#plot idiocy

[robertsugden]

'that girl takes stupid to a whole new level so just forget her she’s nothing'

[nocompromise-noregrets]

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP!

wheeeee, thank you! :D :D :D I'm afraid this is a) RPF and b) featuring an OC, so y'know, cardinal fandom sins and also NOT WHAT ANY OF YOU FOLLOWED ME FOR I AM SO SORRY but I am still fully in the grip of insanity and nobody else is managing to get a word in edgeways.

Here's a snippet from the next chapter of Alyssa Romano Is A Consummate Professional, which is entitled The Tour-Dates-Flashing Incident, and features exactly that (inspired by this ridiculous video what an absolute solid-gold idiot (affectionate) he is)...

“So you film me, and I’ll, like, sneak up to the poster on the wall and take it down,” Damiano says, grinning mischievously, and I roll my eyes. I’m more or less used to him and his crazy schemes by now. “Fully dressed,” I put in firmly, and he rolls his eyes right back at me. “Yes, fully dressed,” he says, sounding long-suffering. “And then I take all my kit off, tape the poster right here -” he draws his forefinger across his stomach, “and put the coat on, and then -” “You do not take all your kit off,” I interrupt, as sternly as I can given that I’m already on the verge of hysterics just thinking about it, his enthusiasm is infectious. “You keep your underwear on, or you don’t get to do it at all.” “You’re no fun, Alyssa,” he says, but he’s still grinning, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “That’s my job, remember?” “I thought your job was looking after me and making sure I’m happy,” he says. “This would make me so happy.” “Nice try. It would also get me fired and you probably dropped before you even get to do the rest of your album, let alone the tour dates you’re trying to promote.” It’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation and I’m well aware he’s only kidding, but I’m playing along because it does seem to make him happy - and I remember what the others told me about not letting him get away with any of his bullshit and being firm with him. He sighs theatrically. “Fine. Fine, I’ll keep my underwear on. And my incredibly sexy socks.” He chortles delightedly. “Although seeing as I’m barely wider than a sheet of paper, you’ll hardly be able to see whether I’ve got my underwear on or not, so -” “It stays on.” I keep my voice as firm as I can manage. “I do not need to see whether you have tattoos on your ass.”

Anyone else fancy asking me WIP questions? (fair warning it is going to be more of this sort of thing I am not managing to work on anything else at the moment XD )

[ace-malarky]

Team Bonding

ok there are no like glaring mistakes and this is just some fun 'n' dumb shenanigans but anyway

that Somewhat Shaky Start to my own holiday, now serialised for your amusement!

or mine. mostly mine.

@zmwrites, you wanted to see this right?

~~~

Roxy was first to the train station, with enough time to buy the biggest coffee she could reliably hold in one hand before she got through the barrier and onto the platform.

She sent a message to the group chat and grimaced at the time.

Train in ten minutes.

Oscar was next, Cai behind him and nursing a giant coffee of her own.

"We ready gang?" Kite whooped as soon as ve spotted them, hands in the air.

Onni, beside ver, grinned and waved.

Roxy gritted her teeth and checked her phone, because of course it was Clara that was running late.

"Train's running late."

"What?" Roxy snapped her head up from her phone.

Sure enough, the sign was showing a delay of two minutes.

This was fine. Still enough time to make their connection.

"Ok, made it, everything is fine." Clara burst through the gates and down the platform, panting as she did. "Who in the fuck decided we should be this early?"

"Onni," Cai said.

"Train company." Onni grinned. "Take it up with them."

There was still no train at the platform, no sign of one pulling in, unless that was it at the far end.

Roxy took a steadying drink and checked the board above them as a service announcement crackled over the tannoy. She didn't catch many words of it, but Oscar tilted his head and frowned. "What?"

"Oh, that's not - the Seven-fifteen was our train, wasn't it?"

"To Queen Street, yup." Onni nodded. "I don't like that was."

"Yeah, it - it's been cancelled."

"The fuck it is." Roxy spun on her feet to stare first at the train further down the platform and then at the sign above them.

"Alright," Cai said, and strode down the platform in the wake of the other passengers.

"The next Glasgow train doesn't get there in time," Roxy called, following her all the same.

"You mean there isn't a back up?"

"There's always a back up." Clara fell in beside Roxy. "Right?"

Roxy shook her head. "I don't - we needed that train."

"We'll get there." Onni patted her shoulder. "It'll be fine!"

When they caught up with Cai on the next platform, she was talking with someone in the ticket office.

Roxy slid in beside her to hear Cai's faint exasperation in her, "No, we need to be in Oban for 12 to catch the ferry. Our next train-"

"Yes, I see." The man nodded, staring at something on his screen. "How many are you?"

"Six in our group."

"There might be others with the same problem," Roxy said, but no one else had followed them to the office.

"Alright. If you'll just wait here," he sidled out from behind his desk, "I just need to talk with someone."

"Of course." Cai smiled without it reaching her eyes. "We'll be here."

"Because our holiday has been cancelled," Onni said, propping themself up on an unused desk. "Stopped clean in its tracks. A crime."

"Our holiday being cancelled, or us trying to go anywhere?" Oscar asked.

"Yes."

Kite laughed. "I did offer our boat-"

"Absolutely not," Clara cut ver off. "Bad enough we're going out to the isles. We could have got a plane."

"Clara," Onni said, beginning to grin, "do you get seasick, perchance?"

"Aren't you like made of water now?" Kite shot her a deeply unimpressed look. "Girly."

"It's the difference between the size of boats, right?"

"Yes, exactly. This is why Oscar's my favourite."

"Oscar is everyone's favourite."

"Alright," said the attendant, entering the small office with another man in tow, "we've booked a taxi for you, and you'll meet the train at Crianlarich."

"Really?" Roxy asked. "I mean - thanks. A taxi is quicker?"

He nodded. "If you'll just follow my colleague." He gestured behind them.

"Thanks," Roxy repeated.

The new attendant led them back down the platform and through to the other end of the station, to the back exit at the foot of Calton Hill. "The taxi should be here in ten minutes," he said. "Which will be enough time to get out to Crianlarich to catch your train."

Onni pulled out their phone to check the route. "This is saying four hours, which - oh, shit, never mind. That's public transport."

Kite draped verself over their shoulders and poked. "Yeah, three hours seems much more reasonable. Straight through to Oban. Crianlarich isn't that far."

Roxy let out a sigh and drank her coffee.

"Nah, it'll be peachy," Onni said, adjusting something. "See?"

The taxi did not come in ten minutes. Roxy was doing her best to stay level about it, but with every taxi that drew up only to drop people off and get back on its way, she was getting increasingly more tense.

"It would be a really bad idea to go and get a coffee, right?" Clara asked, sounding mournful.

"Probably should have thought about that before now, yes." Kite nodded.

"But alas, here we are."

"Just because the two of you - three of you," Clara corrected, shooting a sharp glance at Oscar, "are morning people, there's no need to rub it in."

"You can sleep on the ferry." Kite grinned. "Assuming we-" Ve cut off, straightening up as a taxi slowed down past them, turning in the circle to drop people off.

"Wait here," said the train attendant as he walked to talk to the taxi driver.

"That looks hopeful," Oscar said.

Cai hummed, putting her phone away.

"Do we still have time to meet the train?" Roxy spun her phone in her hands, locking and unlocking it.

"If we hijack a police car, maybe." Onni grinned.

"Just hit the motorway and never slow down, right?"

Cai rolled her eyes.

"Alright, he's going to take you through to Oban," the attendant said.

"Great, thanks!" Kite patted his arm. "Appreciate all of this, really."

The taxi driver opened the boot for them to pile their bags in and waited to close it after them.

"What are we, almost two hours later?" Clara asked, climbing into the taxi.

"Oh, you haven't been awake that long." Roxy snorted, joining her.

"No one should have been awake that long."

"Some of us have been." Onni dropped into the seat opposite Clara, Kite at their side.

Kite yawned.

"Did you even sleep?" Oscar asked.

"No, so I may fall asleep enroute."

Oscar swivelled from sitting beside Roxy to sitting beside Kite.

Cai laughed softly as she settled in the last seat.

Roxy checked her phone again, counting out the hours.

"We have time," Cai said. Her own phone vibrated and she checked it, smiling softly at the message she found there. "Shae says to enjoy ourselves and that the city is in good hands."

Clara snickered. "They're not going to give it back without a fight, are they?"

"Mint would. Shae might not." Oscar braced himself against the door as they set off.

"We can talk her down," Onni said. "Or we just formally hand it over and retire." They laughed at Roxy's frown. "It's a joke, Rox, no one is suggesting you have to stop."

"At least not permanently."

"At least not in this car."

Roxy smiled faintly. It was more a baring of her teeth.

"Who-" Kite started to ask, only for Onni to elbow ver in the side.

They left Edinburgh, watching it wake up piece by piece as they were driven across the centre and out to the West.

Roxy bent her head forward to see past Clara, marking the streets they drove down until they were out and onto the motorway that left the city behind.

She settled back with a faint sigh. "Ok."

"Didn't think we could do it?" Clara nudged her. "Told you it'd be fine."

"Be that certain about catching the ferry."

Onni laughed. "It's going to be fine."

"Yeah, we can always hijack a boat. I can sail those." Kite grinned, winking at Roxy. "You know. As a back up."

Roxy gave ver the dead-eyed, unimpressed stare that ve deserved.

~~

"So obviously this is now going suspiciously well, right?" Onni asked.

"What do you mean?" Kite asked, without opening ver eyes or moving ver head from Oscar's shoulder.

"Don't - don't jinx it," Clara said.

They were well into the countryside, winding along beside rolling fields and the gentle slopes of hills growing more frequent, with the train line on its embankment in the middle distance between the trees.

"Well - comedy road trip rules right?"

"Who said this was a comedy?" Roxy asked.

"I don't think this counts as a roadtrip," Oscar said, almost at the same time.

"Are we not on a road? Are we not taking a trip?" Kite grinned.

Clara hummed. "But it doesn't matter because you're not going to jinx us."

"You're right, it's going to be fine," Onni said. "And even if, say - hypothetically - the car does break down, there'll be a strapping young laird to help us that Clara can flirt with and form a deep inescapable bond with."

"I envision a spring wedding." Kite raised ver hand to describe an arc before dropping it back to ver lap.

"Why me? Why not you? Or Oscar?"

"Uh-"

"Oh, going for some queer rep? Dig the angle, very nice."

Roxy rolled her eyes.

"So what would everyone else's roles in this be?" Oscar asked.

"Those two are obviously comic relief," Cai said, flicking a finger in Onni and Kite's direction.

She grinned faintly as Kite snapped ver eyes open. "Hey."

"She's not wrong," Oscar said, grinning even as he patted Kite's head.

"It's supposed to be the love interest that's grumpy with a heart of gold, Cai," Onni said. "You're going to have to downplay it."

"The heart of gold? No bother."

Clara laughed.

They slowed down as they drove into a town.

"Where is this?" Onni asked.

"Doune, I think? There's a castle through those trees."

"Ooh, can we-" Kite broke off in a laugh at Roxy's glare. "Joking."

"We're making good time, I think?" Oscar checked his phone.

"Yeah. It's going to be fine."

"Plus I'm sure our fearless leader has at least three contingencies in place by now."

"At least two of them involve leaving you at the roadside," Roxy repled.

Kite cackled. "That's fair."

"Ve's enterprising, I'm sure ve'd find a way to catch up."

"Yeah, I could just-"

"If you're about to suggest more crimes, I might scream."

"Yeah, Kite, leave the crimes to the big city."

"We're on holiday."

Cai let out a sigh that sounded a little forced, like she was trying not to laugh.

Roxy flicked a glance over Onni's shoulder at their taxi driver. He didn't appear to be listening to them.

They drove on out of the town and into the mountains. The road wound them along the sides of lochs and by the heads of glens that never seemed to get much wider before they tapered to a point in the distance.

The road never got to a single track, but the bends and the bushes hid what was coming.

Their taxi driver slowed to take the corners and then slowed again as they reached the edge of a village. He made a small noise that was only just picked up by the intercom and came to a halt at the side of the road. In the silence after the engine was stopped, the steady click of the blinkers could be heard.

"Hey," Onni said, twisting in their seat, "what's up?"

"Nothing too serious," the driver replied, cutting the engine, "but we'll have to wait here a bit while I get it fixed."

"Ok," Onni said. "So we can get out and stretch our legs? Find some snacks?"

"Yes." Their driver unbuckled himself and stepped out to pull open the door for them. "I'd say give it twenty minutes and check back here."

"Sweet." Onni stepped out. "Hey, do you want anything? Coffee-wise, I mean." They grinned. "I don't know much about cars, but maybe Cai can help."

Their driver laughed. "I'm fine without, thank you."

"Alright." Kite stretched ver arms out above ver head, cracking ver back. "Let's see what this place has to offer. Hey, where are we actually?"

"Crianlarich, I think?" Clara was on her phone as she ducked out of the taxi.

"Wasn't that where we might meet the train?" Roxy looked around for a sign to the train station.

"If you want to grab your bags and run for it, sure," Clara said. "But I trust our man here to get us to Oban on time."

"Is that an 'I'm being an optimist' or an 'I have foreseen this' statement?"

"Have I ever used my foresight for personal gain?" Clara tugged her sister to follow Onni and Kite down the road.

"Yes."

"Ouch." Clara laughed. "But - hey, Oz, how long will it take from here to Oban?"

"An hour and ten," Oscar replied.

"And we were going to be a solid two hours early anyway. We've got time."

"Alright. Sorry."

Clara bumped her shoulder into her sister's. "'S'alright, we love you regardless."

"So," Kite said, waiting for them at the door to the hotel's cafe. "Reckon this place has a hot young laird for us?"

"What - oh." Roxy sighed and rolled her eyes.

Clara laughed. "Ready for the rom part of this com?"

"You know it. And I need you, Wiz, and Onni to be at your best for this."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short." Clara patted Kite's hand as she stepped inside. "Someone could get you back on the straight and narrow."

Kite let out an affronted scoff. "Why would I ever want to be straight and narrow?"

Clara laughed. "You're so right, I'm so sorry."

Onni waved them over to a table. "Coffee and cakes, yeah?" They handed the menus to everyone. "Where's - oh, there she is."

Cai joined them last, slipping her phone back into her pocket. "Just telling our driver which hotel we're in."

"You got his number? Cai, you player!" Onni crowed with delight. "What will Shae and Mint think?"

Cai ignored them as she sat down.

"You jinxed us," Roxy said to Onni. "Why would you do that."

"I'm literally the embodiment of luck in this party, how dare."

"Good and bad," Cai said.

"Why do you have to do me like this. No one believes we're friends."

"Good."

"It's what you do with it that counts, right?"

"Thank you, Wiz. This is why you're my favourite. Reason number… we're into the hundreds now, right?"

"At least."

Oscar laughed, shifting in his seat and busying himself with the drinks menu.

"Besides, didn't we say no magic on this trip?"

"I mean I left the masks at home, if that's what you're asking." Onni shifted to let the server put their drinks and cakes down. "Thanks."

Roxy hesitated.

"Rox."

"I did! No, I - I did." She rubbed her fingers down the table in front of her.

"We're going to trust you on that because we're a team and that's what teams do."

"Oh my god."

"But this is also clearly set up for a betrayal and/or comedic misunderstanding later on, so I forgive you."

"You're the worst. How long do we have?"

"You have a full drink - don't chug that, Rox, holy shit."

Clara snorted. "She's just trying to protect my virtue."

"Oh, speaking of," Kite scanned the room, "see any potential?"

"What does a lord even look like?"

"Laird, Clara, please. You're in the highlands."

Oscar laughed.

"I don't know. Moneyed? A lot of tweed? Hunting dogs."

"Kite, don't you have a tonne of money?"

"Technically, yes. But I don't have a title so it doesn't count."

"Cai, tell me our driver has some good news."

"No, we have to let this play out." Onni put out their hand to cover Cai's phone, only to snap it back in at her glare.

She stepped away from the table, taking her cup with her to answer a call.

"He's kinda cute," Clara said, nodding at the bar.

"The staff? I see it," Kite said. "Probably not, though."

"Times change, Kite. Maybe he's down on his luck."

"If he's out of money, he's no use to us. We need access to a helicopter to get us out to the islands in time." Kite shook ver head, leaning back. "Touch down on Barra at sunset-"

"If we don't get to Barra until sunset I shall scream," Roxy said.

"Well that's a moodkiller."

Cai stepped back to the table. "Car's fixed."

"Oh good." Roxy launched herself for the door.

Clara laughed, scooping the crumbs off her plate. "I'll pay for ours, shall I?" She didn't wait for an answer, sliding around the seats and skipping towards the bar. "I'll meet you at the car!"

"Aw, but-" Kite laughed as Onni tugged ver towards the door. "I wanted to see!"

"You know what capitalism on a minor scale looks like, babe. Or are you that removed from the common folk that all of this is foreign to you?" Onni held the door open for the others.

In their wake, Clara laughed at something.

"Aw, sparks," Kite murmured, grinning.

Roxy and Cai were halfway down the street to the taxi when the three of them exited the hotel.

"I'm going to grab snacks, actually," Onni said.

"She might really leave you behind." Oscar looked worried.

"Then I will have the whirlwind romance and meet you on Barra." Onni laughed, checking the road before running across.

The taxi had been moved to a carpark and was idling away, Roxy and Cai chatting with the driver.

Or rather; Cai was chatting with the driver. Roxy was checking her phone, glancing up every so often.

"Where's Onni?" She frowned. "Where's Clara?"

"Getting snacks. They won't be long." Kite grinned. "And Clara-"

"Was just paying for the drinks," Oscar said, cutting in. "She won't be long."

Kite laughed. "Yeah. That's all."

Roxy narrowed her eyes. "We'll leave without them."

"Even your sister? That's cold."

"Onni said they won't be long."

Their driver laughed. "Sorry about the unintended stop."

"All good," Kite said. "The break was nice. "I'd have asked for one, but I wasn't sure our planner would appreciate it."

Roxy rolled her eyes and got back into the taxi.

"Love you!" Kite called after her.

"If we start heading down the street, they can both jump in," Cai said.

"Alright." The driver laughed and got in.

He'd barely drawn out onto the main road before they saw Clara on the opposite pavement with a man beside her.

"Oh go get it!" Kite called out of the window.

The man laughed as Clara ducked her head and said something.

"The car's fixed, but you should still get his number!"

Roxy rolled her eyes and pulled ver back into the car.

The man shrugged and pulled his phone out.

"Oh my god," Oscar breathed.

Clara tapped her phone as she said something to him and gestured for him to pose for a selfie with her.

"Aw, you waited for me!" Onni pulled the door on the opposite side open and ducked in. "I'm so pro- where's Clara - ooh what is happening." They shuffled into the seat beside Oscar.

Clara grinned and stepped off the pavement, turning on her heel to wave to the man.

"Meet-cute of the century." Kite pushed the door open for her.

"Sorry, we can go now." Clara fell into the seat beside Roxy.

Kite waved enthusiastically to the man as they drove away. "Tell us everything."

"Thanks for your intervention," Clara said, dryly. "I almost wasn't going to ask."

"What can I say, I make for an excellent wingman." Kite shrugged.

"Kinda makes my story seem inconsequential," Onni said. "Please share with the group."

"Ok, sure, but." Clara grinned, clicking her seatbelt in. "Last leg, let's go. We've got this."

"Second last, surely," Onni said. "On account of the ferry."

"If you jinx us once more, I will throw you in a loch, Onni. Shut up. Please." Roxy had her eyes closed, two fingers pressed between her eyebrows.

Onni laughed. "Alright, alright."

"Proud of you for getting a pic now dish." Kite made grabby hands at Clara.

"You think people won't believe us without proof?"

"You and Kite? Not a chance. Cai? Absolutely."

"Hey!" Kite faked ver effrontery.

"No, she's right. I wouldn't." Onni shrugged.

"You aren't supposed to side with her against us," Kite muttered, still grinning. "It's going to fracture the team."

"And at the start of our team bonding trip, too. How awkward."

"So what was your story, Onni?" Clara asked.

"Hey, no, you first." Kite slapped a hand over Onni's mouth. "Please."

"There's not much to say." Clara shrugged. "Bumped into him leaving the hotel."

"Like full tripped into his arms style bump? Is he from here? Do we have back up for-"

Roxy cleared her throat.

"If anything else happens?" Kite smiled innocently at Roxy.

Cai laughed softly, replying to a text.

"No helicopter. First thing I checked. He's on holiday too." Clara's phone buzzed and she smiled as she checked it.

"Ah, young love." Kite sighed and then laughed.

"Onni, what was your thing?"

"Oh, well, I just - y'know, met the local laird." Onni shrugged, opening their shopping bag. "Anyone want snacks?"

"What?"

"Yeah, I have a decent selection-"

"You met who?"

"Do you have a picture?"

Onni laughed. "No, I respect his privacy too much. Man's got enough going on."

Cai rolled her eyes, hiding a faint smile.

"So which one us is supposed to have foresight again?"

"I'm just very lucky." Onni leant back. "I don't think he would have been anyone's type, though."

"Oh?"

"Old. Still had a ring on his finger."

Kite wrinkled vis nose. "Listen." Ve cackled. "If it gets us a helicopter-"

"We appreciate your sacrifice." Clara patted vis knee.

"I don't think either of us did this properly, though. I mean, we're still in this taxi. No offence."

The driver laughed, muffled over the intercom.

"That's a bad thing?" Roxy raised her eyebrows.

"Not since this is working out for us." Onni offered her a small bar of chocolate. "C'mon, we're going to make it."

"Yeah." Roxy took the bar, relaxing. "Thanks."

"So are you actually going to keep in contact with your laird?" Kite asked, waggling vis eyebrows at Clara.

"I think I'm due a whirlwind summer romance, right?" Clara's eyes were on her phone but she stretched out her free hand, palm up to make grabby gestures at Onni.

"Sure." Kite pulled out vis phone. "Hey, what's his name?"

"Absolutely not."

"I can work with that." Ve grinned. "Oh, boo, no signal." Ve pouted at ver phone.

"Serves you right."

Kite shrugged and leant back, rolling ver head onto Oscar's shoulder. "Fine. Wake me when we get to Oban."

Oscar shifted his shoulder, careful not to dislodge Kite, and patted ver head.

"So wouldn't it be funny-"

"No." Roxy threw her empty wrapper at Onni. "Don't."

They laughed and let it drop.

The drive was smooth along more winding roads, between forested mountains and by the sides of lochs that spilled down the glens until one last turn took them past fields and into a town bigger than anything since they'd gone by Stirling.

"Is this it?" Clara asked, pressing up against the window. "Did we make it?"

The bay spread out before them under the bright midday sun, water almost as blue as the sky. There was a spit of an island blocking the view right out to sea, but it was there.

"I think so." Oscar twisted to see over his shoulder, through the front.

"I'll drop you at the railway station, is that alright?" Their driver asked.

"Sure is," Onni said, reaching across Oscar to poke at Kite. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, we made it."

Roxy pulled out her phone to check the time and sighed in relief. "Alright."

"Did we win?" Kite asked.

"With an hour or so to spare, I think?" Cai said. "We can get something more to eat before the ferry."

"Yes oh my god what an excellent idea."

Their driver stopped outside the train station. "Here we are."

"Thanks, man, you've been amazing." Onni tapped their knuckles against the glass.

"Yeah, d'you want to come for a coffee with us?" Kite asked. "Our treat."

Their laughed as he opened the door for them on his way to the boot.

"You're not going to head straight back, are you?"

"I'll have a wee break. Get something to eat, maybe."

"Get real leisurely about it." Onni swung their bag onto their back and staggered under the weight.

"One hell of a day out," Cai said.

"One hell of a work day, more to the point," Oscar said.

"Aye." The taxi driver waited for them to have all their bags out of the car before he closed the boot. "Enjoy the rest of your holiday."

"Safe trip back to Edinburgh," Oscar replied, stepping back to wave as he drove off.

"Now," Clara said, "someone mentioned coffee?"

"There's a Costa just there." Cai nodded to it.

"For shame, Cai, we supposed the small businesses." Onni shook their head at her. "Come on. Across there looks good." They pointed across the gentle curve of the bay to a seating area in front of some store fronts.

"Sure. Can we see if we can drop our bags at the terminal?" Kite asked. "It's kinda heavy."

Onni blinked at ver. "Skill issue," they said, and set off along the path.

Kite groaned and followed after them. "You're the worst."

"It's character building."

"Hey, Clara?"

Clara frowned as she turned about. "Hi? Oh, shit, hi!"

A man stood at the side of the road, sunglasses on and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows over jeans and black shoes. "Glad I found you." He smiled. "Had to make sure you made it."

"Yeah, I uh - I appreciate that."

Kite swivelled on ver heel. "Is this your laird?"

"This is Luke." Clara pushed Kite away as ve leant over her shoulder. "Roxy, Kite, Cai, Oscar, Onni."

"Laird?" Luke laughed, sounding the word out like he wasn't sure he'd get it right.

"Just a dumb joke." Clara shook her head.

"We can explain over coffee." Kite grinned. "C'mon."

Luke glanced at Clara, who shrugged and beckoned for him to follow.

"If you don't have anything better going."

"They'll understand if I'm late."

Clara giggled. "I can believe you came through to Oban."

"Well, I was concerned for your trip, and since I don't have a helicopter on hand, this was the best I could do."

"Maybe we should have left Clara to make her own way, hm?" Kite nudged Roxy. "It would have worked out and we'd get a car chase out of it."

"Yeah, sure. That… might have been fun." Roxy smiled faintly.

"See?" Kite grinned. "Everything worked out fine! We're getting our holiday! You and Cai can relax!"

Roxy snorted. "Alright, fine! Point made. I will relax."

"Excellent." Kite grinned. "After all, what else could possibly go wrong?"

[alowkeyclown]

Love that Sam's response to every single possible sign warning against his exact course of action is to just run faster towards the danger, and then act like a kicked puppy when someone tells him that's quite a stupid idea actually.

[cynicalclassicist]

Maybe Guigamar has a bad memory for faces. Or maybe it was in the dark. Either way, it is a pretty silly plot. I suppose that it could have been years since they saw each other.

[johnnysuhbmarine]

On the Same Page ♡ Masterlist

Pairing: Haechan x reader Description: Knowing a change of scenery was what your mental health needed, you transferred to where your brother, Mark, goes to college. The good news is, he’s not too cool for his younger sister, so he lets you join his friend group immediately. The bad news is, Haechan is in that friend group, and a brief encounter four years ago was enough for you to understand he does NOT like you. Even worse news, he’s a lot hotter than he was four years ago…

Genre: smau (some written parts), college au, crack, some angst, some fluff, "enemies" but more so strangers to lovers, brother's best friend, so many (2) ups and downs, general idiocy when it comes to feelings Content Warnings: swearing, death jokes, mentions of depression and anxiety, mentions of bullying, a few punches thrown here and there (reader is not involved)

A/n: Please know I do not take the above subjects lightly and do not intend for it to come across that way at any point in this smau. As someone who struggles with this stuff, I guess I was kind of writing what I needed to hear sometimes (so forgive me for some self-indulgence)...and as a comm major who did an entire research paper around the impact of friends/social support on one's depression, I felt okay addressing those topics here - I promise I’m not uninformed and just trying to add plot points. As always, take care of yourself first. I love you.

Status: completed! Started: October 27, 2024 Ended: December 14, 2024 Taglist closed

[Intro: SM University Besties] [Intro: NCIT Crew] [Chapter One: Female intuition]

[Chapter Two: A SISTER?!?!]

[Chapter Three: why he kinda...]

[Chapter Four: It must be a sibling thing]

[Chapter Five: Chat, am I jealous?]

[Chapter Six: Normal person? No can do.]

[Chapter Seven: a pretty good guess]

[Chapter Eight: mono boy]

[Chapter Nine: He's a sleazebag]

[Chapter Ten: What is a star party?]

[Chapter Eleven: on the way]

[Chapter Twelve: my sister's favorite movie]

[Chapter Thirteen: You’re pretty cool, too]

[Chapter Fourteen: It’s a little bit funny]

[Chapter Fifteen: I'll just ask Mark] (partly written)

[Chapter Sixteen: smol bear] (partly written)

[Chapter Seventeen: doing a great job]

[Chapter Eighteen: locking in]

[Chapter Nineteen: scheiße]

[Chapter Twenty: not as cute as Mark]

[Chapter Twenty-One: Mr. Snippy]

[Chapter Twenty-Two: Take a break]

[Chapter Twenty-Three: couldn't keep my promise]

[Chapter Twenty-Four: The men in y/n's life]

[Chapter Twenty-Five: Halloween]

[Chapter Twenty-Six: A little birdie]

[Chapter Twenty-Seven: I don't need your protection]

[Chapter Twenty-Eight: butterflies in her stomach]

[Chapter Twenty-Nine: EMERGENCY]

[Chapter Thirty: We're so back] (partly written)

[Chapter Thirty-One: lunch dates]

[Chapter Thirty-Two: pretty girl] (partly written)

[Epilogue: three months later...]

[lettiegrief]

It's ironic to me that part of the fandom insists so much that Hua Cheng's personality revolves around Xie Lian when in fact MXTX created Hua Cheng first and then had to make Xie Lian his ideal type. Like, the truth is that Xie Lian was molded for Hua Cheng. I find this contradiction very funny, I'm sorry.

But they were indeed created for each other.

Hua Cheng has a strong personality, he is firm in his ideals and beliefs, assertive in his opinions, cold in his justice and someone who does not bend the rules just to fit in, he creates a third way instead of adapting to a world that hates him and was cruel to him.

His ideal type would have to be someone as confident as him, who not only does not bend the rules, but also does not get corrupted by difficulties, someone benevolent enough to see people like him with kindness, because only someone faithful in his beliefs would be able to be so different from everything that the world says is right — because the right thing is for you to annihilate people like Hua Cheng, whether they are innocent or not, just because of a supposed curse that they did not ask for.

This meta is based on this excerpt from the afterword that MXTX put in TGCF ↓

When it comes to character designs, the Shou’s were decided on first for the first two novels, but I was torn over the Gong’s for a long time, and needed a run-in period. Hua Cheng, however, was an exception. Inspiration struck and there he was; inspiration struck again, and I blinded one of his eyes.

[...]

It was actually the Shou, Xie Lian, who tortured me for up to half a year’s time. When the novel started serializing, I was still torn over him for a long time.

[...]

But the most important thing is, by my instincts, someone like Hua Cheng will most definitely love someone like this. So, after a good half a year’s worth of qualms, in the end I still typesetted him: It’s you!

Speaking more about this postscript, I found it interesting how for MXTX, Xie Lian was the most difficult character she has ever played. People tend to think that Xie Lian only has two personality traits: (false, for many) kindness and idiocy. The idiocy may even be right lol, but when you stop to think about it, Xie Lian is a really difficult character to create and, mainly, to develop.

For all the layers he has, he could easily be a snobbish prince, a vengeful and bitter ex-prince, a fallen prince who rises again to reconquer his kingdom and reclaim his throne or a spotless saint who is always intelligent and wise and is above things like sadness, anger, lust, etc.

We know that Xie Lian is none of these things, he was not made for these plots. But if he is none of these things, then what could he be? Honestly, I find it very difficult for anyone to come to the conclusion that your protagonist is a "loser" who failed and has no ambition to rebuild his kingdom and become the new king. It's bold to make your protagonist a poor and extremely unlucky nomad, especially with the princely background that you gave him, we can see from the amount of stories out there about protagonists who lost their kingdoms and then have a path of reconquest that it's difficult not to be tempted to follow that path.

Of course, Xie Lian is a god, something greater than a prince or king, but he is a poor god, known as "the joke of the three kingdoms", he has no wealth and for 800 years he only had 1 believer that he didn't even know existed and he is also known as the "god of plague" and "immortal scrap collector", unconventional titles in the literary world lol

He must experience youthful ignorance, overestimation of his own abilities, have been laughable, been foolish, made mistakes, despaired, felt hatred, gone crazy. But he can’t run, and he can’t hide; everything is what it is. All this was killing me. Not just within the text, but outside the text too. My mediation was useless, and I’ve no energy anymore either, so in order not to be affected, I stopped looking at comments altogether. Since I always habitually vaccinate myself before a serialization begins, speculating on all the worst possible scenarios and preparing myself mentally, by the time serialization started I had already expected how all the negative comments would go down. But after much hesitation, I still thought, why not try all different kinds of characters? I haven’t tried writing a main character like this before.

— MXTX

[bluebedo]

Trinity-adjacent twitter AU (PT.9!!)

Decided that the plot is just constant miscommunication and idiocy on mostly Bruce's side

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[dduane]

Dear DD, I'm wondering if you could show examples (from your own work or otherwise) of what really, *really* rough drafts of fiction writing look like. I'm talking the earliest stages of the process that normally most people don't show to the public; whenever I look around online, what folks seem to post as "WIP" samples are usually more like 80-90% polished excerpts.

While my brain logically knows these are the late-stage stuff, it has an ill-advised habit of trying to draft to that 80-90 level of quality from the get-go--I think it might help to see what the equivalent of "thumbnails" or "sketches/doodles" look like in writing, especially from someone who's been At The Work for a long time. Hopefully it's an alright request! I understand if for various reasons you can't.

I'm more than willing to show people my stuff in process, every now and then. ...But in my case, your initial query poses an unusual challenge. And it's this:

After pushing fifty years of doing this work (or indeed, you had it right, this Work) for money, everything comes out looking fairly polished.

And this can't be helped. Once you've been doing this work for long enough—once doing it well starts being the thing responsible for keeping you and your family fed—you will inevitably (eventually) evolve the ability to exude smooth-looking prose at minutes' notice. Over the years your internal prose filters will get trained into being increasingly fine-meshed... and the longer this goes on, the more flatly they'll refuse to let clunky stuff out onto the page any more. You don't really even think about it. You just keep refining a given phrase/sentence/paragraph in your head until it feels acceptable.

After a couple/few decades, this ability becomes an ever more finely-honed survival characteristic. You can no sooner emit actively coarse prose (without trying purposefully to do so, which is another story...) than you can stop breathing for minutes at a time without suffering the consequences. (shrug) It's just the way your life experience has taught your Drafting Brain to conduct itself, going forward.

Now... this doesn't mean at all that the drafted material, be it ever so polished-looking, is necessarily what you intended (or needed!) to write. Oh no. I could this very day show you some prose that by my standards is still really rough, because I wrote it five minutes ago... and you'd look at it and be very unlikely to be able to see what my problem was with it.* Whereas I'm sitting staring at it and muttering "Dammit, something's missing here. No idea what. I'll come back to it tomorrow."

And indeed I wrote something about three hours ago that (as I got it onto the page in its earliest form) left me literally gasping about how obtuse I'd been about the situation and emotions described in it, as recently as early this afternoon before I had lunch. It was a scene that had been missing from something I'm completing at the moment—indeed not merely missing but completely uncontemplated—and as it spooled itself out on the page all I could do was shake my head at my own idiocy at having missed the opportunity earlier, while I was nailing down the plot.

And I would love to show you that piece of prose right this minute, so that you could see what minutes-old prose from me looks like. Except it's seriously spoilery, and I refuse to sabotage a larger work by allowing out any material that's so loaded... and which viewed out of context would deprive it of most of its power. So, as we say around here, 'Sorry not sorry.'" Though I promise I'll come back to this and talk about it "in the clear" later, when that work's published.

...Anyway. The best advice I have for you just now is that trying to make your filters-in-training less effective is—to put it as gently as Captain Amelia might—a mistake.

That urge to have the first draft—or the "zero draft" as some are calling it these days: I use this myself—be as good as possible is frankly a lifesaver. Indulging it, sentence by sentence and paragraph by paragraph, will only leave you with less frustration, less editing and re-editing, and way less Flat Forehead Syndrome over time. You are going in the right direction, even if it makes you feel like you're losing valuable time.

Your brain's attempts to draft to the highest possible level are not ill-advised. Indulge the urge to get your drafting more right, even if it makes you suffer a bit. No one ever said this writing lark was going to be all fun. (And if they did, they lied to you.) Also: hunting through other people's WIP excerpts, be they rougher than yours or more polished, in a search for something that your excerpts or drafting style should or could theoretically look like, will do you no good in the long term... and may do you harm. All you're likely to be left with, after you haven't found anything useful in the wake of the shoulder-peering, is a sense—almost certainly an inaccurate one—that you're somehow doing it wrong.**

You're not. You're finding your own way, at your own speed. This is the Writer's Journey. (As opposed to the Hero's, which I have characters shouting at me about at the moment.) (eyeroll) As you continue going your own way, your drafting will gradually pick up speed without losing quality. ...And don't neglect your outside reading. You need to be reading outside your own genre and your own century to pick up, as it were, new (or old) plugins for your filters.

Anyway. If (as it seems) you're in this for the long term: get right down here with the rest of us and suffer your way (briefly) through it. We all agonize unnecessarily over the effectiveness of our process from time to time. The only cure is to say "fuck that noise" to the back of your Writer's Mind, and get back to the actual writing, where these problems are worked out in the only way that counts.

So: go do your thing, and let the chips fall where they may. And I hope this has helped! Let me know, over time, how things go.

*This situation is also, BTW, a bit of a problem for a writer in a career stage like mine. In an inversion of the usual rule—where "the Perfect becomes the enemy of the (Merely) Good"—the "Really Not Bad At All" becomes the enemy of the "Could Have Been Way Better If You'd Given It A 'Should I Maybe Sweat Over This A Little More?' Pass". Because the Not Bad At All genuinely isn't... but if you're not careful, you stop seeing where to kick it into the next stage when you're distracted by all the other junk going on in life.

**...But this is one of the downsides of the community, and communality, of the writing life online. We wind up endlessly looking over each others' shoulders to try to find answers that—in many cases—were already sitting between us and the screen, on the keyboard.

(And now a suggestion for those who find these occasional excursions into the Advice Barrel useful: at various folks' request, I have a Ko-Fi now. If you find the advice useful and you feel so inclined, send me a sign.) :)

[comicaurora]

hi red!! i'm doing an analysis of sun wukong's (and journey to the west in general's) impact on modern culture for my world mythology final, and for some reason i'm having a hard time finding sources. is there anything you can recommend?

The fact that Journey to the West has contributed an enormous number of tropes to modern media is very clear when the media in question is examined, but I don't know of a specific secondary source that's already done that analysis for you. However, this IS a very good excuse for you to plow through a metric buttload of shonen manga, since the lineage is basically Sun Wukong -> Son Goku -> like a solid third of all shonen action heroes written in the last forty years.

Dragon Ball kicks things off:

Started in 1984 and almost unquestionably the most influential manga ever made. Its first arc features the weird super-strong monkey-kid Son Goku - which is just the japanese pronunciation of the characters of Sun Wukong's name - meeting up with a wacky crew of thinly-veiled expys of the Journey to the West crew, with teen inventor Bulma filling the role of Tripitaka, Oolong the pig-man filling Zhu Bajie's role and Yamcha the desert-based bandit as Sha Wujing.

Hijinks ensue, and while the story drifts pretty far from Journey to the West's original plot, it actually stays pretty solidly referential in weirdly unexpected ways. Several the villains of the week are JttW references, and even the later appearance of three more Saiyans lines up with the surprise reveal of three more Wukong-like mystical apes in the original story.

The connection between Dragon Ball and JttW is very unsubtle and a frequent reference in the chapter covers and supplemental art.

Not every subsequent JttW reference is the result of Dragon Ball popularizing it or anything, since it was already enormously popular, but I think it's pretty hard to extricate Dragon Ball's influence on anime and manga from the original influence of Journey to the West itself.

One way that a distinction can be drawn is in the differences in characterization between Goku and Sun Wukong himself. A lot of the next generation of shonen protagonists were kind of Goku-alikes - pure-hearted dumbasses who only care for the three Fs: Food, Fighting and Friendship.

But the original characterization of Sun Wukong is not really all that similar. He's a trickster, sure, but he's far from a young, friendship-motivated goober. He's profoundly intelligent, pretty much the most well-educated entity on the planet, and routinely brings up that he's centuries older than most of his peers. The Goku-alikes from the later decades of shonen anime are tellingly far-removed from that original characterization. So you get characters based on Goku's cheerful idiocy, but it's just a small subset of the broader influence of Journey to the West on the space of literature.

In general, Journey to the West frequently shows up in very small, bite-sized tropes in other stories. It's less "this is wholly based on Journey to the West" and more "oh, I know where they maybe got this idea/aesthetic/power/weapon/villain of the week from." There are way too many to list, but some of the ones that tend to jump out at me are-

Sneaky characters with monkey motifs:

Tricksy, highly mobile characters who fight with a staff:

Characters afflicted with a magical restraint artifact that allows a much weaker character to stop them from misbehaving:

Specific esoteric weapons, eg. magical fans, rakes, gourds, namedropping The Sword of Seven Stars, etc.

Villains with prominent ox or pig design motifs:

Characters whose primary combat strat is just making Shitloads Of Disposable Copies Of Themselves:

Honestly it just keeps going like this. It's kinda everywhere. Finding the JttW in things is my favorite conspiracy theory rabbit hole because it's 100% harmless and more often than not completely correct.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Idiocy

Why is it when I have a fever I have motivation to write? Anyways, more Hunter x Bucky content, this time with Hunter in action.

Summary: You barely get out of a trap alive and give Bucky anxiety.

You really should have smelled the trap. Gifted with an enhanced sense of smell, enhanced eyesight, and yet you really just wandered straight into this trap. A nice room with metal walls, filled with the scent of machinery, gun powder, and goons surrounding you in a circle. The room is empty, with no sources of cover, a plain battlefield upon which to obliterate the enemy.

Letting out a laugh, your grip on the pistols in your hands tightens and you exhale deeply. Your muscles tense, gaze flicking around and your eyes turn gold. The goon at your nine will move first, followed by the goon at your two, so you plot a route around that and release your power, pushing off with your right foot.

A bullet whizzes past your ear as anticipated and you grin, feeling the adrenaline kick in. Raising the pistol in your left hand, you fire, putting a bullet between your target's eyes before moving to duck the next shot you know is coming.

Your powers flare once again the moment the bullet flies past and time comes to a standstill, golden afterimages shimmering into view. Quickly taking in the scene that will play out for the next two seconds, you release your powers before a headache can kick in and move accordingly. This time, you close the gap between you and the goon, pressing the muzzle of the gun to his forehead.

"So much easier to aim when I'm up close and personal." You grin, pulling the trigger. His face contorts into one of fear just before the bullet pierces through his skull, embedding itself in the brain matter beneath. Blood splatters across your face and you spit out the ones that got into your mouth, grimacing at the taste.

"Don't worry fellas, I'm not a vampire." Your words do nothing to reassure your foes. Instead, they seem to frighten them even further and you sigh. "You guys are no fun."

You turn around and lunge at the nearest goon, eyes flickering golden. The goon screams in terror, blindly firing the rifle in his hands but you dodge, your lips curling into a grin as you focus, aiming one of your pistols at his neck. Your index finger brushes over the trigger and squeezes it as you exhale, lodging a bullet in a major artery that sends more blood spurting all over the scuffed floor.

Turning your attention to the next goon, your eyes flicker golden but quickly turn back to normal as a bullet finds its way into your ribs. Blood blooms in the spot, staining your undershirt red, and now there's a hole in black leather jacket Bucky had gifted to you last year for your birthday.

Shit.

One of them cheers shakily but freezes the moment you growl in annoyance. Another one takes aim but he's too slow. You push the pain aside, focusing on your breaths and move, firing a couple of rounds with the pistol in your right hand before tossing the now empty weapon away, picking up a dead goon's gun as replacement. You would reload your beloved pistol, but there's no cover here to duck behind and buy time, so the only alternative is to pick up a gun that still has bullets.

Your eyes flicker golden for a split second, enough for you to tell where the next attack is going to come from and you exhale sharply, forcing your body to move despite the amount of blood you're losing.

Three more. Three more and you've won.

Another bullet lodges itself in your left shoulder and you grunt, hating the taste of iron in your mouth. It's one thing to taste the blood of your enemies, it's another to taste your own blood. Forcing your injured shoulder to move, you barely manage to hit one of the goons in the leg before you go down on one knee.

Breathing heavily, you look up, seeing a rifle pointed at you from a distance. Even greviously injured, they dare not come close to the Hunter, and it makes you laugh despite the pain.

"Still so afraid of a badly injured person?"

One of them, the one who cheered before, takes the bait and angrily charges at you, dagger raised but your eyes turn golden and your own dagger slams upwards into his chin first, his dagger clattering uselessly to the floor.

"Maybe you're right." Cough. "To be afraid."

The pointed rifle fires and you grin, silently sending an apology to Bucky.

Sorry handsome, guess I'm going first.

You stare straight at the bullet, willing it to hurry up and end your suffering when suddenly a shadow looms over you and the bullet collides with something metal.

"On the scale of 1 to 10, how much idiocy did you leave the house with today?"

"0?"

"The correct answer is 20!" The man known as James Buchanan Barnes, formerly the Winter Soldier closes the distance between him and the goon who fired their rifle, knocking them out with a single punch from his metal fist. He then whirls around, rifle in hand and lands a shot in the last goon's leg before angrily storming over to slam the butt of the rifle into the goon's head.

"Heh. I almost won." You laugh, blood bubbling from your lips.

"Almost won? What part of this do you call almost —" The last thing you see is the panicked face of your fiance before the world spins and turns black, but you're pretty sure he caught you before you hit the floor. He would. He's your overprotective and ever worrying fiance after all, the man called James Buchanan Barnes.

When you wake up, it's in a sterile white room and the sharp scent of disinfecting alcohol hits your nose. You wince, holding your breath for a bit before slowly exhaling, letting your senses adjust to the new environment. After blinking a few times, you notice the mop of brunette hair next to you and feel a warm hand resting in your left hand, left of the mop of hair. A metal arm rests on the other side of the mop of hair, metal fingers curled around the pristine white sheets.

"You're gonna crumple the sheets." You don't know why that's the first thing you say, but there's no taking it back now. Bucky's head shoots up, ice blue eyes wide and he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees you staring right back at him.

"You idiot!" He exclaims, metal fist clenching tighter around the sheets. "I — I thought I was going to —"

Tears stream down his cheeks, staining the white sheets and your heart aches at the sight.

"Buck —"

"I can't lose you! You don't get to die before me, you hear that?" His voice cracks, and so does your heart. "You — you don't get to die before me."

"Bucky —"

"I can't afford to lose you, not when I've already lost everything else. You're the only one I have left, you're my entire world, I need you." The words come tumbling out and he holds you as close as he can, forehead pressing against yours. His hair tickles your cheeks and you strain to raise your right hand to gently cup his face.

You feel terrible about what you've put him through, rightfully so considering how you promised never to hurt him.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I'm sorry for scaring you, for hurting you."

He breaks down sobbing, clutching you tightly. "I've never been afraid of anything until I saw you collapse to the ground, bleeding all over the floor. Don't you ever do that again."

"I promise," you murmur, gently kissing his tears away. He sniffles, nuzzling into your hair before pressing kisses all over your face. You hum softly, threading your fingers through his hair and smile at him, ignoring the burning pain in your side that has kicked in.

Right on cue, a doctor steps into the room and Bucky moves to make space for him. After administering some medicine and checking on your condition, the doctor leaves, informing Bucky that you should be discharged in a week or less. Bucky nods, thanking the doctor for his help and sits back on the stool.

"Hey, Buck?"

"Yes, love?"

"I'm sorry for ruining the jacket."

He raises an eyebrow at you. "You got shot multiple times, almost died, and you're apologising about the jacket?"

"Well it was a nice jacket and now it's ruined." You shrug, hissing when the motion causes a sharp twinge of pain in your injured shoulder. Right, yes, you have an injured shoulder.

"You're an absolute idiot, you know that?" He huffs in mock irritation.

"And yet you love me." You grin cheekily. He rolls his eyes, giving your cheek a poke.

"When you're discharged, you owe me a meal as compensation for scaring me like that." He gives your forehead a flick. "So hurry up and get better fast, I want the Italian down the street from the bookstore."

"So demanding," you snort. His lips curve into a split second grin as he turns away, heading for the door.

"No more trying to die, alright love?"

You watch as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

"I suppose not, sergeant."

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I Know You? Part 6

Jason Todd X Reader

Synopsis: You and Jason have a not-a-date walk.

Note: pre-apology here to people who like Neapolitan and to people who don’t like mint, it’ll make sense as you read. FYI, My brain is trying to work faster than I can type and is lovingly skipping some information that I feel is important for a consistent plot. That being said, some things are added with the hopes for later chapters. Enjoy the Not-a-date.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7, Part 8, Masterlist

The Thirty minutes fly by quickly as you focus on the tasks at hand, ignoring the way Darla was smirking at you. You got the feeling someone had been eavesdropping on your conversation. You finish wiping down a few tables before going to the back to pull off your apron. Darla corners you there.

“Sooo?” she questions

“So what?” you feign idiocy on the matter.

“You finally have a date.” She says matter-of-factly.

“It's not a date” you quickly bite back, “We’re just walking.”

“Right, Right. Not a date, just a romantic walk.” She says with a dreamy sigh. You roll your eyes at her comment.

“Just know that I’m rooting for you. You deserve a little goodness, sweet thing.” She presses a warm hand to your shoulder with a soft smile that throws you for a loop. She squeezes your shoulder, “Now go get him”. She turns and goes back to the front. You stand there and gap for a moment. Never in your wildest dreams would you think Darla of all people would say that to you. You thought she wanted you to date so she had something gossip about. Your heart warms. And here you thought you had no friends in Gotham.

You finish your clock-out process and walk to the front. As you pass by Darla you squeeze her arm with a smile in a quiet Thank you. She smiles back at you knowingly. Once you reach the table where Jason is sitting, he doesn’t even look up, eyes focused on his book. You slid across from him not wanting to interrupt and find the chocolate croissant from earlier uneaten. You furrow your brows at it as he finally puts the book down.

“What's wrong?” he asks as a look of concern flashes across his face.

You neutralize your own as you say, “You didn’t eat your croissant.” He looks down at the croissant and light pink overtakes his cheeks.

“I actually got it for you. My timing was a little off and it's not warm anymore. But I can get it warmed up; I'll ask the lady to warm it for you if that’s what you want. Unless you don’t want it all, which is also fine. You just looked a little worn down earlier and I figured you wouldn’t mind the snack.” He fidgets with his book as he speaks, and you are once again struck about how odd it looks for such a big man to look so nervous. It makes you braver, as do Darla’s kind words from earlier. You reach across the table and squeeze his wrist. He freezes at the contact, and you quickly let go.

“It's okay, I don’t mind a cold croissant. In fact, I prefer it. Makes the chocolate all crumbly.” You say as you pull your hand away and pick up the croissant. You take a bite, and your eyes flutter shut. You were hungrier than you thought you were, and Jackie’s croissants were already divine. You hum contently before opening your eyes to find Jason watching you. You fluster and bring a hand up to cover your mouth, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” you both say at the same time. A giggle erupts from your chest, and he smiles.

“Do you want to finish first or…?” he asks, gesturing to the door. You nod, standing.

“I can walk and eat,” you say as you pull the strap of your purse over your shoulder. Jason follows. He strides in front of you opens the door and you nod in thanks as you chew on another bite. He gets stuck holding the door for an older couple coming into the shop and you wait patiently as you nibble on the croissant. He meets you with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry.”

 You shake your head at his apology, “There’s no need for that, you were helping.” You start a leisurely walk in the direction of your apartment. You two walk in silence for a moment before you finally speak up.

“So, your brother and …leech?” you question at the end, still unsure about Steph. Jason grumbles for a second and the frown returns to his face. A pout forms on your own face at its site. You want to press a thumb between his brows and smooth out the frustrated wrinkle, but you wait for him to speak.

“My brothers don’t always understand personal boundaries. Tim and Steph used to date. She’s basically family but she doesn’t want Bruce to adopt her. She still uses his credit card though. Hence Leech.” You nod as a list of follow-up questions queued in your mind.

“Brothers? Plural?” He nods with a long-suffering sigh.

“I’ve got four and a sister and a few honorary siblings like Steph.”

“Interesting. And Bruce is?” Jason’s entire body tenses and you worry and wonder if and how the question made him uncomfortable. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he stays quiet for a moment. You don’t push, just continue walking. After a minute of tense silence, you apologize.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, “I just hadn’t realized-” he stops and shakes his head. “It's complicated.”

You nod in understanding, “Okay”

You watch your feet to ignore the silence and become intent on not stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. Your steps become skewed, and your shoulder bumps against his. His hand slides from his pocket and presses to the small of your back to balance you.

“Sorry,” you mutter embarrassed, and you begin to wonder if it's too hot for fall. You step back, his hand doesn’t move until he’s sure you’re stable. Your back suddenly feels cold at the loss of his touch and you blame climate change on the temperature differences.

“Not gonna break anything are you?” there’s a teasing lilt to his voice and  you feel warm again. You shake your head and start walking again and he follows you with hesitance as you keep your eyes on the sidewalk simply focusing on walking straight.

“You asked about my brother, so any siblings?” he asks, and your shoulders relax from the scrunched position they had been in.

“I have a sister. She’s…” you pause as a flood of emotions overtake you for a moment before you swallow it down, “She’s great, I love her a lot.” You decide you need to steer away from family talk for both him and you.

You take the final bite of your croissant and chew thoughtfully. You decide on a game of easy 20 questions.

“Favorite desert?”  you see Jason raise his brow at you out of the corner of your eye from the change in conversation. He doesn’t outwardly question you despite the look.

“Neapolitan ice cream.”

You crinkle your nose and ask, “All at once?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He almost sounds offended.

“Like you eat it all at once. The chocolate and the strawberry and the vanilla all in one bite.”

“Yea? Isn’t that the point of it?” Now he sounds confused, and you turn your head to smile at the expression on his face before you follow it up with a mocked disgusted look.

“That’s disgusting” his face is back to being offended but you see the curl of a grin at the corner of his lips.

“It’s delicious. Fine, what's your favorite dessert?”

“Mint?” You say it like a question because you don’t really have a favorite dessert, you just like things minty and sweet. He takes his turn with a look of disgust.

“Are you sure? And mint what? That’s extremely vague.” You give a halfhearted shrug in response.

“I just like minty things, there’s nothing wrong with that.” You argue.

“And there's nothing wrong with eating all the Neapolitan flavors at once” he shoots back. You concede with a nod and a grin.

“Ooh-kay, you win.” When you glance at him again, you see a smug look on his face, and it makes you snort out a laugh.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, this has just been an interesting walk.” You glance around and notice you’ve made it to your street and find his bike once again parked in front of your apartment building. You glance at him and find a contented look on his face.

“Is that a good parking spot?” he seems momentarily startled by your question, so you add on, “That was where you parked the last time we walked.”

He looks from the bike to you a few times and you think you see a flash of panic before his face settles into a more stoic position. He nods and says, “It seems to be open most of the time, and helps that I get to walk with a lovely woman.”

Your cheeks flush yet again but you feel more comfortable around him. You press a hand to your chest and look around. You meet his eye and play up a southern accent as you say, “My, oh, my. Are you talking about little ‘ole me?”

He lets out a wonderfully hearty laugh. “Funny, Sweetheart, Take the compliment.” He’s tone commanding and your heart does two skips. One at the pet name and another at his voice. You suck in a breath.

“Okay, Thank you”. You say as you come to a stop by his bike. He suddenly backtracks.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t have to thank me or accept anything like that. I just don’t want you to think the opposite because you are lovely. I mean you're great, fantastic even.” You stop him before he can continue, wrapping your finger around his wrist like you did at the café. It stops him and you don’t pull away this time.

“I mean it, Jason,” you smile, “Thank you for the compliment and the walk home.” You slip your hand from him and grasp around your purse strap to avoid fidgeting.

“Well, you're not home yet.” He says it like he’s reminding you and you nod remembering that he doesn’t know that this is your building. Although he might figure it out soon enough, you decide as one of the stray cats comes to press against your legs. His eyes watch the cat quietly and you stiffen up pretending you don’t know the cat.

“Well, I should start walking and you should… Drive to wherever you're going,” you say slowly. He presses his lips together as he watches the cat, and you think he’s trying not to laugh but you don’t know why. He nods as he pulls out his helmet and places his book in the cubby on the bike. You take a step back as you watch him slide the helmet on. You feel like you have the strangest moment of déjà vu. You’ve seen this before, but this isn’t the scene you think of. You think of Red Hood, who you’ve seen every night, and you’ve watched him put on and take off his helmet. The way Jason grasped at his helmet as he slid it on, it was almost-

Your eyes widen in panic.

No. No. No. We are not going to go down that rabbit hole. Jason is just a guy from the café and Red Hood is a vigilante whom you share tea with. Just because you have a crush on both of them does not mean-

“you okay?” Jason’s muffled voice pulls you out of your thoughts with a jump. You find him already on his bike, the engine running. You stare at him wanting to kick yourself, you missed watching him get on.

“Just tired.” You say brushing the moment off.

“Not of me I hope.” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Not yet,” you tease, “Goodbye, Jason.”

“Goodbye, My Lady” The helmet tips in your direction and takes off down the street. You finally drop down to a squat to pet the stray cat that had taken to meowing at you incessantly.

“I think I’m losing my mind” you admit to the cat. He meows at you in response. Yea definitely losing your mind.

Additional Note: Yeah that ending almost messed up my entire plan. I literally panicked like I wasn’t the one writing the scene in the first place. I have a goal I think and while it was almost a mess up it did open an idea for a scene later. So a win fail I guess. My writing (in the brief stint that I’ve been doing it) is just mess around and find out and sometimes I’m not ready to find out. Anyways, Thank you for reading!

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden

[revelboo]

*dies* the plot twist in the last Everything is Alright update!! I was expecting soundwave to end up with the sparkling, then star would have to except him, but Megatron is even better,I'm been waiting for him to bond Reader. I think I'm going to go hysterical waiting for the next part! (No pressure, I'm just obsessed with your writing ♡♡♡)

Poor Megs getting to figure out the hard way how interspecies reproduction between Cybertronians and humans works. I’m sure this won’t be awkward at all…

Everything Is Alright Pt 115

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “I’m sorry. What?” You manage, struggling to sit up in his palm as he sits on his berth holding you. And you feel oddly exhausted as Megatron just stares at the far wall. Your own tired brain teetering dangerously close to the urge to laugh, and afraid you won’t be able to stop if you start. Because of course this weird alien bullshit can get worse. Nothing should surprise you at this point. And then you think about how Star’s going to react to the fact that you somehow gave his spark he’d created with you to his worst enemy. “Can you give it back?” Before Star figures out what happened?

• Venting, he scowls at you. “I don’t even know how I took it,” he growls, head lifting when someone starts banging on the door to his habsuite and you wilt. Because of course, your spark mate would have felt you collapse. Standing, he carries you to unlock the door and is surprised to see Soundwave, not Starscream. Doesn’t even protest when the communications officer reaches for you and you slide over into his hands. Abandoning him after sparking him. “Where’s the Seeker?” Because he’d rather just get this idiocy over with. Because this isn’t how this works. The carrier keeps the spark, but you’re human not Cybertronian.

• Servos stroking over you, physically you seem fine, but your emotions are all over the place, jangling through him. “Collapsed. Hurt?” He asks, tipping your chin up and you grab onto his servo. ‘Wait, Star collapsed?’ You ask as Megatron makes a noise and you shoot him a look. What is he missing? There’s something there in the expression on Megatron’s face, but he’s just so glad you’re okay. It feels good to have you in his hands again, thought when the Seeker collapsed that he wouldn’t have a chance to apologize to you. To do better for you. Thought he’d somehow lost you. Starts to ask about the spark and hesitates glancing at Megatron, remembering that it’s secret.

• Pushing at his servos as he nervously touches you, feeling your heart, checking you over in gentle touches. And not answering you. “Soundwave, old friend,” Megatron says, his tone almost friendly to make your skin prickle all over. “Were you aware that our pet was sparked? With Starscream’s young?” Oh, he’s smiling. If shark’s could smile, that’s exactly what it would look like. That gleam in the warlord’s optics makes you want to try to pry open Soundwave’s cassette compartment and hide inside.

• Waiting patiently as Soundwave slowly inclines his head, Megatron presses his servos against his helm. “Lord Megatron?” Soundwave asks, servos curling protectively around you. Like his commander thinks he’s about to lash out at you. Not realizing that you’re absolutely safe from him. That you’re fully bonded to him and Starscream. “The spark?” His communications officer asks as you just hide your face in your hands in mortification and he looks from you to Megatron at a loss.

• Coming online, Starscream struggles to get free of the two Constructicons lifting him off the floor. Hearing them swear at him as he breaks loose and takes off. Because that fear that had slammed through him before something has gone wrong with his spark and processor had been yours. And all he can think of is that you need him. He’s terrified for you. That your weak human body has rejected the spark, that you might not survive it. Running, for Megatron’s habsuite as his own spark constricts painfully. Even if you’re still upset with him, he needs to see you. To reassure himself that you’re okay. Because you’re what matters to him.

Previous

Next

Clumsy Heart, TKO, and some TFA updates later hopefully

[lurkingshan]

Thoughts on ThamePo

I finally got some time this weekend, so I decided to go ahead and binge ThamePo, a show many of you seemed to enjoy and that quite a few people have told me is one of the more solid to come out of GMMTV's BL lineup in awhile. I told a few friends I would share thoughts when I watched it. Let’s go!

The TL, WR: I had a fun time watching this show and agree it managed to avoid a lot of GMMTV shows' worst pitfalls, but I also found the writing around the core plot to be an inconsistent mess. I'll break down the good, the bad and the huh from my perspective, so only read on if you care to know. Disclaimer: I am not a LYKN fan and in fact knew almost nothing about them before watching this.

The Good

The show looks fantastic. As soon as I turned it on I said "is this a Parbdee production?!" And it sure was. It seems GMMTV picks one BL a year that it's willing to actually fund high production values for, and ThamePo was the lucky winner of this round. It was quite a startling contrast having just watched My Golden Blood.

The flirting between Thame and Po in their talking stage was a lot of fun. I don't think it made me swoon quite as hard as some of you, but I was charmed. Is memorizing someone's phone number the new height of romance?

Drake and Sammy were here! And looking cute! I was happy every time they showed up.

Nano's colorful sweaters. I want every single one.

All of episode 10, which was my personal favorite of the show. It was the only episode where I felt like they had a strong episodic plot and theme that they executed well and that showed a realistic sequence of events around how idols are treated by their fans.

Baifern learned something about how to love and support her idols without crossing boundaries. This girl made me so uncomfortable for the whole show and I was glad they had her realize she was wrong and speak directly into the camera about it. GMMTV owed us that after the disastrous handling of this issue in Only Boo. Plus, Baifern growing meant I could enjoy the absolute comedy of her reaction to finding out who Mr. B was. Ciize is so funny.

Noble idiocy was given the respect it deserves: none.

I liked the resolution for the romance, and that ultimately what Thame and Po wanted was just an ordinary relationship where they could spend time together and pursue their careers on their own terms. It was wonderfully straightforward and low drama.

Contra GMMTV's usual pattern, this show's strongest run was its last four episodes, and I actually thought the finale was strong given the story they had set up for themselves. I appreciated that rather than indulge in the fantasy ending of Only Boo, MARS had to suffer real consequences for choosing their personal lives and orchestrating a breach of contract. They had to reckon with the fact that being idols was directly at odds with the way they wanted to live, and make a choice. Kudos to the show for that.

The Bad

It feels like this script was written by someone who doesn't really understand the idol industry or how anything works. Much of the plot for MARS and the business machinations of managing them was nonsensical and contra how idols are actually managed in the industry. It was extra jarring to then cast a real idol group and have them act out this weird incorrect version of their reality.

Relatedly, the writing for Pemika was all over the place. We are supposed to see her as a smart businesswoman who knows what's best for their careers even as she is very unkind to them as humans, but the way she handled Thame throughout the show was ludicrous. First of all, it is the industry norm for idols to do solo work while staying in their group, so for her to insist on dismantling MARS so that Thame could go solo made no sense, and the entire plot hinged on this! It's not only bad artist management--she is deeply pissing off and damaging her relationship with her most important performer--it also just doesn't make sense from a revenue standpoint. Why kill MARS, a popular idol group with a large fanbase, when you could just negotiate with Thame for a solo album in exchange for another MARS album and keep both revenue streams? Pemika's approach was counterproductive. I was intrigued by what they tried to do with her in certain moments, but it didn't hang together because there were too many logic gaps.

On that note, I think the biggest problem with the way the MARS plot was constructed is that if they are already a successful group, most of the plot does not make any sense. Agencies don't destroy successful and profitable groups just for the hell of it, and if Thame is the leader of a successful group with a powerful fanbase he should have more power than the show implied. The whole story makes a lot more sense if MARS was struggling to break out and didn't actually have fans yet, but the show tried to have its cake and eat it, too.

This is a matter of personal preference, but I personally did not care for Thame's characterization as an extraordinarily selfless idol with no ego who only cared about his friends at the expense of his own career. Please, show. A little more nuance and complexity to his motivations would have been nice.

The whole subplot with Jun pretending to hit on Po was just stupid and I found it to be a very frustrating diversion that was mostly there to stall getting Thame and Po together. They already knew they liked each other and his interference did not accomplish anything except making me wonder why Thame considers that asshat his friend.

Must GMMTV continue to stab me in the heart by making me listen to the Last Twilight OST over and over again?? Write a new song!

On that note (look away stans), the music performances in this show were just unforgivably bad. I will not go into further detail so as to not hurt anyone's feelings (but you can come sit by me in the DMs if you want to talk shit).

The Huh

I don't understand why Thai idol dramas keep making getting recruited to Korea the standard. Not only is it deeply unrealistic to suggest that an industry already teeming with talent is eager to recruit middling talent from elsewhere, but if your goal is to promote the tpop industry, focus on tpop!

On top of the business plot not making sense, the way they presented the group and their roles was just strange. Idols all have to have baseline competency in singing, dancing, and rap--you don't have one member who does each like the show kept saying. I got confused every time the show reverted to this framing. Don't even get me started on the concept of Nano, the successful idol who *checks notes* doesn't know how to sing.

Let me not also forget that these are supposed to be famous idols, yet they are constantly casually hanging out in public spaces with no fans approaching them. Every time they sat around as a group in a park I wanted to scream.

Which of course leads me to my incredulity that so much of Thame and Po's flirtation happened in public, outside, in front of tons of onlookers, and somehow they were not spotted every time despite Thame being famous. As fucking if! The way the story ignored this reality for the first 2/3 of the show really undercut the final arc when they suddenly remembered idols can't date. And right after the group handled Pepper's scandal, Thame was back to holding Po's hand outside again. I felt like I was taking crazy pills.

I was also salty about Pepper directly encouraging Thame to pursue Po only to turn around the next episode and tell him idols can't date. Sir, what the fuck.

The whole thing with Mick was kind of a miss for me. They made a big deal about his incompetence in the first few episodes, then he functionally disappeared for half the show, then they revealed he was pretending to be bad at his job as some roundabout way of helping them, I guess? It was a half-baked idea poorly presented.

Since I mentioned Only Boo up top, it would be remiss of me not to mention that if ThamePo takes place in the same universe as the cameos imply, this plot makes even less sense because Moo already broke down this barrier and idols can now have boyfriends with no consequences! (Seriously though if you're gonna have them cameo at least let Moo speak I love that boy).

The show should not have been in the bubble. So much of the romance plot and the contrast between Pepper/Gam and Thame/Po would have been strengthened if their sexuality mattered.

Lastly, I'll just say that I found this plot a strange one if GMMTV's intent was to use the show as a vehicle to promote LYKN. The entire plot is that the agency thinks Thame is the only talented one and the rest of the group is holding him back, but he's a Good Person so he will stay with them anyway. If I was anyone else in LYKN I'd be side-eyeing this plot big time.

In conclusion: This was a fun binge but I am still waiting for the Thai idol BL of my dreams starring Daou and Offroad. I will write the goddamn script if I have to!

[monsieurlaziness]

Just needed to solidify my rant, absolute apologizes if this theme is oversaturated, but I needed to speak up because I remembered the absolute idiocy that Naruto's ending is.

Let's be real.

Kaguya's arrival is the WORST plot twist of Naruto.

It was all about ninja, philosophy, and the cycle of hatred, and then out of nowhere — aliens. It felt like Kishimoto suddenly realized he needed a "bigger" final boss but had already made Madara too OP, so he just threw in Kaguya as a "gotcha" moment.

Madara had decades of build-up. He represented everything wrong with the shinobi system: the endless wars, the obsession with power, the never-ending cycle of revenge. He was literally the final test of Naruto's ideology. And then — nope, just kidding! Black Zetsu was using him as a pawn for literally thousands of years to revive Kaguya, who has no real personal motivation beyond "mY cHaKrA."

Kaguya wasn't even interesting. She barely spoke, had no personal connection to the main cast, and her fights were just "teleport to a new dimension, spam crazy jutsu, repeat." At least Madara made his fights fun.

Honestly, it would’ve been way more satisfying if Madara had fused with the God Tree or something and he was the final boss. But nope, aliens.

This is so pointless...

Like imagine the perfect ending of Naruto.

Imagine Madara lying there, defeated but not in some cheap "backstabbed by Zetsu" way — truly defeated in battle. He’s staring up at the sky, battered, his legendary power finally failing him. And in those last moments, as he reflects on everything — the wars, the betrayals, the endless cycle of hatred — he whispers:

"Hashirama… was I wrong… after all?..."

And just as he fades, he sees Hashirama’s ghost (not literally, but like a vision in his mind) smiling at him, as if saying, "You finally understand."

That single line would’ve hit so hard. It wouldn’t erase all the pain he caused, but it would humanize him even more. It would show that, at the very end, he finally questions if his way was right. Not some alien’s pawn. Not some chakra puppet. Just a man who tried, failed, and wondered if there was another way.

THAT is how you close Madara’s story. Not by having him get played by Black Zetsu like an absolute clown

Madara fades away, his vision going black… and then, he opens his eyes. He’s standing in a vast, peaceful meadow — the same place where he and Hashirama used to meet as kids. The river flows quietly, the trees rustle in the breeze. It’s eerily silent.

And then, standing there, arms crossed, a familiar voice:

"Took you long enough, you stubborn fool."

Madara turns, and there’s Hashirama, just watching him. Not angry. Not smug. Just… there. Waiting.

Madara, for the first time in forever, feels small. He clenches his fists, looks away, then — gritting his teeth — mutters:

"I really was a fool, huh?"

Hashirama sighs, stepping closer. "You always were. But you were my friend first."

For a moment, they just stand there, the weight of their entire lives hanging in the air. And then—Hashirama smirks.

"So… rematch?"

Madara blinks, then lets out a genuine laugh. A real, deep laugh, the kind he hasn’t had in decades. He rolls his shoulders, a spark of life returning to his eyes.

"Hah! You’d better not hold back this time, Hashirama."

The two charge at each other one last time, not as enemies, not as warriors — just as two boys who once dreamed of peace.

THAT should’ve been Madara’s ending.

[londonfog-chan]

Emperor Caracalla x Fem!Reader: Hermâs

A/N: The little lad dances once again.

I got this idea from listening to the soundtrack for Spirit. I’m a fucking horse girl at heart.

I also wanted to write about the true “quirky girl” experience. The majority of the time, the quirky girl isn’t beloved by all. In fact, many find her quite annoying.

I wanted to write about a sheltered, immature girl whose main character syndrome fucks her over when she finds someone that can match her delulu. I wanted to write a story where the reader is genuinely as stupid and naive, as well as childish, as the moron twins are.

Sometimes, we need a stupid reader.

Summary: Was this truly happening? Have the gods at last acknowledged your existence as the main character of your childhood narrative?

Warnings: Caracalla being a creep, period accurate misogyny, mentions of marrying off daughters to old men, Geta plotting evil, slight smutty elements

Credits: massive shoutout to @writhingg and @rxqueenotd for beta reading my clown shoes writing, as well as dealing with me screaming about my Shayla.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive

You found yourself groaning awake in your bed the morning after your sojourn in the stables.

Despite the consistent treatments of echinacea salve and rendered animal fat, the large bruise on your thigh still stung and bled through the linens— your father’s new war stallion was not one to be trifled with. Whereas you had intended to capture the hearts of the handsome stable hands by taming the horse, your poor planning and recklessness had almost killed you.

The stallion had been a gift— war spoil— from a distant land far to the east. The animal was a beautiful golden buckskin with singed brown legs and dark mane; for a moment, you mistook him for one of the golden horses that pulled Sol’s chariot across the sky. One could imagine the distinct markings as telling a story of his divine origin.

Perhaps the fiery rays of the sun singed his legs, mane and tail, and maybe the light bleached his hide— just as it tended to wash out the dyed colors of forgotten laundry hanging on a line.

He was beautiful.

So different from the broken ones you had been able to ride bareback as a small child, you naively thought all this poor creature needed to be tamed was a tender hand. Someone who understood his divine origin, and respected him for it. Only heroes in your childhood fairytales could tame such a beast, and you fancied yourself to be of their rank.

Unfortunately, your status as a chosen one was called into question. The animal was still half possessed by the wilds, and the scent of the working mares around him drove him into a lovesick madness. You jumped without thinking onto his back, and the animal had tried everything in his power to throw you. Both of you went down when he reared, and landed on your sides when the horse lost footing in the arena.

Instead of a potential stable hand suitor rushing to your side to help, your father corralled the stallion, and it was Mother Lucilla who appeared with her maid Leta when she heard your cries of agony. Leta scolded you with a clicking of her tongue as she hauled you up, and your mother’s deep contralto barked out as she gave you a verbal lashing.

“What were you thinking?! Moronic child! Preposterous piss-ant! Behaving as though I’ve never taught you sense! You could have broken your neck, you could have been killed! Foolishness!”

While you were carted back to the house in a lectus, you could hear the young stable hands laughing at your idiocy. Doubled over, they slapped at their bare knees and mimicked your cries and moans of pain in high pitched voices. Baiting, ugly, almost sexual sounding cries, they laughed and hooted until chastised back into their duties by your father’s hard gaze.

The old stable master had yet again approached your father, begging Acacius to do something about these repeated infractions.

“General! With all due respect, your daughter is a nuisance, a menace to my animals and to society! The horse may be ruined because of her stupidity.”

“She is only a child…”

“Does she not count nineteen years, General?! She is more than old enough to be wed, certainly old enough to know better. Perhaps it would do her some good to marry a man of advanced age and wisdom, surely he would straighten out her insolence with a sound beating!”

Even though the war horses were your favorite creatures in all the land, never again would you enter your father’s stables. Far too much embarrassment had cowed you, and you feared that if you made just one more misstep with his animals, that this time your father really would punish you rather than make excuses. Acacius had been cross this time, inflexible with your punishment. Under threat of a good thrashing by your mother, you were not to leave the domus, nor were you allowed to breach even the threshold of the atrium for any excuse. Never in your life had you seen your father so angry…

For a moment you were afraid. Afraid that this time, he would listen to the advice of those he trusted, and ship you off to some shriveled old man who would break your spirit.

You stayed put in your bed as your mother and her maid bathed your wounds and stood by as you recovered. When you began to grow restless, your impotent begging for mercy from hateful Mother Lucilla earned you a few moments alone in the hortus.

You loved the hortus. It was a grand design of your late mother’s creation, consisting entirely of things which were either medicinal or able to be used in various dishes. This time of the year it would be awash with a rainbow of perfumed shrubbery; the marigolds and roses would be in bloom with the purple lavender, interspersed liberally with chamomile and pansy, and you could preoccupy yourself with endlessly plucking blossoms to savor the taste. The peppery marigolds and aromatic rose petals were the taste of summer, a comfort whenever you were distressed.

This task could be accomplished alone, leaving you to ruminate on your embarrassment. Settling against a marble bench near the laurel tree, you lay reclined, with legs splayed on either side of the seat as you chewed the petals on a marigold blossom.

There was no one to stop you. Lucilla’s impatience and eye for meticulous detail were soon distracted by matters of the home. With strict instruction to stay put until she came to fetch you, she departed to attend her responsibilities among the servants in preparation for Acacius’s departure. There was food to be purchased and stored beforehand, monetary affairs to settle, as well as a thousand different things to consider for the duration of the General’s campaign. Certainly no time to devote fully to a rambunctious youth who paced the length of the gardens, limping the entire way.

You could hardly imagine it. In a week’s time, your father would be gone for nearly half a year…

The thought was almost frightening and would have put you in your sickbed, had not you already gone to great lengths to harden your heart. This was nothing at all new. Acacius had left often before when you were young, hence why he’d married Lucilla. The marriage was one of mutual benefit: you would have someone to care for you besides your late mother’s selected wet nurse, and Lucilla would have a child of her own to love and raise, a comfor to her heart for the one she’d lost.

You loved Lucilla. But the thought of losing your father, your last biological connection, and being left alone in the world still frightened you. There was always a chance that this would be the one time Acacius wouldn’t come back— and you wished that the emperors would stop sending your father away.

When Acacius left the domus, the mood of the home became sullen. Prayer was ceaselessly carried out in the lararium. Tithes, incense, and blood libations offered to the gods were overseen by your mother, and she could be gone for hours at a time at temple while you stayed behind in your cubiculum.

When at last you tired of eating flowers, you began carelessly scattering blood red rose petals into your mother’s font filled with carp while asking questions of Venus. You were imagining her responses, looking for her answers taking shape in the patterns the petals made in the water, when you heard mad giggling from behind a pillar towards the domus’ portico.

Whipping around, you looked for the source, eyes widening at the unfamiliar sound.

The giggle increased, and you could see wine colored silken damask dart behind a marble column.

What in the name of the gods was that?!

Nymph? Genius loci? One of the marble gods from the lararium— a statuette— come to life to play with you? You weren’t sure, but your heart was racing, breathing staccato as you crept closer to find out.

The scraping of leather sandals against marble could be heard when you approached. Heavy footed and a little clumsy: the perpetrator moved opposite you. You veered to the left, he to the right.

You saw a flash of hair the color of sunset. As well as the smallest glimpse of blue-gray eyes.

Grinning at the game, you decided to go for a feint. The two of you circled the pillar for a time, the high pitched giggling increasing. The giggle drowned out the sound your footsteps made when you doubled back around the pillar, laying hands on the shoulders of the intruder.

“Caught you!” You sing-songed.

He screeched, his ringed hands covering his face, and you both toppled out of the portico into the grass.

“I caught you!” You cried out again, as you leaned down to pull his hands away from his flushed face.

“You did not! Liar! I was hunting you for sport.” Exclaimed the intruder.

“You aren’t supposed to giggle when chasing your quarry.” You smiled, finally yanking his wrists apart and holding them.

“Liar! You lie! No you didn’t!”

You loved the way the man’s face turned rose pink across pock marked cheeks, his aquiline nose scrunching in anger.

“The laughter was a tactoc… um… A tac… it was an idea of my own design to catch you unawares!”

“Fool!” You smiled, keeping his wrists in a secured hold.

Quickly you rolled off of the interloper when he attempted to knee you between your legs, not knowing who he was or what he was doing snooping in the hortus. He must have been some sort of benevolent spirit sent by the gods. Perhaps even one in disguise, for he was certainly dressed in such opulent finery. Wine colored damask silk with golden zardozi embroidery made his toga picta, with gems of all size and color sewn into the fabric. They caught the sunlight, and the pinpricks of color reflected against your skin.

“You look as if the gods laid your gold and jewels across your neck themselves.” You whistled.

The intruder’s movements were feminine, almost demure. So unlike the more burly movements of generals, or the confident strides of the stable hands. As he sat cross legged, the sound made by the cuffs at his wrists clattering against the gems was captivating. Golden discs the size of libum hung from his ears and chimed with his movements as well.

“You dress like a nymph.” He murmured.

Pert, pink lips parted to allow his tongue to lick across, his smile revealing a single shimmering gold incisor. Surely he must be something otherworldly… you’d never seen someone with a golden tooth before.

“Tell me, nymph, have I stumbled into your secret grove?” He asked.

“No.” You were tickled at the insinuation, “I am no nymph. This is my father’s garden.”

“Your father? That’s not so, this is General Acacius’s garden!”

“General Acacius is my father.”

The intruder shook his head in vehement denial.

“Liar! Lady Lucilla counts forty nine years, and I would have known if she had birthed a child!”

“She is not my blood mother. I counted only three years when my father married her.” You responded, flicking off a half chewed petal from your chin.

Although you knew stories of wicked stepmothers, Lucilla had managed to break the molded stereotype. The first time your father left you alone with her, you bawled like an infant. The good lady had not punished you for your insolence, instead she swept you into her arms and showered your forehead with a thousand kisses.

She was a doting mother, your true mother, the one not of womb but of the heart; who held you and cared for you even when you were insolent.

“And your mother allows you to romp wild in your father’s garden?! To dress like a brothel whore, entertaining strange men?”

The stranger let forth a high pitched giggle, one that made you laugh with him. It was easy to feel inadequate, particularly in the face of such opulence and finery as he wore. The privacy of the garden allowed for leniency in your dress. You had wandered out of your cubiculum in a shrunken, thin, faded green stola that gave a clear view of your bandaged thigh and leg. A mismatched pale pink palla was slung carelessly around your shoulders, and you had long since abandoned your worn out calfskin sandals somewhere in the shrubbery.

“No! I dress like this because I should do as I wish in my own domus. And besides, what would a strange man be doing in my father’s garden to begin with?” You asked, “We were not told of visitors coming.”

“Not all visitors have to announce themselves.” He said haughtily, “Certainly not one as important as myself!”

A fist pounded against his chest in an intimidating boom, the sound reminiscent of a drum.

“Important?” You asked, cocking your head to the side, “Are you a messenger of some sort?”

Your nursemaid and her chatterbox daughter often told you stories of such divine messengers. Half asleep with daydreaming, you would sit at your window as your nurse embroidered crisp linens with geometric patterns, telling stories about Mercury— Hermâs she called him, in the language of the Hellenes— and his wily ways of bestowing divine fortunes and boons upon unsuspecting persons.

“Perhaps I am— a god’s messenger— in my divine disguise…!” exclaimed your stranger.

Your eyes were sparkling. Innocent and sweet.

“Truly?” You asked, crawling to him on all fours. Blissfully unaware of the sensuality in such a movement.

“Indeed. I am a bearer, a messenger, sent by Jupiter himself.” He said, his eyes trained lower on your body, “And I come bearing a secret, strictly for the young flower that hides in her father’s garden.”

“What message have you come to give me?” You asked.

“This divine message is for your ear alone.” He said, his voice lowering to a conspirator’s whisper, “Keep it secret, keep it safe. The gods have deemed you worthy of a special gift, but should you spoil the secret, they will take it away and rain down lighting from the west upon your house!”

“How wonderful!” You exclaimed, your excitement masking the fear of the stranger’s thinly veiled curse, “I’ve never had a message of my very own before!”

“Well then, prepare to be blessed, sweet one. For this message is for your ears alone… Come to my knee, let me whisper it to you.”

You sat upon his lap as he beckoned, nodding enthusiastically and sighing, holding both hands to your cheeks. The stranger leaned closer, cupping his hands over your ear as his lips grazed the shell.

“The gods have great plans for you.” He breathed.

A gasp of delight escaped you, enjoying the fact that your mystery messenger was so close. Whispering sweetness into your ear.

“The gods have told me you are to be given everything your heart desires, my beautiful nymph.” He said, “You will be the envy of all: walking marbled halls while draped in damask silks, vibrant jewels, and gossamer. Your name whispered in reverent prayer upon the tongue of the thousands who will see you in the imperator’s box at the colosseum-…”

“How would this be possible?” You interrupted softly, “I’ve never been outside of these walls, let alone in the palace.”

“You dare to question your divine messenger?! Do not underestimate the might of the gods, nymph. They can make anything so.”

He held your chin in his hand, the softness of his fingertips contrasting the tight grip he maintained, as if expecting you to try and get away.

“They can elevate you to a princess— no! To an empress, if they so desire. The gods wish to use you as their instrument, and they desire to give you everything you could ever want. Money, luxury, power, wine, sexual pleasure…”

“And… and how soon would this happen?” You asked softly.

“Very soon, my sweet one. Your time will come on the first day of the month of Juno, matter of fact.”

It felt so impossibly far away. Too far to even consider. But the fact that such an exciting blessing was to be bestowed during the month of weddings eluded you.

You bounced in excitement on his lap, his hands immediately reaching out to hold your hips steady. Hissing at the pain as he pressed your bruise, you attempted to re-adjust yourself when you felt something press against your inner thigh.

“What in the name of the gods is that?! It… it feels as though you’ve a dagger strapped to your leg.” You said, grinding your thigh against the protrusion.

The messenger froze, and his cheeks turned crimson. A large, impish grin spread from ear to ear, catlike, as if he was preparing to steal a morsel.

“Undo the belt at my tunic, and find out what it may be.” He said, breathless, a perverse look in his eye.

With an impatient huff, you almost rent the damask fabric of his robes in two, demanding that your messenger help you…

But the calling of your mother interrupted the overwhelming need to see what he had strapped to his leg.

“Oh…!” You sighed, a puff of breath escaping past your lips, “I have to go. I’m sorry, but thank you! Thank you for bringing me this message! Tell the gods I will accept this blessing and that I am most thankful to them, and to the messenger who told this to me!”

Before the messenger could protest, you quickly kissed both of his cheeks, scrambling to your feet as you ran off towards the house. As you approached your mother, running breathlessly up to her, you noticed something odd. It appeared as though her heart was racing, almost as if Lucilla was agitated

“What is it, mother?” You asked, out of breath.

Servants were darting every which way, making preparations to feed their guests and make the house presentable. Leta— your mother’s servant— was ordering the others to set the domus to rights, and you were shocked when Lucilla glowered at your unkempt visage.

“What have you been doing?!” Lucilla exclaimed, brushing leaves and petals off your stola, “I allowed you to take a walk, not roll in the shrubbery— is this a stain?!”

“What is this fuss mother…?” You attempted, but your words were stopped by Leta turning your head to look at you.

“My lady, shall I clean your daughter and dress her in the damask?” Asked the handmaiden.

“Yes, quickly! Make sure she is presentable.”

“What’s going on?!” You squeaked, both women taking you by an arm and leading you away like a prisoner to your cubiculum.

“We have been… graced, by the presence of the twin imperators—…”

“THE EMPERORS?!”

“Hush! Yes, the imperators, my darling. You will not speak out of turn again. You will smile and say little more than a polite greeting, after which we shall keep you in your cubiculum, and pray to the gods that you are spared from the lechery of men…”

Lucilla gave you no room to fret, nor to protest. She instead lead you away, to dress you in her armor of modest silk layers and a thick palla.

All the while, you could not stop thinking of the messenger’s promises.

Luxury…

Wine…

Sexual pleasure…

Unannounced guests and the multitude of problems they brought with them hardly made an impression upon your mind, not when there were such wonderful boons coming your way. All divinely ordained, draped like a zardozi embroidered sheet over the hidden evils of the machinations at hand.

In your ignorance, you believed in the lies of the powerful. Blindly trusting in your place as the chosen of the gods, and feeling the least bit better than at last, your worthiness was recognized.

“Caracalla, what in the name of the gods are you doing…?”

The stern tone of his brother, Geta, interrupted his moment of thoughtfulness as Caracalla watched his nymph run back to the house. His brother was scheming, his giggling increasing to a fever pitch, and Geta raised an eyebrow as Caracalla pointed to the home.

“Enjoying the touch and warmth of a beautiful nymph.” Caracalla beamed.

“… a nymph…” Geta deadpanned.

“Indeed. Simple and pure, with a supple breast-…”

“There are no nymphs in a general’s garden.”

“There are!” Caracalla argued.

“You are mistaken. For I only saw a pauper run from you. What have I told you of infecting the inferiors of other men’s houses? You will deplete Rome of slaves with your appetites.” Geta groused.

“This one was no slave! She is Lucilla’s daughter.” Caracalla snapped.

“The general and Lucilla have no daughters.” Geta said.

“Oh but they do, brother! Acacius hides this charming rose in his garden, away from the eyes of men.”

“Is not Lucilla past the age of childbearing?”

“His seed must have overcome that obstacle.” Cackled Caracalla, “For he has quite the lovely young spawn. Very innocent, and eager to believe every word from my lips.”

“What schemes do you invent in that empty head of yours…?” Geta asked, although he knew the answer already. He could see Caracalla’s maddened mind already concocting the most convoluted, outrageous ideas; the grey blue of his iris overtaken by dilating black pupils.

“Do not tell me…” Geta grinned wickedly.

“You know me so well.” Caracalla smiled, “It is a simple thing, really. Turning nymphs into empresses…”

Geta laughed out loud at his brother’s plotting.

“And how much would you ask for her?”

“Two million denarii!”

“Charity, brother, charity...” Geta laughed, “Acacius is a general after all, not a nobleman. Keep your dowry request under one hundred thousand denarii, or you shall never have her.”

“Only one hundred thousand?!”

“Yes, brother. To be paid in coin, land, or flesh, in the customary three years time-… Well… No, no. We may extend the dowry installments to five. After all, we are sending him away to fight your campaign in Numidia. He will need some time. You’ll want to wed her and bed her before he leaves as well.”

“I would have preferred the two million…” pouted Caracalla.

“Whatever for? The money is of little consequence. You would only piss away two million on whores, and her father would sooner give her away to someone else. This conquest will be far more simple, exercise your power and will it so. I shall give my blessing as the arrangement is not without benefits.”

When Caracalla’s feverish mind could not connect the dots, Geta prompted him.

“She is Lucilla’s legitimate heir. Marry her daughter, and you secure not only the title, but a closer position to the good lady herself… Slake your thirst for flesh with both this nubile creature’s affections, and with the attentions of her comely mother as well.”