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s0up1ta · 8 months

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OKAY FJRST. THE LITTLE DETAILS FROM THEIR CANON DESIGNS/YOUR PERSONAL DESIGNS BECAUSE THEY ARE CANON TO ME TO THE AU

not to be the chip guy but of course he comes first. chibos little beanie instead of the captains hat is SUCH a great touch !! the fact he still has his necklace and his long coat in a different more cover-up-slut approach makes me insaneeeee god he's so. Just like me frfr. you just drew me but if i had long hair and more bastard swagger that's so coolio bro what the freaksauce... ALSO keeping his belt and piercings make me to happy forever and ever but swagever ! Im normal ^_^ WAITTT also the "coverupslut" tits thing is really funny to me obviously he couldn't be walking around like that in the Real World because it's lame and doesn't support his transgender swagger but I really love how you kept his midriff and the teensiest tiniest little bit of a happy trail because he fucking WOULD wouldn't he. he WOULD fucking look like that. and !! speaking of speaking of that his black crop top thing works really well with both his style and his style of dancing which I think is so awesome sauce broski AND THE BLACK NAILS. THATS IMPORTANT can i get you to make something canon for me from one guy to another you're such a good friend and this isn't me buttering you up at all but on a totally separate note did you know you're hot and cool and all your art is amazing and you're talented and smart. could you make it so jay was the one to paint his nails and he complained forever and ever about it he wad so annoyed but he only complained more when the paint started chipping and he forced her to fix it. staring at you with autism eyes Btw

gillion design is so real forever and ever and I'm totally okay about it bro trust. absolutely LOVE the fact he kept his necklace too but instead it's framed as a gift from pretzel and made as a Kandi necklace :〕 it's so sick ANDDD THE WAY HE DRESSES !!! his baggy black tank-top and belt with the pants bro you Get It he fucking. Would look like that humanized wouldn't he. the bracelets and the also black nails (that. And Again, looking at you with begging and pleading autism eyes. jay probably had to act like she was just SO down to do and felt like it for funsies so she could teach pretzel when in reality chibo just begged her because he's a little bitch and really wanted to bond with gillion because he's an idiot and couldn't think of a better way. Also his paint was chipping and he was mildly annoyed) AND !! THE HAIRRRRR holy shit my friend tumblr user and mutual soup s0up1ta im losing my actual goddamn ever-loving mind over the way you drew his dyed hair it's so fucking pretty dude THE COLORRRRSSSSSS THE COLORS IM BEING POSSESED AND TAKEN AWAY. THE VIBRANCY SNATCHED MY SOUL AND GOT ME VAPORIZED LIKE IT WAS DAYBRINGER SOLOMON SAVE THE WORLD AND SUCK EACH OTHER VAMP4VAMP STYLE MY FINAL MESSAGE

Oh my god. And pretzel. soup im losing my fucking MINDDDDD over pretzel i know when you showed me the (theses aren't posted yet. i get to be in the Cool Exclusive Friend Club for. Asecond >:DDD) drawings of her with the biker helmet i lost my shit then but I need to lose it again. i lose that very frequently. The little patches in her jeans and clips in her messy hair and home-made bracelets covering every part of her body that they can and her big fluffy skirts that mimic her frogtopus arms that spread out and her overalls QND THAT ONE DRAWING. WHERE AHE IS PAINTING GILLIONS EYELINER ON IM. SOUP IM SHAKING YOU IM LOSING OT and also. Of course she would like bluey <3

Now onto the actual writing for just a second because I need to ramble on how well you fucking Captured the way it was written so perfectly because like. Holy fuck dude

Tigers being paired with you Definitely is the best possible outcome because you have created something for me to be Insane about. I could picture everything so vividly and i heard that one line where it was him going "I want you. I want you baby" and i just completely saw your drawing of them arms linked and extended and I lost my MINDD soup. spinning in circles and shimmying like a deep sea isopod ruffling up dirt on the seafloor look at me in my dead ass eye holes because i cannot express enough how much I love that. everything in this fic was pictured entirely in your style and I'm so fucking normal about that I promise. i LOVE seeing the little details you move from both cannon jrwi and your designs into the way they're drawing because, and I cannot stress this enough that this is a good thing, they all look like Them. normally with au's it's them slightly off or that's Them just in a different outfit but NOOO dude you got it so perfect. yeah that IS what they would look like that IS how they would dress and act and look and fucking DANCE bro 🗣🗣‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

and finally just wanted to say the writing is sosososo good forever and ever but that's exactly what I would expect from Tigers101 the fnc guy and chip kisser themself alright not surprised in the least. and with the art being as amazing at going with it not nearly surprised it's sof uckign awesome seeing you grow and get more talented as an artist because DUDE !!!!!! HOLY SHIT YOU HAVE GROWNNNN its so awesome man

anyway leave you with this image

because i saw the part where chibo blushed and I pictured him in your style and i nearly whisper-screamed faggot out loud before catching myself because I'm tired <3 thank you for being you and so rad and sweet forever and ever and making the sick ass cool ass shit that you do im sohyped and so happy everytime I get. A message or a tag from you because I KNOWWWWW it means I get something to feast apon and i love it so much. already said it once but it's so nice i say it twice suck each other vamp4vamp style and save da world. my final message

I AM FRAMING THIS AND HANGING IT ON MY WALL FOREVER THANK YOU SO MUCH DUDE AUDHJSJSJDKFBJS 😭😭💕💕💕

#designing them all was SO fun bro im really happy i was able to translate them well into a modern au :)#genuinely had a blast with the outfits and accessories and ESPECIALLY designing a human gill and pretzel #like keeping some of gill's features i got going on in my design like his nose and hair and the tattoos being the skin markings #AND PRETZEL AUFHHS #i wanted her hair to be like the tentacles and to translate that unhinged 8 year old energy (i would know- i have a sister who's nine)#like the first thing i thought of was ponyo and i ran with that #and the jewlery jehdjejrhjrhf the beaded bracelets and necklaces pretzel and gill wear #and chip's little axe earring being a little more subtle but There #also incredibly small detail but he's got a mole where his scar is in his canon design so thats neat #but YEAH working on this has been such a blast and you can SEE how much ive grown just in the span of the months this has been going on for #like the one with gill putting his hair up is one of the first ones i drew and the one with them dancing is the most recent one #im so happy with how this has turned out and very excited for you guys to see the upcoming chapters because WE'RE NOT DONE YET BOYS >:)))#genuinely such a cool thing ive been able to work on dude im really happy people like it :)#s0up1talks

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hazzasgayvodka · 4 years

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Panty Thief - Harry Styles

So this is kind of a trial run for this fic, I’m inclined to make this a series but I’m not sure how the response to it will be. I have lots of ideas for more parts to this but only if it’s what the people want haha. Here is my belated Valentine’s Day gift to all you lovelies I hope you enjoy this heavy daddy kink/dom harry fic I’ve been working on for ages!

p.s. everyone say thank you Nathan for giving me lots of smut inspiration this is literally based on him sorta

pairing: daddy!harry x oc

warning: sexual content, smut, daddy kink/dom vibes so if you’re not here for that this is not for you

word count: 5k

In which Harry is a new student at Harley’s university and he seems to just keep popping up everywhere. The tension between them is palpable and she can’t get away from him, especially when he happens to knock on her door with a pair of her favorite red lace panties she left in the laundromat dangling from his finger.

I roll my eyes as the lady in front of me in line takes out yet another handful of coupons from her purse at the checkout counter. The cashier looks almost as annoyed as I am, but still sporting a smile despite the absolute exasperation rampant in her eyes. She takes the handful of coupons and starts scanning them begrudgingly as the woman digs around in her purse for anymore and I hardly even notice my foot tapping as my eyes instinctively roll once again. I just came to get toilet roll, ice cream, and a bottle of prosecco and the universe decides today is the day coupon Karen ends up at the checkout line five minutes before I do.

“I like your hair.” A voice speaks up behind me.

I know they must be talking to me, I don’t believe any other boring college blonde in this line warrants a compliment like that but the bright purple curls I sport tend to elicit quite the reaction from bystanders, especially the uninteresting conservatives of Publix.

“How do you uh, get it that color?”

I finally turn my head over my shoulder to face the voice, a tall guy with tousled brown hair and quite the shit eating grin on his face. He’s obviously very pleased with himself finally getting me to turn around but I can’t be bothered to entertain this excited puppy of a man with more than a word.

“Dye.”

I’ve barely even gotten the word out of my mouth before I turn back to face the cashier with an uninterested eyeroll. He scoffs behind me, clearly not giving up that easily.

“Wow,” He chuckles, “At least you’re straightforward.”

I turn back around without thinking to face him once again, “Hair dye, idiot.”

“Oh, well I could have guessed that much.”

I turn away from him again just as coupon lady finally pushes her rattling cart towards the exit doors and the cashier gestures for me to come up to the checkout. I drop my basket on the conveyor belt with a thud and she rings it up quickly, sensing my impatience and clearly wanting to get me the hell out of here as quickly as she can. I pay and grab my bags to head for the door and just before I’m home free the voice is suddenly behind me yet again.

“So, are you really not going to tell me?” He asks, catching up to me outside, “It’s going to keep me up tonight, I’m waiting with bated breath over here.”

“Tell you what exactly?” I huff, finally turning to face him.

“How you get your hair that color, of course.”

I roll my eyes, surely, he’s not keeping this bit up for the sake of hitting on me in the fucking supermarket, “Do you want something from me?”

He chuckles a bit, and I’m glad to see my utter frustration is amusing to him, “I mean,” He starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “Maybe your name would be cool.”

“No thanks.”

“Well, I’m Harry-“

I turn and walk away before he’s barely got the sentence out of his mouth. What was he even in line to buy? He wasn’t carrying any bags.

Mental note: always wear headphones to the grocery store.

***

“You’re late.”

I collapse in the seat next to my friend Danielle with a huff. She gives me a certain look that says something like you’ve been late the past three times too, but honestly at this point she should know to expect it.

“I’m always late,” I groan, attempting to lean back in the incredibly uncomfortable library chair, “So, why are we at the library?”

“We have a math test tomorrow, or did you forget about that?” She asks, scolding me over the top of her math book.

“Of course I remembered,” I say sarcastically, “Math is my absolute favorite subject how could I ever forget we had a test?”

She rolls her eyes, turning her book to the right page to start taking notes and I try my best to follow along, “So do you have a legitimate reason for the lateness or just regular Harley excuses?”

“Actually, I do,” I say matter-of-factly, sitting back up straight in my chair, “There was a freak at the grocery store, dude would not leave me alone.”

“What was he doing?” She asks, suddenly interested.

“Just talking? I guess? He like wanted to have a whole conversation waiting to check out.”

“So, a nice guy just struck up some conversation with you at the store and that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes,” I huff, closing the book once again, “I was just there to get groceries I didn’t need the extra human interaction.”

She opens her mouth to reply but she’s cut off as a group of guys walk in the front door of the library talking at full volume. I can feel almost every person in the room turn in the direction of the loud noise at the front and suddenly my eyes land on him. There’s no fucking way.

“Dani,” I whisper, sliding down in my seat so I can go unseen, “Dani that’s the guy, the guy from earlier.”

“What?” She whispers harshly, trying not to stare as the boys get scolded by the librarian at the front, “You mean grocery store guy?”

“Yes!” I huff, electing to sit in my chair backwards so my back is to him.

“No way Harley, it just looks like him-”

“No Dani, it’s him,” I whisper, “Tall one with the curly hair in the black hoodie.”

“That’s him?” She asks, “You had a problem with that talking to you?”

“Shh!” I huff, “God he’s going to hear you, are they still at the front?”

“They um, yeah,” She stutters, her eyes diverting to her book again, “They’re still up there, at a table now.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, sensing the discomfort in her voice and turning around myself.

My eyes immediately lock onto his and I look away quickly, shielding my face from him with my hand and turning back towards Danielle.

“He’s staring right at you.” She says, trying not to be too obvious.

“Yep.”

“Are you gonna go over there?”

“Why would I do that exactly?” I ask, my eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Because a hot boy is staring you down across the fucking library!” She whispers harshly, reaching over to smack me in the arm.

“More like a fucking psychopa-”

“Hey there,” I hear his voice cut in and my whole body cringes in on itself without my volition, “Fancy meeting you here.”

I turn around in my chair, forcing myself to face him while my whole face heats and I’m sure I’m the color of a rather ripe tomato. Something about the way he says hey there in that fucking accent makes my entire body tense up.

“Hey there,” I mimic, “Long time no see.”

I feel Danielle’s eyes on me as the words come out of my mouth, her gaze flickering between the two of us and watching the horrifically awkward exchange play out in front of her.

He laughs, electing to lean on the table, “What are you doing after this?”

“She’s doing absolutely nothing.” Danielle answers for me and I kick her under the table, making her wince.

“Glad to hear it,” He grins, his eyes zeroing in on me once again.

“I’m very busy actually,” I cut in, closing my textbook and throwing it in my bag, “We both are, but um, I’ll see you around.”

Danielle is looking at me with eyes the size of dinner plates as she frantically packs up her stuff, shoving it in her bag to follow suit. I stand up from my chair, slinging my bag over my shoulder and he rounds the table to stand right in front of me, the only thing between me and the front door.

“Can I at least get your name?” He asks, his voice incredibly deep clearly for only me to hear.

“Harley,” I quip, side stepping around him, “See you later uh, Harold is it?”

He gives me a very particular look as I walk away from him, taking steps backward and relishing in the smirk on his face. He knows what I’m doing. I feel Dani’s hand grab my arm and I finally turn around to face the door, walking through it, but even as I’m outside and carrying my feet down the steps I feel his eyes on me, drilling into the back of my head.

“The hell was that?” Danielle asks, “He was so cute and you just, you just blow it like that?”

“Harmless flirting.”

“You call that flirting?”

“Oh Dani,” I sigh, taking out a cigarette and lighting it between my lips, “I call that winning.”

***

I’m woken up with a start when I hear the loud roar of music start from Dani’s room. She always blasts music in the morning while getting ready for class. I look over my shoulder to check the time, at least she waited until 10 to start with the noise. My head is pounding ever so slightly, and I realize why when my eyes land on the empty bottle of pink Moscato on my bedside table.

I drag myself out of bed and into the tiny common space between our two rooms, “Good morning sleeping beauty,” Danielle teases, “I noticed the bottle of wine went missing from the fridge.”

“That’s bizarre,” I joke, “Must be a wine thief in the dorms. I’ll get on that mystery right away.”

She shakes her head at me, rolling her eyes as I grab my basket of laundry from my room. I slide on a pair of slippers electing to go put it in the wash, so I hopefully have a single clean pair of jeans for class tonight. I call to Dani letting her know I’ll be right back and as soon as I open the door to the hall I’m staring at him.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I groan.

He stops dead in his tracks, taking a glance over his shoulder to see me standing in my doorway. He’s dressed in only a towel, holding it closed while it hangs low on his hips. His hair is wet, clearly making his way back to his room from the showers and his chest and arms are rippling with muscles under his damp skin.

God those arms could crush me like a grape.

“Morning neighbor,” He grins, clearly getting a kick out of this, “Someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”

“You’re in this building?”

“You bet, room 7C down the hall.”

“Well, neighbor, for future reference, most people in this building take their clothes to the shower with them.”

“You Americans,” He chuckles, starting to walk away from my doorway, “So prude, have a nice day Harley.”

He disappears down the hall and then behind his door and my mind gets to work on picturing what he looks like without the towel. You can nearly feel the tension between us in the air, it was palpable. I could even feel his eyes on me, looking me up and down and lingering on my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to clear my head as I take a deep breath and start on my way to the laundry room downstairs.

I put a load in the wash, briefly tuning into the dramatic soap playing on the tiny TV hung on the wall. I decide to head back to my now empty room since Danielle left for class and end up wasting most of my day away on a bad Netflix original movie, only pausing half way through to go move my clothes to the dryer.

I order a pizza for dinner before my night class and go back downstairs to grab my laundry out of the dryer. Just as I’m opening the dryer and emptying my clothes back into my basket I get a text that the pizza guy is downstairs waiting for me.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I huff under my breath, quickly shoving all my clothes in my basket and slamming the dryer shut behind me.

I rush back to my dorm, chucking the basket of clean clothes inside before heading to the stairwell and nearly sprinting down them to get to the ground floor. I meet the rather impatient pizza guy downstairs before bringing the food back up to my room. I’ve just barely finished the first slice half way through a Criminal Minds episode when there’s a knock at the door. I groan, dragging myself from the couch and tossing the blanket off.

I open the door, rolling my eyes, “Dani, you have got to start remembering your key when you-” I’m cut off as I come face to face with him rather than Dani, “Oh, um, hi?”

“Hi,” He repeats, now dressed in a pair of grey joggers and a plain black t-shirt, “I believe you dropped something in the laundry room earlier.”

He reveals his arm from behind his back, holding out his hand with my bright red lacy thong dangling from his pointer finger. I can feel my entire face heat to match the shade of my panties, but I won’t let him get the satisfaction. I go to snatch them from his hand, but he stops me, gripping them in his fist instead and using them as leverage to pull me a bit closer to him.

“Probably want to be a bit more careful where you leave your panties lying around, darling,” He smirks, “Unless you want to leave them on my bedroom floor of course.”

It’s the final straw, those few words spoken in his deliciously deep voice absolutely dripping with that amazing accented tone, on top of the way he’s dressed, every muscle visible beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m pulling him to me by my own grip on the lacy underwear between us, my mouth meeting his and his teeth instantly biting my bottom lip between them.

“Yours or mine?” He breathes out, pulling away from me just long enough to get the words out.

“Where’s your roommate?” I ask breathlessly.

“Vacation,” He says, “Till Wednesday.”

“Yours,” I laugh, pressing my lips back to his, “Definitely yours.”

He walks me backwards down the hall to his dorm room, shoving me up against the wall as he unlocks the door, his lips working down my neck. As soon as the door is open he walks me through it, bending down to grab the backs of my thighs and hoisting me into the air. He kicks the door closed with his foot and I laugh against his mouth as he carries me past his bedroom doorway, slamming that behind us as well.

He lays me out on the bed, nearly tossing me right on top of the mattress, my lacy red underwear still gripped in his hand.

“Any chance you got something this cute under there?” He chuckles, holding them up in both hands to really show them off.

“Why don’t you come find out?” I tease.

He rolls his eyes, finally kneeling onto the edge of the bed and crawling over to me. He starts to lean over me, but I shove his shoulder, forcing him to lay against the mattress before swinging my leg over him. I can feel him underneath me immediately and it makes my legs clench together on either side of him.

“Hi,” I breathe, planting my hands on his chest and meeting his eyes.

“Hi,” He repeats back to me, that bright smile of his making my stomach flip, “You gonna come down here or...?”

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh finally leaning down and connecting our lips once again.

His lips are ridiculously soft against mine while the feeling of his muscles under his t-shirt are quite the opposite. He reaches up to cup my face with both hands, trying to somehow pull me closer as if we aren’t close enough as it is. I can’t figure out exactly where I want to put my hands; his shoulders, his biceps, god, in that amazing curly hair.

My hips start to move against him without my volition and he groans into my mouth, a deliciously deep reverberation that makes me grind my hips into him even more. He grunts against my lips, finally pulling away and resting his forehead against mine instead, breathing heavily.

“You alright there tiger?” I tease him, threading my fingers through his hair, “Need a breather already?”

“Shut your mouth,” He chuckles, grabbing me around the waist and trying to flip us over so he’s on top.

He greatly underestimates the size of his twin dorm bed when he does so, both of us rolling off the edge and tumbling to the shag carpeted floor beneath us. I expect the mood to be ruined, for him to get up and usher me right out the door because how awkward is this, right? I’m beyond surprised when he starts laughing, both of us splayed flat on our backs and heaves out a sigh as he rolls over to face me again.

“That was pretty smooth of me, eh?” He jokes, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, chuckling too, “No I’m okay, just gonna have a massive bruise on my ass most likely.”

He laughs again, finally pulling himself to his feet and offering me a hand to help me up. I’m not sure what I expect past that, maybe a hug to send me on my way now that the atmosphere has completely changed but that tension is still between us, the same tension that’s been building since the moment he said a single word in the supermarket.

The second I’m back on my feet he shoves me onto the bed and I can’t even begin to hide the shock in my features. He’s back on top of me in seconds, his lips pressed to mine and I’m sure the surprised whimper that leaves my mouth fuels his ego to the gods.

“You alright there tiger?” He mocks, and I resist the urge to reach up and slap him.

“Careful.” I quip, pulling away from him to meet his eyes.

“Careful?” He asks, quirking up his eyebrow at me, “I’m sorry are you telling me what to do sweetheart?”

I gulp, the smooth but stern voice he’s using making my thighs quiver. He seems to notice, his eyes darting down between us and a small chuckle escaping his lips. He looks back up at me, his eyes dark and brooding, before they flicker to my hands at my sides. He grabs my left wrist roughly, holding it above my head against the mattress before doing the same to my right arm as well. I’m nearly squirming underneath him, my entire body steaming to the touch as his eyes bore into mine.

“Something wrong, love?” He asks, the condescending tone to his voice making my whole body shake.

“Course not,” I pant, my breath coming out heavier than I anticipated, “Just fuckin peachy over here.”

He chuckles a bit, his grip on my wrists growing tighter, “You’re not very patient, you know that?”

I’m not sure what it is that’s making me writhe the way I am; perhaps it’s the countless months I’ve gone without sex since my last messy breakup, or maybe it’s the way in which this all panned out with a stranger over some fucking underwear, or fuck, maybe it’s just him and the way that cocky smirk on his face makes my insides twist.

“Patience is a virtue,” I say carefully, making sure to keep my tone even, “I’m more about vices.”

His left hand releases my wrist and I prepare myself for his hand reaching where I need him most, sucking in a breath between my teeth and letting my eyes flutter closed but it never comes. My eyes peel back open to see his hand hovering over my neck instead. He meets my eyes before his fingers finally grace the skin of my throat, applying just the slightest bit of pressure almost as if to test the waters.

I’m nearly dizzy as he does so, the temperature in this room suddenly a million degrees. He removes his hand again, the pressure around my throat leaving me and I whimper in distaste, making him chuckle again.

“Poor thing,” He chastises, my legs clenching together on either side of him, “I can’t do it all though, if only there was a way I could hold down both your wrists and choke that pretty neck.”

I watch his hand dig into the pocket of his joggers and once again pull out the thin red lacy fabric of my panties, holding them between us.

“Mind if I use these?” He asks, clearly knowing the answer but wanting to get a reaction out of me anyways.

“Yes, god,” I gulp, “Please.”

He grabs my hands, moving them completely above my head before wrapping the panties around them a few times, tying them together. He tugs on them a bit to make sure they’re pretty secure before looking back down at me, his eyes completely blown out in lust, his pupil swallowing his surrounding iris.

His lips are back on mine in seconds, his now free hands roaming my body before one hand rests on my neck, gripping the sides and applying a bit more pressure than the last time. I whimper into this mouth and curse myself for doing so as soon as my eyes flutter open to see that cocky smirk on his face once again.

“Eager, sweetheart?” He teases, and my hand reaches up to smack him before I remember I’m bound in a pair of my own underwear, “Ah, ah, be a good girl and stay still.”

Hearing the words good girl come out of his mouth makes my entire body squirm and he grins again, that lopsided condescending grin and I know he’s getting off on this, making me writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss my stomach, hiking my shirt up as he goes before working his way down and tugging my pants down my legs. I hold my breath in anticipation but when I look down the bed to meet his eyes he simply kisses the inside of my thighs, ghosting his mouth over the thin fabric of my panties.

“Fucking please,” I beg, my breath coming out in heaves, “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“Please what, princess?” He asks, my legs threatening to squeeze his head between them, “Tell me what you want, hm?”

“You cocky bastard,” I huff, my mind getting fuzzier by the second the closer he gets to my center, “You know what I want.”

He stops abruptly, sitting back up from his small assault on my inner thighs, “What did you say, love? Care to repeat that? Couldn’t quite here you down here.”

There’s an edge to his voice, like glass, it cuts right through me and makes my thighs quiver, “N-no,” I stutter, “Didn’t say anything.”

“That’s what I thought,” He grins, leaning back down between my legs, “Now be a good girl and tell me what you want me to do to you.”

I suck in a breath sharply, but I won’t let him know how his words affect me, “Oh daddy,” I mock, rolling my eyes, “Need you so bad.”

He grabs me by the ankles, flipping me onto my stomach and sends an echoing smack to my ass, the stinging sensation that radiates afterwards making my toes curl. He flips me back onto my back, his dangerously dark eyes meeting mine as he spreads my legs apart once again, holding my thighs down against the mattress.

“Want to try that again, princess?”

“Fuck,” I gasp, the edge to his voice making the whispered swear fall from my mouth involuntarily, “Um, yes.”

“Yes what?” He growls, leaning down to hold my jaw in his hand, his eyes drilling into mine waiting for a response.

“Yes daddy.”

“Now you’re getting it, good girl,” He grins, his hand that was gripping my jaw moving to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, “Now open up,” I oblige, slowly opening my mouth and he pushes his middle and ring finger past my lips. It catches me a bit off guard, but he only nods his head, “Get them nice and wet for me love, don’t want to hurt you.”

He pulls them from my mouth, a small string of saliva connecting them to my lips. He chuckles a bit, clearly getting a kick out of how worked up I am for him before finally pushing my panties to the side and pressing his fingers into me. I instantly turn my head to the side, muffling the moan that escapes my mouth into my pillow. As soon as he realizes what I’m doing he grabs me by the hair, holding my head straight.

“None of that,” He says sternly, “Wanna hear your pretty sounds, babygirl.”

I’m dangerously close to the edge just from the words pouring from his mouth in that accented tone that makes my entire body shiver. That condescending smirk finds its way back to his lips and I know that he can tell I’m close, just teetering on the edge already.

“Needy little thing, are we?” He teases, “Already gonna cum and daddy’s barely touched you yet.”

His words are almost just enough to push me over the edge, but I hold off as much as I can, straining away from his touch as much as I can with my hands bound above my head and his weight on top of me. I feel the particular twist in my stomach, that burning sensation in the very pit of my abdomen just as my eyes squeeze shut and my vision goes white. His fingers work me through it, his mouth finally hovering over where I need him most, sucking my sensitive bud into his mouth and making me shake.

I feel his fingers withdraw from me and suddenly he’s pushing them past my lips once again, but this time I taste myself on them, swirling my tongue around each one to suck them clean. I meet his eyes as he pulls them from my mouth and my hips involuntarily buck up to meet the bulge prominent in his pants.

“Still needy, are we?” He chuckles.

“Please shut up and take your pants off already.” I beg, my hips bucking up to meet him again.

“You see I would but,” He starts, sitting back on his heels, “It seems I don’t have a condom, would you happen to have one?”

“Would I, no, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I stutter breathlessly, my blood starting to boil in disbelief, “What kind of guy doesn’t keep a pack of rubbers around you idiot?”

“Careful,” He warns, his voice dropping into that deep calculated tone that makes me shiver, “And perhaps a guy that just moved in this week and hasn’t necessarily had buying rubbers on the mind,” He says, “That is until he met a spunky purple haired girl in the supermarket.”

His words make my stomach do a few somersaults, but I don’t let it extinguish the pissed off fire burning in my stomach knowing that I won’t be getting the relief I desperately need right now.

“You’re serious?” I ask, “You don’t have any?”

“Serious, darling,” He chuckles, “But instead of moping about it, you’re going to take what I give you and say thank you daddy when I’m done, understand?”

I nod my head vigorously, despite wanting to do the exact opposite. What kind of hold does that goddamn accent have on me?

“Good,” He smiles, clearly pleased with my response, “And maybe if you’re a good girl next time daddy will remember to hit the store.”

“Next time?” I ask, not filtering the shock from my voice.

He laughs a bit, reaching up to finally untie my hands, “Yes, next time, did you want this to just be a one-time thing, princess?”

I can’t form the words I want to say as I sit up a bit, rubbing my wrists only slightly from the rough fabric of the lace wrapped around them, “I um, I don’t-”

“That’s what I thought,” He smirks, standing from the bed and holding out a hand to me, “Now come on, didn’t you get pizza?”

I smile, taking his hand and starting to stand to my feet, my legs a bit wobbly and I’m thankful for the stability of his arm to lean on.

“Do you have anything to uh,” I start, cringing when I feel the wetness in between my thighs, “Clean up with?”

“Nope,” He says cheerfully, “You keep that pretty mess I made between those thighs, babygirl.”

My knees nearly buckle, and I’m cursing him for his lack of condoms and the ache between my legs as I pull my pants back on, following him to the door to the hall. He stops abruptly just inside the doorway, turning back to meet my eyes.

“What’s my name?” He asks cheekily.

“Harry,” I say confidently, “Why? Are you worried I forgot already?”

He grabs my ass in his hand tightly, squeezing the skin, his voice calculated, “I said, what’s my name?”

I gulp, leaning into his grip on me a bit more as my knees wobble, “Daddy.”

He releases his grip on my ass, giving it a quick smack, “’Atta girl, let’s get some pizza in you so you’re ready for round two,” He grins, throwing his arm around my shoulder and tucking me into his side as we walk down the hall to my room instead, “Maybe after we can hit the store, I seemed to have forgotten to pick something up last time I went.”

#harry styles #harry #harry styles smut #one direction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #one direction smut #harry smut #harry styles oneshot #daddy!harry #dom!harry #sub!y/n

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labnegativeone · 4 years

Text

The heat of Robo-Fortune’s server room bares down on one Valerie “Valentine” ____, no noise audible in the room except for the clicks of her fingers on a keyboard. Despite the imposing atmosphere of the consciousless bodies lining the walls, Robo-Fortune’s central computer was...not particularly impressive, in comparison. Sure, it was large, but at the end of the day it was just...a big computer. The kind of thing that she’d have expected would be best suitable for....computing hundred-digit numbers. Not so much powering what seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be a largely sentient machine. As much as a certain scientist wanted to subvert that.

Her code is, truthfully, still kind of baffling to Valentine. It all makes...just enough sense for her to be able to work with it, if she needs to, but if she ever tries to truly *comprehend* it it all just falls apart in her hands. It doesn’t help that the computer keeps a backup instance of her AI running for security purposes, currently manifesting itself as a small, poorly drawn ASCII cat rambling around the screen obnoxiously. Valentine sighs. Yeah, that’s Robo-Fortune alright.

Now, to be fair, they aren’t actually medical scalpels. As for the body bag...blame Easter. It worked for her, I just mimic her style, and somehow it ends up working for me too. Who knows. As for the manual shutdown, sure, that would have been an option...but it wouldn’t have fixed the problem. That’s what I’m doing now. Brian’s at least managed to delineate where that...censorship was. Which means I can get rid of it easily enough...

...Hold on, where did that...? Oh. Right. Top of the screen here. I don’t know how I didn’t notice that. But I still...

One thing at a time.

Oh, so you all know about...that too, huh? Well. Luckily I haven’t heard from her in...quite some time, actually. I think it’s been something like two years at this point. Sure, I still want to avenge the Last Hope, but...I have something worth protecting here now. If I see her again, I’m not hesitating.

Wow, you’re really keeping them coming, Fortune. Okay, sure, whatever makes you happy. I’ve been wondering that myself, actually. I thought that setup Fortune had in her more hospitable room, where we usually gather for the asks, was the thing that was uploading these, but...clearly there’s wiggle room. Up in Lab 8, and I know I remember one with Fukua where there was nobody else around...

Ugh...Fukua...he’s really got her in a corner. It’s a shame you’re the only one here I can fix just by doing some reprogramming, Fortune.

(Surprisingly, I think I agree with that assessment, Valentine. Though I doubt we have the same ideas. Excuse me, but what are you doing, exactly?)

Hello, Brian. I figured you were going to come bother me about this. What do you want?

(...I’ll admit, you were a lot more surprised right now when I imagined this conversation in my mind.)

(Well, it’s good that you aren’t, I suppose. That indicates you don’t believe you have anything to hide. I can appreciate that...confidence, at least. So, let’s get to the point. What do you think you’re doing, Valentine?)

What does it look like I’m doing, director? I’m fixing your terrible decision. Look, I don’t know what it is that’s motivating you to do what you’re doing, but if you used that exposed brain of yours you’d realize that programming in a bunch of contingencies to keep your combat robot from functioning when the people around her are experiencing emotions is kind of a bad idea.

(What I installed, Valentine, was a filter for concepts that would be counter to her functions. If she got uppity and decided to, say, help the other two break out, that would be an obvious problem, yes? Or, if she was exposed to...certain concepts that might color the world around her in an unhelpful fashion.)

What-ugh, just listen to yourself! Pretentious-I don’t care what you intended it to be for, Brian. The fact of the matter is, it isn’t. Working. All it’s doing is shutting her down and causing problems. And this time, it was so bad that it full-on incapacitated her, because she’s realizing what’s doing it, and she doesn’t like it. I think a working weapon that might catch a case of the feelings is a bit better than one that’s slowly tearing herself apart trying to avoid a bunch of mental landmines. So I’m fixing it, director.

(And, of course, this idea has nothing to do with your softness for them, correct? I’d just be interested to know, Valentine. You can talk about doing it for her sake as a weapon, but I know you. And I’ve heard what you said to them. They’re not things you say lightly. So, I’d just like some confirmation that you’re not going to do something ill-advised, like take this opportunity to encourage her-or them-to break away from us.)

I’m not an idiot. Brian, I’m just removing that code, and just so that we don’t have to worry about her functions. You’re right, I do care about them, and that fact is part of what’s motivating me to do this, but I’d want to either way. Besides, you already took care of our escape plan. You said so yourself. Birdland isn’t going to come do some heroic rescue now either way, no matter how much Robo-Fortune is or isn’t shutting herself down.

(A good answer. But we’ll just have to see how well it holds up to scrutiny.)

*Siiigh* Whatever. Go ahead, root around all you want.

(OH, I WILL.)

.....

(....)

.....

(Come on, you have to be....)

I have to be what, Director?

(...Nevermind. I suppose you *don’t* have to be hiding something. Unless you’ve suddenly become a master of regulating your thoughts...the story checks out, Valentine. Alright, then. I suppose you have a point. Oh, but...if I were you, I would keep...hold on, scroll up. Yes, there we go. This section. That’s been there for some time now, and I assure you, it’s important.)

...And if I ask, will you explain why?

(No. No, not as of yet, at the very least. And, ideally, never, but I shouldn’t rule such things out.)

Great. Alright, sure. It’s staying.

(Wonderful. Carry on, then.)

....

((More under the cut))

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

Valentine finally releases a held breath as the director disappears. She knows he probably checked to make sure that she was going to carry out that request, as well. Of course, she wasn’t. Not in the slightest.

You know, she begins, she was a little worried about this before he got here.

There’s no response from the room, at first. Until something materializes next to her, a copy in every way save for the fact that she’s made out a gently glowing energy. Ghost removes her copied mask, a pleased, almost bragadocious grin on her semi-transparent face.

““...””

Valentine shakes her head. She doesn’t have whatever experience allows Shamone to translate Ghost’s expressions so well, but she can tell that the dead woman is obviously riding the high of her deception.

Valentine types one final command and steps back as the machinery whirs. The update is sent out. It won’t be long before Fortune comes back online. She takes a look at Ghost, just out of the corner of her eye, and nods. Thanks, she says. Ghost responds as elaborately as usual, but her expression softens. She moves forward, walking in a manner that doesn’t quite look right, as though she’s moving under some other power and is merely going through the motions in the most literal sense. She moves one hand towards the keyboard, and types out her message.

> Anything for her.

Valentine nods in understanding, before moving to delete those words. Ghost briefly seems upset by it, but one look is all it takes for her to realize why. We don’t want him to stumble onto that, Valentine explains.

““...””

And with that, Ghost disappears. Valentine takes a moment to wait. And worry. She’s not sure if this is going to work. It feels like the odds are good that it won’t. But she has to at least try. And it feels a little selfish to say, but...

She needs to see the look on his smug fucking face if it does.

#Skullgirls #Valentine #Skullgirls Brain Drain #Askblog

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kareofbears · 4 years

Text

asymmetric styling

“I like the way you dress.”

Akechi looks up from his crossword (one word left, ten letters horizontally) to see Ann waiting for a response.

“What?”

—

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

“I like the way you dress.”

Akechi looks up from his crossword (one word left, ten letters horizontally) to see Ann waiting for a response.

“What?”

“Your outfits are nice,” she clarifies, nodding at his winter attire. “I like how you present yourself, and the colors you pick. You have a knack for clothes, I think.”

“Okay,” he says for lack of a better response. “Why are you telling me that?”

“Because I want to?”

He sets down his crossword. “Why would you want to?”

Ann stares at him. “Because you have good outfits?”

“Yes, we’ve been over that, but you hate me, so why would you want to compliment me?” If this useless back and forth goes on any further, Akechi’s going to pop a vein.

“I can still hate people and compliment them,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “That’s called high school.”

“This,” he gesticulates at the empty interior of Leblanc. “Is us waiting for the rest of the halfwits and Sumire to show up, and that I’ve apparently been granted the unfortunate lottery ticket of spending alone time with you.”

“I think it’s called a blessing, actually,” she grins. “I’m something of a hoot. A rockstar. A Hollywood badass.”

“A nuisance?” he offers, smiling thinly in return.

“Are you always like this or is it because I’m just too pretty?”

“I feel like this is a trick question from how stupid it sounds, but it’s most definitely not the second one, I promise.” Akechi shrugs off his jacket, and moves to grab his crossword puzzle again. “How about you go back to your phone, and we can go back to the delightful silence we had before?”

Her hand slams down on the newspaper. “I knew it.”

Raising an eyebrow, “Are you about to tell me the final answer to this crossword? Because not only do I legally have to say that you seem like you’ve never attempted a mental aptitude test in your life, but because I’m generally against spoilers.”

“You do like fashion!”

Akechi represses a sigh. “What are you on about?”

“Your jacket,” she points at his brown peacoat. “That was on page thirteen of Vague, the July edition predicting sales on which winter apparel for men will take off later that year. That peacoat was rated number one in Japan and ended up being something like a self-fulfilling prophecy by using their earlier predictions and turned it into sales.”

He scoffs. “Okay, sure. Let’s say that I’m an avid follower of fashion.” Akechi leans forward, and his head tilts in mock-concern. “But doesn’t that mean that you rebuked your own statement? Since this was…what was that? ‘Rated number one in Japan?’ Won’t that mean that everyone would be trying to sell this coat? And it could be a complete coincidence that I have this jacket because it can be replicated in every fast-fashion store in downtown Shibuya?” He gasps. “Oh no, looks like you’re wrong about the very field you think you know the most in! How humiliating.”

Ann leans forward, her smile is wide but her eyes are sharp. “Silly me. I guess I forgot to mention a fact about this specific brand, color, and fabric on the very first day of release: it’s near impossible for manufacturers to try and replicate it.” She tilts her head to mimic him. “Humiliation’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Maybe, if I had ever experienced it the way you just did,” he replies pleasantly. “‘Near impossible,’ means statistically difficult, but not quite impossible.”

“Very true, but since that brand is on such high demand, they actually have a foolproof method to fight against fake brands. Perhaps they thought it was a good idea to have a small symbol that can be easily overlooked. Let’s say—” she reaches forward and grabs his coat, grin stretching even further when she points at one of the big brown buttons. “Something like a rabbit engraved on top of the first button?”

Akechi raps his fingers on the table. “Perhaps, but if you had done your research, this brand has two foolproof methods: the rabbit, as you annoyingly mentioned, and the code that you can enter in the website to prove its legitimacy. However, as you may have noticed—” he pinches the label near the collar of the peacoat. “No code. Sorry.”

Ann groans, throwing her hands over her face. “Dammit!”

Letting himself cheer internally, he makes sure the condescension is layered thick in his voice. “Not your fault. You tried your best.”

“Yeah…I’m sure you did.” Blue eyes peek from between her fingers. “Too bad you forgot the cute little fact that four years ago they actually put the code inside of the label.”

His shoulders tense.

“Do you mind flipping it for me, Akechi? Actually, no need,” propping her chin on her palm, he probably could have felt her smugness from three blocks away. “Even if there isn’t, I know that you live and breathe fashion as much as I do.” Her expression turns cheery. “Well, almost as much.”

“Congratulations, you beat me in a game you know you’re more knowledgeable in than I am,” he deadpans. “An outstanding feat. Can you let me finish my puzzle now?”

“I should’ve guessed you were a sore loser,” Ann says, ignoring him. “I still remember when Akira beat you in a round of Tycoon. Your face was stuck like—” she scrunches her eyebrows together and morphs her features into a menacing scowl. “For like four hours afterwards, it was great.”

“He only won because his cards were better than mine.”

“Actually, if I’m not mistaken, the cards you drew were basically as good as his, and you still lost.”

“Oh, I see, you’re trying to be funny. Hilarious. I can hardly breathe, please call an ambulance.” He rubs his temples. “I yield. I’m going to ask you this one last time: What do you want? And no games, I beg of you, you’re going to make my head burst.”

“Killjoy,” she sighs, before straightening up. “You know that we hate you.”

“I think I’m aware, yes.”

“And you hate us—”

“But Sumire doesn’t count,” they both say in unison.

“But you not only hate us, but I’m pretty sure you hate, like, everyone else,” she continues, gesticulating with her hands. “Japan, Asia, the world. I’m sure you have some random vendetta with some guy across the Pacific Ocean. He probably breathed too hard and made one of your hairs move two weeks later.”

“Is there a point to your prattling, or…?”

“I’m getting there,” she gives him an accusing look. “So with all that in mind, why does a guy like you, who would get in a boxing ring with just about anyone on the planet, know so much about something like the fashion industry?” Smoothing down his jacket, “Why do you put so much effort in how you dress when it’s so clear that you don’t care what other people think about you?”

“Is that what you think?”

Ann pauses at his tone. “Am I wrong?”

“No. Not necessarily.” She continues to stare at him, unblinking. “Do you ever learn to back down?”

That makes her grin. “Not in this line of work. If you think I’m bad, you should go a few rounds with Ryuji.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” If information is the price for temporary silence, then he’s willing to pay the price. Even at the cost of prolonging his crossword. “I didn’t care what other people think about me, but I wanted them to see me in a certain light.”

She squints. “What?”

He finds himself fiddling with the edge of his newspaper. “The very first thing people notice about a person is how they present themself. In their hair, their expression, their posture. But above all that, is the clothes that they wear. The shoes on their feet, the jacket on their back, how expensive their watch is. All that information is melded together in an instant. That split second—” he snaps his fingers. “Is all they need to form an opinion of you. To define you, before you can even open your mouth.”

“I don’t care about fashion,” Akechi admits. “But I cared about what it could do for me. I got to have a say in who I am.” His eyes flicker to her. “Done?”

The look Ann gives him is unreadable. “You’re a liar.”

Akechi leans away, taken aback. “Well, yes, of course. I thought we all knew that by now.”

“You do care about what other people think about you, Akechi,” she accuses, realization dawning on her. “‘Want to see you in a certain light,’ my ass—all you’re doing is shuffling around what your words mean to justify your actions through your thick, annoyingly soft-haired skull. You’re right, you don’t care about fashion, because at the end of the day…” Ann shrugs helplessly, and her words are spoken with something like awe and dismay. “All you care about is how people see you.”

A beat passes. “Wanted.”

“Huh?”

“It’s ‘wanted,’” he corrects, unfazed. “Past tense.”

Ann gives him a hard look. “Correcting me on my grammar, now? Real mature.”

“Only because it changes the meaning of everything you just said.” Akechi reaches over to his jacket’s collar, and flips the label to reveal the code. “Thanks to your reminder, you helped me recall something.” He taps at the seemingly randomized set of numbers in front of him. “This lets you know when you bought the coat. What number is this?”

Reluctantly, she peers at what he’s pointing at. “‘10?’” she says quietly. “October?”

“I bought this about a week before my well-deserved beatdown in Shido’s ship,” he clarifies. “So about four months ago from today.”

“Okay? And?” she urges, still confused.

“And this coat is the newest thing I own.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning…” how strange it was, saying this out loud to another person. “That something between Shido’s ship and now, I stopped caring. About up-to-date fashion, about appearances, and especially stopped giving a damn about other people’s perception of me.”

Ann is silent for a moment. “Was it because of what happened in Shido’s ship?” she asks. There’s no trace of superiority or teasing in her tone—only curiosity.

“Could be,” he answers honestly. “Perhaps I realized that there was no need to uphold a specific personality anymore. Perhaps I was just tired after playing that song and dance for as long as I can remember. Bottom line is: I don’t give a single shit about fashion anymore.”

Her lips quirk up, “Even though you got into a fashion pissing contest not five minutes ago?”

“That’s different. I love to win.”

“I can tell,” she breathes out a laugh. After a moment, a thoughtful expression clouds her features. “Can I say something?”

“If I actually had a say in that, we wouldn’t have had this conversation at all.”

“How would you, Akechi Goro, feel about trying to get back into fashion?”

For once, Akechi looks surprised. “Did you not listen to anything I just said?”

Her hands drum on the table eagerly. “Just hear me out. You don’t care about fashion because it sort of, kind of, maybe represents how much you tried to be someone you’re not, which hey, I get that, super relatable, and it’s great that you don’t care about that anymore. But—and give me a chance here—” Ann grins. “Wouldn’t it be more interesting if you wore clothes that you wanted to wear?”

She shifts in her seat, excitement radiating off of her. It’s difficult to watch. “I’ve been studying fashion ever since I could understand the color wheel, and if there’s one thing I learned is that fashion is power. If you make it your own, then,” Ann shrugs. “All the more power to you, right?”

Akechi is struck with silence, and is saved from having to reply when the door to Leblanc swings wide open. An entourage of loud teenagers steamroll into the cafe, all brushing off various amounts of snow from themselves.

“Took you long enough!” Ann yells over her shoulder.

“Sorry for the delay,” Haru answers. She raises her hand to reveal a full plastic bag. “But we got snacks!”

“Takoyaki?”

“Pork kebab.”

She makes a face. “Stop indulging Ryuji!”

“Mm, literally impossible,” Akira replies, combing the snow out of Futaba’s hair.

Akechi sinks back into the booth, waiting for Sumire to walk in and prance by his side, when Ann turns back to him. “By the way, I think it’s ‘asymmetrical.’”

“What is?”

“The last word on your puzzle,” she nods down at his crossword. “‘With two halves, sides, or parts that are not exactly the same in shape or size.’ I read it while I was grabbing your coat.”

“Oh.” He reluctantly scribbles down the answer, lacking the usual enjoyment he gets from finishing a crossword. “…Thanks.”

Somehow, she’s still not done talking. “I heard Akira went shopping with Sumire last week. She came back with the cutest dress I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I’m aware.” He’s pretty sure he’s compiled enough for a slideshow of it by now, given how many pictures of it Sumire’s sent to him.

She hesitates, before seeming to steel herself. “Wanna go shopping tomorrow?”

Akechi blinks. Twice. He’s about to open his mouth to say no as rudely as possible, when he lets his eyes wander the cramped coffee shop. All of them are in clothes that scream their personality, even if it clashes or has horrible style (he can barely look at Ryuji’s winter outfit without cringing).

But, as terrible as some of them may look, all of them seem content to be in the clothes that they chose.

“Maybe.”

Ann’s smile is bright and genuine. “I can work with a maybe.”

#platonic anngoro #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #ann takamaki #goro akechi #fic #mine #fic tag #p5 #this is such a niche fic #i feel like the more fic i write for persona 5 #the more niche it is #i think i wrote this fic out of spite but thats usually how i write my fics anyway hehe #asymmetric styling #ann goro

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iluxia · 4 years

Text

Unsolicited writing advice???

A ton of you have commented with such kind and complimentary words about my Naruto fic Hiding in the Leaves and its characterization through the shifting POVs. Thank you all! I’m gratified to hear that you’re enjoying it. Some are asking how I shift perspectives and still manage to keep the characters in line. Actually, a fair number of readers have asked for actual advice, so here we go. This is a lot of writing babble, I hope it makes sense but feel free to drop me an ask if anything is unclear!

(1) I read a lot. I read all the time. Easily a book a day, maybe two days. And when I do, I practice critical reading—or as they say, reading like an editor, so I can pick at techniques other writers use. Writing is an art you learn largely by example. A lot of what I read influences what and how I write, so when I need to change my tone or voice to fit a different character, I usually read something that matches what I want my prose to sound like, on top of using techniques like changing tenses and playing with vocabulary choices.

I recently had the chance to flex these writing muscles because I went from writing two very distinct human voices (Tony Stark & Stephen Strange) to writing an alien voice (Loki). It was fucking hard; those in the Marvel fandom might know what I mean. Tony and Stephen are both human, born and raised in America, with specific life experiences that inform their daily decisions and personalities. Loki, on the other hand, is an alien: raised in Asgard, stolen from Jotunheim, well-traveled throughout the Nine Realms, and moreover raised as a prince. Just stop and think about that. When your characters do not have the same experiences that you do, they’re bound to not have the same earthbound concerns that you do. Anthropomorphizing non-human (or even non-living) beings is an age-old practice, but to be faithful to his character, I tried my best to twist my writing voice into a different shape—a shape that more befits the prince of a realm that is somewhat humanoid but very different from what we know on Earth. And in order to do that, I did four things:

I changed my prose from past to present tense; it sounds more immediate and assertive

I read three books, written in present tense, where the prose mimics what I imagine Loki would sound like in his own head

I made a huge spread of everything about Loki (both canon and my own orginal additions) that would inform his motivations, internal concerns, emotional responses, and decision-making processes

I drowned myself in Loki fanwork

Immersion is key! If you saturate your brain in a specific type of rhetoric or style, that’s what’s likeliest to come out of your productive process at the end. So controlling what you read/watch/listen to will help control your writing style too.

(2) This further breaks down what I just said in the third bullet point above. Before I start writing from a specific character’s perspective, I’ll take the time to brainstorm and build that character from the ground up. This might take a day or two and includes a staggering amount of detail—just as much detail as mine or your life might comprise. Silly little things like favorite colors and foods, hobbies, dislikes. Oftentimes, if you’re a fic writer, this is easier because canon gives it to you. Those amazing wiki-pages exist to make your life easier in this regard. (Bless.) What canon doesn’t give you is where you can dig in. Go deeper. Pin your character down. Think about more serious considerations like emotional triggers, conscious motivations, subconscious motivations, coping and defense mechanisms. When hurt or under stress, are they the type to lash out or curl in? Are they the type to hold on to a grudge, or do they prefer to forgive and forget? Do they get hurt easily or do they have a thick skin? I imagine the character’s relationships in life, I rank them and network them in my head. Who do they run to when they need advice? Who do they like hanging out with when they’re happy? Who annoys them, who inspires them, who scares them, who do they want to be like? Even if these questions aren’t necessarily things you might discuss in your fic, it helps inform this person you’re writing about, so it helps you keep a clearer and more consistent mental picture of them as you go.

But most critical of all, I sit and imagine myself in their shoes and think of how they perceive themselves. That is a major factor when writing, because that’s what their head-voice will sound like. And if the story is written from their perspective, then that means you, writer, are writing in that head-voice!

Here’s a more HITL-specific example (I’ll try not to spoil too much lol):

Sasuke

How he sees himself:

Ordinary; not very impressive as a shinobi, but not absolutely terrible either – just ordinary

Average looking

A slow, impatient learner

Awkward with people, but polite and with good intentions

Emotionally stable

A good reader and listener

How he actually is from someone else’s POV:

Incredibly skilled for his age and level as a shinobi

Actually quite handsome

An intuitive learner, very tenacious and will keep at a task forever until he gets it just right; perfectionist much

Quiet, polite, notices a lot about how others act

Absolutely does not handle emotions well

Selective listener; sometimes only hears what he wants to hear

Rationales:

He’s surrounded by a clan of perfectionists and overachievers who constantly laud his aniki for being a genius while paying him no attention. Of course he thinks he’s ordinary.

No one ever compliments him for his looks in the clan compound, and what he sees in the mirror looks just like a younger version of everyone around him. Of course he thinks he’s average, even though he actually has looks.

Because he’s largely self-taught (except for when Obaa-sama teaches him), he thinks he’s slow. (Ever learned a new skill or maybe even a new language by yourself? I have. I can tell you that my perception of how much time I spent learning ‘basics’ was skewed.) He also holds himself to a higher than normal standard because that’s what gets him positive attention (or attention at all) within his family. Add the fact that Itachi was there blazing through everything before him, and it’s suddenly easy to understand why Sasuke thinks the worst of himself as a student. But he (and Naruto) are actually fast learners—we see this even in canon—and both of them boast high levels of natural intuition, or as I (the neuroscientist) likes to call it, pattern recognition. Some people are naturally better at this than others; there have been extensive tests done to show it. But we also know intuition can be trained, so the more Sasuke works at something, the better he gets, and the faster he learns the next skill—as long as the learning is patterned. Which is why Orochimaru, who has picked up on this trait, walks them through learning each jutsu in a stepwise manner every time.

Sasuke doesn’t have a lot of social interaction outside of his family. The Uchiha clan in this fic is very segregated from the rest of the village, so if you’re not active as a shinobi, you probably don’t get out of the compound much. Interacting with people probably intimidates Sasuke a lot so he feels awkward about it and reverts back to habits of politeness and silence that he was taught from childhood. That doesn’t mean that he’s not paying attention, however; Sasuke is naturally observant and remembers a lot about how people act (and not so much what they say). I have a theory about this related to the Sharingan but I won’t go into too much here because it would be a straight-up spoiler, sorry. :D

He thinks he’s emotionally stable because he doesn’t remember many incidents of severe emotional upheaval in his life. That’s because he hasn’t had them; apart from the whole thing with Itachi, he’s been fairly sheltered his whole life. But he actually doesn’t handle emotions well—something he’s about to find out soon enough—and for the same reason! He hasn’t been exposed to an extensive range of it.

Because he’s largely self-taught, he has confidence in his reading skills. He also remembers all of Obaa-sama’s stories so he thinks he’s a good listener. Well, he is—to an extent. If he wants to listen, he will. If he doesn’t, he’s just as proficient as Naruto at pigheadedness. (I think it’s an Uchiha trait too lmao.)

That was a lot, right? But you can see that if I’m writing from Sasuke’s POV, I have to keep a different set of pointers than if I’m writing from Naruto’s POV about Sasuke. The way I think of it is like changing lenses or shades depending on the light outside.

A few more techniques/guidelines I use:

Stay consistent with vocabulary. Orochimaru is far more verbose than the rest of them, Shikamaru right behind him, and Naruto uses shorter, simpler words. You can even assign particular words to a character, a word only they would use when referring to something. This applies to how your character addresses other people too, i.e. Orochimaru calls them ‘little ones’; Shikamaru calls his dad ‘oyaji’ in front of his peers but ‘otou-san’ in front of his sensei; Naruto is quick to give people nicknames and most of the time it sticks.

Watch the adjectives; different people describe things differently. Orochimaru uses more nuanced words that can mean different things depending on the situation and mood; Naruto thinks in terms of emotions, a lot of how does this make me feel; Sasuke is very visual and notices a lot of colors.

Use speech habits wisely; how your character talks should reflect their life. Just like accents, speech habits can tell a lot about a person. Sasuke always speaks politely because it’s how he’s supposed to talk at home, otherwise there’d be trouble. Naruto grew up in a poorer district and had no one to really teach him how to talk politely, so he’s very casual. Shikamaru cusses at age eleven because his parents and family are incredibly laissez-faire and honest around him, so he thinks it’s acceptable and normal (and he was never reprimanded for it).

Play with your tenses. Writing in past tense sounds and feels very different from writing in present tense. Depending on your character, one or the other might sound more appropriate. There are some expressions and figures of speech that sound fine when written in past tense but awkward when written in present tense, so that will end up inadvertently changing your prose a bit, which can be useful.

Read your work out loud. Cardinal rule of prose-writing. What looks good on paper doesn’t always sound good when read out loud. If you read it and it doesn’t sound like how your character talks, time for a vibe check. You might need to change a few words and move sentences around, or you might need a complete overhaul… an editor (and I mean an editor, not just a beta-reader) can usually help you out.

A note about editors vs beta-readers:

There is a cardinal difference! A beta-reader is usually not professionally trained but should be experienced enough to point out things that aren’t right. In fandom, I’ve found that beta-readers mostly focus on a story’s general feel, flow and readability, sometimes character consistency, sometimes they point out typos and mistakes. An editor goes further than that. I’m fortunate to have Tria (aventria) who has edited my work for, gosh, 14 years now, fuck, we’re old! I call her my editor because when she goes through a piece, she will fix everything and make my draft bleed and I love it. (I actually get a little upset when she doesn’t fix anything, even if that means everything was good.) As an editor, she does a vibe check and looks for typos/errors, yes, but she also critiques the prose extensively. She can rearrange phrases or entire paragraphs for better flow. She will cut out entire scenes or make me rewrite them if they’re that bad. Like a copy editor, she looks at stylistic inconsistencies, grammar errors, and iffy word use. She’ll usually suggest or replace the offending word altogether. She has a lot of freedom with the work and can actually kick a piece to the curb if it’s really that shitty. She also questions plot progression, character development, and the relevance of a scene. (She’s made me cut out many, many scenes.) – That all being said, it’s not easy finding an editor, much less a good one. It also has to be someone you trust to have this much power over your work. It’s worth it, however, and my writing has gotten so much better because of the help.

If you’ve read this far, wow, thanks! You’re also probably thinking, “Shit, she takes this too seriously. It’s just a fic.”

I have… gotten into fights in the past before because of this. I feel strongly about the stuff I write. Just because it’s fanfiction doesn’t mean it isn’t a labor of love. I’m a perfectionist by nature, so that’s why I put so much time and effort into what amounts to ‘just a fic.’ And you know what? At the end of the day, writing it gives me satisfaction and happiness, so I will keep pouring into it as much as I can. It’s just a bonus to hear that other people are enjoying it too. (Yes, I’m one of those weirdos who intensely enjoy reading my own work…)

Aaand the final point:

(3) I double-majored in psychology for undergrad and have by now accumulated thousands of hours of clinical hours spent using the theories and techniques I learned from those classes on real people. I’m also specializing in neuroscience, so a portion of my time is spent in psychiatry. Characterization was actually not one of my writing strengths at first, but I definitely noticed leaps in improvement after my clinical rotation started. People skills are just that: skills which are honed with practice. It’s amazing how much you learn about how people think and what make them tick when you interact with a whole spectrum of examples: from your neurotypical everyday well-adjusted person, to high-functioning neurotics and obsessives, to patients who have suffered complex stroke syndromes, to encephalitic brains burning under septic fevers, to druggies stoned so high they’ve breached the atmosphere, to patients whose brains are growing insidious tumors, to schizophrenics and catatonics and the depressed. My job also allows me the rare opportunity to interact with people from all walks of life. All I need to do if I wanted insight about how life is for soldiers who served in an active warzone, for example, is to hit up Bill at the ICU and ask for stories about Korea and the Gulf and Vietnam. Or if I wanted to know about how to survive the Rwandan genocide, I could sit down with Amida, who survived it as a barely-teenager with her brother and sister in tow while only “losing my innocence and an eye.” Or I could talk to Heather, who is building a life with her husband and two rambunctious children, for a perspective on the daily concerns and delights of a ‘perfectly normal and ordinary’ working mother. (Her words, not mine; Heather is amazing even if she eats the doctor’s lounge out of Tita Annabel’s cookies.) Anyway, you get my point. When I write, I almost always write about people, so it makes sense that a lot of my inspiration comes from people too. A lot of my original characters—and even some that are not—often speak with the voices and inflections of people I know in real life. You probably have people with interesting stories to tell in your life; you just have to work up the courage to ask and take the time to listen. You’d be surprised at what you learn!

A few helpful writing resources: (most of these are classics)

The Elements of Style by Strunk & White

The First Five Pages by Noah Lukeman

How to Read a Book by Mortimer Adler and Charles van Doren

And more books that helped me get into people’s heads:

Hallucinations by Dr. Oliver Sacks

The Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon

Far From the Tree by Andrew Solomon

The Lucifer Effect by Philip Zimbardo

Admirable Evasions by Theodore Dalrymple

I hope you got something out of that. Again, feel free to drop me an ask if you have any questions or want to chat!

#fanfic #on writing #fandom: naruto #answers

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seddm · 4 years

Note

How about a Mercury vs Toon City vs RDK vs Sugarcube when comparing to Star Butterfly and Marco Diaz?

It’s hard to compile proper screenshots to exemplify everything, and some differences can be understood only by watching whole scenes / episodes, so I’m mostly going to be descriptive

Mercury: thickest outlines out of any studio, consistent models and sizes, but with a lot of bounciness and deformation during weird faces / action moments. This studio put the most emphasis on teeth, eyelids (especially for upset expressions), and especially eyebrows, giving everyone a less soft vibe than later seasons, on average. Overall they obviously followed character models, but rather than trying to mimic the style of the boarders, they had their own “style” (other shows made by Mercury share similarities). Shorter necks, and more details for weird faces, especially for Marco. Not “gross out realistic Spongebob close up” tier, but still something rarely seen in later seasons. Maybe a bit more “cartoon from the late ‘00s” style than “cartoons from the ‘10s” style.

They worked with “puppets” animated in flash, so there’s some tweening here and there, but barely visible. They were that good.

Toon City: hard to point at specific characteristics, like RDK this studio followed the style of the individual storyboarders of the episode, but with a strong tendency for going off model or having weird proportions. If I were to make a super generic comment on this studio, I’d say that the characters - or at least Star and Marco - looked shorter in many of their episodes, but even that wasn’t really that consistent.

They worked with vectors, but without tweening, animating every individual frame.

RDK: my favorite, almost impossible to pinpoint general characteristics here since this is the studio that followed the boarders’ style the most, but the first word that comes to my mind is soft. Everyone looked cuter in RDK episodes, and while I did obviously miss the bounciness and action packed scenes Mercury had (and RDK did suffer from “cheap” looking animation more than other studios), I think they drew the characters at their best. Especially Marco, who has slightly rounded and bigger eyes and smaller eyebrows in most RDK episodes, giving off a stark contrast compared to the almost smug/snarky feeling expression her had in Mercury episodes when idle.

They draw traditionally, with ink on paper, to then scan the frames and color & animated & composite the whole thing digitally, so you can see some imperfections in the outlines, like where the pen left the paper, or where they probably inked the same section multiple times, leading to a line of variable thickness.

Sugarcube: a weird studio. When they go offmodel or have to animate special or unconventional poses, they easily rank second best for me; but when the characters are idle or just standing there talking, they often look too stiff - especially Star and Marco, with way too “regular” and geometric eyes and shapes, small pupils and irises, and longer than average necks. It improved a lot during S4, but I still wish they’d have made them eyes a bit bigger.

#Anonymous #seddm answers #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil

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chara-afton · 4 years

Text

Unordinary Family [2]

The next day the Doctor stopped by, holding a stack of books “sorry about this, but it looks like you’ll be stuck here for roughly a few months, you seriously broke your legs” they said as they set down the books on the nightstand next to Jay.

Jay sputters “a few months?” he was gobsmacked, it took that long for bones to heal? Granted, he’s never broken anything before besides his pride.

However, the doctor, still no name given, pulled out several bottles of liquid medicine and filled up a teaspoon of the stuff.

“Take this, it’ll help heal your bones” they said as they pretty much shoved the spoon into Jay’s open mouth as he was about to protest.

Jay gagged on the taste as it was by far the worst medicine he’s ever tasted in his life “What is that?!” he exclaimed as he tried wiping the flavor off of his tongue.

They clicked their tongue in irritation “Medicine, take a teaspoon of this twice a day, once when you wake up and once before you go to bed.” they explained matter-of-factly.

Jay gives them an irritated look “are you trying to kill my taste buds?!”

They sighed as they pinched the bridge of their nose “look, it’s made to heal bones and numb the pain that you’ll feel from them healing, as well as the general itchiness that comes with healing, it’ll speed up the process by at least half”

Jay turned his attention to his legs and left arm in casts, honestly he was surprised he wasn’t even more hurt than this, wasn’t the fall long? He couldn’t remember honestly.

Jay jerked back in surprise as Lolita popped her face in his line of sight, tilting her head at him curiously.

Jay chuckles nervously “um, hello there Lolita” she perked up and smiled, not quite showing off her teeth.

“Hello Jay” she says, watching him curiously. The click of the door caught Jay’s attention, did they just leave him with Lolita? They stayed yesterday.

Silence then fell upon them, tense and unnerving silence. Jay forces out a breath with how nervous he felt before reaching over and grabbing a book randomly and opening it to read.

The silence began to fade into the background as Jay read, becoming immersed in the story, jumping a little when Lolita tugged on his shirt. He glanced at her curiously “yes?”

She tilted her head at the book, face scrunched up before asking “what are you doing?”

Jay blinked owlishly, he wasn’t sure if he understood her question “I’m reading?” he suggested confusedly.

She tilts her head up towards him, squinting at him suspiciously “What is reading?”

Jay stared at her, slowly blinking as he registers her words “uh….this?” he says as he turns the book towards her “can you not read?” he asked bluntly.

Lolita stared at the book before slowly shaking her head “nope, do i need to read?”

Jay slowly nodded “Yeah, it’s an important skill to have” he said slowly before staring at her as a thought hit him, maybe he can teach her how to read?

“Would you like to learn how to read?” Jay asked Lolita who gave him a surprised look before slowly nodding.

“You can teach me?” she asked with an awed voice to go with her wonder-filled expression.

Jay chuckles softly “Yeah, I can at least give it my best” he said as Lolita scooted closer to him to pear at the book.

The entire day and next day was filled with Jay reading out loud to Lolita and Lolita struggling to read, but Jay was calm and patient with her.

Lolita apparently could mimic Jay’s voice almost perfectly, which had him spooked enough to fall out of the bed and for them both to get a scolding from the Doctor.

Aside from that, sometimes Lolita would ask Jay about city life.

“Is everything really made out of stone and metal?” she asked him eagerly.

“A lot of it is, but not everything” Jay chuckled at her innocence.

“Even the animals?” Lolita gasped, trying to think of what a stone squirrel looked like let alone tasted like.

Jay laughed hard “no, animals still made out meat and fur” he wheezed.

“What’s a cake? What’s a salon? Coffee? Tea? Parties? Clowns? birthdays?” She asked rapid fire.

Jay heaves in a breath “One question at a time” he breathes out “a cake is a sweet spongy bread, usually held for parties” he flipped through the book he was looking at to a picture of a cake” Lolita stared at the picture, eyes wide and mouth watering.

“A salon is a place where you get your hair cut and styled, even dyed” Jay explained. Lolita tilted her head curiously.

“Cut...your hair? Die...your hair? They murder your hair?” She asks with the most surprised and offended voice Jay has ever heard on a child.

Jay laughed “No, like, change the color of your hair….on of these days i should show you a salon.”

“Tea and Coffee are beverages, Coffee has caffeine and is more for adults than kids, it’s also kind of bitter” Lolita scrunched up her face when he said the word bitter.

“Parties are get-togethers with friends and family, sometimes they have games and food, sometimes not, and if they have clowns then it’s definitely someone’s birthday.” Jay explained, having picked up a dictionary and was flipping through the book and showing her the pictures of each word.

“A birthday is a day you celebrate for the day of your birth, do you know when you was born?” Jay asked Lolita.

She tilted her head “No? It was during the spring though, according to Cashimire” She said before softly frowning.

Jay blinked “Who is Cashimire? Maybe he could tell you the month and day? Or maybe your mother could?”

“Mother hates me for being born” Lolita mumbled under her breath, Jay wasn’t sure if he was supposed to have heard it, he barely could.”

Jay fell silent, a wave of rage flooded his system. Why, how? Her mother hates her just for being born? Instead Jay shoved those thoughts away and spoke up “Would you like to celebrate your birthday? I’m sure i can try to bake a cake, and we can even watch a movie too” he suggested to her.

Lolita blinked, eyes wide but she was wiggling with a large grin “what’s a movie? Is it fun? A game?”

Jay laughed “you’ll see, i think you’ll like it” thank god that doctor put him in a house with movies and a TV, Lolita is bound to love it, he’s certain.

#Jay Merrick #Lolita Wetiko #Creepypasta #Slenderman #alpha beta omega #Family #Soulmates

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sciencespies · 4 years

Text

How Denim Became a Political Symbol of the 1960s

https://sciencespies.com/history/how-denim-became-a-political-symbol-of-the-1960s/

How Denim Became a Political Symbol of the 1960s

In the spring of 1965, demonstrators in Camden, Alabama, took to the streets in a series of marches to demand voting rights. Among the demonstrators were “seven or eight out-of-state ministers,” United Press International reported, adding that they wore the “blue denim ‘uniform’ of the civil rights movement over their clerical collars.”

Though most people today don’t associate blue denim with the struggle for black freedom, it played a significant role in the movement. For one thing, the historian Tanisha C. Ford has observed, “The realities of activism,” which could include hours of canvassing in rural areas, made it impractical to organize in one’s “Sunday best.” But denim was also symbolic. Whether in trouser form, overalls or skirts, it not only recalled the work clothes worn by African Americans during slavery and as sharecroppers, but also suggested solidarity with contemporary blue-collar workers and even equality between the sexes, since men and women alike could wear it.

To see how civil rights activists adopted denim, consider the photograph of Martin Luther King Jr. and Ralph Abernathy marching to protest segregation in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1963. Notably, they are wearing jeans. In America and beyond, people would embrace jeans to make defiant statements of their own.

The Rev. Drs. Ralph Abernathy and Martin Luther King Jr. in Birmingham, Alabama, en route to a protest on April 12, 1963.

(Charles Moore / Getty Images)

Scholars trace denim’s roots to 16th-century Nîmes, in the South of France, and Genoa, in northwestern Italy. Many historians suspect that the word “denim” derives from serge de Nîmes, referring to the tough fabric French mills were producing, and that “jeans” comes from the French word for Genoa (Gênes). In the United States, slaveowners in the 19th century clothed enslaved fieldworkers in these hardy fabrics; in the West, miners and other laborers started wearing jeans after a Nevada tailor named Jacob Davis created pants using duck cloth—a denimlike canvas material—purchased from the San Francisco businessman Levi Strauss. Davis produced some 200 pairs over the next 18 months—some in duck cloth, some in denim—and in 1873, the government granted a patent to Davis and Levi Strauss & Co. for the copper-riveted pants, which they sold in both blue denim and brown duck cloth. By the 1890s, Levi Strauss & Co. had established its most enduring style of pants: Levi’s 501 jeans.

Real-life cowboys wore denim, as did actors who played them, and after World War II denim leapt out of the sagebrush and into the big city, as immortalized in the 1953 film The Wild One. Marlon Brando plays Johnny Strabler, the leader of a troublemaking motorcycle gang, and wears blue jeans along with a black leather jacket and black leather boots. “Hey Johnny, what are you rebelling against?” someone asks. His reply: “Whaddaya got?”

In the 1960s, denim came to symbolize a different kind of rebelliousness. Black activists donned jeans and overalls to show that racial caste and black poverty were problems worth addressing. “It took Martin Luther King Jr.’s March on Washington to make [jeans] popular,” writes the art historian Caroline A. Jones. “It was here that civil rights activists were photographed wearing the poor sharecropper’s blue denim overalls to dramatize how little had been accomplished since Reconstruction.” White civil rights advocates followed. As the fashion writer Zoey Washington observes: “Youth activists, specifically members of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, used denim as an equalizer between the sexes and an identifier between social classes.”

But denim has never belonged to just one political persuasion. When the country music star Merle Haggard criticized hippies in his conservative anthem “Okie From Muskogee,” you bet he was often wearing denim. President Ronald Reagan was frequently photographed in denim during visits to his California ranch—the very picture of rugged individualism.

And blue jeans would have to rank high on the list of U.S. cultural exports. In November 1978, Levi Strauss & Co. began selling the first large-scale shipments of jeans behind the Iron Curtain, where the previously hard-to-obtain trousers were markers of status and liberation; East Berliners eagerly lined up to snag them. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, when Levis and other American jean brands became widely available in the USSR, many Soviets were gleeful. “A man hasn’t very much happy minutes in his life, but every happy moment remains in his memory for a long time,” a Moscow teacher named Larisa Popik wrote to Levi Strauss & Co. in 1991. “The buying of Levi’s 501 jeans is one of such moments in my life. I’m 24, but while wearing your jeans I feel myself like a 15-year-old schoolgirl.”

Back in the States, jeans kept pushing the limits. In the early 1990s, TLC, one of the best-selling girl groups of all time, barged into the boys’ club of hip-hop and R&B wearing oversized jeans. These “three little cute girls dressed like boys,” in the words of Rozonda “Chilli” Thomas, one of the group’s members, inspired women across the country to mimic the group’s style.

Curiously, jeans have continued to make waves in Eastern Europe. In the run-up to the 2006 presidential elections in Belarus, activists marched to protest what they characterized as a sham vote in support of an autocratic government. After police seized the opposition’s flags at a pre-election rally, one protester tied a denim shirt to a stick, creating a makeshift flag and giving rise to the movement’s eventual name: the “Jeans Revolution.”

The youth organization Zubr urged followers: “Come out in the streets of your cities and towns in jeans! Let’s show that we are many!” The movement didn’t topple the government, but it illustrated that this everyday garment can still be revolutionary.

Why the dye that would put the blue in jeans was banned when it reached the West —Ted Scheinman

Fabrics soaked with indigo dye in Dali, Yunnan Province, China. “No color has been prized so highly or for so long,” Catherine E. McKinley writes.

(Alamy)

It might seem odd to outlaw a pigment, but that’s what European monarchs did in a strangely zealous campaign against indigo. The ancient blue dye, extracted in an elaborate process from the leaves of the bushy legume Indigofera tinctoria, was first shipped to Europe from India and Java in the 16th century.

To many Europeans, using the dye seemed unpleasant. “The fermenting process yielded a putrid stench not unlike that of a decaying body,” James Sullivan notes in his book Jeans. Unlike other dyes, indigo turns cloth vivid blue only after the dyed fabric has been in contact with air for several minutes, a mysterious delay that some found unsettling.

Plus, indigo represented a threat to European textile merchants who had heavily invested in woad, a homegrown source of blue dye. They played on anxieties about the import in a “deliberate smear campaign,” Jenny Balfour-Paul writes in her history of indigo. Weavers were told it would damage their cloth. A Dutch superstition held that any man who touched the plant would become impotent.

Governments got the message. Germany banned “the devil’s dye” (Teufelsfarbe) for more than 100 years beginning in 1577, while England banned it from 1581 to 1660. In France in 1598, King Henry IV favored woad producers by banning the import of indigo, and in 1609 decreed that anyone using the dye would be executed.

Still, the dye’s resistance to running and fading couldn’t be denied, and by the 18th century it was all the rage in Europe. It would be overtaken by synthetic indigo, developed by the German chemist Johann Friedrich Wilhelm Adolf von Baeyer—a discovery so far-reaching it was awarded a Nobel Prize in 1905.

#History

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meghanpage · 4 years

Text

To the Stars Ch. 5 - Dinner...

Words: 2681

Also on AO3

---

“I was right!” Lucía exclaimed. “You and I are just about the same size.”

They were in her rooms, where it felt to Juliana like the woman had taken out about half of her wardrobe and thrust it on her. She had begun holding different dresses in front of Juliana in the mirror, examining them critically before trying another.

Despite the abruptness of the situation, Juliana found herself enjoying a bit of dress-up with high class clothing. It was wonderful to see so many dresses up close, and it was apparent Lucía was pleased by the commentary she felt comfortable voicing.

Finally, they narrowed it down to one choice, and after comfortably lacing her into a corset, Lucía helped Juliana slip it on. She was right, it fit like a glove, and as Juliana looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but gawk at how sophisticated she looked.

The dress was black, coming off her shoulders across her chest in a vee. A sheer black sash wrapped around her middle, leaving a wide swath to hang down to the floor. The bodice was worked with delicate embroidery, all done in black so it was practically invisible except when it shimmered in the light. It was the type of design she loved to sketch.

Lucía had helped her pin her hair up in a simple but elegant style, and fine wisps curled over her temples.

“You shine up like a new penny,” Lucía told her with a laugh.

Juliana couldn’t help but laugh as well, giving her an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Ms. Borges.”

“Please, just Lucía,” she said, waving away the formality. She handed Juliana a pair of long black evening gloves. “Now, you ought to go meet Miss Carvajal by the fore grand staircase. I’ll meet you there.”

Apprehensively, Juliana left Lucía’s rooms and made her way through the halls, towards the staircase that was the epicenter of first class society. As she walked, she couldn’t help but marvel at her dress. It was easily the nicest thing she had ever worn in her life, and her designer mind couldn’t help but note the way the fabric shaped against her body, the way it moved around her legs. She would have to find some way to pay Lucía back for lending it to her.

As she neared the staircase Juliana slowed, feeling very much out of place. With Lucía’s help she looked much more the part, but she felt certain the real upper class passengers would see right through her.

But yet, as she approached the door, the doorman on the other side opened it to her with no hesitation, ushering her through. “Welcome, madam.”

She stepped past, glancing at him through the corner of her eye to see if he would notice she didn’t belong here. But he did nothing to stop her, so she continued onward.

Slowly, she made her way down the wide, curving staircase, doing her best not to gape at everything around her. The room was panelled entirely in rich, honey-colored wood, bathed in light from the huge glass dome above them. Ornate details drew the eye this way and that, from the floral scrolls of iron and copper that held up the railings, to the intricate carvings that framed the clock which served as a focal point for the room. A string quartet played airy waltz from somewhere out of sight, lending an extra air of decadence to the scene.

Once she reached the bottom of the staircase, Juliana leaned against a pillar, turning her attention to the people in the room. She may have looked like she belonged there, but she had no idea how to act.

She studied both the men and women, the way the men held themselves stiff and straight, how the women lay delicate hands on their men’s arms. Who should she imitate? Was she Valentina’s escort, or was Valentina hers?

She held her bent arm up, trying to subtly mimic the way a gentleman held his arm out for his date, until she caught sight of some familiar figures descending the staircase.

Lucho and Eva walked down arm and arm, and Juliana stepped forward to greet them. But as she held out her hand towards him, Lucho simply dipped his head at her and continued speaking to Eva, not recognizing her at all.

Juliana stared after them for a moment, befuddled, her hand still held out to shake. Did she really look that different?

She turned back towards the staircase, unsure what else to do, when her eyes landed on the person she most wanted to see, and her heart skipped a beat.

Valentina looked gorgeous, clad in a lustrous silver and black gown. The top layer of dark, translucent fabric spiraled around her, worked with beads and embroidery in an intricate design. Below it, the underdress shimmered with fine silver thread. Her hair was swept back from her face, highlighting her fine cheekbones and bright blue eyes.

Juliana’s fingers would have been itching to sketch her if she hadn’t been so transfixed in the moment.

---

Valentina stood frozen at the landing of the stairs, struck by the beautiful woman waiting for her at the foot.

Juliana was stunning.

The black dress highlighted her lovely tan skin, spreading across her chest and down her arms. Her arms were bare, though she held two long black evening gloves in her hand. The open slant of the neckline showed off her elegant collarbones and accentuated the slope of her shoulders. A black sash wrapped around her slim waist, and Valentina had to force her eyes back up to Juliana’s face. Fine strands of hair delicately framed her features, her full lips and deep brown eyes.

Finally getting herself to move, Valentina descended the rest of the staircase, unable to tear her eyes away from Juliana. When she was just a step above Juliana, Juliana took her hand, bringing it to her lips. She pressed a soft kiss to her fingers, looking up at her through her lashes, and Valentina’s heart beat an uneven tattoo against her ribs.

“I saw that in a nickelodeon once,” Juliana told her, her playful smile still so, so close to Valentina’s fingers, “and I always wanted to do it.”

When Valentina didn’t respond, her smile dropped a bit. “What’s the matter?”

Valentina shook herself, willing her heart to stop thrumming. “Nothing, I just -” She gave a self-deprecating laugh, stepping down off the last step so she was even with Juliana. “You look very pretty.”

Juliana’s smile grew back to a grin, and Valentina couldn’t stop herself from saying it again. “You look beautiful, Juls.”

As the nickname slipped out, two spots of color appeared high on Juliana’s cheek’s, corresponding to Valentina’s own heavy blush. But Juliana only laughed happily, thanking her for the compliment.

Quickly slipping on her own gloves, Juliana held out an elbow for Valentina to take, raising her chin high as she teasingly mimicked the stiff posture of the gentlemen around them. Valentina giggled, feeling a bit giddy.

The feeling quickly fizzled as they approached Lucho and her sister. Reaching out, Valentina tapped his arm to get his attention. "Cariño?"

He turned from his conversation with an expectant smile.

“Surely you remember Juliana Valdés?”

Lucho looked at Juliana in astonishment. With a disbelieving chuckle, he said, “Miss Valdés? Well, it’s amazing! You could almost pass for a lady.”

Juliana’s lips thinned, but she simply shrugged and replied, “Almost.”

“Extraordinary.” Lucho turned to go, offering his arm to Eva.

Valentina offered Juliana an apologetic smile, hoping to smooth over Lucho’s flippant attitude. Thankfully, Juliana returned the smile, and they stepped together after the others.

As they made their way through the rooms towards the dining saloon, Valentina kept up a running commentary of the important figures they passed, adding in little bits of juicy gossip she knew.

Eventually they came across Lucía, now dressed in her own evening finery.

“Care to escort a lady to dinner?” she asked Juliana warmly, pulling a laugh from her.

“Of course.” She held out her other elbow and sauntered forward, a woman now on each arm. Valentina had to smile.

“There’s nothing to it, is there, Juliana?” Lucía said conspiratorially, but still loud enough for Valentina to hear. “Remember, they love money. So just pretend like you have a gold mine and you’re in.”

With a chuckle, she stepped away to greet someone, leaving them to themselves again. As they navigated through the saloon to their table, Juliana held herself carefully, nodding politely to everyone they passed and making cordial conversation. Valentina could tell she must have been nervous by the way she held her arm close, but she never faltered. Those around them didn’t question her, probably assuming she was new money, but still part of the fold.

Of course, Eva could always been counted on to sour the mood.

“Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Miss Valdés,” she called across the table when they were all seated. “I hear they’re quite good on this ship.”

On the other side of Lucho, Valentina cringed. Juliana was seated across the table, so she couldn’t put an apologetic hand on her arm like she wanted to. Lucho had likely orchestrated that they not be seated by each other, although that didn’t help Valentina’s desire to stare.

Appearing unruffled, Juliana replied, “The best I’ve seen, señora, Hardly any rats.”

This raised a round of chuckles from the table, and Eva looked away with a frown.

“Miss Valdés is joining us from the third class,” Lucho elaborated. “She was of some assistance to my fiancée last night.”

Quickly trying to steer the conversation towards more positive waters, Valentina commented, “It turns out Miss Valdés is quite the fine designer and artist. She was kind enough to show me some of her work today.”

Her chest warmed at Juliana’s small but proud smile, though it quickly turned to a frown at Lucho’s words.

“Vale and I differ somewhat in our definition of fine art.” Not wanting to seem gauche to the others, he quickly added, “That’s nothing to say about your work, of course.”

Juliana raised a hand to wave his comment away, but her mouth was set in an unhappy line. Was it truly impossible for Eva and Lucho to just keep quiet and act polite?

Thankfully at that moment waiters approached the table, breaking the tension. Valentina caught Juliana’s attention with a cough, signaling to put her napkin in her lap. She felt guilty for not thinking to review the minutiae of formal dining manners, but Juliana leaned to whisper to Lucía, and it seemed like the other woman had things well in hand.

Johny Corona quickly took the opportunity to bring the conversation around to the ship. “I may be the owner, but in the eyes of God she belongs to Camilo Guerra. He knows every rivet in her, don’t you, Camilo?”

Camilo looked quietly pleased. Valentina, who had seen more than her fair share of the ship during her search for and walk with Juliana, turned to him. “Your ship is a wonder, truly.”

He smiled at her kindly, his gaze almost paternal. “Thank you, Valentina.” With a pang, Valentina thought that her father would have liked this man very much.

Before the dart of grief could pull her down, her attention was caught by Juliana eyeing a dish of caviar offered to her by a waiter with thinly veiled unease.

“No caviar for me, thanks. Never did like it much.”

Valentina had to hide a smile in her own bite of caviar on toast.

“And where do you live, Miss Valdés?” Eva spoke up again, turning the table’s attention to their guest once more.

“Well, right now my address is the RMS Titanic." Juliana answered with a shrug. “After that I’m on God’s good humor.”

Eva smirked. “And how is it you have the means to travel?”

Juliana returned her gaze evenly, and her tone was matter-of-fact as she answered, “I work my way from place to place - you know, tramp steamers and such. But I won my ticket on Titanic here in a lucky hand at poker.” She glanced at Valentina, a small smile on her lips. “A very lucky hand.”

“All life’s a game of luck!” said another man at the table.

Lucho shook his head. “A man makes his own luck, Sergio.” He shot a superior look at Juliana, which Eva followed.

“And you find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?” Eva monotoned, raising her champagne to her lips.

Juliana’s mouth set in a line for a moment before she smoothed her features. “Well, yes, señora, I do.”

Eva bristled slightly at being called señora again, which made Valentina suppress another smile.

Juliana continued, “I mean, I’ve got everything I need right here with me. Got air in my lungs and a few blank sheets of paper.” Now she smiled, and Valentina couldn’t help but hang on every word. “I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what's going to happen or who I'm going to meet, where I'm going to wind up. Just the other night, I was sleeping under a bridge, and now here I am on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people.”

She lifted her glass to the table as those around it laughed once more.

“I figure life's a gift, and I don't intend on wasting it. You never know what hand you're going to get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you. To make each day count.”

“Well said, Miss Valdés,” Lucía remarked, nodding warmly to her.

The same gentleman who had spoken before, Sergio, called out, “Hear, hear!”

Not taking her eyes off of Juliana, Valentina raised her glass in a toast. “To making it count.”

The rest of the table echoed her, raising their own glasses. Eva and Lucho followed more slowly, and Valentina noted a sour look on Lucho’s face as he sipped his champagne.

It didn’t matter. Valentina felt almost giddy, in awe of the way Juliana had managed to skirt around Eva and Lucho’s barbed comments and win over the rest of the table. The others must have been able to see, as she did, how genuine, how real Juliana was.

Dinner continued much more pleasantly after that, as Eva sensed she could get no further with her snubs, and therefore stayed quiet. Lucía, whom Valentina respected more and more with each passing moment, regaled them all with humorous tales of her husband, until dinner began to wind down.

Valentina leaned over the table a bit, whispering to Juliana, “Next it’ll be brandies in the smoking room.”

As if on cue, Sergio stood. “Well, join me in a brandy, gentleman?”

With a smirk, Valentina said, “Now they’ll retreat into a cloud of smoke and congratulate themselves on being masters of the universe.”

Then men all got to their feet, gathering to move into the next room. Lucho leaned over the back of the chair, offering to escort her back to her room. Valentina declined, wanting to spend more time near Juliana, but her heart sank as she saw her rise as well.

“I’ve got to be heading back,” she said, coming next to Valentina’s seat.

Unable to help herself, Valentina asked, “Juls, must you go?”

Juliana gave her a wry smile. “Time for me to go row with the other slaves.”

Valentina laughed and took Juliana’s offered hand, allowing her to bring it to her lips once more. “Goodnight, Val.”

Valentina froze as Juliana used a nickname of her own, her cheeks tinging pink. Juliana smiled and turned to go, but not before shooting her a significant look.

It was only then that Valentina felt something in her hand - a piece of paper, left there by Juliana? As discreetly as possible, Valentina brought the paper to her lap and unfolded it, reading the words penciled there.

“Make it count. Meet me at the clock.”

#amar a muerte #juliantina #juliana valdes #valentina carvajal #fanfiction #my work #titanic au

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chacolachao · 5 years

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ASO’s Knuckles Endangered Species #1 Behind the Scenes (Color Edit)

Alright y’all. As promised, I’m going to tell you the ins and outs of everything that went down with this comic, but only the colors... because that’s what I did. This issue took yeaaarssss to come out and I’m so very glad it finally did and to a pretty positive reception too. Good work everyone!

So I’m not sure if any of you remember but I made a post back in February 2017 that I tried out for this fan run comic called Archie Sonic Online. I, of course, put my best foot forward and drew up some panels and posted it for the tryout:

Kinda cartoony, pretty colors, kinda meh, was trying to emulate Tyson Hesse in terms of color style. But my art has changed a lot since then, in fact if I were to draw and color the exact same thing now...

Pretty big difference.

So you can imagine a comic taking place in between these two styles. Did you see the differences in the pages? You might’ve noticed the drawings were different half way through, as Gigi had drawn 1-4, 6 and 5, and the remainder of the comic was drawn by Riggo. Both are really great artists, check out their work!

Gigi:

Riggo:

One style has a lot of detail and small spaces in between lines, and one utilizes larger spaces, chunks if you will. Looking back up at the examples I had for my coloring style, you can kinda guess which art style worked best for me.

The theme of the comic, in my eyes, was very dark and gritty, we’re fighting a sort of civil war here. So, I believed the colors should be dull and mud colored.

The colors here, though considered painterly by many, were clearly segmented into their own little shapes. The most blending you’ll see here is the feathered edge around the colors.

This style continued, moving slowly onward, until a bit after Riggo took over. There was a loooongggg hiatus and then I hopped back in to work (because of the appearance of new management). But at that point, my art style had already shifted, the kind of shading I had been doing at that time looked like this:

Neon saturation, paint brush tools, the style had changed.

I looked back on the previous pages I had done for ASO and shuddered. I loved this new style, but in order for the comic to look more cohesive, I tried my best to use the same old brushes I had used before.

This led the coloring to look smoother in terms of dual colors being used as the base while still using the hard edge feather tool to mimic the coloring style of old.

The new neon saturation I had taken a liking to also crept in to make some interesting blends:

pre-hiatus:

post-hiatus:

As we slowly chugged along, we started to get smoother panels that were more cohesive in color and also used the smooth highlight style like these (irritating texture brush still in use)

*fun fact: See that mural in the back? All those pretty stones... this was the line art for that panel:

Now imagine, coloring the whole thing, not knowing what it’s supposed to be, and then being told later that it’s supposed to be a stone mosaic.

fun

I’m glad it turned out pretty good, though.

As we came closer to the end as I became more confident in the fact that I shouldn’t try to color like old me, or my interpretation of Tyson Hesse, the pages started becoming more like what I usually color (still used the ugly feather pen tool tho)

*added spit... it looked more raw that way*

...and way more fun to do.

Overall, juggling SPF, school, work, and ASO together was stressful. But I made some great friends and learned to despise coloring (kidding, if you know SPF you know I’m kidding)

Anyway, that’s my take on behind the scenes of Endangered Species,

Check out the original behind the scenes post where they talk about the writing and reasons for being etc here!

hope you enjoyed it ^^

#Archie sonic online #Archie #sonic the hedgehog #knuckles the echidna #comic #fancomic #project #Endangered Species #behind the scenes #aso #long post

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ginnyzero · 4 years

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Completely Harmless Appendix 5

The Silver Rose: Silverglade’s Fashion and Equestrian Boutique

The Fashion for the Sterling Rose was one of the biggest, and actually the first, things that I did for this project. I went to school for fashion design and part of my identity outside of “indie author” is “fashion designer.” My love of games and my love of fashion design kind of grew up side by side. So, a job where I could design fashion and have it be in a game is kind of one of my huge dreams. It’s also one of my “responsibilities” in Mystic Riders MMO is to make the different “brands” of the different areas.

I wanted to practice more to prove that I could do clothes on figures that aren’t 9 head fashion figures and have them look good. Star Stable Online’s figures are actually about five and a half heads high. They’re between preadolescent and older teen artistic biological proportions. (An adult being 8 heads and an older teen being 7.5 or so.) I found some concept art on Tumblr and used those figures to basically redress them. I believe (though I can’t be certain) that Star Stable provides blank figures for both horses, equipment, and clothes to their concept artists.

This would save time and is exactly what I would do if I was in charge of the game. This is part of what they call a game document. Game devs love the game document and some won’t work for you if you don’t have it.

So, the clothes and equipment I designed are based off of the Winery Set and Silverglade Clan Riding Outfit and anything that said “Baroness” on it. I selected the purples from the clothes (way too many purples) to be my color palette.

I used their basic blocks (what I call the different styles the texture artists paint the clothes on for the game) and tried to design details that would fit together to create a mix and match line of clothes.

This ended up being 20 total outfits from head to toe including the Baroness’ Riding outfit and the Silverglade Clan Riding Outfit. There needed to be pants, shorts, t-shirts, long sleeved shirts, dresses, hats, gloves, and I also made earrings and headbands because they added them to the game and I can.

I wanted the group to have a jockey outfit, a dressage outfit, a showjumping outfit, and at least one Western outfit (there ended up being two) and redesigned the outfits of a couple of the NPCs so they’d fit with the updated look of the area. Plus, Lin, Pauline, and Tyra are basically triplets and this needs to stop.

I tried my best not to make anything that wasn’t present somewhere in the game already. The details ended up being roses, the sporty racing stripe from the Silverglade Clan set, the dots from the Winery Set, ducks, pearls, and the Silverglade clan swirl like emblem.

I also did what we call in fashion, merchandising, of these items. When you merchandise an item, you take what you believe are going to be the biggest selling items in your collection and you make them in more than one color or material.

Because this is a game and we don’t really have to worry about store space, I merchandised every item to have at least two color swaps (the jockey outfit) to five color swaps. Any more than five and the images started looking confusing. I used the rose shape and filled it in with different colors to mimic the item being merchandised.

Hopefully with these clothes, the player could dress their character for everything from championships to a garden party. And these clothes could be expanded upon later to add more to the store if necessary.

For instance, I didn’t do any fall or winter clothes really because it’s eternal summer in Jorvik! They’ve also added a could new blocks since I did this, so we could do a handkerchief hem shirt and so on.

For the equipment, I merchandised by showing on the different saddles, and blankets of each style what the color combos could be. The clearest probably being the different leg wraps. Because they’re the same colors and to an extent they have the same type of decorations (the Silver Drakes Fancy Gear Set being the exception) you can still mix and match them together.

Merchandising is for the purpose of gaining more sales. Someone might like a style but want it in a different color. Having that color available means that they are more likely to purchase the item. (This is me, now, in Star Stable, going “where is that in black?”)

Then to complete a head to toe look, I researched makeup and hair options because I felt the Baroness would like old fashioned and elegant hairstyles for her ladies in the riding club. Then I tried to come up with makeup looks that were classic fifties or could be worn at night.

Jewelry is all about theme and variation. Take your theme and start mix and matching them together.

Then for fun, I took some of the details and gave them to the ducks. (Yes, I started with their Seagull in the game. It’s now a duck. Let’s not go into what I had to do to make it look like a duck.) Because who doesn’t want a cute fancy duck?

Whew... that is a LOT of images!

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

#star stable #sso #star stable online #fashion #character art #fan art #completely harmless #appendix #jorvik reimagined #silverglade reimagined #many nods to ruth westside

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justreadingfics · 6 years

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Looking For a Heartbeat (9/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Series Summary: You and Bucky used to be in a relationship. Feelings were hurt, you left. It’s been two years and you’re back. You both will handle the reunion well, won’t you?

Chapter Summary: You find some help.

Word Count: ~2.8K

Warnings for this chapter: mild angst, mention to mental health issues, poorly written therapy sessions.

A/N: @nedthegay was the beta again and helped so much! Thanks babe! Please, let me know what you all think. Links are ruining posts, so you can find the the masterlist link on my description.

Bucky takes a good look around his bedroom. This place brings back so many memories for him, most of them good if he’s going to be honest with himself. He has to give Steve that, joining the Avengers and coming to live in the Tower was the best decision he has ever made. Here he found a purpose in life, a way to somehow redeem himself by trying and doing some good. He found friends, set his relationship with Stark onto a better path, the same with Nat…

He met you.

And he also met Anna.

Not willing to give the doubts threatening to bubble in his head a moment's thought, he resumes packing up his bag. He has to do it. It’s the right decision. For all of you. Nothing else matters, not even the tug in his heart whenever he thinks of the look on your face when he told you he didn’t want to love you anymore…

A soft knock on the front door catches his attention, “Come in.” he says, grabbing a handful of socks from the drawer.

“Hey, there.”

“Hi,” Bucky smiles back at Anna when she walks into the room sporting a wide grin on her face. He loves seeing her that happy.

“Wanted to see if you needed any help?” Anna places her hand on the small of his back, “Is that all?” She asks, surprised, looking at the opened bag slouched on his bed.

“Pretty much.” He drops the socks inside the piece of luggage, before zipping it up, “I have everything else in the new place.” He sits on the end of the bed.

Anna follows him shortly, positioning herself by his side. She takes his hand into hers and enlaces their fingers together, “Good. I can’t wait to finally see your new apartment.”

He smiles tightly at her before adding, “Oh,I’ve talked to Steve already, he agreed on the time off.”

She chuckles and bumps her shoulder into his, “I have yet to see Steve denying you anything.”

He laughs quietly and gives her a wink.

“How did it go?” She asks in a more serious tone.

Bucky sighs, looking down at their joined hands. She doesn’t need to specify what she is asking about.

“Mostly well, I guess.” He shrugs, “There was a lot of honesty from both ends, at least.”

“I’m glad.” She uses her fingers to tilt his chin up and turn his face to hers again. A line forms between her eyebrows when their eyes meet, “Are you ok?”

“We kissed.” Bucky ignores her question in favor to let the information out of his chest.

“Oh…” Her smiles drops and she lets her hand fall on her lap.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hating the momentary flicker of sadness in her expression.

“No,” Anna shakes her head, “It’s ok. It’s not like I wasn’t expecting it to happen.” Her lips press together, “I’m glad you told me, though.” She squeezes his hand.

“She said something that stuck in my head.”

“And what was that?”

“She said I will break your heart.” His voice comes out strained as he gives her a pleading look, “Will I, Anna? Will I break your heart?”

Bucky watches as she gets up and moves to sit on his lap, letting her legs fall to the side. He sure hopes he’s been able to conceal how his muscles went abruptly rigid. This kind of affection still seems odd coming from Anna. Or from any other woman who isn’t you, he suspects. But he knows time would change his feelings. It has to.

If she notices anything, she doesn’t let it show.

“We talked about this last night. I’m getting into this knowing exactly how you feel.” She wraps an arm around his neck, “You’re not making a fool of me, Buck. All I know is I love you so much and for so long…” She gently caresses his cheek, “I’m willing to try. There’s no deal breaker for me when it comes to you, remember that. Besides, I know you so well… You would never purposely hurt me.”

“Never…” He promptly answers, holding her waist in a tight grasp.

It doesn’t feel so odd anymore when she smiles and leans in, placing her lips on his.

~~~

The first 36 hours after your last talk with Bucky were spent inside your room, behind a locked door. While you stared at the diamond he had left with you, every single word that had been said replaying in your mind.

When you came back, you understood you wanted nothing else but to love him, to give yourself wholly to him, you also knew, no matter how heartbreaking it would be, the chances of him not wanting you back were high. That Bucky might’ve moved on from you in the two years you spent apart.

But nothing had prepared you for hearing his confession of love then hearing him say he didn’t want it anymore, that he didn’t want to love you because your love was a bad thing. But of course it made sense. You’re the one who turned that love into a bad thing. This was all on you.

From inside the fort of blankets on your bed, you heard the callings, the pleas for you to come out alternating from Steve, Nat, Wanda…

It turns out that recognizing you need help is easier than actually going to find it.

You expected Steve or Nat, but to your surprise it was Wanda who knocked the door down. She dragged you into the shower, combed your hair, filled your stomach up with some soup…. You could see a lot of Clint into her behavior and it inspired a glimpse of warmth in your damaged heart. She was the one who found the list of therapists inside the pocket of your jeans and scheduled the first appointment.

It wasn’t easy to get to where you stand now: sticking to one psychiatrist, attending sessions regularly, talking about stuff you didn’t talk about with anyone else, taking the meds… You went through three or four professionals in a period of less than two weeks and some yelling from your friends before you stuck to Heloise Baker.

She’s the psychiatrist you’ve been seeing for the past two months, since the last time you saw Bucky. A middle aged woman, something around 5’2, with long hair that she always keeps styled in a tight bun, whose solemnity contrasts her blue highlights and loose fitted t-shirts, jeans, colored crocs and the mouth full of sass she sports on a daily basis.

You suspect that what made her different is the fact that she never puts up with your shit. While the first few therapists tried to sugar coat your flaws and tell you sweet words of encouragement, Heloise always said something that helped you understand what could be behind the facts, the actions, the words, what you had the power to change and what you couldn’t, helping you find a way to learn to live with the things you absolutely had no power over. In short, she was incredibly blunt.

“So, tell me what’s new,” she asks from the chair in front of you, adjusting her bifocals around her nose.

“You’re aware our last session was three days ago, right? What could possibly be new?” You snap, surprising even yourself by the raspy tone.

“Ooo, alright, cranky pants.” Her eyes round as she releases an exaggerated puff and writes something on her little notebook, “The bad mood is still a thing, noted. Ok, tell me about the meds. You’ve been taking them for… let me check…” The flipping sound fills the room as she turns the pages in a swift pace, “…a month now, how are they making you feel? Any headaches, sleepiness, dizziness?” She tilts her head to the side, looking back at you.

“Ahm, all of that, actually. But they’re helping with the anxiety,” you answer, matter-of-factly.

“Let’s give it another week then, if the symptoms continue, we’ll talk about trying another prescription. But I think it’s important you stick with them, at least for now. How are you feeling today? And if you say just ‘fine.’ I will kick your ass out of my office.”

You lift an eyebrow at her, which she mimics, challenging you, “I don’t know. Bored?” You shrug exasperatedly, “There’s not much to do around here when you’re not working.”

“Oh, really? There’s not much to do in the most entertaining Tower of the World? Have you met Tony Stark, dear?”

You roll your eyes and let out a snort, crossing your arms in front of you. A few moments of silence goes by before you speak again, “It’s just… I miss him,” You sigh, lifting your eyes from your lap to see Heloise’s full attention on you, “There’s not a moment I’m not thinking about him. It’s funny.” A breathy laugh slips through your nose as you shake your head, “I’ve spent two years away from him, and now two months without seeing, hearing from him seems like it’s … I mean…too much.”

Heloise makes a humming sound before speaking, “When you left, it was your choice. Good or bad, it was your choice. You wanted to run away from him. You came back hoping for the exact opposite. You wanted to be with him and couldn’t. Maybe that is the reason why it’s harder this time.”

You unfold your arms and pick at your nails over your lap, keeping your eyes low, “Yes, it was my choice. Everything else is just consequences of the choices I made. The fact I keep picturing him with another woman, holding her, kissing her, making lov-” you trail off, biting your cheek, “is nothing but my choice…” you add with a whisper and look up at her.

“I remember something you told me you said to him the last time you two talked.” Heloise squints her eyes and places her pen on her lips, as she’s going through her memory to find the words, “You said something like your grandfather had done the best he could with what he had to raise you. Can’t you see the similarity here?” She points her pen at you, “What you did two years ago was the best you could with the resources you had. Was it shitty? Yes, it was. Did it make you suffer more? Yes, it did. But it was the best you could do and there’s nothing you can do now to change it, besides learning from it.”

You let the words sink in. Although they don’t do much to ease down the guilt inside you, they make a bit of sense. You did what you understood it was more appropriated at the time. Just like Bucky is doing now…

“How long has it been since you went out with your friends?” Heloise asks, taking you out from your thoughts.

“Ahm,” you bite on your lip, thinking, “I went out for an ice cream with Sam, like, two weeks ago?”

“Ice cream?” She grimaces, “You have an assignment, I want you out with a couple of friends tonight.” She shushes you when you open your mouth to say something back, “Have a drink or two. Real drinks, not some frozen bullshit. Even if it’s for 15 minutes, just do it. For now it’s only an annoying assignment, soon it won’t feel like it anymore and then, when you least expect, you’ll realize life goes on. Loving him still or not, you’ll keep living.”

You take in a deep sigh, not sure if the fact that you’ll keep living is good news at this point or not. But you’re in therapy after all, trying to get better. You should follow your therapist’s orders.

“Alright, deal.” You tap your hands on your thighs and get up. Another best thing about Heloise’s method is that she lets you on charge of when to finish the session. At least for now, “How much are you getting paid for this shit?” You narrow your eyes at her, with your hand on the doorknob, ready to leave.

“Probably a lot less than I deserve.” She mumbles under her breath, focusing on what she’s writing in her annoying little notebook.

You let out a chuckle before leaving the office.

~~~

A movie night at the Tower’s private cinema room. That’s the best you manage for Heloise’s assignment. She would kick your ass in your next session, but dressing up to go out is still unthinkable to you. She said it herself, it’s the most entertaining place in the world, so why go out?

At least there’ll be Wanda’s buttery popcorn and the ridiculously expensive bottles of sparkling wine Tony is adamant to have up for grabs. Your favorite combo for movies. You feel a tiny curl lifting your lips up at the delicious thought of the treat as you walk into the kitchen, where you see Wanda and Nat. The two avengers you managed to gather for the little rendezvous.

“Hey, everything set?” You ask, leaning your elbows on the balcony as you see Wanda busy with the popcorn making and Nat gathering bottles and glasses, the delicious smell of movies filling up your nostrils. .

“Almost,” Wanda answers with her back to you. Concentrated on the kernels popping on the stovetop.

“Have you decided a movie, yet?” Nat asks, separating three glasses and placing a bottle over the balcony.

“Ahm, no, we can decide it together there,” You smile before you frown, “Where’s everybody, by the way?”

“Vision is on a mission,” Wanda speaks, tilting her head back to look at you, “Tony is locked up somewhere in his penthouse with Pepper. Steve and Sam went out with Bucky and An-”She trails off.

The information hits your chest and there’s an awkward silence among you three, before Wanda speaks again.

“I’m sorry,” Her face scrunches up apologetically.

You don’t know what’s worse. The hurtful sting in your heart, or the pity written all over your friends faces.

After you shake your head and hand dismissively, you clear your throat, grabbing the bottle Nat has placed on the balcony, opening it swiftly. “So, they’re Bucky and Anna, now?” You speak more to yourself than to the girls, not looking directly at them, “Are they… a-are they living together?” you stammer while you pour some of the wine into the three glasses.

“Not that we’re aware of…” Nat shrugs and tightens her lips.

“Ok,” Wanda says a little too excitedly and turns around holding a huge bowl with popcorn, “Now, the final touch, Y/N’s absolute favorite: the butter!” After she places the deliciously smelling popcorn in front of you, she grabs the smaller bowl with melted butter and start pouring it down to blend it in.

“Oh, my God.” You shriek as your hand flies to cover your mouth, helping you hold back the rush of sickness threatening to run up your throat at the sight of the greasy yellow liquid.

You hate the frustration and confusion etching on Wanda’s face as she hurriedly backs away holding both bowls in her hands.

“Are you ok?” Nat narrows her eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m so sorry Wands.” You remove your hand from your mouth to speak in a soft tone with Wanda, hating that you might’ve somehow offended her, “It’s just these fucking meds I’ve been taking… They help but they’re also a huge pain in my ass, I’ve been having constant nausea, sometimes I could sleep the whole day, my appetite is a mess… And today I realized they’re messing up with my menstrual cycle, as well.” You huff, missing the way Nat and Wanda exchanged widened eyes looks.

Feeling a little hush of nausea coming through again, you grimace and place a hand on your throat before you glance at the sparkles from the wine. Hoping them would help with your unsettled stomach you grab a glass and turn it down the liquid into your mouth.

“Spit it out!” Wanda and Nat shout, in unison.

As a good agent and avenger, it’s instinctive to immediately obey when someone tells you to not drink something, and you do what your friends say before asking, making a mess on the balcony “What? Why?” You use the back of your hand to clean the corner of your mouth.

The answer that comes next, once again in unison, makes it impossible for you to keep holding back the puke inside you.

“Because you’re pregnant.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #looking for a heartbeat

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