#how can it be so full of stuff and colour and be attributed to being absolutely nothing?

[lockandkeyblade]

The Lanes Between

The Lanes Between are a fascinating locale, one that is often described as ‘psychedelic’. Though visually mysterious, the reason behind this appearance is a well-known phenomenon attributed to the inherent nature of Darkness: change.

Why the Lanes Between, specifically, are the source of such pure Darkness goes hand in hand with the Light found within the Heart of worlds. Whilst pure Light offers a stable, internal foundation, Darkness composes the most outer layer of the worlds themselves like an ever-shifting crust, though this area is commonly misinterpreted as being disconnected from a world entirely. 

What makes the definition of the Lanes Between difficult to comprehend is that ever changing nature; there are no exact borders within the Lanes Between that one could comprehend as being the end of one world and the start of the next. Some have recorded shifts in the ambient color when traveling between worlds, however, this information is often inconclusive, if not outright contradicted by follow up accounts.

There is much and more that remains unknown regarding the Lanes Between, as they remain a hazardous location for even the most Darkness-leaning wielders. Multiple accounts from Keyblade wielders throughout history have made note of the many odd formations discovered within that ever-shifting space, with particular attention given to meteors of varying colors and sizes that one can even stand on.

Multiple sightings of these meteors converging into larger, often spherical shapes has inspired fierce debate throughout the centuries. While some have concluded that these formations could very well be the beginning of entirely new worlds, others have argued that there is no possibility that a Heart of Worlds could safely form surrounded by such Darkness, effectively ensuring that there cannot, and will not, be more worlds formed beyond those that already exist today. -Excerpt from The Lanes Between: Fact and Theory

[watercolourferns]

THIS SO SO MUCH.

And there could be a reason for people doing this!

In my previous reblog about this I mentioned severe untreated OCD... and this ties in with that, it could also be part of being Neurodivergent, a form of Synesthesia, or extreme sensitive according to Google.

You know how kids have attachments to their toys and stuffed animals and think they have feelings and if they throw them or hit them they instantly feel bad? Sometimes that extends to adulthood for various reasons. I attribute feelings to my stuffed animals and I treat them with care and respect because I actually believe/feel they have feelings. My rational mind KNOWS they are objects, but my emotions feel otherwise, hence why I treat them the way I do: I brush them out, give them lukewarm baths, make sure any tear or wear is fixed, etc.

One could argue that anyone who cares about their stuff and wants to extend the life of that stuff will do this right? Yes, but when someone attributes feelings and human traits to things this takes on a whole new meaning. You're actually caring for "someone", even it's not a someONE but a someTHING.

Why does this happen? Usually it's a comfort thing due to trauma, but it can come with mental illness or mental disorders that make it hard for the person to connecto to other humans.

In my case it's due to the BPD, possible AuADHD, and the OCD, the BPD and possible AuADHD make me overly sensitive to everything around me and I can't connect to people that easily even though I love having friends; so for ages I connected to my stuffed animals and they were my friends. And the OCD only makes that reaction and attitude worse because of the intrusive thoughts. Through therapy I've learned that yes, stuffies are object but that I also can love them with all my heart and that's okay. What's not okay is to obsess over them as if they were real people and to learn to create connections with other humans. I also have two forms of synesthesia, grapheme-colour and ordinal linguistic personification, the latter making this personification of my stuffies even more pronounced.

Okay enough about me; sorry, I just needed to put myself as an example so I could more or less explain how these things work.

As you can see, this is a natural phenomenon in children that can extend towards adulthood.

How does this affect fandom and how characters are view you may ask? Simple.

PEOPLE ARE ATTRIBUTING HUMAN/PERSONAL TRAITS TO CHARACTERS, WHICH AREN'T HUMAN (NOT HUMANS AS A SPECIES, BUT HUMANS AS IN IRL HUMAN BEINGS) AND ARE OBJECTS LIKE DOLLS.

General Fandom spaces are full of people who use them as a coping mechanisms and community hubs to meet people. A TON of us are ND or have trauma or mental problems that make it hard for us to connect to others so we resort to fictional characters and the fandoms that follow them for that. Sadly due to how common drama is in fandom so so many of us end up not having a circle of friends, irl or online, with whom to discuss our interests, effectively isolating us a little in our fandoms. What do we resort to then? THE CHARACTERS THEMSELVES.

When mental health problems go unchecked and someone is what we call chronically online, or has problems connecting to real humans and spends most of their time logged into the net and not really having conversations and interactions, stuff like Personification can be exacerbated to the point where we are now; where people can't see the difference between a real human and a character.

AND THIS IS VERY SAD. What does it say about us as a society when the last two generations have gone through this and the two new ones are doubling down on it?? What does it say about how we connect to the people around us?? What does it say about how we as a society and species manage trauma and mental health?!

And that's where purity culture and antis enter: THEY SEE PEOPLE DOING PERSONIFICATION AND THEY TAKE THAT TO PUSH THEIR WEIRD PURITY AGENDA ONTO THEM, TRYING TO FORCE FANDOMS TO BE AS "NOBLE" AND "GOOD PEOPLE" AS THEY THINK THEY ARE. And these are mostly conservative people who are ticked off by what they deem "too different". The way intrusive thoughts, kinks, dark thoughts, etc is treated currently is APPALLING, "this speaks more about you as a person!" really?! Honey, NO. People are allowed to explore the darkest deepest confines of their inner selves IN A SAFE AND NOT RISKY MANNER THROUGH IMAGINATION. Who are you to stop them from doing that? Do you actually think everyone who is like this is a serial killer or rapist?! Do you know how rare those truly are? And do you actually know how incredibly "normal" real rapists appear? Ask me, I'll tell you how "normal" they look.

In truth, treating fandoms and character this way protects nobody and puts nobody in their places but EFFECTIVELY MAKES IT DIFFICULT FOR PEOPLE TO KNOW REALITY FROM FICTION AND OPENS THE DOOR FOR MORE ABUSERS TO CONTINUE ABUSIVE UNCHECKED. Plus it makes mentally ill people way more vulnerable to manipulation...

I'm sorry I rambled, I hope it makes sense, but... I just wanted to put this out there, see if anyone agrees and what others think of it. I feel that this explains at least in some part what's been happening to Fandom in the last like 15-20 years...

I really think everyone needs to truly internalize this:

Fictional characters are objects.

They are not people. You cannot "objectify" them, because they have no personhood to be deprived of. They have no humanity to be erased. You cannot "disrespect" them, because they are not real.

[writingwithcolor]

What Does Our "Motivations” PSA Mean?

@luminalalumini said:

I've been on your blog a lot and it has a lot of really insightful information, but I notice a theme with some of your answers where you ask the writer reaching out what their 'motivation for making a character a certain [race/religion/ethnicity/nationality] is' and it's discouraging to see, because it seems like you're automatically assigning the writer some sort of ulterior motive that must be sniffed out and identified before the writer can get any tips or guidance for their question. Can't the 'motive' simply be having/wanting to have diversity in one's work? Must there be an 'ulterior motive'? I can understand that there's a lot of stigma and stereotypes and bad influence that might lead to someone trynna add marginalized groups into their stories for wrong reasons, but people that have those bad intentions certainly won't be asking for advice on how to write good representation in the first place. Idk its just been something that seemed really discouraging to me to reach out myself, knowing i'll automatically be assigned ulterior motives that i don't have and will probably have to justify why i want to add diversity to my story as if i'm comitting some sort of crime. I don't expect you guys to change your blog or respond to this or even care all that much, I'm probably just ranting into a void. I'm just curious if theres any reason to this that I haven't realized exists I suppose. I don't want y'all to take this the wrong way because I do actually love and enjoy your blog's advice in spite of my dumb griping. Cheers :))

We assume this is in reference to the following PSA:

PSA to all of our users - Motivation Matters: This lack of clarity w/r to intent has been a general issue with many recent questions. Please remember that if you don’t explain your motivations and what you intend to communicate to your audience with your plot choices, character attributes, world-building etc., we cannot effectively advise you beyond the information you provide. We Are Not Mind Readers. If, when drafting these questions, you realize you can’t explain your motivations, that is likely a hint that you need to think more on the rationales for your narrative decisions. My recommendation is to read our archives and articles on similar topics for inspiration while you think. I will be attaching this PSA to all asks with similar issues until the volume of such questions declines. 

We have answered this in three parts.

1. Of Paved Roads and Good Intentions

Allow me to give you a personal story, in solidarity towards your feelings:

When I began writing in South Asia as an outsider, specifically in the Kashmir and Lahore areas, I was doing it out of respect for the cultures I had grown up around. I did kathak dance, I grew up on immigrant-cooked North Indian food, my babysitters were Indian. I loved Mughal society, and every detail of learning about it just made me want more. The minute you told me fantasy could be outside of Europe, I hopped into the Mughal world with two feet. I was 13. I am now 28.

And had you asked me, as a teenager, what my motives were in giving my characters’ love interests blue or green eyes, one of them blond hair, my MC having red-tinted brown hair that was very emphasized, and a whole bunch of paler skinned people, I would have told you my motives were “to represent the diversity of the region.” 

I’m sure readers of the blog will spot the really, really toxic and colourist tropes present in my choices. If you’re new here, then the summary is: giving brown people “unique” coloured eyes and hair that lines up with Eurocentric beauty standards is an orientalist trope that needs to be interrogated in your writing. And favouring pale skinned people is colourist, full stop.

Did that make me a bad person with super sneaky ulterior motives who wanted to write bad representation? No.

It made me an ignorant kid from the mostly-white suburbs who grew up with media that said brown people had to “look unique” (read: look as European as possible) to be considered valuable.

And this is where it is important to remember that motives can be pure as you want, but you were still taught all of the terrible stuff that is present in society. Which means you’re going to perpetuate it unless you stop and actually question what is under your conscious motive, and work to unlearn it. Work that will never be complete.

I know it sounds scary and judgemental (and it’s one of the reasons we allow people to ask to be anonymous, for people who are afraid). Honestly, I would’ve reacted much the same as a younger writer, had you told me I was perpetuating bad things. I was trying to do good and my motives were pure, after all! But after a few years, I realized that I had fallen short, and I had a lot more to learn in order for my motives to match my impact. Part of our job at WWC is to attempt to close that gap.

We aren’t giving judgement, when we ask questions about why you want to do certain things. We are asking you to look at the structural underpinnings of your mind and question why those traits felt natural together, and, more specifically, why those traits felt natural to give to a protagonist or other major character.

I still have blond, blue-eyed characters with sandy coloured skin. I still have green-eyed characters. Because teenage me was right, that is part of the region. But by interrogating my motive, I was able to devalue those traits within the narrative, and I stopped making those traits shorthand for “this is the person you should root for.” 

It opened up room for me to be messier with my characters of colour, even the ones who my teenage self would have deemed “extra special.” Because the European-associated traits (pale hair, not-brown-eyes) stopped being special. After years of questioning, they started lining up with my motive of just being part of the diversity of the region.

Motive is important, both in the conscious and the subconscious. It’s not a judgement and it’s not assumed to be evil. It’s simply assumed to be unquestioned, so we ask that you question it and really examine your own biases.

~Mod Lesya

2. Motivations Aren't Always "Ulterior"

You can have a positive motivation or a neutral one or a negative one. Just wanting to have diversity only means your characters aren't all white and straight and cis and able-bodied -- it doesn't explain why you decided to make this specific character specifically bi and specifically Jewish (it me). Yes, sometimes it might be completely random! But it also might be "well, my crush is Costa Rican, so I gave the love interest the same background", or "I set it in X City where the predominant marginalized ethnicity is Y, so they are Y". Neither of these count as ulterior motives. But let's say for a second that you did accidentally catch yourself doing an "ulterior." Isn't that the point of the blog, to help you find those spots and clean them up?

Try thinking of it as “finding things that need adjusting” rather than “things that are bad” and it might get less scary to realize that we all do them, subconsciously. Representation that could use some work is often the product of subconscious bias, not deliberate misrepresentation, so there's every possibility that someone who wants to improve and do better didn't do it perfectly the first time. 

--Shira

3. Dress-Making as a Metaphor

I want to echo Lesya’s sentiments here but also provide a more logistical perspective. If you check the rubber stamp guide here and the “Motivation matters” PSA above, you’ll notice that concerns with respect to asker motivation are for the purposes of providing the most relevant answer possible.

It is a lot like if someone walks into a dressmaker’s shop and asks for a blue dress/ suit (Back when getting custom-made clothes was more of a thing) . The seamstress/ tailor is likely to ask a wide variety of questions:

What material do you want the outfit to be made of?

Where do you plan to wear it?

What do you want to highlight?

How do you want to feel when you wear it?

Let’s say our theoretical customer is in England during the 1920s. A tartan walking dress/ flannel suit for the winter is not the same as a periwinkle, beaded, organza ensemble/ navy pinstripe for formal dress in the summer. When we ask for motivations, we are often asking for exactly that: the specific reasons for your inquiry so we may pinpoint the most pertinent information.

The consistent problem for many of the askers who receive the PSA is they haven’t even done the level of research necessary to know what they want to ask of us. It would be like if our English customer in the 1920s responded, “IDK, some kind of blue thing.” Even worse,  WWC doesn’t have the luxury of the back-and-forth between a dressmaker and their clientele. If our asker doesn’t communicate all the information they need in mind at the time of submission, we can only say, “Well, I’m not sure if this is right, but here’s something. I hope it works, but if you had told us more, we could have done a more thorough job.”

Answering questions without context is hard, and asking for motivations, by which I mean the narratives, themes, character arcs and other literary devices that you are looking to incorporate, is the best way for us to help you, while also helping you to determine if your understanding of the problem will benefit from outside input. Because these asks are published with the goal of helping individuals with similar questions, the PSA also serves to prompt other users.

I note that asking questions is a skill, and we all start by asking the most basic questions (Not stupid questions, because to quote a dear professor, “There are no stupid questions.��). Unfortunately, WWC is not suited for the most basic questions. To this effect, we have a very helpful FAQ and archive as a starting point. Once you have used our website to answer the more basic questions, you are more ready to approach writing with diversity and decide when we can actually be of service. This is why we are so adamant that people read the FAQ. Yes, it helps us, but it also is there to save you time and spare you the ambiguity of not even knowing where to start.

The anxiety in your ask conveys to me a fear of being judged for asking questions. That fear is not something we can help you with, other than to wholeheartedly reassure you that we do not spend our unpaid, free time answering these questions in order to assume motives we can’t confirm or sit in judgment of our users who, as you say, are just trying to do better.

Yes, I am often frustrated when an asker’s question makes it clear they haven’t read the FAQ or archives. I’ve also been upset when uncivil commenters have indicated that my efforts and contributions are not worth their consideration. However, even the most tactless question has never made me think, “Ooh this person is such a naughty racist. Let me laugh at them for being a naughty racist. Let me shame them for being a naughty racist. Mwahaha.”

What kind of sad person has time for that?*

Racism is structural. It takes time to unlearn, especially if you’re in an environment that doesn’t facilitate that process to begin with. Our first priority is to help while also preserving our own boundaries and well-being. Though I am well aware of the levels of toxic gas-lighting and virtue signaling that can be found in various corners of online writing communities in the name of “progressivism*”, WWC is not that kind of space. This space is for discussions held in good faith: for us to understand each other better, rather than for one of us to “win” and another to “lose.”

Just as we have good faith that you are doing your best, we ask that you have faith that we are trying to do our best by you and the BIPOC communities we represent.

- Marika.

*If you are in any writing or social media circles that feed these anxieties or demonstrate these behaviors, I advise you to curtail your time with them and focus on your own growth. You will find, over time, that it is easier to think clearly when you are worrying less about trying to appease people who set the bar of approval so high just for the enjoyment of watching you jump. “Internet hygiene”, as I like to call it, begins with you and the boundaries you set with those you interact with online.

[chordata-on-alterhumanity]

a couple of questions, because im really new to this stuff:

1. im questioning if im an otherlinker/copinglinker, but im not sure yet- is it just saying "i wanna be this person/character/thing, okay, now time to convince myself of it/play into the role"?

2. whats the spectrum? when otherlinking to something, is it a range of "i kind of feel like this thing somewhat" to "i completely identify as this, but still aware im me"? same thing with uh- does it range from animals, fictional characters, objects, ect?

3. specifically with animals/beasts ect, do you also act like them in the form of walking, moving, appearance, ect, or is that only therians?

4. are you able to change what youre linked to often, or is it consistent, with only one thing at a time? or- are you able to have a constant selection you never really "break ties" with, if that makes sense? like a row of shirts you can choose from each day to wear. can you create links that fast? would i be able to make a list of links i can change with frequently whenever id like?

5. is there anything i need to specifically avoid asking/talking about regarding all of this because it might be unknowingly rude or offensive to those in the same community, or others?

if any of this doesnt make sense, i apologize- im new to tumblr, too

Heey, thanks for the questions!!

1. Basically, yeah! Otherlinking is about choosing an identity and reinforcing it, yeah! Though, the lines between it and other forms of identity, like otherkin, aren't always clear. "Quoiluntary identity" is a term used for identites that aren't pinpointed as voluntary or involuntary. For example, this week I started linking a character while at work, and it initially wasn't an active choice. It was random, like, I did something and then noticed a similarity between me and the character and that made me feel good, so I paid a little more attention to the similarities. It's not involuntary because if I stopped thinking about it the sense of identity would fade, even if the similarities between me and the char would stay (… until I grow and change as a person to no longer strike a resemblance lol. And being kin doesn't have to be about resembling your kintype in the first place! Being a linker doesn't have to be either. Your linktype could be how you imagine yourself internally, or only in certain situations, or or or… I'll get back to my point 'u' " ). Yet it's not fully voluntary either because the start of it was a random realization. Personally, I just call it all linktypes and don't bother thinking too much. But that's just my own choice!

2. That's the spectrum, yeah! The intensity can go all the way from just a little to full on. There's people who, after linking for a while, feel that the linktype has become so integral to them that it's become involuntary, aka a kintype by definition (Whether that's still called linktype or changed to kintype is up to the individual's choice). And it can be animals, characters, objects, concepts, colours, etc etc, yup. There's no limit to linking unless you harm yourself or others. So linking real people is an iffy subject (I think making a linktype based on a real person is a healthy way to go about the desire to link another living breathing being but pretending to be that person for real isn't a good idea).

3. Me, as a green woodpecker linker who feels the immense desire to cling to vertical surfaces like a woodpecker clings to a tree, tries to mimic their call, and more, yea. Yeah. But it can vary of course! It's the same for therians, actually. I've heard of at least one therian who was kin with wolves in more of a symbolic way than physicality, like, what they stood for in our human perception, the attributes we ascribe to them as a species.

4. I think this is different from person to person, so I'll again talk from personal experience. I have way too many active links at the moment. My brain can get indecisive about which one to "wear" lately. (My job involving a lot of multitasking and training my brain into being scattered doesn't help this imo.) You describe it pretty well by comparing it to a row of shirts. That's what it's like for me; I pick the one that most comfortably fits me or helps me the most. Some links can be created fast, others need time. I already mentioned a fast one in 1., but I also have a linktype that I built up for weeks before I felt any sense of identity in it. How easily a person can change into/out of/between linktypes may depend on the circumstances of the day. I'm sure there can internal or external circumstances preventing a change.

5. Hmm. The only thing I can think of is that we're not particularly fond of when people treat linkers like "otherkin lite", as if our identities are less valuable because they're chosen. If you understand that a chosen identity can be as meaningful as an inherent one, I think that's a given. The community at large also doesn't like being grouped in with "kin for fun"/"kff" people. I'm not 100 % sure I understand the concept of kff correctly, but I think it's people who claim they're kin but don't even identify as the thing. It's just a trend they're running with. It's perfectly fine to link something just for fun, so that's why the whole thing is a bit of a head scratcher for me. I think the disdain might be more because many kff trashtalk alterhumans (otherkin, otherlink, etc) than anything else. If anyone reading this can explain the kff thing better or can think of more things to avoid around otherlinkers, please reply to this post. That all said, don't hold back in asking questions because of the chance they might be rude! Rude questions can result in very interesting conversation.

I hope this helps! ^.^ Sorry in case there's typos and grammar mistakes. It's late and I'm tired but idk when there'd be the next time I have the time to collect my thoughts in order to reply.

[vancilocs]

Can i get a uu plains and vesper?

writing on phone bc cant be arsed to get the laptop

1. How does your OC feel about their full name?

It's very. Plain. *wheeze* but no it's just him, he is plains, nothing special to it

They like their first name, picked it themselves hundreds of years ago to strengthen their own identity

2. What do strangers notice about them first?

Big boy no matter the form, humanoid form also has the fur shawl so that's an eyecatcher

Tall, fairly striking with the red eyes and white skin, facial tattoos

3. How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone?

He's quiet in general but alone even more so and more focused on naps and berries (especially if there's not a Forest to pummel)

They're quite outgoing and witty and sarcastic in company, and active even when alone, doesn't sit still much

4. How do they act around a crush?

Fairly normally, is just more attentive and more physically affectionate

Gets closer, laughs louder, more physical contact like punching them in the arm

5. Do they have a “tell” for when they’re lying?

Ears go flat. Never lies though

No, they don't lie much but when they do they do so with a completely straight face

6. What do they smell like?

Grass, leaves, petrichor, fresh air, soil, some flowers

Lovely scented deodorant, sweat, laundry stuff they wash their clothes with

7. What is their hair texture like?

Softer than the bear fur, but still on the rougher side

Silken smooth

8. How much jewelry do they wear, and do they have a favorite or distinguishing piece?

Doesn't wear jewelry apart from the occasional flower

Doesn't really wear jewelry, kept Orion's engagement ring for a while but ended up selling it

9. Do they have a word or phrase that they tend to overuse?

MOM

Swears like a sailor

10. What is a weird quality that they have (ie their hands are always cold, they’re always hungry, they snort when they laugh, etc)?

Sleeping for 4-5 months a year is one thing, leaves claw marks on trees sometimes just for fun and to show where he was

Cannot sit straight, always lifting legs on table, sitting on counters, sprawled over couches and people, manspreads

11. What color do they look strikingly good in?

I think brown and green are his colours. Some yellow could be nice

Any colour tbh but red would compliment their eyes

12. How do they show affection to someone they love?

Cuddles and other affectionate touch, scratches their back, makes some flowers, brings snacks, chats.

Throws self on them basically, kisses, lighthearted teasing, asking about day, bites if you're not careful

13. Do they make strong/frequent eye contact when they talk to someone?

Not strong, but occasional

Very strong and intimidating

14. What attributes do they have that are inherited from their parents or shared with their siblings/other relatives?

Well his mom is Earth, so nature and godly powers are very strong in him. But also being lovable and kind and good-natured are things she gave him and his brothers. Plains is especially calm and tranquil (lazy) of the three.

Both their parents made them extremely stubborn, competetive and honestly kinda toxic, has affected their relationships a Lot. Always has to "win" any argument. Has worked for a long time to get better and while they still are fairly confrontational can actually admit that they're wrong/this shouldn't even be an argument because both are right

15. Are their greatest flaw and their greatest strength related and in what way? (ie very caring and helpful but a doormat, or very observant and shrewd but often paranoid)

His weakness is being passive and lazy but it doesn't hurt him or nature, everyone thrives

Good at reading people, good at jumping to conclusions and needlessly poking at weak spots.

16. How has their childhood affected the way they view an aspect of their life (people, education, society, themselves, etc)

His childhood is hard to compare to regular ones, if anything it makes it so people who disrespect or don't understand nature make him sad

Don't trust anyone, don't trust institutions, nobody has your best interests in mind and aim to use you for their own gain

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

One Shot: We’re Going For A Ride, Doll...

Summary: Steve’s been away for a few weeks running a mission, and whilst he’s been away Katie hasn’t exactly had a relaxing time. What better way to relieve a tension than a little night time bike ride… Warning: Language! Smut (NSFW, 18)

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark.

A/N: Biker Steve smut…yeah..it’s a kink and this was written purely for my own self-gratification reasons.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

March 2014

Katie let the scorching hot water cascade down her body, loosening her muscles and washing away the last of the tension from her meeting earlier that day. It had been frustrating, middle aged men in trousers trying to prove who had the longest dicks as per usual until her temper had snapped and she’d called time on the finance review, and told them to come back in a few days when they had finished trying to see who could piss up the walls the highest.

Pepper had smirked when she had stormed out of the meeting and declared she was flying back to DC and then her smirk had turned to a frown when she’d seen the look on Katie’s face, instead asking the youngest Stark if she was okay. Truth was she was far from it. She was exhausted having not slept properly for the best part of two weeks now. And the reason for the lack of sleep was that for the first time since she’d started dating Steve, they’d been snapped out on a date and the offending photos splashed all over the internet.

Her flight in from DC had been smooth and, feeling rather refreshed actually all things considered, Katie clutched her coffee as she walked down the corridor, her Louboutins clicking on the tiles as she pressed her palm to the door and strode into the publishing office. She glanced around, nodding to a few people as she made her way to her office, frowning as she felt eyes following her. She turned her head over her shoulder and saw one of the junior admin assistants hastily avert their gaze. She paused for a moment before she shook her head, walking into her office and dropping her purse on her desk. No sooner had she done that, than JARVIS spoke.

“Miss Stark.” “Morning J.” “Mr Stark has asked you pop up to see him.” “Tell him to come here. I’m busy.”

“He said you would say that. He told me to tell you it’s important and he doesn’t want people listening in. He’s waiting in his office.” With a groan she grabbed her coffee and walked back the way she had come, ignoring the glances that were coming her way before heading to the elevator and selecting the floor that housed Tony’s office.

“What do you want?” She demanded as she walked into his office, to see Tony and Happy both looking at something on the screen.

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine!” Tony quipped and Katie let out an angry noise.

“Tony, I’ve got meetings all day. I have a potential author coming in at twelve so…” Tony waved his hand and the screen he was looking at projected the image onto the holodisplay in front of her and her eyes widened. It was a photo of her and Steve sat in her car in the middle of a deep kiss. Steve’s hand was cupping her cheek as hers was tangled in his hair, and she knew exactly when it had been taken, the previous night when they’d been out on a date. Steve had been called right in the middle of their evening for an urgent mission so their meal had been cut short and she’d dropped him home and he was kissing her goodbye.

“Shit.” She groaned, and looked at Tony who grinned and shrugged.

“Yeah, you got papped.” He explained before he paused. “Actually papped isn’t the right word seeing as it wasn’t a professional photographer, they know now to not even bother. This was some member of the public. First we saw was when our daily Social Media monitoring reports picked it up.”

“Are there anymore?”

“A few.” He said, flicking through the photos which basically were snapped in succession. There was one of them breaking from the kiss, Steve pressing his head to hers, then pecking her lips again, before climbing out of the car.

“Can we get rid of them?”

“Oh yeah.” Tony waved a hand. “We already deployed the algorithm, usual stuff…and I tracked down the person who took the original shot and offered him an obscene amount of money to hand over the rights. At first he wasn’t going to do it, but then I told him it was that or I fired a virus straight down the line to blow up his phone.” Katie rolled her eyes “And he believed you could actually do that?” Happy shrugged “Well, we can in a way. Maybe not the blowing up bit but…” “Thing is we don’t know how far this has gone.” Tony shrugged “We can keep the photo off the net but, well, it was already trending when we saw it.” “Under what?”

Tony grinned and waved his hand, revealing the hashtag.

“Stark Spangled Man?” Katie groaned “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, I was tempted to leave it just for that tag.” Tony mused and Katie rubbed at her temple.

“If the guys at SHIELD have seen this…”

“Already had the Goth Pirate on the phone.” Tony shrugged “Told him I’d deal with it. It’s not like the public didn’t know you two are…you know.”

“Has Steve seen it?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Tony looked at her “He’s your boyfriend. You ask him.”

“I can’t, he’s on a mission and it’s radio silence.” She bit her lip and ran her hand through her hair. “I can’t see him being particularly pleased about it.” “Maybe he shouldn’t have been eating your face in the front of your car then.” Tony shrugged.

“Oh piss off.” Katie snapped at her brother, who simply raised his eyebrow, smirking slightly.

“Kiddo, we can stop the photos.” Happy looked at her, “But the comments and tweets, it’s a huge job and…” “Yeah I know just…” She shrugged “Oh whatever, they’ll get bored eventually. Just make sure no fucking trashy tabloids get hold of it.” Thankfully they hadn’t. But the comments on social media had continued for a week. Most of them were actually pretty nice, saying it was cute and they made a nice couple. Some of them not so nice, commenting on Katie’s appearance and the like, not that she gave a fuck. She’d dealt with comments like that before, knowing full well it came from a place of jealousy most of the time, what she was struggling with, however, was the fact she hadn’t managed to speak to Steve about it at all.

How he was going to react was worrying her a little. A general interest in their relationship was a risk they knew they were running, having gone public in December at the New Years’ Eve gala, but up until that point they had been lucky. They were also careful in that when they were out, they kept to quiet places as much as possible and, as Steve wasn’t huge on public displays of affection in general (holding hands and the odd quick kiss being as far as he went), there wasn’t really anything of interest to pap. Until that night. And it wasn’t just the social media side of things. The gossip at the tower had also pissed her off. It was like some huge secret had been revealed which wasn’t the case. The fact they were dating was public knowledge, but it was more the fact that people had seen the photo in the way they had and she felt like it was undermining her authority at work, which is what had contributed to her lack of sleep and her outburst earlier that day.

With a heavy sigh, she turned around and let her face soak in the stream one last time, then she turned off the water, stepped out and grabbed a towel before she headed back into her room.

Steve had been gone for three weeks now, on an undercover mission. Something to do with some guy planning to flood the US with dirty drugs. She didn’t know much, no longer being at SHIELD she wasn’t party to the secrets and, despite the fact Fury was actually pretty good at keeping her as updated as he could, she always felt stressed and anxious when he was away, not knowing if he was okay. It had been easier when she had been an Agent herself, something which made her sometimes question her decision to quit.

Especially on days like today, with meetings like that one.

Having dried off, she pulled on a pair of leggings before tossing one of Steve’s hoodies on which still vaguely smelt of him and quickly blasted her hair with the hair-drier, letting the waves naturally set before she wandered into the living room. It was nearing dinner time, and she couldn’t be bothered to cook, intending instead to indulge herself in a bottle of wine and a pizza from Seconds.

The pizza arrived when she was halfway through the bottle of wine and by the time she’d had her fill, she’d finished said bottle. She was just on her way to grab another when her phone rang, the familiar sounds of “Only One In Colour” hitting her ears, which was the tone she attributed to just one person.

She hastily ran back to the living and grabbed her phone which was on the sofa cushion, smiling as she saw the photo of her and Steve filling the screen.

“Hey!” she said a little breathlessly and she heard a chuckle on the other side.

“Am I glad to hear your voice” Her soldier spoke and she felt herself tearing up.

“Me too.” She sighed, taking a deep breath “I take it the mission is done?”

“Yeah, took a little longer than we thought. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call,Doll.”

“It’s okay” She smiled, “When are you home?”

“Yeah, about that.” He said softly, and she took a deep breath, bracing herself for bad news before he spoke again, a playful quality to his soothing voice. “Look out the window, Baby girl.”

Katie felt a huge grin cross her face as that could only mean one thing. In a flash she yanked open the doors that led to her balcony and ran out, peering over the edge. And there he was, in all his glory, waving up at her from where he sat on his bike.

“What you down there for?” She teased as she looked down.

“We’re going for a ride, Doll.” He replied simply and she grinned.

“I’ll be right down.”

“Three minutes. Captains Orders.” He shot back and she turned and headed back into her penthouse.

“I love it when you get all masterful”

“I know.” He gave a little laugh. “Now hurry up.”

She cut the call and headed quickly into her bedroom, pulling off the hoody and exchanging it instead for a long cashmere sweater that finished mid-thigh. It had been a gift from Steve not long before he had left and she knew he loved it on her. It was a deep green colour- “It matches your eyes, Doll”- The fabric was soft, and the turtle neck line scooped slightly so that you could see a flash of her collar bone at either side of her neck. She cinched the waist in with a tan belt and shoved her feet into a pair of matching ankle boots. Grabbing her biker jacket and her helmet, she grabbed her keys and ran to the elevator.  

She emerged onto the street and stopped as Steve turned to face her. She gave herself a second to take him in, scanning his dark jeans, white t-shirt and open jacket all set off with a distressed leather belt and matching boots, before she gave a squeal and ran towards him. Steve stood up off his bike and strode towards her, meeting her halfway as she threw herself into his arms.

“Hey.” He whispered softly, his face pressing into her hair as her legs circled his waist. “God I missed you.” “Missed you too.” She mumbled, before she pulled back and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Like, really missed you.”

And then she suddenly became conscious they were in the street. She threw a glance around, looking for any sly public amateur photographers and Steve frowned, spotting her change in demeanour.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She looked at him as he set her on her feet, his hands on her waist. “Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t press her further, simply led her back to the bike and she swung her legs over the back, clipping the straps of her helmet into place. He settled in front of her and she laced her arms around his waist, under his jacket as he fired up the bike with a roar. Steve took another glance over his shoulder, her eyes visible through the visor of her helmet and they were shining with excitement. Flashing her a smile he turned round and set the bike off, heading up the street.

He drove the familiar route to Rock Creek and after half an hour or so pulled the bike to a halt in the spot he always parked at, a hidden little clearing just off the main parking lot. It was deserted due to the hour, which suited him fine. Cutting the engine he felt Katie shift behind him and he set the stand on the bike before he turned to see his girl taking her helmet off. She fluffed her hair out slightly and then grinned at him as he patted the space between his legs. She jumped off the bike, hung her helmet over the handlebars before she climbed back up, this time facing Steve, her back to the handlebars of the bike.

The little wooded area was dark, bar the moon shining through the lattice of leaves above them and Katie took a deep breath, inhaling the rich scent of pine needles, fresh air and the slight smell of the early spring flowers. The babbling of the brook was loud in the quiet of night providing them with a little background noise as Steve reached out, his hands cupping her face as he drew her to him. Katie closed her eyes, allowing him to take the lead as his tongue slid across her bottom lip and she opened her mouth slightly, his movements smooth and graceful as he kissed her passionately before he pulled away, her bottom lip caught between both of his. He released it gently, pressing his forehead to hers, their noses bumping together slightly.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked her quietly. Katie sighed, and looked down at his long legs which were stretched towards her. Leaning her own legs forward, she hooked her calves around his, the denim of his jeans rustling as it bushed against her leggings. Her hands dropped to his knees and she ran them up the outside of his thighs, her fingers skating the strong muscles as they stretched the fabric of his dark blue Levi’s slightly. “Katie?” he asked again and she took a deep breath before she reached for her phone in the pocket of her jacket.

“Someone papped us, well I say papped, it was more some nosey bastard member of the public…” she sighed, scrolling through to the photo. She handed it to him and he took it from her, fingers brushing hers gently. He glanced down at it and after a second he screwed up his face and let out a breath from his nose.

“Crap.” He muttered before he handed her phone back and looked at her, rolling his eyes.

“Tony managed to get rid of it from the net but…” She shrugged “It’s been a pain in the ass, Steve. All the fucking mumbled little comments in the office and…” She rubbed her neck slightly “Not being able to warn you either.”

“Warn me?” He cocked his head to one side. “About what?”

“The fact you were all over the internet eating my face.” She shrugged and he gave a snort of laughter “Didn’t want you walking back into base and being blindsided. I know you’re not big into PDAs and I figured if the guys from STRIKE got hold of it, hell, if Nat got hold of it…”

“Doll, I couldn’t care less.”

Katie looked at him, blinking “You don’t?”

“No, well, I mean it’s not great but, well, I’m more pissed that you got a hard time in the office about it.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” She shrugged, before she grinned. “If they carry on I can just fire them all.” Steve chuckled, his hands dropping to hers as he laced their fingers together. “Bet Tony had a field day.” “Yeah, he thought it was pretty funny, especially the hashtag it was all trending under.” “Which was?”

“Stark Spangled Man.” She raised an eyebrow. Steve paused for a second before he tipped his head back, his broad chest and shoulders shaking with the force of his laughter before he shook his head and peeked up at her slightly. “Ten outta Ten for imagination, huh?”

“Well, they’re not wrong.” He said simply, his hands leaving hers and they slid under her ass as he pulled her forward so she was straddling his lap. “I am completely and utterly Stark Spangled…”

“I never wanna hear you say that ever again.” Katie narrowed her eyes as her hands slid up his arms coming to rest on the firm planes of his chest just below his collar bone.

“No?” He asked gently, his hands splaying on her back gently underneath her jacket.

“Not unless you want me to start singing an amended version of your chorus song.” She grinned.

“Shut up.” “Make me.” She retorted, a childish tone to her voice and arched an eyebrow as he looked up at her.

“Brat.” He mumbled, his hand sliding up to her neck, pulling her face to his. The kiss was fierce, his lips warm on hers, the familiar tingle spreading up her spine making her shiver slightly and a soft moan escaped her mouth to his and she felt his lips curl into a smirk against hers before they moved gently from her mouth to her jaw line. He peppered soft, warm and wet pecks down her neck before he gently moved her sweater to the side a little more, exposing more of her shoulder.

The feel of his mouth on her skin was electric, and Katie let her head fall back, eyes closing as Steve’s hands splayed on her back, holding her in position as he kissed every inch of her skin he could find. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed, thickly as he paused his fingers digging into her back.

“You’re not wearing a bra.” He mumbled.

“Not wearing any panties either.” She said softly and he pulled back to look at her, a groan escaping his mouth.

“You’re killing me, Doll.” “Well I was in my comfy stuff and you gave me three minutes to get ready.” She shrugged “Captain’s orders, remember?”

“Because you always do exactly what I tell you.” He said sarcastically, looking at her with those baby blues which were now a dark midnight shade through desire.

“When it counts I do.” She smirked, rolling her hips, pushing down on his crotch. He hissed slightly, his hands gripping her tighter as he bit his lip. Steve took a look round the deserted clearing and his attention turned back to her, his eyes challenging.

“Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish, Sweetheart.” He warned her sternly, his voice low and the tone he spoke with had her twitching even more. She wasn’t one to back down to a challenge, and he knew that, but despite the fact she knew he was playing games, she simply smirked and her hands slid down his chest to his belt, fingers making short work of the buckle before she moved her attentions to the button on his jeans, popping them easily before she slid down the zipper.

“Who says I wasn’t gonna finish it?” She shrugged, as her hand worked into his boxers and wrapped her palm around his warm cock and he gave a low moan, his head falling back as she began to work him.

Katie simply watched his face, his soft lips parting slightly, eyes fluttering shut. Long lashes lay against his rosy cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbed and he gulped slightly when her movements and grip grew stronger. His eyes opened and locked onto hers, his pupils completely lust blown, speckles of moonlight reflecting in them gave her the impression she was looking at the starry sky and he leaned up and pressed his lips to hers in another hungry kiss, their teeth clashing slightly. She felt the heat pooling between her legs as his hands slid under the side of her long sweater, fingers gripping her skin tightly as he squirmed underneath her.

Katie moved her hand more rapidly, loving the effect she had on him. The fact she could undo the stoic, taciturn Captain in matter of minutes was a fucking turn on and she grinned as he buried his face into her neck as she alternated between fast and hard, long and slow strokes. She felt him attempt to thrust desperately into her palm as he let out a low sigh of her name and she tilted his face back to hers with her spare hand and captured his mouth in a hard kiss as she gave him another slow stroke. At that, clearly done with the teasing, he growled into her mouth, standing up suddenly, spinning her round so her back was pressed to his chest. Katie let out a squeak of surprise as one hand kept her supported easily as it hooked over the front of her chest, the other pulling down one side of her leggings then the other. He sat back down, pulling her over him and in a single thrust upwards had buried himself inside her.

The sudden intrusion made Katie cry out as she felt him fill her, and once he was fully seated and she was stuffed as full as possible, he began to thrust upwards, controlling the speed completely. Her thighs were tight around him, and she was powerless to spread her legs apart much as they were clamped together thanks to the fact her leggings were bunched round her ankles, restricting her movement. Instead, she leaned back, arching her back, head falling to his shoulder, shifting the angle slightly which allowed him to drive up into her even deeper. His hands moved, sliding up her sweater to cup her breasts and as he gently tugged on her nipples she gave a loud wail as the sensation speared through her and she pushed down as hard as she could, rotating her hips slightly. Steve’s breath was hot on her ear as he pulled her down with every thrust up that he made, grinding right up against her spot.

“Such a needy little thing, aint you…” he said, his voice low and punctuated by his heavy breathing and she gave a low keen as he nipped at her neck, his fingers tugging her nipples harder.

“3 weeks Steve…” she panted, and he gave a dirty chuckle, pushing up again, bottoming out completely. It was a movement he repeated again and again, his mouth chaining kisses to her neck. One hand moved down from her chest, calloused fingers brushing lightly against her skin, over her stomach, and she shivered at his touch as he gently reached the spot between her legs. As he pushed up again he gently rubbed against her clit and she cried out, her head falling forwards slightly before his other hand moved upwards, gently wrapping around her neck as he pulled her back, his hand turning her face to his where he caught her mouth in a sloppy kiss.

The feeling of being manhandled like that, in the open air, one hand between her legs, the other round her neck, his cock thrusting slowly against her spot was almost too much, and she groaned, writhing on his lap, her mouth falling open, and when she finally found her voice it was raspy as she struggled to form her words.

“Please, Steve…I need…” her hand grasped the wrist which was between her legs, trying to speed him up. He looked down at her, his face contorted in a mix of pleasure and concentration, sweat beading on his brow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” she nodded, and his fingers picked up their pace as did his hips. Her legs shuddered slightly as she felt the white, hot heat rising in her belly and she let out a low cry of his name.

“Come on, Doll.” he murmured, “Cum for me, Sweetheart.” And she did, with a force so intense she couldn’t stop herself letting out a loud “Fuck” as she shuddered, the world fading to dark around her, as the waves of pleasure racked her entire body.

“Shit, Katie.” Steve stuttered, his thrusts growing erratic as be bit down gently on her shoulder and he came with a groan, his hips slowing to an eventual stop as he sagged forward a little, forehead buried against her shoulder.

They stayed still for a while, the silence of their surroundings bar the trickle of the stream providing a soothing background as they both recovered themselves. Katie tilted her head round to look at him. His expression was dazed, mouth open in supplication and she loved seeing him so utterly wrecked. A fresh fucked Steve was the most beautiful thing in the world to her. All golden haired, slack jawed, kiss swollen lips and long eyelashes framing that stunningly handsome face. Taking a deep breath, Steve pressed a soft kiss to her neck before he cracked his eyes open and gave her that beautiful smile she lived for.

“For the record,” she hummed into his mouth as she captured his lips in a small kiss. “I’m well aware you totally just played me.”

He gave a soft chuckle and looked up at her, his blue eyes sparkling “Guilty as charged.” His hands ran up her sides underneath her sweater, fingers gently trailing down her ribs. “But I did tell you we were going for a ride.”

**Original Posting**

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Kinks: We’re Going For A Ride, Doll...

Summary: Steve’s been away for a few weeks running a mission, and whilst he’s been away Katie hasn’t exactly had a relaxing time. What better way to relieve a tension than a little night time bike ride…

Warning: SMUT SMUT SMUT- This entire series is SMUT so NSFW and NO UNDER 18s!!

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark.

A/N: Biker Steve smut…yeah..it’s a kink. Enjoy.

SSK Masterlist // WIYPT Masterlist

Katie let the scorching hot water cascade down her body, loosening her muscles and washing away the last of the tension from her meeting earlier that day. It had been frustrating, middle aged men in trousers trying to prove who had the longest dicks as per usual until her temper had snapped and she’d called time on the finance review, and told them to come back in a few days when they had finished trying to see who could piss up the walls the highest.

Pepper had smirked when she had stormed out of the meeting and declared she was flying back to DC and then her smirk had turned to a frown when she’d seen the look on Katie’s face, instead asking the youngest Stark if she was ok. Truth was she was far from it. She was exhausted having not slept properly for the best part of two weeks now. And the reason for the lack of sleep was that for the first time since she’d started dating Steve they’d been snapped out on a date and the offending photos splashed all over the internet.

Her flight in from DC had been smooth and, feeling rather refreshed actually all things considered, Katie clutched her coffee as she walked down the corridor, her Louboutins clicking on the tiles as she pressed her palm to the door and strode into the publishing office. She glanced around, nodding to a few people as she made her way to her office, frowning as she felt eyes following her. She turned her head over her shoulder and saw one of the junior admin assistants hastily avert their gaze. She paused for a moment before she shook her head, walking into her office and dropping her purse on her desk. No sooner had she done that, than JARVIS spoke.

“Miss Stark.” “Morning J.” “Mr Stark has asked you pop up to see him.” “Tell him to come here. I’m busy.”

“He said you would say that. He told me to tell you it’s important and he doesn’t want people listening in…he’s waiting in his office.” With a groan she grabbed her coffee and walked back the way she had come, ignoring the glances that were coming her way before heading to the elevator and selecting the floor that housed Tony’s office.

“What do you want?” she demanded as she walked into his office, to see Tony and Happy both looking at something on the screen.

“Hey Kiddo, morning to you too…”

“Tony, I’ve got meetings all day. I have a potential author coming in at 12 so…” Tony waved his hand and the screen he was looking at projected the image onto the holodisplay in front of her and her eyes widened. It was a photo of her and Steve sat in her car in the middle of quite a deep kiss. Steve’s hand was cupping her cheek as hers was tangled in his hair, and she knew exactly when it had been taken, the previous night when they’d been out on a date. Steve had been called right in the middle of their evening for an urgent mission so their meal cut short, she’d dropped him home and he was kissing her goodbye.

“Shit.” She groaned, and looked at Tony who grinned and shrugged.

“Yeah, you got papped…” he said, before he paused “Actually papped isn’t the right word seeing as it wasn’t a professional photographer, they know now to not even bother. This was some member of the public. First we saw was when our daily Social Media monitoring reports picked it up.”

“Are there anymore?”

“A few.” He said, flicking through the photos which basically were snapped in succession. There was one of them breaking from the kiss, Steve pressing his head to hers, then pecking her lips again, before climbing out of the car.

“Can we get rid of them?”

“Oh yeah.” Tony waved a hand, “We already deployed the algorithm, usual stuff…and I tracked down the person who took the original shot and offered him an obscene amount of money to hand over the rights. At first he wasn’t going to do it, but then I told him it was that or I fired a virus straight down the line to blow up his phone.” Katie rolled her eyes “And he believed you could actually do that?” Happy shrugged “Well, we can in a way…maybe not the blowing up bit but…” “Thing is we don’t know how far this has gone.” Tony shrugged “We can keep the photo off the net but…well, it was already trending when we saw it.” “Under what?”

Tony grinned and waved his hand, revealing the hashtag.

“Stark Spangled Man?” Katie groaned “Jesus Christ…”

“Yeah, I was tempted to leave it just for that tag.” Tony mused and Katie rubbed at her temple.

“If the guys at SHIELD have seen this…”

“Already had the Goth Pirate on the phone.” Tony shrugged “Told him I’d deal with it. It’s not like the public didn’t know you two were…you know.”

“Has Steve seen it?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Tony looked at her “He’s your boyfriend. You ask him.”

“I can’t, he’s on a mission and it’s radio silence.” She bit her lip and ran her hand through her hair. “I can’t see him being particularly pleased about it.” “Maybe he shouldn’t have been eating your face in the front of your Rangey then.” Tony shrugged.

“Oh piss off.” She snapped at her brother, show simply raised his eyebrow, smirking slightly.

“Kiddo, we can stop the photos…” Happy said, looking at her, “But the comments and tweets, it’s a huge job and…” “Yeah I know just…” she shrugged “Oh whatever, they’ll get bored eventually. Just make sure no fucking trashy tabloids get hold of it.” Thankfully they hadn’t. But the comments on social media had continued for a week. Most of them were actually pretty nice, saying it was cute and they made a nice couple. Some of them not so nice, commenting on Katie’s appearance and the like, not that she gave a fuck. She’d dealt with comments like that before, knowing full well it came from a place of jealousy most of the time, what she was struggling with was the fact she hadn’t managed to speak to Steve about it at all.

What his reaction was going to be was worrying her. Public interest in their relationship was a risk they knew they were running, having gone public in December at the New Years’ Eve gala, but up until that point they had been lucky. They were also careful in that when they were out, they kept to quiet places as much as possible and as Steve wasn’t huge on public displays of affection in general (holding hands and the odd quick kiss being as far as he went) there wasn’t really anything of interest to pap…until that night. And it wasn’t just the social media side of things. The gossip at the tower had also pissed her off. It was like some huge secret had been revealed which wasn’t the case. The fact they were dating was public knowledge, but it was more the fact that people had seen the photo in the way they had and she felt like it was undermining her authority at work, which is what had contributed to her lack of sleep and her outburst earlier that day.

With a heavy sigh she turned around and let her face soak in the stream one last time, then she turned off the water, stepped out and grabbed a towel before she headed back into her room.

Steve had been gone for three weeks, on an undercover mission. Something to do with some guy planning to flood the US with dirty drugs. She didn’t know much, no longer being at SHIELD she wasn’t party to the secrets and despite the fact Fury was actually pretty good at keeping her as updated as he could, she always felt stressed and anxious when he was away, not knowing if he was okay. It had been easier when she had been an Agent herself, something which made her sometimes question her decision to quit.

Especially on days like today, with meetings like that one.

Yeah, it had been a long three weeks.

Having dried off, she pulled on a pair of leggings before tossing one of Steve’s hoodies on which still vaguely smelt of him and quickly blasted her hair with the hair-drier, letting the waves naturally set before she wandered into the living room. It was nearing dinner time, and she couldn’t be bothered to cook, intending instead to indulge herself in a bottle of wine and a pizza from Seconds.

The pizza arrived when she was halfway through the bottle of wine and by the time she’d had her fill, she’d finished said bottle. She was just on her way to grab another when her phone rang, the familiar sounds of “Only One In Colour” hitting her ears, which was the tone she attributed to just one person.

She hastily ran back to the living and grabbed her phone which was on the sofa cushion, smiling as she saw the photo of her and Steve filling the screen.

“Hey!” she said a little breathlessly and she heard a chuckle on the other side.

“Am I glad to hear your voice” her soldier spoke and she felt herself tearing up.

“Me too.” She said, taking a deep breath “I take it the mission is done?”

“Yeah, took a little longer than we thought. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call Doll.”

“It’s ok.” She smiled, “When are you home?”

“Yeah, about that…” he said softly, and she took a deep breath, bracing herself for bad news before he spoke again, a playful quality to his soothing voice “Look out the window baby girl.”

Katie felt a huge grin cross her face as that could only mean one thing. In a flash she yanked open the doors that led to her balcony and ran out, peering over the edge. And there he was, in all his glory, waving up at her from where he sat on his bike.

“What you down there for?” she teased as she looked down.

“We’re going for a ride Doll.” He replied simply and she grinned.

“I’ll be right down.”

“3 minutes. Captains Orders.” He shot back and she turned and headed into her penthouse.

“I love it when you get all masterful” she teased and he gave a little laugh.

“I know.”

She cut the call and headed quickly into her bedroom, pulling off the hoody and exchanging it instead for a long cashmere sweater that finished mid-thigh. It had been a gift from Steve not long before he had left and she knew he loved it on her. It was a deep green colour- “It matches your eyes, Doll”- The fabric was soft, and the turtle neck line scooped slightly so that you could see a flash of her collar bone at either side of her neck. She cinched the waist in with a tan belt and shoved her feet into a pair of matching ankle boots. Grabbing her biker jacket and her helmet, she grabbed her keys and ran to the elevator.  

She emerged onto the street and stopped as Steve turned to face her. She gave herself a second to take him in, scanning his dark jeans, white t-shirt and open jacket all set off with a distressed leather belt and matching boots, before she gave a squeal and ran towards him. Steve stood up off his bike and strode towards her, meeting her halfway as she threw herself into his arms.

“Hey…” he said softly, his face pressing into her hair as her legs circled his waist. “God I missed you.” “Missed you too.” She mumbled, before she pulled back and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Like, really missed you.”

And then she suddenly became conscious they were in the street. She threw a glance around, looking for any sly public amateur photographers and Steve frowned, spotting her change in demeanour.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She looked at him as he set her on her feet, his hands on her waist “Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t press her further, simply led her back to the bike and she swung her legs over the back, clipping the straps of her helmet into place. He settled in front of her and she laced her arms around his waist, under his jacket as he fired up the bike with a roar. Steve took another glance over his shoulder, her eyes visible through the visor of her helmet and they were shining with excitement. Flashing her a smile he turned round and set the bike off, heading up the street.

He drove the familiar route to Rock Creek and after half an hour or so pulled the bike to a halt in the spot he always parked at, a hidden little clearing just off the main parking lot. It was deserted due to the hour, which suited him fine. Cutting the engine he felt Katie shift behind him and he set the stand on the bike before he turned to see his girl taking her helmet off. She fluffed her hair out slightly and then grinned at him as he patted the space between his legs. She jumped off the bike, hung her helmet over the handlebars before she climbed back up, this time facing Steve, her back to the handlebars of the bike.

The little wooded area was dark, bar the moon shining through the lattice of leaves above them and Katie took a deep breath, inhaling the rich scent of pine needles, fresh air and the slight smell of the early spring flowers. The babbling of the brook was loud in the quiet of night providing them with a little background noise as Steve reached out, his hands cupping her face as he drew her to him. Katie closed her eyes, allowing him to take the lead as his tongue slid across her bottom lip and she opened her mouth slightly, his movements smooth and graceful as he kissed her passionately before he pulled away, her bottom lip caught between both of his. He released it gently, pressing his forehead to hers, their noses bumping together slightly.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked her quietly. Katie sighed, and looked down at his long legs which were stretched towards her. Leaning her legs forward she hooked her calves around his, the denim of his jeans rustling as it bushed against her leggings. Her hands dropped to his knees and he ran them up the outside of his thighs, her fingers staking the strong muscles as they stretched the fabric of dark blue Levi’s slightly. “Katie?” he asked again and she took a deep breath before she reached for her phone in the pocket of her jacket.

“Someone papped us…well I say papped, it was more some nosey bastard member of the public…” she said, scrolling through to the photo. She handed it to him and he took it from her, fingers brushing hers gently. He glanced down at it and after a second he screwed up his face and let out a breath from his nose.

“Crap.” He muttered before he handed her phone back and looked at her, rolling his eyes.

“Tony managed to get rid of it from the net but…” she shrugged “It’s been a pain in the ass Steve, the fucking mumbled little comments in the office and…” she rubbed her neck slightly “Not being able to warn you either.”

“Warn me?” he cocked his head to one side “About what?”

“The fact you were all over the internet eating my face.” She shrugged and he gave a snort of laughter “Didn’t want you walking back into base and being blindsided. I know you’re not big into PDAs and I figured if the guys from STRIKE got hold of it, hell, if Nat got hold of it…” “You think I give a damned about that?” Steve frowned “Doll, I couldn’t care less.” Katie looked at him, blinking “You don’t?”

“No, well, I mean it’s not great but, well, I’m more pissed that you got a hard time in the office about it.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” She shrugged, before she grinned “If they carry on I can just fire them all.” Steve chuckled, his hands dropping to hers as he laced their fingers together “Bet Tony had a field day.” “Yeah, he thought it was pretty funny, especially the hashtag it was all trending under.” “Which was?”

“Stark Spangled Man.” She said, raising an eyebrow. Steve paused for a second before he tipped his head back, his broad chest and shoulders shaking with the force of his laughter before he shook his head and peeked up at her slightly.“10 outta 10 for imagination, huh?” she shrugged, grinning herself.

“Well, they’re not wrong…” he said simply, his hands leaving hers and they slid under her ass as he pulled her forward so she was straddling his lap. “I am completely and utterly, Stark Spangled…”

“I never wanna hear you say that ever again.” She said, narrowing her eyes as her hands slid up his arms coming to rest on the firm planes of his chest, just below his collar bone.

“No?” he asked gently, his hands splaying on her back gently underneath her jacket.

“Not unless you want me to start singing an amended version of your chorus song.” She grinned.

“Shut up.” “Make me.” She retorted, a childish tone to her voice and arched an eyebrow as he looked up at her.

“Brat.” He mumbled, his hand sliding up to her neck, pulling her face down to his. The kiss was fierce, his lips warm on hers, the familiar tingle spreading up her spine making her shiver slightly and a soft moan escaped her mouth to his and she felt his lips curl into a smirk against hers before they moved gently from her mouth to her jaw line. He peppered soft, warm and wet pecks down her neck before he gently moved her sweater to the side a little more, exposing more of her shoulder.

The feel of his mouth on her skin was electric, and Katie let her head fall back, eyes closing as Steve’s hands splayed on her back, holding her in position as he kissed every inch of her skin he could find. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed, thickly as he paused his fingers digging into her back.

“You’re not wearing a bra.” He mumbled.

“Not wearing any panties either…” she said softly and he pulled back to look at her, a groan escaping his mouth.

“You’re killing me doll.” “Well I was in my comfy stuff and you gave me 3 minutes to get ready.” She shrugged “Captain’s orders, remember?”

“Because you always do exactly what I tell you…” he said sarcastically, looking at her with those baby blues which were now a dark midnight shade through desire.

“When it counts I do.” She said, rolling her hips, pushing down on his crotch. He hissed slightly, his hands gripping her tighter as he bit his lip. Steve took a look round the deserted clearing and his attention turned back to her, his eyes challenging.

“Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish Sweetheart.” He said sternly, his voice low and the tone he spoke with had her twitching even more. She wasn’t one to back down to a challenge, and he knew that, but despite the fact she knew he was playing games, she simply smirked and her hands slid down his chest to his belt, fingers made short work of the buckle before she moved her attentions to the button on his jeans, popping them easily before she slid down the zipper.

“Who says I wasn’t gonna finish it?” she shrugged, as her hand worked into his boxers and wrapped her palm around his warm cock and he gave a low moan, his head falling back as she began to work him.

Katie simply watched his face, his soft lips parting slightly, eyes fluttering shut. Long lashes lay against his rosy cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbed and he gulped slightly when her movements and grip grew stronger. His eyes opened and locked onto hers, his pupils completely lust blown, speckles of moonlight reflecting in them gave her the impression she was looking at the starry sky and he leaned up and pressed his lips to hers in a hungry kiss, their teeth clashing slightly. She felt the heat pooling between her legs as his hands slid under the side of her long sweater, fingers gripping her skin tightly as he squirmed underneath her.

Katie moved her hand more rapidly, loving the effect she had on him. The fact she could undo the stoic, taciturn Captain in matter of minutes was a fucking turn on and she grinned as he buried his face into her neck, alternating between fast and hard, long and slow strokes. She felt him attempt to thrust desperately into her palm as he let out a low sigh of her name and she tilted his face back to hers with his spare hand and captured his mouth in a hard kiss as she gave him another slow stroke. At that, clearly done with the teasing, he growled into her mouth, standing up suddenly, spinning her round so her back was pressed to his chest. Katie let out a squeak of surprise as one hand kept her supported easily as it hooked over the front of her chest, the other pulling down one side of her leggings then the other. He sat back down, pulling her over him and in a single thrust upwards had buried himself inside her.

The sudden intrusion made Katie cry out as she felt him fill her, and once he was fully seated and she was stuffed as full as possible, he began to thrust upwards, controlling the speed completely. Her thighs were tight around him, and she was powerless to spread her legs apart much as they were clamped together thanks to the fact her leggings were bunched round her ankles, restricting her movement. Instead, she leaned back, arching her back, head falling to his shoulder, shifting the angle slightly which allowed him to drive up into her even deeper. His hands moved, sliding up her sweater to cup her breasts and as he gently tugged on her nipples she gave a loud wail as the sensation speared through her and she pushed down as hard as she could, rotating her hips slightly. Steve’s breath was hot on her ear as he pulled her down with every thrust up that he made, grinding right up against her spot.

“Such a needy little thing, aint you…” he said, his voice low and punctuated by his heavy breathing and she gave a low keen as he nipped at her neck, his fingers tugging her nipples harder.

“3 weeks Steve…” she panted, and he gave a dirty chuckle, pushing up again, bottoming out completely. It was a movement he repeated again and again, his mouth chaining kisses to her neck. One hand moved down from her chest, calloused fingers brushing lightly against her skin, over her stomach, and she shivered at his touch as he gently reached the spot between her legs. As he pushed up again he gently rubbed against her clit and she cried out, her head falling forwards slightly before his other hand moved upwards, gently wrapping around her neck as he pulled her back, his hand turning her face to his where he caught her mouth in a sloppy kiss.

The feeling of being manhandled like that, in the open air, one hand between her legs, the other round her neck, his cock thrusting slowly against her spot was almost too much, and she groaned, writhing on his lap, her mouth falling open, and when she finally found her voice it was raspy as she struggled to form her words.

“Please, Steve…I need…” her eyes locked onto his, her hand grasping the wrists of his hand which was between her legs, trying to speed him up. He looked back at her, his face contorted in a mix of pleasure and concentration, sweat beading on his brow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” she nodded, and his fingers picked up their pace as did his hips. Her legs shuddered slightly as she felt the white, hot heat rising in her belly and she let out a low cry of his name.

“Come on Doll…” he murmured, “Come for me sweetheart.” And she did, with a force so intense she couldn’t stop herself letting out a loud “Fuck” as she shuddered, the world fading to dark around her, as the waves of pleasure racked her entire body.

“Shit, Katie…” Steve stuttered, his thrusts growing erratic as be bit down gently on her shoulder and he came with a groan, his hips slowing to an eventual stop as he sagged forward a little, forehead buried against her shoulder.

They stayed still for a while, the silence of their surroundings bar the trickle of the stream providing a soothing background as they both recovered themselves. Katie tilted her head round to look at him. His expression was dazed, mouth open in supplication and she loved seeing him so utterly wrecked. A fresh fucked Steve was the most beautiful thing in the world to her. All golden haired, slack jawed, kiss swollen lips and long eyelashes framing . Taking a deep breath Steve pressed a soft kiss to her neck before he cracked his eyes open and gave her that beautiful smile she lived for.

“For the record…” she hummed into his mouth as she captured his lips in a small kiss. “I’m well aware you totally just played me.”

He gave a soft chuckle and looked up at her, his blue eyes sparkling “Guilty as charged.” His hands ran up her sides underneath her sweater, fingers gently trailing down her ribs. “But I did tell you we were going for a ride Doll…”

[home-is-where-beels-tiddies-are]

i lost the post i had that gave all of caragan’s info, so i’ll just post it again here. first pic is caragan after they die, because only obey me could drive me to design a character post-death 

i did design the sigils myself. then i added the sin marks from the cards, put that little pact symbol on it, and i took the original symbols from the actual demons and simplified/altered them. because i didn’t think it was a good idea to use the actual symbols. don’t wanna manifest something ya know lmao 

very long info dump under the cut. (info dump is copied from the post i lost) and yeah, caragan is a generic super powerful protagonist. so prepare for cheese 

likes: drawing, reading, gaming, and staying at home. they are drawn to dark things; horror, dark colours, literally most things dark.

home/family: they live alone, but near their parents, and they visit almost daily. they have a cat and three snakes (while caragan is away, the fur and scale babies are taken care of, don’t worry) 

age: 27 yrs old, born Jan 7th 

gender: nonbinary, they/them 

height: 4′10 / 147 cm

occupation: part time job, they also make bits and bobs to sell; art, crochet, etc. they went back to college too (and how they signed up for a certain exchange program; in my headcanon, they signed up for it and expected something mundane) then, after their first visit to the devildom, they start learning about the peace that diavolo proposed in their own time, and volunteer for the human organizations involved 

the design after they die: neither angel or demon, appearance shows physical attributes of both. (i also have a lot of post-death info, but… this is already so much, so i will leave it out) the ref i made is below: (worth noting that before their “fall,” using the term very, very loosely, everything on them that is red was white)

appearence: 

they wear all black with small, brightly coloured accessories 

brightly coloured accessories are normally bracelets, scarves, or pins. socks are also always nauseatingly bright 

casual outside attire: black hoodie, black t shirts, black ripped jeans, and converse 

casual around the house attire: grey sweatpants, obnoxious socks, a tank top, and sometimes a sweater or jacket they’ve stolen from the brothers 

formal attire: usually a suit, but asmo can convince them to wear a dress by finding amazing ones and wearing a dress too 

school uniform: jacket sleeves rolled up, or while in classrooms, off completely. no tie, ever. dress pants, wears black flats instead of dress shoes. during their first year, they kept their hair in a ponytail in class 

always wearing their favourite necklace 

first year piercings:

left ear - bar piercing in top, three normal piercings on bottom

right ear - three normal piercings on bottom 

second visit piercings:

left ear - same

right ear - three normal piercings on bottom, and two new normal piercings on top 

they wear binders to their classes and almost always when they go out for less active shenanigans 

rarely wears a binder in the house of lamentation; the first thing they take off when they get home 

hair is greying on both sides of their head, also some greys on top

always, always has dark circles and bags under their eyes 

brothers + romance: they are absolutely smitten with all of them, and they are very blunt and obvious about it. their favourite, though, is beel. this is kept as plainly obvious as their feelings for the others. since they love all of the brothers, they don’t hide their attraction to anyone. for the most part, it works out. 

pact mark locations:  (see first ref pic) 

lucifer - throat 

mammon - upper back 

leviathan - lower back 

satan - left inner thigh 

asmo - right inner thigh 

beel - right inner wrist 

belphie - left inner wrist 

overall, they’re very shy and awkward, and they like to joke around to cover it up. generally quiet, even around those they’re comfortable with. (they don’t talk a lot unless they’re having a ‘moment’ - a day where they’re hyperactive) they have crippling anxiety and depression, but the medication they take eases it. gets irritable around loud noises/people. they make an attempt in having a decent sleep schedule, but most nights they’re awake for hours longer than they intend to be. sleep schedule is more erratic when in the devildom. (probably belphie’s fault.) 

everything below is uh… like, how they act/react to the other characters.  

lucifer:  they mirror what lucifer offers them; if he’s being soft, they will be soft in turn. if he is upset with them, they will apologize and attempt to do better, and they expect the same if the roles are reversed. stuff like that. they don’t openly flirt with lucifer the same way they do some others, instead they focus on gentle interactions. they kept close to lucifer when they first arrived in the devildom (when mammon ditched them) because they deemed him more trustworthy than anyone else. 

mammon:  when with mammon, every filter caragan has is demolished instantly. given mammon never tried to kill or charm them, they grew to respect him very quickly. they also don’t treat mammon like an idiot; they’ve dealt with that themselves enough. yes, they tell him off for doing things that will very clearly come back to bite him in the ass, but they never target his intelligence because they know he’s smarter than he lets on. they openly flirt with mammon because they like to make him blush. they both get into trouble often, but they have each others’ backs throughout. 

leviathan:  they don’t spend as much time with leviathan, but they do enjoy his company. they usually lock away their info dumping and interests, but not with leviathan. he gets to gush about the things he loves, and they match his energy. he tries to offer the same courtesy. they also like to flirt with leviathan to make him blush, but they don’t do it as heavily or as often because his rejections/self deprecating comments make them feel bad. they are also thankful that they can talk to him about their anxiety and he understands it. they rarely call him “levi.” 

satan:  they also don’t spend as much time with satan, but less so than leviathan. they can’t help but feel stupid when they’re with him, so they don’t socialize with him often. buuut any time he offers to socialize, they don’t turn him down. in fact, caragan gets excited. he’s also where they turn to when they’re struggling with their studies or curious about something demon related. they do attempt to joke around and flirt with him, but it’s like a game of chicken, and caragan always ducks out. fairly quickly, too. 

asmodeus:  caragan adores asmo, but they can’t really place why. they also consider him as much a work of art as he does himself. they are very soft with asmo and they rarely flirt with him in a conventional way. even though they reject most sexual advances, they are as handsy as asmo is. asmo is their official cuddle buddy and they love to shower him in gentle affection. if asmo is in sight, they can often be caught staring. at first, they’re very embarrassed by this, and the brothers poke fun. eventually, though, they’re utterly shameless and just widen their smile if asmo catches them. 

beelzebub:  they love beel more than life itself, and that is absolutely not an exaggeration. at first, they were very avoidant and anxious when it came to beel, but when they started to hang out with him, they found him very easy to be around. the attraction started then, but then became way too strong when beel went into full demon mode over his custard. (mood) they started following him around everywhere. they continued that trend well into the year and the following visit. they’re very affectionate and clingy, sitting his lap and hugging him constantly. they carry around as many snacks as their pockets can hold for beel and beel only. 

belphegor:  they knew from the start that belphie was lying to them in the attic and probably meant them harm, but they never held it against him. they never really held their death against him either. they’re quiet around belphie for the most part, even when they started to like him. they often nap with him (against their better judgement) too. the two of them talk a lot about their ideal “me and you and beel” future. more than is healthy. their conversations outside of that are often filled with snark and a weird tension that caragan doesn’t understand. it usually melts away after a cuddle and a nap, though. 

diavolo:  they instantly liked diavolo. they’re very cautious and anxious around him, but they try to be warm in their interactions with him. they do call him “lord diavolo,” and treat him with due respect. he usually throws them for a loop with most things he does, but they try to keep up and be understanding. they have a strong need to get closer to him, for reasons that they don’t understand or even try to understand. they don’t do much about it either. his demon form causes them to become flustered. very flustered. the not-oblivious brothers tease them for it. they have such a huge crush on him. 

barbatos:  they don’t interact with him that much, or try to interact with him outside of things that are necessary. they have nothing against him, they just don’t feel the need to. they’re very polite to him, as polite as they are to diavolo. while they’re curious about him, they don’t go out of their way to interact with him. there’s really not much there besides mild curiosity. 

solomon:  they think he gives off a copious amount of mischievous vibes and it puts them off. at first. they are kind and polite towards him, and they would consider him a friend. the friendship is essentially that “we have no friends in this class so we will become friends to fill the void. but only in this class. we will never speak to each other outside of this place.” it’s not nearly as specific, but that’s the flavour of friendship they have in the beginning. eventually, he grows on caragan and they end up looking forward to seeing him. they just find him very fun. 

simeon:  they think simeon is beautiful and has been caught staring almost as much as when they stare at asmo. with simeon though, they will never be shameless about their staring. they continue to be embarrassed about it forever. forever. they’re polite and kind to simeon, but they feel he keeps himself closed off from them. during their second visit to the devildom, with the play and all, they become a little scared of simeon. it doesn’t change the way they interact with him, but it does put them off for a bit. and after some overthinking, they end up being more drawn to him. 

luke:  they were very anxious around luke, at first. they don’t like kids, and generally become twice as awkward around them. eventually, they found him adorable. when they speak to him, they will focus on child logic, but they do speak to him the way they would speak to anyone. never patronising. happily helps him with studies if they can, gives him affirmation and reassurances whenever needed, and is protective. they have even been known to stand up to lesser demons when they target luke. (when simeon isn’t around; it’s rare) even though caragan is scared shitless the whole time, they try anyway. seeing as they’re only 4′10, they never make short jokes or anything of the like. when the brothers make short jokes, they shoot disapproving looks and will express disappointment if it drags on too long. 

the end of their life time:  they go on to live for a while, dedicating themselves entirely to diavolo on the human side of things, even becoming a public speaker for it. sharing their experiences n all that. which is something they’d never do for anything else. 

at a certain point though, about 50 yrs old or so, they do stop visiting the demon brothers because they’re getting old. they die shortly after in an accident. brothers don’t find out because caragan was already avoiding them. (though, there is general unease because of the bonds they have with caragan. they know something’s very, very wrong but not what. they fear the worst, and they’re right to.) 

but for all the things they did for “the cause,” they were to be judged in the celestial realm. (and… i see it as… in a horrible, horrible way, the big guy upstairs knew everything that would happen with lilith, and deemed her and her brothers an acceptable loss in exchange for peace. it was all orchestrated. i also think that diavolo knew the plan, for the most part. he has his own reasons for wanting the peace, but he does know what the plan was.) 

but they’re escorted to The Big Guy by simeon and luke (a cute reunion with hugs) and he straight up asks caragan what they want. like they can stay here, go to the devildom, or remain in the human realm. 

in any case, they’ll be given all the attributes needed to thrive in all three realms, but only if they continue in their trying to maintain peace. obviously, caragan is all for continuing. and of course, they choose to make their home with the brothers. god’s all like, “you will retain your angelic status, but you do have to fall to achieve the status of demon. are you sure?” they have to have demon attributes to ensure survival and comfort living among demons, so that’s why. 

and caragan straight up says, without missing a beat, “even heaven is hell without them.” everybody knows who they’re talking about. simeon is torn between “that’s so rude” and “that’s so sweet” and luke is horrified. god just laughs. 

they all talk a bit longer so caragan knows exactly what they’re getting into. they will have a lot of power as both angel and demon, but they have to keep their humanity in exchange for that power. which means, inevitably, their long life will become a curse. no human is built to live for a millennia, so it’ll take a toll on their mind and at the end of it all, they won’t be themselves anymore. 

caragan basically says, “yah, worth it. lezgo.” god hands them paperwork, some explaining what caragan is and why, as well as a peace treaty thing to give to diavolo when they get home. i was thinking it’d be something cheesy like “the treaty of the last fallen angel.” no more fallen angels after caragan, they fell so no one else has to again. idk, symbolism or something. but even the future angel/demon hybrids won’t have to fall. 

cue caragan yeeting themselves from the celestial realm. 

diavolo knows caragan’s about to fall (barbatos n all that) and gathers the brothers to the place it’ll be. caragan is just a ball of blue flames, then a crater, the brothers are baffled. 

falling hurts a shit ton (even without losing wings and all that), so caragan ends up crying, but they cry blood. (for angel reasons. i dunno why i think angels cry blood.) which drips from their face and onto the white fabric of the thing they’re wearing, and then everything white fades into a red, even the white of their eyes. (i want to try very roughly animating that one day.) 

then there’s another heart warming reunion, but also with a shit ton of heart break because not only did caragan die, they also just fell. the brothers are angy.

before the brothers can get all “let’s fight god,” caragan hands diavolo the paperwork, all of which he reads out loud for the brothers. 

uh. roll credits. 

just tidbits:

caragan is an angel of perseverance and a demon of despair. 

they have six wings and six eyes on each wing. 

their halo was a tangible ring of golden light, but when they fell, it became horns. but like… still in a ring shape. still a halo. just different. 

they are barefoot in their angel/demon form because they have talons and also just… hate shoes. 

when all the white turned red, all the gold turned silver. 

they look as they did during their second visit to the devildom when they enter their “afterlife.”  

their human form is also just… them. hoodie, ripped jeans, everything, they’re just themselves. 

[butchedyke]

how was cats. i need a FULL movie review

oh man. okay. i’m going to start by saying it was, to put it lightly, really bad. between the animation and jennifer hudson’s snot and jason derulo’s accent it was, from start to end, absolute garbage! i haven’t seen the stage musical so i don’t know how it compares but the entire time i was thinking “wow this would be so much better onstage” while my brain was gradually obliterated by whatever the fuck was happening onscreen.

stand-out moments:

jason derulo really did almost suck some toes. i also could not understand a single word he sang and i looked up videos of the rum tum tugger to see if that was just the character but no, it was just him. i don’t think he has an acting career ahead of him.

the cockroaches with faces were just as bad as everyone’s been saying

rebel wilson unzipped her skin twice with no explanation. the second time was a vital plot point.

she just unzipped her skin and there was more skin plus some clothes underneath and that almost made me start crying

what DID make me start crying was naked idris elba, which i’ve been thinking about nonstop for the past 3 hours

dude was completely naked i really thought i was gonna see idris elba dick for a few horrifying seconds

the entire cinema reacted. people were laughing. people were crying, multiple people loudly said “what the fuck”

none of the other cats’ fur was the same colour as their skin, and none of their bodies were so tightly contoured that you could see their actual body. unfortunately, idris elba did not get to experience this dignity.

this was the point where i actually started crying and i don’t think i’ve fully stopped.

i think enough has been said about the cat-human abominations against god but somehow that wasn’t the only animation crime

the cgi outside of the cat-human hybrids was terrible! during bustopher jones some cats pour some wine in james corden’s mouth and it didn’t even look vaguely realistic. victoria does some really impressive ballet (big kudos to francesca hayward!) but she does pointe and rather than just let her have ballet shoes for the scene, like they did with the random hip hop cats, they cgi-ed feet onto her which was done so poorly that it didn’t even look like she was touching the ground for half of it. ears clipped through hats. tails clipped through arms. there was better cgi in spy kids.

speaking of limbs, the hands. the feet were jarring enough, they had human feet with human toes but they were at least appropriately coloured, but they just straight up had their human hands.

there were multiple serious scenes with jennifer hudson that i couldn’t take seriously because she was just covered in snot thanks to crying every time she was onscreen

the alternating between cat attributes and human attributes was really disturbing. they had human hands but ian mckellen licked water out of a bowl. they alternated between walking on two and four legs but at one point jennifer hudson just dropped to the ground and crawled away like a baby. i thought judi dench was about to kiss mr mistoffelees at one point

some plot points are just never explained like. at all. i went in knowing a little bit about the plot but i didn’t know the cats could do magic and it’s never explained!

sometimes idris elba just turns cats into dust! mr mistoffelees makes shit float! idris elba teleports! he’s naked and teleporting and it’s never actually explained!

judi dench sings at the camera for like 5 minutes at the end while three of the other cats react to what she’s saying and it activated my fight or flight response. i couldn’t hold eye contact

i don’t know why DAME judi dench and SIR ian mckellen did this to themselves. idris elba too. i have too much respect for them and i can’t reconcile that in my brain

despite being a main character, munkustrap’s name is not mentioned once and it wasn’t until i was looking into the stage musical to see if i was right and it’s better that i found out what his name was. before that i was just calling him “the MAIN CHARACTER without a NAME” to my girlfriend, who also saw it with me

the people sitting in front of us were very clearly experiencing the same emotions that we were

people clapped when it finished, and not in a good way. everyone around us was either in a state of shock or loudly asking what the fuck that was and why it was so bad

jennifer hudson being sent away in an unexplained hot air balloon to go perish in the sun is exactly how i felt at the end of the film

all of that being said, it wasn’t entirely horrid. it doesn’t translate well at all from stage to screen and making it like a regular hollywood film rather than a pro-shot type thing was bound to go poorly from the start because it doesn’t seem like the sort of musical you can do that with, unlike stuff like les mis or hairspray.

there were a handful of scenes that were okay onscreen:

mungojerrie and rumpleteazer, other than the bit with the cutlery from the trailer, was fun and really well performed

 skimbleshanks’ song absolutely slapped and the dancing was impressive even if it suffered from cgi once again. also skimbleshanks was like. bizarrely sexy. and once again that was a tom hooper choice and not from the original musical so i have no clue where that came from

mr mistoffelees was good! he was by far the least bad looking of the characters and his song was entertaining!

the non-stunt cast performers were impressive and i’m sad they wasted their talents in this piece of shit film

all in all i don’t think i could watch it again without getting very, very drunk. i personally am banning tom hooper from making any more musical movies until he repents for his sins. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[joannevixxon]

Love Comes At A Cost

An Elsamaren fanfic by JoanneVixxon on AO3.

Summary:

The Fifth Spirit is one of many myths that came to life. And, not all myths are meant to be saviours in times of woe.

Just as Arendelle welcomes Queen Anna into her reign, the Northuldra wade through their newfound freedom under the protection of their Snow Queen, Elsa. Unbeknownst to them, lurking behind shadows awaits a monster whose anger finds peace in the demise of others. Together, Elsa, Honeymaren, Anna and Kristoff must save Arendelle and Northuldra from prophetic destruction.

Meanwhile, Elsa and Honeymaren come to terms with their mutual attraction— as terrifying as it is exciting.

Preview: "How ever cold a fortitude of silence Elsa bore, it melted, came undone at the seams, shed its mask of immaculate armour, once Elsa leaned forwards to rest her elbows languidly against the railing, as if to ask for back rubs instead. Like a steed to its master, the Queen of Ice and Snow bowed her head ever so slightly to her Northuldra companion."

Chapter 1: Anna’s Astute Mind

Queen Anna of Arendelle had the likeable disposition of a puppy in summer. Her entire existence seemed to premise upon her providence of love and warmth, even when they were aplenty under the radiant sun.

She was fiercely loyal to companions, deft in maintaining her optimism through thick and thin, steadfast in altruistic commitments, to name a few of her many virtuous attributes. She carried herself like a fountain whose liquid provided welcomed relief to parched birds, except with Anna, she did it through sheer benevolence.

Fine, indeed, her feisty obstinacy prevailed at times, be it within the confines of council rooms or private quarters, patiently endured by royal advisors and Kristoff alike. But, it was Anna’s astute mind that allowed her to suspect that some volatile anxiety had been brewing amongst the spirits.

A gust of wind had been bellowing through her study every afternoon. Her fireplace had flickered pink time and time again. A distorted neigh echoed in her ears at every casual passing by the fjord. And, worst of all, she had been tripping over plain flat soil more in the past week than she had in a lifetime! That’s a lot of bruised knees, stained dresses and dismayed grumbles coming from the castle staff!

Maybe, it was just that— coincidences, or Arendelle’s weather throwing a temper tantrum (of its own accord, this time).

Or maybe, it was the spirits.

Maybe… It was Elsa.

It all happened during the second game night of January—the month following Elsa’s 26th birthday.

The sun of late had been setting at five in the evenings, painting the dinner table a warm cozy fuschia against the backdrop of a white crisp winter. Clanking away with their forks and knives were Anna, Kristoff and Olaf, joined by Elsa and Honeymaren.

This wasn’t the first time that Elsa had been accompanied by Northuldra guests, but it did strike Anna by surprise when she found the blonde descending Nokk at the docks with none other than Honeymaren.

Upon the touch of Elsa’s delicate fingers on her forearm, Honeymaren wore a courteous smile and said to Anna, simply, as though hoping not to invite any further query, “Ryder had to attend to private matters,”

The food was scrumptious that night, wine all the better. Anna’s keen gaze couldn’t help but linger at Elsa as she restrained herself from sipping a second glass. One may compare her sister nowadays to spirits and deities, but she was no god of alcohol. Mild intoxication alone was enough to convince Elsa that sauntering on rooftops was as safe as belting hymns, the prospect of death put aside altogether as myth.

“How’s Northuldra?” asked Kristoff, mouth chock-full of braised salmon. “Anna and I have been wanting to pay everyone a visit,”

“If my schedule allows it...” Anna chimed in, sighing. “Seriously, Elsa, how did you do it? We were able to share tea dates while you were Queen, and I’m struggling with...” A hand gesticulated in the air, as if to conjure words with magic. “...struggling with small things, like menus for dignitary lunches, village tours, picking dresses!”

Elsa stifled a giggle. “Northuldra’s fine, Kristoff. Thanks for asking. And, those aren’t small things at all, Anna,” Proving to everyone that she remained a stickler for manners, Elsa dabbed her lips lightly with the hem of her napkin before speaking any further. “Remember, I was eighteen when I ascended the throne. I had barely turned a new chapter into adulthood, let alone prepared myself enough to serve as sovereign, or be of age for coronation. Every single little thing was as daunting as it could have been…”

Catching sight of her reflection on the impeccably clean wine glass, she looked up at Anna and gave her the tenderest of smiles. “Dipping a pen to write letters was as scary as negotiating trade deals with kings of neighbouring states, likewise with picking dresses or menus for dignitary lunches. It’s all new to you, Anna. Give it time. I’m sure you’d find yourself comfortably acquainted with your role much quicker than I ever did,”

“You’re right. A-At least, I hope so,” replied Anna, fumbling with her hands. Her eyes frantically surveyed the room for a comfortable point of fixation. “I mean, it’s only been half a year. I shouldn’t expect to conduct myself as effectively as you did when it probably, no, definitely, totally, took years of practice on your end, I imagine,”

Elsa smile grew even wider. Having just endured being the subject of a portrait painting, Anna was dressed in full regalia that night, with her velvet train whipping in the wind and tiara twinkling lustrously under candlelight. But Elsa saw the same sprightly kid with pig-tails as she peered into the teal eyes of her younger sister—now Queen and no longer a Princess. “Yup, years of practice,” said Elsa, before adding, “You don’t have to reign as I did, Anna. Please, conduct yourself as you see fit. You are your own person after all,”

“Well, y-yeah, of course,” said Anna, returning the smile. “But there’s nothing wrong with—I mean—it’s recommended to follow in the footsteps of my predecessors, right?”

Pursing her lips, Elsa swirled her wine as though to exude an air of nonchalance, before, to everyone’s surprise, imbibing the wine all in one gulp. Anna felt her voice hitch. That must’ve scorched her sister’s throat for sure. It was far from difficult to notice the reddish hue that crept up to her sister’s porcelain cheeks.

Upon the loud creak of doors opening by the far end of the Great Hall, Kai stepped in to announce that dessert was ready to be served. Over citrus palate cleansers and parfait, Honeymaren endeavoured through the flurry of questions of which Olaf had a curiously endless supply.

“What are your thoughts on pranks?” asked Olaf, at one point.

“Pranks?” Honeymaren cocked her head. “Fun, in moderation,”

“Fantastic!” The three short twigs that sat atop Olaf’s crown gave the faintest quiver. “With an ample amount of time on my hands, I can afford to entertain my personal interests,”

“Like… planning pranks?” asked Honeymaren, brows furrowed. The royal family of Arendelle defied convention, but a snowman taking stock of ideas in horseplay was new terrain.

“Yes, pay attention,” snapped Olaf. “I recently made a list of pranks that I thought might be fun to try with a close companion of yours,” Honeymaren and Elsa shared a nervous glance. Bringing a twiggy palm to his forehead, Olaf heaved a theatrical sigh, “No, not Elsa. Nokk ,”

At that response, the four adults shared an exclamation of surprise.

“Oh, good!” continued Olaf, smiling. “I see my suggestion is already garnering desired effects! You see, I read that potassium explodes upon contact with water—”

“O-Olaf!” stuttered Anna loudly. “That’s a fantastic idea! I’m sure we’d like to hear all about it tomorrow morning. Didn’t you say something about, um, saving good stuff for later makes you feel happier, more excited, or something—?”

“Oh, why yes, Anna! How can I forget: greater satisfaction as a result of greater delays in gratification! An excellent suggestion. In that case,—” Olaf winked. “—I’ll save it for later,”

“Good!” Anna’s eyes sparkled, as she turned to face everyone else. “Who’s up for games?”

———

Games could not have come sooner.

Sitting still was never Anna’s best pursuits, let alone standing statuesque in full regalia with an orb and scepter in hand for a portrait painting. It took a painstaking two hours, enough for the newly anointed queen’s mind to wander from the colour scheme of bed sheets to apocalyptic war.

Rubbing salt to Anna’s wounds, the court painter then had the audacity to take a photograph as reference for his final touches— “Live painting still carries the best merit, ma’am,” he had said with his nose pointed up to the ceiling. Had Kristoff been elsewhere, the court painter would have met Anna’s fists shortly before being delivered to the doorsteps of his Maker.

Anna’s arms were itching to flail about. Her foot tapped impatiently against the timber as she gawkily handed her dress to her lady-in-waiting and fumbled to wear her nightgown, first inside-out, then backwards, and finally, as it should be worn.

Striding out in haste, Anna’s hair remained tightly wound in a singular bun, as had been the tradition with queens of Arendelle. But upon the doors to her study, Anna found herself nearing a dither.

Frantically, she ruffled her hair into loose locks.

Her heart had once beat aflutter when Elsa stared at Anna, as though to find their mother somewhere behind the fabric of her younger sister’s regal mien. “Mother’s gone,” Elsa had mumbled pensively, before realising what had tumbled out of her lips. “I’m sorry, i-it’s just… the resemblance is uncanny,”

“Anna?”

Returning to present time, Anna turned to find Elsa and Honeymaren jogging down the hallway in their nightgowns. “Oh,” said Anna, mustering composure. “That’s unlike you to be late—”

Elsa pulled Anna into a tight embrace without a moment to spare. “I’m actually excited,” she whispered, pulling away. “I’ve been practicing with Honey,”

“She has,” Honeymaren nodded over Elsa’s shoulder. “Though, there remains room for improvement,”

“Just last night you said I was excellent,” Tapping playfully on Honeymaren’s shoulder, Elsa turned the door handle with an adroit twist of the hand as she had done countless times before as queen, and held the door with a smile.

It must have taken Anna a full moment to realise that Honeymaren had been standing abreast, giving her the courtesy to enter first. Anna stumbled into the study. Every piece of furniture was in its rightful place— the sofa was riveted in the center, curtains drawn, paintings of her Father’s and Elsa’s coronation hung behind looming shadows— and yet, the expanse of the room felt foreign.

Anna suddenly blurted, “You two...were talking about charades, yeah?”

Her words hung in the air for a moment too long, waiting to be plucked as prophecy. Elsa darted a look at Honeymaren, before her nimble fingers started fiddling with loose strands of hair. “What did you think we were talking about?”

Anna shrugged, blushing. “Nothing... I-I don’t know. Never mind me,”

———

The midnight chime of the old grandfather clock came sooner than expected. Kristoff announced that he best retired to bed or he’d slip into slumber right then on the sofa.

“Just admit it,” said Anna. “You don’t want to clean up the mess you’ve made,” She pointed at the litter of paper on the floor. Kristoff could only offer a yawn in response, before racing out of the room with Olaf.

“Boys,” said Honeymaren. Raking in a load of paper balls with her hands, she piled them up into an idle bucket sitting dangerously close to the hearth. Its once blazing wood had now reduced to crackling embers, dimming the study down to the haze of blue moonlight.

“Thanks, Honeymaren,”

“I’ll put out the fire,”

“Oh, no, actually, don’t… It’s a bit cold...” Anna paused, trembling at the sudden chill that trickled down her spine. As she wrapped her arms around her middle, Anna’s eyes trailed around the room, tracing the familiar figure of a certain quiet someone. Sure enough, standing in solitude on the balcony was Elsa. Her loose blonde locks and purple satin dress fluttered in the strong breeze that drifted its way into the room, threading along curtains, lapping against carpets, hushing cinders to the lullaby of distant tides.

Without so much as a pardon, Honeymaren ambled towards the windows left ajar, making her presence known to Elsa by placing a tender hand squarely against the small of her bare back. Anna watched that very hand falter in its attempt to provide comfort, as it trembled to give gentle pats. Yet, how ever cold a fortitude of silence Elsa bore, it melted, came undone at the seams, shed its mask of immaculate armour, once Elsa leaned forwards to rest her elbows languidly against the railing, as if to ask for back rubs instead. Like a steed to its master, the Queen of Ice and Snow bowed her head ever so slightly to her Northuldra companion.

The whistle of the breeze lulled, leaving Anna in the placidness of stale office air. Quietly, Anna joined them, smiling appreciatively at Honeymaren’s warm nod of encouragement.

“Elsa?” said Anna. “Is everything alright?”

Elsa seemed transfixed at the undulating ridges of mountains, which caressed the heavens as much as it dived into the earth behind the town’s lofty roofs and spires. She turned to Anna, with a smile stretching across quivering lips. “My favourite view of Arendelle,” she said in faint whispers.

Catching Honeymaren’s averting gaze, Anna sensed that her sister meant to say something else.

———

Anna tossed and turned in bed at the break of dawn, begging herself to catch a few more minutes of sleep before Gerda would come knocking at her door. But, her attention seemed to have overstayed its welcome in the deepest recesses of her mind, hitched against some dark suspicion that her sister was shackled again by an old habit of hers—keeping secrets, namely ones that bode misfortune.

Elsa had three years following their parents’ departure to break to her sister that she possessed magic, but chose not to until she had casted Arendelle into winter. She had weeks to tell her family about hearing a voice, but chose not to until Arendelle had nearly crumbled into the earth. Elsa was never irresponsible, however, far from it. Quite simply, she was often paralysed by fear, and would care less about herself than to worry the people she loved about problems beyond her control. Anna learned that she needed to entice her sister into conversation, remind her of the unceasing support she had, or suffer the consequences.

It didn’t help that the chilly breeze of last night had invited itself into Anna’s bed. Getting up meant falling prey to shivers—all the more reason to stay warm under quilted sheets.

Just as Anna’s eyes fluttered shut, a loud bolt of footsteps trailed outside her room, dying down as quick as it came. Anna jolted upright.

“Gerda?” called Anna, breathless. Quickly, she tumbled out of bed. Opening the door just enough to pop her head out, she looked left and right to find the hallway properly deserted. “I must’ve been dreaming...,”

Convinced that the rush of adrenaline would have done little to allow for more snoozes, Anna decided to officially start her day. Game nights this past year were usually followed by a day off for Anna and Elsa to catch up, over tea cakes, horse rides, picnics, village tours, anything. This time, however, as Gerda had been sympathetic to remind the young queen, the governor of Jorgenfjord had requested an urgent audience with her for that morning. Replacing a sister bonding session with a meeting was the last of Anna’s desires. But, the least she could do for Elsa was to lend her ears, be a shoulder to cry on, to support however she can, before rushing into the first task of the day.

Dress neatly donned, hair tightly wound in a bun, Anna made her way to Elsa’s room. As with all monarchs following their coronation, Anna moved into her parents’ room, which had been Elsa’s until she abdicated. So, quite simply, Elsa was forced to return to her childhood room.

Anna rapped a familiar tune on her sister’s door, before rubbing her cold hands together.

No response.

“Elsa?” called Anna, knocking again. “I’m sorry if it’s a bit early. Wait, actually, this should be past your usual waking time, unless you’ve gotten lazy in the forest! Hah! Can’t blame you. I-I’d do the same. I can tell you that this is definitely not my usual waking time, though. Still isn’t! At least not for another year! Way too early. Anyway, Elsa, like I said yesterday, I have to attend an early meeting. Before you go for your walk around town, I’d really, um, appreciate it, if we can talk. Talk? That sounds too serious. I-I just want to have a little chat , really, that’s all.”

Anna bit her lip and clasped her hands tighter, hoping to squeeze some warmth into her palms. The permeating silence became indicative of another failed attempt to elicit a response. Taking a deep breath, Anna opened the door to peek inside, to check if Elsa had, for the first time in forever, overslept. To her surprise, the room was empty—so empty, in fact, that the stack of towels and fruits that Gerda had placed carefully on the bed seemed completely untouched.

Anna blinked, confused.

“Anna?” croaked a voice from behind.

Anna turned to find Elsa walking down the hallway in her white dress, rubbing circles into her eyes. “Elsa! Good morning,”

“Good morning,”

“I-I was knocking on your door but…”

Elsa halted beside her sister, squinting at the familiar row of snowflakes that adorned her white door. “...but what, Anna?”

“Elsa, did you… come from Honeymaren’s room?”

Elsa nodded. “Yeah?”

Anna’s eyes widened, sparkling. The redhead opened her mouth to scream but frantic hands clasped it shut. The epiphany slammed into her like a hustling reindeer, jamming all colours of emotions into her core, waiting to burst into shrieks of rainbows.

She and Kristoff had a fair share of amorous intrigues before their engagement— hiking up trails, serenades in stables, rowing in the great expanse of Arendelle’s fjords, sneaking into the castle just before her quiet disappearance caught the attention of her sister. This, with Elsa, was similar. She knew all too well.

Elsa looked concerned. “Anna, what’s wrong?” She placed a hand on Anna’s forehead. Anna shuddered at the touch and flinched away. “O-oh, I’m so sorry, Anna. Was it cold?”

“Elsa!” exclaimed Anna in hushed whispers, rounding her sister towards the windows. “This makes so much sense. I knew it! Something was bothering you!”

Shoulders arched, Elsa fidgeted with the hem of her sheer cape. “Y-you do?” said Elsa to Anna’s back. “Oh, Anna. I was actually planning to tell you last night with—“

“—Honeymaren!” yelled Anna, barely containing her excitement as she saw the confused young Northuldra approaching the two sisters. Anna dashed to Honeymaren’s side, tugged her by the wrist and nudged her towards Elsa. “I know, Elsa, I know. First, you didn’t bring Ryder because you didn’t want me to get confused,”

Elsa and Honeymaren shot a flabbergasted look at the redhead. “Wait, what?” queried Elsa, brows furrowed.

“During dinner, when I talked about following in your footsteps, you gulped down that glass of wine like it was coffee because, hah, I’m with Kristoff! Of course , I don’t swing in the other direction,”

“Anna—“

“And, oh, seriously, Elsa? I thought you were good with subtlety but I stand corrected. ‘Just last night you said I was excellent’ ? You really think I can believe you guys when you say it was about ‘charades’ ?” Anna winked.

Elsa and Honeymaren were now as red as berries, realising what Anna had meant. “A-Anna,” started Elsa. “You got it all wro—“

“Last night! At the balcony! You wanted to say it to me. You wanted to announce that you and Honeymaren are in love!” At this point, Elsa nearly ducked behind Honeymaren—god forbid anyone saw in her furiously blushing state. “But you couldn’t, so you talked about the view! And Honeymaren—“ The Northuldra turned to look at Anna but her gaze seemed to have pierced right through Anna’s body and out the window. “—Oh, Honeymaren, the way you rubbed Elsa’s back, how intimate, how romantic ,” Anna glanced at her old room, whose amenities were meant to extend to Honeymaren alone. “And now, you two are sharing a bed —”

“Y-Your Majesty—“ stammered Honeymaren.

“Say no more,” responded Anna, bringing a finger to her lips. “You have my blessing,”

Feeling a tug on her dress, Honeymaren found Elsa crouching by her feet, bringing her knees to her chest. Ice fractals crackled beneath her soles. “Elsa,” whispered Honeymaren. “I thought you were planning to tell her—“

“Oh, why, yes, of course!” gasped Anna. “You’re absolutely right, Elsa. It’s like I never learn. I take it back. I don’t give you two my blessing. You have to court each other, for at least three years like Kristoff and I, before you could even think about something as huge as marriage,”

As Honeymaren and Elsa stared blankly into space, the breeze outside howled louder and louder, whistling through the cracks of windows, rustling through scraggy trees. Either Gale, the Wind Spirit, was thoughtful enough to spare them the pain of listening to their own thoughts, or Gale was having the cackle of a lifetime.

“Your Majesty,” called Gerda from afar. She took a few quick steps towards the three young women before giving a deep curtsy. “Your Royal Highness,” She bowed her head at Elsa, and turned back to Anna. “Your meeting, ma’am. It starts in ten minutes,”

Anna wrenched Elsa by the arm, forcing her up her feet, and gave Elsa and Honeymaren a hug that squeezed all the air out of their lungs. “That’s my cue! I love you! See you for lunch!”

With the click of her heels, the young queen was off to the council room. Gerda followed closely behind but darted a concerned look at Elsa. In all her years of taking care of Elsa, she had never seen the blonde so pink.

———

Anna was practically hopping to the council room when Lieutenant Mattias came to her visual periphery with a steaming mug in his grip. He extended a polite hand, halting the young queen in her tracks.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing his head. “Would you like a cup of hot chocolate milk?”

“Why yes!” said Anna, accepting the mug. “Did you make this specially for me?”

“No, ma’am. There was a surplus in the kitchen,” Mattias responded. He shifted his weight and crossed his arms, waiting for the young queen to take a couple sips. His voice quieted down to a whisper. “The kitchen staff said that Honeymaren requested for two cups of hot chocolate at 5 in the morning. She was as pale as a ghost, they said,”

Anna nearly spewed milk at Mattias’ face. “Wait, what?”

“Ma’am,” continued Mattias, looking around. “It is not my intention to startle you before your meeting but I think it best to know if anything had gone amiss. I can help you… check on things while you attend the council meeting,”

Anna nodded slowly. “Oh… Okay…?”

“Did Elsa say or do anything that struck you as… strange or peculiar?”

Anna took a step back, her stomach tightening. “No, I mean…S-She seemed nervous and preoccupied, b-but—” Anna shook her head. “Nothing too suspicious. What’s wrong?”

“Several guards with clandestine posts have just reported to me that she had been in Arendelle for at least one day before she arrived in this castle yesterday,” replied Mattias, wearing the most empathetic look he could muster for the young queen. “She was first spotted northeast of the castle, in the forest, which I believe you would know to be—“

“—close to the Valley of the Living Rocks. The trolls...,” said Anna, brows furrowing.

“Yes, ma’am,” responded Mattias. He hunched forward to whisper further into Anna’s ear. “The same day, she was spotted in Jorgenfjord, whose governor, you are about to meet in five minutes,”

Anna paused. Tears formed at the rim of her eyes, as her breaths grew shallow. Elsa was keeping secrets from her. All those letters they wrote to each other and Elsa had chosen not to mention a single hitch. Anna felt the hollows of her chest kindle with fire, its cavities ignited with a fury that wanted burn every morsel of her sister’s failure once more to deliver promises of honest disclosure— promises to never shut each other out again.

The thing is, Elsa did express her intention of confidence. Just that, Anna hadn’t given Elsa the chance to even catch her breath this morning.

Anna stood in silence.

It was her fault.

Elsa wanted to talk, but Anna didn’t make it clear that she was ready to listen.

“Mattias,” sputtered Anna. “I-I don’t know what all of this means. For all we know, she was just giving Honeymaren a tour around Arendelle! But... I know one thing for certain. Elsa would only request for hot chocolate at that hour if she had a nightmare. A bad one. She started getting them before our journey to Northuldra,” Anna paused. “I need you to go into my old room—the one with crocuses on its door—and check for any sign of Elsa having blasted ice in the room,” Anna gulped her chocolate milk down. “And send for royal guards to follow her. Discreetly. Keep her safe,”

Mattias simply nodded, motioning for the queen to wipe the chocolate moustache off her lips.

As Anna steeled herself and entered the council room, Mattias dashed to Anna’s old room, wondering why Elsa had swapped rooms with Honeymaren. He entered to find the room clean and dry. Either the maids had done an impeccable job of discarding any evidence to suggest that Elsa froze the room or Elsa had gotten better at thawing every last snowflake.

Mattias had barely touched the door handle to make his exit, when a bowl of fruits on the mantelpiece caught his eye— what a curious place to put a fruit bowl. He approached it, and picked up an apple. It seemed badly bruised, as if it had been tossed to the ground and trampled by the hooves of a stampede. Squeezing it slowly, the apple molded into the wrinkles of his fist, smushed into gooey pulp.  

“You can’t find ice that has been properly thawed,” Mattias mused to himself. “But you can find the effects it’s left behind,”

———

A/N: I’VE NOT WRITTEN SOMETHING THIS SERIOUS IN 4 YEARS???? Please spare me

[faunusrights]

Before The Dawn -- Preview Thoughts (ahoy rwde)

So if you didn’t know (or didn’t see [or didn’t hear {or are living the life of blissful ignorance that I, for one, wish I had}]), a preview for the next CFVY-centric novel, Before The Dawn, came out! It’s the sequel to After The Fall, which I liveblogged a while back and generally like… was ambivalent about. Some of it was okay. Other parts were weird. Some bits just plain bonkers. But whatever!

Well, a part of this preview also happened to contain a flashback of Velvet and her father, and I really wanna extrapolate on some reasons this has me bewildered and frightened for my wellbeing! Because what the fuck! Anyway, goes without saying this post contains spoilers for six pages or so of Before The Dawn, but I can’t imagine anyone really cares about spoilers? Probably? Anyway.

(A small aside: I’m not crazy interested in engaging in, like, any debate over anything I’ve put here. This is just a write-up of conversations I’ve already covered with other people for the sake of quick linkage, and not a bright flare arc of ‘somebody come debate this’. If you like what the book says: fine! I don’t. Let’s leave it there, kiddos.)

So, I’m opening this with a disclaimer: many people know I have some hefty headcanons for Velvet’s parents, and I wanna just make it, like, excruciatingly clear: never, at any one point, did I think my headcanons or my AUs or what-have-you would ever become anything even vaguely close to canon. I knew a day would come in which what I’d filled in would come to have canonical content (or, rather, I’d hoped they’d not touch Velvet with a ten-foot pole and I’d never get disproven), and that this was inevitable. Canon and I aren’t on speaking terms, and that’s okay! I didn’t want, nor expect, nor imagined, my stuff becoming canon. So everything I’m about to say isn’t a case of my headcanons were superior or I wish they’d done what I did. What I wanna talk about is how… bad the canon we got, is. Got it? Good.

The preview doesn’t grant me page numbers so I’m unsure exactly where we are in the book, but that prooooobably doesn’t matter so much as the content of the section I’m talking about, but anyway; somewhere in this book is a 6-page section of a flashback Velvet has of talking to her father, as well as some Velvet and Scarlatina family lore. Can I even call it lore? Probably not. But it’s there and it’s real, and I wanna just dissect it for a moment by covering the main points from this excerpt, in no real order, with no input on my half, just facts:

Velvet’s father is an Atlesian engineer.

He works for/under/with Ironwood.

Velvet’s own skills as an inventor and engineer stem directly from him.

His work in Atlas has divided the family, because Velvet’s mum hates that he prizes his work over his family.

Velvet has always wanted to go to Atlas as it’s the tech capital of Remnant.

Velvet’s father doesn’t see her often and that causes some strife.

Her father’s name is Will Scarlatina.

Her mother’s name is Meg Scarlatina.

These are probably our main points to cover, and I’m gonna go over ‘em probably in this order since this is more or less how the excerpt presents them. So let’s take it from the top.

1. Velvet’s father is an Atlesian engineer.

WOW what a start. What a START!!! So, someone pointed out to me that this definitely implies he’s a human, which has some in-text proof that I’ll show a little later in point three, but my god what a. bold beginning. Yes. That said, this point only gets egregious a little later down the line, so let’s hop to point two.

2. He works for/under/with Ironwood.

Okay, so, again. I don’t plan nor intend for my headcanons to become canon in any capacity… but GOD do I hate how we have someone else tied up to Ironwood in some way. This man pulls all the strings, and it seems like nobody can do anything science-y or invent-y without it getting all wrapped up with Ironwood, what gives? Also, probably further proof that Will here is a human, though I’m ready to be wrong. I SURE HOPE I AM. Either way, with Velvet being a Faunus and Will potentially being/having married a Faunus, this slaps in all the bad ways. Can we stop that? Right now? Thanks.

3. Velvet’s own skills as an inventor and engineer stem directly from him.

SO THIS WAS MY FIRST STICKING POINT. The way I explained this was that, in some ways, some people are just like their parents (I sure am in a lot of ways!) and others are totally UNLIKE their parents (such as a lot of my friends!), but it really bothers me that RT looked at Velvet, who they decided was a very competent inventor and creator, and said well, she must’ve gotten it from somewhere! No way she did that all by herself! Let’s have this masculine figure in her life be the reason she’s Like That!

You can say I’m maybe over-exaggerating and, hey, maybe I am. But I really hate stories when a person’s skill is attributed directly towards someone else as if they have no autonomy to learn things on their own. Wouldn’t it have been cooler to have had Velvet strike out and make use of a skill that she developed with the help of friends and family? Who weren’t responsible for this skill, but aided her improvement? It’s real annoying that they decided she’s basically a clone of her father, which is supported by that in-text quotation I mentioned:

“She might have her mother’s ears, but she was her father’s daughter.”

So, first off: what the fuck. Secondly: ?????? Thirdly: so I think this is proof towards Will not being a Faunus, since the reference to ears is so pointed, but GOD I HATE THAT WHOLE IMPLICATION? People aren’t always little mini-clones of their parents, and something really bothers me about a daughter being Just Like Her Dad. It smacks all wrong, and maybe it’s ‘cause I have my vision of the Scarlatinas being so matriarchal and all but it bothers me one hell of a lot. Jesus.

4. His work in Atlas has divided the family, because Velvet’s mum hates that he prizes his work over his family.

/deep breath

Okay. Again, not tryna inflict my own headcanons on this. But are we really gonna play ball with yet another heterosexual marriage on the rocks because the man of the house prizes his job over his family? Really? Really? That’s what we’re being given, hot and fresh, off the printer? Really?

I’m just. Deeply disappointed that this is the angle we’re getting here. Like… right now, the ONE family we’ve got with their braincells in a row is, like, the Belladonnas, and yet we can’t get ONE other out here??? Not one??? The hets, they’re at it again! And I just. It would be SO easy to toss in some good queer content with these flashbacks and we’re just Not getting it. I don’t know why, I shouldn’t have to wonder why, but this is that, I guess.

5. Velvet has always wanted to go to Atlas as it’s the tech capital of Remnant.

HAS SHE THOUGH… REALLY? We’re really gonna say the Faunus who canonically got bullied in Vale and like, is visibly concerned about asshole humans being assholes, wanted to go to Atlas? Asshole human capital city? Are we positive? ‘Cause I, for one, ain’t. Tech is everywhere! You can study and deconstruct and pick apart and invent shit anywhere on the planet! Why would Velvet put herself at such risk just to see the equivalent of Silicon Valley dipshits engage in a circlejerk?

6. Velvet’s father doesn’t see her often and that causes some strife.

Here’s a slice of in-text dialogue to chew on:

“Just another way I’ve disappointed you, huh?” he said.

“Dad. No!” Velvet paused. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she didn’t have much to follow that up with, nothing that would convince him, anyway. It was hard to argue with the truth.

Now, small tangent: if you’ve read, or seen, any of my writing on Arslan-as-Sienna’s-offspring AU (which is [are] good AU[s] and general idea[s] you should read my content on the matter), then you’ll know I hate the trope in which a parent who does wrong by a kid, then expects that kid to apologise in order to make themself behave better. For instance: kid has an absent parent. Kid apologises profusely to the parent in hopes they’ll come home and be more present in their life. Parent feels bad, and does that, validating the kid’s belief that they needed to apologise to get their parent to come home. It’s a garbage trope and a dangerous one, because you don’t have to apologise for someone else hurting you. Full stop.

So imagine my surprise to see the same thing happen here! What’s this guilt-tripping? What’s this weird focus on Velvet when he’s the one not coming home? As soon as I read this line, it felt skeevy, it is skeevy. I hate it. I am brimming with hatred. Why do this? Why bother? Why does she need this drama? Jesus christ.

Next two points are a two-in-one:

7. Her father’s name is Will Scarlatina. 8. Her mother’s name is Meg Scarlatina.

WHAT? WHAT??????????? HUH????????????????????????

Okay, I know this seems like a bizarre thing to latch onto when there’s already so much fucked up here, but huh?????? These are the names? You chose? Will and Meg??????????????????? Never mind that they do NOT flow into their surnames at all (Meg Scarlatina????????????????????), but also the fact that Meg makes me think of Family Guy (which is something I NEVER want to think about, thanks,) just makes this a fuckin’ TRIAL of pain for me. Will and Meg???????

Did they pick up a phonebook — or, like, an online one — and grab the first two names they saw? Did they get a dartboard and put on a blindfold and launch darts across the room? Was this a socially-distanced[1] conference call gone wrong? I’m BEWILDERED. I learnt these names from someone posting about it in my discord chat, and I thought it was them telling a shit joke to try and piss me off. Are we really serious?

And to me, the name thing really epitomises this whole section. These names — that don’t fit well, that don’t really make sense with the whole colour-name lore, that don’t sound like they should be within a 20-mile radius of RWBY canon — are like the excerpt itself: bonkers. Bonkers bananas. Where every page brings in a new and unprecedented level of huh???????? that I JUST can’t get over.

Now, again. I don’t want my take on Velvet’s parents to be canon. No, really, I’m gonna use them for an original fic, RT don’t touch them they’re mine and they’re going to be in a novel. A series, even. It may even be erotica! But that’s neither here nor there; when I made Ash and Taffeta, I spent a lot of time reverse-engineering (my brand of) Velvet to put the pieces together. How did she grow up to be who she is now? What influences did she have? What examples did her parents set? What were her family like, and how did she take that upbringing forwards? And I spent a lot of time thinking about who they were, the environment they fostered, and I spent so many hours googling names it doesn’t even bear thinking about. Point being: I put a lot of time and energy and love into the Scarlatina family because I wanted, so badly, to have a family people could be, well, jealous of! A family so big-hearted and kind and full of love and furious compassion that you couldn’t help but wanna be there.

To me, this… take. This version of Velvet’s parents being peddled as canon is just so… unreal. Never mind that it’s been so many years since Velvet was unveiled, so many years people have developed headcanons of their own that, honestly, at this point, why bother? But it’s so frustrating to have taken time to make a queer family built on the solarpunk and socialist and eco-friendly and green-thinking and sustainable ways of being to then have canon turn around and say, okay, what if her dad’s a bootlicker, Velvet’s a mini clone of him, and the marriage Velvet’s parents have is on the rocks due to a trope older than time itself! Why? Why bother? What can this possibly add?

I’m not mad that what I wanted isn’t canon. I’m mad that what canon has given is so… lackluster. So boring. So unoriginal. I feel like I’ve read this story a thousand times, but it would have been so easy to make something so much richer with just a smidgen of effort on everyone’s parts. I expect so little from canon and I’m still let down. This is somehow worse than anything I expected canon to pull. It’s wild. What a bonkers series of choices to make.

[1] I know that most of this book would’ve been planned/written before lockdown, but please bear with the joke.

[inspirationdivine]

And Cut! || Lydia, Simon, Winston

Timing: Thursday afternoon

Parties: @inspirationdivine, @inconvenientsimonstrocity, @danetobelieve

Summary: Winston has a possible solution to Lydia and Simon’s sticky problem

Lydia paced backwards and forwards in the living room, her heels clicking on the wooden forward. She’d started when Winston had messaged them, and had barely even spoken to Simon in the interim time, except to tell him that they were going to solve this, tonight. She could hardly wait. The doorbell rang, and Lydia jumped, looking to Simon with an inconsiderate eagerness. “They’re here. “ She barely waited for him to begin moving with her before she darted to the front door excitedly. The door swung open so fast it rattled on its hinges. Lydia clasped her hands. “Come in, come in. What have you found?”

Winston was glad that they had taken Natalia’s offer on working at Castillo’s Crafts. It gave them access to resources that they would’ve previously never dreamed of and more importantly it gave them the ability to act when they needed to. “Oh hi Lydia, nice to see you too, yes I did come with a solution to your problem,” Winston raised an eyebrow and shook their head in exasperation, “do you want me to just tell you or should I tell the person you’re also bound to, that seems pretty fair.” The stress of the whole third eye situation had proven pretty overwhelming and it was nice to have a distraction of some kind. The air between the two of them was filled with an unnecessary tension as Lydia and Simon waited for Winston to arrive; suffice to say, she was a lot more high-strung about this than he was as she paced around. He attributed it to his being a calmer person altogether. When the doorbell rang and she looked to him expectantly, he got to his feet in a manner he hoped was quick enough for her and she virtually pulled him to the door in her excitement. Fortunately, it seemed Lydia had the conversation under control though he easily remembered Winston from their incident in the Morgue and he gave a small wave with an equally-small smile.

Lydia pursed her lips, nonplussed. She was hardly apologetic for skipping right past the small talk. Stepping aside to let them through, she looked back at Simon with a small shrug. “I am not so interested in you telling us as I am in you doing it. Do you need a work surface? We can use my work stations, my kitchen counter, or we could go outside if you prefer it.” 

Spotting Simon, Winston couldn’t help their bemused smile and wave in their direction. “It’s Simon?” they asked somewhat surprised. Quite the unlikely duo. Looking around, Winston frowned and nodded. “I need to assemble a few things and then we can cast the shape of the scissors, fortunately we won’t have to melt anything.” Luce wasn’t here to be a human furnace this time. “Do you have like a garage or somewhere you don’t mind us making a bit of a mess in?” Adjusting their glasses, Winston shrugged the bag into a more comfortable position and looked at Simon. “So, how did this happen?” Though he was literally strung along for the ride, Simon felt the need to speak up at Winston’s request. “Uh, sorry for… asking but--” He cleared his throat and scratched his neck. “Oh, um… We walked past each other then we suddenly couldn’t.” He felt like he should’ve gone into greater detail but that was exactly how it happened how he recalled it and there wasn’t anything else TO mention. “We’d only ever talked once before, and it was online.” He looked at Winston as he explained, hoping they would be able to tell that he wasn’t withholding any information from them.

“Yes, the pottery room,” Lydia said, leading them both to another side of the house that she hadn’t taken Simon to before, this time on the ground floor. It was a converted garage, effectively, with carefully crafted ventilation system to accommodate the huge kiln. “It’s rather frustrating. It was like we were lassoed together by something, like we stepped onto a trap or something.”

“The pottery room?” Winston couldn’t judge too hard, Ricky had set up a workshop that was essentially his own personal sculpting studio. “Oh, so, that’s kind of weird, usually these things don’t happen spontaneously, I didn’t find a bunch of info on that but I guess it would be worth a second look if you want to know how this all happened, guess it doesn’t change anything”. Following Lydia through to the pottery room, they nodded and began unpacking their bags. Pulling out a large vial of a silvery liquid, a mould for scissors, a number of powders and other such similar items that you’d expect to see in your standard fantasy kit. “Okay, I need water and I need like a hook or something because these are going to literally be invisible and although I’ve got something in mind to help, probably a good idea we keep it on one thing.” Simon was good at definitely good at keeping up with Lydia at this point though he had to admit, it was a little unusual for her to be so quick about her movements this time. He understood, of course but he still found himself curious when she took them to yet another room he hadn’t seen before… it was like one big surprise box sometimes. He paid attention to everything Winston said though he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering and he took small steps here and there to observe the area, glancing over at Lydia when they asked for the few things they needed - he hadn’t been there before, obviously, so he didn’t know where anything was or what he was allowed to touch.

“I certainly hope that doesn’t change whether the scissors work or not,” Lydia replied, raising a sharp eye brow. Although she knew Winston didn’t immediately know the answer for that. Lydia watched him unpack anxiously, bouncing her knee until Winston asked for things. Lydia picked up a nearby bucket and handed it to Simon. “The sink’s over there, if you don’t mind. There’s a hook in this cupboard, I’ll grab it.” Just about nine feet apart. Perfect. 

“I’m not exactly an expert, so I guess we’ll just have to try and hope for the best.” Winston didn’t really see any alternative and it wasn’t as if this could end them up with any additional body parts that they may or may not have full time. “Simon, grab me the water please, I’ve got to start mixing this stuff together.” Their hands were already unscrewing caps, popping corks and mixing together various ingredients. They crushed some brightly coloured minerals into a fine powder, adding it to the silver liquid which was actually mercury. This was apparently a recipe for quicksilver which they would then enchant. “Lydia can you please measure out three tablespoons of sulphur, two teaspoons of salt peter and 100 ml of the mercury.” Winston nodded towards a small ring of kitchen measuring spoons. They’d changed everything to cooking weights, it was easier. 

Once he had the bucket and was told what to do, Simon acted accordingly, making sure not to pull on their bond too much to reach for the faucet to retrieve the bucket of water - there was a little bit of stretching involved. As the water filled the bucket, he listened to the ingredients Winston was naming off and he found himself more curious, forcing himself to ask questions as the room filled with unpleasant noises and scents; was magic something that you had to have proficiency for? Could you learn through hard work and patience? When were the scissors going to turn invisible? Was that part the magic part? He kept his questions to himself and took the now-full bucket of water over to the intern, offering it out to them in such a manner that they could take it whenever they were ready for it.

Setting the hook in front of Winston, Lydia watched them beginning to arrange their ingredients. Pots scraped against the stained work surface, sending shivers down her spine. The popped bottles had a pungent aroma and Lydia’s lip curled when Winston asked her to handle Sulfur. She worked carefully and diligently, scraping the heaped teaspoons of salt Peter perfectly flat, before leaving the ingredients for Winston to handle it. “What else can I do?”

“So, now we just mix everything together, Simon will add the water, you can add the mercury and I’ll add the dry ingredients. We’ve just got to pour slowly and stir it all together and then we set it.” Winston was glad that there wasn’t an extensive and gruelling forging process here. Winston set about pouring the ingredients together and the mixture. Once everything was ready they poured it into the pre-prepared mould and looked at them. “I need to enchant this obviously, but it’s going to be draining, with your consent, I’d like to use your energy as well to do it properly, I don’t want to make a mistake.” Like passing out. He wasn’t about to say ‘sounds simple enough’ but Simon continued to do what he was told, waiting for the correct prompts before adding the water. He did, however, feel his eyebrow raise at the mention of ‘using energy’ and though part of him thought he should’ve kept quiet as he had been the entirety of this exchange so far, he felt the need to ask. “Sorry, dumb question but… what’s this about ‘using your energy”?” He wasn’t particularly worried about the concept - he’d be happy to help in whatever way he could - but he was curious about how that was going to go. Was Winston talking about HIS energy? BOTH their energy? Lydia knew magic… her energy specifically?

All at once, Lydia’s eagerness dropped like a brick to the floor, scowling. Impetuous little human. Always asking for more, like all humans She grit her teeth together, her eyes meeting Simon’s searchingly. “You wouldn’t take more than you needed, would you?” She asked Winston, but she was still looking at Simon. Perhaps properly for the first time since Winston had arrived. “Spellcaster bodies don’t always have the strength to tame the magic they use.” They are only human, after all. “I would also like to know precisely what you mean, though.”

“Magic takes up energy, if I cast a spell that lifts something that’s a hundred kilos then I’d feel it, it would take a toll on me. It burns calories, leaves you feeling exhausted and tired.” Winston shrugged. “I wouldn’t have anywhere to put the energy if I did take more then the spell required, you don’t need to worry about it.” Winston looked at them. “We’re going to place an enchantment on the scissors, that requires a fair amount of energy, I’ll be the focus and actually cast the spell, but you’ll assist.”

Perhaps Simon was just being dumb that day or perhaps somethng else was weighing on his mind more but he wasn’t quite grasping the concepts that were being laid out in front of him. So Winston could just… siphon energy from them? He wanted to ask but instead, he just gave a small shake of his head accompanied with a shrug. “Do what you have to do,” He responded. “I have energy to spare.” He wasn’t lying - even though the moon was new, he realised he was still a reservoir of adrenaline just waiting to kickstart.

“Whatever it takes.” If this worked, after all, Lydia had living, breathing energy stores of her own walking around upstairs. She stepped to stand beside Winston. Her wings shifted under her glamour, briefly causing the gentlest breeze around them. Whatever it would take to be free again.

“Give me your hands,” Winston instructed as they reached out and gestured for them to take their hands in their own. Stretching out for them, Winston began the ritual enchantment. Latin words spilled forth and they could feel the energy siphon from themselves and the others as they offered it forth. Winston watched as the mould shimmered and the liquid inside began to gradually fade away. Sweat beaded their brow as they completed their work. “Should be ready now, if you want to carefully pick it up. But don’t drop it because finding it again will be beyond difficult.” Simon offered his hand obediently, a flash of doubt crossing his mind that they were about to do something illegal - he’d only seen magic used once before and he was still finding remnants of that fight while he cleaned the morgue, it seemed like. The latin wasn’t entirely helping but he held still, deciding to keep his eyes on the tool that was being enchanted before them, remaining vigilant even after the scissors turned invisible. He exhaled when Winston finished, almost feeling as though he had run up a flight of stairs. “That’s it?” He asked, not out of dismissal but affirmation.

Lydia nearly dropped to her knees when the drain came. The strangest thing - it was something she’d felt before, in a dozen different people. It wasn’t through a hand but a kiss, fed side by side with the creative burst. She’d felt this a thousand times in the hearts of the humans she kept, and the way they’d sagged in her arms after. The thought churned her stomach, for all the wrong reasons. 

 Lydia looked at Simon, then Winston, and carefully reached into the scissor mould. Her fingers touched cool metal, drawing a gasp of air out of her. “They’re here!” She gasped, and picked them up. It was strange to see her flesh contort to squeeze around thin air, but Lydia would rather feel them tightly in her than drop them and risk losing them forever. She walked backwards, until the bond tightened around her belly. No point getting excited yet, she thought, looking Simon in the eyes as she held up the invisible scissors and snipped them in the air between them. 

Nothing changed. The tension was still taut around her belly. “No, come on,” Lydia whined, snipping it again, and again, her lips curling down in disappointment as nothing changed. Nothing changed! Lydia was almost at the point of throwing the scissors in contempt when something snagged. It pulled her forwards, just for a second, and then the tension vanished.  Lydia stumbled back, her mouth gaping right open. 

Bemused, Winston watched their handiwork. Watching Lydia apparently snip at the open air was something to say the least, but the way that she held the scissors was more then enough to convince Winston that they were doing what they were meant to. She seemed frustrated and then she cut through something and Winston exhaled. “So it worked?” The werewolf watched carefully as Lydia collected the scissors, invisible though they were and Simon opted to stand as still and sturdily as he could while she tried to cut the line, which didn’t seem to work at first until it did and he felt as though a belt had fallen from around his waist. He glanced down, then at the distance between himself and Lydia… then took a generous, slow step backwards, finding that he was able to do so. Nora was right; invisible scissors worked and the bond had been successfully severed. “I believe it did,” He remarked mildly before giving a single clap. “Splendid job, Winston! Brilliantly done.”

“That’s absurd,” Lydia breathed, watching Simon step away from her. It had been what, nearly ten days? Ten days where they couldn’t even stand that far apart. Twelve feet now, and when Lydia took another step, it was one the same size as Simon’s. Thirteen feet. There was barely space in the room to contain her excitement, as she walked back to the table and carefully set the scissors back in the mold. Or she tried to - these things were far from simple. “Human magic makes no sense whatsoever. I am incredibly grateful, Winston. If you give me your bank information I will repay you as you deserve.” Lydia bounced her leg, looking from one to the other, wondering how quickly she could push the both of them out of her home. 

Raising an eyebrow, Winston shrugged. “Magic is … magic I guess.” They reached out their bandaged hand (after all they didn’t want people to see the weird eyelid on it) and carefully scooped up the scissors, placing it on the hook before attaching the hook to a string and beginning to carefully place it into a cloth bag. “I’m going to keep this if that’s cool, unless one of you want it.” Winston wasn’t sure what they would need invisible scissors for but just in case right. “But, you don’t have to … should I be getting people to pay me for this?” Winston frowned, they’d never really thought about it. “Maybe you could just owe me one? I’m not sure what the going rate is...” Winston shrugged. “Cool, Simon, you want a lift somewhere or you gonna stick around for a bit?” Though he could virtually sense the excitement radiating off of Lydia as the latter stepped further and further away, Simon felt decidedly… different. He glanced between Lydia to Winston and gave a noncommittal shrug, acting almost as if he hadn’t been tethered to the woman in the first place. “You know what they say about being good at something and not doing it for free,” He mentioned, turning to give Lydia an unintentionally decisive look. “N-no, I’m… yeah, I could use a lift,” He spoke to Winston as he looked at the Fae, long, almost longingly but covering it with kindness before it lingered too long. “Thank you for your patience throughout this ordeal,” He gave her a small nod accompanied with a vague smile. “I’ll, uh… get out of your space now.” And that was it; he backed away slowly towards the door, turning his head to face Winston now as he waited for them to depart with him.

“By all means, please do keep it,” Lydia said. “I have little use for something I can’t see, normally.” She looked to Winston, and nodded. “You should be repaid justly for your work.” That, and Lydia would rather not owe another human a favour. Her eyes drifted to their bandaged hand, and back to them. “I will pay you significantly above whatever the going rate is. Money is not a concern.” At Winston’s question, Lydia felt a chill run down her spine, looking to Simon expectantly. The last thing she wanted was for him to linger, and that was as clear on her face as the longing was on his. “I would be very grateful if you could. It has been lovely getting to know you, but if I saw you again within the week it would be too soon.”

Nodding gently, Winston quickly gathered their things up, packing everything away as efficiently as they possibly could. “Okay, I’ll send you my details when I get home and you can decide the price.” Winston had never really thought that this was something that they could just do and get paid for. Maybe they would have to start looking at doing more of this, a little more money wouldn’t hurt and it had kept them from worrying about the nightmare visions. “I’ll let you name a price or we can discuss it later,” they turned to Simon as they shouldered their rucksack and headed towards the door, calling over their shoulder to Lydia. “Let me know if you get tied to someone else in the future, I’ll see if I can help again.” As they stepped into the sunlight, they turned to Simon. “Where do you want to go dude?” Simon saw Lydia’s expression out of his peripheral vision and he blinked after a pause, shaking his head and focusing on Winston. “Uh, just-- home’s fine. I’ll tell you how to get there.” He put his hands in his pockets, his own expression plaintive as he looked to the ground in submission once more. Home… it might be nice, maybe.

[theredscreech]

Grammar Tips That Are Actually Useful

Hey, everybody!

So I’ve been doing some major fanfic reading and I got to say how much I love being in my fandoms right now. There’s so much going on. So much to read, so much to favourite and follow, so much to comment on...

Now, I know that grammar PSAs can be pretty boring and likely to be scrolled past, but I really hope you give this one a chance because writers need to know this stuff. So allow me to present to you two grammar points that I’ve noticed are very common errors.

Point #1: The Masculine-Feminine Homophones.

These little guys are words that sound exactly the same when spoken but are spelt differently because of the gender of the person they describe.

For example: blonde.

I see this word over and over and over again, often attributed to our dear Captain America, Steve Rogers.

Dearest writers, this is wrong, unless you’re writing Steve as a trans woman or genderbent, in which case please move along to the next point.

That little ‘e’ on the end signifies femininity in the word (yes, this does exist in language). This means that if we want to describe Steve Rogers as a man with blond hair (hair itself won’t have the ‘e’ either), we drop that ‘e’.

• Steve Rogers is (a) blond. • Blond-haired Steve Rogers. • Mr. Perfect Blond Steve Rogers. • That blond.

Same goes for this word:

• Brunette (feminine noun) • Brunet (masculine noun)

The thing with brunet is that you don’t typically use it in the -haired phrase. While we can have blond-haired, red-haired or black-haired, brunet can’t be used this way. Here’s why: blond, red and black are listed as actual colours - this is why ‘the woman is blond-haired’ doesn’t have that e, because we’re describing the hair, not the woman. Brunet, however, is not a colour. Brown is. You can say brown-haired, but you can’t say brunet-haired. It sounds weird, doesn’t it? So we don’t say and we don’t write it.

Okay?

Okay.

There’s also this one:

• confidant (masculine noun) • confidante (feminine noun)

This word is tricky because it’s not the same as confident (this word (an adjective) meaning someone has confidence in something/someone). Confidant(e) is a person someone can confide in, typically a best friend, spouse, or beloved sibling, etc. Pets can be confidants, too!

So you can say that Steve and Bucky are confidants. You can also say that Pepper is Tony’s confidante. You can also say that Pepper is a confident confidante, but that sounds silly, although not necessarily incorrect.

Point #2: Punctuation - The Vocative Comma

Dun dun duuuuunn!!

This is a serious pet peeve of mine, when writers mess up with this little guy. It’s super easy to miss or misunderstand, and I understand that, but ignorance is not always bliss, so let’s learn why the vocative comma is so important.

Consider the following sentence:

• Natasha sit down.

Now this can be read in a couple of ways. First, is that the writer missed the ‘s’ in sit (making it the present tense) and the sentence should be ‘Natasha sits down’. Or the writer missed the vocative comma, making the sentence this: Natasha, sit down.

That little comma separates the full sentence of ‘sit down’ and to whom the sentence is being addressed (ie. Natasha). Whenever someone is being addressed (talked to, commanded, etc.) by name or title (doctor, ma’am, sir, kiddo), this comma must be there. No exceptions.

Here are some more correct examples:

•    Dr. Banner, is that beaker smoking? •    Come on, Peter! Live a little! •    You need to eat something, kiddo. •    If you have any concerns, sir, be aware that I don’t care. •    If you, sir, have any concerns, be aware that I don’t care.

See what I did there? It’s the same sentence, but I moved the ‘sir’ (the person being addressed). Depending on what I want the speaking character to say and how to say it, I can move the ‘sir’ around. The second one sounds a little more condescending, doesn’t it? And I don’t have to add italics on ‘sir’ for emphasis because its placement does it for me.

The thing with names and titles is that you can stick them just about anywhere in the sentence.

Like so (sir is emboldened for easier reading)

• Sir, if you have any concerns, be aware that I don’t care. • If, sir, you have any concerns, be aware that I don’t care. • If you, sir, have any concerns, be aware that I don’t care. • If you have any concerns, sir, be aware that I don’t care. • If you have any concerns, be aware, sir, that I don’t care. • If you have any concerns, be aware that I don’t care, sir.

There’s also this one (though there’s no vocative comma): • If you have any concerns, be aware that I don’t care. Sir.

Punctuation is so important. That last sentence means that the speaker tacked on ‘sir’ at the end as an afterthought. You can explain that as a dialogue tag (“.... Sir,” he added spitefully/as an afterthought/snidely/sneeringly/whatever you want), or not because readers can infer a lot from how you place punctuation.

Vocative commas. Very annoying but very important.

Well, I think that’s about it for this go-round (because this is getting hecka long). If you think of grammar or punctuation you’re not sure about or are struggling with, don’t hesitate to drop me an ask.

You can also check out RavenshellRorschach on DeviantArt. She’s got a journal series called Beta-Bitching, and she has almost 20 entries, all related to grammar.

Here’s the link to the first one: https://www.deviantart.com/ravenshellrorschach/journal/Beta-Bitching-1-Getting-the-Lead-Out-632684741

Thanks for reading and happy writing!

[thsmrphia]

。・ * 🍃  I  AM  THE  SON  AND  THE  HEIR  OF  NOTHING  IN  PARTICULAR   /    𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯  𝔭𝔯𝔲𝔦𝔱𝔱  ..  𝔞𝔫 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔡𝔲𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

✓ ryder mclaughlin. ( cis male / he/him ). — hey, isn’t that nestor pruitt ? they’ve supposedly been in town for three years , but that’s less interesting than the rumor going around that they’re twenty-one and a halfblood who has been claimed by apollo . i suppose it’s good that they’re so empathetic and gregarious trait. it balances out their taciturn and aloof behavior. which explains why their fatal flaw is low self-esteem. they’re siding with the gods. ╰ sneaking off to watch the sunset on the beach & the feeling of a bassline and kick drum in your chest .

FULL NAME : nestor alexander pruitt NICKNAME(S) : nes , nest , tori , pru AGE : twenty - one  DATE OF BIRTH : 7 june 1999 BIRTHPLACE : new york , california .. lived in san francisco GENDER : cis - male ( he / him ) HEIGHT : 5′9 HAIR COLOUR : dirty blonde , sometimes dyed  EYE COLOUR : a grey - ish blue - green / hazel   ORIENTATION : pansexual LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN : english , japanese , spanish , ancient greek , latin  ALLIGNMENT : the gods 

GROWING UP , nestor was always drawn to the arts .. he’d started a handful of garage bands , done school musicals , taken as many art classes as possible in school . his mother was a curator for a museum and was always painting and sculpting in her free time , music always playing around the house . it’s all nestor’s ever known and he’s got both parents to blame , though he doesn’t mind much .

besides the arts , however , nestor was drawn to skating and learning new languages from a young age .. the language thing was because his mom made him learn spanish from one of those rosetta stone - type things when he was a kid , but also because she spoke several because it helped with her job and nestor picked up on bits and pieces of french and italian , though took japanese in high school , already knowing what he thought was enough spanish . the skateboarding thing he got from some older boys at school , one of which ended up being the satyr who eventually guided him to hythe . 

despite loving languages so much , nestor hated to read . probably because he liked the details of the pictures in books .. he liked how both were works of art and how they worked together . that being said , nestor grew to love comic books and graphic novels , collecting too many to count . 

nestor lived his life before hythe in a surprising silence .. no major attacks from monsters , at least none he could remember , though looking back , he vaguely remembers a few close calls . life for the pruitts was just filled with art and sunshine .

☀️🎶🍃

IT WASN’T UNTIL his eighteenth birthday that nestor was guided to hythe .. just months before he was supposed to start college . though nestor didn’t really mind .. he didn’t even have any actual plans for college anyways . he thought about majoring in music , but always underestimated his own talents . that is , until being claimed by the god of music himself . accepting that he might actually have a natural talent for music because of his dad was probably the easiest thing to accept . well , that and how he’s never really broken any bones or sustained any real injuries despite all of his skating tumbles and collisions . must have something to do with apollo also being the god of healing . they had more in common than nestor liked to admit or could even see -- nestor wrote enough poems and songs to fill thousands of notebooks , though he never seemed to fill any up .. he had a knack for giving advice .. people were drawn to him .

however , nestor always kept to himself .. he saw himself as quiet and unapproachable , he envied the sun and its warmth and how it attracted everyone . he spends his free time basking in the warm rays , hoping that somehow he’d soak up its attributes and become more like it . 

some days , he hated his dad .. he hated he wasn’t him .. he longed to be more like him in every way , except one . because apollo is the god of diseases and plagues , nestor sometimes thought that was what he radiated rather than the essence of healing and light .. he thought it explained his dark eyes and he never saw himself as a golden beam of light like apollo 

☀️🎶🍃

LOW SELF - ESTEEM will be his downfall . lacking confidence in himself .. stuck in his own negative thoughts .. being hard on himself .. not accepting all that makes him great and being blind to all of it .

☀️🎶🍃

WANTED CONNECTIONS ...

a best friend ?? maybe someone kinda the opposite of him ?

sibling - like friendships ?

maybe he can teach ur muse some artsy stuff idk 

im blanking gimme everything

[k-llama-llama]

Down

TXT AU: 6th member

Sara x TXT

Sara has an incident backstage, forcing the boys to step into her role.

A/N: Thanks to the requester! Hope you all enjoy this!

Requests are Open! Submit them! I need them!

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“Good job guys!” Soobin clapped as they walked off the set. They’d just finished another set of interviews, and all of them were exhausted.

Sara walked over to the cooler, pulling the five water bottles inside out. She quickly passed them out to the boys.

“You need one,” Beomgyu said. “Is there only five?”

Sara shook her head. “I’m not that thirsty. Can I just have a sip of yours?”

He rolled his eyes and handed her the bottle. She took a small sip and handed it back. She’d been feeling off all day, really ever since she’d woken up. The one bite of a granola bar she’d had for breakfast wasn’t close to a full meal, but it was all she’d been able to stomach. And after a full day of promotions, her legs felt like jelly and her head was pounding.

Recognizing that she should eat something, she wandered over to where Taehyun was standing, by the snack table.

“Are you going to eat something, Noona?” He asked without looking up. “We didn’t have time for lunch so I’m starving.”

“I’m not actually hungry.” She replied. “I’m-”

Her vision blurred, the vegetable tray going out of focus. Everything seemed to sway around her.

“Tae?” Was all she managed to say before her vision went dark.

It happened too fast for him to realize. One second she was talking, and the next she had slumped over onto the snack table. He realized what happened and barely managed to catch her before she slid down to the floor.

“Soo-ji?” He called her name, but her head just fell limp against his leg. “Noona!”

“What happened?” Beomgyu was the closest, putting down his bottle of water and rushing over.

“She just fainted.” Taehyun exclaimed. “Get some help!”

He took off down the hall, looking for a staff member or a manager, but they all seemed to be hiding.

“Where are you going?” Soobin called as he passed the other three boys.

“Soo-ji fainted!” He exclaimed, continuing on without another word.

“What?” Yeonjun took off down the hall, back towards the refreshment room that Beomgyu had come from. Soobin and Kai raced after him.

They found Taehyun kneeling next to Soo-ji, who wasn’t moving and was lying limp on the floor.

“What happened?” Soobin demanded, rushing over and kneeling on her other side.

“She was fine!” Taehyun exclaimed. “She just dropped into the table. I barely caught her. But she isn’t waking up.”

“Did she hit her head at all?” Yeonjun gently tilted her head. “Is she hurt?”

Taehyun shook his head. “I think she’s okay, but she isn’t waking up.” He looked like he was going to cry.

“Why would she have fainted?” Soobin wondered aloud. “She’s done the exact same stuff as us all day.”

“She wasn’t feeling good this morning.” Kai offered. They turned to him, where he was sitting by her feet and not even attempting to hide the couple of tears that had slipped down his face. “Could it be that?”

“But she ate breakfast and everything.”

“She made breakfast.” Yeonjun corrected. “None of us saw her eat anything.”

Soobin’s eyes widened in realization. “She didn’t - Where’s Beomgyu with some help?”

There was a sharp intake of breath and Sara’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked weakly.

“Why am I on the floor?”

“You fainted.” Yeonjun exclaimed.

“Oh.” She tried to push herself up. 

“Stay down.” Soobin gently pushed her shoulder to hold her down. “You aren’t okay. You’re still pale.”

“I don’t want to be on the floor.” She mumbled.

“The couch.” Kai suggested. “Let’s put her there.”

Soobin sighed. “Soo-ji, just relax, okay? We’re going to put you on the couch.”

She nodded weakly, looking like she was already losing awareness.

Yeonjun and Soobin pulled her up, carrying her easily over to the couch. Thank goodness she was so much smaller then them; it made her easy to carry and she could lay down fully on the couch.

Kai sat himself on the floor by her head, insisting that he would keep her from falling.

“Where’s Beomgyu.” Soobin demanded. “We need some help.”

“Eat this, Noona.” Kai held up a grape that he’d grabbed from the snack table.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t feel good.”

“This will make you feel better.” He promised, looking relieved when she accepted the grape and chewed on it thoughtfully.

“In here.” The door opened and Beomgyu stepped through, leading one of their managers. “She was- oh she’s on the couch.”

“What happened?” Their manager demanded.

“She fainted.” Taehyun explained. “She didn’t hit her head or anything, but she fell really fast.”

“She’s awake now, and Kai got her to eat a little bit.” Soobin offered.

“Can you sit up?” The manager asked Sara.

She nodded weakly, trying to push herself up. Taehyun perched himself on the armrest of the couch, pulling her up so that she could lean into his side. The colour was returning to her cheeks, but she was still obviously very weak.

“How do you feel?” The manager asked her.

She swallowed. “I feel better. I’m ready to go.”

Soobin snorted. “You are not walking out of here.”

“No, you’re not.” The manager agreed. “Should we call an ambulance?”

“No!” Sara exclaimed. “I’m fine, really.”

Kai raised his hand shyly. “We can help her out. No one needs to know that there’s anything wrong.”

Sara nodded enthusiastically, ignoring how that movement seemed to rattle her brains. “See, they can help me.” There was nothing she hated more than being the centre of attention.

“We’ll take you to one of the company medics.” The manager relented. “As long as we can get you out of here safely.”

“I’ll carry her.” Soobin offered. “We’ll be fine.”

The manager looked skeptical. “Get ready to go. We don’t have time to waste.”

Sara’s backpack was placed on her back and she tried to push herself to her feet.

“Get on my back.” Soobin knelt with his back to her. “You can’t walk.”

“That’ll be weird.” She protested. “I don’t want to make you carry me.”

“You basically weight the same amount as my backpack.” He reasoned. “And who says it’s weird to carry your friends around. Just smile and no one will think anything is wrong.”

“If you say so.” She climbed onto his back. He boosted her up easily, and then they were off, with Taehyun grabbing Soobin’s bag. 

Sara leaned her forehead against his shoulder, trying to breathe some of the fogginess from her mind. 

“Are you okay?” He squeezed her leg.

“I’m fine.” She replied.

“You don’t have to lie to me.” He whispered. “Just wait until we get home, okay, then you can rest and eat something.”

Sara nodded. “I’m sorry about this.”

“You aren’t allowed to be sorry.” He replied. “You’ve taken care of us enough times, let us return the favour.”

“Okay. I’ll make something to eat and go right to bed.”

“No.” He scolded as they approached the doors. “We’ll make you some toast or something and you’ll go right to bed.”

“Mmm...but I don’t like burnt toast.” She smiled into his shoulder.

“I can make toast, thank you very much.” He boosted her up again. “Now, smile, and then we’ll go get you some delicious toast.”

Sara sat up a bit straighter, forcing a smile onto her face and hoping fans would attribute the pale colour of her face to makeup. “Let’s go.”

Yeonjun walked up beside them, rubbing Sara’s back lightly. “I got you, bro. We’re going to run out and buy you some food as soon as we’re back.”

Sara laughed. “So no burnt toast?”

Yeonjun winked. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Yah, I love her too, you know.” Soobin glared at him. “I’m literally carrying her right now.”

“And I’m making sure she doesn’t starve.” Yeonjun replied. “Team effort.”

[arcticdementor]

There’s no nice way to say this: a certain subset of (mostly) white people have lost their minds online. These people wake up to a vast insurrection crossing all racial and national boundaries – and contrive to make this all about themselves. Their affects, their unconsciouses, their moral worthiness. How can I be Not Complicit? How can I be a Better Ally? How do I stop benefiting from white supremacy in my daily life? How do I rid myself of all the bad affects and attitudes? Can I purify my soul in the smelter of a burning police precinct? Occasional ratissages out into mainstream culture (we’re decolonising the Bon Appétit test kitchen!), but mostly what this uprising calls for is an extended bout of navel-gazing. Really get in there, get deep in that clammy lint-filled hole, push one finger into the wound of your separation from the primordial world, and never stop wriggling. Maybe there’s a switch, buried just below the knot, and if you trip it your body will open up like a David Cronenberg nightmare to reveal all its greasy secrets to your eyes. Interrogate yourself! Always yourself, swim deep in the filth of yourself. The world is on fire – but are my hands clean? People are dying – but how can I scrub this ghastly whiteness off my skin?

You could set aside the psychosexual madness of this stuff, maybe, if it actually worked. It does not work. It achieves nothing and helps nobody. Karen and Barbara Fields: ‘Racism is not an emotion or state of mind, such as intolerance, bigotry, hatred, or malevolence. If it were that, it would easily be overwhelmed; most people mean well, most of the time, and in any case are usually busy pursuing other purposes. Racism is first and foremost a social practice.’ Social practices must be confronted on the level of the social. But for people who don’t want to change anything on the level of the social, there’s the Implicit Associations Test. This is the great technological triumph of what passes for anti-racist ideology: sit in front of your computer for a few minutes, click on some buttons, and you can get a number value on exactly how racist you are. Educators and politicians love this thing. Wheel it into offices. Listen up, guys, your boss just wants to take a quick peek into your unconscious mind, just to see how racist you are. How could anyone object to something like that?

…

See, for instance, the form letters: How To Talk To Your Black Friends Right Now. Because I refuse to be told I can’t ever empathise with a black person, I try to imagine what it would be like to receive one of these. Say there’s been a synagogue shooting, or a bunch of swastikas spraypainted in Willesden Jewish Cemetery. Say someone set off a bomb inside Panzer’s in St John’s Wood – and then one of my goy friends sends me something like this:

Hey Sam – I can never understand how you feel right now, but I’m committed to doing the work both personally and in my community to make this world safer for you and for Jewish people everywhere. From the Babylonian Captivity to the Holocaust to today, my people have done reprehensible things to yours – and while my privilege will never let me share your experience, I want you to know that you’re supported right now. I see you. I hear you. I stand with the Jewish community, because you matter. Please give me your PayPal so I can buy you a bagel or some schamltz herring, or some of those little twisty pastries you people like.

How would I respond? I think I would never want to see or hear from this person again. If I saw them in the street, I would spit in their face, covid be damned. I would curse their descendants with an ancient cackling Yiddish curse. These days, I try to choose my actual friends wisely. Most of them tend to engage me with a constant low level of jocular antisemitic micoaggressions, because these things are funny and not particularly serious. But if one of my friends genuinely couldn’t see me past the Jew, and couldn’t see our friendship past the Jewish Question, I would be mortified. Of course, it’s possible that the comparison doesn’t hold. Maybe there are millions of black people I don’t know who love being essentialised and condescended to, who are thrilled by the thought of being nothing more than a shuddering expendable rack for holding up their own skin. But I doubt it. Unless you want me to believe that black people inherently have less dignity than I do, this is an insult.

…

If you want to find the real secret of this stuff, look for the rules, the dos and don’ts, the Guides To Being A Better Ally that blob up everywhere like mushrooms on a rotting bough. You’ve seen them. And you’ve noticed, even if you don’t want to admit it, that these things are always contradictory:

DO the important work of interrogating your own biases and prejudices. DON’T obsess over your white guilt – this isn’t about you! DO use your white privilege as a shield by standing between black folx and the police. DON’T stand at the front of marches – it’s time for you to take a back seat. DO speak out against racism – never expect activists of colour to always perform the emotional labour. DON’T crowd the conversation with your voice – shut up, stay in your lane, and stick to signal boosting melanated voices. DO educate your white community by providing an example of white allyship. DON’T post selfies from a protest – our struggle isn’t a photo-op for riot tourists.

Žižek points out that the language of proverbial wisdom has no content. ‘If one says, “Forget about the afterlife, about the Elsewhere, seize the day, enjoy life fully here and now, it’s the only life you’ve got!” it sounds deep. If one says exactly the opposite (“Do not get trapped in the illusory and vain pleasures of earthly life; money, power, and passions are all destined to vanish into thin air – think about eternity!”), it also sounds deep.’ The same goes here. Whatever you say, it can still sound woke. Why?

…

This stuff is masochism, pleasure-seeking, full of erotic charge – and as Freud saw, the masochist’s desire is always primary and prior; it’s always the submissive partner who’s in charge of any relationship. Masochism is a technology of power. Setting the limits, defining the punishments they’d like to receive, dehumanising and instrumentalising the sadistic partner throughout. The sadist works to humiliate and degrade their partner, to make them feel something – everything for the other! And meanwhile, the masochist luxuriates in their own degradation – everything for myself! You’re just the robotic hand that hits me. When non-white people get involved in these discourses, they’re always at the mercy of their white audiences, the ones for whom they perform, the ones they titillate and entertain. A system for subjecting liberation movements to the fickle desires of the white bourgeoisie. Call it what it is. This is white supremacy; these scolding lists are white supremacist screeds.

But systems of white supremacy have never been in the interests of most whites (‘Labour cannot emancipate itself in the white skin when in the black it is branded’), and they have never really fostered any solidarity between whites. Look at the stories. I had a run-in with the police, you announce, and a black person might have died, but I’m fine, because I’m white. No – you’re fine because you’re white and rich. You’re fine because you look like someone who reviews cartoons for a dying online publication called The Daily Muffin, which is exactly what you are. Bald and covered in cat hair. Frameless glasses cutting a red wedge into the bridge of your nose. The white people who get gunned down by police don’t look like you. Their class position is stamped visibly on their face, and so is yours. And you’ve trained yourself to see any suffering they experience as nothing more than ugly Trump voters getting what they deserve.

Why aren’t there protests when a white person is murdered by police? Answer 1: because, as John Berger points out, ‘demonstrations are essentially urban in character.’ Native Americans are killed by cops at an even higher rate than black people, but this too tends to happen very far away from the cities and the cameras; it becomes invisible. Answer 2: because nobody cares about them. Not the right wing, who only pretend to care as a discursive gotcha when there’s a BLM protest. And definitely not you. Sectors of the white intelligentsia have spent the last decade trying to train you out of fellow-feeling. Cooley et al., 2019: learning about white privilege has no positive effect on empathy towards black people, but it is ‘associated with greater punishment/blame and fewer external attributions for a poor white person’s plight.’ A machine for turning nice socially-conscious liberals into callous free-market conservatives.

The rhetoric of privilege is a weapon, but it’s not pointed at actually (ie, financially) privileged white people. We get off lightly. All we have to do is reflect on our privilege, chase our dreamy reflections through an endlessly mirrored habitus – and that was already our favourite game. You might as well decide that the only cure for white privilege is ice cream. Working-class whites get no such luxuries. But as always, the real brunt falls on non-white people. What happens when you present inequality in terms of privileges bestowed on white people, rather than rights and dignity denied to non-white people? The situation of the oppressed becomes a natural base-state. You end up thinking some very strange things. A few years ago, I was once told that I could only think that the film Black Panther isn’t very good because of my white privilege. Apparently, black people are incapable of aesthetic discernment or critical thought. (Do I need to mention that the person who told me this was white as sin?) This framing is as racist as anything in Carlyle. It could only have been invented by a rich white person.

Give them their due; rich white people are great at inventing terrible new concepts. Look at what’s happening right now: they’re telling each other to read White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard For White People To Talk About Racism by Robin DiAngelo. You should never tell people to read White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard For White People To Talk About Racism by Robin DiAngelo – but we live in an evil world, and it’s stormed to the top of the Amazon bestsellers list. You maniacs, you psychopaths, look what you’ve done. I’m not saying people shouldn’t read the book – I read it, and I don’t get any special dispensations – but you should read it like Dianetics, like the doctrine of a strange and stupid cult.

…

The book is a thrill-ride along a well-paved highway – ‘powerful institutions are controlled by white people;’ true, accurate, well-observed – that quickly takes a dive off the nearest cliff – ‘therefore white people as a whole are in control of powerful institutions.’ Speak for yourself, lady! All a are b, DiAngelo brightly informs us, therefore all b must also be a. She doesn’t advocate for her understanding of the world, she simply assumes it. So it’s not a surprise that the real takeaway from White Fragility is that Robin DiAngelo is not very good at her job.

…

Imagine a devoted cultist of Tengrism, who sometimes gets invited by company bosses to harangue the workforce on how the universe is created by a pure snow-white goose flying over an endless ocean, and how if you don’t make the appropriate ritual honks to this cosmic goose you’re failing in your moral duty. But every time she gives this spiel, she always gets the same questions. Exactly how big is this goose? Surely the goose must have to land sometimes? Geese hatch in litters – what happened to the other goslings? Something must be wrong with these people. Why don’t they just accept the doctrine? Why do they hate the goose? We need a name for their sickness. Call it Goose Reluctance, and next time someone doesn’t jump to attention whenever you speak, you’ll know why. Of course, the comparison is unfair; ideas about eternal geese are beautiful, and DiAngelo’s are not. But the structure is the same. Could it be that Robin DiAngelo is a poor communicator selling a heap of worthless abstractions? No, it’s the workers who are wrong.

(By the way, how did you feel about that phrase, racial humility? I didn’t like it, but her book is full of similar formulations – she also wants us to ‘build our racial stamina’ and ‘attain racial knowledge.’ Now, maybe I’m an oversensitive kike, but I can’t encounter phrases like these and not hear others in the background. Racial spirit. Racial consciousness. Racial hygiene. And somewhere, not close but coming closer, the sound of goosestepping feet.)

I didn’t seek out any of the material I talk about here. It came to me. And it’s making me feel insane. The only social media I use these days is Instagram – because if I’m going to be hand-shaping orecchiette all night, and serving it with salsiccia, rapini, and my own home-pickled fennel, it’s not for my own pleasure, and I demand to receive a decent 12 to 15 likes for my efforts. (I will not be accepting your follow request.) A week ago, on the 2nd of June, my feed was suddenly swarming with white people posting blank black squares. People I’d never known to be remotely political, people whose introduction to politics was clearly coming through the deranged machine of social media. Apparently, that was ‘Blackout Tuesday.’ I don’t know whose clever idea this was, and I don’t want to know, but it came with a threat. If all your friends are posting the square, and you’re not, does it mean you simply don’t care enough about black lives? Around the same time, I was helpfully made aware of a viral Instagram album titled Why The Refusal To Post Online Is Often Inherently Racist. I honestly can’t imagine how terrifying it must be to live like this – always on edge, always trying to be Good, always trying to have your Goodness recognised by other people, in a game where the scores are tracked by what you post on the internet, and the rules are always changing.