#admittedly people have done the second one to my characters and i always find it pretty hurtful

[arcadekitten]

Arcadekitten Are redesigns of your characters allowed?

I'm okay with redesigns as long as they are respectful! But because I've had people ask me what that means, I whipped up this drawing really quickly to further elaborate what I mean by that.

[laundrybiscuits]

Found myself reading some old Inception fic and felt the urge to poke at an AU idea—I know ST fandom skews a little young, so I genuinely don’t know how many people will even get this. If there are Inception primers out there, I haven’t bothered to find them, so…you’re on your own, kids. 

“Absolutely not. I do my own forges.” Eddie sweeps the file off the table and directly into the trashcan; admittedly, it’s not the most mature thing he’s ever done, but Henderson’s getting on his last goddamned nerve. 

The little twerp has the fucking audacity to roll his eyes and groan, like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable. “I know this guy, don’t be a dick. He can do it. Don’t you wanna focus on your super special architect stuff?”

“What you and every other dumbass dilettante drowser don’t seem to grasp is that my architecture is alive, and I breathe life into it via my meticulously crafted characters. I create richly textured worlds, Henderson, and I populate them myself. That’s why I’m the best in the fucking business: because I understand that the people and the setting are one and the same, and I can handle both.”

“Eddie.” Henderson crouches to grab the file out of the trash, and smacks it back down on the table. “I’m running this team, and I’m saying I don’t want anything like what happened in Munich to ever happen again. Okay?”

“Low blow, kid,” snaps Eddie. “Munich wasn’t on me.” 

“I know, jeez. I just…” Henderson takes a second to tap the loose sheets in the file back into place, then stands there with his lips pressed together like he’s keeping something in. After a moment, he just says, “This isn’t going to be Munich. Because Steve’s going to be here.”

———

It’s not Munich. It’s not Munich at all. It is the furthest fucking thing from Munich possible. 

Eddie’s never had a job go that smoothly—and it’s not down to Henderson’s obsessive prep, because it should’ve been a slippery one. The kind of job that twisted partway through into something frustratingly unexpected, forcing them to improvise and take whatever half-win they could squeeze out of the mark’s subconscious while dodging completely unexpected security. 

Instead, it’s so incredibly not-Munich that the client gives them a fucking bonus, and when was the last time that happened? The bonus is generous enough that Eddie’s share can cover a whole new safehouse in Melbourne, which should have been great news, something to celebrate, except for the absolutely unholy amount of smugness now radiating from Henderson.

Eddie avoids the I-told-you-so conversation as long as he can, but he can’t run forever.

“I told you so,” says Henderson, flopping unceremoniously into the dark wooden chair next to Eddie.

“This is a library, dude. Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” says Eddie, without much hope. He’d heard Henderson was supposed to be meeting up with Sinclair in Lima this week; so much for that intel.

Henderson waves a dismissive hand, gesturing vaguely at the domed skylight high overhead. “It’s not like a library library. It’s basically a museum.”

“The goddamn State Library of Victoria is absolutely one hundred percent a library library, genius. See all the books? But also, do you think people go around yelling in museums?”

“Maybe they should! What we should be focusing on now, though, is that I was right about Steve, and I think it’s important for our working relationship that you acknowledge I was right.”

“I don’t have to acknowledge shit,” says Eddie, slumping down and ignoring the glares they’re starting to get from everyone in the atrium. “Anyone ever tell you you’re an egomaniac, kid? I don’t even get why you’re so hot on the guy, anyway. He’s like—the least imaginative forger I’ve ever met.”

It comes out a little harsher than he’d meant it. It’s just that forgers, as a people, tend to be easily swept into flights of fancy.

Eddie’s always sort of thought it was a requirement of the profession: when he’s inhabiting a character, part of his mind is always working to generate the little details that make them feel like a whole person. Their secret fears and even more secret hopes. How they deal with boredom or anger, what their gut reactions are. The small gaps between how they see themselves and how others see them. That’s where Eddie thrives, and he thinks that if he were less hooked on the magic of spinning up entire worlds for marks to wander through, he might forge full-time, just for the thrill of riding that uncertainty. It’s how he was taught, but clearly, Steve learned something different.

What Steve does isn’t really classical forging—not in the way Eddie thinks about it, usually. Steve just…walks into a situation, says some stuff, maybe gives the mark a smile all warm and private like a whispered secret. And then the mark folds. It’s maddening how easy Steve makes it look. Oh, he’ll pull on the right costumes and tweak his physicality a little, but it’s always still just Steve underneath. 

Maybe that’s the trick. Eddie’s forges work because he crafts lavishly detailed lies; Steve’s forges work because there’s some kind of real, solid honesty at the core. 

“I’m going to ignore the hurtful thing you just said because I know you hate to admit it when I’m right and you’re wrong,” Henderson informs him. “You really gotta work on that. More importantly, I’ve got a lead on a new job, and Steve already said yes.”

It’s not like Eddie needs the money. Henderson’s a nightmare to work with. And there’s the, y’know. The Steve Harrington of it all. Eddie has a million reasons to say no.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says instead. “When do we start?”

[guppygiggles]

Like Real People Do, Part 2! ♡ (Casper x Avery)

☁️ Summary: Casper waits for Avery to make good on his promise to visit, and gets more than they bargained for!

☁️ Warnings: Suggestive language, mild tickling (please do not interact with this if you're a minor!)

This is a series now!

Part 1

Part 2 *you are here

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

If you just got here and want to know more about my characters, you can read my comic starting right here!

Everything that hurt, always hurt more the second day.

I sat up in bed, pain wrapping around my middle like a boa constrictor, squeezing agony into my bones. It was four a.m. again, but now it was Monday; a workday.

I grabbed my phone and opened my company's intranet page, hastily navigating to the HR section of the site and putting in for a sick day, followed by an email to my boss and coworkers.

Good morning,

I am not feeling well and will not be in today. All incidents assigned to me are up-to-date with notes. In case of emergency, please text me.

Thank you,

[deadname]

I stared at my reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. My teal hair looked like the aftermath of a fork stuck into an electrical outlet, and there were pale violet circles under my eyes. While they were genetic, they had become even more visible since my insomnia started. Lifting my shirt, I looked at my stomach, where a bruise like an arm of the Milky Way bloomed in shades of blue and purple, fading to yellowish green at the frayed border. I clattered three Excedrin into my palm and swallowed them dry.

My apartment didn't have a dining area, so I sat on my green-corduroy couch as I peeled an orange. Aside from the hum of the air conditioning unit, it was quiet.

What the hell happened yesterday?

Given the shape and location of the bruise, I felt pretty certain that I had, indeed, crashed my skateboard into the pier's guardrail.

"Oh, shit! My skateboard!" I remembered dismally. It was probably at the bottom of the ocean by now, waterlogged and unsalvageable. Unlike most other skaters I knew, who often had a quiver of five or six boards, I only had one; a drop-through longboard that wasn't too long, which meant it was perfect for my short stance. It was the first board I'd learned to ride, and I'd saved up for months to afford it. My heart sank as I remembered how much research I had done to find the perfect beginner skateboard, and the graphic I had so carefully selected -- a stylized depiction of a person surfing beneath a cloudy, pastel sunrise.

Sunrise. Clouds.

The rest of my memories from the previous day surged back.

"Avery!"

I nearly choked on an orange slice as I glimpsed the microwave's digital clock. It was five a.m. now.

"Sunset time Port Oleander," I googled frantically, the search engine responding with cruel indifference, "seven-thirty p.m."

My fingers counted the hours: fourteen and a half. I collapsed back into the couch as impatience like a cartoon anvil fell on me. How could I possibly wait that long?

Memories of the lighthouse assailed me as I slumped, stunlocked, on the couch; wet brick, old paper, bergamot, sea spray. An embarrassment of books. Sunlight glinting off bits of ice in Avery's swirling, translucent head. His huge, sincere, almost goofy smile. His laugh.

My stomach twisted with a swell of emotion so strong it was almost painful as I recalled the sensation of Avery's warm, boisterous laugh vibrating my ribcage. I wanted - no, I needed - to hear it again and again and again. My fingernails dug into the couch cushion as I fought to gather myself.

"This is just infatuation... right?"

I wasn't exactly a stranger to romance. I'd had partners here and there, but admittedly, the termination of my previous relationship over two years ago had left me unsure that falling in love was, well. For me.

The initial "spark" that seemed a crucial part of attraction for other people, for me, was apparently defunct; attraction did not happen often, and when it did, it was more a slow and methodical building of a home, less a match igniting an all-consuming fire. Love, intimacy and trust were all building bricks, predicated upon a wrought-iron foundation of knowing a person well, forming a bond as friends over time.

Physical intimacy, itself, was a whole 'nother ballgame. As a solitary person, most physical touch -- even mundane -- carried a weight of closeness that was not always comfortable or welcome, but was embarrassingly out of my control. I recalled my recent visit to the doctor, cringing a bit. Though I was loath to admit it, even brushing hands with the grocery store clerk as they handed me my change left a lingering sensation that I had to fight to ignore. I wasn't the type to hug a stranger; I wasn't the type to even hug my friends unless we'd spent significant time together. I certainly didn't think about ti...

My ears suddenly grew hot.

Was I already thinking about... that? With Avery?

Avery's hand holding mine over his kitchen table, his palm cool and soft, the mysterious and silent storm rushing beneath his skin. His gentle gaze that, despite his obvious years, held an innocent curiosity. His playful-yet-shy bravado as he introduced himself with a flourish of his hand, the way he so effortlessly scooped me off the ground. I wondered if his skin felt the same everywhere else... on his body, and on mine.

"Oh, no. We just met, we are NOT doing this," I argued, trying to appeal to my own sense of reason,"you're just gonna have to tough this out, Casper. Don't rush into things and scare him off, this is probably just a crush you're going to get over once you get to know him."

"But I've never even had a crush before, I don't know what to do!"

"Dude, just be regular! Just hang out with him like normal and see what he's like! I don't know, take him to the fair or something!"

"Is that a good way to get to know someone you're attracted to?!"

"I don't know, I'm you!"

I lowered my reeling head into my hands, suddenly regretting eating that orange as my stomach churned. Things were happening so fast. I looked at the clock again -- agonizingly, only an hour had passed.

A horrible thought occured to me, then:

What if Avery didn't feel the same?

"Don't go down that road," my internal monologue chided, "you have no idea how he feels. Don't spiral out of control."

"Why would he even be interested in me? I'm weird! I spend all my time by myself, I'm chubby, I barely have any talent, I don't even have any friends since I moved here! Not to mention how much trauma and baggage I have-"

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about! Stop it! Everyone has baggage, even Avery probably does. You don't have to earn other people's love! You're good enough just for being who you are, and if he would only love you for what you can do for him, he wouldn't be loving you for the right reasons, anyway. Now get up and channel this nervous energy into something productive for god's sake, before you burn a hole in the couch."

I stood.

I cleaned up the coffee table.

I vacuumed my carpet. I washed every thread of clothing I owned, and my bedding. I did the dishes, cleaned every window and mirror and dusted every surface. Raiding the fridge and freezer, I threw out everything that was expired, then I alphabetized my spice cabinet. I mopped, scrubbed, wiped, and folded until my apartment looked like it was straight out of an IKEA catalogue.

Then I left, and ran every errand I had been putting off. I finally emptied my mailbox, bursting with junkmail (I was sure that our postal worker just loved me). I got my car inspected and put air in my tires. I went to the grocery store and restocked my fridge.

All the while, my mind reeled like a YouTube video set to loop:

Avery, Avery, Avery.

+++

By the time I was done, it was six forty-five p.m. I sat on the couch in my favorite pair of jeans and my coolest short-sleeve button-down: a navy blue number with tiny koi fish print. My hair was perfectly quaffed, and I radiated a shower-fresh clean. My apartment was silent, my palms sweating as my hands rested on my thighs. Despite all my arguing and resistance, I was the very definition of down bad.

My incessant thoughts piped up.

"You're trying too hard. You realize that Avery saw you yesterday, unconscious, in a ratty t-shirt and cargo shorts, nasty and sweaty from skateboarding, right? You probably looked like shit, and he probably thinks that's how you normally look. You probably smelled bad, too. He's gonna know."

"He's not gonna know. How would he know?"

A soft knock on my door interrupted my internal warfare and made me jump out of my skin.

I put my hand on the cold doorknob. My heart beat so furiously I could feel the fuzzy edge of my consciousness, and I silently bargained with my hypotension that if it just left me alone for now, just for tonight, I would pass out all it wanted tomorrow. I turned the knob and opened the door.

"Hi!"

It was my neighbor. I experienced an emotion that could only be described as crushing relief.

"I found this outside my door, I think it's yours, isn't it?"

She was holding my skateboard. It was wet, but it didn't look to be soaked through. I gasped, taking it from her.

"Yes! You said it was outside your door?"

"Yeah, I don't know how long it was there, though. Probably since this morning. This is the first time I've gotten out today, so..." she trailed off. We'd spoken in passing, but we didn't really know each other.

"Well, thank you, I lost it yesterday. I think my friend found it and probably just forgot which apartment was mine."

"Hey, no problem. Have a good one," she said, smiling politely as she left.

When she was out of sight, I hastily looked around. The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon, and as I looked up, I could see hard chips of stars starting to appear. Over my shoulder, I checked the microwave clock again. It was seven o'clock on the dot. How much longer? What would I say when he arrived? What would I even do when he did? My hands grew cold as I realized that, in all of my stress-cleaning, I hadn't planned anything for Avery and I to do together. Maybe I still had time?

"Good evening," a familiar, airy voice spoke from mere inches in front of me.

I jumped again, head snapping forward as my suddenly weak hands dropped my skateboard, which rolled lazily across my small patio.

Avery stood before me in the dying light. He wasn't completely transparent yet, and the fading sunlight behind him illuminated the delicate curves of his head, giving new meaning to the phrase "silver lining." He was grinning like a child who'd just had ice cream for the first time.

My words caught in my throat.

"I'm glad you found your skateboard! I fished it out of the water after I took you home, but I couldn't remember which apartment you lived in -- sorry about that. I hope it isn't ruined."

Across the courtyard, a man opened his door and stepped out, snapping me out of my besotted daze. My fight-or-flight engaged.

"Get in here!" I whispered urgently, grabbing his shirt sleeve, eliciting a surprised yelp as I pulled him into my apartment. He was lighter than I expected, and as the door swung closed, I tumbled backwards onto the floor.

"My goodness, Casper, are you okay?" He offered a hand to help me up. I scarcely had time to brace myself before taking it, and had no choice but to endure the overwhelming thrill of sensation as his cool palm pressed against mine, pulling me to my feet. He was light, but his strength was undeniable; he practically pulled me off my feet by my hand.

"Oh, yeah, fine... ah... I saw someone... out there, across the yard, and I was afraid they would see you," I hastily explained, avoiding his eyes as I tried to calm my palpitations.

"Well, that was kind of you! Believe it or not, though, humans do see me sometimes. Usually you just assume I am something else, like fog, or simply a trick of the light. Come to think of it, though... I suppose, technically, I am both of those things..." He put his fingers to his lips contemplatively. It was only then that I noticed a few things about him that were different from last time -- he was wearing square-framed glasses, and he seemed... shorter? The first time I saw him, he practically towered over me; now, though, he was only about a head taller.

"Did you get shorter?" I asked rudely, wincing before the words had even left my mouth. Mercifully, he didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, yes! It's a scorcher today, isn't it? I evaporate when I get too hot, or if I go too long without water, similar to how you run out of energy when you don't eat."

I realized that I hadn't offered him a seat or anything to drink since I abruptly yanked him into my apartment. I sensed my father rolling in his grave.

"I'm so sorry, can I get you something to drink? I have plain water, but I also have flavored sparkling water, you know, like La Croix? They aren't sweet, but, they're kinda fruit flavored. The kind I have is strawberry. I also have hot tea? I don't have any soda or anything, I don't really drink soda or alcohol, I also have m-"

Avery put his large hand on my shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. I flushed immediately, becoming aware that I had spoken in such a rush that I'd forgotten to breathe. I inhaled greedily, unable to meet Avery's eyes as I gestured to my small couch for him to sit.

"Sparkling water sounds lovely. I've never had that before, but I love strawberries!" he said, taking a seat.

I cracked open a can for each of us, then took a seat on a cushion across the coffee table from Avery. My couch was so small -- really more of a loveseat -- and I was afraid it was too soon to sit so close to him.

As Avery took a sip of the fizzy drink, his eyes lit up, like they did when he laughed. The liquid entered his mouth, and I watched the bubbles swirl like a hurricane just below the surface of his clear skin, before disappearing into the cloudy translucency of his body. Almost imperceptibly, such that I might not have noticed if I wasn't watching, he grew a bit taller.

"Hehe, that kinda tickles," he said, giggling, "it's not much of a flavor, is it? More like an idea of strawberries. Nonetheless, I like it! It reminds me of the flavor of tea."

"Oh, god. Oh, no."

My mind spun like a top flying off a ripcord. I felt my blush rise cartoonishly from my neck all the way to my hairline, like mercury in a glass thermometer being thrown through time, straight from winter into summer. Had I been a cartoon, I was sure that steam would be whistling out of my burning ears.

"The way that word sounds on his lips... oh, god, this is more than I can bear," I thought, watching him read the back of the La Croix can, his head tilted upward as he peered through his bifocals. There was no denying anything anymore; no bargaining, no holds barred. I was helplessly, hopelessly, powerlessly smitten. I had no choice but to admit it, now: all I could do was double-down.

"Hey Avery?"

"Yes?" He smiled again, and I realized with dizzying elation that he always smiled when he looked at me.

"Have you ever been to the fair?"

[inastarlesssky]

In Defense of Dramione - an essay

Okay, time for another Ted talk/ soapbox/ pointless rambling...Putting it under the cut because I have opinions.

In Defense of Dramione - an essay

First of all, I want to say I ship Dramione. Which is a recent thing, specifically about half a year ago. I didn't always because well it never occurred to me that you could. Of course, that's how ships are. We ship some ships bc they're canon, okay, fine. But we ship a whole lot others that aren't because you name whatever reason (they've got chemistry, they WORK, they're better than the canonically approved pairings whatever the hell else, idk). My point is, it had never crossed my mind that I myself would actually like the idea of Draco and Hermione. Bc naturally, you look at them and you think, "He did insult her when they were children. He was an asshat, etc etc." But...BUT.

You know that trope Enemies to Lovers? Ever heard of redemption arcs? Yeah, those are things. Of course, I don't speak on behalf of everyone in the fandom because we all have our reasons for why. But I ship them because there is potential in Draco's character for growth, for repentance, for redemption. I believe that he's capable, when he's an adult of realizing that he fucked up and that the beliefs he was spoonfed as a child are not the law of the land. I've read more fics than I can count that describe this character arc for him and they do it masterfully. Honestly, I think he's a pretty complex character and I believe that we see a sliver of that in the last few movies. Like look, in 6th year, Harry hit him with Sectumsempra and nearly killed him. But when the Golden Trio were at the Manor and it was on Draco's shoulders to identify Harry and basically seal their doom, did he do it? Did he rat them out? Nope.

Maybe this wasn't exactly Draco "forgiving" Harry, admittedly. But Draco saw that Harry was their only hope for destroying Voldemort or for having some sliver of a winning chance, of a possibility of surviving the mess Voldemort was orchestrating. He obviously deemed it important enough to dare to lie, especially knowing that Bellatrix would have summoned the Dark Lord himself in the next few moments. If Draco really didn't care about the outcome of everything, he wouldn't have done that. If anything, we see that he cares at least about the safety of his family because that could have also been the motive. But that gets me thinking, couldn't he also have confirmed Harry's identity? Voldy would have arrived, perhaps praised Draco and spared the Malfoys to die another die. So really, Draco might have gotten more out of it if he HAD confirmed Harry's identity. Hmm food for thought.

Second point, I'm not going to judge anyone in the fandom because of reasons stated above, but I will go so far as to say, please, if you don't ship Dramione, that's okay. Everyone has their own cup of tea, but please, do NOT claim that all of us (that every single one of us who happen to support this ship) are and I quote "are just a bunch of horny teenagers desperate for some pretty boy and pretty girl sex". That isn't fair and it frankly isn't true, so please don't. I know many wonderful people who have crafted amazing stories and shown great talent through their writing to express the complexities I've just spoken about.

I'll end by saying that we all have our ships, and that's okay. There's no real right or wrong inasfaras who you ship with whom. But it's a basic gesture of respect, I think, to let others love the pairings that they love. Spreading hatred, ill-will or just unkindness toward those of us who enjoy a particular ship, that's not cool and that's what brings us down in what should be something we all enjoy and go to find joy and share that joy with others.

Okay, it seems I really defended Draco more than Hermione here but I will die on this hill and defend my dorks. Fight me on it (joking here but really though. XD) Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

[motherodysseus]

Ptolemaea - A Prologue

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Original Stark Female Character (Alysanne Stark)

Warnings: Death, murderous thoughts, but nothing else... yet!

Word Count: ~2700

Summary: Lady Alysanne Stark buries her mother, the Lady Valaena Velaryon Stark. She and her half-brother Cregan, the should-be Lord of Winterfell, find themselves in a precarious position as their Uncle Bennard refuses to cede his regency. Lines are drawn, and plans are made.

Ethel Cain, the woman that you are... inspired me to write my first fanfic!

“And so, we commit to the crypts, the Lady Valaena Velaryon Stark, who leaves behind one trueborn daughter, the lady Alysanne, and one stepson, Cregan. She rests peacefully next to her husband, the late Lord Rickon Stark, and their son, the late Barthogen Stark. The North remembers her sixteen years of service as Lady of Winterfell.” 

It was cold in the crypts, but Alys could not feel it. Rage at this affront has seeped deep into her veins, which, while convenient for keeping warm, is rather less so for a funeral rite in close quarters.

She watches her Uncle Bennard closely. Pompous prick, she thinks ruefully. A usurper playing at a lord, and does he not look oh so pleased at that prospect. She imagines the many ways she could make him suffer for the continued slights upon her family. Admittedly, she does this most days, and finds it her new favorite way to pass the time. This sham of a funeral is not the first slight, though it is one of the most egregious.

Her mother was Velaryon, and she belongs to the sea. Even her father knew it – he had made provisions within his will to allow for his beloved second wife’s remains to be taken back to her birthplace of Driftmark, once the time came. 

Now, that time had come, and much too soon. Taken in the hour of ghosts not a sennight past, a fever made quick work of Alys’s mother. Maester Lymon had done what he could. “It is like no fever I have seen, Lady Alys,” he said, after barring her from her mother’s side. He had written to the Citadel, and pored over all the texts available within the walls of Winterfell. But it did not matter. The fever snatched her away in a day and a half. Alys did not even get to say goodbye.

Her greatest protector and champion, her comfort and her safe harbor, is gone. And, rather than fulfilling her mother’s wishes as she ought, Alys is forced to watch as she is locked beneath the ground in an unmarked grave behind her father’s imposing statue. It looks eerily like him. Her eyes fall shut as imagines her father’s spirit inhabiting the statue, granting it just enough life-giving force so that it may lift his sword and lob Bennard’s head clean off. 

Her father always said, “he who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” Alys knows that if he were alive to see such treasonous behavior from his own kin, he would make quick work of it. But her father is not here. Nor is her mother, or her little brother. All that remains of their family are her and Creg. Strong, steady Creg, who, despite his age and status, holds her hand tight in his. 

He is a good brother, Alys thinks. Mayhaps I could have him nail Bennard to the mound so I may use him for target practice. She suppresses a snort. Nay, he may be a good brother, but he is no kinslayer. It is possible that he could be persuaded, if I swore to not hit the usurper somewhere fatal. 

Creg squeezes her hand – in comfort or in remonstration, she cannot say for sure. Perhaps her snort was taken as a repressed sob by others, but she finds it unlikely her brother would not see through it. She schools her face, working to mask the tumult of pain and rage and yes, hilarity at her own violent thoughts, into one of passivity and demure sadness.

“You have the blood of two ancient peoples flowing in your veins,” Alys’s mother had said once after she had landed herself in a spot of trouble – a rather common occurrence. “You are the blood of Old Valyria and the First Men. Your spirit is ruled by your wolf’s blood, 'tis true, but your heart is of the sea. Your wild nature is a gift, though many will seek to punish you for it. You must learn to shield yourself.” 

Alys’s mother taught her to play her part, and she would not fail her now. 

After several moments of silence, those invited to pay their respects to the late Lady Stark begin to make their way out of the crypts. A sea of faces nod toward Alys and Cregan, and she quietly takes note of each. Karstark, Mormont, the many Flints – are those the ones of Widow's Watch or Flint’s Finger? – Glover, Hornwood, Umber, Manderly, the Boltons of the Dreadfort – a dreadful people, truly, with their flayed men. She shivers, and Cregan squeezes her hand again, and moves to pull him into his shoulder. He thinks me cold, but I have my rage to keep me warm. She lets him hold her, though it does little to quell her growing fury.

No Velaryons are in attendance. Her mother was not only denied her funeral rite, but denied her kin, too, in Bennard’s haste to bury her. “Her illness could be catching,” he had said during the preparations. More likely he wanted to be rid of even the memory of her, Alys thinks, the perpetual thorn in his side and his greatest adversary in his quest to gain Winterfell in full.

Her Velaryon uncles may be the greatest seafarers in all the Seven Kingdoms, but even they could not have made the trip in time. Mayhaps if they had mounted their kin's dragons, but even then, it would be close. She cannot be certain they would have made it at all, what with the recent betrothal and looming wedding of her cousin Laenor to Rhaenyra, the Princess of Dragonstone, but it is yet another slight that they were not even considered. She was forced to write to them herself to inform them of her mother’s passing. There has been no word back, but this is not surprising. Ravens can only move so quickly, no matter how pressing the contents of the missive.

One by one, the guests file out. Nearly all the lords in the North have come to pay their former Lady Stark homage. A testament to her character certainly – though she was an outsider, she did much to earn their respect and ensure their wellbeing. The North prospered under her father and mother’s care. Yet, Alys knows the lords of the North did not make the trip simply to honor her lady mother, nor does she take offense. They are as much here for mourning as they are to take stock of their Lord Paramount. Rather, the man that should be their Lord Paramount, for Cregan turned eight and ten not five moon turns ago. He is a man grown, and well past his age of majority. But their sniveling, spineless wretch of an uncle refuses to cede his regency. “Winter is coming,” he says, “and neither of you have seen one yet.” 

Yet, Cregan, like Alys, is a Stark. Winter is Coming; it is always coming. And no Stark worth their salt would be unprepared for it. Winter is Coming, and the North needs a strong lord to lead them through. Winter is coming, and I swear it by the Old Gods, the end of your rapacious power grab is, too, Alys prays silently as she stares daggers into her uncle, putting as much will as she can behind the prayer, so the Old Gods see fit to make it so.

“Come, Cregan,” Bennard says, interrupting her violent thoughts. Yet again. Bastard. “The lords and vassals are only here for a short time, and you must fete them.” He waits for Cregan to fall into step, his nose upturned. Power suits only strong men, Alys muses. 'Tis easy to tell a weak man with power, for when they speak, it looks as if they have smelled sheep dung. She squeezes her brother’s hand, hoping he receives her message to stay behind. 

“I will meet you in the hall shortly, Uncle. Alys and I will take a moment ourselves to pay respect to our mother. Then we shall join the mourners at the feast.”

Bennard looks as if he is about to fight him on it. Alys can almost hear him in her mind: “But Cregan, she is naught but your lady stepmother, and the lords are waiting. Come now, you must away.” As if the Lady Valaena did not help raise Cregan, who lost his own mother to the childbed when he was not yet out of the nursery. She loved Cregan as if he were her own, and he loved her the same. 

Alys prepares to cut her uncle down with her tongue alone, but, as Bennard’s eyes fall upon her, it seems he decides against crossing her today. Even the village idiot is bound to be right once in a great while, she thinks as he makes his way from the crypt.

The Stark siblings stand side by side for a time. The crypt is quiet now, but Alys finds no peace in it. 

“I am sorry, sister. For all of it. This is not how this was supposed to occur,” says Cregan. Alys remains quiet. “I tried to sway him, but he would not be moved.” The silence lingers on, as Alys chooses her words carefully.

“'Tis not a dance, Creg – he cannot be swayed. The time for persuasion is at its end. Every day he remains in power, he grows bolder. You must see this for what it is – a coup.”

“Alys, please. What you are speaking of, it is unthinkable. In front of our dead kin, no less. And I am no kinslayer.”

“No, you are not. Nor am I asking you to be. But you are the Lord of Winterfell. And it is high time you act like it.” 

“Alys –”

“Hear me, Cregan, and heed me, too. If Bennard is bold enough to go against Father’s wishes, wishes he laid out plain upon his death, what is to stop him from continuing to do so? From undoing everything he built? If the words of his Lord, his own brother, mean nothing to him, then we must call him what he is. He is a man without honor. He is a leech and –,” Alys manages to stop herself before the word usurper leaves her lips; she knows her brother would not appreciate it, as true as it may be. 

“– he cannot be trusted to act in the best interests of House Stark, nor can he be entrusted with the care of the North. Maester Lymon says the days are growing colder and longer, not that we cannot feel it for ourselves. And now, fevers and sickness –” she sucks in a breath, looking toward her mother’s unmarked tomb. Gone, gone, they are all gone, we are all that is left, we cannot fracture. 

“He says all the signs are there to make for a truly terrible winter. Yet Bennard does not act, nor does he yield his power,” Alys’s rage is growing, but she cares not. If there is anyone she can share this with, it is her brother. “He and his sons prance about as if they are the lords of this keep. They are not. And if he will not bend, he must be broken.” Her voice cracks, as her emotions finally overcome her. 

Cregan reaches for her, and pulls her into his arms, hugging her close. He may have grown into a fine warrior – the finest the North has ever seen, they all say so – but, like all wolves, he has a soft underbelly, one he only exposes to his family. Consisting of only me now, and it is at this bitter thought that her anger dissipates, and the tears finally flow. The last true wolves in Winterfell stand under the eyes of their lord father’s watchful statue, surrounded by the quiet ghosts of the many Lords and Kings of Winter and all their assorted kin.

“You are right, Alys. By the gods, it is almost vexing how right you always seem to be,” Creg mumbles into her hair. Alys lets out a watery chuckle, and she can feel Creg smile as he pulls away. He holds her shoulders and looks down at her. “Are you sure you would not like to be the Lord of Winterfell?”

“Nay, I would not,” Alys says, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. “The job requires far too much paperwork for my taste.” 

“But you are the strongest student Maester Lymon has ever had, as he tells all and sundry.”

“Yes, but a great many do not listen, and those that do would find that the Maester has plenty of notes to give on the sorry state of my figures. He says I ought to marry a rich lord, for if I do not, I will surely render him destitute.” They laugh for a moment, before silence lapses again. Cregan hands drop to his sides as Alys turns back toward the statue of their father. 

“He means to sell me, Creg,” Alys whispers.

“He will not. I will not allow it. 'Tis written in Father’s will, you are to choose your lord husband. And I mean to uphold it.”

“Yes, and it was written in his will that Mother’s remains were to be taken to Driftmark. Bennard made his position clear today; he cares not for Father's wishes. Furthermore, it is as you said, he will not be swayed by you. He will sell me to the highest bidder, and gladly. You know he cares not for me. And once I am made into a broodmare –”

“Alys, please –” Cregan turns from his sister and begins to pace like a caged beast. A habit of his since he was small, let loose when frustration overcomes him.

“And once I am made into a broodmare for some faraway poncey prick of a lord,” Alys continues, “he will come for you. ‘When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.’ Is this not what father taught us? And what his father taught him? Bennard may be an idiot, but he is still a Stark; he knows this, just as well as you and I,” Alys watches Cregan tense, but pushes on. The time to mince words is at an end. 

“We have never been more vulnerable, Cregan. Mother commanded much respect as the dowager Lady of Winterfell, and championed your cause. Her and the Maester worked to shore up your claim and secure fealty from the great houses. We must continue her work, and we cannot afford to fail. Bennard did utter something of value this day – the great lords of the North and their vassals are here, and they are looking to you. We must rally them to your side.”

“Enough, Alys. It is enough.” Cregan stops his pacing. Alys watches his hand squeeze Ice’s pummel, and his head drop. 

“Brother –” 

“Yes, you are right. You are always bloody right,” he says, consternation coloring his tone. He turns back to her. “You are a wolf, there is no denying this, but you are so like Mother. I imagine she would be proud to hear such wise counsel from her daughter. But must we plot in front of the dead? Does it not seem…I don’t know, unseemly?”

More gifted with the longsword than with words, my brother, Alys smirks. “It is more scheme than plot, Creg. But your point is sound. Come, let us make haste. We have much to do if this scheme is to properly hatch into a plot, anyhow.” 

Alys grabs hold of her brother's arm. As they make their way from the crypts, she glances over her shoulder. She yearns to throw herself at her mother’s grave, and beg her to return from the Merling King to her side. Though she did not get her rite, and the Old Gods may have her remains, her soul is with the sea. It always will be.

Alys wishes desperately to hold her mother close one last time, to feel her hands card through her hair, and even to hide herself in her skirts as she did when she was naught but a child at her hip. “So that I may go everywhere with you, Muña!” 

But the time of childish fantasies is at an end. Winter is Coming, and there is much to be done. 

[delightfullyviolentgirl]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Morgan Stark

Characters: Morgan Stark, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Sam Wilson

Warnings: Alcoholism, adult language

Read on AO3

Taking off her heels had been a very good idea. Like, a majorly good one. She would most likely have fallen if she hadn't, and if she had she would most likely have broken something. An ankle, her nose, teeth, whatever. That's what happened when one wears stilettos after drinking two bottles of vodka —with help, admittedly— and plans on walking home. Well, she hadn't really planned that, it was more something that happened. Turns out the last club she left was really close to her house, so calling a taxi seemed like an unnecessary waste of money. Not that she really cared about wasting money, she had more than enough. But still, a waste.

So she walked back home, leaving the club at 6:12 AM. Or some minutes before that, same thing. Obviously she didn't take off her heels until she reached the lobby of her building. New York City was filthy, she wasn't walking barefoot there. 

Ugh. Grossest city ever.

She took the elevator to her floor, the penthouse. It was empty and it didn't stop once. Thankfully, because she didn't want to deal with any of her judgy wealthy neighbors. Technically speaking she could kick them out if they pissed her off, she owned the building, but none had done that yet. Well, they had, but not in a major way. Yet. She saw that as a very possible future.

Morgan Stark arrived at her house at 6:15 AM after being out the whole night. That was not unusual in her, it was actually pretty normal. She went out, got drunk, danced, had sex and went home. She always did make sure she went to the guy's place, because kicking them out later —which she learned the few times they did go to her house— was a lot of work. That was a daily routine. What was not a daily routine, but it was also fairly common, was having her mother waiting for her in her living room.

She was there when she opened the door, after fumbling with the keys, sitting on her expensive couch with her legs crossed. As poised and elegant as always.

She could be pretty fucking dramatic at times.

"What are you doing here?" she slurred her words "I'm seriously considering confiscating your keys of my house"

Virginia "Pepper" Potts rose from the couch, she wore a white pencil skirt with a white blouse, it was a nice outfit. Like all of her outfits, nice, but without pretending she was younger than she really was. Some people could take notes.

"I was worried. I called you at least twenty times and you didn't answer"

Morgan threw her heels to the floor, they fell on the carpet without making a sound, and went through her small purse to find her phone. 

"Yeah, seems about right" Morgan left the phone over the kitchen counter and let herself fall to the couch, a sigh of relief leaving her lips "You don't have to worry so much"

Her mother's blue eyes softened "Of course I have to. Who knows how many people want to kidnap you or hurt you"

"I'm sure Peter has a list"

"I'm not joking" her gaze hardened again.

She wasn't either. Honestly, didn't she know Peter by now? She was almost tempted to ask her, but refrained from it.

"No one's gonna kidnap me" she said instead "And even if they did they would return me in a couple of days. I'm pretty hard to stand"

Her mother sighed, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose "You think I'm joking so you joke. Morgan, this is something that could happen"

"Yeah, I know"

It wasn't something she feared, maybe because she hadn't lived it. Or maybe because she was too drunk at the moment and only wanted to sleep. Ah, fuck, her bed was on the second floor. Well, the couch would have to do.

"You're just like your father" her mother scoffed and that comment almost took her sleepiness away. Almost "He used to joke about it all the time, until it happened and he nearly died"

"Well, I'm not him"

She was very different from Tony Stark. Too different to some, not different enough to others. Her mother was always drawing parallels between the two, ever since Morgan had memory. Peter did it too, mention her dad and compare them. And Happy, and Rhodey and literally everyone. Well, Fury didn't. He didn't like her. She wasn't really sure why. Well, it could be because she refused to hand over the time travel machine to SHIELD. Steve was more of the same, he also didn't think they were alike. As a kid she thought that was an insult. Always wanting to be like her father. Now she hated being compared to him. She had her reasons for that.

Very good reasons.

"I know" her mother replied with another sigh. She was tired, probably because of so much work. Running Stark Industries was not an easy task. Something Morgan would learn soon, but for the moment she got drunk and went out "But you are a lot like him"

"Don't..."

"And I already took care of one Stark with addiction issues who didn't take care of himself. I don't want to repeat the job with my daughter"

Morgan swallowed. What she said wasn't true, but it wasn't a lie either. She did have issues, but her mother had known that since she was a child. Her psychologist made it clear.

Really fucking clear.

"You won't"

It was not a promise, because she really couldn't promise something like that. She was self-aware enough for that.

"Why do you even drink so much?"

It makes it all easier.

She wasn't going to say that. She wasn't going to tell the absolute truth, but she could tell a truth.

"'Cause I find it easier to stand Emily when I'm drunk"

And yeah, that wasn't a lie. Emily was really fucking annoying.

"Why is she even your friend if you so clearly don't like her?"

Morgan wouldn't say they were friends, they were more people who went out together and held each other's drinks.

"I'm not in the mood for this, mom, you can scold me tomorrow"

Tired, Morgan laid on the couch, her legs hanging from one of the edges. Her eyes closed quickly and she drifted to the world of the dreams, but before that she felt a warm weight covering her body and her eyes opened to see a glimpse of her mother before closing them again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Morgan was used to the cameras and its flashes, paparazzis and reporters. People from gossip magazines following her, normal people taking pictures with their phones. She had never truly known a common life. A life where she wasn't spied on and followed her around. Everyone wanted to know everything about her. Everyone wanted something from her. That was the curse of being a Stark. The same happened to her father, but at least she had never been kidnapped. Her parents made sure of that. 

She raised her hand, waving and smiling at the cameras. They took pictures of her. Later her appearance there would be all over the news and her dress would be criticised or talked about in gossip and fashion magazines. She could already see the headlines, the comments. That her dress was "too risky" that she showed "too much". Same things they always wrote. 

She had been invited to the inauguration of the updated exhibition of Captain America in the Smithsonian. And maybe she was overdressed or not formal enough. Everyone wore suits and formal dresses, but she was a little bit different. For the inauguration she had chosen a burgundy dress made of satin, with a V neckline and thin straps. There was a slit on the left lateral side that showed up to her upper thigh. Scandalous for that, maybe, but what could she say? She had always loved to dazzle people.

She allowed them to take pictures at the door of the Smithsonian before going inside. Her uncle in all but blood was waiting for her. To his credit, he didn't look the slightest bit surprised by her outfit.

"You're late" he said, but there was not reproach in his tone.

"I had a killer headache, uncle Rhodey" 

He looked at her with small smile "You mean, a killed hangover?"

Morgan raised her eyebrows and shrugged, same thing really.

Not long after she arrived, Sam Wilson started his speech, by an enormous picture of a suited Steve. She had been surprised when she heard he was going to give up the shield. As far as she knew Rogers had left it to him on purpose, so she was a little confused by his decision. But hey, to each their own. Maybe Sam didn't think he could handle the pressure of taking over for Captain America. Or maybe it was something else, she didn't really know the guy. But only by seeing him act, hearing him speak, seeing how he looked at the shield, she could tell he didn't believe he was worthy of it. 

It's just a fucking shield.

Those were her thoughts when Sam Wilson pronounced the words "righteous" and "hope" about Steve. They didn't really get along, her and Steve. He was too much of a do-gooder for her liking. And that was almost certainly the reason he didn't like her either. One of the reasons he thought she wasn't enough like her father. She wasn't someone who strived to save the world in his eyes. Technically wrong, because she really wasn't opposed to saving the world, she simply thought their methods were ineffective. Helmut and her both did. But obviously, no one was going to listen to Helmut, and no one was listening to her until her father died and she became the owner of everything he had.

No one listens to a girl until she has money and power of her own.

When Sam finished his speech, people started clapping and the shield was taken away. Morgan followed it with her eyes until it was put away.

She grabbed a glass of champagne and joined her uncle in one of his talks with politicians and army higher-ups. But soon after Sam approached them.

"Sam" Rhodey greeted with a smile "Have you met Morgan?"

Sam looked at her with a frown before extending his hand towards her "Stark?"

She shook his hand "The one and only. Now, at least"

"Sorry, it's just" he shook his head, ashamed of staring at her. It happened to everyone "Last time I saw you you were like fourteen"

Ah, yeah. Morgan had been around that age by the time the whole "Avengers divorce" thing happened. And that was the only time they interacted. If one could it that.

"The Blip really made things confusing, ah?" Her uncle commented.

It sure did. One day her father was living peacefully and the next he was dead. Really fucking confusing.

Sam chuckled "Man, when I left my nephews they were babies, I come back and they are little men. It's crazy"

That's how the Blip works.

"You should bring them to DC someday, I'll teach them how to fly" uncle Rhodey smirked "You know, the right way"

Sam chuckled at his words as they walked through the exposition with pictures about Steve and his life. Morgan took a sip of the champagne, but an image made her stop on her tracks and ignore the conversation that was going on between the two men.

It was a photo of James Buchanan Barnes, a photo of the 40s. The words by its side identified him as Steve's "best friend since childhood". Better than being identified as the Winter Soldier, she supposed. James "Bucky" Barnes, AKA the guy who saved her ass. Morgan remembered that day vividly, how she fell to a hole in the ground when Thanos appeared with his armies from the past. How she was almost crashed by one of Thanos machines. How he saved her.

Crazy shit.

She almost died that day, but he saved her. For that she would be eternally grateful.

Even though he technically killed her grandparents.

But he was being mind-controlled at the time, so she couldn't really hold him accountable for that. She couldn't imagine what it was like, all that he had to endure. It made her sympathetic, really. Which was odd, because she wasn't good with sympathy. But then again, he had saved her life. So there was that.

Morgan shook her head and followed Sam and uncle Rhodey to the altar where the shield was kept.

"I wonder they use to clean that. Bleach, maybe?" 

The two men chuckled, but the unshed tears in Sam's eyes were visible from where she stood. If her uncle noticed them, he didn't comment on it.

It was during the night, after the inauguration was over and she was about to leave that Rhodey approached her and started a conversation she really didn't want to have.

"We should make one of this for your dad, don't you think?"

Morgan took a drag a of her cigarette and let the smoke out through her mouth.

"No, I don't"

Uncle Rhodey sighed "Why not?"

"I'm not putting my father's things on display for a bunch of strangers to see them" her answer was of someone irritated with the whole conversation and it had just started.

"Your dad meant a lot of things for a lot of people, Morgan, not only for you"

She rolled her eyes, an humorless chuckle escaping her lips.

"Yeah, I know that"

She knew it well, alright. Her father was everyday risking his life ever since she was like five. Saving the world. Saving people. Not really worrying about how Morgan felt about it, or how her mother felt. And she knew he didn't mean to hurt them, to worry them. She knew he did it because he thought it was the right thing to do. Because he felt guilty about the destruction the weapon manufacturing of Stark Industries had caused. But that didn't change how Morgan felt about it. How worried she was, scared that her father would return home in a box. Not to mention how he suffered from all of it, all that his good deeds led to. His anxiety, PTSD, nightmares, hallucinations induced by a witch that led to even more guilt and PTSD. And Morgan was hurt when she saw her father like that. And her mother was too. There was a reason they were always on a break and together and then on a break again. Her mother couldn't handle the way he destroyed himself any more than she could.

And then there was the Blip and five years of peace. Five wonderful years that ended too quickly. And with them, her father's life ended too.

"Morgan..." Uncle Rhodey started.

She threw her cigarette to the ground and stepped on it to put the small flame out "I'm going home. See you around"

Her car was waiting for her, it was pretty late already. She was beat. A pretty hard day.

I need a drink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Thursdays, Morgan was used to wake up late —Although she did that pretty much everyday— and take a slow day. Wait until her mother updated her on the company business and took a few laps on the pool.

Bless the luxury penthouses, they had everything one could want. Everything she could want.

Except something that was on her mind.

Someone.

She had seen him, Barnes. She went to a sushi place with Emily and Paris a week ago, after waking up at Emily's with the house turned upside down. She had thrown a party in her new house Tuesday night —a pretty awesome one because she didn't remember a thing— and went shopping afterwards because why wouldn't they? They got hungry and decided to get lunch at the first sushi place they found. And there she saw it. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, her saviour. 

He was having lunch with some old guy, a friend close to his age, she supposed. He recognized her, but he didn't know who she was. He didn't know she was Tony's daughter. Did he not know who he saved? Apparently not.

But other than that she could see the realization in his eyes. She was actually pretty sure that was a flirty line, what he asked. He seemed to be flirting with her. Or maybe not. It wouldn't bother her. He was pretty hot.

Once she was done swimming, she wrapped a towel around herself and went inside the house. The first floor of her penthouse was an open space, the living room, kitchen and dining room sharing the same room. That allowed her to see a figure dressed in red going through her fridge as soon as she entered.

"Morning, Peter" she greeted, drying herself so no more drops of water fell to the wooden floor "Pass me a yoghurt, would you?"

Peter did that, handing her a chocolate yoghurt and a teaspoon. His Spiderman suit was on, but his mask was off.

"It's lunch time, Morgan" he replied in that up-beat tone of his "You know that, right?"

She rolled her eyes, of course she knew, she just didn't care. She was used to waking up late and going to bed later. Peter grabbed a yoghurt for himself, because clearly they had enough trust to do that. She did find him rummaging through her fridge. 

They had met when her father considered it a good idea to involve a fifteen year old superhuman in his fight against Steve. And when she wanted to help too, he forbid it. He said that Peter could go against Steve and his team because he had a powers and she couldn't because she didn't have powers. Which was fair, even if at the time she had been pissed off about it.

After that her and Peter had become friends, mostly because he didn't stop harassing Happy and he needed someone to distract him. So she distracted him. By becoming his friend she made other friends, like Ned and MJ. But after the Blip that changed.

They disappeared for five years and when they returned they were the same age they had been before, meanwhile Morgan had grown and lived things during the Blip. She did a lot of charity during that time, still did it now.

There is also Madripoor.

She shook her head, not the time to remember that pirate island. But she did have to call Sharon.

"I'm completely aware of how fucked my schedule is, no need for you to remind me" 

Morgan dry her hair with the towel, footsteps made of water decorated the floor of the living room slash kitchen. She sat on one of those designers high chairs she bought because they looked pretty. Her bikini was still wet so she couldn't sit on the couch.

"Right, right" Peter nodded taking a spoonful of lemon yoghurt —she didn't like those, she only bought them because Peter did— to his mouth.

Ugh. Gross.

"How's the planning of the trip to Europe going?" 

"Great"

She raised her eyebrows "And the whole thing with MJ?"

She talked to her from time to time, they even did charity work together, but it was not the same as it had been. Morgan had lived some things, things MJ hadn't and most likely wouldn't. She thought that was always bound to end that way. She was a Stark, her life was tied to the dangers of the multiverse. And she might just have put her own life in danger when she decided to become the pen pal of a dangerous terrorist. 

"I think she likes me" Peter said with a small voice.

"She liked you before, she was always watching you" 

Yeah, like really obsessively. MJ had a crush on Peter, she told her that, but that was before. Besides, she couldn't tell Peter, it was against the friends code. And that could've changed, she didn't believe it had, but it was a possibility.

"You think?" He blushed.

"I know"

You two are getting on my nerves.

"I have decided to tell her during the trip, it should be romantic. Right?" he fidgeted with his suit. Morgan had offered him to pay for a table for two in some expensive restaurant, but Peter refused to accept that "And what about you?"

Morgan finished the yoghurt, threw the container to the trash can and the teaspoon to the sink.

"Nothing"

"Oh, come one. It can't be always the same thing"

Morgan shrugged "I'm not one for romance, you should know that"

Once again, Peter's cheeks turned red. He had a crush on her when they met, though at the time he also had a crush on Liz Allan. That history ended badly, what with Liz's father being a criminal and Peter fighting him.

"If you say so"

"But" she started, maybe she could talk to him about Bucky Barnes. Not that she would  explicitly say his name, but she really needed to get it off her chest. It was stressing her out how much she thought about him "there's this one guy I can't stop thinking about, it's very annoying"

"Ahhh, so there is some romance" Peter taunted.

"No romance" she insisted "Only horniness, if anything"

Peter hummed, a small smile extending on his face. He didn't believe her. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was a new Captain America. John Walker was his name. They replaced a blonde blue-eyed military man with another blonde blue-eyed military man. Which wasn't a surprising move from the government. It was, however, something that probably pissed off Sam and Bucky too. She didn't think he would be very happy that the shield that used to belong to his best friend was now given to some stranger.

Probably. She didn't really know him, not beyond saving her. That and everything she heard about him.

The Winter Soldier thing, the murder of her grandparents, the brainwashing, the torture...Huh, she actually did know a lot about him without really knowing him.

Sitting on the couch, she carefully studied the new Captain America. She was watching an interview that they gave the annoying guy, trying to figure out who he was. And so far she didn't like him. Morgan reached for the pack of cigarettes and lit a cigarette with her silver lighter. 

The guy was nervous, terribly so. John Walker probably didn't feel like he could be Captain America. In that moment she felt bad for him. Big shoes to fill, indeed. She honestly didn't see a happy ending for the guy if he continued to carry Steve's mantle. It had been a few weeks since they gave him the shield and so far she knew it wasn't going well. Apparently there was some new superhuman group wrecking havoc around the world. The Flag Smashers or something. The name already said a lot about their ideology and Morgan couldn't say she was against their ideas. The methods they used, however, were fucking useless. Sloppy. The government would just send people after them and dismantle everything they worked for. They weren't many and they didn't really have much power.

Morgan had her lips around the cigarette when her phone rang. It was a number she didn't recognize.

"Who's it?"

"Miss Stark" a voice she knew very well greeted her from the other side of the line. What. The. Fuck.

"Helmut? They gave you a phone? European prisons are something else"

She knew he was rich and royalty and whatever, but he was still a prisoner. He was allowed visits and she brought him things sometimes, but a phone was a whole other thing. 

"No. I fear it's something less surprising for you, but more worrying. I'm free, for now at least"

She shut her eyes crushing the cigarette against the ashtray. He broke out of prison. Of course he fucking broke out of prison. He was right, she wasn't even surprised.

"What have you done?"

Great. She was going to have to deal with the fallout of that now. Why the fuck was he even calling her? Did he want to make her accomplice?

Dumb question.

"I think this is something you want to know, the reason I'm no longer prisoner. Come find me"

He hung up the phone. 

Fuck my life.

Well, she didn't really have anything else to do.

[danganronpa-ship-tourney]

Wait why don't U like SaiOuma?

Im putting this under a cut so that anyone that does not want to see me absolutely hating on this ship for like ten paragraphs can skip

I do not like it! It's boring! Every time I see it both characters are stripped to just cute fluff! It's fucking everywhere! Both characters 9/10 times are WILDLY out of character, ESPECIALLY Kokichi. They always like, redeem him and be like "see he stopped lying" or just be a fluffy uwu nuisance instead of being y'know, a criminal, basically completely changing his character for shuichi even though kokichi CANONICALLY SAYS THIS IF YOU BRING UP FOR HIM TO STOP LYING

Then they completely wash out ALL of Shuichi's interesting points! His hypocrisy! His being pretty firmly on the side of the law! The way Shuichi does not like Kokichi even as a friend through the base game! He literally leaves him bleeding and concussed! The very few fics between the two I like almost always plays on what it means for Shuichi to be on the side of "good" and kokichi on the side of "evil" and if it's ACTUALLY so clear cut.

This would maybe be less annoying if it wasn't like I said FUCKING EVERYWHERE you cannot go TWO SECONDS without finding it if you care about either character. It's completely and utterly inescapable! They're both made so goddamn ooc to make cookie cutter rival x protag content with basically none of what makes either of them INTERESTING as a dynamic. It is single handedly the most generic mlm ship in this whole fucking fandom and I cannot stand it outside of a handful of exceptions.

Seeing it is an almost instant turn off on any concept for me because when I want Kokichi content, I ACTUALLY WANT KOKICHI not that watered down "gay gay ooo my only personality traits are gay panta and excitable" Kokichi that most of the fandom seems to make him. Which is admittedly a problem with Kokichi in the fandom as a whole not just here but it's where I see it the most.

There is potentially here, I've seen it done well, one of my favorite fics is this pairing, but 99.9% of the time it's just, utter garbage. Which honestly just makes it even more annoying because it means I know it can be done well but it never gets done well!

People can like it if they want, and that's none of my business, don't let my yuck effect your yum, but personally? I cannot stand it. I swear to the gods above if I have to hear emo boy with kokichi and shuichi one more time I will lose it.

Most of the time theres just nothing fucking there, people just have taken two very interesting characters and replaced all the intrigue with just hot air and cotton! There's nothing there! At least pregame has something fucking happening!

Plus the fanbase is known for being incredibly loud and annoying, there's a reason like more then half of all the submissions for it mentions the fanbase in some way and I hope it wins the whole thing.

Yeah! Don't like it! Maybe wouldn't care so much if it wasnt basically every other thing, but it is, so I just have to suffer.

[a-lonely-dunedain]

if you want an additional Situation, id be curious about ethedis with #2 :D

ok well. idk why my brain decided these go together but it turned out Very Mean oops. sorry it took so long my brain just, was Not letting me write descriptions. or dialogue. also idk why this is in 2nd person but that's just what it started as and I guess we're committed now *shrug*

#2: time loop (creative liberties taken) #6: reverse amnesia (no one can remember the character)

“Sorry, Corunir, was it? I think I’m a little lost-” Ethedis sets down her cup on the coffee table between the two of you, looking at you intently. There is the sound of rain pattering outside. You search her eyes for the faintest hint of recognition -futile, you know- but still she looks at you like a total stranger. Courteous, curious, but distant. “Can you explain it one more time?” You know it won’t do any good, but you start anyway.

“I’m afflicted by a curse. You’re not going to remember this conversation, you will not remember my face, my voice, or anything I’ve ever done. Sometime between now and dawn, you and everyone else I’ve met today will forget. And the same thing will happen tomorrow.” You managed to keep your voice level explaining it this time. You’ve had practice now. 

“I was a part of Golodir's Company, then the Grey Company, and then the Conquest of Gorgoroth. I became like this after retrieving some kind of cursed artifact from Mordor. I did not realize how dangerous it was at the time. Evidently the curse had a delayed reaction, as it only took effect after I had turned it over to the Houses of Lore for study and safekeeping.”

“I see…” You remain silent and let her process your admittedly hard to believe story. She always takes it better than most you encounter, no accusations of madness or ill intent at least. 

When your brothers see someone they don’t recognize wearing one of their stars, they tend to assume the worst, that it was stolen by an imposter trying to infiltrate their ranks or something of that nature. You of course don’t blame them for it, it’s an understandable reaction. There are so few of you left now, of course a stranger in one of their uniforms would be cause for alarm, but you cannot deny how much it hurts.

So you keep your star hidden when you speak to those of them still in the city. Sometimes you still try to explain your plight, sometimes they actually believe you, but always they forget by the next dawn. 

You find it hurts less to keep your distance from them. The mistrustful look in their eyes typically reserved for strangers is almost too much to bear. 

But Ethedis has always been a little more trusting. Ok a lot more trusting, to an almost worrying degree, but at least it means you have someone to talk to. Coming here to see her has probably been the only thing keeping you sane these last few weeks, she’s one of the few people you find easy to talk to in your current predicament.

The second time you came to her, you just broke. Realizing she truly remembered nothing about you, and the hopelessness of your situation truly starting to set in, is a pain you almost wished you could forget. 

But instead of doing the reasonable thing and demanding that the sobbing madman leave her room at once, she actually attempted to comfort you. A little clumsily perhaps, but the fact that she tried at all was enough to hold you together.

Maybe some part of her could see you were telling the truth, despite how strange it was. Some elves have the power to see into people’s hearts, and though Ethedis never believed she possessed such an ability, you have your own suspicions. She’s always finding new ways to surprise you.

She rummages around her belongings for a sheet of paper and something to write with. You don’t bother telling her it’s pointless. Come morning those papers she’s hastily scribbling down your story on will be blank once again, but you don’t stop her, there’s no reason to keep her from trying.

“So, this relic then,” she says without looking up from the paper “I assume you’ve already tried simply breaking it, and that clearly didn’t work.”

“Yes, the enchantment upon it protected it from any harm I was capable of.”

“I wonder if there’s something I could do to it… maybe tomorrow, after I’ve read over these notes, I could try-”

“I do not mean to sound rude in saying this, but I know that will not work.” You say gently, “You have tried that before, and many other things.” 

She’s attempted to unravel the enchantment a few times now, but truthfully you don’t want her anywhere near it. Not until you’ve exhausted all other options. The risk of her becoming cursed herself may be small, but it is far too great for you to bear. 

You think it might have been your proximity to the relic over such a long period of time that caused you to become like this, as it was on your person all the way from Mordor to Minas Tirith. But you still think it’s too risky for anyone to get near it, even for a short amount of time. Especially Ethedis. You cannot let her fall to this fate. You cannot let her be forgotten.

The scholars in the Houses of Lore at least seem to understand that whatever enchantment is on the relic is dangerous, so it is locked away far from anyone. Ethedis had to pull a great many strings for you to be allowed near it, until you learned who you needed to talk to and exactly what to say to be let in by yourself. 

“And, besides that, I guess I should tell you those notes will not be there for you to read tomorrow.”

“Ah.” her pencil stops “I take it the words will vanish as well as my memories?” 

you nod solemnly. “Anything written by or about me, I’m afraid. Truthfully, I did not come here to try to work out a solution. Not tonight.”

“Don’t tell me you're giving up, are you?” She asks sharply. Ah, there’s that stubborn hope you remember.

“No, not yet.” you sigh “But I am tired. Tired of all the dead ends. Right now, I just wanted to talk to you, hear your voice.”

“I suppose it would get rather lonely.”

You nod sadly. ‘Lonely’ seems a bit of a tame way to describe what you became after losing all your friends overnight, but it gets the point across.

“So, how did I know you?”

“In Angmar. You were there at my lowest point, when my spirit was broken by the Watchers, you gave me hope and light I thought were long beyond my reach. I have tried to be the same for you, in our battles with the Iron Crown, through the journey south, but… it seems I have once again fallen into my original role.”

She gives a thoughtful hum and glances out the window, between the storm and the darkness of night it is pitch black out there, but Ethedis still seems to be looking at something. “...Now that you mention it, it seems a bit unbelievable that I could have done all those things alone. I had not thought much about it, but it makes much more sense if I had a strong Ranger like you there with me.”

Your face gets a little flush “I think you give me a little too much credit, it was still mostly you-”

“Nonsense! I mean, Barad Gularan? Bogbereth? All those fights with Mordirith? They hardly seem like tasks for a lone elf, I must have had someone with me, and that must have been you.”

She looks back to you, her bright demeanor dimmed ever so slightly “I wish I remembered… You and I must have been close.”

“We were. Something other than friends, we loved each other, but we were not lovers, at least, not in the traditional sense. We didn’t really care what we called it, we were just… very important to each other.” It doesn’t feel right to refer to your relationship in the past-tense, you don’t want to think of it as being ‘over’, you still love her. But, you are a stranger to her now, present-tense would be inappropriate.

She looks at you piercingly, her bright green eyes seeming to search for something in you. Then her expression softens, something like pity almost.

“...do you need a hug?” 

You’re a little taken aback, she hasn’t asked that before. “I… wasn’t going to ask… I am a stranger to you after all, but if you’re offering-” you try to swallow a lump in your throat, and you cannot look her in the eyes “Yes. I need one.”

She walks over and sits next to you, then pulls you close. Tighter than you had expected, not how you think she would embrace a total stranger such as yourself.

You hadn’t noticed how cold you were until you felt the warmth of her arms. Ice has seeped into your very bones, and you do not want to let her go. It feels like it’s been years since you felt her embrace. The loneliness and the fear and the hopelessness all claw their way to the surface of your heart, desperate to be laid bare before her. You fight with everything you have not to sob into her shoulder.

You don’t want to let go, but you know you must. Your time here runs short.

As you pull away you hastily wipe away some stray tears that had fallen unbidden from your eyes.

“You will find some way to break this curse.” she states, her eyes not filled with hope, but with certainly. 

“If anyone else had said that I would think they were lying to be kind. Not you, though. I believe you.” She always has plenty of certainty to spare when you find yourself without any. There was a time when you might have thought it was mere naivety, but you know better now.

But you’ve been here too long now. It’s late, she might forget about you at any moment.

“I should be going now.” you say reluctantly “The curse will take effect soon I think, and I doubt you will be happy to find me in your room when that happens.”

As you walk through the door, a chill suddenly runs all the way through you, your blood turns to ice and your breath freezes in your lungs, now a puff of visible vapor before you. 

It’s happening again. You mistimed this visit, you had hoped to leave before this. You don’t want to turn around, you hate watching people forget, but you turn anyway.

Ethedis sits with the blank papers in front of her, seeming a little confused. She shakes her head as if to dispel some fog in her mind.

“...What on earth was I-” She looks up at you, the stranger in her doorway, and jumps to her feet in alarm.

“Um, hello? What are- what you are doing here?”

“Oh, sorry to disturb you, I just got a little lost.” You can’t hide the sadness in your gaze, and that probably only confuses her more.

“Wait, you…” she looks you up and down, then tilts her head “You look like a Ranger, but I have not seen you before… Who are you?”

You shrug “I should be going now.” and quickly make your exit.

She probably thinks she’s seen a ghost. You guess that isn’t too far off from the truth.

—

Eventually morning comes again. You walk through the streets of the lower circles, blending into the crowds like a ghost. 

You’re not really sure what you’re doing down here, but you find it’s easier to think when you’re walking, so here you are. 

You’ve been going around in circles in your head, no closer to any possible solution. Gandalf might have the power to undo this curse, but he is far away aiding the Conquest. You doubt he would be able to fix this without the relic on hand, and removing it from the Houses of Lore only risks exposing more people to the curse, so you wouldn’t dare try stealing it unless you had no other choice. If only you could send a message to him, but nothing you try to write ever leaves a trace. You could get Ethedis to write something to him again, but you’re starting to think anything written in your presence is doomed to vanish, as the last letter she wrote mentioned nothing about you or the curse, but it was still blank the next day. 

But something more alarming has come to your attention, too. It’s hard to gauge, but you think people are starting to forget about you faster than before. You feel chilled at odd hours of the day, and sometimes people cannot seem to look directly at you or hear your voice, almost as if you aren’t wholly there to them. You might not have time to wait for Gandalf. Could this curse even have the power to fully erase someone? You hope not, you hope you’re just imagining it, and you pray you never have to find out.

You wish you had never retrieved the damn thing. You don’t know what could have possibly possessed you to go to Mordor alone, not while Ethedis had not fully recovered from her injuries. You would have hated to leave her like that. You recall it made perfect sense at the time, it seemed important.

Another new worry has been clawing in the back of your mind. Perhaps you didn’t go to Mordor alone, and perhaps you were not the only one forgotten. Your actions do not make much sense otherwise-

In your distraction, you plowed headfirst into someone on the street. A young man with a distinctive red scarf and fiery hair to match. You do not know him. 

He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. You try to ask if he’s alright, but before you can say anything he quickly mutters an apology and slips out of sight into a nearby alleyway.

You think you should ignore him and focus on the task at hand, but, there was something else… 

When you touched him, you felt that same chill as before, when the curse takes effect every night. Smaller perhaps, but unmistakable. You still feel cold, you can see your breath.

The man with the scarf has some connection to it, and you need to get to the bottom of it.

—

(surprise! I found a way to be mean to Tossdir in this too! I am only a little sorry >:) you thought I just forgot to mention him earlier? nooo, but everyone else did! I have some vague ideas for where to go with this one actually. maybe I'll do a continuation if people are interested idk. this doesn't feel like my finest work but hey practice is practice and I think the concept is neat)

[renapomissing]

Comic Sonic Super Study 13

Time for the Triple Trouble adaptation!

Boy, that is not the plot of Triple Trouble, but sure, I'll roll with it.

Though, I'm pretty sure Sega will never contradict this. There's just no way this matters enough for them to cover it.

Hey, uh... Sonic...? You good, bruh?

Oh, so we're doing this again.

Previously, on Sonic Comic Super Study 10!

Mt... Osohahi...

YOU GOOD, SONIC!?!

Reminds me of that time CM Punk muted Vince McMahon.

Oh, so Sonic just goes through the whole game here.

Man, Sonic got shot. Hope he learns to watch his flank. Hm? Say what about 2006?

Also, remember when Fang was called Nack?

So, this comic is still calling the Master Emerald the Chaos Emerald, even though the term was available to the English-speaking audience at the time.

Got Fang with the Sonic 3 surprise attack.

Before he hit the ground. Dope. Sonic 3-level reaction time.

Story 2:

Why did Tails need a submarine?

Sonic limited series #1? Good God, that's a deep call-back.

I wanna talk about this for a moment, because I love it. Now, I like Sally. Easily my favorite western Sonic character, and I even like her a fair amount more than a decent amount of the game characters. But this was the wrong move, on her part. She should not have let Rotor get so far as finishing the submarine, but still not letting Tails have it. That hurts worse than just being told you can't have it. Admittedly, this depends on when Sally found out about the submarine. But I'm very taken with characters being allowed to make decisions that aren't always the best. Sally should be allowed to make the wrong choice sometimes, and to grow from learning when she messed up. I like when characters have to learn from their mistakes. But, there's a second aspect to that concept, and it's one that actually got done perfectly: This choice is still entirely in-character for Sally. Very often, you'll find people who are willing to let a character mess up, but it's in a way that is completely at odds with how they've been acting up to that point. Now, obviously, this is not a Sally story, and this is not an apocalyptic mistake, so this will not be a story about Sally learning that she has to exercise better judgement, but it's still nice. It's actually why I was kinda disappointed that what seemed like Sally mistakenly trusting someone she shouldn't in the Princess Sally miniseries turned out to be a well-executed plan on her part. Sure, the reveal that she played Robotnik was pretty cool, but I'm not going to pretend I wouldn't have been more invested in the other idea. Of course, no piece of media is made specifically for me, so hey, sometimes I'm just not gonna be into how stuff plays out. Anyway, back to the actual content of this book, because this is a Tails story, and I've managed to turn this into a Princess Sally detour.

I'm also into the idea of the Freedom Fighters having a bit of a blind spot in their judgement. Maybe they are treating Tails unfairly. I mean, the point of the story is that, yes, they are, but you get the idea.

Story 3:

Y'know, Penders's Knuckles improves a surprising amount when his overabundance of dialogue is put into thought bubbles. It doesn't seem as unnatural.

It's kinda weird to see a completely regular animal talking in this series. Knuckles has a small conversation with an entirely anatomically typical bird, and I just didn't expect something like that.

"Being everyone's pigeon"? Is that a thing? I mean, it probably was, back when this book came out.

Well, I was wondering what that cliffhanger from the S&K Special was. I'll find out at some point, but clearly, Penders is playing the long game on this one. I can respect that. Wondering how many kids reading this thing knew how to pronounce Archimedes, but hey.

[voxofthevoid]

i shall ask once more. \o/ 12, 26, 39 (is there another snippet in stock, void-sama?) and 55! <3

Welcome back 💚

List of questions here

(I should start keeping a list of things people call me on Tumblr...)

12. How does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

Like I said in response to another of these questions, I am not immune to having expectations...which have admittedly been skewed by hanging around in MCU/stucky (guys, you spoiled me).

Receiving feedback makes me happy, often derangedly happy. There's that simple pleasure in sharing something I made—something I put a lot of time, effort, and joy into—and seeing it have an effect on other people. There's a reason I reread my comments (and Tumblr tags, when applicable) a zillion times.

Not receiving it is predictably disappointing, though the intensity varies a lot with my level of investment in the fandom/ship and, more importantly, the particular story. You know those jokes about how the fics we work most on and are most proud of tend to be less well received than something we throw together in a hurry? Yeah, that's always an...interesting experience.

What feedback doesn't affect is whether I write or what I write. This wasn't the case until last year or so, but now, nearly everything I post is already fully written and being posted on a monthly schedule. It spares me from being discouraged in the middle of writing a fic. Similarly, darkfic tends to not be as popular as fluff or even hurt/comfort, but literally nothing else sparks up my brain like some gourmet fuckery, so nothing's going to make me stop writing those stories.

...holy shit, that got long.

26. Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

THE FUCKING KIDNAPPING FIC

I cannot tell you how weird/wild it is that this thing unraveled the way it did. I know I post a lot of multichapters for JJK, but I don't really consider them multichaps as such. More like...six-shots or something (don't ask). I was content poking at porny bits of canon divergence scenarios.

And then @nearalways asked one(1) question: What'd have happened if Yuuji had chosen not to be Sukuna's host when Gojou tells him to choose his hell? We'd also been talking a lot about how dead-eyed and done Yuuji looked in most of his middle school-era flashbacks. Long story very short, I wrote a 119k answer that has done irreparable damage to my sanity and irrevocably changed how I write Gojou in particular.

39. Share a snippet from a WIP

I always have snippets! Especially since I've got some...300k of JJK fic I haven't even posted yet. You can find it under the cut.

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

Yuuji, hands down. The whole reason I'm even in this fandom is because I adore that kid. I haven't been this fascinated by a shonen MC in ages. Me being me, this does mean I put him through unimaginable horrors though!

And no, not at all. You, uh, might notice that I tend to be very set in my opinions 😂

Snippet here:

Yuuji yanks at the hand pinning him down.

There’s a moment where it works. Gojou’s fingers loosen, and his whole rhythm falters, and Yuuji almost, almost frees himself, wholly intent on flipping them over, but then there’s a soft breath of laughter, and a second hand clamps down on the wrist Yuuji has nearly wrenched free.

He makes a furious final attempt, throwing the whole of his strength into it, but this time, Gojou’s hold doesn’t waver for even a second. He’s grinning down at Yuuji, the devil on his lips.

“Devious,” Gojou tells him; it sounds like a compliment. “You’ve grown stronger, Yuuji—much, much stronger.”

And that sounds like pure sex.

Yuuji’s hips buck up helplessly, and Gojou bears down against him, pinning him there too.

“Clearly,” Yuuji hisses through clenched teeth, “not enough.”

“I’m a different kind of beast,” Gojou says easily. His eyes grow heavy-lidded. “But one day soon, Yuuji, you’ll be able to hurt me. Really hurt me. Won’t that be fun?”

Yuuji’s brain is abruptly yanked away from his dick and shoved back into his skull. “What? No! I don’t want that!”

“Of course you do,” Gojou says, laughing. “You will. It’s alright. I’ll let you.”

“Gojou-sensei—”

“But that’s for later. What do you want right now, Yuuji?”

“You,” Yuuji says incredulously, a thousand meanings packed into that one word.

Gojou’s eyes narrow, a different kind of heat than the look he shot Yuuji before. “Don’t cop out on me now. What were you going to do, Yuuji?”

“Fucking—” Yuuji lifts his head just to slam it down on the mattress; it’s not satisfying at all. “I want to fucking touch you! What else!”

“Cute,” Gojou says, his smile growing wider and more unhinged at Yuuji’s growl. “Where, Yuuji? How? I’ve only been gone for nineteen days, but you already forgot the game. I trained you better than this.”

[thepavementsings-archive]

hello miss pavementsings do you happen to have any recent piarles fic recs? i always enjoy the ones you post so i trust your taste 100% ❣️

wow what a high praise thank you! Idk how recent is recent, but here are a couple from the last month-ish or so that I've enjoyed!

Game, Set, Match (August, 62.4k, M) - Tennis AU. I think I reblogged this when I read it but this was such a refresh for me in the Piarles game! The action writing here is so strong for the tennis portions it actually inspired me to watch the tennis version of DTS on Netflix to watch some of it play out visually because it was so enticing to read. And the characterizations of both of them but Charles in particular, were so interesting and tapped into a side of his personality that i think should be explored more. Bonus Sewis written so well in the background too! If you want a completed Piarles longfic you can read in one long sitting, this should be your first stop. And a second follow up in this series was just released the other week so perfect timing and i get to say both count as recent! my rules!

an indentation in the shape of you (September, 16k, T) - A 5+1 Footballer/Musician AU. I just read this and loved it. It's such a gorgeous story about loving the people who have been there through your life, and what it means to nurture that love through distance. It's rooted in some of the fundamental hardships of early career days -that balancing act of how people you care about intertwine with the journey who you are and who you want to be. Piarles often feels inevitable in some ways, but this explores one of my favourite things about their relationship: the intentionality of sustained closeness.

call it what you want to (September, 138K, E) - Longfic CEO AU. This one I actually read as a WIP, which i dont do very often, but I am so happy to have done that because there was so much here! I think what was done so well in this work is that the beats of the tropes on the tin (enemies to lovers, slowburn, the corporate au of it all, etc) are hit quite cleanly, but because they're done across such a length of story, they feel quite natural when you look back at it holistically. Its like eating the perfect thanksgiving plate, all the key flavours are exactly what you wanted when you bite into it, and when you're done the meal you think wow, that all just works together somehow? The second half of the fic hits SUCH a stride with the themes of grief in particular. It's a story I've already re read, and something you can pick back up sections of to really delve into whichever trope or storyline you found most compelling when you're done.

I wanna touch your body, so fucking electric (August, 4.7K, E) - PWP. I wasn't sure what type of recs you were looking for, so I thought I would try and find you a PWP to cover all bases. I admittedly have not been reading a lot of those these days, so apologies for cheating and going back to August. This one honestly is a combo of incredibly hot, and really interesting character choices that fit piarles soooo well. It's the perfect culmination of the tension between two roommates who are obviously down bad for each other and have been dealing with that issue in different ways.

[somnefarious]

Out of sheer curiosity, what're your thoughts on Danganronpa 3, assuming you watched or have heard about it? Particularly the ever infamous Despair Video.

On one hand, I'm always fond of watching people succumb to another's will, but on the other, I couldn't help but scream internally because "you lazy assholes, what did you do to Junko"-

I have - I'm actually a big fan of the Danganronpa game series, I think they're a lot of fun and have really interesting plotlines and characters. Thought they did well on the anime episodes as well, though I know there were mixed reviews.

In terms of the hypnosis/despair videos, I mostly liked them. I'm a fan of hypnosis in a lot of different ways, so though I do really enjoy cute and cozy hypnosis, I also like some of the scarier/more messed up depictions of hypnosis like this too. Provides a good juxtaposition.

Admittedly the scene with Chisa was a little much for me personally, but I thought that the introduction of the despair videos was a good addition to the plot overall. I definitely can say I liked the scene with Naegi and his despair video (partially because it was really well done, and partially because I thought his 'rescue' was pretty good too - I think the waking up from a trance part of hypnosis is sometimes overlooked, but I find it to be nice). And the scenes with the hope video wasn't too bad, though I found them to be a little lackluster.

My brother agrees with you on that second point though - we talked about it before, and he also thinks it was a bit lazy

[zenatness]

Finished Rogue Trader.

The journal is probably the weakest part of the game. The information in it is often too vague to be helpful and several of the rumors don't update and hang around even when you've dealt with them which effectively renders the whole rumor section useless.

Unfortunately, leveling up was a chore rather than a reward. There was simply too much to choose from and my lack of familiarity with the system made a lot of the decisions guesswork, and you constantly leveled up. It was a relief when I hit level 55 and could just enjoy the game. An auto-level option for the companions in particular would have helped immensely.

That being said, even coming straight from Baldur's Gate 3, I found the game to be really fun and engaging. Solid Warhammer-vibes and enjoyable characters, art was on point, good writing, good voice actors. Could do with more voiced parts and more character portraits for the npcs though. It also had a lot more different game elements going on than I thought it would.

I also learned that some people are just determined to always be the worst and apparently embarrassing a lord by flirting with his wife in public is how you make him a loyal subject. As for the ending...

There I was, unwittingly raising a god-son (very different from a godson) and setting a good example to ensure that this little corner of the galaxy would become as close to a utopia as we could manage. I'd somehow only managed to max out relations with one faction, but it was the navy so a good chunk of them decided to side with me when the Imperium threw a hissy fit over the *checks notes* Emperor worshipping, Chaos-smiting, tithe paying rogue trader establishing a successful territory on the outskirts of the Imperium where people just don't suffer as much. Oh and something something xenos collaborating blabla god-son etc etc. The Imperium overreacted is what I'm saying. So now they can't come over anymore.

The game was so aeldari heavy that for a while I forgot there were other xenos factions (I was, admittedly, twirling my hair and batting my eyes at Nocturne the entire time). But that said, the first introduction to the necrons was both smooth and delivered on the "oh shit." It, uh, didn't keep giving that horror and fear when they proved embarrassingly weak in both space and regular battle, but still.

Heinrix informed his boss that the von Valussy was worth being branded a heretic for, as expected, and became my new master of whispers which... made so much sense that I had to take a moment and wonder how I hadn't even considered that. Good on him for becoming more than a trophy husband.

Jae disappeared from my ship and I couldn't find her, and after two turns around Footfall I gave up. To nobody's surprise I got her bad ending - dead in a gutter. Welp :I

Argenta... yeah pretty sure becoming a sister repentia was her bad ending. Not sure what I could have done to change that outcome.

The rest of the humans had either neutral or good endings, though I honestly can't tell with Idira's because it was so lackluster. Compared to everyone else's it was barely an ending tbh. Even Opticon-22 got more of an ending (second favorite npc, bless his lovely circuits etc, but like... Idira deserved more, you know?)

As for the xenos... Both Yrliet and Marazhai hung around on the ship for years and then went off and did their own thing. Their own thing being, ah, yes, becoming corsairs and pirates respectively and raiding in my corner of the galaxy together. After everything I did for you and your people. Ugh. You better invite me to the wedding. Abelard... will stay at home. Marazhai knows what he did.

At least Nocturne stayed in touch in his own way. Maybe he can do me a favor and take the wayward xenos allies by their pointy ears and teach them manners and gratitude.

Tease.

[sundownsquad]

Second Anniversary Asks #9 — @leehenley

Q: A question for Nitsani! What is your favorite thing to tell people about Chigba?

Nitsani: Oh, that’s a tough one! There’s a lot of things I love about Chigba, it’s hard to narrow it down. Nitsani: Normally I’d want to talk about how selfless and invested she actually is, but she always says something like Sani, cut that out. I’m not a nice person, stop lying to people. Chigba: She tries to make me look thoughtful or some other such nonsense. It's ridiculous. Nitsani: She’ll tell you she’s just a humble freighter pilot that only cares about the work, but don’t listen to her. She’s trying to throw you off. Chigba: How dare you use the word humble to describe me. Speedy: yeah come on zio humble is a term solely reserved for describing me Knox: 🙄 Nitsani: Case and point that I won’t get very far talking about her character. 😆 Nitsani: So I’ll share a more neutral fact instead: Chigba knows how to play the Pixelito sitar! Speedy: wait for real Knox: No way, I didn’t know you can play an instrument! Drums: How did you learn to play the sitar, Chigba? Chigba: My mother knew how to play, so she taught me. I hated it as a kid, but it’s a very traditional thing so I eventually decided to carry it forward. The sitar itself is, what, 9 generations old now? Old as dirt, basically. Speedy: so a family heirloom then Chigba: Yeah. My family is a stubborn, sentimental bunch. Sort of a “we’re passing these traditions down whether you like it or not” type deal. Nitsani: See, she can say she’s sentimental. But if I said that she’d sue me for defamation of character. Chigba: That's what you get for using the Force to look into by brain to figure all this stuff out. Nitsani: Chigba, it doesn’t take telepathy to know these things about you. Lol Chigba: Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyways, I’m gonna leave now. A new episode of Intrigue on Iridonia is about to air and I will not be missing it. Speedy: OH THATS RIGHT  Speedy: im going to watch too be right there Knox: Wow I can’t believe that got him to use that many capital letters at once 😂 Drums: 🤣 Kess: They’re real serious about those holo dramas, let me tell ya. Nitsani: Ok, now that Chigba bounced: another one of my favorite things about Chigba is how she leaves little gifts around for everyone. She is genuinely so thoughtful and pays close attention to all of us. She leaves the gifts in specific places where the recipient will find it but doesn’t write her name on it or anything. It’s how she shows affection and support. It’s also right in line with a common cultural thing Dugs do. They tend to put great importance on performing acts of selflessness or kindness in ways that don’t put them in the spotlight; it should be done with sincerity. It’s one of the reasons Dugs can seem brash or rude. They don’t want to make a show out of those sorts of things. They have no problem making a show out of anything else, though. Knox: Yeah, exactly. She tries to down play it whenever she does something nice so it doesn't look like she's trying to get attention from it. But with just about anything else she'll be loud and in your face. Which is apparently another Dug cultural thing. Nitsani: Yup! Passion, energy, and bluntness are valued traits for many Dugs and that tends to manifest itself in the form of dramatic, high-volume conversations. When Chigba really gets going it's impossible to ignore her. Drums: She also does that with port authorities that are acting like idiots. Other freighter operators love when she’s around because she has no problem taking on the jerks that try to make things harder for everyone. We all, admittedly, get a kick out of watching her tear those people a new one. Nitsani: Like I said, there’s a lot of things to love about Chigba. Lol

[mediaevalmusereads]

Trial By Desire. By Courtney Milan. Harlequin, 2010.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: historical romance

Series: Carharts #2

Summary: In the three years since her husband left her, Lady Kate Carhart has managed to forge a fulfilling life for herself. But when Ned Carhart unexpectedly returns, she finds her tranquility uprooted --- and her deepest secrets threatened. Though she has no intention of falling for Ned's charms, Kate can no longer deny the desire that still burns in her heart.

Ned is determined to regain his wife's trust by using unbridled seduction. But just as Kate surrenders to Ned's passion, her carefully guarded past threatens to destroy her. Now Kate must place her faith in the only man she's ever loved, and the only one who has ever betrayed her ...

***Full review below.***

Content Warnings: domestic violence, misogyny and misogynistic violence, allusion to suicide

Overview: I'm still working my way through Courtney Milan's body of work, and since I enjoyed the first book of this series, I went right on ahead and picked up the second. I quickly found that despite finding Ned interesting as a side character in Book 1, his story (and the general plot) in Book 2 I found... less so. Overall, the romance felt repetitive and the plot tended to focus on things that I think detracted from (rather than complimented) the main couple's story. So for that reason, this book gets 3 stars from me.

Writing: Milan's prose is always lovely, no matter what I think of the overall plot. It flows well, so it's easy to read and digest, and I never feel lost or confused. I also really like how Milan balances showing and telling, as well as how she is able to construct long stretches of characters' thought processes that ultimately make up their interiority.

Plot: The non-romance plot of this book follows Kate Carhart, a duke's daughter who married her husband, Ned Carhart, to avoid a scandal three years prior. Kate was all ready to be a wife and make the best of her marriage, but when Ned abandoned her to go to China, she became the subject of a number of rumors and wagers. These rumors were not only personally damaging, but threatened to expose her secret; you see, since the age of 16, Kate has been using her wealth to help women escape their abusive husbands. (This isn't a spoiler - you learn about it in chapter 1 or 2).

Things really get complicated when Ned returns home unexpectedly, right in the middle of Kate's latest rescue. Kate is helping a woman named Louisa escape her husband; however, her husband happens to be the Earl of Harcroft as well as one of Ned's closest friends. When Ned returns home and offers to help Harcroft search for his missing wife, Kate must not only protect Louisa but determine to what degree she can really trust her husband.

What I liked most about this plot wasn't actually the commentary on abuse and marriage, but the way Milan explored Ned's relationship with Harcroft. We begin the plot with Ned and Harcroft being fairly close friends - they have divulged secrets to one another and were close in their youth, but these days, Ned feels that their closeness is something of an obligation. Over time, Ned learns to see Harcroft as he really is, and watching him try to pull away while also keeping people safe is fascinating to watch.

Kate's plot is admittedly less well-done and less intetesting. While I respected Kate's desire for independence and her commitment to helping others, I felt like Louisa (the actual abuse victim) was pushed to the side. To me, this felt strange because the book wasn't really about overcoming abuse or even grappling with what it means to be a good ally; it felt more like "look how great Kate is." I think I would have found things much more cohesive if Kate's story touched on some of the same themes as Louisa's; maybe Kate isn't an abuse victim, but she could struggle with the fact that she is her husband's "legal property" or something else that comments on similar things.

Characters: Kate, our heroine, is admirable for her loyalty towards abused women and her ability to use her privilege to help others. I also respected Kate's dedication to her cause, her desire for independence, and the confidence she has in herself. But despite all this, Kate wasn't the most interesting character for me. I felt like she didn't grow or evolve that much, and she didn't seem to have obstacles that really invested me in her personal arc.

Ned, our hero, was a little more interesting and dynamic as a supporting character in Book 1 than as a protagonist in Book 2. After three years abroad, Ned has learned to control his emotions, but when he returns, he finds that his wife tempts him to "let loose" again. To me, this felt a little less meaningful than Ned's mental health problems in Book 1. Still, there were things I enjoyed; I liked Ned's relationship with Harcroft and how he weighed appeasing him versus confronting him. I also liked that Ned was very gentle and connected so well with Louisa. His overall arc, though, left a little to be desired, and I wish his background was less shrouded in mystery and more an active struggle with his past.

Supporting characters were fine. Harcroft works well as a villain; he's violently misogynistic and an earl, so dealing with him was more complicated than just telling him off or punching him in the face. Louisa was sympathetic but I wish she had had more to do. Her story is important, but it didn't feel as meaningful because it didn't dovetail with the themes of the main couple's plot.

TL;DR: While I usually love Courtney Milan's work, I ultimately thought this novel suffered from a lack of cohesion and a fairly repetitive romance.

Romance: Kate and Ned's romance was, in my opinion, a little repetitive. While I liked that part of their growth as a couple meant learning to trust each other, I also felt like they had the same conversations and same obstacles show up multiple times.

I also feel like Ned's past was a little too shrouded in mystery, and if Ned had an episode of "darkness" that the two could have weathered together, I think that could have been a lot more meaningful than speaking of it in the abstract.

[sylvarantii]

My first thought about this movie was, "Isn't this going to basically be like that one episode where Conan needs to find a person with "perfect pitch" to figure out that phone number to the boss of the Black Organization?"

And then, I found out rather quickly that no, this was not like that all, actually.

Detective Conan Movie 12: Full Score of Fear isn't the most impressive of the lineup, but I think one of its strongest elements is that it has a damn good original character.

I really loved Reiko Akiba from her personality to her design. It's to a point where I'm sorely disappointed they didn't have a means of really having her in the series like they've done with a lot of the detective character like Shiratori and Ayanokoji. (But they are inspectors, so it makes sense they'd be easier to fit into the series)

She has this sort of cold exterior that you find is more of a front for the care she has for other people and I've always had a soft spot for women characters like that.

And when she sees Amazing Grace (which is admittedly a song I grew up to deeply love from a young age) it's just the most beautiful thing.

I think music lovers will really have the most appreciation for this movie though. Especially if you're fond of classical music. I think this movie might even possibly have the best score/soundtrack of all of the others, but I have yet to sit down and listen to all of them, so I won't say that for certain.

The plot itself however kind of was an okay movie, I guess? I wouldn't consider it bad by any means, just not really my cup of tea. I also found the whole motives thing very confusing even when it was explained in simpler terms. A second watch might clear it up, but it just feels like it was tad overcomplicated compared to what I'm used to for cases in this series.

I guess by the ending it does clear things up a lot better at least, but I don't know. I think the best way to sum this movie up is I feel 50/50 about it. 50% liked it while the other 50% I just wasn't really into it.

But this is still going to make the ratings so hard because I can't really find myself placing this too high or too low.

I sadly think I'm going to have to be a little harsh on this one which hurts because I don't think it's a bad movie, it's just once again, there were so many others that really did a lot more for me and were more enjoyable.

1.) The Fourteenth Target (2nd Movie)

2.) The Time Bombed Skyscraper (1st Movie)

3.) Magician of the Silver Sky (8th Movie)

4.) Captured in Her Eyes (4th Movie)

5.) Crossroad in the Ancient Capital (7th Movie)

6.) The Phantom of Baker Street (6th Movie)

7.) Countdown to Heaven (5th Movie)

8.) Strategy Above the Depths (9th Movie)

9.) The Private Eyes' Requiem (10th Movie)

10.) Full Score of Fear (12th Movie)

11.) The Wizard of the Last Century (3rd Movie)

12.) Jolly Roger in the Deep Azure (11th Movie)

So with a heavy heart, I'm going to have to put it at 3rd to last place. I was even considering putting it under Wizard, but I think this one was more enjoyable to be fair.

I swear these ratings get harder the more of these movies I watch though. But in a way, maybe that's not a bad thing. I'd rather consider most of these a good watch in some way than come away absolutely detesting anything.

Anyway, next is Raven Chaser and funny enough, the episodes I was watching last year had this advertised a lot. I really want to be excited about this one because it feels like it'll be a really fun watch, but it's also one of those cases where I don't want to get my hopes up too high for fear of REALLY being disappointed.

I guess we'll see how it goes.