embrace and with one, two, three painful pulsations, finally released.

She kept kissing and cooing against his overheated skin as he worked himself through it, biting his lip through heaving gasps, burying his groans in her chest, and she realised in passing that that was the loudest she had ever heard him be. Even after the energy was drained from him and he calmed down, she could still feel aftershocks of his pleasure tremble against her leg as a little more and more was pushed out of him, seemingly never ending, until it did.

His breath ran hot and cold as it fanned over her skin, through her shirt, while he slowly came back to himself. She didn't move away, content to hold him close as long as he needed. Her fingers soothed his forehead while her chin rested on top of his head, her eyes far away in the quiet. Her heart was still drumming away and he didn't even need to strain himself to hear it while he felt his own, beating to match her rhythm, and then slowly come down, together.

"Are you alright, my darling?" she asked in an easy voice that masked her concern. He didn't say anything, just buried his face deeper in her shoulder and hummed contentedly.

She could feel the cloying dampness between her own legs collect and start to cool. Her lower lips ached as if beaten and were still throbbing. The virile scent of him beneath her didn't help at all, but it didn't matter anymore either. She had only wanted to cherish him, even at the dreadful prospect of his indifference — which, as a gift, turned out not to be so; to give and give and give to the point of nonexistence until all that was left of her was the spark that burned for him, for as long as he needed it.

She dedicated so much of her energies to the mission, to the work, to the distant goals of glory that Hydra promised, and she once thought that to leave behind useful things was her chance at true freedom from the mundane materialism that had sickened her into this exile in the first place. But within the unexpected package of one kidnapped and brainwashed soldier, imprisoned to a degree he didn't even comprehend, she found a gate to something so much better — one small form of immortality through immolation.

Her attention went to back to his arms, still tied behind him, and the way that left shoulder gleamed in the low sepulchral light caught her eye. One hand went to caress its silver surface until she caught sight of the clandestine mark they put on him. "I hate that ugly thing." she spoke with genuine disgust, her nails catching against the symbol there. "Wish I could scratch away this red satanic star."

The Soldier couldn't tell if it was some possessiveness of hers talking or just the Hydra zealot, jealous of a competing cult, but he felt too weary to hold those walls up anymore, and too serene in her arms to care.

She moved away from him, gently letting go, stumbling a little in her stiff ankles and straightening her skirt on her way around. She undid the knots and rubbed a little at the wrist that bore its marks. After a parting kiss to the bent back of his neck, she dropped the belt on his lap. "Let's get you cleaned up." she whispered.

He heard her fumbling with something, and then there was a quick run of water at the sink in the corner. The Soldier had just barely straightened himself in the chair when she came back around and started wiping down his chest with a slightly damp handkerchief. He looked down at her and she looked back, slightly blushing the lower she went, until she reached his trousers and paused.

With an awkward smile, she handed him a batch of tissues and hurried back to the sink.

He had to smile too, almost laughing at the odd standards of her shyness. He unbuttoned himself and wiped off the gooey seepage, wincing and going gently as the cool air hit the raw parts of him. His pants were still quite soiled on the inside, and his t-shirt was damp but drying; it would have to do.

It didn't take long for him to straighten himself out, to put his shirt and his belt and everything back together while she got rid of the evidence, and when she turned back to look at him it was almost as if nothing had happened. He stood up and turned to find her walking straight toward him, just like that first day. Only this time she was smiling, her steps were gentled by the aches and stiffness, and it wasn't just the Soldier she was looking at, but also someone… else.

His feet stood firm while he waited for her, but as soon as she was within reach he curled a hand around her hip and leaned down — only for her to press against his broad chest and pull away.

"We have to leave soon, or they'll come looking for us." The Soldier swallowed his complaints and nodded in understanding. Of course it was too much to ask… And then the killing blow: "I can't see you tomorrow."

"What. Why not?"

"We have a staff briefing all morning, and then I'll have to write a report on your progress, and I have to make something up about this session, and I'll be busy with meetings the rest of the day…"

She was holding something back. His eyes stayed on her body and he rediscovered how small she was beneath him, so steady but so close to wavering. He held her still by the hip, pressing into the fragile skin of her abdomen while his other hand went up to grip the base of her neck. To anyone else it would have been a threat, but she drank in his rough touch with calm. His thumb edged the neckline of her shirt away to reveal brand new skin stretching over birdlike bones.

Her eyes stayed on his, her smile ever-tender as she looked up into his troubled face, completely trusting in his murderer's-hands. The Soldier bent down to kiss the curve of a clavicle as he held her firmly in his arms and asked, again, "Why can't you see me?"

He let her battle with her conscience as he moved his hands down her sides, one hot one metal-cold, gently down and up her thighs, gallantly avoiding the curves of her behind to rest at the small of her back as he let himself fall from underneath her hands and go down on one knee in front of her.

"I'll see you again. Maybe… maybe next week…"

He could hear the breath tense out of her body as he brought his face dangerously close to her, but instead of aiming for the source of that sweet warm scent, he rested his lips right over her lower stomach, kissing now this way, now that, through her clothes and her skin, wanting her to know exactly where he wished he could reach, and take root.

A pair of hands came to rest on his head and caress the hair out of his face, then quietly and shakily she confided "They're considering you for a new mission."

He hummed against her, listening but uncaring.

"Maybe I can try to see you before you're sent off." she said pensively as her hands slipped to his shoulders. "Yes, I can stop by and say… maybe even get an approval…"

Don't trust this devious Hydra bitch!

Would you shut up for once?

[kaz11283]

Chapter 5

Characters: Clint, you, Loki

Warnings: this is a SLOW burn, slight angst, fluff at the end, Loki starting shit.

Summary: life has never really bwen this complicated. Or well the life that you think you know has never really been this complicated. Living with the avengers, learning new things, yeah its gonna be a long road but what else do you have to look forward to other than the random runins with the god of mischief.

Loki Masterlist

~~~~~

It had been about a week since you had arrived at the tower and just as long as your incounter with Loki, you hadnt had much time to think about it though since you were normally nose deep in class work or training with Nat and Clint since Tony had sent you the message "If your gonna be an avenger you have to train like one, training starts at 6." You had left him on read after that, you had never been a morning person and you sure as hell wasnt about to start now.

"Alright y/n, lets try you on the bow today." Clint smiled walking into the arena where most of your training took place.

"After I finish this." You said pointing to your coffee. "I swear, you would think that after saving lives you would want to sleep in." You grumbled.

"Bad guys dont sleep, we dont get to sleep." Clint said wiping down a few of his practice arrows.

"You didnt get back till like 3 this morning. Im really starting to wonder if you sleep at all." You tossed your cup away and got up starting to do your stretches.

"Get over here so I can show you how to hold this thing." He saod holding out the bow.

"I know how to use a bow, I was in archery in high school. Top of my team." You grabbed the bow feeling the cool metal in your hand. His bow was diffrent than what you was use to, as light as air almost were yours had been heavy.

"This bow is probably a little different than what your use to. The metal is vibranium, the strings are made of some type of industrial woven string that Tony invinted in his lab. Might be a littlw hard for you to pull back." He smiled looking at the bow like a child.

"It is very beautiful." You examined it looking down the sights has you pulled the string back easily. "Absolutly magnificent peice of weaponry." You looked over at him and seen that he was staring at you wide eyed. "What?"

"No one else has ever been able to draw the string back like that." You let the string gently go back into place amd handed it back to him.

"I told you, I was in archery while I was in high school."

"Theres no way that someone no matter how skilled they are can pull that back."

"Well if your forgetting, apperantly Im not from here either."

"Yup almost forgot, Asguardian. Anyways. You know how to use one of these so lets set up a few targets and get to work. Tony wants to try you out on a few different things, eval you, and see what suits you best. Im already leaning toward you being good at the bow."

After he talked you through some of the basics that you had informed him you knew and he insisted on stating that it was 'mandatory' you were finally able to pick up one of the training bows.

"These bows suck. Stark has all the money in the world and he buys walmart brand bows? If you pull this one back to many times the string will break. Why cant I just use yours?" You roll your eyes looking back at Clint.

"My bow, my baby. If you want ine bad enough you can start off at the bottom and work your way up. You have a card why dont you buy one?" He countered, just then the foor opened drawing your attention.

"Sorry, didnt realize that the area was occupied today, I just wanted to get a few throws in woth the new daggers Stark and Banner decided to enhance for me. Wanted to make sure that they wouldnt bloe up in my face." Loki said walking over to the bay next to you and Clint. You hadnt had a moment alone with the trickster since in the hall weeks ago and now he was here acting as of nothingbhad happened. You looked down at the daggers that he had laid out.

"Wow, those are beautiful." You noticed that not only had he laid down two simple green handeled knives but he had also laid down a set of electric blue ones and a set of gold handle ones engraved with ancient symbols and roses with the stems winding down the hilt. "May I?" You asked leaning down to get a closer look.

"Of course y/n, you are the one that gave me those." He answered casually. Your breathing hitched and you turned to look at him.

"Thats not funny Loki."

"I dont know what your talking about. I was simpl-" he started before you cut him off.

"You know damn good and well what I am talking about. What did you expect? Me to pick it up and everything come barreling back to me? Here I'll do you one even better." You stormed up to the daggers and grabbed one of the gold ones up throwing it at the target on the far side of the room. You had expected it to fall short and clink to the floor but you never hears it fall. When you looked at the target you noticed you had hit the middle.

Clints jaw had dropped as he was looking around the wall to see what you had been yelling about. Loki looked at you with a smug expression. "I assume they must have had knife throwing classes at the school you attended as well."

"Shut up. Clint are we done, I have some studying for class that I really need to do." You looked at clint as he knodded still awestruck. "Thanks, I'll talk with Tony about getting a better bow for me to practice with." You took off toward your room.

Later after you had taken a hot shower and changed into some leggings and a baggy shirt you decided to go to the one place in the tower that you had decided to claim as your own little study corner. It was located on of of the high up floors that happened to be more of an observation deck, you could watch the team leave on missions, see the ocean, and watch some of the most beautiful sun sets that you had seen. You had notice while checking the place out that there was a fairly large window seat that you could spead your work out on as you looked out over the city, this small part of the tower was your little hid away, you hadnt seen any other member of the team up here so you figured when you needed the alone time you could come here. It had seemed to work for the most part until today.

You notice the shadow of the figure standing over you before looking up into the eyes of Lokis confused ones, you had noticed his lips moving before rolling your eyes and taking out your noise canceling ear pods.

"What do you want Loki?" You sighed placing them back into the chsrging dock.

"Well if you hadnt had those things in you would have heard me tell you that I was sorry for earlier." He sassed crossing his arms.

"How did you find me? No one really bothers coming up here." You pulled your legs under your chin and covering you feet with the throw that you had brought up with you this time.

"The AI system has no bounderies when it comes to privacy, it can tell you were anyone is in this god forsaken place." He responded. "May I sit?"

"And if I say no?"

"I'll sit anyways." He shrugged.

"Then what is the point in asking?" You leaned forward moving your papers and books out of the way. He reached down and grabbed a few of the papers to help you.

"Your doing a paper on Shakespeare?" He asked as he sat down reading over the page.

"Umm, yeah. Part of my agreement to come here is so that I can finish up my collage classes. Drama and Art Major." He hamded the paper back to you so that you could stick it in your binder. He gave you a look that you were use to getting from him. "Don't say it Loki." You out your hand up to stop him before he could even open his mouth.

"I wasn't going to say anything." He held his hands up.

"Hum, interesting. The god of lies actually sucks at lying. I should remember that." You smiled. This was the first time you had actually felt half way confortable around him.

"I could never lie to you." He smiled back. "You have always had a knack for seeing right through me."

"I wish you wouldnt do that." You sighed leaning your heas agints the window behind you.

"Do what exactly?" He askes mirroring your position.

"Where you mention something about my past. Its annoying and it breaks my heart."

"Well Dove, how do you think I feel? The worst part about it for me is that while you remember nothing I am stuck remembering everything. Your past, my past, our past together. It truly is the worst pain that I have ever felt. To have something that you have wanted for so long in front of you and they dont even want you back." He sighed looking out the window.

"Loki," you crossed your legs and placed your elbows on your knees. "I have never said that I didnt want you. I just dont know what is what."

"So you do want me?" He laughted.

"That is not what I meant and you know it." You leanded back again. "Tell me about us. About how you and Thor know me." He eyes lite up.

Chapter 6

Tag list:

@high-functioning-lokipath

@serpentargo

@drbaureid

@poetic-fiasco

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@rosaline-black

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@natandersonnla

@delightfulheartdream

[tricksters-captain]

Weasley Twins/Cedric Diggory Imagines - Accidental Meeting - Part 3

AN: Another day... another part!! Honestly I can’t write this story down quick enough so I thought I’d post another part for y’all!! Let me know if you’d like to be added to a tag list!!!

Overall Summary: (Y/n), is a young witch who always kept her head down due to her complicated past; one day she bumps quite literally into one of the most popular boys in Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory, and that’s when (Y/n)’s plan of keeping her head down seems to go up into the air. Things only seem to worsen when two redheaded twins start to take notice too...

This Chapter: As Halloween draws near, you receive news from your uncle about your parents and the ministry. You try burying yourself in your studies to keep your mind off things when Professor Lupin only seems to make it worse...

PART 1 // PART 2

Pairing(s): Cedric Diggory x Reader, (Eventual) George Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Fred Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Oliver Wood x Reader

Word Count: 2,398

Warnings: None, Angst

You sat at breakfast beside Wood and Angelina, the Weasley twins opposite. 

“Looks like you’ve really caught his eye there, (y/n).” Fred piped up from across you. 

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows at the boy as you finished a spoonful of cereal.

“He’s looked this way about 7 times since sitting down.” George muttered, 

“Not to mention the other 6 when he walked in.” Fred added. 

You peaked over your shoulder to see Cedric sat with his usual group of Hufflepuffs. 

“You two are obsessed.” You rolled your eyes at the boys as you forced yourself not to turn and look again. 

“Mails here.” Wood announces as if the sudden eruption of wings and squawks didn’t alert everyone enough. 

You were surprised to see your owl fly into the great hall with a letter in its mouth. The only person who you ever sent mail or received mail from was your uncle. 

You reached up and grabbed the letter as he fell from the birds beak. 

You could see from the handwriting on the outside of the envelope that it was definitely from your uncle. 

It wasn’t completely strange to receive a letter from him during term time but it wasn’t a usual occurrence. 

“Who’s it from?” Oliver asked, 

“My uncle.” You admitted, contemplating whether to open it there or later in private. 

“Prob’ly asking whether you’re gonna come home for Christmas break or stay here.” Oliver said as he bit into an apple. 

“I already told him I’d be staying here as it’s your last Christmas at Hogwarts, I thought we’d stay here and celebrate together.” You stated, deciding to open the letter now.

“Get a broom closet you two.” Fred teased you. You retaliated by wrapping your arms around Oliver and resting your head on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes at the twins. Oliver just shook his head at you. 

You retracted your arms from Oliver and picked your letter back up to read it. 

(Y/n), 

The Ministry finally agreed to speak to me. They’ve claimed that the security in Azkaban has been double, tripled and that no other prisoners will be escaping. They specified that since Lorelei and Mikael are high threat that they will be watched consistently but Sirius Black was high threat too and look where he is now.

I feel they aren’t telling me the full picture. It was hard enough getting them to discuss Lorelei and Mikael at all. They just like to pretend Death Eaters don’t even exist anymore. Lock them behind bars and forget about them. 

I know we are all anxious about the idea of them escaping like Black did but I am keeping my ear to the wall. If anything is spoken about them or a possible escape then I should be the first to know. I won’t let them leave that godforsaken place without a fight. You should focus on your studies, try not to worry about your parents. Hogwarts is surrounded by dementors, I hear, so they will protect you for now. 

- Demetrius 

“What did he say?” Oliver asked as you closed the letter. 

“Just something about the Ministry.” You sent him a look that said you would tell him later as you felt it was too crowded to discuss your parents right now.

“What do you have?” You changed the topic by asking Oliver what he was doing this morning as you picked up your book bag.

“Defence against the dark arts then divination.” He told you as he rose from the table. 

“I have some study periods this morning so I think I’m going to go to the library. I’ll see you later.” You parted ways outside the great hall as you headed towards the library. You then tucked the letter into your bag and reminded yourself to show Oliver later. 

You found an empty table tucked away in a corner beween two book shelves, before finding a few books to help you with your study of Ancient Runes homework. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” A voice you were starting to know well tore you away from your parchment and you glanced up to see Cedric stood with his hand wrap around the strap of his backpack. 

“Will I actually be able to study if you sit with me or are you going to distract me?” You narrowed your eyes at the boy with a light humour. 

“I swear not to distract you.” He held his hands up in defence and you smiled, nodding your head to signal for him to sit. 

“What are you studying?” Cedric asked as he sat. 

“Distracting.” You announced, sending him a side glance. “Ancient Runes.” You caved and answered after the following few seconds of silence. 

“Ah.” Cedric nodded, taking his own parchment and books out. 

You both sat quietly, the only sounds being the turning of pages and the scratching of your quills but, after a short while, you found yourself sneaking secret glances towards the boy.

You watched his brow crease in concentration and his eyes flicker across the pages he was reading. A few locks of his soft brown hair fell forward and his lips parted slightly as he focused. 

Cedric caught you looking at one point, raising his head and smiling widely at you. 

“Distracting?” He asked, 

“Just making sure you are actually working and not writing down some quidditch strategy like Oliver does.” You were quick to come up with an excuse but Cedric wasn’t stupid. 

“What do you have next? I can walk you to your next class.” Cedric suggested. 

“Charms.” You told him, “If you walk me, you’ll probably be late to your own class.” 

“Why are you so worried about being seen with me?” Cedric leaned towards you, folding his arms on the chair in between you both with a curious look on his face. 

“I’m not worried.” You objected, “I just said you’d be late for your own class.”

“(Y/n), I’m no Ravenclaw but I can figure out when someone keeps saying no. I also see you looking around at everyone whenever I come up to you.” 

“Cedric.” You sighed, “Things are complicated in my life.” 

“And me walking you to your next class will somehow make it more complicated?” Cedric rose an eyebrow at you which made you sighed once again. 

“You can walk me to my next class.” You wanted to say that it would but you didn’t know how to explain why. 

Cedric stood up from his seat and packed his things away, you did the same before you both left the library. 

“I saw your owl this morning.” Cedric mentioned the letter from before and you felt your chest tighten a little. 

“Yeah. It was from my uncle. Asking whether I’d be home for Christmas.” You lied pretty effortlessly as the said-letter was lying at the bottom of your bag. 

“Your uncle?” Cedric hadn’t thought about who you lived with after your parents were sent to Azkaban. 

“Yeah.”  You nodded, “Demetrius. He took me in after my parents were, you know... He never saw what they saw in you know who. He didn’t have the same beliefs. Not like he didn’t suffer for it. They tortured him for a long time but he survived. He’s a good man, not very paternal but it's better than nothing.” You almost found it funny how unaffectionate and distant your uncle could be with you but you knew he still cared about you, he just couldn’t show it in the way normal families could. 

“Is it just you two?” He asked, seemingly genuinely interested. 

“Yeah. Demetrius isn’t very old. He was only 20 when he took me in. He never got a girlfriend after that so has never married or anything. I think he believes that if he had someone else to  care about, they could be used against him. He saw a lot of what my parents did, you see. He worries about my parents; about them escaping like Black did.”

“Are you worried?” Cedric stopped as you reached your class. 

“I’d be stupid if I wasn’t.” You confessed. 

“We can talk more about it later if you like?” Cedric gestured to the classroom door and you bit down on your cheek and nodded.

“Hey!” You called as he started to walk away. “Thanks for walking me.” 

Cedric smiled at you before you entered the classroom. 

“Saw pretty boy Diggory walk you to Charms this morning.” Fred and George trapped you as they came up to you side by side. 

“Like I said... Obsessed.” You looked up at the twins as they walked either side of you. 

“You reckon Lupin’s got that surprise for us today?” Fred asked you and George.

“Hope so, Freddie.” 

“I hope it’s a potion that stops people from spying on you.” You retorted, making both the boys crack up.

“Welcome class! If you’ll follow me, I have the special treat I promised for you all today.” Professor Lupin announced as you entered the classroom for DADA. 

The class did as they was told and followed Lupin up to a larger room where an old wardrobe stood in towards the far side.

You couldn’t help but smile with excitement as you watched the wardrobe shake from something inside. 

“Would anyone like to venture a guess as to what is inside?” Lupin asked as the wardrobe trembled again. 

"Is it a boggart, sir?” One of the Ravenclaw girls, Samantha Penny, answered. 

“Yes, Miss. Penny. Now, can anybody tell me what a boggart looks like?” 

“No one knows. Boggarts are shape-shifters.” You answered as Lupin pointed his wand at you. 

“Very good. Now, can someone tell me what they do?”

“They can take the shape of whatever a person fears the most.” Samantha answered again.

“Well done! Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a boggart. Let's practice it now. Without wands, please.” Remus lowered his wand as he spoke, “After me. Riddikulus!”

“Riddikulus!” The class repeated. 

“Very good. A little louder and very clear. Listen: Riddikulus!” Lupin corrected any who made a mistake.

“Riddikulus!” You all repeated once more before Lupin selected an unlucky volunteer.

“Samatha, since you know so much, why don’t you give it a try?” Lupin encouraged her forward. “Now, what are you most afraid of?” 

“Snakes, sir.” She said rather nervously. 

“Snakes. Okay. Easy enough to change. You see, the incantation alone is not enough.  What really finishes a boggart is laughter. You need to force it to assume a shape you find truly amusing.” Lupin paced a few steps as he spoke. 

“Now, Miss Penny. I want you to think of something funny. The funniest thing you can think of and when you come face to face with the snake, I want you to imagine its turning into that funny thing, do you understand?” Lupin asked the Ravenclaw girl. She nodded and raised her wand. 

As the doors burst open, a large thick black snake appeared slithering towards Samantha. It rose upwards and hissed as it’s dark eyes fixed on the quivering girl. 

“R-Riddikulus!” She hesitated but soon cast the spell, turning the snake into a baby monkey in a dress.

“Brilliant, Miss Penny! On your first try too!” Lupin praised her as he laughed at the monkey falling over.  “Alright! Who’s next! Form a line!” 

The class rushed into a line with excitement and nerves filling the room. 

You watched a few students ahead of you try and succeed in turning the boggart from their fear to something funny and soon it was your turn. 

“I bet her worse fear is seeing Wood naked.” Fred whispered to you and his twin as he stood behind you. 

“Actually, it’s having to spend the rest of the year with you two.” You mumbled back with a smirk as you stepped forward. 

“Ouch, Seyler, ouch.” Fred clutched his chest above his heart and you rolled your eyes. 

Suddenly, coming face to face with the boggart, your amusement was gone. 

You shifted on your feet as you thought of all the possible things the boggart could turn into like a giant spider or a clown or....

Your eyes went wide as the boggart twitched and span around and transformed into a face you had only seen in your memories and pictures. 

Your mother stood in front of you. 

The whole class erupted with whispers and murmurs as you froze. 

Her dark eyes met yours, the small mole above her lip rising as her wicked smile grew.

“Come on, (y/n), don’t let the shape distract you. Say the words and she’ll be gone.” Lupin saw the shock on your face as he tried to encourage you.

Your mother stepped forward, holding her hand out towards you, her dark mark visible on her arm as she reached towards you. 

“Don’t touch me!” You shrieked as she came close to connecting with your skin. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from fleeing the class as your emotions over took you. 

You pushed past the Weasley twins as you darted to the door. 

“Miss Seyler!” Lupins voice carried down the corridor you were running down.

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened and breathing became much  harder. 

“Miss Seyler!” You heard Lupin call after you again. 

You threw yourself against an arched doorway, trying to slow your breathing as your mothers eyes flashed through your head. Her evil smile, the dark mark clear on her arm. 

You felt yourself slide down the doorway until you hit the cold floor. 

“Miss Seyler.” Lupin had found you. “Miss Seyler, breathe.” He knelt down as you failed to control your panic attack. 

“(Y/n). It was just a boggart. It wasn’t really your mother.” Lupin told hold of your shoulders as he tried to get you to look at him. “Your mother is locked up on Azkaban. She can’t hurt you.” 

“I’m sorry.” You finally looked up at him and he felt his heart squeeze at the sight of your red eyes. 

“Don’t be sorry. It’s quite alright.” Lupin helped you stand, slowly bringing you back to your feet. 

“What about the class?” You asked, looking up from where you had come from. 

“Class is dismissed. Come on, let’s go for a chat.” Lupin guided you to his office, his arm comfortingly wrapped around you still. 

(PART 4)

[trashscenariihxh]

Pariston x Reader x Wing part 4

Enjoy~

If Pariston had taken offense to your sleeping on the sofa, he didn’t let on about it.  He greeted you in the morning cheerfully as he drank his coffee.  “You look tired,” he observed, setting his mug in the sink.

“I’m not, “ you lied, filling the kettle with water and turning it on.

“Well, tired or not, you certainly look it.”  He smiled unctuously at you as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.  Suddenly he furrowed his brow and tutted at you, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting your face to the side.  “Oh, ____, you have more lines around your eyes.  Whatever shall we do about those, hm?”  His face relaxed back into a smile.  “Ah, nevermind.  I’ll go ahead and make you an appointment with Dr. Komacine.  She’s very good.  She’ll get you sorted out.”

“But I don’t--”

He waved a dismissive hand.  “Now Darling I don’t want to hear it.  I am, after all, doing you a favor.”  He furrowed his brow again.  “A very big favor.”  He stroked your cheek with his thumb.  “Have a wonderful day, Darling.”  He withdrew his hand and gave your cheek a closed-lipped kiss.  As he turned to leave, he added “I hope you aren’t intending to stay in your nightgown all day.” With those words, he strode out of the kitchen, put on his jacket, and left.

You stood, blankly watching after him, only dimly aware of the kettle boiling.  By the time you jerked yourself out of your stupor, it had nearly boiled dry.

***  

The hours between when Pariston left for work and when he got home always seemed to stretch to impossible lengths.  After you’d washed, gotten dressed, done your makeup and hair, there wasn’t much to do, except occasionally clean something that the cleaning staff missed, which didn’t happen very often.  Sometimes you managed to read for a bit, but the knowledge that Pariston would eventually come home drew your mind away from the pages.  As the seconds ticked by, you always wondered if you’d done enough.  Was the house clean enough?  Did you cook well enough?  Were you pretty enough?  Pariston’s standards seemed to change with the winds, so you never actually knew.  

You made yourself another cup of tea and sat on the sofa to do what you did every day: wait for Pariston’s return.  Once again, you found yourself longing for someone, anyone, to talk to.  Hell, you’d even welcome it if some Jehovah’s witnesses came to your door.  You thought back to the day before, when you’d run into Wing at the cafe.  It had been nice, talking to someone again.  You looked at your phone.  You could message him, see what he’s up to.  You could even arrange to meet for more coffee.

You bit your lip.  Would it be weird to message him this soon?  It might be.  You stared at your phone, considering what to do.  Wing was your only friend-- acquaintance-- at this point in time and you really didn’t want to scare him away by being too needy.  Chewing your lip, you decided against sending him a message, deciding you’d wait a couple days.  Maybe a week.  Yes, you decided, you’d wait a week before sending any messages to him.  You’d just get coffee by yourself in the meantime.

***  

You lasted three days.  You were sitting on the sofa again when the urge to talk to somebody came over you, and you grabbed your phone and sent the message before you could stop yourself.

“Hi.  It was great chatting the other day.  Would love to meet up again some time.”

You waited, wondering if you’d made a grave error.  Was the message too long? Too formal?  You stared at the phone screen, wishing you could unsend the text.

*** 

It took four hours for Wing to reply.  His reply was short and simple:

“Me too.”

Me too?  Me too what?  Had he had a good time, or did he want to meet up again?  Both?  You hoped it was both.  Spurred on by a desire to figure out which, you replied:

“Would you like to meet again? Coffee?”

You paused before sending the text, wondering if you were being too forward.  If Pariston saw… You clenched your jaw in determination.  If Pariston saw, it wouldn’t matter.  You’d tell him the truth: that you were meeting an old friend for coffee.  You hit send.

Wing only took a minute or two to respond:

“Sure :)”

You couldn’t help smiling to yourself.  After years of isolation, you were finally making plans with someone.  A friend at last.  Not wanting to keep him waiting, you immediately responded.

“When are you free?”  You were basically free whenever Pariston wasn’t at home, which was often; it would be better to adjust to Wing’s schedule.

“Weekends.  Most late afternoons.”

You could do that.  Not wanting to appear too eager, you suggested that you meet up next Thursday.  Wing’s reply was almost immediate.

“Sounds good.  See you then.”

***

You arrived at the same cafe you’d gone to before with a spring in your step.  Not only because you were about to socialize for the first time in a week, but also because, in an act of subtle rebellion, you had decided to wear flats instead of the painful heels that Pariston always insisted you wear.  Upon entering, you ordered an earl grey and scanned the room for free tables.

You spotted Wing sitting at a corner table with papers spread out before him.  You hesitated to approach him for a moment, wondering whether he was too busy to actually meet somebody, but your fears were soon assuaged when he caught sight of you.  Wing smiled and waved you over, shuffling the papers into a messy pile and shoving them into his briefcase.

“Busy?” You smiled, sitting down across from him and setting your drink on the table.

“Just marking exams,” he sighed.  “I swear, some of the stuff my students write…”

“Tell me about it,” you laughed, rolling your eyes.  “Back when I taught, my students often wrote the most ridiculous essays imaginable.  I still remember one particularly bad paper about the Hanseatic League…”  you shook your head. 

“I bet you’re happy to have all that behind you.”  He smiled warmly at you, genuinely pleased at your apparent good fortune.

“Yeah,” you answered, forcing a smile.  “Yeah, I’m happy I don’t have to deal with any of that now!”  As you spoke, you felt a tug in your chest. It had been a lie; sometimes, when you were lying in bed alone, you thought about how you’d give anything to have your old job back.  Your old job, your friends.  Your freedom.  It all seemed so distant now. 

You sipped your tea, content to listen to Wing’s stories about his students.  You noticed that even though he apparently held his students to very high standards, he was still full of praise for them all.  You wondered what it would be like to have even an ounce of his patience.

“So do you not work, then?” Wing asked, picking up his mug.

You shook your head, suddenly embarrassed.  “No.  No, I don’t.”

“And your husband? What does he do?”  He didn’t have to say it, but you could guess what Wing was thinking.

How much does he earn to support a leech like you?

“My husband? He’s a lawyer.”

Wing nodded.  “That’s a demanding job.”

“Yeah.  He’s often stressed out,” you lied again.  Pariston never seemed remotely stressed out, no matter how long he stayed at the office.

“I’m really glad we could meet up again,” you blurted out suddenly.  When Wing looked surprised at the rapid change of subject, you quickly added that you spent most days at home alone, seeing as how Pariston was so busy.

“That must be difficult,” Wing nodded in understanding.  “Do you not get out much at all?”

“Nah.”  You shook your head.  “To be honest, it gets pretty lonely.”

“I can imagine.”

“Hey,” you set down your now-empty mug, “would you mind if we did this again?  More often, maybe?”

[cafecitowriter]

I wish you would write a fic where they assign Peggy to protect Steve on the USO circuit as one of the USO dancers. If she likes it or not is up to you :)

Hi okay first of all thank you so much for this! 

Second, sorry this took a hot second, but this absolutely got away from me. I hope you like it!!!

...

No matter how Peggy spun it, this new assignment was nothing more than glorified babysitting.

She knew full well that her skills would be better suited to continue working under Colonel Phillips, going undercover and gathering crucial intel for the Allied cause. That’s exactly what she had been doing - successfully, she might add - for months now. She could do more damage to Hydra and the Nazis if she was out in the field.

Colonel Phillips knew it too. At least, that’s what Peggy assumed, seeing as he put up more of a fight than she’d expected when he learned that she was being transferred from the front lines to join the USO circuit to take care of Steve Rogers.

Now known as Captain America.

Or at least, that’s what he was being called in the USO tour.

Peggy had studied his file as part of her research, and she’d heard she grumblings from the other men in camp about Project Rebirth and its “failure”, as they chose to phrase it.

Truthfully - and silently - Peggy thought his transformation was nothing short of a miracle. He went from being 5’4”, 90 pounds with a novel of ailments to being what could only be described as a super soldier.

Why he was being relegated to show business, with her as his undercover bodyguard, Peggy couldn’t understand. He could be so much more, if they’d let him.

That at least, she could sympathize with.

“This is your cover,” Phillips told her gruffly, handing her a thin file. “I hope you’ve been practicing your American accent.”

“Betty Carver?” she scoffed incredulously as she read the name on the page.

At least she wouldn’t have to dye her hair.

...

Peggy took a bus with the rest of the USO girls to their hotel in Brooklyn. They were to have a few days of rehearsals, and then they would run for two weeks here before moving on to their next stop.

One woman in particular, Beth, had taken an instant liking to Betty. When Beth asked Betty if this was her first tour, she had sheepishly admitted it was her first gig ever. Beth spent the rest of the bus ride talking her ear off, giving her advice, telling her stories of performances gone right and wrong, and most importantly, assuring her that she had an entire support system of women if she ever needed help.

They were sisters now, Beth had told her.

Though Peggy was miles from where she wanted to be, she could begin to see the some slight silver lining to the whole ordeal.

Luckily enough, Betty and Beth are paired up to share a room - and Peggy was almost certain that Beth had something to do with that, which made her respect for the women grow tenfold.

“You coming, Bet?” Beth asked, looking more than ready to head down to dinner.

“I’ll be down in just a minute,” she smiled. “I like to unpack first.”

Peggy waited for Beth to exit before taking a deep breath. She then set to work, checking the room for any hearing devices, seeing what vantage points she had to work with, and double checking the gun in her thigh holster that she’d made herself, just for the occasion.

She then unpacked her entire suitcase, since that’s what she told Beth she was currently up to.

A knock at the door startled her. Peggy straightened up and slowly approached the door. She left her hand close to where her gun was hidden underneath her skirt, knowing that she might need to draw it at a moment’s notice.

“Hi. I’m Steve Rogers.”

Now, Peggy had read everything there was to know about Steve Rogers.

What her reading hadn't prepared her for, was how boyishly handsome he was, the intensity of his blue eyes, or his disarming smile.

"Hi," she said simply, her brain managing to forget all other words in existence.

Get a grip, Carter.

“Betty Carver,” she added quickly.

“Nice to meet you ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” she asked, raising her eyebrow at him. “I can’t tell if you’re overly polite, or if I look that much older than I actually am.”

“Just how I was raised,” he shrugged sheepishly.

“Betty’s just fine, Captain,” she told him, giving him a reassuring smile.

The tips of his ears went pink at the title.

“Betty, then,” he conceded, rubbing the back of his neck, though Peggy couldn’t help but notice that his smile never faltered.

“I thought we were meeting you at dinner,” she asked curiously.

“I was there,” he told her. “One of them - Beth - told me you were still up here, but it’s been a while and I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said, softer than she’d intended.

“And as I can see, you’re doing just fine,” he said, looking suddenly awkward, as though he thought he was intruding on her space. “So I’ll uh, I’ll see you down there, Betty.”

“We can walk down together,” she offered before he could turn to leave.

It would be easier to protect him if she made friends with him, and there was no time like the present to begin forming that relationship.

“I’d like that,” he smiled, offering her his arm.

Peggy suppressed a smile, but accepted his arm.

“Seems like you were raised right, Captain.”

…

As assignments went, Peggy had to (begrudgingly) admit it wasn’t flat out terrible.

The choreography was simple enough that with her limited dance experience, Peggy could get through it, and there were enough women around that she could sing mostly under her breath.

Betty had made a very close friend in Beth, as as a few of the other women as well - Guadalupe and Gwen in particular.

Then there was Steve.

He and Betty had gotten along well since he’d walked her to dinner the first night.

Peggy really liked him, too.

He was nothing like what she’d imagined. Though she’d tried not to make any judgements before meeting him, she had had enough experience with soldiers letting their newly appointed rank go to their head.

Steve however, kept surprising her. He was incredibly gentle for someone so large and strong, kind despite the fact that he was handsome enough that he could get on without having to be.

He also liked to take walks at night, as she’d accidentally learned when she’d encountered him one evening while doing a perimeter check of their latest hotel. He had too much energy, and couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

Something that he’d gained from the serum, he’d told her.

She’d lied and said she always had trouble sleeping in different places, and would take a walk to ease her mind.

He frowned at the idea of her being out alone at night, and offered to take walks with her.

While Peggy was more than capable of protecting herself, Betty was relieved and took him up on his offer eagerly.

Besides, if he was up and out in the middle of the night anyway, it would do well for Peggy to be with him should trouble crop up.

Most nights, they would now both sneak away from their rooms and take a walk together. They would designate a meeting place, and afterward, Steve would always walk her right back to her door.

As the weeks wore on, so did their walks get longer, and the more Peggy learned about Steve Rogers.

He talked of his mother, how she had worked so hard to care for him, how much he loved and missed her.

She learned of his best friend, who stood by his side no matter how many alley fights he got into. Who was finally shipped off, leaving Steve alone.

Steve eventually confided to her that he had only ever wanted to serve his country, that he wanted to be a soldier and help the little guy. That with each passing city they performed in, he felt more lost and useless.

“You were meant for more than this,” Peggy found herself telling him one night, as they were both seated on a park bench.

“How do you know?” he asked, starting out at the moon.

“You’re a good man Steve, and with your abilities…” Peggy trailed off, not wanting to give away just how much she knew about Project Rebirth.

“You really think I can make a difference?” he asked, voice quiet and shy and so vulnerable that Peggy had a strong urge to wrap him in her arms.

She settled for resting her hand on top of his.

“I know you can. Call it faith,” she told him sincerely.

They held hands all the way back to her hotel room.

…

What Peggy found particularly endearing about Steve - but would never dare say it out loud - was how, no matter how many times they’d all change in front of him (as there was normally only one dressing room wherever they went), he was still ever the gentleman.

Steve would always help with patching up their costumes, zipping them up, and sometimes even applying make up, but he never stared or lingered.

On this particular night, a few weeks after they held hands during their walk (a detail that hadn’t happened on their nightly strolls again), Peggy was running late and was the last one in the dressing room. She was in the middle of pulling up her left stocking and clipping it in place - leg perched on the dressing table in front of her when someone walked in.

"Oh I - sorry, sorry,” Steve apologized profusely.

Peggy looked up just in time to see his wide-eyed expression and his cheeks turn pink. From the look on his face, one would assume he’d walked in on her half-naked, rather than fully dressed with only one stocking left to be fixed into places.

"Lose something, Captain?" she asked, quirking her eyebrow up in amusement.

"No," he said quickly, averting his gaze to look at the ceiling. "I mean, yes. I can't find the um, my head - my cowl, I mean."

Peggy took pity on him and lowered her leg.

“I’ll help you find it. Curtain’s in five minutes, after all.”

“Thanks, Betty,” he said, letting out a small breath of relief.

She smirked and took a few steps closer to him.

"You mustn't worry, though, Captain. I don't have any devious plans to ruin your pristine reputation," she teased.

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” he murmured, clearly without thinking.

Peggy's eyes widened slightly. Other than the night they’d held hands (which Peggy had to keep reminding herself was only a comfort between friends) this is the first time he’d actually done anything close to what could be considered flirting.

She tried to ignore how much she liked it.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she told him, her voice slightly breathless.

Steve’s eyes flicked down for her lips, and he began to lean in.

Or was it her that was leaning in?

Either way, their lips were now less than an inch away from each other and-

“Two minutes to curtain!”

They startled apart, and Steve cleared his throat.

“We should get-”

“Yes,” she agreed dashing out of the dressing room and toward the wings.

She fumbled to get her last clip in place with how much her hands were shaking.

Peggy leaned against the closest wall and tried to control her breathing and hammering heart.

What the hell was that?

...

Something was wrong.

To be fair, Peggy didn’t have any reason to believe that there was any threat near. She’d taken all her normal precautions before the show, and hadn’t made any threats close to them.

But there were goosebumps on her arms, and Peggy knew better than to ignore her instincts.

“Don’t lift the motorcycle,” she whispered into Steve’s ear as she danced by him.

Though her voice was quiet, she knew his enhanced hearing could pick it up.

While she didn’t know what the threat was, his final pose left him far too vulnerable for her liking, and if he went down, so would Sybil, Beth, and Gwen.

Steve gave her a confused look.

His head then snapped to look at the audience. Peggy followed his gaze and noticed the man who had just stood up in the middle of the song.

He began to raise his hand, and Peggy launched into action.

She broke formation and tackled Steve out of the way. She felt two bullets lodge in the back of her right shoulder and she let out a small cry of pain.

Chaos broke out among the crowd and onstage as everyone screamed and began to disperse.

Peggy used her left hand to pull her carefully concealed gun out of its holster and aimed it toward the group of men now charging toward Steve.

“What the hell is going on, Betty?” he asked as he saw the blood coming out of her shoulder.

“Hydra,” she told him, hissing in pain as he scooped her up and began carrying her toward safety.

“How do you know about Hydra?”

“My name is Peggy Carter,” she explained, returning to her natural dialect. “I’m with the Strategic Scientific Reserve. I was sent to protect you.”

“What?” he asked tightly, his eyes rife with hurt and betrayal.

The pain in her shoulder was now rivalled by the ache she felt in her heart.

“Steve, I-”

The sound of a gunshot behind them brought Peggy back to reality.

“Look,” she told Steve. “I know this is confusing and you’re unhappy with me right now, but we need to get out of here.”

“I can’t just leave everyone else,” he said defiantly his eyes flicking around the half-empty auditorium as everyone scrambled to get out of harm’s way.

“They’re after you. The best chance we can give them is by leading you away from here,” she reasoned, growing increasingly frustrated with him.

“Fine,” he agreed. “But you owe me an explanation.”

“If we live, I’ll tell you anything you like,” she agreed.