#honestly I ran into the problem where I wanted to use a snippet from the scene of Centuries but then I realized it was 4+ paragraphs

[theredtours]

Pls spill the tea this is my new niche rabbit hole of knowledge

Anonymous: GIVE ME THE DETAILS BESTIE

Okay, so here's how it all went down, below the cut, because it's a lot:

A couple weeks ago, someone (assuming hiloy, as they're like the main character for the rest of this stuff) had played both All of the Girls and Need over a discord call. A sneaky second person then recorded said discord call and leaked bits of the songs to Twitter.

Cue the insanity. The leaks sent some people into a blind fury trying to find the rest of the song, while also simultaneously upsetting those who had been vaulting it. One such vaulter was, as previously mentioned, hiloy. They then took to a site for leaks and started trying to get a sale going.

Initially, they were trying to get an individual person to buy, but when the price was too astronomical, and after several days of back and forth, hiloy finally settled on allowing a group buy to happen. Now, I've never been part of a group buy before, so naturally, when I was sent a link to the discord server where it was all happening, I was intrigued. Here was my first glimpse at how the trading/selling world works. To stay in the server, everyone had to donate at least $5. The set goal was $2600, and that was going to purchase both "All of the Girls" and "Drama Queen."

Easy peasy, I thought. Man, I was wrong. The server blew up almost immediately, with people threatening the seller, demanding they leak other songs or get reported. Within a matter of hours, people had donated over $1k, and with that, hiloy leaked a small snippet of "Forever Winter," as a treat. Then, the server got nuked.

Thankfully, they had a backup. As soon as the back up was, well, back up, everyone was re-invited and the madness continued. In the middle of it all, "Forever Winter" leaked. While it wasn't true that it was hiloy who had leaked it, the person who did so did it under that name, so HUNDREDS of people flocked to the server to donate. The rest of us just ran with it, saying things like, "Yeah, they leaked it to prove that they have the goods." Was it dishonest? Yeah. But did it work?

Well, we hit the goal within I think like, 10-ish hours? So I'd say so. Everyone was cheering and partying it up in the group chat and then... right afterward, the server was nuked again. And so was the backup. And the backup backup. I then took to the leak site, and tried to get re-entry. I even messaged hiloy on twitter. Everyone just told me to wait for the leak. So overall, I was not impressed and felt pretty scammed. In all honesty though, I felt worse for the big donators. Someone had dropped almost $300 and then lost all access.

Fast forward to today, after a few days' silence (which I am told is pretty normal; transactions apparently usually get converted from funds to crypto), they just... Showed up on the leaks site. But the problem was, "All of the Girls" was not HQ, like it was promised. The backlash was almost immediate, with people calling out hiloy left and right for misinforming the server and trying to scam everyone out of their money. Hiloy then had the nerve to turn around and tell some of the donators that they should be grateful to have even received what they did.

And then all hell broke loose, again. See, the part I didn't tell you was that, provided all went well with this first group buy, hiloy was going to be selling off "Need" and "This is What You Came For (Demo)" to another group buy next. I guess this really unnerved someone else who had them, because basically right afterward, we got the second leak out of nowhere. My best guess was that they leaked "Need" and "TIWYCF" to keep hiloy from being able to make any more profit off those who just want the songs.

I'm sure I missed some of the drama, but that's honestly like the shortest summary I could give of it. It was absolute chaos. Wouldn't have missed it for the world, though.

[hedgewitchgarden]

”It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me.” -Elisabeth Báthory

In July of this year, an independently-published book called Witchtoker’s Grimoire appeared on Amazon, the description of which stated, “This Grimoire is a collection of spells, how to’s, [and] magical writings, by a collective of creators from Tiktok.” I myself was unaware of said book until a snarling gaggle of videos about it popped up on the witchier corners of the Clock App, and the fury with which the Grimoire was being discussed piqued my curiosity, so I started doing some digging.

I am not sure when work on the Grimoire actually began, but from what I’ve been able to piece together, the creator behind it reached out to a handful of other WitchTok personalities and asked them to contribute spells, recipes, etc. A few people took issue with this — claims floated around that the creator would not accept submissions from witches she didn’t “approve” of, which seemed counterintuitive to a “community” driven book. But within the greater publishing industry, some projects involve open calls for submissions, while others are invitation only, so if the creator hand-picked her contributors, that doesn’t constitute compromised ethics.

The contents of the book, however, raised legitimate ethical concerns. One essay seemed to suggest that corpse water could be consumed. Another provided instructions for a spell jar that the author had made for a friend undergoing surgery to remove cancer: Because of the phrasing, some readers thought that the author was declaring the spell jar cured cancer.

Having read both snippets (screenshots abound), I can say that the actual problem is a severe lack of editing — like, if the cancer anecdote had been cut, the chapter on the spell jar would’ve been just fine. But it’s this dearth of editorial oversight that led to even bigger problems, primarily accusations that a good chunk of material in the book was plagiarized.

According to allegations, passages from at least seven different published works were lifted whole-cloth and incorporated into the Grimoire. Additionally, someone ran sections of the book through a plagiarism detection engine and apparently found that a number of spells had been copied and pasted directly from websites. And while the Grimoire does feature a bibliography, it does not include citations, which, honestly, would’ve only be helpful had the authors used their own voices to rewrite or summarize the info in question.

In a way, the bibliography almost functions as an admission of guilt. Like, “Oh, you wanna know where we swiped all this stuff? Feast your peepers!”

Lines were immediately drawn in the sand once official controversy hit the algorithm, with people on one side vehemently denouncing the Grimoire, and friends and family of the book’s creator vehemently denouncing the people denouncing it. The online battles escalated, and I decided that not a damn bit of it was any of my business. (Although I did throw the lithomantic stones to see if I should offer some objective clarification on what corpse water actually is. It felt like a neighborly thing to do.)

But as evidence of plagiarism piled up, and the book’s supporters realized that they were going to have to switch tactics if they wanted to stay on top of the situation, one of them said something that made me understand how problematic the Grimoire had been from the very onset.

I was scrolling through my For You Page a couple of mornings ago, flipping past conspiracy theories and videos from disillusioned contributors publicly requesting that their submissions be removed from future editions, when I landed on a live conversation between the book’s creator and one of her more ardent apologists. And that’s when I heard the following:

“[You] put together a conglomeration of people’s submissions. I don’t understand why all this comes on you. Like, you have to double- and triple-check every submission?”

“Or tell people that fire burns,” the creator replied. “Or that water is wet. Or that you should not get in the shower with a hairdryer going.”

And I had to stop for a second and collect myself, because the answer to all of the above is a non-negotiable yes: The editor of an anthology must absolutely double- and triple-check every submission, and the anthology itself must contain disclaimers to protect everyone involved. Whether desktop or traditional, this is how publishing works.

But this also made me understand that the people who put out the Witchtoker’s Grimoire approached publishing the same way they approach witchcraft: It’s something you can just do successfully without any education or training or skill. It’s not about growing, or teaching, or sharing knowledge: It’s about snatching up unmerited authority and using it to bully all of the smaller fish in the pond.

And when called out for troubling behavior, or spreading misinformation, or outright theft, it’s about redirecting the narrative, and manifesting a projective shield of victimhood behind which to hide: Anyone who speaks ill of them is a jealous detractor who doesn’t want you to know the truth.

It’s a shield that tends to collapse and bonk heads when the unbiased truth comes out.

As of this writing, the Witchtoker’s Grimoire has been pulled from publication, and the creator has issued a public apology, taking full responsibility and letting her viewers know that there will not be a revised edition. (The original plan was to tweak the worrisome bits and rerelease it.) To her credit, this was the right thing to do, and it displays some maturity on her part. Although as contrite as the video came across, it may have also just been an attempt to stave off the legal ramifications of selling a plagiarized manuscript.

If that’s the case, she’s in for a series of unfortunate surprises. Regardless of how sorry she may be about the debacle, the book went to print, and multiple copies were purchased — if the allegations prove accurate, this means that copyrights were actively infringed, and there will be  consequences for that. A remorseful “whoops” won’t protect her.

I don’t know if she’ll ever try her hand at publishing again, but if she does, she’ll have a very hard time convincing anyone to take a chance on her pitches. Traditional publishers will more than likely give her a wide berth, and freelancers who want to keep their reputations stain-free will avoid collaboration. This particular path has ultimately come to a dead end for her.

Speaking of paths, the whole saga of the Witchtoker’s Grimoire reminds me of Mandrake from the Liminal Spirits Oracle (by Laura Tempest Zakroff; Llewellyn Publications, 2020), and one of Tempest’s interpretations of the card strikes me as a fitting end to this post:

“There is no easy or fast road to big rewards that are truly worthwhile. Eschew tantalizing shortcuts and lazy practices. Fully invest the time and care needed to perform a task properly and responsibly — build any house as if you yourself were going to live in it.”

The results we get out of our craft are directly and prosperously proportionate to the effort we put into it. If we expect good results from whatever it is we’re doing without honest effort — or if we expect results without honesty, period — we’re better off not doing it at all.

And y’all, we don’t just have to live in what we’ve built.

We have to live with it.

[silverduckie]

I don’t want to talk right now, I just want your arms wrapped around me in this moment before it runs out.

PLEASE DO NOT SAVE OR REPOST THESE GIFS FOR ANY REASON, USE THE REBLOG BUTTON INSTEAD. RP USE IS NOT ALLOWED, ALTHOUGH RP BLOGS WHO FOLLOW MY GIF RULES MAY REBLOG THIS POST FOR VISAGE / AESTHETIC / MUSING PURPOSES.

[tanoraqui]

There actually are enough good fics about postcanon tentative reforging of assorted pairs and even the whole of the Gusu Summer School No Brain Cell Trio to satisfy my niche itch, so pls enjoy these stray snippets of a fic I don't have to write:

Nothing would've happened if the cultivation conference wasn't at Cloud Recesses. But it was, Cloud Recesses with its pale stone and gracefully winding walkways and too many memories, including Lan Xichen sitting the whole thing out in seclusion somewhere... If it'd been at the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang would've been busy and if it'd been at Carp Tower the memories only would've been manageably bad, and if it was Lotus Pier or one of many smaller sects, it would've been...fine. Just fine.

But it was Cloud Recesses this year, this first conference since Jin Guangyao's downfall, and specifically it was half past ten at night, and Nie Huaisang was wandering the elegant pathways with a mostly full jar of wine in one hand. The previous jar, now entirely empty, had been left back in his room. He was a Nie, so he was only half as drunk as he'd always used to pretend at these things - but at least twice as drunk as he'd ever actually been.

After da-ge's death, of course. Before that, he used to get plenty drunk. Playfully drunk. With friends.

It would be a terrible idea for him to go appear on Lan Xichen's doorstep. Neither of them was ready for that yet.

So he appeared on Jiang Cheng's.

[ . . . ]

"Fine." Nie Huaisang pouted and turned. "I'll go ask Wei-xiong - "

And Jiang Cheng was easy, he was so easy, he'd always been easy, the only new thing is the faintest edge of wariness to his fury -

He grabbed Nie Huaisang's elbow in a flash and snapped, "Ugh, fine, I'll go - but I'm holding the wine."

Nie Huaisang laughed and handed it over. Jiang Cheng immediately took a deep swig.

[ . . . ]

It must've been a quiet night at the Jingshi. Wei Wuxian's sleeping robes didn't look the least bit hastily pulled on, and his lips were only the slightest bit red and puffy.

[ . . . ]

[for the record, this takes place in a book-show postcanon fusion wherein immediately post-Guanyin Temple, WWX and LWJ ran off to fuck in the bushes at least once a day for as long as possible, but in their absence, various sect leaders voted that Lan Wangji should be Chief Cultivator now, and alas some messenger caught up with them about six months into their honeymoon. Definitely caught them in flagrante delicto. Tragic for all. I’d probably communicate all this hereish somehow. It was definitely NHS who finally tipped someone off on how to actually find them.]

[ . . . ]

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," Wei Wuxian said, with a lidded look at Nie Huaisang, and Nie Huaisang burst into a giggles because the two most unequivocally lethal people he knew were afraid to leave each other alone with him, and it was satisfying to be recognized but also what's he going to do, personally? Cry at them? It'd taken him years to destroy Jin Guangyao, and at this point it'd take him months, if not years again to re-destroy the Yiling Patriarch, much less Sandu Shengshou. Especially when they both kept doing things like watching each others backs while pretending they weren't.

[ . . . ]

"Of course we need more!" Wei Wuxian declared. "This isn't even Emperor's Smile!"

[ . . . ]

"It's just a rat or something," Jiang Cheng scoffed.

"So?!" Wei Wuxian cried grandly. "Are we not noble cultivators? Is it not our duty to investigate this woman's complaint, and to slay whatever monster plagues her good inn’s wonderful cellar, whether deathly or monstrous or rodential it be?" He turned to Nie Huaisang and begged, "Help me out, Nie-xiong. You agree with me, right?"

Nie Huaisang clutched his cup against his chest, eyes wide, and shook his head in sharp jerks. "I don't know! I don't know!"

Wei Wuxian laughed and elbowed him in the side.

[ . . . ]

[while waiting for Wei Wuxian to send some sort of signal]

"You know I don't bear any grudge against Jin Ling, right?"

Jiang Cheng's impatient glare snapped to him, darkening with threat; his hand shifted on Sandu's hilt toward a drawing position. "What?"

"I don't bear any sort of grudge against Jin Ling," Nie Huaisang repeated, holding only the last jar of Emperor's Smile. "That's why you've been side-eyeing me all night, right? All conference." He took another sip (it really was the best!) and added recklessly, "If I wanted Jin Ling dead and disgraced, or all Carp Tower burned to ash, they already would be."

Sandu slid an inch out of its scabbard and Nie Huaisang watch it with fascinated curiosity. From a greater distance, he wondered if that was entirely healthy.

"What about Lotus Pier?" Jiang Cheng asked abruptly.

It took Nie Huaisang a blinking moment to focus on him.

"What about Lotus Pier?"

Jiang Cheng sat beside him on the cold earth and yanked the jar out of his hands, cruelly before Nie Huaisang could take another sip.

"Where's your grand terrible vengeance against me and mine? I get it, but if you're being honest for once right now, you could at least tell me when it's going to hit, and how."

"What?" Nie Huaisang pushed himself against his tree trunk, genuinely confused. "Why would i have a terrible vengeance planned against you?"

"I benefitted from Nie Mingjue's death, didn't I?" Jiang Cheng took another swig of wine of his own, and swung the jar illustratively. "My disciples have hunted in your territory while you 'weren't paying attention.' I absolutely fleeced you in that trade deal four years ago. And I worked with that bastard as much as anyone but Lan Xichen, especially on those damn watchtowers, and you broke him. So when's it my turn?" He pointed at Nie Huaisang, finger only wavering slightly. “If you fuck with Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian, or my sect, I will fuck you back.”

"You- oh, gimme that. Gimme. Gimme!" Nie Huaisang leaned forward and tried to grab the wine jar, and more importantly whined until Jiang Cheng handed it to him.

He stared at it for a moment, thrust it back and ordered, “Drink,” without letting it go, and once Jiang Cheng had dutifully tilted it back, pulled it back and slugged down the last swallows. He needed more alcohol for this much honesty, and so did Jiang Cheng.

He set the jar down very carefully, because the ground seemed to be moving, and leaned forward with even more care. He enunciated clearly, “Everyone fleeced me, and hunted in my territory, and I acsh- ass- let them. Why would I expect you to go looking for trouble with Jin Guangyao, when he had your heart locked in a box in his treasure room?”

Jiang Cheng, who was a respected master of all five arts but probably hadn’t actually read poetry for fun since an instructor had officially declared him as such, and who was himself at least a full wine jar in, squinted in angry confusion.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “He had final say over where and how Jin Ling spent his time, and could’ve tried to poison him against you. What would you have even have done if I had come complaining?”

Jiang Cheng’s face only fell further, with the very sort of drunken moroseness Nie Huaisang was out here to avoid.

Nie Huaisang attempted to swap him sharply. He failed on both the swap and the sharpness. 

“Stoppit! Stop thinking you’re not useful! You weren’t! I needed to pry er-ge away from him and for that only Lan Wangji would work, and I needed someone to watch his back through thick and deadly thin, and to be so disruptive that even Meng Yao couldn’t...circle, sneaky, planning...”

They were waiting for the pulse of a light talisman from the other tunnel entrance, half a mile away. There was a small but very bright explosion. laced with resentful as well as spiritual energy.

“Motherfucker!” Jiang Cheng cursed, leaping to his feet and drawing Sandu in one hideously coordinated motion. 

“Just Lan Wangji, I think,” Nie Huaisang said, because Nie Mingjue himself couldn’t have stopped him. He groped for his own weapons - fan, check; wine jar - 

“Oh no!” 

“What?”  Jiang Cheng snapped, as he bent and dragged Nie Huaisang to his feet with one hand. (Hideously coordinated. Sword people, honestly...)

“He’s going to be so mad that we finished the wine without him!”

[ . . . ]

[three grown-ass men, two sect leaders and one Yiling Patriarch, flying at high speed through Caiyi Town on one sword, all screaming. Nie Huaisang is clinging to Wei Wuxian; Wei Wuxian is flinging to Jiang Cheng, a little bit to Nie Huaisang, and most importantly to a chicken, Jiang Cheng is flying the sword. There is a bedsheet draped over all of them from where they ran into a laundry line. It’s 2am. Again I say, all are screaming]

[ . . . ]

[it probably wasn’t a rat - not just one, at least. Wei Wuxian does something incredibly clever, possibly including a creative use of that bedsheet; Jiang Cheng singlehandedly defeats something in combat, probably after he and Wei Wuxian shove each other out of the way of blows without either of them acknowledging it. Nie Huaisang shoves them both under cover and then with perfect professionalism tells whoever came to check on the ruckus that they handled the problem exactly as planned with absolutely no involvement of alcohol, and the Chief Cultivator will foot the bill for the unfortunately absolutely necessary property damage. Overall, they did handle the problem, but the local cryptid they were chasing will only have its reputation swelled and its continued existence assumed by all locals. it is possible that they themselves made this cryptid up two decades ago, but idk how heavy-handed we want to be.]

[ . . . ]

Nie Huaisang was leaning heavily on Wei Wuxian by the time they got back to the guest quarters. He could hold his alcohol, he was a goddamn Nie, and frankly he’d had it adrenalined out of him at least twice this evening. But he’d also had rather a lot, and he didn’t have Jiang Cheng’s golden core or Wei Wuxian’s blithe lack of sleep schedule. 

“I missed this,” he admitted, head on Wei Wuxian’s (Mo Xuanyu’s) shoulder while Jiang Cheng opened the door.

Wei Wuxian leaned his head on Nie Huaisang’s. “Me too.”

“You’re both fucking annoying,” Jiang Cheng grouched, which meant, Me too.

Wei Wuxian stripped off Nie Huaisang’s muddy outer robe and tucked him into bed, and Jiang Cheng poured a glass of water from the pitcher by the door, drank it, poured another, scowled at Wei Wuxian for a moment, and set it on the bedside table. Wei Wuxian glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, finished with Nie Huaisang and started backing out of the room.

Nie Huaisang sat up more or less abruptly. “Both of you have got to stop that bullshit. I miss my brothers, okay? I’d I had a second chance...” He sagged back down with the plural, and flung an arm over his damp eyes. There was a glimmer in the sky; it’d be morning by Lan standards soon. “I fucking miss them.”

“...Ah,” said Wei Wuxian, who always spoke even when he didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said abruptly, and, “Drink your fucking water.” And the door slammed behind him as he walked out.

[...a few lines of dialogue later...]

“Seriously, you can go.” Nie Huaisang flicked a few tired fingers in dismissal.

“Are you sure?” Wei Wuxian added with an audible smirk, “Because if I stay up for another half hour, I can wake Lan Zhan with a morning...big ol’...loving...”

Nie Huaisang finally adjusted his arm to crack one eye up at him.

“People usually cut me off before I get that far,” Wei Wuxian admitted.

[ . . . a bit more dialogue and the end.]

[spookysanta]

NEW Fic Snippet: the TA. (c.e, h.c.)

Summary: she just wants to make a good impression. clearly, she’s made more of an impression on the two of them. 

Pairings: Professor!Chris Evans x Black!Reader, student!Henry Cavill x Black!Reader

WARNINGS: swearing

i’ve literally been working on this idea all day. i wanted to see how my snippets do, and that’ll determine if i’ll drag it out to the end. :)  also college!henry can beat my ass thanks

UNEDITED

***

“Come in.”

She opened the door slowly. She found him at his desk, typing on a computer. He paused for a moment, looking up toward the doorway with a small smile.

“Hi. You must be (Y/N).” he stood and crossed the small room stalking over to her and offering his hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Great to meet you as well, Dr. Evans.” She shook his hand eagerly. This was her first professional job, and well…it’s helpful to have him as her boss.

Mainly to look at, but that’s beside the point.

“Oh, please. You can call me Chris.” He waved her off politely. “It’s just you and I here.”

She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

He made his way back to his seat behind the desk. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair that sat on the opposite side of the desk.

She sat down tightly with her hands flattened under her thighs—she’s a picker.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head tightly. “Nothing.”

He noticed that her face read differently than her words were saying. She looked almost uncomfortable, unsettled. “Are you sure?”

“This is just my first TA job so I’m a bit nervous,” She was almost hesitant to tell him the truth. She rushed out, “hopefully that doesn’t compromise my position.”

“Not at all! In fact, I think this is one of the easier classes to TA for, but maybe I’m biased.” He chuckled. “So, with that said, let’s go over your requirements. Hopefully I can put your mind at ease, okay?”

“Okay.” She smiled politely, trying to make herself relax but failing because Dr. Evans—Chris—was quite different that was she thought he would be. He was tall, built, and had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen.

She’d assumed that he would look like Ebenezer Scrooge from the way her friends said he ran his class. By their record, he was a strict guy—very unwavering with deadlines and course policies, sticks to his syllabus schedule, assigns a ton of work, and has an even stricter attendance policy.

But they also said he was nice, which was hard to come by with professors in this field. They could tell he was a good person deep down and liked what he taught but he was a hard ass.

And by her analyzation, that was true.

His desk was quite neat and polished; it smelled of air freshener in the room; there weren’t any papers scattered about—which she was thankful for, because she cannot work with people who were unorganized—and, most notably, there weren’t any kind of photos hanging up.

It was hard for her to determine whether he was a bachelor, or a married father that just kept things private.

Not that it mattered…but she wanted to know.

***

She sent a message to “Henry” letting her know that she was there, and sat at a table by the window. Let’s be clear—she was only doing this because Chris would’ve wanted them to meet before classes began anyway... she would not have done this on her own will.

Then she waited.

Ten minutes, then twenty, then thirty.

After forty minutes passed, she gathered her tote, phone, and keys, and made her way to the front door.

Before she could get to the door, a figure bumped into her, her body colliding with his hard chest. “Oh, shit, sorry!” the mass of flesh exclaimed, “I’m running late for a meeting and I didn’t watch where I was going.”

Her eyes met his as she took a step back. He was tall. His long brown hair was brushed behind one ear, cheeks flushed and pale, brown eyes wide.

He was cute.

“Wait,” she replied, “are you Henry?”

“Yeah…so?”

“So?” she glared at him. “I’m (Y/N).”

His eyes widened even more, as if that were possible. “Oh! I’m so sorry I’m late, my car broke down, and I ended up having to walk here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But listen, if you’re still free, I’d love to still talk with you.”

She didn’t have anywhere to be, so why not? “Sure.”

He let out a breath. “Thank you.”

The two of them sat down at the table she chose, him slugging his shoulder bag off his body and onto the floor next to him, plopping into his seat. He folded his hands on the table and looked at her, watching as she fumbled through her bag for her planner and a pen.

“So,” he started, “it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“You, too.” She replied, her eyes not looking up. She would’ve been nicer but he was late—not a good look.

“I’m usually the only TA in Chris’ class, so it’s really cool to have someone else around. I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to be the only one proctoring an exam in a class of three-hundred people.”

“Three-hundred people?”

“Yeah. Sometimes it’s less, but that’s the average. It’s full of freshmen, too.”

She finally found her planner and a pen in the depths of her bag. “Are freshmen bad?”

He shook his head, “Not really, they’re just…odd.” He shrugged. “Some of them want to learn, some don’t, and you can tell right away. The ones that want to learn don’t want help—it’s always the procrastinators, the slackers, the ones that don’t care that need you.”

“How is that odd?”

“It’s strange to me, honestly. I didn’t really care either way my freshman year. I wanted to learn but I didn’t care enough to actually try.”

“So what changed? Chris made you seem like you were some mythical being.”

He laughed. She’ll admit, she was lost in his smile for a second. The glint in his eyes and the crinkle in his nose made her smile. “A mythical being?” he repeated. “I’m far from mythical. I think he gushes about me because I take over his office hours for him most days.”

That made her laugh. “Well, he seems to be appreciative of having you around. Hopefully I can be helpful.”

“I’m sure you can be,” he waved her off, “he probably told you that his class wasn’t that bad, but he’s totally lying. My first year helping him was rough—too much shit to do, and not enough time for it to get done.”

That sounded more accurate compared to what Chris told her yesterday. “I figured.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a great professor, and an awesome mentor to have—but sometimes he downplays stuff. He’ll say it’s “no big deal”, and it’ll be like Armageddon for us.”

She nodded slowly. “Any advice for getting on his good side?”

He chuckled. “If he likes you, you’ll know. And if he likes you, he’ll help you out. He’s not at all unreasonable, either; so just tell him what’s up when you have a problem, or if you’re overwhelmed, and he’ll do what he can to help.”

“That’s not what I heard.” She mumbled.

“Well, his students from last year will say he’s a dick, but—and you can’t tell anyone I told you this—” he leaned in closer, whispering, “he went through a nasty divorce last fall.”

So he isn’t married.

Interesting.

She’ll keep that in mind.

[drarryangels]

the loss is slow, for you and me

Wow. I wrote something. You are shocked. I am shocked. It’s a good day. 

Read the full shebang here.

Snippet here:

It began with a headache, a sore throat, an interrupted call.

The headache first, at nine in the morning, after Draco's morning tea.

"Earl grey?"

"Please," Draco replied, holding his hand out as Harry passed by to trail his fingers over the edge of his waistband. "Thank you."

Harry dropped a kiss on his head and pressed the mug into his palm. "Have a great day at work, darling."

Draco smiled up at him, took a sip of his tea, stood to put his robes on, and then walked out the door.

For November in London, it was a fairly nice morning. Gray skies, no wind, a dusting of rain. Chilly enough for a cloak, but not cold enough for the fur lined one that Harry had bought for him last December. Draco smiled at the homeless man on the corner, handed him a biscuit from his lunch box (made by Harry, of course. Draco never knew what to pack for lunch). He went on his way, took the phone booth down to the Ministry, and smiled at the woman at the guest counter who looked as if three separate finches had flown through her hair. By the time he reached the elevator to take him down to the Department of Mysteries, there was a pounding behind his skull.

"Mornin', Draco."

"Good morning, Wilson." Draco smiled at the man. Wilson's shoulders were hunched over and his eyes folded in the corners. "How was your date night with your wife?"

Wilson smiled. "Quite nice, thank you. How's Harry?"

Draco patted Wilson's shoulder. "Perfectly Harry."

"Glad to hear it," Wilson said, and Draco turned to make his way to his desk.

Draco sat, in the same way and in the same place that he did every morning, and pushed his weight back in his rolling chair. He held his mug of tea close to his chest and smiled. By this point, the pounding had turned into a dull throb, but Draco hardly noticed. He was too busy thinking about Harry, and his earl grey tea, and his plans for the pub this evening, and also Harry. In summary, this day was to be just like every other day. The same walk to work, the same woman at the front desk, the same conversation with Wilson, the same tea, the same thoughts. In fact, it wasn't altogether unusual for Draco to have a headache at this time of the morning either. Although usually the headache had to be instigated by one of the Unspeakable interns, who still hadn't figured out how to keep their mouths shut about just about anything, and were always making problems with the other departments.

Right on cue, a bang sounded down the hallway, followed by the straggled yelling of poor Mr. Wilson, and the frantic running of a pair of young shoes.

"The next time you tell the Aurors about our Mortem case, I'm going to..." The voice faded off down into another corridor.

Draco sighed, and his headache grew.

-

It was the sore throat that alerted Draco to the fact that something may not be quite right with himself.

It came around eleven, right along with the lunch post.

"Malfoy?"

Draco twirled around in his chair. "Yes?"

"Mail for you."

"Thanks, Buchanan."

Draco took the envelope and slipped his thumb under the seal. He couldn't think who he'd be getting mail from that would send it through his work address. Nearly all of his correspondents simply sent messages through his personal owl.

Draco unfolded the letter and skimmed over the contents. Another inquiry on the Mortem case. Draco tossed the letter onto his desk and rested his head back. The headache was becoming almost unbearable, and he didn't have the bandwidth to deal with another case breach. It was all the ridiculous interns, trying to brag about their workload, and it was screwing up the Unspeakables' investigation plans. Every time they got close to finding an information leak, another intern would spill the latest news of their glamorous, top-secret job . Draco had had quite enough of it. The case was already several months over schedule because of it. Several months wasted that Draco could have used in various other ways. New cases, Unspeakable recruitment, employee training, a week of vacation with Harry, appealing to Sullivan to get rid of the interns. The Unspeakables could get their own coffee, for heaven's sake (Draco had been making his own beverages for years for fear that one of the young interns would poison his cup on some diluted revenge path).

And so, the itch in his throat first twinged.

Draco drank more tea first, then took a Calming Potion. He figured it might be from stress, so he took a walk around Muggle London before coming back to his desk. The itch grew to a scrape, then a grind, and then a blindingly painful grating that flayed Draco's throat every time he so much as swallowed or breathed.

He went to Mungo’s. They said he had a cold, so he went back to work.

He finished work, glared at the interns, and walked out of the Unspeakable offices. Took the elevator, nodded to Bailey, who was filling in as head of the DMLE while Robards was on leave, and left the Ministry. He apparated home, and then stood on the front step outside his and Harry's apartment, and tried to imagine how he would explain to Harry that he didn't feel like going out to the pub with Ronald tonight after all.

-

"That's okay."

"I'm so sorry. I know it's been weeks since you saw him, but I just really don't一"

"Draco." Harry set a hand over Draco's knee and smiled at him, his smile crooked and his eyes honey warmed. "It's alright, really. I'm not going to make you go if you're not feeling well."

Draco sighed and brushed a hand through his hair before settling it over Harry's hand. "Why don't you go? I'll stay home and rest, and you can go see Ronald."

Harry leaned further back into the couch and began to circle the tips of his fingers over the bunched seam of Draco's trousers at the joint of his knee. He looked at Draco, his gaze slow and careful. "I'm not going to leave you here. I'll just firecall Ron and reschedule. Then I can stay here and take care of you."

"Darling, I really don't want you to miss out一"

"Draco," Harry interrupted. He pressed his fingers down into Draco's kneecap. "I'll stay."

Harry made spaghetti, Draco's favorite, and wobbled both plates between his hands as he took them back to the couch, where Draco still lay. Draco would've gotten up and helped make the garlic bread, but he honestly hadn't had the energy to get off the couch, and Harry had insisted that they could live without garlic bread for one night.

Harry set the plate down on Draco's lap and settled himself on top of Draco's feet. "Feeling alright?"

Draco tried to smile and nod. His headache and his throat were worse, but he didn't want to say. "Much better," he said.

"Liar," said Harry, and Draco didn't disagree.

"Call Ronald," Draco told Harry, reaching out to take his plate from his hands. "I'll wait."

Harry kissed the place Draco's thumb met his wrist before handing him his plate, nearly tipping over with the weight of pasta, and going to the next room to reschedule pub night with Ron.

Draco sat, cradling his and Harry's plates of spaghetti in his hands, staring down at it blankly while the murmurs of Harry's voice rose in the other room, muffled by the crackling of the fireplace. Draco was thirsty. It was the stupid scratch in his throat, scraping up and down and up and down. He needed water.

Draco set the plates on the coffee table, careful. His hands shook a little. He swung his legs over the side of the couch, stood, looked around the room, and promptly blacked out.

Harry heard the bang, cancelled the firecall, and ran to the living room. He found Draco, face down, sprawled, and covered in broken porcelain and spaghetti sauce. And so the call was interrupted, and the third part of Draco's impending illness was complete.

-

Draco woke for a short time to find himself sitting upright in the bathtub, water clouded with tomato sauce around his thighs, and one Harry Potter sitting between his knees. Draco smirked, got light headed, and nearly passed out again.

"Hey," Harry murmured. "Head down, between your knees."

Draco obeyed and his vision slowly cleared. He didn't dare lift his head again and risk another epic collapse.

"You're lucky the plates didn't cut you," Harry said, scraping idly at a tomato stain in Draco's skin, reading Draco's mind.

"I'm sorry," Draco muttered. "I got dehydrated. Or I have low iron, maybe."

"Or you're sick," Harry supplied.

Draco shook his head. Wet hair, blonde, a little too long, stuck to his cheeks and his forearms where his head was resting. "No. I simply feel a little off. I'll be alright after a good night's sleep."

Harry had the kindness, or perhaps the common sense, not to argue with Draco on this. Draco dropped his head down on Harry's shoulder in thanks, and Harry ended up washing his hair, and his skin, and his face (with the fancy face wash, Draco demanded, not the bar soap for heaven's sake). He pulled him out of the bath by the armpits and wound him up in four separate freshly laundered towels. Draco smiled at him, gripped Harry's waist, dropped his forehead into the stretch and turn of Harry's neck, brushed his lips across his throat and whispered a dozen words of nothing to him.

"Do you think," Harry said, after they were both dressed and tucked into bed, "that Robards will let me quit the Aurors?"

Draco turned to look at Harry across the half of a pillow in between them. "You never said you wanted to quit the Aurors."

"Well, I hate the paperwork something dreadful."

"Why, of course," Draco said, turning back to the ceiling. "I understand."

"Do you think he will?" Harry asked.

"How can he not?" Draco said. He ran his fingers through the sheets, skimming through folds, edging around creases, until he found Harry's hand. "You're Harry Potter."

Draco fell asleep that night with his fingers gripped in between Harry's, and the night sparkling beyond their gray, empty ceiling.

-

"Sweetheart."

The sheets rustled beside Draco, but he didn't roll over. It was hot, so hot, but he didn't feel like rolling over or kicking the sheets off.

"Sweetheart," Harry whispered again.

A cool hand lifted up to brush along the line of Draco's shoulder in the dark. Draco shrugged it off and groaned into his pillow. "'M hot. Lemme alone," Draco muttered.

The sheets lifted abruptly off Draco's torso. Draco didn't bother scrambling after them. It felt nice, the cool air swiping over his skin. He smiled into his pillow and burrowed further down into the mattress.

"Draco," Harry said. Draco almost lifted his head at the twinge in Harry's voice, but it was so hard to do so because his neck really was too sore to make any movement. "Draco," Harry said again, blind panic clear in his voice. "You're hot. Really hot."

"Yes," Draco mumbled. "I'm very hot."

" No. " Harry's voice broke. A hand gripped onto Draco's shoulder and pulled hard, rolling him over onto his back. Draco peeked up at the crown of Harry's hair through the crusted slits of his eyelids, curls and tangles backlit by the dim yellow bathroom light. "You're burning up." There was a pause. "Oh god," Harry said. And then arms were sliding under Draco and struggling to lift him, and he was unsure of what exactly happened after that.

"Draco, Draco, Draco." A breath. "Draco, Draco, Draco." A huff of air.

Another voice. "Harry, he's going to be alright."

Harry's voice. "Right."

Draco struggled to peel his eyelids open. He wanted to see Harry.

He couldn't get his eyes open. All he could see was the swarming darkness of the inside of his eyes and mind. He could hear though. That was something.

The chant of Draco's name began again in Harry's voice. "Draco, Draco, Draco, Draco." A pause for air. "Draco, Draco."

Draco opened his mouth. His lips split a little and he flicked his tongue out to taste the blood.

Harry's breath hitched audibly, suddenly close to Draco's face. "Draco? Darling? Can you hear me?"

He wanted to see Harry so badly.

Draco tried to open his eyes again, and slowly, very slowly, with the uncomfortable sense of something peeling back reluctantly, his eyelids lifted, and Harry's general shape came into distorted focus.

Harry smiled, his eyes glassy and ringed with red and heavy dark circles. There was a slight choking sound, and then Harry lurched forward on top of Draco.

"Oh god," Harry said. "Thank god you're awake. Please never do that again."

"Do what?" Draco forced out. His voice emerged scratchy and harsh.

"The blacking out thing. The not waking up for four days thing. You scared the shit out of me." Harry leaned away from Draco a bit to place his forehead up against Draco's.

Draco stared at him, cross eyed. "Four days?"

"Yeah." Harry let out a sort of laugh. "We're in Mungo's, baby."

"Don't’t call me baby. You only call me baby when you have to go on long distance missions," Draco huffed. He folded his arms over his chest. "And I went to Mungo's before and they said I had a cold."

"I know, I know," Harry said, and pushed his face closer to Draco's so their noses squished together at the tips. "And I only call you baby when I'm scared, you git."

"Oh." Draco pulled back a little. Trying to look into Harry's face from less than a centimeter away was making him dizzy. "You're scared to go on missions?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It has nothing to do with the missions."

Draco tilted his head. "Then why are you scared?"

Harry lifted a hand up to Draco's cheek and sighed. "I'm scared about you."

"Me?" Draco almost laughed, but his lungs hurt too much to get the sound out. "I'm not the one who leaves for month long missions. What do you have to be scared about me for?"

Harry looked down, at Draco's lap. Draco looked down too. There was nothing particularly interesting. Just the coarse gray threads of the standard issue Mungo's blanket, and Draco's hand, braceleted by a charmed ring that displayed Draco's vitals.

Harry inhaled deeply and held it there for a long second. "I worry when we're not together." He looked up at Draco, and Draco followed him with his eyes. "I don't like being away from you. I get scared something will happen if I'm away for too long. Like I'll come back and there will have been some random attack. Or some Ministry employee will have harassed you straight out of your job. Or you'll get sick and I'll come back and it'll be too late, and I won't be there to say goodbye一"

"Harry," Draco interrupted. "None of those things will happen."

Harry stood abruptly. His cheeks went ruddy, then blotchy, and his eyes squinted up tightly in the way they always did when Harry was trying really hard not to cry in front of Draco. "You don't know that, Draco!" Harry exhaled harder and shoved his hands through his hair, turning half away from Draco. "It's happening right now! What if I had been gone on mission when you collapsed onto the coffee table? What if there hadn't been anyone there to take you to Mungo's when you were burning up in the middle of the night?" He dropped into the small folding chair in the corner, shoved in beside a collection of half dead flowers. "You could've died. You would've died."

"What are you talking about?" Draco said. "I'm a little sick. I'm not dying."

Harry bolted to a standing position and threw his hands in the air. "Draco! You are dying!"

Harry looked as if he regretted saying anything as soon as the words left his mouth. He clapped his hands over his mouth and whirled around so his shoulder blades glared at Draco.

"Harry?" Draco said quietly. "What do you mean?"

Harry shook his head hard, still facing away. "Nothing. I didn't mean anything."

Draco paused. "I'd rather hear whatever it is from you than from one of the Healers, please."

The tension seeped out of the muscles in Harry's back. He knew how much Draco hated getting information later than everyone else. Harry turned back and slowly lowered himself on the edge of Draco's bed.

"The Healers say it's tarda amissi ," Harry said. His eyes didn't meet Draco's. “Well, Hermione figured it out first, of course. But the Healers confirmed it.”

"What does that mean?" Draco asked. He reached his hand out and Harry caught it between his.

"Some curse." Harry dropped his chin back and stared up at the ceiling, his breath coming out too hard and fast. "Hermione said it means 'the loss is slow.'" Harry slowly lowered his gaze to look at Draco. "They were waiting for you to wake up to tell them if you got cursed in the past four months." Harry shook his head. "I told them you would've told me if something had happened to you, or if you'd gotten hit by an unknown curse, but they didn't believe me. I mean you would've told me, right?"

Draco stared at Harry hard. "Harry. We've been together for ten years. I've been in love with you for almost double that amount of time. There should be no doubt that I would've told you. Of course一of course I would've told you."

Harry nodded and blinked furiously. "Right, of course. I know. I just一four months. How did we not realize something was going wrong inside of you for four months?"

"Harry," Draco said softly. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Blaming yourself."

"I'm not一"

"Yes, you are. You're thinking, what if we had realized sooner? What did we miss? If we knew something was wrong earlier, then we could've stopped it."

Harry's silence was his response.

"You haven't even told me what the curse is," Draco said. "What it does."

"Right." Harry looked up at Draco. "Um. Can I..."

"What is it?"

Harry swallowed. "I want to be close to you right now."

Draco smiled a little. "Darling, you don't have to ask for that." Draco carefully scooted himself to one side of the bed, ignoring the throbbing ache in his joints as he did so.

Harry crawled up the bed and curled in next to Draco, his face pressing into the side of Draco's neck, one of his hands resting over Draco's stomach. Harry didn't waste any time. "The curse works itself slowly through your body, shutting down one function at a time until you're dead." Harry's hand tightened over the slight dips and curves of Draco's belly.

Draco didn't feel anything wrong yet. Yes, his throat hurt, and his bones felt as if an erumpment had been sitting on them for several hours, and possibly his head was still pounding. But he didn't feel like he was dying. Draco wasn't ready to die.

"And then what?" Draco asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry bit at the soft skin under Draco's ear. "And then you're dead. Dead, dead, dead. I'll never see you again, or touch you again, or kiss you, or lick you, or一" Harry let out a strangled cough. "And it's been in your body for four months ."

"Well," Draco said because he was not sure what else there was to be said.

"Well," repeated Harry.

So he was dying.

[fizzingwizard]

I’ve missed two days now so I guess I’m just gonna be sporadic with this ;_; but I managed something for day 4 of Triweek!

The theme is “Grief.” There’s a lot of grief in Tri and at first I planned to do a bunch of short snippets for several characters, but Daigo’s ran away with me. I really REALLY liked Daigo and Maki in Tri, and I so wish Maki especially had had a more satisfying arc (like, I don’t mind her having a “bad end” as they say, it just felt underdeveloped, and Nishijima’s sacrifice was moving but it left me wanting to know so much more about him). I also especially loved Daigo and Taichi’s interactions, so I guess mix it all together and you get this ficlet.

By the way, thanks to the folks who liked/reblogged last time ^^ This fic isn’t as silly but I hope you still like it.

---

Tri week day 4 - Grief - Dream Big

When they made it home at last, it was to find - nothing much had changed.

Except, of course, for absolutely everything.

Home was such a strange idea. A place where he could eat till he was full, sleep the whole night through without the vaguest fear that something might come creeping up on him while his guard was down. Still, Daigo fell back into those comfortable patterns, of being a child in a house with parents to look after him, with practiced ease. It was silly. He had just saved the world. That meant he was an adult now, or at least it should.

But whether or not you're a hero, mothers are mothers. And his would insist on interrupting his favorite movie to ask what he wanted for dinner. And he'd whine at her about it. Whining felt amazing.

At first a day didn't go by without Bearmon crossing his mind. After all, his partner had accomplished so much. He'd morphed into such a grand evolution. There was nothing else like it. So the separation was... well, he felt with all that, it ought to make it easier.

It didn't really.

What a pity that they'd had to leave that not-so-distant world the way the did. So much unexplored. But they'd go back one day. He really believed so. They'd gone through so much that how could they not? And when they did, imagine the stories Bear- Baihumon would have to tell him.

He kept on believing it even after he fell out of contact with the others, other than Hime-chan. Their homes were scattered all over the country. Fora while they sent each other, but the years went by and everyone got busy, and... at some point, Daigo suspected it was just easier to focus on other things. Normal things sustaining normal lives.

The further they grew from it, the more their adventure felt like a game of make believe they'd let sink down from the clouds. It was time to send it back where it belonged.

Hime-chan wouldn't say so, but Daigo could tell she resented them. Of course she would see it as leaving their partners behind. And what Daigo would never tell her was that, sometimes, he wished he could do the same as them.

Because Hime-chan wouldn't let go. No matter what. And Daigo couldn't not see the damage. He waited and waited for time to heal her, or at least blunt her grief. It never did. Turns out a dull blade only hurts more.

One day she'd be like her old self, pretending she wasn't laughing at him, then shooting him coy, backwards glances. The next day...

Daigo had no time for grief.

Life was short. If the digital world had taught anything, it was that.

It made him impatient. He itched to run. But he couldn't. Because he couldn't leave Hime-chan behind, and she couldn't leave her partner.

So he helped her with her research. He followed her to the bureau, helped build it from the ground up. Mochizuki Meiko could be the answer, he thought for a while. Hime-chan loved that girl. Visiting her made Hime-chan light up, like she hadn't since she was a child. It wasn't a look she never had even while they were dating, much though it hurt to admit.

Adults have children in order to relive their childhood through them, he'd heard. Like some kind of symbiont. Or parasite.

Watching Mochizuki interact with Meicoomon brought back a flood of memories, but they seeemd to be all good ones. Full of light. This, Daigo thought, would help Hime-chan heal from the pain of losing Bakumon when nothing else could. She would finally be able to come home.

If only he knew.

If only he knew.

---

Why did he try to rescue Yagami? As if there was any chance he'd manage to reach him in time to pull him to safety. The earthquake had been overkill, honestly.

Stupid, he was stupid. He should have stayed put. At least he'd be in a position to help the kids stranded on the other side, who were certainly dealing with much more than a bunch of high schoolers knew how to handle. No matter how much of a genius Izumi was.

He was stupid. He didn't regret it.

Daigo didn't have time for regrets.

He'd liked Yagami since the day he met him. Before starting his stint as the calligraphy teacher at the high school, he'd been briefed on each of the so-called "Chosen Children" enrolled there. Sure, they piqued his curiosity, but there was no call for concern that he'd have trouble with his role of the hands-off observer. No, he had nothing to share with them. Anything they might have had in common had been lost long ago.

That Yagami was fun, though. Not the class clown, though all signs pointed to he'd absolutely been one when he was younger. But he'd grown up somewhat shy, at least around girls, which provided a convenient source of ammo for Daigo to tease him without mercy. Yagami got on well with classmates and teachers alike. He seemed, overall, open and good-natured, which made Daigo's job easier. (Both the observing and the teasing.)

But the kid wasn't so easygoing that keeping a lid on his secret had been a walk in the park. All the kids surprised them on a daily basis. Daigo had pegged Ishida for the suspicious type from the start, but he'd never expected him to go all James Bond like he did.

He liked Yagami and he thought Yagami liked him back. He was the type that bonded through jokes and ribbing and wasn't so emotionally demonstrative. That suited Daigo fine. There were certain other similarities between them too, but Yagami didn't need to know about those.

The way his scowl pulled his whole face down whenever he disapproved of Daigo never ceased to amuse. That he had no problem disapproving of a teacher was almost as funny as the fact that he believed he hid it well.

It was like having a little brother, a sort of mini-me. Perhaps, if he ever had a son, if that was ever in the cards for him, he would turn out somewhat like Yagami. Without the hair.

All of a sudden, Daigo felt he understood Hime-chan a lot better. So much for remaining detached.

... He supposed he could do worse. Than Yagami. For a son.

In fact, Yagami was probably better than him.

Daigo wondered, if Yagami ever lost his partner, what he would do. Would he never stop searching? Would that one moment in time consume the rest of his life, until finally it destroyed him? Like Hime-chan?

Or would he just... go numb, like Daigo?

Watching castles in the sky crumble one after the other and let it roll off his shoulders like it was nothing. Nothing, just the toll of living.

Daigo knew Hime-chan had drowned. He didn't know what made him so sure of it, but he supposed he just couldn't shake the feeling that nothing less than an ocean could put out that unrelenting fire of hers.

And he, Daigo, was adrift. Letting the current take him where it would, year after year. On and on. The river ran on, and on, and on, and on.

So the irony of dying in an explosion was not lost on him. All that cinematic drama, wasted on a guy who wore crocs to work. Whose rare bursts of anger always tumbled stillborn into the air, and who had just let himself get used to that.

He couldn't even get angry about dying.

He'd lost it, he guessed, in his Faustian bid to rid himself of grief.

Yagami's eyes were bright with sheer desperation. Daigo watched him trip around the small, dark room like a wild animal in a cage. All the while insisting he believed in that third hidden option, that choice that would make this all okay. If he really believed in it, he wouldn't look so panicked.

Ah, thought Daigo, with a sudden burst of clarity, like the bell of a clock striking the hour, so it was despair all along.

There were many things he owed Yagami, things he ought to tell him. But now he just talked. Talked selfishly, knowing somewhere, Yagami was screaming himself hoarse. That love and betrayal and confusion were about to reach a fever pitch. And he'd have to make a choice. Rage, or numbness.

Or... maybe a hidden, third option.

Daigo raised his fist.

"Dream big,"

he said.

[coraxaviary]

An Essay on POC and Fics

[ORIGINALLY A WRITER ASK GAME]: Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

(AKA me explaining in long-form why June is white, complete with some drama and a lot of rambling. Do not feel obligated to read).

.

I’ve never talked about this extensively, but I want to discuss ethnic minority OFCs in fics. Specifically, SiA. I originally was going to make June partially nonwhite. And I ran into problems.

I really found myself worrying about relatability. If a character is POC, I thought it would ruin immersion for people who are looking for an OFC fic to lose themselves in. It’s no secret that I’m Asian-American, and I was originally all for making the character part Asian. It’s ironic that I was worried about immersion when outside of fic spaces, I argue unendingly for Asians to be cast as leads and stereotype-defying roles. Because any POC is also just a person who can be as “relatable” as any white character, theoretically. I feel a little hypocritical, but at the same time it’s true.

When I watched The Walking Dead, Glenn was my absolute favorite. Because he was Korean-American. And for the first time, I watched a major (Asian!) character in a show become hailed as a man defined not by his race, but for his achievements and his personality. If Glenn was white, he still would’ve been one of my favorites. But seeing Asians portrayed as... normal people shouldn’t be this rare. However, it is, at least in mainstream America.

The issue with creating POC characters is racism. That’s always the issue, isn’t it? Racism has been ingrained into every system and cultural dynamic, globally. The remnants of colonialism are alive and well, and the treatment of POC people, generally, is far from sterling.

Thus it became almost impossible for me to justify creating an Asian-American (or, for that matter, any other POC) OFC. They would be defined by race, because back in the 40s, any American ethnic minority had no choice but to be characterized by their appearance. It still happens today. And I wanted the focus to be on humanity, war, bonds, and gender. Not race, because race is unpleasant to talk about. It wouldn’t be fun for me to be researching 1940s race discrimination to create a character who must overcome that too. I’m not looking to undergo an identity crisis in the pursuit of a fic aimed at social justice. I just want to write something fun.

Fic is created, many times, by minority groups, including POC. However, like any institution, it’s white-centric. And I don’t fault it for that. Most media in the mainstream is white-centric and thus it makes perfect sense for the works created based on the material to be also that way. But I felt like I was betraying myself by writing fic and not taking a chance to diversify the narrative.

Because if a significant part of my irl advocacy is attempting to champion race diversity, and I don’t take that chance in the fandom space, am I a hypocrite?

The fault of this culture, and this struggle, is not with me. It’s with the centuries and ages of oppression and typecasting and discrimination in the pages of world history. It’s unavoidable.

However, to be kind of frank, it sucks to have to consider these things when all I wanna do is write a self-indulgent narrative about WWII boyfriends. I want to just be myself and imagine a fun time with my favorite characters. But I know, deep down, that anyone who is not white would not have been accepted into the group. I decided to just circumvent all these problems by writing a white character.

And it’s not true to the narrative if I wrote a POC OFC and then bent all the other characters OOC and forced them to be non-problematic. Because I know, regrettably, that the norm back then (and still in some areas) is casual racism. It was only 1948 when the American Army officially desegregated. You can watch The Pacific for yourself and find out what the Americans called Japanese people. The racial slurs, I’ll admit, made me uncomfortable despite how much I love the series. Army culture in the 40s towards a woman who is also a racial minority would have been egregious. And that’s not fun to write about in a fic.

I can’t not think about race -- not forever, at least. I don’t have that luxury. I do acknowledge that I, as an Asian-Amerian, benefit from a white-centric culture that has designated us (condescendingly) as a “model minority” and as an exception race. Systemic racism is less impactful towards Asians. This is, however, not to discount the terrible history of Asian-American discrimination that is not immediately apparent (I have been told that not everyone is educated of the existence of the Japanese-American internment or other examples of irrefutable discrimination). There is history in my family of experiencing both ends of the Asian-American experience: as a “model” and also discriminated against as a perceived threat (or a scapegoat, if you will, for the Vietnam war and other matters).

I went through a phase (as many American POC do) of wanting to be white when I was very young. I don’t know exactly why. Is it because the American identity is so deeply rooted in the striking visual of the white settler, despite the deep history of the continent in indigenous people? Is it because diversity is (or was) not common in the mainstream -- when we didn’t have people like Glenn at the forefront of media representation but instead had stereotyped caricatures like Mr. Yunioshi? I didn’t know what it meant to be beautiful back then unless the portrait was of caucasian features. I have a distinct memory of complaining to my mother when I was about five or six years old that I didn’t like my black hair, and I think my way of thinking unconsciously had to do more with my Asian heritage than the actual color. I cannot tell you honestly what specifically caused this type of thinking, but it’s more widespread than you’d think among POC children.

So this is why I am a POC and yet I choose to write a white protagonist. Historical fiction always contains complexities: decisions that must be made with the wisest discernment that I don’t feel like I can always make. History is a burden upon us all. The present will never be free of the past, and it’s our job as writers to navigate the gray patches between interpretation and accurate portrayal. Sometimes it seems like an insurmountable task, and sometimes it’s as if I can forget about my POC-ness altogether and lose myself in my OFC without thinking about heritage or discrimination.

But here we are, writing fanfiction of WWII heroes who come from a different time and a different era.

It had to have felt different back then, don’t you think? When I think of the forties, I think of patriotism and B-24s and victory; I think of a feeling of hope tinged with despair. I think of radios and dance halls and tragic heroes and the glory of soldiers dropping from the sky, backlit like angels and tasked with democracy and hope and things that are right and true. I think of a time where Americans united for good.

But this is a glamorized version of history. It’s the enjoyable version, we all know. And it genuinely consisted partially of these snippets of greatness, but there was a larger part that lay, vast, underneath the golden panorama that sometimes we forget about. And I think the WWII fic-writing community is keenly conscious of this aspect. I see it in the writing that we all so lovingly produce: a lot of us understand, at least on a surface level, that war is not glamorous and that the times were still as turbulent as they are today.

It’s something we all must grapple with.

And this, in a slightly dramatic fashion, is my personal conflict of being a person of color, and choosing to write a white character for the sake of joy and fun.

.

Thank you for reading if you got to the end! I love you all :)

.

(Partially inspired by this post by @rhovanian, but mostly my own ruminations based on the brief time I have existed on this earth).

.

[purplesurveys]

1213

Have you ever been in weather below 0 Fahrenheit (-17 Celsius)? Nah. The coldest I’ve experienced was probably something like 10 or 11ºC, when I was in Japan. At the time I still didn’t care too much for traveling and ended up being really underdressed for the weather, so I was extremely uncomfortable the whole time we were roaming around the city. Have you ever been caught outdoors away from shelter during a thunderstorm? LOL yes, notably on the last night of my college internship. My car was parked in another building so I had to walk outdoors, when all of a sudden it fucking poured. I ran to the nearest building for shelter but I was still absolutely drenched and ended up having to call my mom (who works in the same city) to ask her to come pick me up.

What’s your favorite macaron flavor? Chocnut or milk chocolate.

How often do you have friends over to your house? Once in a blue moon. I had my ex over all the time but since then I’ve only had one friend - Angela - come over once.

Have you ever had a boss who acted unprofessionally? I mean, we’re very open with each other with regard to our frustrations at work.  That could technically count as unprofessional but I’m honestly just glad we don’t have to be fake around one another and pretend like everything’s dandy.

How many times have you stayed at a hotel in the past year, and where? Just once, for my dad’s birthday. We stayed in Tagaytay for a weekend though we Airbnb’d a condo unit and not a hotel.

Have you ever done a flip on a trampoline? Nah. I could try but I’m too afraid of not being able to support myself and accidentally breaking my neck or something.

What about a flip off of a diving board? Nope.

Are you embarrassed by your school yearbook photos? No. I barely look at them and I’m sure people barely look at yearbooks too.

Who taught you to tie your shoelaces? My grandma.

Currently how many pictures are on your cellphone? 8,067. There used to be around 10,000 but I had a ‘huge’ deleting spree that brought it down to around 6,000 – but clearly I’ve brought it back up again lol.

Do you think dimples are cute? Yes, super.

Would you rather chew fruity or minty gum? It’s whatever. They all lost their taste anyway.

The last time you went to the mall, who did you go with? Just me. That’s usually the case nowadays.

What’s something you used to collect when you were younger? Pogs.

Have you watched a movie today? I haven’t watched a movie since like September.

Aside from your own, whose house did you last set foot into? Angela’s, but it was super brief as I only went in to greet her parents.

Do you love soft pretzels? Yep, that’s how I prefer my pretzels as well.

Who was the last person who cried around you? Why did they start crying? Was it unexpected? I really have no clue. I haven’t been around too many people in such a long time, much less people who’ve cried in front of me. I want to say maybe Gabie???? during one of our last meet-ups. The name feels so foreign now.

Are you more likely to like someone before you really know them, or do you feel you like them more after you know a lot about them? After.

Do you buy people cards on special occasions, or do you prefer to make your own? Giving people cards isn’t much of a tradition here. We’d much rather get you a physical gift altogether.

When was the last time you were being hypocritical? I probably do it without realizing, so I can’t say exactly when.

Where on your body was the last cramp you had? Why did you have this cramp? Fortunately I haven’t had one in a while but I usually get cramps on my neck and shoulders after a whole day at work.

What is the weirdest name you’ve ever heard? My sister went to school with this girl whose name was her surname in reverse.

Do you get embarrassed when people hear you sing/compliment you on your singing ability? If so, why is that? Yeah. I’m not confident in my singing, so I never sing around people and it would embarrass me if I was ever caught/heard.

Are you good at comforting people when they’re upset? I try to be. It works for some people.

Do you have any exercises you do everyday? Nah.

Do you own one of those singing fish? Do you think they are silly or funny? I don’t know what this is referring to.

Has anyone ever accused you of being bipolar or any other mental disorder? Do you really have any mental disorders? No one has accused me; at least not to my face. As for the second question, I’m sure I have one or two; I’ve just never gotten myself professionally checked.

Did you buy the last thing you bought with your own money? If not, whose money did you buy it with? Yabu because I was craving; paid with my own money. It actually feels pretty weird because Yabu had been mine and my ex’s thing, and I haven’t had their food since the breakup. I’m looking forward to having it again tonight and finally changing the narrative for it.

Do you like to put your feet up on the dashboards of cars? Do you parents yell at you if you do that in cars? I don’t like to do it but I’ll sometimes do it if I wanna feel relaxed. No, it wouldn’t bother them too much.

Which Beatle is your favorite, or do you love them all equally? I don’t listen to them.

Do you enjoy classic rock? If so, who are some of your favorite classic rock artists? Not really, but I have nothing against it.

Did you ever own a Tamagotchi? Yep.

Are you more of a dog or cat person? Dog.

Have you ever failed math? Just the advanced courses, like calculus, back in high school. I find math pretty fun and easy if I get the topic and know the formulas; but if I find something hard, it’s very difficult for me to keep up. There’s really no in between haha I either pass with flying colors or absolutely flop.

Skittles! What's your favorite color? Whichever’s not too sour. Idk, I never buy Skittles.

Have you ever had a dream of stabbing someone? Nope but I used to have nightmares of watching my loved ones get shot.

What would you want your last words to be if you could choose them? That I had fun.

Can you sleep with the light on? Only if I’m pissed tired. Otherwise bright lights would bother me.

What’s the most bizarre horror movie you’ve ever seen? I know my answer won’t count as it doesn’t technically fall under horror, but Eraserhead was just very bizarre and unsettling. I’ve never seen the whole film without pausing several times.

What band can’t you stand listening to? Again, this probably won’t count as they’re a boy band/group more than anything, but I cannot stand The Vamps.

Would you ever take a lie detector test for your significant other? Yeah, sure, I guess, for fun. I think those are mostly bullshit anyway so I’ll only take a test with bullshit questions as well.

What is your favorite Mystery/Crime/FBI related show? Those genres never really were my cup of tea.

Would you ever have a bird as a pet? We had two lovebirds some years ago. They were lovely, but idk if we’d do it again. No reason, just that we prefer dogs.

How's your relationship between you and your grandparents? It’s great, even with my maternal grandpa who’s already passed. But I’m well aware of the fact that they’re also a bit wary of me since I’m the most vocal and outspoken of all their grandchildren, whereas they’re intensely conservative and traditional. Still, I always feel their love, especially through food and how they always make sure to stuff me whenever I come over haha.

Ever had a forbidden love or lover? In a sense, yeah. I was in a same-sex relationship that I hid from my family for four years.

Have you ever had to speak at a funeral?  I’ve never been to a funeral but I doubt I could speak at one without breaking down.

Do you know someone who’s been cremated?  Yes, my grandpa was cremated.

What is your current problem?  Just some deliverables at work that I would rather not think about now.

Do you like canopy beds?  Eh, I don’t mind them.

What is your favorite animated movie?  Toy Story.

Would you rather live in a small town or a big city?  Big city. I need lots of noise, lots of activity and lights where I live. I’ve lived in suburban neighborhoods all my life and I would love a change in pace.

If you could summon any animal to come to your rescue, what animal would it be and why?  Idk.

Have you ever watched The Golden Girls?  I’ve watched snippets and it’s HILARIOUS. I’ve always wanted to start the series but never knew where to watch it.

Did you ever like the Ninja Turtles? Was never into it, no.

Last alcoholic drink you had?  Peach soju and plum soju that got me absolutely hammered.

What are you known for?  These days, probably for doing an extreme 180 and having my life be all about BTS now.

Has anyone ever threatened you?  Yes.

Have you ever gone frog hunting?  No? Doesn’t sound like my type of activity at all.

Do you ever suffer from dry skin?  Yeah my face is a little dry, but I don’t think it’s something I ‘suffer’ from since no issues have come out of it so far. It’s just the way it is.

Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal?  Not a stuffed animal but I need to hug a pillow to fall asleep.

What’s the weather like right this moment?  It’s weather that says “it’s gonna get really hot in an hour or so” and I’m not enjoying that very much.

Do you bite on straws, lollipop handles, or ice cream sticks?  If there’s no trash can around, I tend to.

In what type of area was your first sexual encounter?  It was in a hotel.

Where is your mother’s side of the family descended from?  Just somewhere in the Philippines.

What do you occupy your time with on flights?  I’m honestly really happy with just staring out the window. If not that, I bring something to read or listen to music. I haven’t had a flight that lasted 6+ hours, but I imagine I would also bring my laptop for a series or movies to watch if I find myself in that situation.

Do you dog-ear pages in books?  Yup.

What’s a made up word of yours?  I don’t think I have any.

Do you use Q-Tips?  I do.

Ever gone out with somebody you didn’t like?  No. I don’t think I could bring myself to do that.

What hero or heroine do you most relate to in history, fiction, or song?  I don’t really like content with a hero/ine plot.

What makes you dizzy?  Amusement park rides, car rides, headaches.

Are your parents liberal or conservative?  Conservative.

Do you like your teeth? Did you have braces?  Not my middle teeth, but in general yeah. I did have braces but I lost my retainers at one point so my teeth just went back to their original position eventually.

Are you happy with your height?  It’s fine. I’m small but it’s the average here so I don’t really complain.

[bisexualsforprompto]

Of Roommates and Red Heroes Chapter 1

AO3

One (You are here)     Next

One- Of pilots and new beginnings

Jason Todd ran, ran away from the legacy he could never fill. The one he was still expected to fill. Didn’t they know? Didn’t they know he had changed?

God, was had he even changed? It’s not like he could ever make up for what he did. But he couldn’t wear the colors of the Robin ever again either. He crossed a line, he was past the point of no return.

And Bruce couldn’t let him forget it.

As far as Jason was concerned, he didn’t deserve a redemption.

He didn’t deserve a happily ever after.

Dick (in more ways than one): [is online]

Lil bro Jason: [is online]

Dick (in more ways than one): Come back.

Lil bro Jason: No.

Dick (in more ways than one): Please, Bruce didn’t mean it.

Lil bro Jason: Honestly I give zero f*cks if he meant it.

Dick (in more ways than one): So that's it. You’re just solo now and we’ll never see you again?

Lil bro Jason: You are welcome to visit when you’d like, along with Steph, Tim, Barbara, etc etc. I don’t want to see him again.

Dick (in more ways than one): He’s your dad!

Lil bro Jason: Godammit Dick! He’s not! Open your goddamn eyes! He’s not our dad, he’s a man who just uses us for his dirty work!

Dick (in more ways than one): I can’t stop you from doing this, but just talk to Bruce at least, if you don’t you’ll regret it, trust me I know.

Lil bro Jason: [is offline]

•~•Sunday Nov.17, 8am EST•~•

Knock, knock, knock.

“Mr. Todd.” 

Knock, knock, knock.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Jason said as he peeled a case file off his face, he’d fallen asleep the night prior reading it. Jason walked over to the nook where he kept all his ‘borrowed’ GCPD case filed which just happened to go missing from their archives every so often. For some reason, Jason liked to review case files. A lot. Maybe it was living with a detective for so long, but he felt at home in his own little world of files.

Jason brought a hand to his head, trying to shield his pounding headache. He remembered going out to the bar, but not much else. He brushed his hand down his face to feel stubble, another thing he’d have to deal with later. He fixed his hair a little bit before getting off his brown leather couch. He checked out what he was wearing, only pants. He sighed and picked up a plain black t shirt off the ground. Sliding it on, Jason walked over to the door and opened it.

Of all the things he was expecting today, he wasn’t expecting his landlord in full suit and tie showing up at his door. Unfortunately, it was his reality. A tall slim and bony man in a tacky olive green suit and oversized brown plastic glasses was holding a clipboard and pen in his hands. 

“Mr. Jason Todd?”

Jason sighed, “That’s me.” The man looked him up and down. Jason was about to yell at him for judging but decided against it. 

“You’ve been behind on your last payment for this flat. You have one week or you will be evicted.” The man said properly, leaving directly after despite Jason’s protests. Sighing, Jason shut the door.

He hadn’t found work in a long time. He’d been fired from his last job for drinking, and he couldn’t change his ways after being Red Hood and working with Batman. He went by the same mantle but working with Bruce did a number on him as always, only this time it was a positive change. He couldn’t work and make dirty money off drug cartels anymore, Red Hood was a lone vigilante but Jason Todd could only find himself doing honest work. Honest work that was very difficult to find in this day and age.

The only thing Jason could think that would save him would be getting a roommate. Jason sighed once more, all Gothamites were bat-shit crazy (pun not intended) and there was no way in hell he was taking Bruce’s blood money. Jason started drafting an ad and put it on Craigslist. The best he’d be able to do, hopefully before the date he’d be able to meet all of the candidates to make sure they weren’t insane. 

‘Searching for a roommate in a flat in Gotham Sun Apartments. $500 per month expected. Contact xxx-xxx-xxx for more information. (Images attached below)’

Jason rubbed his pounding temple, all he could do was wait.

•~Friday Nov. 22, 10am EST~•~•

“Voyage.” Marinette called before stepping into a black portal. She whimpered as she landed in a dark alley. “Tikki, Kaaliki, divide.” She whispered. “Spots off.” She was released from her heroine persona. Marinette was bloody, bruised and confused. She didn’t know where Kaaliki had taken her but she hoped it was far away from Paris. Marinette walked warily out of the alley to see a beautiful city full of life around her. Many people walked past and she could hear snippets of conversation, only something was off about them…they were in English! Marinette realized, could Kaaliki’s Portal have taken her to America or England? Thank god for Madame Bustier’s lessons or Marinette wouldn’t be able to speak a lick of English, she was practically fluent after all of her lessons. Marinette took out her pigtails and slid the bands onto her arm, she checked her purse, Tikki and Kaaliki were in there as well as $2000. Master Fu had given it to her before her...departure. 

Marinette continued down the street hoping to find some sign of where she was. Pedestrians gave her strange looks, most likely because of all her evident injuries. Marinette passed by street signs, all to generic to tell her anything. She accidentally bumped into a small girl wearing a sweatshirt that read “Gotham University”. 

Marinette knew it was a stretch, it could just be a random sweatshirt but still she was determined to try. 

‘Gotham University’ she typed into Google. Bingo. ‘Gotham University is a college in Gotham, New Jersey, America.’ So could she be in America? Marinette surveyed her surroundings, the most prominent building read Wayne Enterprises. ‘Worth a shot’ she mused. ‘Wayne Enterprises, Gotham’. Millions of hits, now she knew she must be in Gotham. Marinette continued to walk the streets to solve her next problem, where could she stay the night? 

Marinette sighed turning corners, looking for any signs around. She felt a rumbling in her stomach, she couldn’t remember the last time she ate. Marinette couldn't see any food places around. She wandered around looking wildly for a café, bakery, restaurant, anything. She didn’t even realize she was on a collision course until she bumped into a muscular boy, about 4 years older than herself with black hair with a white streak in it and blue eyes.

•~Friday, 9:40am EST~•~•

Jason groaned as he got up. He wasn’t drunk like most nights before. He immediately went to check his computer, still no hits on Craigslist. Jason sighed, he didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t get anyone to rent with him by Sunday. He refused to move back into Bruce’s mansion again. Jason picked up his apartment keys and went to look for some food, he couldn’t find a solution to a problem without food or caffeine (Tim had rubbed off on him more than he wanted). 

Jason opened his door and walked down the hall, he opted for the stairs as he didn’t feel like interacting with anyone at the moment. Jason brushed past the Gothamites on the street feeling extremely aggravated. He got lost in his own world of annoyance and didn’t even realize when he ran into a small blue-haired girl.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” Marinette said turning pink. She backed away feeling extremely embarrassed, “I just wasn’t looking where I was going and-“ Jason recognized that she wasn’t from Gotham. She just didn’t have that shrewd personality that came with the territory of being a Gothamite. For some reason it made him feel warmer, and his anger felt more soothed.

“It’s ok little lady, really. What brings you to Gotham?” Marinette stared up into the caring blue eyes of the boy she ran into. “I uh, well, um nothing in particular. But would you mind showing me somewhere to eat?” She asked, not wanting to revisit why she had to leave Paris. He seemed caring enough, hopefully he’d take her somewhere to eat. The man nodded, “Of course. I was headed to a café myself little lady. Hey, what’s your name?” Jason could respect that the girl didn’t want to talk about why she was here, after all, Jason didn’t like talking about his own past. 

“Marinette.” Marinette blushed. “Alrighty then Marinette, I’m Jason. I’ll take you somewhere.” Jason wanted to scold her for putting so much trust in a stranger blindly as she followed him, after all this was Gotham but he just silently thanked that it was him who got to her instead of some creep. Jason led her to the Garden Café right next to where his flat was.

It might’ve been one of the only places in Gotham that wasn’t completely littered with garbage. It had beautiful flowers and an outdoor patio where patrons could eat. Jason lead Marinette to an empty black table and pulled out a metal chair for her. “Merci!” Marinette smiled, “Thank you, I mean.” Jason made the connection, “So are you from France?” Marinette nodded, “Yes, Paris actually.” Jason nodded, “What's it like there?” Marinette sighed, “Well aside from the terrorist, it’s beautiful and a great place to live.” Jason didn’t even had a drink yet but if he did, he would’ve spit it out right on the spot. “Did you just say terrorist?”

“Um yes, I assumed it was common knowledge. I mean I know Ladybug reached out to the Justice League many times…” Jason gritted his teeth, the damn Justice League. His father’s call no doubt.

“So whos Ladybug?” Marinette pondered what to tell the man across from her, on the one hand, he was the only kind one to her, but she didn’t want to accidentally give away her identity. “She along with Chat Noir, are magical heroes who wield jewels that give them power. Hawkmoth, the terrorist, wants them, because with them he can make a wish and have absolute power.” Jason's eyes widened, sure her story seemed like a poorly written children’s TV show but from the little time he’d known Marinette he’d figured a lot out about her, and he trusted that she wasn’t a liar. And wasn’t a very good one at that. Living with the world’s greatest detective, as much as Jason hated to admit it, did have some perks, Jason could read people without knowing them for long. 

“I guess it’s not ideal to escape a terrorist and end up in the crime capital of the world though,” Jason said, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would rather be in Gotham than anywhere else. Marinette hadn’t known it was the crime capital of the world, she wondered why Kaaliki’s voyage sent her there. Maybe she was meant to resume being a hero in Gotham?

“Y-yeah.” Was all Marinette could stammer out. Talking to Jason made her realize so many things she had to do, she hadn’t had much time to think about what it could be like living in another country. She didn’t even have a place to stay yet!

“I know this might be a touchy subject, but...how’d you get those bruises Buttercup?” Marinette touched her hand to her face and ran her fingers down one of the scars. “H-Hawkmoth.” At least it wasn’t a complete lie. She saw Jason clench his fists. 

Jason was seething, he couldn’t believe the league would ignore this! One look at this girl would prove that they should’ve listened. If Jason was still aligned with Bruce he would’ve had some choice words with him, instead he decided that he’d notify Dick and possibly the Outlaws the next time he saw them. Jason couldn’t help but feel awful for the girl, he knew what it was like to feel like you couldn’t escape the clutches of a madman. He’d lost a bit of soul to Joker. He wanted to run his fingers down all of her scars and just make everything better, she didn’t deserve that kind of torment. If anything, he did.

“Say Buttercup, where are you staying?” Jason asked before the waiter came to take their orders. Marinette answered the waiter with a simple sandwich and Jason ordered the same. “Um well...I don’t really know yet,” she responded to his previous question. 

Unacceptable, she was staying with him now. “How about you come back with me Buttercup. I know we just met, but I don’t want you sleeping on the streets. Gotham is dangerous.” Marinette blushed, just now noticing the nickname he gave her. “I couldn’t do that to you!” She protested.

“It’s not a problem, Buttercup, really.” Marinette sighed, she felt grateful for Jason. Maybe she was being too trusting, but she had no other options. “As long as you let me pay you something.” Jason thought about it, he didn’t want to put this poor girl out but then he realized,

“I think there's a way we can help each other.”

[withoutaconscienceorafilter]

UNEXPECTED VISITOR 👀👀

WIP -- UNEXPECTED VISITOR(S)

This is supposed to be during Cable & X-Force, because that has both de-powered Nate with pre-cog visions that are slowly turning his brains to jelly and Hope chasing after her dad, but no sign of Wade and that made me sad. :( And there’s this fanart by aortdn on Tumblr somewhere with Nate sprawled on Wade’s couch with his head in Wade’s lap and Wade’s holding a gun with this absolutely mystified expression......

Also, I hate how most comics writers make Nate really mean to Wade.  :C 

Oh yes, this was written before it became canon that Hope is vehemently opposed to Wade.  ;P  Stupid canon.

 A lot of my WIP ideas like this get abandoned because I decide I’m being overly dramatic and I feel a little ridiculous.  Plus they end up full of plot holes.  So this is something I wrote myself in a spurt of romanticism and never bothered to move out of the WIP directory.  Mindless self-indulgence.

If you think I should go ahead and post this snippet on ao3, leave a comment.  Otherwise it’s probably going to just live here and nowhere else.

Nate, Wade, Hope, hurt/comfort, angst, incomplete, probably not entirely canon compliant

~~~~

Some nights start off like all the others, until one thing changes.

Wade Wilson is watching television in t-shirt, boxers, and bunny slippers from one end of his dirty, stabbed-in-places, shot-in-other-places couch.  When there’s a soft knock at the door, that’s surprising.  When whoever knocks just goes ahead and turns the handle a second later, like he or she has the right to just waltz on in, that’s even more surprising.

Wade isn’t used to anyone visiting his hellhole of an apartment.  Visiting him.  At least, he doesn’t think he is.

Except maybe Bob, but he doesn’t count.

Especially not visiting and letting themselves in.

So when Cable walks through the door, Wade’s got a gun aimed right between his eyes.

“Hello, Wade.”  It sounds tired.  Resigned.  And of course not the least bit intimidated, because his time-traveling best whatever-the-hell-he-is certainly is never intimidated by Wade.  Unclear if that’s comforting to his soul or insulting to his ego.

Reflex keeps the gun trained on Nate while Wade’s brain is struggling to catch up, finally flicks on the safety and shoves it back down the couch cushions after watching Nate close and lock the door and start carefully setting down his larger guns.

“Staying for a bit?” he asks with attempted nonchalance.

“For a couple hours, if you’ll let me.”

He looks tired.  He looks different.  New: mechanical right eye, working left eye.  Gone: techno-organic mesh.  New: actual flesh left arm and some sort of mecha robotic prosthetic surrounding it.

Still huge and muscled.  Still scars over his right eye.  Still all grizzled and old, military, GI-Joe look.  His hair is really short this time--Wade misses the slightly longer Nate hair.  Better for the running-fingers-through-it stuff.

Wade just watches, brain still trying to catch up, as Nate does something up by his left shoulder and suddenly Mr. Robot Arm opens up, slides off and gets unceremoniously tossed by the guns.

“Why?”  It comes out a little too forceful, and it doesn’t say all the why are you here? and why me? and why now? explicitly, but they’re there all the same.

Nate just shakes his head and that might have been the ghost of a sigh.  The couch shakes when he drops onto it.  For a moment he’s not quite looking at Wade but everything about the tension and line of his body says all his attention is on him.

“Can I … lie down?”

“Lie … what?”  Wade has no clue what’s going on.  “I mean, sure, there’s a bed--”

But before he can get further, Nate just gives a quiet little sigh and a shake of his head, and he’s turning and slinging his legs around over the arm of the couch and lying down along the length of it, settling his head in Wade’s lap with a tired grunt.

“Jesus Christ, Nate!  Are you dying?!”  Because honestly, he can’t think of anything else that would make big tough mutant savior do this.

Nate’s eyes close and he turns his head toward Wade’s stomach, shifting in the little ways someone does when they’re getting comfortable.

“Maybe,” is the rumbled answer.  “Telepathy and telekinesis crapping out.  Precog visions.  Tearing my head apart.  I just want a couple hours where I can pretend everything’s fine.”  Unspoken: everything between us is fine and I’m going to be fine and I’m not dying ... again.  And then, before Wade can call him any of that unspoken stuff, “Hold on.” He taps a headset in one ear. “Cable to base.  …  Yes, I’m fine, just taking a couple of hours to sleep.  …  No, extraction unnecessary.  …  I’m …” Now he sounds aggravated. ”Hope, I’m fine.  None of my visions are happening in the next 8 hours, so let me sleep before I drop dead. … You keep telling me to trust my team, so that’s what I’m trying to do.  Keep watch, deal with any shit that comes up, and don’t screw up!  Cable out.”

He taps the headset again, then pulls it off and throws it in the general direction of his guns and arm.

“Hope?” Wade tries to keep his voice neutral.  “She’s working with you?”

“Yeah.” Nate’s got his eyes closed again, head turned toward Wade. “She battered her way in, wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“How old is she again?”

A sigh.  “Sixteen.”

Wade feels it all over again like it was the first time he heard it, like someone punched him in the gut, punched the breath right out of him.  Fists clench.  Anger rising.  It’s long seconds before he can find the voice to speak.

“I hate time travel.  I still can’t believe you ran around without me for sixteen years.”

Because, seriously?  Sixteen years.  Sixteen years of being chased, shot at, shot up, getting blown up, getting older and grumpier, doing who knows what in bed with who knows who, raising a kid, and all without him?  Without giving him anything aside from a quick stopover in Alaska to say see you later?  Not dropping by for a proper reunion when he got back? And yet having the gall to walk into his apartment and flop in his lap like they’d just seen each other last week?

“It wasn’t quite that long.  We got separated along the way.”

“Still a hell of a long time!”

“I know,” said softly.  “You deserve better.”  Then, “I’m tired.”

“Dammit, Nate.”  Wade lets his head fall back, staring at the ceiling.  Because he is not going to get emotional.  And his eyes are totally not springing a leak right now.  Instead of saying anything else, he settles for lightly running a hand through Nate’s hair over and over, feeling the fuzz and prickle of it, the occasional ridge of a hidden scar on his scalp.

Nate sighs, a long, quiet thing as if tension is flowing out of him, and wraps an arm around Wade’s back, then stills.

Wade keeps letting his fingers ghost over Nate’s hair, and when he finally has it together enough to look down, Nate’s lips are slightly parted and he’s pretty obviously asleep.  Chest and stomach rising and falling slowly and regularly.

Wade frowns.  Nate must be exhausted to fall asleep that fast.

This universe fucking sucks, running Nate around like this, chasing him into other times for something like a decade and a half.  Wade doesn’t want to think about it anymore, so he picks up the remote and resumes channel surfing, other hand still gently resting on Nate’s hair.

He does turn down the sound.  If Nate needs to pass out like this, Wade doesn’t want him disturbed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wade isn’t used to anyone visiting his hellhole of an apartment.

He certainly isn’t used to two visitors in one night.

He’s nodded off in the earliness of pre-dawn, head propped on a hand on the back of the couch, dozing in place so Nate can keep sleeping.  Who cares if his leg is asleep.  If it falls off--can legs fall off from going to sleep for too long?--he’ll just grow a new one anyway.

And then the door knob rattles quietly.  Just the little sound of someone testing it to see if it’s locked.

Wade is instantly awake and pulling the handgun out of the couch for the second time.  There’s a long pause and then the lock glows blue and twists on the inside, unlocking with a click.  The handle twists and the door is pushed open a couple inches.

“Step in where I can see you,” he growls quietly.  “Hands come through first and stay up the whole time.  Or I’m going to shoot a hell of a lot of holes in my door and send you the bill.”

There’s a long pause, then a pair of slender hands, gloved in green poke through, fingers wiggle as if to say see, no weapons and then a head pokes around the door.  Red hair.  Green eyes.

“Oh fucking hell,” Wade swears, flicks on the safety, and savagely shoves the gun back down into its hiding spot.  Again.

The green eyes blink in surprise and then their owner sidles through the door, pushing it quietly closed behind her.  She’s dressed in the usual skin tight superhero outfit, except with a Nate-worthy big gun strapped to her back. Eyes wide, just staring.

Hope.  He doesn’t know her very well.  Barely at all. That hurts too, that Nate hadn’t bothered to get them together, to have him properly meet his adopted daughter.

“Whaaaaat?” Wade asks defensively.  Quietly and defensively.  Quietly because don’t wake Nate.  And defensively because so what if he has multiple hundred pounds of X-Force leader stretched across his couch and lap?  Manly, brawny, probably never-admits-weakness-in-front-of-his-kid leader?

“Sorry, I didn’t know what was--  I borrowed some of his powers to get-- I could feel him but I couldn’t read you--”

“Yeah, telepaths have trouble with me.”

“Is he okay?” she breathes, edging closer, and the ridiculousness of it all almost makes him laugh, that they both figure Cable has to be damn near done for before he does this sort of thing and sleeps through a conversation about him happening right next to him.

Wade shrugs.  “I asked him if he was dying.  He said maybe.”

And there.  That’s definitely a kid Cable raised.  Because the flash of guilt quickly covered up and the squaring of the shoulders, taking responsibility for and internalizing problems and failures, that’s all Nate.

She nods, and now she’s looking him over more carefully, scrutiny from head to toe, gaze lingering on his face as if she really wishes she knew what he was thinking.  Wade really wishes he had his mask, but it’s across the room and he’s sure as hell not going to ask her to hand it to him.

“Who are you?”

Wade hates being trapped in one place like this, so he pulls the gun back out and starts twirling it around a finger.  Most people don’t fidget with guns, but then mostly people aren’t him.  She almost doesn’t twitch a hand toward her gun in response.

“Wade Wilson.  Your dad and I were kinda sorta best buds back when he was building a floating island utopia.”  She just looks at him blankly.  “Also known as Deadpool?”  And now her eyes get really wide.

“I do know you,” she says cautiously.  “A future you saved me from Stryfe.”

“Oh.  Do I?  Good for future-me.  Did Nate see it?  ‘Cause it’s always nice when he realizes I have a good side.”

“He … uh.  Yes.  He also told me not to trust you.  And worse.”  She gives sleeping Nate a hard look tinged with disbelief, as if to say, you hypocrite.

Wade gently sets down the gun before he shoots something or someone.  Hunches forward a little because he really doesn’t need her seeing the hurt he’s sure is all over his face.  “Nate,” he says softly toward the man in his lap, “you suck.”

That appears to actually get through, because Nate frowns, makes a frustrated grumbling sound.  His eyes squeeze tight as a tremor of clenching and unclenching muscles runs through him, a morning stretch.  His arm tightens around Wade and pulls him closer, forehead resting on stomach.

“Hey, Nate.”  Wade pokes him in the shoulder.  “You might want to wake up.  Your girl’s here.”

Nate makes an unhappy noise along the lines of “nnnngg”, but rolls and sits up, blinking blearily at Wade’s second unwelcome visitor.  “Hope.  What the hell are you doing here?”

Hope gets a stubborn look on her face. “You weren’t answering your com.”

“I was asleep.”

“You still weren’t answering.  You always answer, even if you’re catnapping.”

A groan, rubbing a hand over his face.  “I wasn’t catnapping.  Wanted to really sleep for once.”

The curiosity and disbelief are almost palpable, rolling off her.  “Why here?  You told me Deadpool couldn’t be trusted!  You told X-Force to ‘gut him and dump him!’”

That causes double flinches for very different reasons, and Nate glances guiltily sideways at the other man on the couch.

“Yeah, Nate,” Wade says with deceptively calm.  “That's even meaner than usual. What’s up with that when Hope was telling me this future-me saved her ass?”

“Wade, you couldn’t be trusted,” and he sounds deeply pained.  “How many times have you backstabbed me?  Tried to kill me?  Lost your mind or your memories so bad who knows if you’d even remember what side you’re on?  It… you… he was roughly a thousand years in the future. Not just crazy. Mad.  Falling apart, healing factor running out, a dead man walking.  Working for Stryfe.  Lost.”

It hurts.  He’s only looking at his clenched fists when he says, “I never backstabbed you in a way you couldn’t recover from, Mr. Hypocrite Who Exploded My Head Multiple Times.  I haven’t tried to kill you in years, aside from being brainwashed, but that wasn’t really me trying to kill you.  And...”  He swallows, wishes he had something smartass and irrelevant to say instead. Finally looks Nate in the face long enough to say, “I don’t care what I remember or how crazy I am.  I’m always on your side.”

Nate drops his head, folds his hands over the back of his head, elbows on his knees.  Not looking at either of them, blocking them out.  Hope is hovering, looking unsure if she should get further away or come closer to comfort her dad.  Wade is just watching--what he just said was as exhausting as an entire fight.  Nate’s shoulders shake with the slightest tremor, but his voice is steady.

“Wade, I can’t trust you.  I’m sorry.  I can’t trust anyone.  Maybe Hope.  It never goes right.  Plans, intentions, it all leads to weaknesses.  I can’t even trust myself.”

“Nate.”  He puts out a hand, very carefully settles it on a shoulder.  Because he’s pretty damn mad at Nate right now, but it’s also obvious Nate’s got some messed up head stuff going on here.  “Listen to yourself.  When the hell did you get so lost?  You used to trust people.  Irene.  Gareb.  Forge.  Prestor John.  Johann.  Maybe you didn’t tell them everything, but you were a team.  Six Pack and X-Force before that.  I think you even trusted me, until I screwed up and you kicked me off the island.  For god’s sake, you cared about other people enough that you burned your powers out fixing my screwed up, useless head!  How’d you get from that to this?”

“This?” It sounds hollow.

“Mean and untrusting.”

“Wait, what?” That’s Hope. Wade flinches again.  He’d almost forgotten she was there.  “What do you mean, burned himself out?”

Wade glares at her, taps the side of his forehead.  “My brain’s a mess.  Between cancer, my head getting constantly stabbed and shot, and my healing factor, it ends up as ugly on the inside as the outside of me.  Last time I was actually sane and able to remember everything was because your dad went inside my head and fixed it.  He could have stayed an omega-level telepath and telekinetic again, but instead he wasted it on me.  And it didn’t even stick.”  And that totally was not almost a sob, Wade is denying it forever if anyone asks.

Hope stares at him, then her dad.  “Is he telling the truth?!”

“Yes.”  Nate’s still hunched over, not looking at either of them.  “He’d just saved my life. Twice. He had holes in his mind.”

“I told you to walk away!” Wade snarls, hand on Nate’s shoulder clenching.

“Like hell,” Nate snaps back, starting to straighten.

Hope just stares at them, like they’re the world’s biggest idiots and confusing her by being unable to see to what’s obvious.

“Dad, if you care that much but you can’t trust him when he’s broken, why don’t we just fix him again?”

[polandspringz]

Director’s Cut of My Fic “I’d Rather Be Dry” Part 2 (Chapter 3)

Chapter 3 was probably the most painful chapter of a fic I’ve ever had to write, and not because I was sad writing the sad scenes. No, this fic was physically painful to write because it took 3 days and I was struggling to sit down and write it the entire time because even though I had the whole thing planned out, I just felt like I was dragging through it and eventually had to change some things to speed it up a bit. Still, it ended up being the longest chapter because I had to tie up so many loose ends! Luckily for me, my beta-reader @primal-shitposts​ read it through for me again, so I didn’t have to suffer again!!! If you want to support not only me but my beta-reader who makes sure my fic lacks grammar errors (and also gives you this great commentary on these types of posts), please go to their art blog @primal-interstellar​ and give their artwork some love!!! They deserve it after slogging through this mess of a fic for a game they don’t even play.

Since there are a lot of funny quotes from this proof-read, I’ll post them all under read more. Beta-reader (Primal) is in pink. If you see blue text, that’s me typing stuff in frantically before she skipped to the next line:

I actually originally wrote the opening scene with Satan in a lot more detail. It dropped us in the present where he was in the office, and Diavolo and everyone was just looking on as he slowly ran out of energy. But, I got about 3 pages in and realized it was dragging and so I cut it and swapped it for a flashback on the walk home.

While I intended for this to be a much more dramatic anime scene of Satan just silent as he ran out of steam and could barely move his arms save for slapping the guy, I love this interpretation.

I CAN’T EXPLAIN WHY BUT THIS WAS THE FUNNIEST COMMENT IN THE DOCUMENT. NOTHING TOPPED THIS. I DON’T UNDERSTAND BUT IT’S SO OUT OF LEFT FIELD IT HAD ME DYING

Primal knows about Lucifer birthing Satan because the moment I started playing the game I made her watch a crack video with me that mentioned it. Although I know she likes Leviathan cause sea monsters, I’m convinced Satan might be one of her favorites. On a side note, writing dialogue for Satan is very hard because he is very proper but when he snaps, I always feel unsure of whether it sounds believable or just like a string of curses that a twelve year old would think sounds cool. 😎 I do like the father/son dynamic Lucifer and Satan hint at though (and from what I hear the new lessons might be adding on to that? oWO)

I honestly don’t know how the demons who attacked MC aren’t dead yet. They’re basically disfigured and then Satan just doubled the damage and then tripled it in the council room this chapter. Somehow they’re not dead though! I wonder what MC will have to say about their punishment...

QUICK, SOMEONE DRAW SATAN WITH THE CRAFTING TABLE STARING AT THE DOOR WHILE THE EQUATIONS FLY BY HIS HEAD

I did choose the “yes” option when Beel asked to eat me in the animal event. It was not because of vore though, but I do make many vore jokes. I could imagine MC being forced to explain vore to Lucifer (or all the brothers) after making a joke and them being confused. Writing Beel’s breakdown this chapter wasn’t initially planned, and it was sort of what really started to make writing this fic slow down because as you might notice throughout the fic, I suddenly felt the need to give every brother an equal amount of screen time which sort of led to me RUNNING OUT OF VERBS for how to make each breakdown unique.

Okay, so the next part. I was actively seeing the comments as they popped up, but there was a delay with the comment box on the side appearing before the actual comments in the text. So, I saw this:

And had two seconds to go “Oh no” before this was added:

From here on it was chaos.

Listen, the boys are idiots. They’re all concerned, Mammon just doesn’t want MC to get upset again. In reality, this sort of dialogue stemmed more from me still lingering on the original idea of the fic. The original concept of this fic (when it was just a one-shot) was MC still getting attacked by a demon in the locker-room showers (for their soul) but because I was originally thinking about a female reader, I knew that it could have more of an undertone for sexual assault. I actually first discussed the fic idea with Primal months back when I first got into Obey Me, because I wanted to write a snippet of each brother helping MC after the event (it wasn’t going to be extreme, I was thinking more accidental scratches during the scuffle closer to the chest and such and maybe the assailants having more dialogue demeaning MC for being around the 7 brothers all the time) but I realized I didn’t have much experience with that and it would make writing scenes that I thought about (such as Asmo wanting to give MC a bath as aftercare) difficult as I could see someone after an attack like that not wanting to be in a bathroom with someone else or be vulnerable to them. I ended up playing with that idea in my previous Mammon fic with more different comfort aspects and touching on that kind of assault briefly, so this fic ended up just being focused on the brothers’ being upset over what happened to MC.

As much as writing Satan’s angry dialogue is a pain, I have fun making him talk with a more formal tone, it’s closer to how I normally talk, and prefer to write my characters talking. I have no problem writing contractions or more casual speech, but for one of my fantasy stories, where I’m writing in English but trying to differentiate different languages through italics or just whether they use certain contractions or not, I tend to really stress the characters that use absolutely zero and more complicated synonyms. 

I DON’T KNOW WHY BUT IT WOULD BE HILARIOUS IF MC JUST ASKED FOR SOUP OUT OF THE BLUE I’M IMAGINING ASMO BEING LIKE “BITCH I TOOK ALL THIS TIME DEBATING OVER HOT OR COLD TEA AND NOW YOU’RE SAYING YOU’RE FINE WITH HOT SOUP???”

I know the shower idea may have been really corny or cringey. I know a lot of people write things like the water in Devildom as being much hotter (cause their near hell and their demons! It makes sense, also I think Asmo might have mentioned in a text chat he would make the water cooler for MC? But I could be wrong) but I imagine their is some demons who aren’t powerful enough to handle a lot of the settings. Of course though, our demon bros are 7 of the highest demons in Devildom, so they’re immune.

*Slaps this comment* Congrats, Primal. You just summarized the entire chapter.

I find Leviachan to be such a funny nickname, mainly because writing any dialogue for Levi makes me cringe because while I was a VERY big weeaboo in elementary and middle school, I was so lucky I never hit his stage of acting like an otaku. While it’s charming, having to type him in more modern fic is even more painful because it’s like “oh god he actually goes into the real world and talks like this). Sidenote, I always mispronounce Levi’s name when I’m talking about him, mainly because I have to remember so many anime characters where their name is pronounced Lee-Vai or I just think of the brand of jeans (fashion major brain). So, whenever I’m talking out loud about him to someone, I have to stop and be like, “Levi... Leviachan...Leviathan...” because that “a” sound corrects my brain to how it’s supposed to be.

*throws confetti again* Believe I felt the pain of this fic dragging through every boy going back on their character development I had given them but I felt it was only fair that each of them got time with MC. As the tag on archive says, “everybody gets time to shine with MC”. (I really just want to write Barbatos’ scene for chapter 4 though)

This scene was hard to write because I wanted Levi to get closure on the scene with MC, but I couldn’t have him straight up kabedon them because then he would be cornering them and I thought that would be too much like what MC went through in the shower. Although I didn’t write anyone in explicitly summarizing what happened to MC, and Levi saw the least of it, I think he’s seen enough series depicting it to know that cornering them would be bad, but he still wants to show that he loves them and cares about them. Also, when I was writing this, I remember just going through a counter of who got the most smooches in chapter 3. Originally only Mammon was going to get 2, putting him in the lead above everyone who got 1, but then I felt back for giving Levi the least screen time and just gave him 3.

Honestly, chapter 3 really took a turn for a more intimate chapter??? Especially with Asmo’s one-on-one scene with MC, it was all downhill from there. I have noticed with quarantine, my writing has become more focused on touch (if you read any of my Balance:Unlimited fics or even my Mammon fic, you would definitely die if you tried to do a drinking game with the number of times someone TOUCHES the other gently). It’s just an unfortunate projection issue that comes with writing.

And here is complete chaos. I had blocked this game from my memory and then I was forced to remember it right here. 

Removing these meme images from the fic text will be tedious, and painful. But, I am preserving them here. (I type up these directors’ cuts before publishing the final version of the fic, so I don’t lose the comments)

I’m not even at lesson 16 yet, but based on all the spoilers I read, watched, and scene for research purposes, I’m pretty sure it was more of a-

This is what writing 11k+ words for one chapter worth it. The final read through I get to enjoy things like this.

I wish Belphie was 7′2″. 😳 I like Beel but Belphie is one of my favs. Ironically enough he was the one who skipped this fic. (I’ll make it up to you one day, Belphie fans.... will we ever know what they talked about and what made Belphie cry? Personally, I think it’s like the iceberg effect Hemingway talked about, and says more under the surface... it’s totally not because I got burned out, lolololol.... 🤭)

I WAS ACCIDENTALLY FEEDING DIALUCI STANS but again, if you’ve read my Mammon fic, you probably know my true thoughts on Diavolo and Lucifer’s relationship. This fic is so MC focused, I wasn’t intending to write it in so much, Diavolo was just supposed to order Lucifer to go home, that’s it. But, I got rejuvenated when I hit Lucifer’s scene, because I knew it was the homestretch for the chapter! I really played up a Hamilton reference accidentally, having the “Go home” line repeated, because it just felt like the vibe the scene was getting at. I am hoping to explore Diavolo and Lucifer’s relationship more in my modern au fic, Siberia.

I hate tumblr because if I attach a link in the initial post, this won’t appear in the tag, but Primal’s comment here made me think of this art I saw of Lucifer and Satan the other day by ObsessiveAlice (I don’t want to tag them because they’ll be so confused by this long unrelated post! But I’ll put the link to their art in the notes/replies on this post, so check them out!!!)

I know it wasn’t the most romantic kiss but again I WAS RUNNING OUT OF WAYS TO MAKE THE BROTHERS HAVE UNIQUE SCENES SO I GOT DESPERATE.

And that’s the end!!! Again, if you liked the fic, more than giving me a like or reblog, please go check out Primal’s wonderful artwork @primal-interstellar​ !!! She does a lot of great oc work and it needs more recognition!!! Almost all of my fics would never get posted without her help, so please, please, please show her support! (She has an animatic she just made which I will also link in the replies!!! Please give that love too!!!)

Anyway, if you made it to the end, I don’t know if you got a laugh out of this, but I hope you enjoyed the fic commentary somewhat! I was going to post chapter 3+4 at the same time like I did the prior chapters, but chapter 3 took so long I had to just lay on my floor for 3 hours earlier today to take a break from it, lol. Luckily, I’m very excited for chapter 4, so it shouldn’t take as long!!! 

[jacscorner]

So I liked Steven Universe Future and, honestly, after having some time to think on it...I have mixed feelings about it. I’ll go into it down below.

BUT, for now, I’ll just say what I wished for from Future, but sadly didn’t really get: Stevonnie getting more screen time. She got some, but I really wished for more. In fact, I was hoping Stevonnie would’ve become a Perma-Fusion and would’ve gone on space adventures.

I guess that was a long shot since Steven Universe has made it clear it doesn’t wanna focus on action. But still, I think it would’ve just been so cool to see! I don’t care that Lars went back into space, I wanted Stevonnie! T_T I guess that’s another for the Fanfic pile.

This part of my post is a rant. Turn back while you can!

I get what the show was going for, and I applaud Sugar and co for wanting to tell a story about coping with stress and taking care of your mental health. I think that’s something important for people of all ages to learn. Both the young kids Cartoon Network aims for and the older audience who either grew up with the show or came into watching the show after could all use that lesson.

BUT! On the opposite hand, I feel the show sacrificed a lot to make this point and the internal narrative suffered. It feels rushed at times, yet slow at others. There’s a lot of points in the series where I think ‘wow, this is interesting’, but the show cuts it short and we’re never gonna see it expanded cause that was the show’s final hour. Or we get smaller snippets that just don’t seem to line up with what we saw in the previous series-a problem Steven Universe classic had a problem with, but it’s pretty amazing just how bad a problem Future has it, breaking its own continuity’s back for the sake of spinning this exact narrative.

Let’s start small: here’s an episode that crushes my dreams where Steven wants to propose to Connie and before he gets the chance to ask Garnet, she splits into Ruby and Sapphire so they can go off and do their own thing. On paper, that doesn’t sound too bad, cause we get more Ruphire! 

...Except this goes against the characterization they had. If anything, they were borderline dysfunctional when they were apart.

And this entire plot hinges on Garnet not waiting, like, 2 minutes just to explain to Steven ‘no, don’t propose to Connie. She won’t make you feel complete’. Which is a good lesson to teach, and the episode that follows this is also a good lesson to teach, but that’s my point: the narrative is sacrificed in order to preach to the audience. 

But now, let’s REALLY talk about character assassination. There’s an episode where Greg tries to help Steven find what he wants and it leads to Greg taking Steven to his childhood home-AKA, his parent’s house. 

The differences between how Greg was raised and how he raised Steven is night and day and we get a lot of insight to Greg’s past and relationship with his family. He ditched the family name for ‘Universe’ cause of some random song he heard, he lived in a pretty standard suburb home, and had a pretty normal upbringing. Steven is actually envious of his father, because he had a normal life and had a normal family and didn’t have to deal with the issues of having to deal with homicidal aliens and dying almost every week. And Greg...

Just doesn’t get why Steven is so upset! Steven wishes he had what Greg had, but Greg wanted Steven to have the freedom to be whoever he wanted to be-even if that means he never went to school and never went to the hospital. The episode ends with him just being so upset with Greg and it’s heartbreaking for me to see.

Now, Greg has never been the BEST Dad, considering he’s mostly been a deadbeat and let Steven be raised by a group of space rocks who more or less kept using him as their personal therapist. But, you know what? As badly as Greg was written in that last moment, the real character assassination...was of Steven’s.

Let’s rewind a bit: Greg’s upbringing was normal, but it was restrictive. His parents never let him discover himself, he wasn’t allowed to listen to the music he wanted to nor did they let him grow out his hair. Greg was miserable, so miserable he ran away and changed his name because to him, Greg DeMayo wasn’t someone he wanted to be. And we see in the episode that Greg wrote letters to his parents to reconnect with them, but they were never opened. They never responded or heard him out. Greg wanted his freedom, but his parents cut all ties with him when it was clear he wouldn’t fall in line.

And Steven...

Just doesn’t care. He completely ignores Greg’s point of view on the matter because he just doesn’t agree with him. And I’m not saying Steven should agree with Greg, and I still think he has the right to be upset with his father since Steven has poor social skills, can’t really relate with a lot of people his own age, doesn’t have a standard education, and hasn’t even gone to a hospital until the episode prior.

But here’s the reason why I think they assassinated Steven’s character for the narrative: Steven’s greatest character trait-more than his powers, his musical talents, or his crippling depression, is his empathy. Steven’s always had the biggest heart and always listened out to others and their problems. Even when they didn’t want his help, Steven’s always been willing to extend an arm to them-friend and foe a like. 

Naive? Yes. But it’s staggering how age didn’t give Steven wisdom. Future focuses on Steven’s powers and his anxiety and seems to have completely forgotten his strong sense of empathy for the sake of pushing a story about that anxiety and stress and depression and all that awful stuff...

And boiled it all down to Steven just needing a hug.

It amazes me how when cartoons wants to be mature and more adult, they end up being more childish.

[hymn2000]

Ideal Confusion - MCU AU Fanfic - C6

(Title subject to change)

Story summary: Giving into the constant pressure from the press, Tony decides to put a rest to the rumours that Peter is his biological son - once and for all.

Previous Chapter(s): 1 2 3 4 5

Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.

Warnings/themes: family, family stuff, adoption, DNA test(s), pressure, peer pressure, social issues, mentions of alcoholism, mental health problems, potentially some minor medical inaccuracies, mentions of corporal punishment, hurt/comfort

You can also find me on AO3

Chapter 6 - Aggravation

-

Peter didn’t have long to enjoy the calm and quiet before his parents woke up and steadily the house seemed to come to life. Soon, Tony came into the kitchen.

“Have you finished that drink?”

“Nearly” Peter said. “Why?”

“When you’ve finished it, don’t get another one, or anything to eat. Ok?”

“Um... Ok?”

“Good boy” Tony nodded, opening the fridge. “You need to get dressed today”

“I... Wasn’t going to not get dressed”

“Mm” Tony said, clearly not listening.

Peter sighed and downed the rest of his drink. There goes the peace, he thought.

-

Peter went out of his way to keep his distance from Tony, which wasn’t too difficult, given the size of the house. After about an hour, he heard Tony calling his name, but he chose not to take any notice. 

Unfortunately, Loki always knew how to find him, and he weaselled him out within minutes.

“Your father’s been calling you” Loki said. “Didn’t you hear?”

“...No”

“Yes you did. Come on now”

Peter whined and stayed where he was.

“Loki? Have you found him?!” Tony shouted, soon appearing in the doorway. “Oh, you’re there! Did you have your headphones on? Whatever; get your shoes on”

“Why?”

“Just do as you’re told, chick” Tony said firmly. 

“But why?!”

“Because I said so!”

“That’s not a good enough answer!”

“For gods sake, Peter! Just do as you’re told!”

“BUT WHY?!”

“Peter, stop shouting” Loki snapped. “Go and get your shoes on. Now”

Peter sighed in an exaggerated fashion and stormed off. So much for a quiet day at home.

-

Tony grabbed Loki while he was waiting for Peter.

“He’s ok, right?”

“Yes, he’s fine” Loki said. “Why?”

“I don’t need to overshare with him, right? We’ll just get it done, and then I’ll like, I don’t know... Treat him or something?”

“Tony, you’re overthinking this. You made the decision alone; you can execute it alone” Loki said, not quite hiding his disapproval. “Look, I really do need to get going”

“You said you weren’t going to work this week”

“I know, but I’m needed today. We’ll talk later, ok? I love you”

“I love you too...”

Loki kissed him, and Tony kissed him back, although he still seemed worried.

“Don’t look so scared, darling” Loki said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll be back this evening”

-

Peter got ready to go out, but when they got down to the garage, he held onto the banister and refused to get into the car.

“Peter, stop being silly: we’re going to be late” Tony said. “Do you want me to get your dad?”

“Just tell me where we’re going and I’ll get in the car”

Tony sighed heavily. “Just get in the car”

“JUST TELL ME WHERE WE’RE GOING THEN!”

“PETER! DON’T SHOUT!” Tony shouted. “We’ve got a doctors appointment. Happy now?”

Peter paused. “Ok. I don’t see why you had to refuse to tell me for so long”

“Just get in the car, Peter”

-

Peter watched Tony closely in the car. He seemed a little tense, but he wasn’t giving anything away. Peter assumed he was due for a blood test or something - he couldn’t see any other reason Tony would try to put off telling him - but even then, it wasn’t something he’d ever done before. But then again, Tony had been acting pretty weird lately, so who was he to judge? He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long: he wanted to go home.

-

The other patients in the waiting room weren’t exactly subtle. Peter hated the feeling of being watched, and he hated overhearing snippets of whispered conversations and mutterings about him and his family. He glared at them as he sat down. Tony sat beside him and put an arm tight round him, almost as though he were restraining him.

“Just ignore them” he murmured. “We don’t need to give anyone anything to react to”

Peter didn’t say anything. He leant into Tony and looked at the floor, following the swirling pattern with his eyes. At least being at the doctors demanded some kind of privacy, even if they were celebrities. Even so, he really wished he was somewhere - anywhere - other than here. 

It wasn’t long before their names were called and they could leave the waiting room.

“How are you?” Dr Manning asked.

“I’m alright, thanks. As much as I can be under the circumstances. And you?” Tony said.

“I can’t complain. And how are you, young man?”

Peter didn’t say anything; just followed them into the office. 

“Thanks for fitting us in at such short notice” Tony said, taking a seat. “How are you doing it? Are you doing blood?”

Dr Manning shook his head. “No, no, blood isn’t necessary. There’s other just as good ways - maybe even better ways - to do it”

“Oh good. You know this one hates needles” he nodded towards Peter. “And to be honest, I’m not a huge fan either”

“I don’t think anyone is” Dr Manning said, organising some items laid out on his desk. He picked up one of the sticks, which had what looked like corrugated foam at the end. “When did you two last eat?”

“I had something about three hours ago” Tony said. “I’ve made sure this one hasn’t had anything for a while either. About an hour and a half ago, maybe more?”

“Good. Good, thank you for heeding my advice” the doctor said. “Now, shall we do you first?”

Peter looked between the two grown-ups, trying to work out what was going on. He’d started to feel a little funny; a bit sick and hollow, and nervous. He didn’t know what he was doing here.

Dr Manning was leaning against his desk now, standing in front of Peter, and Tony, who had just said he’d go first - whatever that meant. Peter tried to make eye contact to question them, but neither men were looking at him. Peter watched, a little taken aback, as Tony opened his mouth. It was only when Dr Manning put the stick into his mouth that Peter twigged that it was a swab - and he suddenly knew why. 

His heart started to thump in his chest, and he felt sick. He couldn’t take his eyes off what was happening, but he hated it all the same. What was going on? This was a dream, surely? Tony had been so insistent, so clear that he was against this... So what had changed? What had he missed?

Peter waited, and all too soon the fourth swab was finished and packed, and all eyes turned to him. Tony refused eye contact. Dr Manning smiled.

“Alright, kiddo” he said. “Your turn”

“No”

Tony and Dr Manning looked at each other. Tony looked at Peter.

“What do you mean; no?”

“You didn’t tell me this was why we were coming! You didn’t say anything about this!” Peter said, outraged. “It’s not fair! You haven’t got any right to do this!”

“Peter, you can cope with having a few swabs in your mouth” Tony said. “It’s not a big deal, and you’re still just a kid: I can make medical decisions on your behalf, and you can’t back out of this one”

“Isn’t it technically a matter of science, not medicine?”

“Don’t be pedantic, Peter” Tony sighed. “Come on, kiddo; don’t be difficult”

“I’m not being difficult: I’m being perfectly reasonable! You should’ve told me about this, or at least ran it by me!” 

At first Peter hadn’t been so bothered about this prospect, but then he’d changed his mind, and now that he was being backed into a corner by it, it was the last thing in the world that he wanted.

“But why?! You always said never to give in to the press, and that’s what you’re doing! You said it didn’t matter!”

“I said a lot of things” Tony said. “But I’ve made a decision. I’m doing this for you, sweetheart”

“No you’re not!”

“Yes, I am! I’m doing it so I can get the press off our backs - yours, most importantly. They’re not gonna leave us alone until something else blows up, or they’ve got the proof they want - and ‘something else’ is taking too long. So we’re giving them proof that you’re not my biological son. Ok?”

“No, it’s not ok!”

Tony sighed. “If it doesn’t matter, why make such a fuss over the test?”

“It’s a matter of principal!”

Tony laughed slightly. “Peter, come on now”

“Perhaps” Dr Manning said. “Perhaps you should have told him before bringing him here”

“Exactly!” Peter nodded. “Thank you”

“Peter, no one is going to hold you down and force your mouth open. If you don’t want to do this, I certainly won’t make you. But try to understand where your father’s coming from”

“I do understand where he’s coming from! I just think it was wrong of him to force it on me like this”

“Sweetheart” Tony took hold of Peter’s hand. “I’m sorry. I really am. But I really need you to let me do this. It’s my job to look after you, and protecting you from the press is part of my job description. This is the only way to get them off our backs. Please, it’ll only take a few minutes”

Peter looked at the swabs lying on the doctors desk. He looked at his and his father’s hands. He didn’t feel sure about this, and he didn’t like it, not one bit. But he also had a feeling that even if he was technically being given a choice, he only really had one option.

So he nodded, and he saw Tony sigh with relief.

“Thank you”

Peter never especially liked Dr Manning touching him, but somehow this felt worse than ever. He didn’t like being so close either, and not knowing where to look. He finally settled on the clock, watching the seconds tick by painfully slowly. Four minutes had never felt like such a long time. 

-

Tony stopped when they reached the car, and put a hand on Peter’s shoulder to stop him. Peter made himself look at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, kiddo. I really am. Honestly”

Peter nodded slightly.

“...Thank you” Tony said. “Thank you for doing it anyway. I know it’s not very comfortable”

Tony rested a hand on Peter’s cheek, brushed his hair back from his face, and then pulled him close and hugged him tight.

“I really am doing it for you, kiddo. I can’t stand the way the press have been treating you and making you feel. In a few days, we’ll get the results, and then we can put this whole thing to rest. Ok?”

Peter snuggled into Tony’s chest. He still felt a bit funny, but he was starting to feel better. He liked the feeling of Tony’s hand on his head, and he knew where he was coming from. Besides, Tony had always looked out for him. Why would now be any different?

“Alright then” Tony stepped back and cleared his throat. “Get in”

Peter did as he was told, and when Tony started the car, he spoke.

“Um, dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m kinda hungry”

“Yeah?” Tony said. “Well, let’s get you fed, then!”

“Ok. What do we have in? I kinda fancy something hot”

“Why bother cooking? We could always eat out”

“Oh! Really? Um...” Peter thought for a moment. “What about daddy?”

“He’s gone to the hospital, remember?”

“Has he?”

“Uh, yeah!” Tony laughed slightly. “I guess you didn’t hear that bit of conversation then. He’ll be back this evening. He won’t know, mind, or care if we eat without him. So, what do you fancy?”

“I don’t really know. What about you?”

“I don’t really know either” Tony said. “Hey, how about we just find somewhere different, like, one of the places you used to go with May? Or somewhere we’ve never been before? What do you say?”

“Well... That could be interesting, I guess” Peter said. “It could be good?”

“Yeah, it could be good! Let’s do that then!” 

Tony seemed so enthusiastic about the idea that Peter couldn’t really shoot it down. Besides, sometimes it was good to try something new.

“Well, you can pick the restaurant” Peter said, fiddling with the car stereo. “And I’ll choose the soundtrack”

There was a short silence before music filled the car.

Tony laughed slightly and ruffled the boys hair. “You’re definitely your father’s son, you know”

Peter just shrugged. He knew.

-

Peter had a sneaking suspicion he’d overestimated his stomach when ordering. He had a feeling Tony had too.

“Well, my father always said my eyes were bigger than my belly” Tony said, putting his fork down. “It was his way of calling me a greedy bastard, I think”

“Oh right” Peter said awkwardly. “You never talk about him, you know”

“Why would I?”

“Well... he was your dad. So... that makes him my granddad... It’d be good to know a bit about him”

“Look on Wikipedia then”

Peter pouted, but he didn’t push it. Neither of his parents spoke about their parents. Sometimes he didn’t mind, but sometimes he did. Especially when his friends started talking about their grandparents and he had nothing to contribute to the conversation. 

“So” Tony said. “Do you think you can manage a pudding after all those buffalo cauliflower whatsits and onion rings and chicken and stuff?”

“You bet!” Peter said, grateful for the break in tension. “What about you?”

“Maybe something small. Depends what they’ve got”

“They had some great looking stuff! I might want two puddings” Peter said, snatching a dessert menu out of the stand. “Good job we have separate stomachs for sweet things, right?”

Tony chuckled. “Your whale’s gonna have to retire from singing at this rate! You’ll burst if you eat too much more. Or at the very least throw up”

“Yeah, maybe, but it’ll be worth it”

“Mm, well I don’t want you making a mess of the upholstery, so don’t go overboard”

“...Red velvet and white chocolate cheesecake” Peter said. “I’ve made a decision”

“Mm. Well, I’m just gonna have a coffee...”

“What kind?” Peter asked, looking at the list, and especially at the liqueur coffee offer at the bottom of the page.

Tony hesitated. “...Just a latte. I’ve already eaten too much. I’ll finish off your cheesecake when you give up half way through”

“Ha! There’s not a dessert on the planet that can beat me!”

He was wrong, of course, and gave up a little over halfway through his pudding - but he told Tony that he left it on purpose, because it didn’t seem fair for only one of them to get a pudding. So Tony finished it off for him, and then they both sat back, feeling too full to even move.

“...It’s been a pretty long time since just the two of us did this” Tony said. “It’s good to spend a bit of time with you”

“Yeah... Hey, since we’re too full to start a fight, can I ask you something?”

“That sounds ominous” Tony said. “What is it?”

“Are you taking me out of St Hendricks?”

Tony stopped for a minute. “...What makes you think that?”

“I overheard you and daddy talking about homeschooling”

“Ah. Uh...” Tony set his mug down. “How would you feel if we did?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. If you did it right now, I don’t think I’d care. I’m not exactly getting on with the people there right now”

“I see”

“So, are you taking me out of school?”

“We’re not sure yet. We’re still thinking about it. Although not so much right now, because we’ve got a whole bunch of stuff to sort out. Like all this stuff with the press... You know you’re not allowed to tell anyone about what we did today, right?”

“Who am I gonna tell?” Peter said, shrugging. “I’m not gonna go shouting about it. I think you know that. Or at least you should, considering how long you’ve known me”

“Yeah” Tony checked his watch. “Hey, we should be heading back: I’ve got a conference call in an hour. You can amuse yourself for a bit, can’t you?”

Peter nodded.

“Good. Right, come on then”

Peter did as he was told, but as they were walking to the car, he realised that the meal they’d just had was much better in theory than in practice. He’d thought he’d come out of there feeling healed and warm and happy, but he didn’t. He didn’t like his father very much right now, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that to himself. Maybe he’d go to sleep for a bit when he got home. He just hoped that afterwards, he’d feel ok again.

-

Peter sat looking in Loki’s room, looking at the big picture on the wall by the door. It was old now, evident by the fact it was all three of them with May. Things had been much simpler back then, Peter was sure of it. He loved his parents, but he still felt he’d swap his current life to get May back. Sure, some things were better now (well, quite a lot of things), but he’d been happy back in the days where he was only in this giant house two or three nights a week, and he resided in the scrubby old flat in Queens with May, and he was friends with Ned, and he mastered a double - almost triple - life, and he was out as Spiderman every single night. 

He couldn’t help feeling melancholy when he thought about that. Nowadays, he probably went out as Spiderman once or twice a week, if that. Some weeks he didn’t go at all. There were times where he’d go out every night for a week or so, but it wasn’t a constant thing. It wasn’t that he’d lost interest, or that it had lost its meaning: it was just that he didn’t always have the motivation, and somehow life kept getting in the way. Besides, it had started to feel different, mainly because he kept comparing it to the old times in Queens. Spiderman was still well known, but Peter had long since stopped being excited whenever his alter-ego turned up in the papers. At least no one knew it was him. Well, aside from his parents. And the Avengers. And Ned... But none of those were likely to spill his secret, and he knew that. Sometimes he felt like he wouldn’t care if people knew - but he also felt like his parents would mind very much. It was a tricky one.

-

Peter eventually slipped off Loki’s bed and went to his own room. He paused, looking at the locket hanging beside his sink. He liked having it there (although he did often forget about it), but sometimes it just reminded him of the “arrangement” Loki and Tony and May had had. He’d stopped feeling bitter about that a long time ago, but he still didn’t like thinking about it. Especially now. Because if he thought about it too much, he almost started to believe what the papers were saying. And even when he didn’t believe them, he completely understood where the reporters were coming from.

After all, what other conclusion would anyone pull from a man who had spent most of his adult life being a self-proclaimed Playboy? Who knew how many people his father had slept with? That was another thing Peter didn’t like thinking about. Sometimes, when Tony talked about Peter being his heir; his successor, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe - just maybe - he was fated to follow a little too closely in his father’s footsteps.

And as much as Peter loved him, he was grateful he was only adopted. Because, (as much as he’d never admit it out loud) he didn’t want to grow up to be anything like Tony Stark.

*

[bestfriends-0212]

Trust me ! Ch.2

- First day of freshman Lucas Pov-

I was on my way to school , my mom was dropping me off at the subway to meet up with Zay. I was brought out of thought by my phone vibrating.

Message from Zay 🕺🏾

Have you seen our school ?

Message to Zay 🕺🏾

No, is it big ?

Message from Zay 🕺🏾

Big ? No it's huge dude look.

Message to Zay 🕺🏾

Wow that's bigger than our middle school .

Message from Zay🕺🏾

Your dreams are bigger than our middle school Luke.

Message to Zay🕺🏾

Haha funny I almost forgot to laugh . I'm pulling up where you at ?

Message from Zay 🕺🏾

I'm almost there just give me a few .

Instead of replying to Zay I told my mom bye and gave her a hug

" you have a great first day , make new friends remember we are staying here so just try to branch out a bit ." She said smiling at me .

I nodded and gave her a kiss on the cheek. I got out of the truck and she drove off. I looked around to see if I spot Zay but no sign of him. As I was looking around I saw three girls and to say they were pretty was an understatement but one of them stood out to me the most. Watching her and her friends made me feel like a creep but she was so captivating.

" Yo Luke " said Zay waving his hand in front of my face .

" huh?" I responded

" you okay ? You were just staring at nothing " " yeah just spaced out I guess "

" well lets get going before we miss our train " he said pushing me into the subway .

We picked a cart and to my luck there she was with her friends . She was laughing at something and her laugh is so cute I guess you can describe it . Zay was rambling about who knows what . I notice the girls got off at the same stop so I'm guessing we go to the same school .

"Are you nervous ?" Asked Zay randomly " Of course I am. It's a new school who knows how it is going to be like " " I know dude . I couldn't sleep last night what if we don't fit in. What if we branch out and stop being best friends " he admitted. I gave him a hug " dude we are never going to stop being friends . You are stuck with me forever. " I said " great " he said laughing . We went and got our class schedule and locker information. The lady told us where our first class was at . We went to our locker and put some our stuff away.

"Wanna just get there a bit early so we can find a seat " I asked him he nodded .

Our first class went by fast we literally talked all hour . We had free period which honestly I didn’t know what to do so I looked around to ask for help . My eyes stopped on her . I walked up to her , she was at her locker I waited till she closed it to say anything .

“Hi I'm Lucas I'm new here can you show me around " I said to the beautiful girl who I saw at the subway but she couldn't even look me in the eyes

" I'm sorry but I can't " she said it so softly before running away from me like I was fire . I saw zay trying to get a girl to show him around and no luck . He walked up to me

" I don't know about you but girls are weird here " he said I couldn't help but think about the girl who just ran away from me .

“Want to go to the library and check it out ?” I asked

“I guess “ he sighed I rolled my eyes. We looked around for the dang library we were going in circles till we freaking finally found it . It only took us 45 minutes , when We walked in I saw her just sitting there with her friends. I sat at the table next to her , Zay looked at me weird. I don’t know why but she had so fascinated by her without even trying . I heard a snippet of their conversation making me just stare at them with awe . I heard the bell ring which caused me to jump and look around hoping no one saw me staring at her. She pulled her backpack on , then looked at me and smiled . I just looked at like a deer in headlights. I saw Zay waving his hand in front of my face trying to catch my attention .

“Okay what’s wrong with you, you have a weird look ! “ yelled Zay

I heard her giggle .

" did I just hear a giggle from Miss. Always Serious "said one of her friends

" I think we just heard the famous giggle from our lovely best friend " said the other

I smirked at them . I saw her push her friends outside .

“ so are you going to tell me what is wrong with you ? “

“ man it’s nothing let’s go to class “ we asked a student to show us to history and they did .

" hi we are the new students “ said Zay to the teacher

“ ah Lucas and Isaiah from Texas right ?” Said the teacher

“that’s correct sir “ I said

“ I’m Mr. Matthews I’m your history teacher y’all can go ahead and introduce yourself and then pick a seat” he said

Zay introduced himself everybody laughed at some jokes he said

“hi everyone I’m Lucas also-“ I started but was interrupted when someone opened the door “sorry we late Matthews " said a voice walking in not really caring . She finally stopped in front of me not really noticing me

" -am from Texas " i finished softly behind her smirking at the class

"Ah glad you ladies could make it to class " said Mr.Matthews

She turned around and looked at me straight in the eyes . Her brown eyes captured me letting me get lost in them .

"Please take a seat we will have a talk about this later " Mr Matthews said snapping us out of our trance

" yes sir " She replied while turning around for a seat

" and don't you dare sit in the back miss y/l/ n"

" yes sir " she said and sat in the middle row

" you can continue your introduction Mr.friar. " "right uh I'm from Texas and I move a lot because of my dads job. I like to uh play sports " I said stuttering a bit while looking around

"Thank you Mr.Friar you can sit next to miss Y/LN " Mr .Matthews said

I smiled to myself and sat next to her, Mr. Matthews gave everybody a sheet with questions about what we should know from middle school. I grabbed my notebook and wrote hey with a smile face then threw it on her desk quickly . I saw her open it and then look at me . I smiled and waved at her . I started my worksheet when she threw it back at my desk .

Hello there :P

I smiled at the note and replied back I smirked at what I came up with .

Thank you for running away from me earlier. It was a great welcoming gesture. I felt like home. I'll also like to thank you for interrupting my introduction.

I sent it back I heard her chuckle then she threw it back at me but hit my face . She just bursted our laughing . I couldn’t help but to laugh as well that was pretty funny . I opened the note .

No problem I'm here all week free of charge . Welcome to Abigail Adams . ;P

" is there something funny miss .Y/l/N " Mr. Matthews asked her but she kept laughing , she looked my way so I smirked at her .

"Do you need to step outside " asked mr Matthews she shook her head no .

"Then get it together " She nodded finally stopping from laughing . I answered back. I finished the worksheet so our conversation continued I found out she does gymnastics and cheerleading. I joked about Zay being obsessed with cheerleaders . I got a small laugh from I told her my name again and asked for her name . She told me she rather be a mystery before I could answer the bell rang . I saw her leave with her friends but not before she turned around and gave me a small smirk . I chuckled to myself Zay walked up to me .

“ you ready to go loverboy ?”

“Shut up let’s go” i said pushing him out the class .

The rest of the day went by fast . Once I got home I gave my mom the syllabus to sign and started on a few homework we had . As I did my homework I couldn’t help but to think of her . The way she smirked at me and how she was with her friends she looked so happy with them . A knock brought me out of my thoughts “Lucas dinner is ready “ said my mom opening my door

“ okay mom I’ll be right down let me wash my hands “ she nodded while walking away .

After washing my hands I went downstairs I saw mom made some pot pie .

“It looks good ma“

“oh thank you honey “ we served ourself and ate in silence

“ how was school ?”

“It was good classes are fun “

“ met any new people ? “

“just a couple “

“remember to branch out”

I nodded

“I will “

when we finished we out our plates in the dish washer and went our separate ways. I took a shower and went to bed .

End of Lucas POV 

A/n I don't know if I should continue writing lucas / y/n pov or just go for one pov. Feedback is always welcome - K

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Feeling’s Mutual

Summary:  When Bucky Barnes agreed to join The Avengers he didn’t know what to expect.  There was kindness and support, more than he could have hoped for, and understanding.  There was also misunderstanding.  Dr Veronica Edwards is a hurdle Bucky can’t seem to get past.  Why she doesn’t like him, he has no clue but it’s obvious to him that she really doesn’t.  When routine testing on the new prosthetic arm puts him in Dr Edwards med-suite he finds himself angry at the lengths his new team will go to in order to keep him on a leash.  After that, Bucky decides that maybe he doesn’t like her much either.

Word Count:  4284

Warnings:  Self-loathing and a smattering of PTSD with some mild language thrown in.

A/N:  This is part one of my Muscle memory series..POV Bucky Barnes, first person.  Set between CA:CW and A:IW, with some of the later story mixed in.  I do what I want, okaaayyyy.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

Dr Veronica Edwards’ smooth voice surprised me.  She was standing in for Dr Harvey while he was off sick with a stomach virus.  I wasn’t expecting to see any of the ladies here this morning, so I hadn’t bothered with anything more vigorous than a quick wash and a cursory brush of my teeth.  You know how you regret not doing something just when it’s too late?  Yeah, this was one of those.

Being dapper had been part of my persona, from back before Hydra, before trigger codes and before the war; a man should always make an effort when ladies are present.  I supposed that was all out the window now my reputation had changed and I wasn’t James Buchannan Barnes, ladies man, any more. I was Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier.

I winced as the shadow of a memory flickered in my minds eye like a film reel running too fast, showing snippets of the film in between its skips and jumps on the projector;  a murder here, a massacre there, they all flowed together in a tapestry that was as blurry as it was busy.  The reel skipped off completely and I refocused on her face.

Dr Edwards smiled warmly, moist-looking nude lips curling upward gently making the peachy complexion of her cheeks seem radiant and her green eyes sparkle with kindness.  I knew that was just her bed-side manner, so to speak, to be kind and considerate to all of the people she assisted, but honestly it made me feel a little uneasy.  In my extensive experience, niceness was either a weakness, a grave miscalculation or a form of manipulation, and I trusted none of it. But I was trying to change that with the help of Steve and the folks here at Avengers Central.

Striding further into the room, looking thoroughly classy in my black jersey sweatpants and crumpled white t-shirt, I squared my shoulders and tried to push the uneasy feeling aside. I regretted wearing the two-day-old clothes, but the Doc didn’t seem to care how scruffy I was.

Dr Edwards was always pleasant, courteous and respectful.  She was also confident and empowered, and it made me feel pretty vulnerable.  She knew who she was, and what she wanted.  That kind of strength was rare and it made me feel, uhhh, inadequate.

“Shirt off please.” She held eye contact for a moment longer than was comfortable.  “Take a seat when you’re ready.”  She gestured to the blue, leather-cushioned examination table to her right.

Hopping up, as instructed, I stripped my shirt off to reveal musculature that I was proud of (super-soldier serum aside - I’d worked hard to stay in shape), and the scarred juncture where my flesh ended and the arm began.  I bunched the shirt up at my side and shook out both arms, getting ready for the exam.

Dr Edwards, had conducted my monthly exam only three times in the past.  Each time she had neither been impressed nor distracted by my semi-naked glory.  Perhaps that’s part of the reason why she made me uneasy.  In the past, women had always thrown themselves at my feet, without my asking them, they’d been there flirting and giggling and vying for attention.

Not Veronica, she was in her own category, she didn’t even bite at the little flirtatious jibes I sometimes made towards the ladies on the team.  With the exception of Nat, Wanda, and Pepper, all of the female SHIELD agents and Stark Industries staff were either terrified of or swooned after me.  Well, me, Steve and Thor.  It was hard to compete with the two big blonde guys but Nat said I still had it.  Whatever it was.

Shame my sex drive wasn’t the same as it had been before, well, before hydra.

“How are you finding the latest modification?”  Dr Edwards said, holding her hand out casually asking for permission to examine the arm.

I lifted the tech arm, laying the wrist into her palm lightly.  I could feel so much more through the articulated metal casing than I could before, it almost felt like she was really touching my skin.  Her hands were cool, smooth and soft, and her fingers were delicate as she deftly turned the metal hand over in hers until our palms were touching.

“It’s fine.”  I said gruffly, the feel of her skin on the metal was distracting and oddly intimate.

“It’s taking you a while to get used to the enhanced tactile responses I take it?”

I’d worn a leather glove over the metal hand since Shuri had come up with this new upgrade.  It was like sensory overload, overwhelming me with intense feeling that my brain could hardly cope with.

I simply nodded, for want of a better response.  She was so intuitive.  I’d hardly spoken with her but it was like she could see right inside me and pick out the parts that she needed to know.  How could anyone defend against that?  Maybe she had a telepathic power.  Steve would know.  I decided I’d ask him later when we both hit the gym.

“It’s ok to be overwhelmed. I can turn the sensitivity down for you today if you’d prefer, or you can continue wearing the glove and just ease yourself in slowly?”

In truth, I didn’t really like to be tinkered with.  And I only went along with this monthly exam because Steve had made it mandatory in order to make everyone feel safer, and for my own good, apparently.  That’s what he’d said anyway.  I couldn’t argue with his reasoning really.  I had a past that was impossible to escape and a reputation for murder and brutality that went with it.

“I’ll just do it myself.” I’d succeeded on my own for so long, so I should be able to overcome a few issues with feeling things.

“No problem.” Veronica said, plugging a ribbon cable into the port just inside my metal armpit.  “Right then, show me your range of motion.  Start with fingers, then wrist, elbow, and shoulder.  I’m looking for improved flexibility in the rotator cuff from last time when we fixed the pinching at the shoulder.”

I wiggled all the parts she asked me to with no discomfort at all.  The tech felt the smoothest it had ever been, almost like it was a real arm but I would always see it as foreign, never think of it as mine.  It was something I wore, like shoes, necessary and functional.  I knew I’d feel off-balance without it, and fighting would be difficult.

With the arm Bucky Barnes was a fully functioning member of The Avengers.  Without it he was a pity case, or at least that’s how it felt.

“Step up to the testing machine, please Sergeant Barnes.”  She didn’t look up from her tablet, but she stepped confidently to the control panel with the ease of someone who had memorised the space and knew exactly what was where.

I had never seen that machine before.  It looked a little like a mini hydraulic crusher.  Eying it suspiciously, I slid off the exam bench and approached, shirt forgotten on the table.  The diagnostic cable was still plugged in under the arm and although I couldn’t feel the physical connection, I could feel the flow of power as data passed from the arm to the tablet in Dr Edwards’ hands.

“This is new.”  I licked my lips, slightly nervous.

New things made me uneasy. New things were variables, variables were risks, risks were dangerous.

“It’s a custom-made tensile strength machine, made just for you.”  She smiled brightly as if I should be flattered that they’d come up with a new way to scrutinize me.  “Only instead of testing the strength of the metal your arm is made from, it measures the crushing ability and the strength of your arm in a way we can compare easily with other things for example the tensile strength of structural steel is around five hundred mega pascals.  Human skin is around twenty mega pascals.  Vibranium, well, vibranium is significantly higher at fifty giga pascals but that doesn’t reflect the force you can apply with your arm, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t.  Not really, but I wasn’t about to ask her to elaborate. She was smarter than most of the techs working at Stark Industries, I’d heard the iron-skin-suit call her brilliant but until now I’d never seen her as anything more than a junior tech.

“You made it?”  I asked with a frown.

“Helped design it yes.” She held my gaze almost as if she sensed my disapproval.

Trust a woman to come up with new ways to test and torture me.  As if I hadn’t had enough of that my whole super-soldier life.

“What do I have to do?”

Veronica ran through the protocols and procedures, and I got the feeling she dumbed it down a little when she described it as ‘weight training for your enhanced limb’.

Slotting the arm into the device, I patiently waited for her to check and double-check the alignment and safety measures.  The commands of pull and squeeze seemed simple enough to follow.

“Are you ready to start the test, Sergeant Barnes?”

I nodded with another frown. She was going to start thinking I hated her, and probably start calling me ‘him’ instead of just my military title. It wasn’t lost on me that Veronica was one of very few people who never called me by my preferred name ‘Bucky’, she was always so formal.

“Ok, and pull for me.”

I compressed the arm in a bicep curl, feeling the machine’s tension counteracting my efforts.  It was like pulling an oar through water to begin with.

“And again.”  She commanded.  “Keep repeating until you meet maximum resistance.”

“How will I know when that is?”  I curled again, feeling the weight against the arm increase.

“You and the machine will reach an impasse.  You won’t be able to pull any more.”

I mumbled a nondescript acknowledgement and continue to work the arm.  At first it was easy, I curled quickly but after a few minutes I found it much tougher.  The machine ramped up the difficulty quickly after my initial efforts and then I was grunting, sweating, and straining against the mechanism.

“Good.  Good!”  She praised and I felt a little hotter in the face with either a blush or sweat, it was hard to tell right then.  “Keep going, you’re doing great.”

After a few more curls the machine locked up and I couldn’t move it any further.  I strained and yanked at it, grinding the mechanism until the arm was locked up too.  I glanced at Veronica, panting and flustered from my exertion.  She disengaged the machine and, with a hiss, the hydraulics powered down.  She took notes quickly before setting up the next task.

With the arm still fixed in the device, I couldn’t move anywhere.  It was like that time that Steve caught me in some factory machinery and forced me to remember who I was.  I was eternally grateful to him for never giving up on me but the feeling of helplessness wasn’t something I enjoyed a replay of.

Sweating, and with regret, I wished I could reach my shirt to blot my face.  I hadn’t realised the exam was going to be so physical, and goddamn if I hadn’t been clenching just about every muscle in my whole body whilst fighting against the damn thing.  Even my crack felt sweaty.

“Is there anything I can get you before we start the next stage?”  Her voice was soft with concern.  It was unnerving how well she read me.  “Do you need to rest?”

“I’m good.”  I said, pride making a fool of me.

“Ok, well let me dry you off a bit.  The port is still connected and should be dry when open.”

I blushed hard at that. She was telling me that I was too sweaty.  Gross. I frowned, embarrassed, and shied away from her touch when she brought a wad of paper towels to my brow.  It had been the very thing I had wanted but not from her.

Her hands were still quite cool but she felt colder against my heated skin.  Too close, she leant over me to smooth the moisture from my body. Swiping the tissues over my face, neck, shoulders and chest, Dr Edwards watched me curiously.  She had to know she was tormenting me.  How could she not notice my flared nostrils and ragged breathing? This kind of physical contact wasn’t something I felt comfortable with.

Tense and scowling, I held my breath, tolerating the contact as much as I could.  She continued with her ministrations until she was satisfied with the dryness of my skin.  It had been too personal in contrast to the formality of her pervious interactions with me. Never more than polite yet professional conversation, zero contact outside of the examination room or combat training, limited off-duty interaction.  It made me feel confused and uneasy.  There was something about her that put me on edge, made me listless.

“The second part of the test is to gage the pressure you can generate with your hand.”  She said, creating space between us that I welcomed. “I’ll do come calibrations after that if needed and we can have a chat about your needs.”

“My needs?”

My heart thudded once, twice, three times before I got it under control.  Why did I have to talk about myself with her?  Dr Harvey was unassuming and easy to ignore.  I didn’t mind talking to him because… Why?  Because I didn’t feel…  Feel what?  Because he wasn’t… Wasn’t what?  Because she made me feel…  Oh for Christ sakes, WHAT?

She made me feel threatened, made me feel nervous.  Veronica made me feel like she didn’t really like me all that much.  The coldness she gave me when she was friendly with everyone else, first names, laughing, joking, and the ease of casual contact.

“Come again?”  I sought clarification.

Oh, Buck, why did you have to make it sound like that.  Like what? Like that?

The way she eyed me then, I didn’t know if it was hatred or something more predatory.

“I don’t follow.”

“Some people prefer to have prostheses that do what they tell them.  Unless you have a penchant for crushing instead of caressing.”

I’m sure my mouth was flapping in the non-existent breeze.  Agape and floundering, I had nothing to say.  Stuck in the idea that flirting and bitterness were one and the same thing to her, or maybe it was too subtle a difference for me to separate the two, I blushed crimson.  Then it struck me that maybe she was goading me about my past.  It was no secret that The Winter Soldier had crushed more than a few windpipes in his time.

“Fine.”  I said, swallowing dryly.  “I’m ready to carry on.”

“Very well.”  And just like that, her stone-faced stoicism was back, with polite professionalism draped over the top.  “Please let your hand relax and fall open.  Good.”

A device with five finger shaped recesses arranged around a silvery ball lowered and rested in the palm the metal hand.  I could feel the metal on metal contact creating a strange thrumming vibration through the arm.  It felt like when I had handled Steve’s shield; a tell-tale sign that vibranium had been used to make this device.

“I’m going to ask you to hold an object, and I would like you to use your muscle memory to create the pressure with your prosthesis.  The machine will respond, mimic the item and measure the results.  It sounds harder than it is.  Ready?”

I nodded, just wanting to get this over and done with.  The sooner this was over, the sooner we could have our ‘chat’ about my needs, and the sooner I could hit the gym with Steve. The punching bag was definitely going to get ruined today.

“An apple.”

The device in the not-my hand seemed to have the same resistance against my grip as would a firm green apple.  I held it, turning it in the not-my fingers.

“Good.  See, you got it.”

Dr Edwards’s praise was both frustrating and pleasant.  I didn’t like the feeling of wanting to please her, but at the same time it was nice to hear her soften towards me, even slightly.

“An egg.”

The machine adjusted slightly and I could feel the fragility of it against the prosthetic fingers.

“A feather.”

I pinched my thumb and forefinger, holding the imaginary feather in between.

“The hand of a loved one.”

Well, shit, if that didn’t throw me for six.  The way the machine moved around my hand gave me chills.  It slid between my fingers, and almost felt real for a second before I managed to distinguish the materials from real skin.  I hardly touched skin with the prosthetic anymore, except my own.

“A mouse.”

The machine wriggled against my palm.  I held it loosely in the cage of my fingers, just firm enough that it couldn’t escape.

“Excellent.”

The test carried on like that for several more minutes before Dr Edwards removed the mimicking device and switched to something that looked like a hand dynamometer.

“Ok Sergeant, I’m going to ask you to squeeze as hard as you can.  This will create a maximum pressure output for me to work with.  What I’m going to do afterwards is set some values into the prosthesis’ programming that will allow you to quickly achieve an exact pressure to accomplish a task.”

“Like what?  Break a bone?”  I scoffed, and before I even looked at her face I knew that was exactly what she had meant.

“Not just that.  But also how not to break a bone.”  She had the sense to look a little abashed.

Dr Edwards had read my file, of course she had, they all had.  She knew when she agreed to run these tests that she were going to be programming instant kills into me or programming me to stop just short.  My money was on the latter.

“And you couldn’t just tell me that this was what it was all about?  Nerfing me so I don’t lash out and kill someone.”  Irritation seethed up my spine and settled as heat in my face. “I get it, I really do.  But I’m a person, not a tool.  Would it kill ya to include me in decisions about, well, me?”

“James…”

“Don’t.”  I shut her down.  “Get the test finished.  I’m done after that.”

When she said my name, my heart almost stopped.  Gone was her formal, guarded façade.  In its place was concern and a look of such sadness that I just didn’t know what to do with myself.  How do you deal with a switch like that?  And fuck me if I wasn’t simultaneously happy as a school boy on the first day of the summer holidays and irritated enough to rip that damn machine apart and storm out of the med wing.  Steve was gonna get a tongue lashing from me before the day was done.

Her face was pale and remorseful as she started the machine off on its cycle.  I squeezed that damn thing as if I was squeezing the life out of the sonofabitch who turned me into a killing machine, squeezed like I was crushing all of the hatred I felt for myself, squeezed like my life depended on it. Who knew, maybe one day it would.

Dr Edwards sent the data to my prosthesis and closed me up.  She was silent but continued to search my face for something, hope maybe, I dunno.  She wasn’t going to find anything.  I was about ready to shut down and stay the fuck away from everyone and everything until I got a chance to have things out with Steve.

I got up to leave, scooping my crumpled white tee off the exam table as I went.

“Good day, Sergeant.”

I closed my eyes as her coldness returned.  Stood in the doorway shirtless and feeling used, I paused, not looking back.

“Dr Edwards.”  I nodded curtly, showing my face in profile only, before striding off in search of something to beat on.  She didn’t need to receive my frustration, she wasn’t the only person, or even the main person, to oversee everything ‘Bucky’.  Rogers and Stark, each had equal hands in this.

 “We didn’t think about it that way, Buck, I’m sorry.”  Steve said.

He held the Everlast bag still for me as I slogged into it.

“That’s the thing about being a weapon most of your life.”  I said smacking the bag hard enough to make the stuffing start to crumble out of the seams.  “Everyone sees you as inhuman, even yourself.”

“That’s not how I see you, man.  You’re my best friend.  I want what’s best for you.”

“And what’s best for me, Steve?  Programming? A kill-switch?  Cyanide implant?  You’re acting just like HYDRA.”

“Whoa!  No-one said kill switch or cyanide.”

I pummelled the bag until the seam split completely and the broken filling plumed out onto the floor. Stepping back, I saw Steve was genuinely upset.

“Sorry punk.  I didn’t really mean that.”  I held my hand out.  “I’m just pissed off.”

He tagged me and smiled dryly.  All was forgiven.

“I’ll get them to lay off on the hardcore controls.  To be honest I didn’t even see that mandate in the requisition forms so I’ll look at that again.  Just please tell me you didn’t terrorise Vee.  She’s one of the best we have and she’s cool.”

“Dr Edwards?”

“Yeah Veronica.  You didn’t scare her, did you?”

“Nah, I was angry but not that angry.”  Had I scared her though?  “I doubt she’d take much notice of anything I said anyway, she doesn’t like me…”

“Whatever, dude.”  He said dismissively.

“…And she’s not the sort to rely on the opinions of others to fashion her idea of her own self-worth.”

“Wow.”  Steve half laughed, blinking his shock away.  “You know her well.”

“We hardly speak. She’s always so formal.  With you it’s Steve this and Steve that, or Cap, yeah she calls you Cap.  And you’re like ‘oh Vee you have to see this movie’ or ‘Vee can you come explain this report to me’.”  I nattered like a bitchy college girl slating her BFF.  “With me it’s Sergeant Barnes, or just Sergeant.”

Steve laughed.  “Are you jealous, Buck?  Have you found a woman who you can’t charm?”

“Haven’t tried.  You know when you can tell that someone hates your guts?  Besides, my charming days are over.”  I waggled the metal arm.

“Some people are gonna find that hot.”  A sultry voice interrupted.  “Can you make it vibrate?”

Natasha flashed a flirtatiously shocked ‘oooh sir!’ face which had me busting out laughing and Steve groaning.

“Don’t worry Barnes. You’ve still got it.”  She licked her finger and touched her chest, making a ‘tsssss’ sound before she mouthed the word ‘hot’ and sauntered away to the locker room.

“She really knows how to play on my insecurities.”  I said deadpan, making Steve crack up.

By the time we both stopped laughing, I actually felt better.  The kind of camaraderie we shared was one of the things that kept me going, through all of this.  Nat was one of my closest friends and even though she loved to mess with me she also knew when not to push.  That stunt she had pulled, maybe an hour earlier, might not have gone down so well. Her timing was impeccable, unlike mine.

After cleaning up and winding down I met Steve back in the kitchen where he was making a protein smoothie.

“Want one?”

I nodded, sitting at the counter.  I wasn’t gonna turn down a free smoothie.  Life was full of little gifts, like food you didn’t have to make yourself and, apparently, people who wouldn’t drop a damn topic.

“Seriously though, you need to get over this thing where you automatically assume people don’t like you, man.  Maybe try to open up a little.  Have a little fun.”

“Yeah, ok, Marilyn Hickey. Sure, a little bit of good old Christian fun sounds like just the ticket.”  I slapped my thigh and winked.

“Fuck off, Buck!”  He blitzed the smoothie maker, trying to drown out my retort, no doubt.

“Ooooh!  You kiss your mother with that mouth?”  I said, chuckling.  “I miss Nick, where is he when you need him, huh?”

“Stop deflecting.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about, buddy.”

“Not what, who.”  He slid the smoothie-filled glass over to me. “Talk to her.”

“Drop it, Steve.  I don’t care if she doesn’t like me.  I’m getting along just fine without an extra person up in my business.”

I downed the thick pinkish goop in the glass, it didn’t taste half bad but it wasn’t a steak.

“And to be honest, all this extra stuff with the arm and the testing just makes it easier for me not to like her right back.”

The noise of a door closing loudly made me jump.  Steve was out of his seat and rushing out of the kitchen only to return a few minutes later with a grim look on his face.

“You’re an asshat.” He said picking up his glass and walking away.

It didn’t take much to put two and two together and figure out that Dr Edwards had overheard me talking about her, but did it really make a difference?  So what if we both didn’t like each other.

It is what it is.