#solid vision isn't supposed to DO that

[capucapo]

@hobomagician

I can't believe I'm saying this but. THANKS

can that thing really steal souls? I tried to get to my brother and it fucking knocked me back?????

[pemebi]

▶▶▶ Gem!Shinichi Au I had this idea in my mind for some time, I really don't like how it came out but at least is out of my brain. Things to remember This has Steven Universe logic but not Steven Universe characters This means: ▸Shinichi was trapped in a mirror. ▸Gem!Shinichi is a Zaphire that has future vision, but their future vision is only related to death, he is useless to gem society (Gems rarely die), and humans think he is cursed. ▸Kaito Stole a Zaphire because the black org wanted it first ▸Kaito learned that there is an Alien race of Gem People thanks to Shinichi ▸Shinichi can't return to their gem form at will, he is the only gem that Kaito Kid hasn't returned yet. ❥ Google translator is our loyal friend

S: …I can help you, you know? K: I pass S: You didn't even consider it

K: And how are you supposed to help me? The only thing I need is Pandora's location! S: Are you sure about that? S: I can make Kaito Kid and Kuroba Kaito co-exist convincingly!

K: I'm not interested. It's very suspicious that you want to help. S: Hey?! Suspicious? What do you think I want to do?

K: I know your type, Detectives. They wouldn't help a criminal unless they gained something. So tell me, detective, what are you hiding from me? What do you gain by helping me this time?

S: I don't win anything… Honestly, I'm trying to do you a favor.

…And when I'm direct with my predictions… They never take it well… but I guess it's better to be direct.

S: Your enemies suspect your identity If they don't see Kuroba Kaito and Kaito Kid at the same time… They will send you a message with the death of this girl… Kuroba Kaito is the only one who can avoid this misfortune.

---- In other words, if Kaito isn't near Aoko in the next Heist, she is dead. If the Heist is cancelled isn't going to change the scenario But if they confuse the organization by convincing them that Kaito isn't Kid, Aoko is saved, horray! If you don't know anything about Steven Universe, Gems can transform into anything they wish (The real body is the gem, the rest is like a solid projection with light) So, that's why he can take Kaito Kid and Aoko appearance. I wanted to change a bit Shinichi Gem uniform, but I don't have anything final, lol

I doodled this Shinichi, I like their smile idk, I feel like I work better with comedy but I like the dramatic ideas too

[elderwisp]

The Creative Process ‧₊˚✩彡 

Because I love to be distracted

Hi! Ok, I wanted to share wif everyone my process in which I create a story post from conception to the final post. I would say I'm a very structured person when it comes to projects like these however, I've learned a lot and maybe someone could find something useful! We'll be referencing this scene. Oke, let's start!

✩ Rough Drafts

So, of course everything starts off with a vision. While I always say, write what feels authentic to you, I also know it makes things much more difficult if you don't have a solid ground to build from. I think I've scrapped this particular story about twice already and even reshot the first chunk of Tessellate so there was a better foundation. I like to start off with understanding a character before moving onto creating a plot, otherwise people start bleed into another. Greta Gerwig makes a really awesome statement about how characters come first to her before plot. OKE with that in mind, this particular scene, I wrote it well over a year ago, however there wasn't much flow in the initial draft. In fact, the two look nothing alike. This conversation was supposed to occur during France's concert, but I moved it to to this particular scene and I'm so glad. I felt like their current relationship was strong enough to have this conversation but also it allowed me to really focus in on the two. I am a huge advocate for jotting down dialogue even if things change because you can always expand on an idea. And if things don't work, scrapping is okay, but at least you gave it a shot! After that change, I didn't revisit that scene up until about a month and a half ago. I like to let things sit for a good while. In the initial draft, Taryn was reserved throughout a majority of the conversation. There was limitations in which how I wanted her to express things but things change in a year. When I looked at her as a character and how she's progressed throughout the story, the draft no longer aligned with her lack of response. And then that created the question of what the heck does one say? Because people aren't typically very graceful or eloquent when it comes to confrontation but also we're telling a story so how do I balance the two out? Since, I've followed these little blorbos for a while, knowing their characters and motives allowed me to flesh everything out. Atlas is much more cunning than he lets on and is excellent at painting a pretty picture for those around him if it means getting what he wants. Taryn on the other hand is perceptive and unwavering so being around someone like him, someone that she finds herself slowly falling for, is a complete, well, mind fuck. We can also see from this interaction that there's a hint of feeling inadequate and the lack of confidence to know that maybe he does like her. We also see that Atlas maybe isn't the most mature when it comes to developing something real so the two have plenty to work on just from this scene alone. Like Greta Gerwig says, writing is listening.

I also wanted to mention LocalScriptMan and this video all the time because it just about changed how I viewed dialogue in general. I think it's such a great tool! I've probably shared it a billion times.

✩ Blender & Posemaking

So I would like to preface this by saying, you do not need to use blender to achieve a vision. There are still scenes that I still use poses/animations from other creators! I wanted to list a few references! Rebouks, Rascgal and Simmireen have an amazing variety of poses to use! I literally use Becca's bumper packs RELIGOUSLY! However, if you need any suggestions, SurelySim's has an excellent breakdown on getting started with posemaking from tiny details, to SimRipper and using accessories! She also talks about Vyxated's Pose Helper which is a god send! For this scene I wanted to fully pose it. In my script, I italicize anything I want to pose, I'm such a sucker for the mannerisms that people have. When words fail, body language speaks. Are they fidget-y, or do I imagine them to be more composed? Taryn's stance is grounded, she doesn't move at all in the scene except for when she leaves and I think it's a great representation of her stubbornness. Whereas Atlas is watching every single move, up until he makes his incredibly bold (ridiculous!) statement. As for emotion when he made that statement, I wanted to go with shame but then I felt like his expression radiated ruthlessness. I personally enjoyed that 10x more because it represented two things for me, his character and that he felt comfortable enough to show that part of himself. When posing a scene from start to finish, it takes me about 1-3 days depending on how complex it is. I'm a huge advocate for using references! I love referencing hands, posture, how to grab a book ANYTHING! Because this was a conversation and not much action happened, it took me about a day.

✩ Taking Screenshots and Composition

I began taking photos for this scene on March 6th. I use to use this reshade preset by growfruit however, after tinkering with some settings I use like a mish-mash blorbo of a preset. Amobae and Sforz have some cool LUT's for download (I think of it like a filter? That's probably not what it is but MEH) and I love the qUINT's lightroom shader as well. Huge advocate of relight, I was today years old when I learn that you should load it at the top of your shaders order so you don't get like a weird whitecast. These spotlights though are super fun too if you don't use reshade! There are some photographers on instagram that even go over how to use lightroom and it can translate to game as well! For the most part, I try to keep screenshots pretty simple, editing-wise but there are moments when I doodle in little hairs, add in some texture and include shadows for, uh, DRAMAAA. Lately, I've been incorporating intricate fonts because idk sometimes my brain enjoys a little graphic design moment. Sometimes shooting conversation heavy scenes can get so repetitive so I like to look at film stills on pinterest or pay close attention to a film and how they present the camera work in a conversation. Rule of thirds is a great reference tool to use, I believe GShade has a shader for that. However it's okay to experiment, it's not an end all be all. I love looking at animators and how each frame is incredibly intentional, whether it's a shot from above or a really close frame. The beginning of this scene, I honestly didn't have a clue as to how I wanted to open it up since they were walking down a hall. Then I noticed the detail in the fencing and how the tiles were opposite. Using the TOOL mod, I was able to get them both in the center and it created a strong opening shot of how different these two are.

✩ Editing

My god, I love editing but also this is usually the moment where I get so freaking distracted. This process takes me a day if I am focused.... But realistically it takes three days.... That's why I try to keep things to a minimum. I do use Photoshop. I like to use this sharpening action (the other actions are awesome too!) for story posts, I crop each photo (I use a 9:5 ratio and a 16:6 ratio if I need to focus on something specific idk why i picked those numbers yo), and add in text. Dafont has a lot of different free fonts. I like to use these little guidelines if sentences needs to be centered.

For adding umph to text, I like to use two things: The warped text option when using the type tool or just going to the distort panel and using the wave option!

Also bottom right of your layers channel is an fx layer. I like to use stroke and drop shadow on all text so it doesn't get lost within a photo!

✩ Finalization and My Schedule

That story post was uploaded on March 29th. As of right now, I like to stay three weeks ahead so I have three weeks worth of story posts marinating in my queue LMAO. I always reread things like a bajillion times, sometimes I'll go back and tweak conversations if they feel a bit stiff. Having that three week buffer also gives me time to really dedicate myself to details and focus on being present with a future scene. Another perk is, it allows me to work on cleaning up the script, plotting for future arcs, and having fun with edits. When I used to upload story videos on youtube, I didn't really plan ahead and it was so chaotic for me. Sometimes I didn't have enough time to actually create a solid episode so things felt rushed because on top of that I had a schedule I committed to. This isn't necessary but structure and patterns is something my little brain needs.

I hope this maybe provided some tips for people wanting to start out or it was just a fun little thing to read! One final OP tip is to write about something that you enjoy, something that matters to you. I'm one mf that loves a fleshed out character arc, that doesn't like linear plots and for fucks sake I love a good slow burn and I think all of that reflects a lot which helps me be engaged.

[hools]

Sorry if this is a weird question, but how do you come up with your drawings? What does through your mind while making them? I find your compositions so gorgeous and intriguing but I can't really figure out how you approach things since everything's very shifty and abstract. It's really gorgeous work, I'm so glad I discovered your art :,)

hey first of all this isnt a weird question at all & i'm really glad you enjoy my art heheheheheehe. there's an incoming large largely unformatted block of text that i hope you dont mind!

Honestly there are a billion things going through my mind at a time while I'm drawing and they all sort of bump into each other and cancel each other out like opposing particles. If you've seen any of my streams i'm usually very fast and iterative in a lot of my process and i rarely ever slow down even past the early parts like thumbnailing and sketching. i kind of let my hands do the talking more, yknow? but even then theyre never talking about a single thing at a time. everything interacts with everything, which is probably why i always end up getting lost and meandering. composition is not independent from color & value and neither are they from texture and perspective. its hard thinking of all of the ways they mesh and react to one another so i spend less of my energy thinking and more of it doing, and then assessing once something interesting comes about it. i guess then i prioritize my Hand Movement Actioning and Eye Vision Seeing over my Brain Neuron Assessing. but even though iterations can come and go quick this kind of informed throwing-against-the-wall isn't really the Fastest. but its fun. and you get to stuff all the unused ideas in your pocket for later.

even though i did say how connected everything is i always seem to start with composition. it kind of affects and informs everything the most at least on an individual piece level. with thumbnails & composition in general i think youre supposed to think huge right. so i Always think huge. push everything as much as you can. start with a crazy angle (not necessarily angle meaning "perspective" but like an angle between two lines) and border your scene within it. take an already steep foreshortening and steepen it further with the transform tool & see what shapes form from the empty & filled space. shrink your subject to only fit 3/4ths of the canvas and build around it to make it work. blow things up (enlargen) and blow things up (remove & obliterate). with composition you have so much room for fuckery if you give yourself the grace to accept the fuckiness.

and i guess this freedom to fuck around and iterate and build and build and build upon comes from how most of the time my initial ideas are very. vague? abstract like you've said. sometimes its Just a song or a song lyric and nothing else (no characters to attach to just the feel and my gut). sometimes its a less than 5 word phrase i felt strongly about throughout the day. in my me-only discord server i have messages in #to-draw channel that just say shit like "something about guitar straps" "thanks for knowing me!" "angel don't look at me" "DITHER QUEEN" (<-been meaning to make something with that). for things that have specific guidelines i spend more time thinking conceptually (the "rare animal" coelacanth drawing being an example) but otherwise it mostly comes out after. again. the first strokes. after you put the meat and bones on the canvas. an artist at a workshop i was at last year when i was in my own head about Needing to have a fleshed tangible Profound concept before being able to start something told me not to underestimate the stories that can be told just by your hands. and i think thats what stuck with me the most.

& one last thing i wanna mention is how despite how much i revel in the chaos of the process ive found how important limits are. i don't like cutting back on everything but i like cutting back on some things. sometimes i cut out backgrounds for solid fills and i love them that much more. sometimes i have little subconscious rules in a piece that i try not to break to keep a little level of consistency. if somethings a big wonderful mess already then i love a limited pallet and i love keeping parts empty and i love being able to breathe a little. yknow. but still go over the top in the other parts you have so much permission to. less is more but have a little more in your art than less. YKNOW?

but yeah thanks again for your kind words and wanting to listen to me talk. i havent been drawing much at all so these arent too fresh on the mind but i think i got a lot of what i wanted to say out. i hope u and others can get things out of this! if i made any sense <3

[itsmkjones]

Imagine: Sam forcing you to go to bed

Okay. So you'd gotten a little obsessive. And, sure, that tunnel vision drive had robbed you of a real night sleep for three days straight, resulting in unplanned naps at an hour intervals at most, adding up to two whole hours. But was it really fair that your body demanded sleep when Sam and Dean habitually did the same thing? And that's how you got to day four, hallucinating every time you looked at something too bright or too dark. 

"Y/n…?" Sam called out softly after coming into the room to see you staring blankly at your hand. "You alright?"

"Huh?" You could barely pay attention to him, much less summon the mental stamina to craft a proper response.

Sam hesitated. "I asked if you were alright…"

"Uh huh."

Sam glanced back, wondering if he should call for Dean, then decided to approach you first instead. "What's going on?"

"This spot on my wrist."

"Spot?" Sam blinked in surprise when you clumsily shoved your hand in his face. He gently took it wrist. "I see it. What about it?"

"It's a spider."

Sam's brows knitted. "What?"

"All spots are spiders."

"Uh…"

"Spider. Spider. Spider." You repeated, poking the visible moles on his skin. "It goes away when you touch it. Then reappears!"

"Are you high or something?"

"Let me take off your shirt." You didn't wait for permission, sliding your hands up his hard abs. You would have enjoyed it more if your brain didn't feel encased in cotton, but as a solid to your future self, you made sure to indulge in the experience.

"Why the hell are you taking off my shirt?" Sam's voice cracked as he startled back, hands wavering in the air, unsure of what to do.

"You have the cutest mole right… here." You caressed the curve of his neck.

Sam's breath hitched and his throat worked as he struggled to reply. "You didn't need to take my shirt off to see it- Y/n!"

You opportunistically slipped under his shirt, kissing the spot. "God, I've always wanted to do that."

"Have you been drinking?" Sam jumped back when your hand dipped under his jeans. "Jesus, Y/n! What the hell?"

You blinked at him, mind blanking. 

"Y/n?" Sam stepped forward cautiously when you didn't respond. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Yesterday maybe?" You felt yourself swaying, but it didn't feel dangerous even when Sam jerked forward to keep you upright.

"For how long?"

"I don't know math." You scowled indignantly. "How dare you, Winchester? -Like twenty minutes or something."

Sam sighed. "How long has it been since the last time you really slept?"

"Um…" You closed your eyes to think and the swaying got worse. "Anyways. Take off your pants."

"What? No." Sam frowned. "Try to concentrate for a second."

"How can I supposed to do that?" You whined shamelessly. "Real Y/n wants to see the goods!"

Sam flushed and it took clearing his throat twice to find his voice. "Real Y/n?"

You nodded. "Awake Y/n. Not sleepy Y/n." You grabbed his waistband. "There's a pot going on amongst hunters about how hung you are. I'll keep it a secret if you do, but shouldn't I know since we're friends? You can't keep secrets from your friends."

"Okay. Bedtime for you." Sam threw you over his shoulder when your fingers started to graze downward.

"I'm not sleepy." You pouted. "My brain is too awake."

"I'll give you warm milk or something. Just get into the bed and stop touching me." Sam's voice was hard. 

You stopped sliding your hands over the lines of his back muscles sulkily. "You're so bossy. Isn't it your fault that you're so damn fine? Take some responsibility! Coming out of the shower with nothing, but a towel on…"

"I didn't know you were there!"

"That doesn't make me not want to lick every damn drop of water off of you." You suddenly became cheerful. "Stay hydrated everyone."

"Please stop talking." Sam swallowed hard.

"I'll show you yours, if you show me mine." You offered.

"That's not-" Sam broke off with a sigh, then pushed open your bedroom door and set you down. "Get some sleep." He sighed again when you stared at him in blank confusion. "Sleep, Y/n. Please?"

"I forgot how the bed works." 

"You forgot…" Sam covered his eyes with his hands, scrubbing his face hard. "Go lay down."

You walked backwards until your legs hit the bed, then toppled inelegantly on the mattress. Sam's face fell. Begrudgingly, he scooped you up and laid you further back on the blankets. He rolled you up tightly in an impromptu swaddle before you could do anything else.

"I'm a burrito. Eat me."

"Go to sleep, Y/n."

"But you and Dean stay up all the time." Your face crumpled with a wave of sorrow.

Sam softened. "You aren't us." 

"But you won't want me anymore."

Sam's lips thinned with an empathetic smile. "We can talk about this later."

"You've got a cute mole by your nose too."

Sam turned off the light, but didn't leave. A moment later, you felt him sit next to you. "I never had anyone try to help me fall asleep, so I'm not really sure how to help you, but… I saw this in a movie once. A mom putting down her kid…"

You relaxed instantly as his fingers brushed back your hair in long, gentle strokes. Sam smiled at your satisfied hums.

"Good night, Y/n." Sam said softly when your breathing slowed.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

On a Technicality Part 2

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: implied/referenced abuse, starvation, touch-starvation

Pairings: intrulogical

Word Count: 3244

"A sacrifice for you," the zealot says quickly, trying to appeal to the demon's focus, "a token of our appreciation and worship."

The demon's head tilts. Remus looks up at them, pain and blood loss working in tandem to make it a struggle to even keep his eyes open, his vision growing fuzzier again. The demon's fingers twitch.

"O Great and Powerful—"

"Are these people bothering you, my dear?

***

Remus is having a wonderful dream.

The barn is warm, for once, like he's been able to sneak up to the rafters after the sun's been out all day, and he gets to lie on the bare boards and soak it in like some big, plump housecat. There's a light gust of air blowing, which means that the smell doesn't stick to his skin and linger. Instead, it just smells very faintly of grass and woodsmoke. Honestly, quite pleasant, all things considered. And his clothes feel like actual clothes for once! Not like the hay wraps and potato sacks he has to fashion his normal stuff out of, these feel like actual clothes clothes, like fabric that won't tear on the first sharp piece of metal he scrapes by.

He shifts a little, trying to nuzzle his face into the sunlit patch, and the sunlight rumbles back. That's a bit weird, sunlight normally doesn't make noise, but who is Remus to judge? He makes all sorts of noises that he isn't 'supposed' to make, and that doesn't stop him, so that's cool. The sunlight seems to approve of his thought process and another wave of warmth passes through his hair. So maybe the sun has hands too. That's also cool.

Would the moon have hands too?

The dream shifts; the sun sets but not unhappily, the sky turning pink, then orange, then red, then down to a soft and rich blue. The moon comes out—Remus likes the moon. Sometimes. Most of the time it's nice, because then he can see what he's doing when he goes to look for food and shelter. But sometimes when—

Clattering. Yelling. The burn of torches. Fear grips his chest with iron hands and—

Shh, the moon whispers, cool touch gliding gently down his spine—so the moon has hands too? Awesome—and the mob fades into mist. None of that, now, little one.

The moon is nice. Most of the time. Remus likes the moon.

I'm sure it likes you too.

Yeah—wait, what? Why is the moon talking about itself in third person?

The moon rumbles again, like the sun did, and ruffles his hair. I'm not the moon, little one, as flattering as the comparison may be.

Remus furrows his brow, curling up a little more, trying to shift into the warmth again. The warmth is more solid this time and he can't quite move into it—oh, but it shifts a little and it wraps around him, that's nice. He's still confused but at least he's warmer now. There's another rumble, another quiet thing that Remus can still feel in his cheek where it's pressed against the boards, though now that he thinks of it, these boards don't feel very much like boards. They're…softer, somehow. There aren't any gaps for the freezing wind to come through when the night is at its peak.

"I'm not boards either." The hands—or one of them at least, a hand settles at the base of his skull, smoothing a thumb over the place where his neck meets his ear. "Shh, you're alright. Just wake up slowly, you're still likely to be exhausted. You haven't slept for that long."

He mumbles. An ache suddenly reaches his chest, sinking through his ribs, his spine, right down to the ends of his fingers and down his legs. Like he's had to swim across the river to get away from the dogs, and then swim back in the same night because it's dangerous to spend so much time in the forest after dark. But he hadn't gone swimming yesterday, at least he doesn't think so, so what's—

Oh.

Oh, right.

The zealots. The summoning circle. The demon.

So that probably means that the hands and rumbling that he felt weren't the sun and the moon—why the fuck would he think that?—but were actually…

"Shh, shh," he hears, murmured tenderly into his ears as the hand at the back of his head cards through his hair, "you're alright, little one. Don't move so much, your body's still bound to be exhausted from all that happened."

But he's awake now. And being awake means that he can't ignore the fact that he's trying to snuggle up to a fucking demon.

Remus takes a deep breath and slowly, slowly tries to pull away from the demon's hold. The hand on the back of his neck flexes and for a moment, his heart nearly stops out of desperation, but then it gentles and he sits up, wincing at the tug in his muscles. He blinks a few times to shake the sleep from his eyes, only to frown when he sees a stone floor instead of a wooden one. Did—they didn't leave the abandoned building? It's still nighttime? How long has he been asleep?

"Remus?"

He turns on instinct and electric blue eyes meet his. He swallows despite himself.

"There you are," the demon murmurs—Logan, Logan, that's right, his name was Logan— "are you doing well, dear?"

"I, uh—I'm—"

Logan's brow furrows in concern. "Is there something wrong with your throat? Are you in pain?"

Soft fingers brush against the front of his neck and he flinches on instinct, only for the arm still around his back to tighten just enough to keep him from falling. They do it again, still as light as anything, and Logan hums.

"I can't feel anything," he says softly, "did you strain it yesterday? I heard you scream as I was summoned, or perhaps from the crying?"

If it were asked in anything other than this painfully soft voice, Remus might have been offended or chastened by it. Instead, all he feels is a strange feeling in his gut that he tries to swallow away. "No. 'M fine."

"That's a relief. You still seem to be sore, though…the combination of the magic and the injuries are still taking time to work themselves out, I believe." His hand rubs at Remus's shoulder, right over where the knife had plunged into him. "Does this hurt at all?"

The tingling-burning sensation of being touched is back, but other than that, no. He shakes his head. Logan smiles and adjusts his grip—he's still in his lap. He's still in the demon's fucking lap, what the fuck, what the fuck—

"Hey, hey, it's alright, little one, I'm just shifting so you can lean against the wall if you'd like." The hand cupping the back of his head tilts him back until it gently bumps against something solid. Logan shifts his grip to his hips, and now he's balancing in the demon's lap, leaned back against the wall with his hands idly stroking his hips and sides. Sure. This is his fucking life right now. "Is that comfortable?"

"Mhm."

The shift from being pressed up against a warm demon to the cold air makes him shiver, though, and he wraps his arms around himself. Logan notices with a chuckle.

"And yet you've immediately covered a vulnerable part of yourself."

"It's cold," he mumbles, trying not to sound like a petulant child and failing. Logan chuckles again, hands sliding under Remus's arms to press against his tummy. "Wha—oh."

"Is that better?"

"You're so warm."

"I'm afraid I can ascribe only part of that to being a demon," he says, "the rest of it…"

"Touch-starved," Remus mumbles, "right."

"Don't look so despondent, it's hardly through fault of your own." When Remus is quiet for a moment too long, he tilts his head. "Is it?"

"I mean…sort of?"

"Have you sworn off touching other mortals?"

"What? No."

"Have you implemented some sort of system whereby anyone who lays hand on you shall suffer poor harvests for the next three years?" Remus stares at him. "Or do you carry some curse that would pass gruesome boils onto whomever made direct contact with your skin?"

"Those seem like they're really specific examples."

Logan shrugs. "Well?"

"No, I haven't done any of those things. Or—had them done to me."

"Then how could you be responsible for your own touch starvation?" The hands on his stomach are really, really fucking warm. "Don't apologize for needing something that you have been deprived of."

"Demons aren't supposed to be this tender," Remus blurts out.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The one thing he's fucking not supposed to do is piss off the only person that's been kind to him for as long as he can fucking remember. But oh, no, Remus is not allowed to have nice things, he has to open his big fucking mouth and ruin them. Maybe he really is cursed, that he can't think before he speaks for two fucking seconds, but it's not his fault, it's not, he just thinks of them and then he says them because everyone always talks about how important it is to ask that things make sense and to say what he's feeling but not him, oh, no, not him, not Remus—

"Oh, little one," he hears faintly, and then the hands on his stomach are pressing gently to help him slow his breathing, "shh, calm down, now, it's alright. I'm not offended."

"You're—you're not?"

Logan chuckles, shaking his head. "I suppose I'm not acting as the rumors about my kind would have you believe, it's no pain to have you ask about it. You don't have to fret so much. You're far too sweet."

Sweet? Sweet? Remus isn't sweet. Remus is a pest, pests aren't sweet. When he voices that thought too, Logan frowns, and his fingers flex ever so slightly.

Remus squeaks.

Confusion ripples across Logan's expression before a slow smile spreads across his face. He does it again, just a little, and it sends a jolt through Remus's tummy. He chuckles.

"Ticklish?"

Remus doesn't say a fucking word. Logan spreads his fingers and does it again and Remus squirms—

"I think that's a 'yes,' little one."

"Don't!" Remus squeaks when his hands start to move again, trying to move away from this weird feeling that is too warm and too weird and it's making his stomach do all sorts of weird flips and Logan chuckles again. "Don't do that, it feels—it feels weird."

Logan's smile fades. "Have you never been tickled before?"

Remus shakes his head and Logan hums, hands moving to his sides just to hold him.

"Another time, perhaps."

"Wait, what do you mean, 'another time?'"

"I meant what I said, you know," Logan remarks, the smile returning, "you're very interesting, little one. Do you really expect me to just leave you be? When my curiosity has been piqued?"

He shifts again under the demon's watchful eye. He's not…he's not interesting. He's a pest. He's the thing the villagers chase off. He's the monster parents warn their kids about becoming. He's the thing the guards train their dogs to chase. There's nothing interesting about that.

When he says as much to Logan, though, the demon's expression darkens and his electric blue eyes almost crackle as he shifts. Some of his body turns back into that smoke Remus remembers from the ritual and despite himself, he grows smaller. That seems to tip whatever scales back in his favor, though, as Logan takes a deep breath and resolidifies.

"Perhaps I was right in my initial assessment, then," he says lowly, "that this place is plagued by those with small minds who would rather fret about themselves than endeavor to learn something for once in their pathetic lives."

The sheer derision dripping from each word isn't doing much to calm Remus down.

"And you, little one," he continues, voice deepening with something that could almost be wonder, except he's talking about Remus, and nothing about Remus is wonderful, "are fascinating. You speak so freely, and you don't have the shame that most mortals carry with their bodies, and there is so much you have yet to learn and you don't seem afraid of it…"

His smile grows and Remus swears he has a few too many teeth.

"How could I not be intrigued? How could I not be expected to want to keep you?"

"Keep me? What do you mean, keep me?"

"Precisely that. Or did you think the traditional deal for a mortal soul was simply a trifle?" When Remus can't muster the words to respond, he leans closer, bringing Remus up to meet him like he weighs nothing. "Demons are meant to be creatures of temptation as well, are we not? Can I not tempt you into letting me keep you, little one? Away from this place where they would hurt you, hunt you, could I not persuade you to let me bring you somewhere you would be treasured?"

"What—" it's hard to think with electric blue eyes on his— "what would you get out of it?"

"Aside from the pleasure of your company?" He tilts his head. "I've told you, Remus, there is so much that is interesting about you. Do you not wish to study that which you find interesting?"

A demon is telling me he wants to put me in a glass jar and study me, basically. This is fine. Is this fine? What the fuck is happening?

His hesitation must come off as disbelief—which is only partly true, the rest of him is trying to wrap his head around the fact that this is happening, still—because Logan hums and switches to holding him up with just one arm, which…is another thing he has to get over now, thanks.

"Do you not believe me still?" Before Remus can say anything, he's already opening his mouth to swipe his finger across—are those fangs? "Here, allow me…"

Remus's eyes widen as blood—it has to be blood, but then why is it black?—wells up from the cut on Logan's finger. He draws something on the floor next to them and the blood turns gold, shining in the shape of a sigil before becoming part of the stone itself. Logan smooths his thumb over the cut and it heals.

"What's that?"

"A basic protection sigil. None may enter this building without your consent now."

"…why?"

"A show of good faith. If I intended to harm you, don't you believe I would have done so by now?" The hand comes up to cradle his cheek. "I don't mean you any harm, little one. Truly."

Remus swallows. "So what do you want?"

"At some point, you'll make me believe you like hearing me say it," he teases gently, "I want to keep you. Let me learn about you, fascinating thing that you are. And in return, I will keep you safe from those who could never hope to understand you."

Well, he sure wasn't fucking kidding about demons being creatures of temptation, because that's really, really fucking tempting. But that's just it_ there's no way there isn't a catch. Is he going to be split apart like some butterfly, pinned up to be examined? Is he going to be put in a cage? What's the catch?

"You are agreeing to be taken away by a demon," Logan says wryly when he asks as much, "most would view that as the catch."

"But you're being nice. You're—you're offering to save me, not hurt me."

"Does it not speak to your current situation, then, that you would view being taken by a demon as being saved?"

That's a good fucking point. He chews on his lip absentmindedly. Logan lets him think for another moment before he sighs, bringing him close to cuddle him again.

"You could say no," he says, as gentle as ever, "and I would…well, I wouldn't be happy, but I would accept it. And I would help you remake this building into somewhere you could be safe. That sigil will hold whether you're here or not."

"You—you would what?"

"You could stay here, if you wanted. We could make it into a proper house, if you didn't want to come with me. I could visit, we could talk, but you wouldn't have to agree to be kept."

"Wouldn't this be another cage?"

Logan frowns, but it's not an angry frown. No, he looks more…melancholy. "I would never keep you if you didn't want to be kept. You're not a prisoner, Remus, you can go if you want to."

"I can?"

Another pause, and then Logan starts to pull away. As soon as his hands leave him, the cold rushes back and a mortifying noise leaves his throat. Logan hushes him but he doesn't come back, instead fully moving away and standing up. He offers a hand and Remus would be embarrassed at how fast he scrambles for it, only for Logan to catch him and steady him as he shoots to his feet.

"Easy," he murmurs, "don't rush…you're still weak from everything that happened."

Remus clings to him as he tries to get his feet under him, ignoring the ache in his shoulders and chest, and definitely ignoring the tingling warmth in his hands. Logan holds him for another moment, just to make sure he's steady, before he moves away again. Remus watches, rooted to the floor, as Logan retreats all the way to the other side of the room.

Empty stone stretches endlessly between them.

"You can go," Logan says, voice still as soft as if it were still being whispered into his ears, "I won't stop you. This isn't a test, Remus, if you truly wish to go, you can."

Remus turns to look at the door. On instinct, his body moves, walking silently across the stone to step through it cautiously. He hesitates for just a second, wondering if it was all some grand farce and pain would sear through him at any moment, but it doesn't. Instead, his foot settles in the dew-damp grass and a shaking breath leaves him.

The moon is out. The world is bathed in silvery light. He can see the silhouette of the other buildings a ways away, even the roof of the barn.

He could go. He could go back to the barn and curl up in the rafters. He could live another day, when he was so sure he was going to bleed out on some stone floor. It's cold, he realizes, with a bone-weary certainty that he's only now able to name. It's cold. It's so, so cold.

Logan is still standing there as he looks over his shoulder. Slowly, he opens his arms.

Remus all but throws himself at the demon as he races back inside, letting Logan catch him with barely a grunt, lips pressed against his ear as warm warm warm arms wrap around him once more.

"Keep me," he says in a rush, "keep me, please, please, keep me, I'll do whatever you want, please—"

"Hush, now, little one, you don't have to beg." Logan's hand runs up and down his back. "Shh, calm down, now, I'm right here, I have you."

Remus manages to draw a shuddering breath before Logan's holding the back of his skull and gently bidding him to look up. He does, meeting those electric blue eyes once more as Logan smiles.

"I will keep you, little one," he says, voice somehow sounding like it's coming from inside his head, "and in return, you will let me learn you. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes. Yes, that sounds fair, that sounds great, yes, yes."

Logan smiles with too many teeth and his eyes glow, and for the first time in so long he can't even fucking remember, Remus feels safe.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[blooming-violets]

Hiiii, I am in love with your writing!!!! 😍😍Can I get a tasm peter parker fic with this prompt?? Thank you

"42. braiding the other’s hair"

A/N: They didn't actually get to the hair braiding but they, at least, talk about it.

-

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing?"

Peter leapt off the nursey floor to grab a giant box out of your hands. A half made crib lay scattered in his wake.

"You know you're not supposed to lift heavy things," he chastised you. "Did you carry this all the way up to our apartment? Have you gone insane?"

You chuckled, knowing his over protectiveness would only continue to grow once the baby finally arrived. "It's fine, Peter. Mr. Johnson across the hall carried it up for me. All I did was bring it from the front door to the bedroom. That's about thirty eight steps total. I think I'll be okay."

He tossed the box carrying your new stroller onto the floor and fell to his knees in front of you. His breathing steadied as he focused his hearing, placing his ear directly against your large belly.

"Stop trying to listen to the baby! She's okay! Walking a couple steps isn't going to damage her," You swatted him away. "Your hearing isn't perfect and it always makes you panic. Remember last month when you claimed you couldn't hear her heart beating anymore? What did we do? A trip to the emergency room at 3 in the morning, for what? Nothing. She was perfectly fine. I'm not trying to explain to the doctor that my husband is scared because he thinks he has super hearing."

"I do have super hearing," he sighed, hopping back to his feet. "Well...sometimes. It's not a perfect science and I might have overreacted once or twice."

"Once or twice, my ass." Your eyes travelled over to the stroller box. "Can we put it together now? I want to see what it looks like."

Peter looked from the half assembled crib then back to you, "Absolutely not. I'll get the parts all mixed up. Next thing I know, we'll have a crib with wheels attached to the bottom."

You widened your eyes and pouted out your bottom lip, silently pleading with him.

It only took a solid two seconds of staring into your face before his shoulders sagged in defeat, "Okay fine. Let's do it."

You sat on your new glider chair, feet propped up on the footrest in front of you, while you watched Peter put together the stroller. You opted to help but he insisted you sit and not move. If you'd let him, you were fairly certain he would willingly carry you everywhere. The less your feet touched the ground when you were the pregnant, the more relaxed Peter was.

He huffed with frustration as he attempted to pop a wheel into place.

"Why does it feel like you need a degree in rocket science to put all this baby shit together?" He grumbled.

His eyes lifted to meet with yours, all the annoyance immediately draining from his face, only to be replaced with a glowing smile. It was like you feel the love the radiating out of him. The man adored you, there was no question about it.

"As long as it's safe, it's worth the extra effort I think," you smiled at him and held up your phone to show him what you were currently shopping for. "Look at these cute bows. Do you think it's too early to have a bow collection? I'm tempted to buy them. I hope she let's me do her hair when she's older. Think of all the cute hairstyles."

Peter's eyes widened in fear, "I don't know how to do girl's hair!"

You laughed under your breath, "It's okay. You'll learn. I doubt she'll actually have do-able hair until she's much older anyway."

"No!" He whined, the panic already setting in. "I need to know now! What if something happens to you and I'm left alone with her? Who will teach me? I don't know to do anything. She's going to be all mismatched and raggedy with unbrushed hair. I'm going to be a terrible single dad..."

You sat up, putting out your hands to stop his spiraling, "Hold on, try not to immediately jump to my death, please. I'd prefer to be alive in your visions of the future. I have no plans on dying any time soon." You hoisted yourself out of the chair and waddled over to him, offering your hand down to him. "Get up. That's enough baby assembly for tonight. We can resume it tomorrow. I want to sit on the couch with my husband and watch Supernanny. It gives me hope to see so many terrible parents and know that we won't follow in their footsteps."

He took your hand and pushed himself to his feet, hiding his face into the crook of your neck, "Am I going to be a bad dad?"

"No," you said it with conviction. If there was one thing in this world you truly believed, it was that Peter Parker would be a wonderful father. "Are you going to love our baby unconditionally? Are you going to do everything in your power to make sure she has a happy, safe environment so she can grow into a companionate, caring young person?"

He nodded, giving a muffled grunt into your neck.

"Then you will be a good dad. Come on, I'll teach you how to braid my hair as we watch tv. You have spider DNA. Something tells me you'll be a master at weaving strands together."

[writingintheshadowsforever]

Imagine Queen Ramonda comforting you when she founds out your parents kicked you out

Warnings: Some homophobia

They weren't supposed to find out that way, well honestly if it was up to you. Your parents wouldn't have found out either way. But how were you supposed to know they were going to be at that restaurant. Why did they have to sitting in the table right in front of your booth. Giving them a perfect line of vision of you and your date sitting on the same side talking and laughing. At first they just watched to see if what they thought was going on was really happening. After all the last thing they wanted to do was make a scene over a misunderstanding. It was when you leaned in pressing a kiss to her cheek while she took a picture. Your father lost it and shot out of his chair yelling your name. You pulled away from your date so fast eyes widening in fear at the sound of his voice.

You slid out of the booth knowing he wouldn’t have a problem dragging you himself. It was your mother who placed herself between you and him as your father closed the distance. By now all eyes were on the three of you, and your family had a reputation to uphold. Which is why your father was so upset about you going on a date with another girl. It was only three days ago he was chatting up a Merchant solider who's eye you had caught. He intended on sending you out with the man the next day. You lied and told him you couldn't because Okoye wanted you to do overnight guarding at the palace. It was only half a lie you were still in training to be a Dora Milaje, and wanted to show your dedication. So you offered to do some overnight guarding not to mention you would get to spend some extra time with your real crush. A fellow Dora Milaje trainee who had been bonding with for sometime now.

"Is this a joke" Your father growled angrily.

"Dad we can talk about this at home this isn't the place" You insisted.

"Home" He scoffed. "You think you have a home with us after this blasphemy. You're a disgrace to the family name."

It was as if his words turned into a spear and was driven into your heart. As you took a step back with a look of disbelief. "Father you can't be serious."

"I'm not your father anymore." He said with a dead look in his eyes before turning around to leave.

"Mother don't let him do this" You pleaded with the reasonable parent.

Your mother lifted her head with sorrow in her eyes. She was stuck between her love for her daughter and her loyalty to her husband. You reached forward grabbing both of her shoulders. "I have nowhere else to go. I'm your child for Bast's sake."

"I know honey I know" she whispered bringing a hand up to your face.

"Yeah" You nodded leaning into her touch, but she pulled her hand back.

"But your father is the decision maker, so just end this ridiculous facade with this young woman here. Then we can talk him down" Your mother demanded.

Your head swiveled back and forth between your date and your mother. Until finally your eyes settled on your date who looked away with tears in her eyes. She was scared not for only for you, but of being embarrassed in front of everyone in this restaurant. The whole city knew who you were and your family name. If you made her out to be a fool right now, she would be an outcast. She knew it, you knew it, and most importantly your mother knew it.

You turned back to your mother with a scowl on your face. It caught her off guard, and she shrunk back. "You know what that man might decide your life, but he doesn't decide mine. You can leave I'm staying right here with my love" You said.

"Y/N don't be stu-" Your mother paused her protest watching as you slid back into the booth next to your date, and took her hands in yours.

Eventually your mother left the restaurant as well, and you finished your date even though it was a bit awkward. Afterwards when it was time for you two to go your separate ways. She asked if you wanted to crash with her for the night. You turned her offer down not because you didn't want to, but because it was hard for you to accept help from others. You were use to always having your parents to turn to whenever you needed anything. They were the only ones who got to see you vulnerable, but now you didn't have them anymore.

You walked her home and kissed her goodbye. She shot you a worried look over her shoulder as she went inside her house. You put on a brave face blowing her kiss goodnight before turning away, and walking down the street. You wandered for a good thirty minutes but as the night drew on, the cold started to settle in more. At some point you started shivering with only your leather jacket to keep you warm. Without realizing it you had walked all the way to the palace.

Even at night the massive building was quite the sight to behold. You knew that they were still people on the inside active. It wasn't super late plus the Princess had a habit of pulling all-nighters. No doubt she had a few guards stationed in the lab where it would be nice and warm.

"Y/N" a voice called out your name filled with confusion.

You looked to the side to see Okoye and Ayo walking up both in their armor, and wielding their spear. There was a look of concern on both of their faces, as both of them knew of your plans tonight. After all it was Ayo who gave your date the courage to ask you out. Okoye made sure you had tonight and tomorrow morning off for training to be able to enjoy your time with her. Ayo pestered her about it for days reminding her that when the two of you graduated. That those moments would be so far and few in between.

"Child what are you doing here so late?" Okoye asked.

You shrugged your shoulders unable to come up with a good enough lie. You surely weren't about to tell either of them the truth. But it was the pained look in your eyes that gave you away.

Ayo and Okoye looked at each other knowing something was wrong, but neither of them wanted to push you on the subject.

"I should probably just go" You whispered turning to walk away.

"No it's late why don't go inside there's a resting area for the Doras who have overnight duties." Okoye suggested catching by the arm with a firm grip.

"Okoye its okay I'll be fine" You insisted trying to pull your arm free, but her grip was iron.

"Y/N come inside." This time she wasn't asking it was an order.

You had no other choice but to comply and followed the General and Ayo into the palace. They lead you to a long stretch of hallway filled with doors on each side. "Just pick any empty room, and you can spend the night here. You already know where you can wash up, and there should be a pair of changing clothes as well." Okoye told you.

"Thank you General and Ayo" You said.

"If you need to talk y/n remember we are here for you" Ayo replied.

You nodded and descended down the hallway stopping at the fifth door on the left. You took a peek of the inside through the small circular window on the door. The room was empty, and so that was the one you picked. It was bigger than the standard size room with a queen size bed pushed up against the wall in the far right corner. The bed was lined with golden sheets and a white comforter matching the color tone of the room. Indeed on the bottom of the bed was a pair of slacks and a long sleeved shirt. You were too tired and stressed out for the night to feel embarrassed about this whole thing. So you gathered up the clothes in your arms making the trip to the locker room for the Dora Milaje, to shower.

But even after a nice long and hot shower you couldn't bring yourself to just go crawl into the cozy bed and sleep. Your mind was replaying the argument with your parents in the restaurant over and over again. They really disowned you for who you loved. All your life all you ever did was try to make them proud. No matter how unrealistic the expectations were you met them and sometimes rose above them. How could they just abandon you like that? Instead of going back to the room to rest you ended up in the training room. Where you took your frustrations out on multiple practice dummies. But it wasn't enough, so you moved onto to the wooden statue. Slamming your fists into it till the wood started to splinter away. It didn't even cross your mind to wrap your hands, you just overlooked the bloodied knuckles.

It was when you threw a too hard of a strike that the pain flared up badly embedding small wooden pieces into your already injured hand. You let out a cry of pain clucthing your hand to your chest. The cry turned into a howl of frustration you twisted your body around to kick at the platform.

"Don't you think that's enough trainee."

The voice came from the entrance to the training room, and you would know it anywhere. You stopped your foot just short of connecting with the wooden statue. Breathing hard you brought your leg down and turned around to see if you were dreaming or not.

It was no dream the Queen of Wakanda stood in the doorway dressed in a beautiful white gown with a top head piece to go with it. You dropped down to one knee and crossed your arms over each other forming an x over your chest.

"Your highness did I disturb you?" You asked nervously.

"As you were y/n" Queen Ramonda said.

Your eyes widened in surprise when your name left her mouth, but you got back to your feet. Unsure of what to do as you had only ever seen the Queen in passing, and never had direct contact with her. You just stood there fiddling with your fingers wincing in pain every now and then.

"Okoye told me there would be an off-guard duty resting here tonight. It doesn't look like you're resting to me" She said. Her eyes looking you up and down settling on your hands. "Child" she breathed walking over to you.

"I was just a little restless" You murmured looking away. You stiffened when Queen Ramonda took your hands in hers to examine the damage.

"You did quite the number on yourself don't you think." She scolded you but her eyes softened.

"I was lost in my own frustrations I'm fine my Queen" You tried to reassure her. But she wasn't buying it.

"Come with me and let's get these knuckles of yours patched up" Queen Ramonda told you.

You shook your head. "Your highness you don't hav-"

Queen Ramonda silenced you with a stern look leaving no room for discussion. "I thought to never question the royal family would've been Okoye's first lesson for you."

"It was" You admitted.

"Then come my child and no more questions" she ordered.

You followed the Queen out of the training room to the infirmary that was only a few doors down. She motioned for you to take a seat on one of the beds, and you watched as she went through the cabinets. Pulling out all the material to bandage up your bruised knuckles. You were in awe at not only being in the presence of the Queen of Wakanda herself, but the fact that she was taking care of you. It was a surprise to you that she even knew how to patch you up.

"Don't be so shocked child my son is the Black Panther, and has always been reckless from a young age. Who do you think took care of his small injuries." Queen Ramonda said laying out all the materials beside her before taking a seat beside you.

"I don't know a nurse maybe" You answered quietly.

"Well we did have one of those but what kind of mother can't take of her children's cuts and bruises?" It was a rhetorical question.

"Maybe the kind of mother who abandons her child over love" You mumbled under your breath.

Queen Ramonda couldn't make out your words, but could tell you were directing them at someone else. You placed your hands in her lap without her asking. She got to work on cleaning them first and for a while there was just silence.

You let out a hiss of pain when she picked out the splinters, but other than that you stayed quiet.

"Tell me what troubles you" Queen Romanda said as she wiped the blood away. "And don't tell me you're fine y/n I have two children who can't seem to stay out of trouble. I know when you're lying."

You didn't want to share your problems with The Queen, but she wasn't leaving you much of a choice. "My parents and I had a argument."

"Well you are the age where they might have a hard time letting you go to become your own person."

"Oh trust me they had no problem letting me go when they found out who I really was. No problem at all that's why I'm here tonight" You said without thinking. The disdain in your voice was evident as well as the pain.

"And exactly who are you?" she asked softly

You shook your head turning away to look at the wall. Would the Queen give you the same look as disgust as your father did? You didn't feel like finding out.

Queen Ramonda finished wrapping your hands up, and gripped your chin bringing your face back around to face her. "Tell me who you are y/n after all it's only fair I know who's going to be in charge of my family's safety.

"I like girls okay they weren't happy about that, and decided that I just wasn't their daughter anymore." You managed to get out before squeezing your eyes shut in order to contain the tears. The whole night you fought off the urge to cry, but right now in this moment. After admitting the truth there was no more fighting. You bit your lip so hard blood coated your tongue.

The Queen wrapped her arms around you pulling you into a hug. You wanted to pull away and insist this wasn't appropriate, but she was the Queen. Who were you to fight her?

"Y/N there is nothing wrong with who you are no matter what your parents tell you, and their love does not define you" she whispered.

You gave a meek nod.

She pulled you back to wipe your tears away. "You are Wakandan no matter what and you will always have a home here in the palace. I can get you a permanent room if you need it."

"No my Queen that's too much it one night here is enough, I'll figure it out tomorrow" You protested.

She raised an eyebrow. "How about a week?"

You opened your mouth to protest again, but she held up a single finger. "You're having a hard time not questioning me aren't you?" The teasing smile let you know she wasn't serious, but still you looked away slightly ashamed.

"I guess a week here won't be so bad" You agreed.

"Good now why don't you go get some sleep?" Queen Ramonda suggested. "There will be no training for you tomorrow it'll give those knuckles time to recover."

You were taken back by that. Worser injuries had been suffered in sparring matches, and still you trained. "Your highness I'm fully able to train."

Queen Ramonda shook her head. "No my daughter needs someone to accompany her to the city tomorrow. She complains that Okoye and Ayo are too paranoid and no fun. I think you can fulfill that position unless you're not up to it."

Guarding the Princess of Wakanda out in public was a duty reserved specially for seasoned Doras. To be trusted with such a task and by the Queen herself was a huge honor.

"Yes my Queen I can do it" You said with a small smile.

She nodded at you. "Good then go get some rest.

[yellowkitkieran]

Boyfriend (Kieran Tierney)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: You and Kieran are on different pages regarding your situationship, which leaves both of you broken hearted.

Hunting for your trousers in a man's bedroom should heart your cheeks with shame. This is relatively normal for you now though, having hooked up with Kieran more times than you can count- and only twice having been invited to stay ren'night in the guest bedroom. 

“They're here,” Kieran says and tosses a pair of jeans your way. “Can you pass me my kit bag? Thanks.”

Kieran rushing out after sex has become commonplace. It stings a little less each time, though it has yet to fully fade. Your phone chimes, and you pick it up to see a message from a dating app, confirming the time for your impromptu dinner later tonight.

“Who's that?” Kieran says, tossing shirts from his closet to his bed. He doesn't bother to fold them because he isn't concerned with wrinkles. 

“Just some guy I've got a date with.” You keep your eyes on your phone and your voice even. This is new- up until now, you've remained fixated on Kieran. You only downloaded the app with the hope that it would kick Kieran's arse into high gear and prompt him to finally ask you out. 

“Sorry, did you say date?” Kieran blinks and turns towards you when you nod. “With who? Why?”

“Some bloke I met on an app- why do you care?”

“Because I don't want anyone else touching you, that's why. You aren't supposed to be dating anyone.” 

That sets you off. You purse your lips, vision tinting red. Who does he think he is? you've provided him with countless chances and he has squandered each and every one of them. “You aren't my boyfriend. Why does it matter if I go on a date with someone else?”

With all the patience of a parent speaking to an unruly child, Kieran pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because…” Each word comes loose like pulling teeth. “Because-”

“Because what Kieran?! Spit it out!” You're tired of waiting. For a date, for affection, for a finished sentence. You deserve to be put first for once, not cast aside like an out of date toy. 

“Because I don't want you to be with anyone else! Alright? There- are you happy?”

“Well for fucks sake Kieran! Do something about it then!” You're on your feet now, pacing the length of the room. There is far too much energy bundled up inside of you. Kieran's confession has spurred you into a frenzy and awoken the storm that has been brewing for weeks.  

Kieran shakes his head and continues stuffing things in his bag. “I'm not doing this right now. I have a plane to catch.”

How can he be so indifferent? The Kieran you know has a soft, tender heart. Now it is as if his is made of stone, the organ sitting solid and impenetrable in his chest. Doesn't he care? Doesn't this eat at him the same way it has eaten at you?

“I just don't want to think about this when I'm going to be in Scotland for a while-” 

“Where you'll probably spend the next two weeks snogging other women and letting them grind their arses on you in clubs.” The words are poison tipped, turning his own jealousy back onto the man himself. “Lord knows you won't be loyal, you'll neck the first bird who smiles at you.”

“I haven't so much as looked at another woman in months,” Kieran snaps. He stands at his full height now, his muscular frame filling your vision. You hold your ground, glaring up into his chocolate brown eyes that currently lack the sparkle you've grown to enjoy. Now they are filled with ire instead of affection and you are disturbed to discover how much that hurts you. 

“Liar. You're a liar Kieran Tierney, last week there were rumors, I saw-” 

“There's always gonna be rumors! We could be married and there would still be rumors about some model or influencer or someone that has paid tabloids to say they saw us together!” Kieran runs a hand through his hair. His laugh carries no humor, “and I know you can't handle it, which is why I agreed to things being casual!”

“Oh, you know I can't handle it, do you?” Tears prick your eyes as tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. You refuse to give Kieran the satisfaction of seeing how deeply he's wounded you. “You always assume. You assume I want to see you, assume I can't handle pressure, assume I'd rather be nothing more than fuck buddies, someone you can call in the middle of the night after a loss. But you know what? I'm done, Kieran. I'm done.”

“Just like that then? You're walking away from me?” Kieran tips his head back and the laugh that spills from him is not one you recognize. You aren't sure if it's pain, or maybe disbelief. You can scarcely believe it yourself; five minutes ago you were ready to cancel a date on his behalf. Now, you wouldn't dream of something like that ever again. 

You grab your coat off his bed and sling it over your shoulders. “Yep, just like that. Last chance Kieran.” 

“Just get out,” Kieran half growls. His back is already to you, which is just one more reason for you to go. Against your will, your feet remain rooted to the spot- you don't want to leave. What you want is for Kieran to fight for you, or maybe beg for forgiveness. You know in your heart that you haven't imagined the spark between you. That one night he took you out for a drink, there had been a genuine connection. You know that if he would get his head straight, he would recognize it.

But you value yourself too highly to remain in a situation where there is no progress. For months you've entertained this situationship in hopes that one day soon Kieran might wisen up and ask you on a proper date. But he hasn't, and someone else has come along to beat him to the punch, and now is when he chooses to be salty about it. 

As your feet carry you along the path you've walked dozens of times, you catalog the details of Kieran's home. The gallery wall containing photos of his favorite memories and people. A framed kit from his Arsenal debut. The bowl of apples on the kitchen island that will no doubt spoil before they're consumed. All of it, every detail down to the neatly placed shoes near the front door, is distinctly Kieran. 

An ache settles in your limbs. The weight of it threatens to crack bone. Somewhere deep in the house, you swear you can hear Kieran sigh. Probably with relief, thankful that you're finally out of his hair for good. 

At the last second, you take the slip of paper out of your pocket. It's no more than a discarded piece of scrap, but you hunt for a pen and write three words before you can think better of it. It's the truth- no sooner than the words are written do you feel the ache start to ease slightly. You fold the paper in fourths and slide it into the pocket of his coat, knowing full well that he never wears it anyway. But at least you've put it into the universe, and your secret no longer lives solely inside your soul. 

You do not look back as you leave. Once the door locks behind you, you only pray that Kieran washes that coat before he discovers the paper.

I love you. Three words, so simple to write, yet impossible to speak. Three words Kieran will never hear you say. Because now that you've gone, you'll never come back. 

[sycophantastic]

I think I'm losing my grip on the Ed/Stede chemistry, and their chance at a solid rom-com ending.

The true happy ending, I think, would be Ed and Stede winding up together somewhere in the middle of the lives they escaped, but at this point they've shot right past each other into the extremes where they each started, except in reverse.

See, they had very similar struggles at the beginning of the series, just under very different circumstances. They both had external expectations weighing them down. They both had practically zero opportunity for self-determination. They were both discontent and trapped in lives they felt powerless to change or leave.

They did eventually leave, but they just... like I said, they each went TOO HARD in the opposite direction of their initial circumstances instead of meeting in the middle.

As of s2e7, Ed's trying to force himself into a mundane life that he won't find truly fulfilling because it'll turn out as dull and repetitive as piracy became. He's making his life small & slow, trying to hide himself away, denying himself the things he actually wants, just like Stede did before going to the sea.

As of s2e7, Stede is actively cultivating a reputation, a persona. He's building up recognition, hero worship, fear, etc. He's popular and "important". He's immersing himself in the exact same thing Ed has desperately been trying to escape this whole time.

They need to find their way back to some sort of middle. Maybe they really do open an Inn By The Sea, so Stede can sail off and have adventures every now and again, and Ed can learn to be the friendly jailer he described in his "gravy basket" vision. Some of the crew may even want to stay and help. (Probably not Izzy, though; I'm guessing he won't ever stop pirating)

They can't and won't find their way to that place when they're still just as clueless about how to navigate an adult romantic relationship (a functional one, not like Anne & Mary's "adult" relationship) as they were before. This season, as far as I knew, was supposed to lead them to a more mature place as middle-age men in love, but that suuuuuper didn't happen.

They still don't/won't say everything that needs to be said.

Stede hasn't explained the psychological torture he was forced to endure at the business end of Chauncey's pistol, the way all his deepest fears and insecurities were used to bludgeon his psyche into pulp, right before he bore witness to ANOTHER accidental right-through-the-eye Badminton death. He hasn't explained that he wanted to save Ed from the plague, the curse, of Stede Bonnet. He hasn't explained that he couldn't conceive of a reality where Ed didn't eventually either succumb to the poison of Stede's mere proximity, or come to the same conclusion as Chauncey.

Ed hasn't explained that after laying his heart at Stede's feet, and then being abandoned/betrayed, his heart wound up shattered. He hasn't explained that he'd almost let himself waste away before Lucius convinced him to start gluing his heart back together, only to have the fragile broken pieces pulverized into dust by Izzy's threat. He hasn't explained that he lost touch with reality, did a lot of things he regrets, things he finds sickening, things that nearly took everyone down with him. He hasn't explained that he fears Stede will leave him again, which is why he wants to "take it slow," because he's scared to truly start anything; if it never starts, it can't ever end.

And we have 30 minutes to resolve all this, plus MUCH more?!?

I don't see how one final 30 minute episode can resolve... I mean, much of anything, really. Because that's all we're guaranteed at this point. There's not been even a whisper of renewal from HBO, and 30 minutes isn't nearly enough time to stick the landing firmly in rom-com territory.

[cantsayidont]

July and August 1979. The unusual transatlantic production schedule of the original Marvel STAR WARS comic, which for a time was published in the U.S. in 36-page monthly color comics and in eight-page weekly installments in the B&W UK series, led for a while to the use of two different inkers for regular penciller Carmine Infantino: Bob Wiacek, who did the cover of issue #25, and Canadian artist Gene Day. Generally, Wiacek and Day inked the stories in alternating issues of the color series, although Wiacek's inks might appear on several consecutive covers. They each gave Infantino's pencils a distinctly different look. Here's a page from issue #25, inked by Day:

If I had to choose just one word to characterize the work of Gene Day, who died suddenly in 1982 at the age of 31, it would be "intricate." Whether doing inks/finishes or both pencils and inks, his art was characterized by an abundance of textures and small details, many of them seemingly rendered with a pen. Note for example in the second panel above the shading on Baron Tagge's face and the linework of the structure behind him, and the grille structure of the ceiling in the third panel.

A side note worth mentioning here, not related to the inking, is the use of color. Original colorist Ben Sean uses the two-color treatment of the hyperspace shot to segue into three panels with a minimal color palette, which I think is supposed to represent the limitations of Tagge's cyber-vision (without which, as the final panel indicates, he is blind). The digital recoloring has mostly followed Sean's original colors, but they're brighter and more saturated than they appeared on newsprint paper, and for some reason, the recolored version of the second panel has substituted a solid orange fill for the original yellow-orange gradient, as seen below:

The following is a page from the subsequent issue, #26, this time inked by Bob Wiacek:

Note that the line weight of Wiacek's inks is different than Day's, and more of the inking appears to have been done with a brush than a pen. There's still some pen shading (note for example the bottoms of Tagge's boots in the final panel), but much less than in Day's pages, and minor details, especially in the backgrounds, feel a bit sketchier. Consequently, Wiacek's figures have a greater sense of solidity than Day's, but their environments are often less sharply defined. (This isn't necessarily bad — from a storytelling standpoint, it may be better not to get lost in the weeds with extraneous background detail — but it does look different.) Note also the Zipatone texture fill in the second panel. Day uses Zipatone as well, but more sparingly and often in smaller areas, where it's often overshadowed by the detail of his line work.

With the release of THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK in 1980, the UK series was relaunched as a monthly, simplifying production logistics. Infantino did not pencil the film adaptation, but he did the first four post-ESB issues, each with a different inker (Day and Chic Stone, then Tom Palmer, then Day, and finally Carlos Garzón), which led to even more dramatic differences in the look of the finished art. Infantino, who by his own account had no particular enthusiasm for the series, then departed. Gene Day, meanwhile, was doing some extraordinary work on Marvel's MASTER OF KUNG FU series, initially finishing Mike Zeck's pencils and then doing both pencils and inks, which really showed off his enthusiasm for intricate design.

Prior to his death, Day did layouts for two complete issues of STAR WARS, which appeared in #68 and #69 after his death, finished by Tom Palmer. Although they don't have the complex linework of the work Day finished himself, they have a really striking sense of design that make them arguably the most interesting-looking issues in the original Marvel series.

Incidentally, Dan Day and David Day, who did (inter alia) the Renegade Press CASES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES series, are Gene Day's brothers.

[mistys-blerbz]

Keep Your Eyes On Me • Chapter 4

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x F!Mitchell!OC

Summary:

Elizabeth “Ghost” Mitchell is the daughter of what some would say is the most decorated Naval Captain. But when she is called back to North Island for a special mission she is forced to face her past loves, past hurts, and past losses.

Warnings:

violence, swearing, PTSD, war, mental illness & probably more

Word Count: 2547

Cross Posted: A03 • Wattpad

“Lizzy, I forgave you the moment those words left your lips,” Pete breathed out, stepping forward again.

This time the young aviator didn't step back. Her head hung low as she tried to hold it together. She finally felt the guilt and shame she had been hiding for so long. Her vision blurred, shit she was crying. Why was she crying? There was nothing to cry over. She had seen worse and experienced worse.

The short woman felt her father's arms wrap around her, pushing her head into his shoulder as he squeezed her, causing her to break down. 

Elizabeth clung to him, gripping onto him as if letting go would mean this wasn't real. She'd wake up and be back in Japan. Liz cried and cried and cried until she couldn't anymore, just holding onto her father until all that was left was a breathless shudder and a sniffle. They sat there holding one another before she slowly pulled away, her heart breaking a little more when she saw her father's red eyes. She was too busy breaking down that she didn't even feel him doing so himself. 

Neither of them really noticed they had been there for a solid 15 minutes. Both Mitchell's heads shot over as a secretary walked into the bathroom, freezing when she saw the two of them. The father-daughter pair quickly scurried out before awkwardly looking around. How did this work again? There was still so much that needed to be said. 

“Captain Mitchell,” called Admiral Simpson, causing both to salute. The admiral motioned for her father to come to him. Pete looked at his daughter as she lowered her hand. She silently nodded before she pivoted on her heels and speed walked to the locker room.

She walked through her front door, using her foot to close it as she dropped her rucksack and slipped her shoes off. Elizabeth walked into her kitchen, being sure to be quiet. Since all the lights were off in the house, she assumed Bradley and John had gone to sleep early for a long next day of more dogfighting. She opened her fridge and looked through it, reaching toward the back for the leftovers. 

“You’re home late,” Bradley's voice said from behind, causing her to jump and hit her head on top of the fridge. She cursed and exited the cold box rubbing her head. 

“Jerk,” she grumbled. Bradley laughed lightly. She closed the fridge and shoved her food into the microwave. “Didn't think you were up. John sleeping?”

“No, he went to the Hard Deck with a few of the others,” he explained as she took her food out and began to separate it onto two plates. 

“You eat?”

“No.”

She handed him the plate before walking to the living room and plopping down on the couch, Bradley followed suit. The two ate in silence as she flipped through the channels on the TV, eventually landing on the news.

“I saw your father follow you into the bathroom,” Bradley said, causing her to stop chewing.

She glanced over at him. He looked at her, an internal battle clear inside his eyes. 

“I saw you and Maverick had a conversation as well.”

“He isn't taking accountability for what he did,” he said, looking down and picking at his meal. 

“Did you let him?”

Bradley stayed silent for a moment. He supposed he didn’t.

“What did he want with you?”

“Not sure, we spent most of it crying,” she put bluntly, her voice monotone.

He could tell that she wanted to talk about it. She had the look in her eye. 

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing…” she mumbled before standing up and walking to the kitchen. Bradley sat there for a moment before following. 

“It's not nothing. It's never nothing,” he said. He watched the 5’3” woman shove her barely touched dinner into the fridge, not even bothering to cover it. “What's wrong?”

Elizabeth stood there for a moment before turning to face him. 

“He forgave me for what I said, and I broke down. I was-” she started, only to get cut off.

“Are you serious? You’re still worried about that?”

“You know what, never mind. Forget I mentioned anything.” 

“No please continue,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against her island.

“I want to talk about it, Bradley, but anytime I mention Pete, you shut off,” she said simply. 

“You wanna talk about Pete? Then let's talk about Pete!” he said, raising his voice a little. Elizabeth scoffed. 

“You know what, forget it, Rooster,” she said. She walked past him, bumping his shoulder.

“No, come back here!”

“No. You're not going to raise your voice at me in my house when I've been nothing but calm. Go to bed, you must be tired if you think you can pull that bull with me,” she said before storming up her stairs, leaving the taller male downstairs fuming a bit. 

“Hey, Liz, we missed you at the bar last night!” Coyote called out as they walked to their plains.

“Everyone has to come tonight! We wanted to get into the nitty gritty but couldn't without the entire squad there,” John said, excitedly looking between Bradley and Elizabeth. Bradley only glared at the back of Liz's head, shaking his own as he kept walking to his plane. “What the hell was that?” John asked. 

“We argued. I’ll tell you about it later,” she mumbled as they began prepping their plane. After they were done, Jake walked over to their plane as Liz fiddled with something on one of the side panels. 

“You going to the bar tonight?” he asked, leaning against her plane. 

“Probably not. I have someplace I need to be.” She figured she would work on her boss's car some more. She didn’t want to be in her house. 

“Common Sunshine, you look like you need to relax. You’ve been tense all morning.”

She looked up at him, rolling her eyes a bit before standing up. Her blue eyes looked into his green ones.  

“Hangman, you and Rooster are the first two in the air today,” her father said from behind her, making Liz jump two feet in the air. Jake, Pete, and John laughed. The startled aviator held into her knees and held onto her heart as she caught her breath.

“You alright there, Ghost?” Jake said with a grin. Liz shot up, aiming a punch directly onto his chest causing him to grunt out a deep breath. “Oh, fuck!”

This caused her father to laugh, making her turn to face him with a playful glare, arm swinging back to aim a hit at him, but he just barely got out of the way before she landed the blow. 

“Alright, alright. Get back to the briefing room,” Pete said, resting a hand on her shoulder before walking to his plane.

Her eyes followed him before meeting Jake’s again, a soft smile on his face as he still rubbed his sternum. 

“That really hurt,” he breathed out with a slight laugh. 

“Good.” 

“I got out scot-free,” John said, now out of the plane. 

“Oh, really now?” she said. A mischievous grin formed on her face making Junior’s eyes widen. He bolted towards the air hanger. “Pardon me,” Elizabeth said to Jake. 

“Oh no, go ahead,” he said.

He watched her bolt after John, shaking her fist and yelling, a grin on his face. His eyes turned towards his plane and noticed Rooster watching them with slight disgust from his cockpit. Jake gave him a wink before walking to his plane and climbing inside. 

“So Rooster, mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Would it matter if I did?”

“So what's the story with you and Maverick? It seems like he's got you a little rattled.”

“It's none of your business.” Liz sat in front of the radio listening with her arms crossed, curious to see if either of them would beat her father today. “Now where the hell is he?”

“I've been here the whole time,” her father's voice rings out. 

“Holy shit.” 

“You see me now? Come on, let's get it over with.” She wished she was there to see what was going on. Knowing all of them, it was probably something stupid. 

“Fights on!” Bradley exclaimed.

Not a moment later, Jake was expressing his concern for the two. 

“What is with these two?”

“What do you think is happening?” a few of the fellow aviators said, looking out the window as if they could see what was happening. 

“Two men comparing dick sizes, probably,” Liz stated, matter of factly, shaking her head. 

“Hard decks 5000 feet fellas, you are running out of room,” Jake's voice called out. Liz and Phoenix looked at each other, concerned. 

“Your strategy is about to run us into the ground. What’s your move?” 

Liz leaned over the table as she listened to the radio, her heart racing. Her mind raced just as fast, thinking of all the positions they could be in to cause such a comment. 

“Come on, Rooster, you got him. Drop down and take the shot!” 

“It's too low!” Bradley cried out, causing Liz to sigh and shake her head. 

“That's a kill, knock it off,” Pete said, causing the ones listening to the exercise to curse under their breath. “Ghost and Junior, you’re up with Hangman,” he continued.

Phoenix wished her luck. 

Once in the air, she quickly found Jake and slid up next to him. Unlike the others, she had actually flown a mission with him before. Unlike popular belief, he didn’t leave people hanging when lives were at risk. Their VFA squadrons worked with one another during Operation Enduring Freedom. 

“Nice to see you in the air, Ghost,” Hangman's voice rang through the comms. “Make sure the kid knows how we work.”

“I'm thirty,” Junior grumbled, glaring at the plane next to them. 

“He flies with me, he knows the drill,” she said with a grin. “Keep your eyes open, Junior. The old man is lurking.” 

And lurking he was. Her father's plane flew past them, causing Jake and Liz to break apart from the formation. 

“Damn it!” Jake shouted. “Break left.” 

“Got it.” She did as she was told. Inside, the others were surprised that Jake didn't leave her hanging like he has done with others. “Junior, you see ‘em?” she shouted.

“On the right! On the right!” he shouted, causing her to move her joystick to evade her father.

Jake moved to get behind Maverick. The two danced in the sky, shouting out positions to one another, bobbing and weaving to keep Maverick on his toes. They were successful, making them the two to be in the air the longest out of everyone else.  

“Watch it, Ghost, he’s on your tail!” Hangman shouted.

But he was slightly too late. The beeping in her cockpit made her sigh and rip off her mask from her face. It wasn't long after Jake got killed as well. Soon enough, the two safely landed back at base to do their pushups. 

Warlock waited on the tarmac, patiently watching Elizabeth raise her canopy before walking up to her cockpit motioning for her to hand him her comm set. 

“Sir,” she said, handing it to him. 

“Captain Mitchel, Admiral Simpson is ordering you to report to his office.”

“Yes Sir,” her father's voice rang through her headset. 

“He said okay, sir” Warlock nodded before climbing down 

The rest of the training for the day was normal flight maneuvers conducted by another TOPGUN instructor. 

The group of aviators that decided to hang out at the Hard Deck that night included Bradley, Elizabeth, and Jake, who apparently hadn’t tagged along the night before. All wearing their beige uniforms, they sat in a circle around the pool table, the sunset casting an orange glow inside. 

“Oh, come on! That's not how I got my callsign!” Fanboy said, a blush on his face. 

“No, no, no it was definitely the Taylor Swift concert you held in the men's locker room with yourself,” Reuben said, causing the group to laugh. 

“Well, we all know how Phoenix got hers! The only woman in her aviation school class, rising from the ashes!” Javy said with slight sarcasm. 

“Says you, who is the smallest in your giant family,” Natasha said with a grin. 

“Jake, what about you?” Junior asked with a laugh. 

“He leaves his wingman every chance he gets,” Natasha answered, rolling her eyes. 

“Well, obviously not. Seems Jake and Liz gave Mav a run for his money today,” Halo said, raising her glass of wine. 

“He’s excruciatingly bad at playing hangman. Has no sense of how to eliminate letters,” Elizabeth said, ratting him out. Jake smirked and shook his head. 

“Says you, Miss Scared-of-everything,” Jake said with a laugh. 

“No, no, no it's because she’s silent like a ghost. She sneaks up on you and lurks. It's honestly kind of scary,” Fritz exclaimed, causing some of them to laugh. 

“I don't know, I heard it’s because of her Purple Heart,” Harvard said. Liz’s eyes shot over to his. “Someone who scares easily can't possibly earn an honor like that.”

Liz shifted a bit in her seat. Junior shifted as well, glancing over at his partner. 

“And why would that be?” Junior interjected before anybody else could. 

“Woah dude, no need to get so jumpy.”

Liz gently reached her hand over to Junior to signal him to stop, but he brushed her off. 

“No, no, do explain why she couldn't be awarded a Purple Heart if she's jumpy,” Junior continued. 

“John, stop,” Liz whispered. Her heart rate increased every moment it continued. 

“She’s gone through way more than you could imagine, the bullshit she went through, behind enemy lines for as long she was?”

“Enough!” Liz shouted, causing the bar to go silent. “Dammit John,” she breathed out before rushing out of the bar.

The group sat frozen for a moment. Bradley was about to go after her but Jake was already halfway out of the door. 

—--- PANIC ATTACK WARNING —---

Liz couldn't catch her breath. The sounds around her disappeared a bit as she stumbled her way down the beach before she collapsed on the sand. The senses of her past were coming back to haunt her. The sound of her friends begging for mercy. The smell of iron, dirt, and burnt flesh burned her nose instead of the salty sea.

Tears streamed down her face as she tried her hardest to catch her breath which was so desperately running away from her lungs. 

She didn't feel the powerful arms wrapping around her or even hoisting her up. She only came to when she felt the rush of cold salty water drenching her, unfortunately only succeeding in sending her into more of a spiral. The man pulled her out as she flailed around, trying to catch her bearing.

She locked onto the green eyes that were so familiar to her. His hands gripped her face tight as he spoke. Her eyes wandered to his lips, making out only a few words before her brain finally let her hear again. His words were simple yet so familiar to her… taking her back to a simpler time. 

“Keep your eyes on me.”

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Authors note: n/a

Editor(s): @delicatenightfury

FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED...

Please Like, Comment, Follow,

Reblog, & Share!!

[ottiliere]

by: lindsay dane davestriderdeathcult4568 and lucy ottiliere

prefacing this by stating the obvious but i know this guy. like this archetype of individual is just so absolutely a guy that exists in droves this guy crawls out of spawnpoints in dirty smokey rooms in literally probably the same apartment complex i live in i think its hilarious and basically am fully qualified to be writing about him. he hasnt known anything better than any of this, probably doesnt think it exists, and more than likely doesnt deserve to experience any of it.

like a solid 30% of this guys conversations with any underage person he's around in public are trying to get them to dip. everyone says he smokes and hey you know what they're probably right but he absolutely dips more than he smokes and he absolutely does classique peer pressure on high schoolers to take some if hes ever in a situation where one is stuck with him. as previously addressed he likes skoal. because the packaging looks like shit. if he does smoke he rolls his own.

terrible skin has not used sunscreen a day in his life spends a lot of time outside in the open sun and totally looks like it you know what this looks like if you know what this looks like. once he thought he had skin cancer and he cut it out himself. it was probably just a mole or something. part of the reason his hair is so stringy and thin is because he doesn't take care of himself, part is because his scalp has been sunburned to shit. the hat isn't an ego thing he isn't insecure about this he just likes it. important to note seriously this guy is basically psychologically incapable of being embarrassed self conscious or ashamed of anything.

absolutely does speed absolutely does speed i no longer have the image of the fucking milk gallon jug of whatever psycho shit that was being advertised at truckers but i think this guy puts it in his cereal for breakfast. does not sleep longer than 20 mins or so at a time, he gets true rem sleep once a week or something maybe. like the idea of having worked as a trucker in the past, that line of work would suit him.

ketamine………like sure coke absolutely coke, but ketamine…….could see it in him to do ketamine. more importantly meth. absolutely meth. maybe not super often when he's younger, but that's where he's headed. i imagine in his early 30'sish is when he gets really bad about this specifically. this is the time shit stops being fun for him fullstop and all of the shit hes been gnawing on psychologically speaking to keep himself from going apeshit gets boring. parallel to canon he was just not supposed to live this long. so he implodes. and does a lot of meth. becomes completely incapable of caring for himself and spirals. you've seen that.

thinks conspiracy theories are funny, so he pretends to believe them. when he's younger this is kind of interesting in a way, because it's easier to tell sometimes that it's a joke of a kind to him. as he gets older it's less easy to tell, and more concerning. i'm not talking about cute conspiracy theories btwlike im thinking like 4chan coffee enema jewish tummy worm removal shit like this guy is unwell.

probably indifferent to weed. its whatever. smokes absolute mid dogshit ass weed from a ass trashcan. says it has no effect on him. it mostly doesnt but thats probably because its dogshit weed.

have a very specific vision of his body type i think it was REREREDACTED who drew the like closest possible but still significantly less repulsive vision of him. he's not filled out buff he's stringy and kindof shredded which is entirely a different thing and altogether much more diseased looking. even resting you can see the outline of muscle under skin NOT because his muscles are oversized just because there's so little between it and the skin. his eyes are sunken in. i imagine that hes one of those dudes whos absolutely partially deaf but somehow hears fucking everything. average height.

[CSA cw] hasnt done anything ever at all for a bit. it's all 100% genuine. that said i feel like a lot of the sexual abuse he does is so outright and casual that it's almost comical like if your older brother gropes you walking down the hall what do you even do about that. it was only a second so OBVIOUSLY for the lulz right.

[CSA cw] this is also obviously a conditioning thing but first and foremost it is miserable. also important to note i dont think it is INTENTIONALLY a conditioning thing. i dont think he is a groomer in the manipulative or the "aware of what's going on" sense. i think the most manipulative things he would do would function similarly to all the little inside jokes of his existence; they're not manipulations, they're not jokes, they're pure expressions of himself. i think his self awareness is inverted; instead of covering him like a blanket, it acts as a foundation for a more direct understanding of self. and the foundation is cracked why did anyone stop saying biatch that shit is so funny sorry im listening to a song the way mac miller says biatch is so funny and awesome. bringing this back.

i don't think he talks really at all. i think he avoids talking at all hes really into pointing and grunting in various tones but hes the type who would feel it in his throat the day after if he held a proper conversation with someone. theres just a lot about social interaction he thinks he isnt a part of. it isnt that he doesnt observe it or isnt aware of it but similar to his counterpart he just cant bring himself to think of any "rules" as applying to him. on a level that is pure subconscious he cant fathom that he is a human at all, so any self interpretation or self expression of course will be influenced by this.

doesn't sit still ever, even when he does. twitchy fidgety and easy to frustrate. i envision him as being violently ocd basically, to an extent that makes him kind of cartoonish. like he doesn't have severe ocd so much as he exemplifies the effects of long term severe ocd when it's left untreated; he's like this with all the symptoms he manifests because when i write him and think about him im working mostly conceptually. hes a good representative character and i think hes at his best when this is the role hes filling.

like to think that his indifference and lack of connection to anything of any meaning in the world has been almost lifelong. the result of neglect and abuse itself, sure, but more importantly i think he is like this because he is drastically understimulated. there's nothing to do that interests him, no one worth talking to, nothing. not just a sadist but a compulsive one. i imagine that at some point he has seen someone OD. was not his fault but he was just not all that affected by it; thick skinned to the point that it's concerning. avoiding saying things like psychopath here because i feel like that doesn't quite suit what i'm getting at. he is, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, extremely unselfaware. so much of what he does is route action, muscle memory with no conscious process to it. even the performance of self awareness is nothing.

this is a big part of how i see him as a sexual predator specifically. it is just something he does compulsively, a repeated whim he follows. there's not a lot else to it. at least not in his mind

should go without saying but any "irony" playing he does is basically bullshit nothing to mess with people. like of course it is. there is virtually nothing genuine to be found 300% of his goals are to fuck with people; likes feeling smart and one upping others, likes feeling socially dominant, isn't smart or in possession of enough capital to ACTUALLY engender these feelings so he makes do with bad stupid elaborate jokes. its a craft

i kind of enjoy him as this backgroundless enigma i will be honest. like he turned out so revolting and who knows why. that's not my business. he functions better as a concept made manifest. it mirrors canon ofc but it also makes him horrifying by way of how can this happen. the same way people wonder about this shit in real life and it can simply never be answered no one will ever know.

although… the most important part of bros history to me is, specifically, the decline of his mental state due to cal. overarching view of his upbringing is that it would've been dismal and cal the telepathic puppet who spews garbage into his brain 24/7 does not a good man make. i base this off a very specific character study by the meat machine on ao3 that goes into this very concept. mind-blowing for both of us. the magic of cal on his brain… kind of can't resist thinking about it. like HOW did the decline happen. literally brain poison i imagine it functions similarly to how people fall into holes of like. suddenly doing a ton of hard shit and the next thing you hear theyre believing birds are spies and shit. schizophenic in nature. hes so misdiagnosable but the truth is there's just something wrong with him and there's nothing even to do about it. he's doomed to be this way forever. COSMIC ALIGNMENT. the burnout from this if he doesnt die super young would be insane like just horrifying absolutely miserable. thinking about the state hed be in at the point dave makes his very smart adult man exodus back home that he handles so well. like. nightmare.

[homestuckexamination]

Any chance you could look at differences in a Page of Space and a Prince of Space? Namely what might motivate them to be the way they are?

I've mentioned this before, and I suppose I do less Classpect Analysis these days so it comes up less, but let me reiterate this, which I believe is very important when dealing with Classpects:

There really isn't a solid way to define 'differences' between Classpects that aren't me repeating Class and Aspect information. Pages are Served by others, and Serve their Aspect in turn. They usually start as low power and dependent in some way, but can grow to be powerhouses if honed properly, but they can just as well get stuck along the way due to meddling from others or their own hand. Princes are Destroyers- And Royalty. Capability breeds high standards, breed self-deprecation, and taking charge can lead to imposing their agency over others, so they need to strike a balance and not let it get to their heads.

But that's the thing. Mythological Role and Verb are the two main factors with a Classpect. What it means to be a Prince. What it means to be a Page. A rough potential vision of their arc and their relationship to their Aspect, which, in turn, has several traits associated with it, too. That's it. Everything else is personal and unique to each individual. No two Classpects are ever going to be the same, because circumstances shape everyone else. Classpects aren't a repeatable pattern with explicit powers that everyone has. They give, at best, a vague sense of someone's potential story beats and vibes, and otherwise they're all subject entirely to circumstance.

So it's impossible to tell what may motivate them to be the way they are. What motivates them be the way they are? Is their story, their connections, and how they've lived their life. It's their beliefs and their aspirations. And that's not something Classpect determines. You don't fit a character's personality to their Classpect. You can't. Because Classpects aren't Personalities or Defined Story Beats. You can say that 'X doing Y really fits their Classpect!" but you can't say "X has to do Y because of their Classpect." And that makes this kind of analysis very... Situational.

[experiangel]

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐁 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐔𝐒!

STATS

full name:  experiment 624 ( lmao ) .

nicknames:  angel .

age: twenty - three .

gender:  cis  female .

species:  alien .

orientation:  bisexual , biromantic .

date of birth:  tbd .

place of birth:  jumba's lab probably .

residence:  evermore .

occupation:  lounge singer @ gusteau's .

RELATIONSHIPS

parents:  is jumba dad ? acCURSED CREATOR ?!?!!?

sibilings:  n/a .

significant other(s):  only insignificant others atm.

PHYSIQUE

faceclaim:  paris berelc .

eye color: brown .

hair color:  brown ,  shifts to pink at will .

height: 5′3″

ABILITIES

siren song :  basically , she sings a cute little tune that can turn all of jumba's previous experiments before her evil again ♡ it supposedly works on jumba too but idk

x - ray vision :  she spies with her little eye ! angel can see through solid objects and organic matter . she'd be a great doctor if she cared .

super strength :  pretty self explanatory ! she is VERY strong . i'd say she's able to hold at least twice her weight with ease .

shifting : you know whats up ! she really likes her human form though , won't shift unless she has a Really good reason to ! nevertheless , she misses having her antennae out . they're cute :(

character inspo:   angel numbers made of tiny little rhinestones, glitter on your eyes, twisting the phone cord around your finger, envy adams ( scott pilgrim vs the world ), reclaiming the color pink, maxine minx ( x ), jennifer check ( jennifer's body ), girlhood vs godhood, " they gave me a name and alienated me from myself " – clarice lispector

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐉𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐀'𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

HEADCANONS

has a bit of a god complex. in angel's eyes, part of the reason why she was created was because the other experiments clearly weren't doing what they were supposed to, which makes them all inferior to her. she definitely believes she's superior to all of them (except maybe 626, but shh) and is incredibly proud of herself for, well, existing.

she is absurdly competitive and is not above cheating, though she rarely needs to. she's always ready for a challenge but that doesn't mean angel will pick just about any fight; she knows what's worth her time and what isn't, and it turns out that whatever hard work she puts into her schemes usually pays off!

she can come off as extremely rude upon first meeting, and doesn't like to be interrupted or disturbed. despite angel's wholesome and approachable exterior, a good rule of thumb is to just not speak to her unless she speaks to you first. she can be very volatile.

has massive trauma stemming from when she was deactivated. because of that, angel still struggles to tell the passage of time and will rely heavily on little markers from watches to associations like flowers for spring and fallen leaves for autumn. one of her biggest fears is that she'll end up missing important stuff by being deactivated again. on a similar note, she's also very quick to pick up new skills and social cues, which is part of what made her adapt easily.

still on the matter of having being deactivated and isolated from the other experiments, angel does not like the dark. she heavily associates it with being cold and alone and it's just not a good feeling. she's never gonna admit to that fear though, even if you catch her shaking and screaming and crying in a completely darkened room.

she's actually very, very curious about hawaii. there was a decent amount of research that went into learning about it before the other experiments disappeared to evermore, and she's been curious about the place ever since. in fact, angel is curious about the entire galaxy. she may be stuck here for now and with other priorities, but she fully intends to travel the whole universe someday.

being a singer at gusteau's is honestly more fun that she'd anticipated, partially because it makes her feel like she has an actual talent. sure, being able to turn the previous experiments evil is super fun and makes her feel very powerful, but it's not the only thing she wants to be! she didn't use to get compliments on her voice before and now feels all giddy and happy whenever she gets them. probably one of the few things that make her genuinely happy.

on a similar note, angel often finds herself wondering what she'd be like if she hadn't been built for chaos and destruction. it's fun to be evil, she's not complaining, but wouldn't that mean more people should be striving for the same thing? it's confusing and annoying, and even a little bit intimidating. at the same time, she's not sure she could ever be good; it's not what she was made for. there's a part of her that thinks that if she ever became genuinely good, she wouldn't be herself anymore and that would suck.

angel has the emotional intelligence of a three year old. please don't expect her to understand or know how to explain how she feels because she simply doesn't know anything ever.

i am very sorry but. she do be a bit of a pick me girl. she's terrible at feminism please help her out i think it's because the concept of sisterhood was never introduced to her.

monster energy drink blood. the pink one specifically.

her hair is always styled like this. it's a little nod to her antennae &lt;3

[wardenred]

Sapphic September 2: Holographic

From the hypothetical sequel from one of those drafts in my "to edit" pile, though I confess sometimes I think the sequel is the real story.

"A hologram," Flo spat. "I can't believe it. We tracked all the way here for a fucking hologram."

Standing sixty feet away, it was obvious. The fence that seemed so solid from where they had began their track now flickered in the foggy afternoon sunlight. The same went for the stone walls behind it. This wasn't a compound. This wasn't anyone's home. The gravel and the grass were the only real things about the vision at the top of the hill.

Flo kicked a few stones out of her way, hard.

By her side, Jules remained annoyingly unperturbed. "There must be some kind of energy source powering it," she pointed out, cocking her head to the side as she studied the holo. "Maybe if we locate it, we can use it to charge our gadgets."

Deep breath. Stop gritting your teeth. Flo forced the angry tension as far down her spine as she was able. Good, good, keep your shoulders loose. Jules meant well. Jules was the kindest person she knew. Jules wasn't doing this to test her patience.

"Maybe if we use it to charge our stuff, whoever owns it shows up and does not greet us warmly. Do you really think this thing was created as the Badland’s equivalent of a free electricity hub? It's probably a trap."

"It's really hard to trap people in a hologram."

"You know what I mean!"

Jules let out a small sigh, blew a strand of sandy blond hair out of her eyes, and looked straight at Flo. "Honey. This isn't the city. Not everything you see is out to get you."

Don't call me honey when I've forgotten how to be sweet. "Yeah. Tell that to those dustcats that chased us across the bridge."

For some reason, Jules saw this as a reason to smile. "I'm quite sure this fake house is maintained by people, not animals. And people have an important advantage: they can be reasoned with."

"Yeah, and they can also pretend to be reasonable and kind and stuff while they plot to kill you." Flo squinted at the non-compound, trying to spot any signs of life. It really fucked with her perception, the way the hologram kept flickering subtly. Over and over, she started thinking that yes, there: a hint of movement that couldn't be attributed to the wind playing with the tall grass, the beginnings of a shadow falling on the thin path. But no, each time it was merely the unsteadiness of hologram. Damn those outdated technologies.

And damn her own moodiness, too, because this was supposed to be an adventure. The first day of the rest of their new life together, away from the cities and the corporations, heroes and villains, duties and dues. Only the first day, not even past noon, and already Flo wanted to go back.

A warm, steady pressure on the back of her neck drew her out of her thoughts. Jules hummed an off-key tune, playing idly with a loose strand that had broken out of Flo's braid. Her nail grazed the unhealed cyberwar port. Flo shivered.

"We really need to find a way to charge our stuff," Jules said softly. "Especially the accumulators. It's only getting more cloudy. We can't rely on the sun too much, and we've used up so much energy while we were running from those cats."

Flo bit back a groan. "Yeah. All right, then. Let's climb the rest of the hill and yell, 'Hello!' at some crazy people who have set up an artificial mirage in the middle of nowhere. Sounds like an awesome plan."

She took a step forward, a little too sharply, shrugging Jules's touch off without meaning to. The first day of the rest of their lives, and wasn't she already fucking things up?

"Hey," Jules called after her. Flo turned her head to find her standing in the same spot, her hand still hovering in the air. She was biting her upper lip the way she always did when she was nervous. "Do you... do you regret this?"

Do you regret me?

The real question hung in the air between them, a ball of static, a bundle of shared memories. Jules had asked it before, in the same words, with the same look, the first time Flo'd had to make the very same choice. Jules or Mel. Happiness or revenge. There had been no wastelands and holograms around them that first time. Only the beige walls of a half-unpacked kitchen in their new home, the smell of Jules's cooking, the cybernetically enhanced plants glowing softly on the window sill.

Flo had known her answer then, and she knew it now.

"No. Never."

She only hoped this time she’d be able to stick to it better.