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ghooostbaby · 3 years

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deeeep dive into why and how wei wuxian and lan wangji love each other, complete each other, are the inverse reflection of each other’s deeply hidden internal selves mirrored through the other’s external self, lan wangji’s inner wildness that he has to conceal and protect recognizing and loving wei wuxian’s outer wildness, wei wuxian’s deep, fuddy-duddy morality and values that he conceals with an elaborate subterfuge of jokes, mischief, and bravado, seeing and loving in lan wangji the ability to say no that it was never safe for him to express directly, “between you and me there is no need for thank you and sorry”

oh and a slight diversion midway through into a manifesto on WEI WUXIAN IS NOT INSECURE the whole story is about a society where being liked is ESSENTIAL for survival and it is actually completely perilous not to be liked, and his “people pleasing” is a skill and tool for his survival especially as an orphan and proven to be a necessary one when he stops doing it and STOPS SURVIVING

after the cut discussing the very interesting dynamics of consent in general in the novel, but not going into the consensual non-consent kink stuff till the last paragraph if you need to avoid for any reason.

I've been thinking about how Lan WangJi sees in Wei WuXian the exterior, unfettered expression of the wildness Lan WangJi holds in him and protects with rigid codes of conduct, propriety and outward dignity.

I have had this sense that these two are mirrors, either one reflecting the hidden, interior (and unallowed) self of the other. but it seemed more clear from Lan WangJi's side, especially knowing about his history with his mother and the spicy side that emerges when he drinks and in the extras.

I also - just... the way this whole story shows how romantic love is truly this longing for your self, to become yourself, to become the thing you're not allowed to be, seeing in that person the expression of whatever it is you can't become and longing for it, protecting it, joining with it as closely as you can without ever being able to let it live inside your own body.

On the surface it seems a lot more difficult for Wei WuXian to find a piece of his soul in Lan Wangji. I think its a bit too simplistic to see whatever draws Wei WuXian to Lan Wangji as a reverse-psychology sort of craving of acceptance from the only one who won't give it, pushing and pushing against this impenetrable boundary that he needs to break to feel assurance that no matter what he can make anyone accept him.

And he is SO drawn - in a mind boggling way, in the teenage flashbacks Lan WangJi rudely and aggressively throws him off over and over and Wei WuXian cannot keep away! Even when he talks about how boring Lan WangJi is, he never stops trying to be around him and talk to him.

I've seen discussions of the way Wei WuXian has always relied on the goodwill of others to survive, and that his placating of others to survive is a character flaw. Although that seems only halfway true.

As a young child he didn't have anyone's goodwill for a while and he survived, and it seems like he can always find a way to survive from whatever means and sometimes very limited resources he has at his disposal. Doing what he has to do to become powerful enough to survive losing his core and being thrown into the burial mounds slowly costs him the goodwill of everyone around him - and what happens to him as a result shows how much placation was a truly necessary for someone without the protection of biological/hereditary family bonds.

(Don’t get me started on how his loss of his golden core and his development of demonic cultivation to give himself power by ‘unnatural methods’ through the use of a musical instrument is a metaphor for disability and the way ableist society sees the use of accessibility devices and tools. Actually please DO get my started haha.)

Wei WuXian is so charismatic and seems very used to getting what he wants and needs on the strength of that. He pushes a lot of boundaries and seems pretty confident and flexibly prepared to handle the consequences, whether beatings or harsh words. But he does work so hard to make others feel good, good with him, good with themselves.

When he is in the cave with Lan WangJi, Wei WuXian is described as "like one who forgets all past pain as soon as the wound heals". He can't resist coming up beside Lan WangJi and talking to him again and again after every time Lan WangJi pushes him off, only finally staying away when Lan WangJi bites him (and he still keeps trying to talk to him after a little bit!) and then calls him an awful person (!!! Bad Wangji! :(((( ). In the end, when Lan WangJi (very minimally) discloses what happened to his sect and his father, and even cries, because of all the defences/assaults Lan WangJi has put up Wei WuXian can't do anything or say anything to help and feels miserable.

Lan WangJi just absolutely refuses to allow Wei WuXian to take care of him - and I began to wonder maybe that’s what Wei WuXian actually really likes about him? Why he is unable to resist coming up to Lan WangJi again and again? Maybe because Lan WangJi refuses to let Wei WuXian appease him. He’s not trying to crack Lan WangJi to get to this impenetrable place of approval and acceptance. In a way he can’t quite understand, Lan WangJi is a respite for Wei WuXian from the constant work to be the one who pleases.

And how different this is to how Wei WuXian is (or has to be) with Jiang Cheng when he wakes up in Lotus Pier after the cave. Jiang Cheng gets so down and really really needs Wei WuXian to do what he does so well (and wasn’t allowed to do with Lan WangJi) - chasing Jiang Cheng down while being injured and reassuring him about all his insecurities about his father's acceptance and becoming a sect leader and Wei WuXian's own abilities excelling his - and at first Jiang Cheng is pushing him away, but he really does need Wei WuXian to do all this to feel better.

Wei WuXian is described as not wanting to be lonely, and not wanting to see other people unhappy, and he keeps trying to push and pull with whatever he has to not be lonely and lift the mood for those around him. I don't think it's a kind of codependency or insecurity. It’s not that Wei WuXian is afraid to say no, in fact I would say he doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, but he must always do it creatively, with humour. Similarly to Nie Huaisang, he uses a persona of foolishness to give himself a covert agency.

I also think I'm writing this because I don't like seeing this discussed as a sad bean character flaw for him to always need to be liked - its a strategy, its a tool, its how he survives and excels. Doesn’t the whole story prove how essential being liked is to a human’s survival? And he is so so good at being liked, in making others happy, even when he is refusing to do what others want from him that he doesn't want to do, he does it in a way that deflects criticism, with a smiling bravado that never says what it truly means and has people writing him off as shameless or foolish or just endearing himself toward them despite themselves.

He is always at work really, with jokes and flattery or mischief and teasing, to get the resources he wants and needs. Case and point, when he makes a big coquettish show for mianmian, definitely not being "people pleasing" for her, but the group of girls around them all find it funny and cute and in the end she gives him a perfume sachet which ends up being a valuable resource for later. Or the time he outright tells Jiang Cheng that if you give the girls some lotus seeds they'll remember you and return the favour in the future. (Also notice how his interactions with girls seen as flirtatious are actually strategic resource-gathering acts.) These are the skills he has developed to meet his own needs. (THIS IS NOT A CHARACTER FLAW. I REPEAT.) He takes what he needs and steals from the Lotus Pier markets knowing it'll be paid for, he lives like he never know when his next windfall will come from so he'll take what he can when he can find it. Like Jiang Fengmian said, if there is no guarantee of a meal in the future then today's meal should still be enjoyed. It’s how Wei WuXian said to Nie Huaisang at Cloud Recesses, you have to find ways to make your own fun out of whatever you have. So he gets kicked out of class, goes fishing, gets alcohol, he pursues his own pleasure. He actually is quite insistent of his own agency and right to choose, he just can never directly say no.

And that little detail that Wei WuXian always tucks coins into his clothes just in case, that makes him able to buy food when he and Jiang Cheng are on the run... breaks my heart and reveals so much about the way Wei WuXian is constantly at work on ensuring his own survival and never takes for granted whether he is safe (he knows he never is).

I've seen some people talking about Wei WuXian sacrificing so much for his brother and sister out of a need to be accepted out of a chronic sense of insecurity. But isn’t this just true? Doesn't he live in a world where being accepted is absolutely essential for survival? Doesn’t this whole story show the cruelty of a social system based on networks of hereditary/biological family that closes out and scapegoats any outsiders, and that without biological family connections that can enclose around you, you can never truly be safe if not constantly working to earn acceptance? (And then beautifully ends with the way a gay romantic relationship that queers marriage/family/etc disrupts all this and creates safety and inclusion for Wei WuXian without needing a normative family.) (AKA romantic love does not resolve some internal personal problem in Wei WuXian but disrupts and refuses and rebels against the problem of SOCIETY.) (*breathes heavily*)

And that’s why Lan WangJi is magnetizing to Wei WuXian. Lan WangJi is always saying no. Although what Lan WangJi sees in Wei WuXian is an exterior wildness, Wei WuXian is not really out of control so much as he is playing and caring and supplicating and showing off and pleasing people to get the resources and the acceptance he needs to live his life. He has firm values and desires that he can never outwardly state, only creatively spinning plates to distract and deflect while he refuses what goes against his values, protects who he cares for, or takes what he needs to in order to survive/thrive. Lan WangJi embodies an exterior of resoluteness and direct agency that Wei WuXian doesn't have the luxury of. And he's so drawn to him for his ability to repeatedly say no, to refuse to get along, or make others laugh, make other people happy, but just simply follow what he thinks is right.

Wei WuXian’s outward wild movement protects an inward stillness. He is an exterior of people-pleasing around an interior of refusal. He is an exterior of youthful rebellion around an interior of unflinching morality. He sees in Lan WangJi the outward expression of his stillness, his morality, his resistance that he can't express, that he's had to protect.

FYI after the cut gets more into the dynamics of consent in the story, and the last paragraph directly talks about consensual non-consent kink play in wangxian’s relationship.

When Wei WuXian is with Lan WangJi, there is no work to be done. Lan WangJi cannot be swayed by him, and so there's no point vying for resources or favors. Lan WangJi will either give him everything or refuse him everything based on who he is, it does not matter what Wei WuXian does and he can't do anything that will change Lan WangJi’s mind. Someone he literally can't win over. After the resurrection, they are often in an adorable tug of war, where Wei WuXian tries to take care of Lan WangJi, while Lan WangJi won't allow him to but demands to care of Wei WuXian right back. Actually, Lan WangJi insists that Wei WuXian take everything he wants or needs from him and is even angry when he doesn't take or when Wei WuXian tries to offer a gesture in return, even something as simple as a thank you Lan WangJi won't accept. It’s kind of adorable how frustrated Wei WuXian is in doing this thing he's learned that he needs to do, and just... so confused by Lan WangJi, and has to find a way to please this person who aggressively refuses to be pleased and is ONLY pleased by Wei WuXian being pleased.

(Not to mention the way Wei WuXian delights in finding that Lan WangJi can’t say what he wants, and they have sort of these chaotic cohesive both-being-so-pleased-by-working-hard-to-please each-other moments where Wei WuXian is letting Lan WangJi please him by finding out what pleases Lan WangJi and giving it to him.)

The wildness Lan WangJi had always hidden within himself is something he sees as just as dangerous as Wei WuXian thinks of his desire to refuse. He saw his mother be socially alienated, shunned, and eventually die because of her wildness. His ability to survive in the world, aka to be accepted by his family, is contingent on him being able to control this inner wildness. From a young age (re: Phoenix Mountain kiss) he could only understand his sexual desires for Wei WuXian as something repulsive or dangerous that had to be repressed and controlled, and that the only way he could imagine his desires as possible was as non-consensual. His secret gay desires were never available to him as anything but something monstrous.

Importantly, it’s not like everyone else other than Lan WangJi are all vampires cruelly demanding Wei WuXian’s constant sacrifice. Wei WuXian is always vibrantly, charismatically offering so much, before anyone has asked. It’s Wei WuXian who creates this kind of relationship for himself again and again. It’s Lan WangJi who simply refuses - he refuses to charmed, to be cared for. And so in the end Lan WangJi becomes the one person who Wei WuXian feels doesn't need anything from him. When he says he's eating the corpse's fruit to save Lan WangJi money and Lan WangJi says that will never be necessary. Or when Wei WuXian asks what toy he should win for Lan WangJi at the market game, and Lan WangJi says anything Wei WuXian gets will be the one he wants. (XD stahhhhp it’s too sweet !!!) He really just wants Wei WuXian to be, to exist, to spend his life discovering his own desires and allow Lan WangJi to help satisfy them, he doesn't want anything from Wei WuXian other than him living - happy and safe.

It takes someone like Lan WangJi to refuse Wei WuXian’s aggressive generosity, it’s definitely not an easy thing to say no to Wei WuXian, dazzling or annoying people so chaotically before they even realize there’s something to say no to. The sacrifice he gives to Jiang Cheng, he never even offers a choice - and perhaps it would have been too much for Jiang Cheng to accept if he had the chance.

Lan WangJi’s statement "Between us there is no need for thank you and sorry" seems like one of the most important sentences in the novel, and you can’t help but noticed the way “sorry” and “thank you” is littered meaningfully through the book. What is owed, what the characters owe to each other, the give and take, touches every part of the story (down to wangxian's erotic explorations!).

When Jiang Cheng talks to Wei WuXian at the Guanyin temple he makes a lot of contradictory statements about what Wei WuXian owes, what he was given, what he took, what he (Wei WuXian still) is owed in return. Wei WuXian, according to Jiang Cheng, took everything from the Jiang clan, and paid them back with their deaths. The Jiang clan give him his life when they took him in, and he owed Jiang Cheng service for the rest of his life as the right hand to the sect leader, that’s what Wei WuXian had promised anyway. At the same time, Wei WuXian sacrificed everything (his golden core) to Jiang Cheng, by giving everything he was taking one more thing - Jiang Cheng’s right to even be angry at him. Jiang Cheng had taken everything from Wei WuXian. Everything that happened around Wei WuXian after could be said to be because of the loss of his golden core, which Jiang Cheng might be said to be responsible for. But he never asked for it, maybe he never would have wanted it. He wishes Wei WuXian told him, but Jiang Cheng never told Wei WuXian his golden core was melted while he was sacrificing himself to save Wei WuXian. He wants Wei wuxian to say sorry, but that makes him feel pathetic. And Jiang Cheng says sorry too. It’s a mess of paradoxes, and in the end somehow it seems like the scales are balanced in the most hollow, dismal way.

What is owed, what is given, what is taken ... Wei WuXian has never been part of a family. He has always had to say thank you and sorry for everything he's taken. Wei WuXian himself admits that he used "thank you" as a way to enforce distance between himself and Lan WangJi. Lan WangJi's point i think is that they belong to each other, Wei WuXian is his, and he is Wei WuXian's, unconditionally. The way that Jiang Cheng speaks of him in the Guanyin temple (admittedly I read a fan translation and this is very nuanced, related to slight variations of grammar), even when Jiang Cheng clearly is so broken by the loss of Wei WuXian from his life, he talks about Wei WuXian as an outsider. It is what MY family gave to YOU, never what you took from our family. But at one point Wei WuXian was part of their family - but he takes too much, and becomes an ex-disciple, not a brother. Wei WuXian’s inclusion as a Jiang was always conditional.

Even when Wen Qing and Wen Ning leave him to go take the blame for qiongqing path they tell him "thank you and sorry", drawing a line between them and him, so he doesn’t even belong to these people who he sacrificed everything for. The way Wei WuXian acted when he was younger, he was always keenly aware of this - he always knew that he didn’t belong to anyone, no one is going to protect him unconditionally. And after first escaping the Burial Mounds, he is done pretending. When Lan WangJi warns him about what a demonic cultivation path will do to his heart, Wei WuXian replies: “After all, on the topic of how my heart is, what could other people know about it? Why should other people care about it?” He is done pleasing. Nothing has changed really, he still belongs to no one and is alone, but now he is angry about it, and instead of saying thank you and sorry he is going to become too powerful to be at anyone's mercy. And then we see in the story afterward what happens to people who don't say thank you and sorry.

The whole point I think is the impossibility of choice, the impossibility of consent in this society. If he didn't forgo the behaviour his social acceptance was conditional on, he wouldn't have survived the burial mounds. But once he becomes powerful enough to survive and get revenge on the Wens, he is socially outcast. Except he was already outcast from the beginning.

And so how do Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi find a way through all that to a life together where all their desires are possible, where Wei WuXian can say no while also being pleasing (safe) to others, and Lan WangJi can indulge in his wild desires while still being good? The answer is kinky sex!

It is kind of miraculous and beautiful how Wei WuXian finds a way to say no, while simultaneously pleasing Lan WangJi, giving pleasure, while taking it, saying no, and knowing his refusal is not just tolerated, but gives Lan WangJi pleasure, knowing Lan wangji and knowing the painful belief Lan WangJi holds within that his desires are unacceptable and unspeakable, and that Wei WuXian can take care of Lan Wangji in a secret little way and please him and give everything to him by craving this wildness in Lan WangJi while at the same time he gets to say no again and again , and it won't push Lan WangJi away, he can refuse everything while at the same time be totally pleasing and thus safe, and also for Lan WangJi, Wei WuXian's pleasure at saying "no" while still being held onto, that he genuinely wants to be fucked even while begging Lan WangJi to stop (and the many ways he does give his consent for this throughout, especially their first time), allows Lan WangJi the ecstatic feeling that this idea that his sexual desires are only possible through force are not just something his lover forgives him for but something his lover is SO turned on by, and that he has consent for his fantasies of non-consent, Wei WuXian has the same fantasies from the other side, he is doing what he is supposed to while doing what he shouldn't, and actually these monstrous feelings in him allow him to take care of Wei WuXian in a way that he needs - that they both need - and all these impulses that are so wrong with Wei WuXian become very right and a way to do good. And they are just both so perfect and perfect for each other and I love them and I am so happy for them to have a long kinky life together.

#wangxian #mdzs #mdzs meta #holds wei wuxian close and murmurs into his hair 'no one knows you like i know you baby'

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thunderheadfred · 3 years

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💥Bakugou HC's💥

Aged-up pro hero Katsuki for all of these. Some NSFW beneath the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

He’s scary good at everything he tries. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing. It’s infuriating. Has zero patience when other people can’t immediately master a skill. Never let him teach you anything. Not that he’d offer, nerd.

He WILL offer, though. A lot. He can’t believe you still can’t Do That Thing. Tsh. Like THIS. You're gonna hurt yourself, Dummy.

But hold on. Of course you have unique skills of your own. You work hard to improve yourself. Trust me, he's the first person to notice. He doesn't praise anyone lightly, so when he raises his eyebrows and whispers he's impressed, your heart will go thermonuclear.

Perfect spelling and fully punctuated texts. Never uses abbreviations. Employs a grand total of four emojis, all of them angry faces. Constantly leaves you on read. He's busy, dammit.

Doesn’t smile or laugh in public (except sarcastically). His real smile is a crooked, fragile thing. Never make him feel self-conscious about it, or you might not see it again for weeks.

He does not talk about his private life to the press. Ever. Will K.O. rookie reporters who can't keep their big mouths shut.

HOweVER: he's intensely kind to his fans. There is a whole photographic sub-genre of little girls in cosplay hugging Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight like he's a Disney Princess.

Too smart for his own good. Emotionally hyper-vigilant. Overthinks every interaction to hell and back. Will act like he's not listening but actually hears every single word in a ten-block radius.

INSECURE AF. 110% convinced he will never be good enough. Terrified of his loved ones leaving him behind. Does he do anything to assuage his fears? Like... talk to anyone about it? Hell no. That would require admitting he has fears to begin with.

Seeing people upset makes him upset, especially if he doesn't know how to fix it.

The epitome of being mean because he cares. He genuinely does not seem to comprehend that monosyllabic grunts and lopsided shrugs are not actually that comforting.

Because he was such a brat growing up, he wants to make up for it now. Sort of. In his own way. Look, he's trying, okay?

He smells - so - good. Obscenely good. He doesn't wear cologne; are you joking? There's the burnt-sugar caramel candy smell of his quirk, for starters. And since he sweats deadly ammunition, he showers and wipes himself down almost constantly. He always smells clean. Like a fucking meadow.

Never got that growth spurt he was hoping for. He’s a short man - not even THAT short - but he has a Napoleon complex anyway. If you’re taller than him, the collars of your shirts will all be stretched out. He’s constantly dragging you down to his level. He will assert himself all the fucking time; the pissing contest is never-ending. Don’t wear tall shoes unless you want him to drag you around on a leash. If you’re shorter than him, that’s good. That’s very good. He likes that.

He’s an incredible cook, but everything he makes is a nuclear fire challenge. Adapt or starve.

- - - - -

Dating

Makes artisanal, nutritionally flawless bento lunches for both of you. When people assume his S.O. makes them, he gets fucking pissed. Damn right your co-workers are jealous of my cooking.

Your pet name is Dummy. Don’t like it? Fine. You can be dumbass.

There will be zero PDA in this relationship. His hands are shoved so deep in his pockets you can’t even try.

Intensely private with the press. But with his friends, he will brag about you nonstop. Bakugou Katsuki has the most talented and attractive and intelligent S.O., and anyone who doesn't recognize that is blind. Were you assholes even listening?

A mutual buddy definitely recorded one of these drunken brag-rants and sent it to you for safekeeping. Do not let Katsuki find out about it, unless you enjoy having an ash pile for a phone.

Gets jealous about everything, at least at the start. He calms down eventually. Kinda. He stops saying shit to you about it, anyway, because he learns to trust you. But anyone who so much as looks at you in a too-friendly manner will get the death stare of a lifetime.

He’ll throw all kinds of temper tantrums and the two of you will argue about every tiny fucking thing. He’ll scream out car windows, he’ll ball up his shirt and gnash on it. But he will never raise his voice at you. He’d rather die than make you feel unsafe.

Honestly, the constant bickering is really just... uhh... passionate communication. Eventually you both hash out the important things. You'll learn how to step around his landmines and actually make your points, and he'll learn to open up. A little.

Once you meet his mom, Katsuki starts to make a lot more sense. His family just... emotes like that. Eventually, you and his dad form a spousal support group consisting of exactly two lifetime members. He teaches you the Bakugou family semaphore you need to survive a long-term relationship.

Katsuki can dish it out but absolutely cannot take it. The only person who can level with him about serious issues without explosive fallout is his dad. Or, on a lucky day, Kirishima.

If you give him a legitimate criticism (even gently!) he will take it about as gracefully as a knife to the gut, because it confirms everything he hates about himself.

To your never-ending shock, you’ve made him cry. Yes, CRY! You monster! More than once! His lip gets all *trembly* and his eyes get all *watery* and all you want to do is hug him, but. No. He’ll storm out and wander around for a few hours before coming back with the problem perfectly solved.

He always takes your advice to heart. No, he will NOT talk about it, stop asking.

Gets mad if you don’t snuggle him on the regular. Will drag you into his lap with a pissy little grunt. There might be two seats on this couch but you will not be needing both of them.

Takes pictures of you while you sleep.

Takes even more pictures of you when you're awake but think he's out of the room.

He looks at all these pictures when he's away on high-stakes jobs. He gets all bleary eyed and sleeps in a salty puddle without you. NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW.

You don’t have to meet him at the door or anything, but when he says “I’m home,” you’d better answer fast. If he doesn’t know your precise location in 0.05 seconds, he will assume you’ve been kidnapped. He never checks the fridge for notes. Never assumes you've gone down to the konbini for a snack. No, it’s kidnapping every time.

A terrrrrrible bed partner. He goes to bed at senior citizen hours and will never fuck you after sundown. He snores SO loud. Runs hot and sweats through the sheets. Slaps and elbows you in his sleep and aggressively spoons you with his loud, sweaty body. You WILL want to suffocate him. Separate bedrooms aren’t such a horrible idea......

BUT HANG ON, because in the morning he transforms into an honest-to-god angel. He's half awake, his guard is non-existent. Morning Katsuki is a doting kissy-faced marshmallow man.

If you can wake up before the ass-crack of dawn, he will pamper the fuck out of you. You are royalty for one (1) hour only, and he is your bleary-eyed slave. You want a cuddlefuck? You got it. Hugs? Kisses? Take as many as you need. You want a perfect, fluffy, NON-SPICY omelette with a heart drawn in ketchup? Here it is, gorgeous.

Then he gets in the shower and the spell is broken.

- - - - -

💥bang BANG💥

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: this here is an ASS. MAN. He'll spank you with his quirk; doesn’t matter if you’ve been good or bad. Wants to see you wince when you sit down later.

Likes pounding you face down with a vice grip on your waist.

Unfortunately, even with all that said... he doesn't exactly have the feral beast sex drive you were expecting. He’s married to his work and has the fuddy-duddy habits of a once and future valedictorian. Only fucks you when he has the time and energy to fully dedicate himself to it.

But ohhhh. Shit. When it's time? It's TIME. The man will rush for nothing. Stamina for days. Making you cum as many times as possible is a point of pride. Yeah, you passed out once.

You’re gonna need those days off when he’s done with you.

That dick THICC.

Sends unsolicited dick pics. Only after you’ve been dating a good long while - he doesn't show that shit to just anyone. But yeah, don’t check your phone at work. He won't cum without you; those pictures and videos are time bombs. You better get home. Now.

Physically dominant as FUCK, but won’t verbally degrade you unless you ask. Well, let’s be honest. Unless you beg.

Praise him and reap the rewards. A long hard ego stroking will get him off more than touching his cock ever will.

Will grab your hair and fuck your throat. Will also stop immediately if you need him to.

The two of you have safe words and gestures. Even for vanilla stuff. He’s paranoid about scaring or hurting you. He insisted you both sign a color-coded ‘love contract’ that he meticulously formatted in a word processor. When you gave him guff about it, his blush was the darkest crimson you’d ever seen.

Coin-flip: he will sometimes be unbelievably gentle in bed. Doting and affectionate, taking perfect care of you. Like, it’s baffling. There’s no warning, the switch just flips. When you want him to be extra-rough and mean, he’ll sweetly worship you instead. For hours.

Bonus: he likes being penetrated. But of course he’s got a complex about that too. Super intense power bottom. You will never fuck him hard enough. He’d like to see you try. Hit his prostate just right and he might literally explode.

You'll live happily ever after but he will say he loves you out loud exactly once. Maybe. If you're lucky. And you're both about to die.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #gender neutral #mha #bnha #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #fred writes

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soulmate-game · 3 years

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New fic *test*

New Bio!dad Bruce story? I’m testing out this first chapter, and if I like where it’s going I might add it to my growing pile of WIPs. If I have inspiration, I might as well use it. Because of life events stressing me the hell out, I’m throwing any writing plans out the window and I’m purely gonna write to destress right now. Whether that means updating THG or not, or continuing Maribat March, we’ll just have to see how this all pans out. Things are subject to day-to-day change.

I got inspiration from this from rereading my day 1 story for Bio!dad Bruce Wayne month from last year. I’m just gonna change a few things.

—*—*—*—*—*

For once, an unfamiliar face attracted the attention of everyone who caught even a glimpse of them. It wasn’t even because of the person themselves at first, but their dress. The skirt like the most fantastical of storybook ball gowns, fluffy layers of satin over a luxurious petticoat, with a stunning pink floral pattern whose busy appearance was tastefully offset by a shorter, sheer layer of leaf green tulle artistically weaved and somehow sculpted over the floral in order to tame it. The effect turned what should be a grandmotherly pattern into something softer, sophisticated and youthful and yet also reminiscent of fairytale princesses. Over top the short layer of green tulle was an even shorter later of white tulle, almost invisible except for the elegant embroidery of crystal-white vines that twined all over it, connecting the green below it to the bottom-most floral pattern and oddly adding a layer of childishness instead of maturity. At the waist of the dress was a dark plum pink satin ribbon, to separate the elaborate ballgown skirt from the bodice. Attached to the simple ribbon was a large brooch of fabric flowers, with a single plastic ladybug in the center.

The bodice of the dress came up into a cheongsam neckline, but was sleeveless. It was a simple design, of half green and half dark pink, with a white border separating the two. The white border had expertly done embroideries in a soft silver thread that would only be visible close up, the images the thread made being that of fairies and ladybugs dancing around one another.

It was, all in all, a stunning display that made the small eurasian woman wearing them look like absolute royalty. Perhaps a long lost fairy princess. Her black-blue hair was even done up in elaborate looping braids and a braided bun, with silver and green pins that further completed the regal ensemble. And yes, while the expertly done dress was what initially captivated her current audience, it was not what kept them from leaving her alone. That was all her personality, bubbly and bright as her blinding smile. It was a sunny disposition that very few people present had any exposure to at all, and it drew them like a sunflower to the daylight. They could not help but flock closer, or even just stand back and keep themselves turned to her presence. Already she had been at the gala for two hours, but there was no issue. She just kept proving her generosity, admitting she had donated both a dress and a suit of her own making to the charity auction that would begin soon, one of the main attractions of the gala. She skillfully charmed the more snooty of the attendants, and artfully twisted her words so that they felt compelled to donate more money that they truly had no use for. Later, they would remember their donation and wonder what compelled it, but come up with no satisfying answer.

And yet she was entirely unaware of her more silent audience, who stood back and observed. Truth be told, every one of them was glad to not be the center of that attention for a change, to have room to breathe for so long at an event where usually that commodity was so scarce that it demanded a fierce competition for. Compared to her garden of color, they were all shadows in shades of blacks and blues and whites, with a touch of red here and there that was entirely too thematic for their home city. The one who sported a royal blue suit tilted his head at the scene they were all calmly witnessing, his bright azure eyes glittering.

“She’s like magic,” he mused, clearly enchanted despite having not said a single word to the woman. “Perfect socialite. She’s kind, generous, she made that dress and the ones she donated to the auction herself so she’s obviously got an intimidating amount of skill for her age. She even tricks those old fuddy-duddies into spending money. It’s like a dream come true!”

“I don't trust it,” the one to his right said, a man just a few inches shorter in a classic black suit with a red dress shirt underneath. He absently swept his bangs away from his face as he narrowed his eyes at the woman. “It seems too perfect. She doesn’t have any identifiable character flaw, except maybe being a little clumsy and too energetic. She does babble a little… but nothing that actually suggests any depth besides her just being— good. That’s impossible, and I don’t trust it.”

“Tt. I agree with Drake for once. She seems entirely too comfortable with this setting, despite her blushes and rambles,” the one who spoke this like was taller, clearly a teen in the middle of his growth spurt. He, too, wore a plain black suit but his had subtle charcoal embroidery and he wore an emerald-green dress shirt under it that made his matching eyes gleam dangerously. “It seems almost playacted. Expertly so, but nonetheless not entirely genuine.”

“Wow, not many pick up on that. I’m gonna give your observations a solid eight out of ten. They’re all perfectly sound, but not quite complete,” a new voice made all of the silent group stiffen— somehow they had been snuck up on. The newcomer smirked at them as if having fully expected their reaction but still being pleased at being able to evoke it. This was yet another stunner; far too much color in her outfit to be a Gotham native, and far too much skill in the construction for it to signify anything less than extreme influence. She had bright golden-blond hair that was coiled into a low bun, with her bangs artfully curled and arranged to display her crystal blue eyes.

In contrast to the garden-themed dress of the Eurasian woman who had garnered their attention at first, this newcomer was wearing a pantsuit. It was all in a dark honey-gold, in a stiff fabric with construction that made it lay entirely in perfect, straight lines and hug her form in the right places. Black embroidery decorated the long, flared sleeves and pant legs and dripped around the square neckline like a faux necklace. A cape made out of the same material as the rest of the pantsuit was draped on one shoulder. It started out as the same honey-gold color, but it became a gradient as it faded to a solid black at the ends. Gold thread embroidery decorated the solid black bottom of the cape in delicate, deceptively simplistic swirls. The top half of the pantsuit was clearly inspired by military garb, simultaneously rigidly constructed yet fitted, with circular onyx buttons going down the center of the chest and a thick metal belt, all in swirling silver and black, sat perfectly clasped around her waist. It was far more solid-colored and simplistic compared to the fairytale dress in the center, but no less show stopping and luxurious. It simply showcased an entirely different attitude, almost as if the two women could never get along if their personalities matched their outfits.

“And who are you?” The man who had been the center of the group of shadow-like adults spoke up, back straightening to milk every speck of his generous six-feet-and-three-inches of height. This was none other than Bruce Wayne, the host of this annual charity gala. And normally, his current stance would either intimidate or utterly charm whoever it was directed at— but not this pantsuit-clad blond warrior. Her smirk merely widened, and her blue eyes took on a slight shade of teal as if trying to mimic the dangerous ocean depths.

“I am Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of Andre Bourgeois, the mayor of Paris, and Audrey Bourgeois, the Style Queen. It’s nice to meet you again, Monsieur Wayne,” she introduced herself imperiously. “I also happen to be the best friend of the girl you were just staring at.”

Bruce nodded, but had trouble reconciling this clear powerhouse of a woman with the bratty and entitled preteen he had met years ago, at the last gala she had attended with her mother. “Of course, I didn’t recognize you at first Chloe. You’ve grown a lot since the last Gala I saw you at.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose, clearly not appreciating the reminder. “I was a bitch,” she admitted easily, seemingly not at all bothered by the confession. It caused not only Bruce but also the oldest three of his sons, who had all also met her in the past, to blink in silent shock. “Things have changed. Paris is apparently the perfect chaotic environment right now to promote emotional growth and smack spoiled kids over the head with reality,” she shrugged. Part of the reason her and her whole class had even been able to come to the Gala in the first place was the fact that Bruce wanted to offer the most attacked group of Parisians a respite and some support from their crazy lives. The fact that even Gotham seemed sane in comparison to Paris was a bit of a hard hit for both involved parties, but in the end everyone understood that “more sane” didn’t always equate with “less dangerous.” Considering all that, Chloe had no reason to sugarcoat the situation in her home city. “But it wasn’t easy at all, and Marinette was largely responsible for my improvement too.”

“Marinette?” The heathen who somehow got away with attending a gala in a black leather jacket over a dress shirt and suit pants asked, raising a brow. Chloe nodded.

“The girl you were just goggling at. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the class president and resident workaholic. Does she ever sleep? Nobody knows,” Chloe shrugged.

The blue-suited man, Dick Grayson, shot a suspicious glance at Tim, who was standing to his right, as if he was worried his brother had made a female clone of himself just so he could continue to work hard and never rest. Tim ignored him and sipped from the thermos of coffee he had somehow snuck in.

Bruce cleared his throat to bring the focus back onto himself, and shot his most charming smile at Chloe. “They would have known who she was, if they had read the brief information I gave them about your class. But they never do listen to me,” he complained with good humor. “But back to the original topic, Miss Bourgeois, do you care to correct us on how our observations are lacking?”

Chloe laughed easily, smiling and nodding to indicate Marinette, still stuck in a circle of socialites and not seeming the least bit worn out.

“Of course. First; She is not completely acting. She really is like magic sometimes— disgustingly kind, generous, far too willing to help just about anyone for just about any reason. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, as much as it pains me to admit it. But she is exaggerating her personality a bit and hiding the parts she doesn’t want anyone to see, so there is a little acting involved. Just not as much as you seem to think,” Chloe then waved her arm in a flourish as if she were presenting Marinette to them. “In short; behold Mari Dupain-Cheng, the ridiculously likeable, disgustingly cute, extremely philanthropic mask that she shows everyone at public events like this. You don’t see any of the insomnia, or the anxiety, or the self doubt. Just the parts she wants you to see, accompanied with a smile to blind you to everything else,” her all-too-deep blue eyes settled back on Bruce then, a knowing glint shining in them. “Don’t you think that’s ridiculously similar to Brucie Wayne for you, Monsieur? Utterly, ridiculously, similar?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected anyone else to know about his exceptionally well hidden secret, not even his kids had caught on or found his buried evidence yet. Yet his heiress comes up, nearly flaunting her knowledge in his face with all too many unspoken questions and criticisms.

And her cryptic words had succeeded in making all of his kids look at him with extreme suspicion. Shit.

“What are you saying, Miss Bourgeois?” he cautiously prodded. She hummed noncommittally before dropping the bomb all too casually;

“I’m saying I’ve seen her adoption papers, and you won’t be able to run from her for long Monsieur Wayne. As soon as she gets an opening, she’s going to pounce,” Chloe’s eyes glittered dangerously again. “And nowadays, Marinette doesn’t ever let people escape her. Your problem with adoption has created a rather unique problem, you know. You’re at fault for a large majority of her self confidence issues, and I want you to know that I am not going to forget or forgive that anytime soon.”

“Bruce,” Jason’s voice was dark and threatening. “What is she talking about?”

“Something we don’t want getting in the tabloids,” Yet another new voice popped up, allowing Chloe to smugly sink back into the background.

Somewhere during their discussion, Marinette had ambushed them.

“Chloe and I are very good at locating all the reporters in a room and distracting them, but we’re not infallible and this event has far too much coverage,” Her smile reeked confidence and charm, but this close all the Waynes could see the doubt hiding in her bluebell eyes. “Since I’m about to turn eighteen, I figured this would be as good a time as any to finally confront you. I want to make it clear that I seek nothing from you, except the occasional contact. I would like to keep in touch, if nothing else. But if you are adverse to that… then at least answer my questions after the gala,” her eyes developed a hint of carefully controlled desperation. “Please.”

Bruce met her eyes evenly, trying to read her. But she was difficult, simultaneously too many emotions to sort through in her demeanor and much too little. After an extremely tense moment of silence, his voice came out barely above a whisper:

“You do not want anybody to know?”

And hell, if she didn’t recognize the hidden vulnerability in his voice as the very same she heard in her own far too often. In a much tamer version of her own rambling, he went on:

“I can keep it silent if that is what you want. But I want you to know that I will not be adverse to you admitting it anywhere. I don’t expect you to change your name, but I would not be ashamed of the truth getting out. I am not ashamed of it, of you.”

Marinette’s smile grew a little watery. She had to clear her throat to keep herself from tearing up. “Maybe eventually, but not yet. I… I want to stay a little more anonymous for now. It’s one thing to be a well known designer with good connections. It’s an entirely different thing to be…”

“A Wayne?” Bruce finished, ignoring the daggers that were being stared into his back. “I understand completely.

“Father,” Damian’s voice was all sharp edges and rapidly suppressed panic. “What. Is going. On?”

Marinette shot him an apologetic smile. “Apparently, eighteen years ago, his prerogative was to put the child he actually knew about up for adoption when the mother died in childbirth,” her voice was once again only barely loud enough for them to hear, since she didn’t want any eavesdroppers. “Imagine my surprise when I find out he completely flipped sides only months later.”

--*--*--*--*--*

Hey, so please share your feedback on this. This is just to test out a possible new bio dad, multichapter fic and this is the opening scene I'm trying out. If you like it, please tell me what you like about it and please suggest titles for the story! I love you guys' feedback so much!

#maribat #bio!dad au #bio!dad bruce wayne #platonic daminette #platonic jasonette #platonic dickinette #platonic timinette #platonic timari #mlb x dc #ml x dc #maribat fic #platonic brucinette #older sister Marinette

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phoukanamedpookie · 3 years

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Do we sell Zuko short?

“For so long, all I wanted was you to love me, to accept me. I thought it was my honor that I wanted, but really, I was just trying to please you.” —Zuko

“You know, Zuko, I don’t care what anyone else says about you. You’re pretty smart.” —Aang

There seems to be an implicit assumption in ATLA fandom that Zuko loathes Azula and blames her for everything bad in his life, starting from the moment she took her first breath. At best, she’s been more of a thorn in his side than a little sister.

But I wonder if that reading of him sells him short.

After all, the boy figures out all on his own that Ozai doesn’t give a crap about him. I don’t think it’s far-fetched for him to look at Azula’s condition by the end of the show and realize that Ozai didn’t really care about Azula either.

Listen to what he says in “The Beach.” Azula asks him, point-blank, if he’s angry at her, and he immediately denies it. He’s not mad at her. And if he were, he’d have no problem showing it. This is Zuko we’re talking about, not Aang.

She annoys him, irritates him, and aggravates him because she’s Little Miss Perfect, and she teases him, tricks him, and interrupts his alone time with his girlfriend as many kid sisters are inclined to do.

He doesn’t hate her, and he’s damn sure not afraid of her. When they’re not competing for Ozai’s approval, they get along just fine. It’s only when Zuko is a literal enemy of the state* that things get deadly between them. In fact, there’s quite a bit of evidence that he actually holds Azula in high regard. It’s as if he has this unspoken belief that she’s the smartest and most capable person he knows.

Honestly, he’d likely have many conflicting feelings about her, which is par for the course for him. He’d probably feel incredibly guilty for not seeing how much trouble she was in and for how long, for abandoning her to live alone under Ozai’s thumb when he knows what kind of man he is, for not trying harder to convince her that bending over backwards for his approval is pointless.

I’m not saying that what befalls Azula is Zuko’s fault, or that her recovery is his responsibility. I am saying that he'd often be wondering, “What if?” What if he’d paid more attention to how Azula was doing? What if he tried to get Azula to understand why he had to leave the Fire Nation and join the Avatar? What if he tried to get through to Azula and help her realize that their father would never love her?

He’d probably also be frustrated with her because, as smart and perceptive as she is, she’d likely refuse to believe that. He’d likely want to tear his hair out when faced with her absolute certainty that if she works hard enough to meet Ozai’s expectations, he would love her. It’s as obvious as the nose on her face. How can someone so smart and so perceptive not see it?

“Azula, it doesn’t matter what you do. He doesn’t love you. He never has, and he never will.”

“Whatever, Zuzu. You’re just saying that because you can’t measure up.”

Cue flames flaring along with Zuko’s temper.

All that being said, if Azula turned her life around and found her way to a healthier, less destructive path, he’d be proud as hell of her.

*My headcanon is that Azula personally blames Iroh for “turning” Zuko into a “traitor.” Why else wouldn’t he try to stop Iroh from interfering at the North Pole. Why else but her fuddy-duddy uncle’s influence would make Zuko turn his back on his country to join the Avatar?

**I refuse to consider the comics canon because that weird OOC author avatar of Zuko is a slap in the face to his character growth during the show.

#zuko #zuko meta #azula meta #azula

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buck-buck-boose · 3 years

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I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: language, mentions of violence and gore (not too graphic)

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: The story is starting to pick up pace again ;)

Chapter Twenty: The Recruits

March 18, 1943

In the two months following the nurses’ success with the serum, Camp Lehigh had nearly tripled in its inhabitants. Throughout their research and training, the five women were surrounded by fuddy-duddy sergeant majors and their crotchety commanders, with Agent Carter as their only equal; by the end of January, hundreds of recruits were being shipped in. The base seemed to be teeming with fresh-faced boys who thought not of the unforgiving grip of death, but of the blazing glory of victory— the gore and trauma of war meant little to them, but Lottie knew that she would have an intimate relationship with the horrors of war.

Sometimes all she dreamt of was blood. Blood on her hands, on her white dress, and oozing in puddles beneath her feet; the crimson color seemed to stain every inch of her skin, streaking her pale flesh with a sickeningly deep red. She told no one about her dreams because they seemed so foolish to her. Lottie hadn’t experienced a day in fieldwork, and here she was having these nightmares about the gore of war.

The ambient sounds of Camp Lehigh drew her out of her thoughts and grounded her.

Lottie was standing alone, rather dazedly, outside of the nurses’ barracks, observing all the commotion surrounding the recruits. She was still getting used to the chaotic environment that unfolded around her; everywhere she looked, there were lines of marching soldiers, followed hotly by shouting commanders, or trucks careening around buildings, as if always running late for some rendezvous. Gone were the days of picnicking in the grass and basking in the sun— the base was now all hustle and bustle, with little time for leisure.

All the activity had thrown a wrench into her combat training; Agent Carter had been training her on an individual basis with both firearms and knives, but the soldiers now needed more training than she did. Lottie had become more than proficient in the use of her M1911, which left her wanting to learn more. On the advice of Agent Carter, she’d taken up the KA-BAR and they had begun training with the knife only a few weeks prior. She was more than a little disappointed by the abrupt end to their training, but Lottie understood that training the men who would be doing the actual fighting was the higher priority. The one saving grace of Camp Lehigh was that the base was outfitted with two obstacle courses for physical training so the nurses could continue their exercises each morning. Although their combat training was put on hold, they could continue preparing their bodies for the stress of war.

A distinctly male voice interrupted her train of thought— was that a Brooklyn accent she heard?

“Hey sugar! You rationed?”

Lottie blinked for a moment and looked to her right. A group of men stood outside their own barracks, sharing a pack of cigarettes. She easily identified the man who’d spoken by the way he smiled at her; it was the same charming, lopsided grin that she’d seen on Bucky’s face countless times. His brilliantly blond hair caused a tug at her heartstrings; it was almost the same shade as Steve’s. That’s where the resemblance stopped, though; his eyes were a chestnut brown and his build was sturdier.

Lottie didn’t move from her spot, “Is that your way of asking if a lady’s got a fella waiting for her back home?”

The soldier’s grin only seemed to grow at the sound of her own Brooklyn accent, “A Brooklyn gal, eh? A woman after my own heart. What’s your name, doll?”

“I’m Lottie Green. But that’s Lieutenant Green to you, Private.” She smirked, relishing in her title. The year before, Congress had authorized the promotion of Army nurses to the ranks of Second Lieutenant, granting them positions of power in a largely male environment.

The soldier ambled over to her, flicking the ashes from the butt of his cigarette.

“Ah, so you’re one of those girls they hired to patch us up, then? I always knew there’d be choirs of angels when I died, but I didn’t know they’d send ‘em to fix us up when we’re wasting away.” He was a flirt, that was for sure, but she felt a pang of annoyance at his belittling of her profession

She wasn’t just some ‘girl’ who was shipped out to slap Band-Aids on his scratches and send him on his way with a pat on the head. She’d spent the last year of her life dedicated to formulating the perfect Super Soldier Serum. Lottie was a woman— a powerful woman who would one day hold the lives of so many men in her hands.

Lottie mustered up a wry smile, “While I haven’t got a fella back home, Private, a medic tent isn’t exactly ideal for courtship, is it?”

Without waiting for a response, she departed and made her way toward the obstacle course that was currently in use. Dr. Erskine had requested that the nurses of Project Rebirth be present for some of the recruits’ training sessions since they would be the best opportunities to scout out candidates for America’s first Super Soldier. These candidates would not only need to be physically capable but also morally incorruptible. An aspect of the serum that was discussed briefly was how it had amplified Schmidt’s already malicious personality; if they made the same mistake by administering it to a man of morally questionable character, they could have another failure on their hands.

When Lottie neared the obstacle course, she caught the tail end of Colonel Phillips’ speech to this batch of recruits.

“—but every army starts with one man. At the end of this week, we will choose that man. He will be the first in a new breed of Super Soldiers.”

Lottie barely had time to glance at the recruits who were lined up a handful of yards away from her. A clipboard had been thrust into her hands, stacked with papers that listed the soldiers’ names, dates of birth, and measurements. She scanned the pages, barely registering any information due to the sheer amount of it; it was too overwhelming to process properly.

“I heard Colonel Phillips has taken a real liking to Gilmore Hodge,” Gladys whispered, shuffling her papers.

Betty made a disapproving noise, “Agent Carter socked that guy in the kisser. No way in hell he’s our guy.”

“I agree!” Mary piped up, “His moral character is real atrocious.”

Nancy seemed to be torn, “He is the most promising recruit thus far. Sure, he’s gotta work on his manners, but gosh, even his measurements set him apart from the rest.”

Lottie hummed in thought and finally looked up to watch the recruits in action, her eyes narrowed. For the most part, the soldiers got through the net climbing efficiently and descended the other side with ease, but a particular recruit was struggling to get a sure footing in the netting. Her heart started pounding in her ears— she knew that build, that stature. It couldn’t be, he’d been rejected at the enlistment. Sure enough, the soldier lost his footing and fell with his other foot still caught in the ropes.

Lottie’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at the flushed face of one of her childhood best friends. In the distance, she could hear a sergeant berating him for his clumsiness, but her attention could not be torn away from his face. She was at a loss as to what to do; he obviously hadn’t seen her but she couldn’t call out to him to get his attention, as that would land him in more trouble than he was already in.

“Poor guy,” Mary murmured, wincing in sympathy. It seemed that she’d also noticed the trouble that Steve had been having.

“Yeah,” Lottie replied lamely, biting at her lip in anxious thought.

What would she even say to him if he saw her? Would he even acknowledge her? She knew she’d just about die if she had to undergo a silent treatment from Steve. But she deserved it, she was sure. There wasn’t a day that had gone by where she didn’t think of her boys back home. She often found herself lying in bed late at night, staring at the ceiling and listening to the breathing patterns of the other nurses in the barracks. Lottie would roll her lucky penny between her fingers and think of her best friends back home. Were they asleep? Or out at the dance hall again, trying to woo some women into a couple of dates for the next night? She prayed nightly for their safety; their safekeeping. It was a fool’s prayer, she knew— it was a war, after all. But that never stopped her from begging God on high to protect her most beloved friends.

The commotion of the obstacle course had died down, but the yells of the sergeants had not died down; it seemed that they were to continue their training elsewhere.

Betty noticed Lottie’s lost look, “They’re having ‘em run the trail.” She gestured to the tree line where they would usually do their morning runs.

Gladys looked over her clipboard, “I think it’d be best if we head back to the mess hall and grab a bite to eat. We can talk all of this,” she gestured to their clipboards, stacked high with papers, “once we’ve all got full stomachs and clear minds. I hope you all took notes, ‘cause I sure did!”

Lottie was silent on the way to the mess hall, still reeling from the fact that Steve had somehow been recruited for the military. There had to have been some mistake; he’d most likely spend more time in her medic tent than on the battlefield. Running into battle would have him hospitalized even before an enemy could manage to hit him.

They sat in their usual spot at the back of the mess hall, at a table in the corner that had been pushed up against a wall; it kept them out of the way and allowed them a sense of privacy from the other staff members. Lottie absentmindedly peeled at an orange while she listened to the conversation of her friends.

“If we can’t have Hodge for the serum, I think Johnson might be a promising guy!”

Betty laughed, “Do you really think that or do you just like the way he looks in his fatigues, Mary?”

“Gosh, I just think they bring out the green in his eyes! Either way, he’s certainly got the build for it.”

“He’s such a knucklehead, though. He couldn’t figure out the proper way to hold his rifle while he went under the barbed wire. He was practically dragging it through the mud by its strap.” Betty rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the performances of most of the men during training.

There was some continued discussion on the topic, but it was interrupted by the entrance of dozens of soldiers. They needed no introduction, as the sounds of their hoots and hollers, as well as the aroma of their body odor, heralded their arrival at the mess hall. Lottie shot to her feet, unable to stop herself from searching the sea of men for a scrawny man with too much pluck for his own good. The men milled about as they grabbed trays of food and seated themselves, loudly conversing about the training they’d just experienced.

Finally, Lottie’s eyes locked with those of a scrawny blond guy who looked as if he’d just seen a ghost. He was all the way at the other end of the mess hall, but that didn’t matter, she rushed to him as quickly as she could. She so desperately wanted to hug him before he could turn and run from her. She knew that her silly display was surely catching the attention of other soldiers, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care; she hadn’t seen one of her best friends in over a year, dammit! She walked quickly between the tables to where he stood by the food line.

“Stevie,” Lottie choked out, crushing him in a tight hug. Tears threatened to escape her eyes, but she refused to make a scene in front of half of the recruits.

“Lottie I—” Steve began, “I dunno what to say. Why are you here? Why did you lie?”

He asked the questions with such earnest bewilderment, with sincere sorrow that nearly destroyed Lottie. He didn’t seem angry with her at all; he was instead deeply hurt, and it was all because of her. When she pulled away from their embrace, she saw the pain in his eyes and recognized it— it was the same pain she had felt when thinking of Steve and Bucky, praying for their safety.

Lottie was becoming acutely aware of the attention they were attracting but that was the least of her concerns at the moment. If Colonel Phillips caught wind of their little embrace, he would surely berate her about relationships with the soldiers, as he couldn’t fathom the idea of a platonic relationship between a nurse and one of his men. She would deal with that situation at a later time. At that moment, Lottie knew that an apology and explanation were long overdue. She planned on apologizing to him sincerely in private, but she knew that an explanation could not wait.

She grabbed Steve’s wrist and pulled him towards the table at the back of the hall, “Please trust me, Steve. I can explain everything, but I’m gonna need their help.” Lottie jerked her head in the direction of the other nurses, “What I did was real crummy of me, I know, and I’ll apologize over and over until the day I die, but I promise that it needed to be done. The girls over here will help me explain it all so you can understand.”

“Well, who do we have here?” Betty questioned as they approached, arching a carefully plucked brow.

Steve awkwardly shifted his weight and shoved his hands in his pockets, obviously intimidated by her steady gaze and cool demeanor, “Steve Rogers, ma’am.”

Mary’s eyes lit up, “One of Lottie’s Brooklyn boys! Now do tell me, where is Private Barnes? Because I absolutely must meet the man that our Lottie is so infa—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Gladys kicked her shin under the table and answered the question for Steve, “I’ve looked through every file Dr. Erskine has given to us and there’s no Private Barnes here.”

Lottie shot Gladys a grateful smile, albeit a weak one. She cleared her throat and addressed the group of women before her, “I promised Steve here that I’d explain why I fell off the face of the Earth for a solid year, but I’ll need your help filling in all the details.”

It took nearly an hour to catch Steve up on all the events of the past year. The nurses gave him as much information as they could, though there was certain classified information that they were privy to— the formula for the Super Soldier Serum —but could not be shared with anyone outside of Project Rebirth. Steve interrupted regularly to pose questions about different aspects of their research, obviously invested in all the work they’d done for Dr. Erskine and Mr. Stark. When they recounted their experiences testing the prototype serum on various tissue samples, he went a sickly shade of green, so they quickly ended that train of thought. They glossed over the details of how they finished the serum and their discovery of how Vita-Ray Radiation affected its ingredients. His brow seemed to furrow exponentially with every scientific term used

“And that’s the skinny on what we’ve been up to for the past year,” Gladys finished, holding back a giggle at Steve’s overwhelmed facial expression.

“Thank you, ladies,” Lottie smiled and rose from her seat, gesturing for Steve to follow, “Steve and I are gonna step outside for a moment.” She led him across the mess hall and outside; they came to a stop after they rounded the corner of the building. She stood against the wall, fidgeting with the hem of her jacket sleeve.

“Stevie, I owe you an apology. After the attacks I just knew that the world would go to shit,” Lottie felt her eyes start to water, “and well— it’s my job as a nurse to save lives, y’know? I couldn’t just stay home and twiddle my thumbs while everyone else went to take care of our boys overseas. And I know Bucky made me promise not to and all that, but I’d already enlisted. I knew if I told him the truth, we’d fight, and I’d have left you two on a really sour note, which isn’t what I wanted at all.”

“So, you decided it would be better to lie about going to your parents’ for Christmas and leave the two of us wondering for months?” Steve’s tone wasn’t scathing but the question still cut deep.

Lottie sniffled and knew that there was little she could do to hold back the tide of tears that would surely start flowing, “I was being horribly selfish; I knew it would hurt the both of you but I was just so afraid and uncertain about it all. I knew you two would get real concerned for me and I just didn’t want that. Plus, you have to understand, Stevie, when I enlisted, they offered me a position in a high-level government organization. I couldn’t tell anyone about my whereabouts or where I would be going— all I could say was that I would be training for the Nurse Corps. It wasn’t fully my choice to keep these things from you and Bucky; it would’ve been risky to tell anyone about the SSR or what I would be doing for them. I know you two would’ve been good about keeping it a secret, but I was still so afraid, Steve. I didn’t want to let the SSR down, so I guess that meant I had to let you two down instead.” She stared at her shoes, letting the tears roll down her cheeks and fall to the dirt below.

“Thank you for telling me the truth, Lottie. It really hurt me when I realized you weren’t coming back. I understand where you were coming from, though I don’t agree with what you did. I forgive you, but Bucky— he, well,” Steve shook his head sadly, “You should’ve seen him when he got back from bootcamp and you weren’t at the station, Lottie. Worried out of his mind, he was. I’d written to your folks a month or so earlier; it was mid-January so I knew something was up. They told me you’d joined the Corps, but didn’t know where you’d been sent. I told him everything I’d learned and he hasn’t been the same since; he was always on edge. Even the night before he was shipped out to England, when we went out with Bonnie and Connie—”

“England?” Lottie’s voice was weak with disbelief. She shouldn’t have been surprised, he was going to be deployed at some point, after all. Somehow, it still hit her like a punch to the gut.

She held onto the hope that they were at least exchanging letters to check in with each other. “Have you kept in contact with him at least?”

“I didn’t think to get an address before he left.” Steve muttered, digging the toe of his boat into the dirt in front of him.

“Dammit,” Lottie hissed and wiped away hot tears that continued to stream from her eyes. She was utterly helpless and could do nothing about it; she had no way of contacting Bucky to make sure he was safe. For all she knew, he could be one of those men bleeding in a medic tent— lying limply in a cot that was not his, thousands of miles away from home. She could only hope that he had a kind nurse that would wipe the sweat from his brow and murmur soothing sounds that would remind him of home.

At Camp Lehigh, Lottie was constantly reminded of home. She saw Bucky in every soldier she met, whether it be through their personality, charm, or looks, they all served as a reminder of him. When it came down to it, neither Massachusetts nor Brooklyn was home to her— it was only Bucky that she could truly call home.

And as their time apart continued to drag on, she realized that she was beginning to feel terribly homesick.

#40s!bucky x original female character #40s!bucky x ofc #40s!bucky #1940s bucky #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky x ofc #bucky x original female character #bucky fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes series #ilytid

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franniebanana · 3 years

Text

CQL Rewatch - Episode 5

Nothing. Just heart eyes. Mischievous heart eyes for Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian, this annoying little shit—he wants to tease Lan Wangji because he’s such a fuddy-duddy, but he’s also genuinely into him. And I don’t necessarily mean that in a romantic way, because I don’t think Wei Wuxian has any of those feelings for Lan Wangji at this point—but he is definitely fascinated by him. He’s so different from Wei Wuxian, almost his complete opposite on the surface, that I think Wei Wuxian can’t help but want to know more about him.

I like this part for a number of reasons (most of them are obvious, so I won’t really go into it—it’s a wangxian scene, amirite?), but this little exchange of dialogue tugs at my heartstrings a little because it’s the first time that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji actually talk to one another—like a real exchange, not just Wei Wuxian talking and Lan Wangji ignoring him, although, plenty of that happens as well. Lan Wangji lets his guard down a little here to say Wei Wuxian didn’t apologize sincerely. Like, I’m giving you a chance here—if you’re really sorry and want to repent for what you did, then I might give you another chance. I don’t think Lan Wangji wants to hold a grudge anymore, and I think that becomes pretty evident later, even after the whole porno incident.

And then Lan Wangji decides he’s tired of talking to Wei Wuxian, and uses the silence spell on him again. Hahaha, always makes me laugh. And Xiao Zhan is super adorable when he’s having his tantrum.

These two just make me so sad. My heart really aches for them, especially for Wen Qing, who really is doing everything to help her brother right now. One thing I love about this series/book is that it shows so many types of devotion: romantic love, platonic love, love for sisters and brothers, grandchildren, cousins, mothers, fathers—while the subject matter is often heavy and downright depressing, there are really some beautiful love stories to be told, and it sounds cheesy, but it makes my heart really full.

I like the nuance here of Wen Ning serving her, almost as if he’s a servant—he bows his head, pours her tea, puts it into her hands—and then she touches his face, as if reminding him that she’s just his big sister. I don’t know, I’m probably reading too much into that, and there’s obviously a dynamic that I don’t know or understand, not being a part of that culture. I just noticed it and thought there might be something there.

I see you looking at Wei Ying. But seriously! Lan Wangji could just ignore the guy and wait until he’s done. Instead, he’s peeking at him, fully aware that Wei Wuxian is still working on transcribing texts. Wei Wuxian’s fascination with Lan Wangji is only rivaled by Lan Wangji’s fascination with Wei Wuxian. The scene at the lecture that causes Wei Wuxian to be kicked out feels like a major turning point in the relationship. Yes, I think Lan Wangji was keeping an eye on Wei Wuxian prior to that point, but it was more of, “I’m keeping an eye on you because I feel like you’re just trying to make trouble.” Now, I think he fully realizes that Wei Wuxian is no dummy—he’s a clever young man—and it can’t be lost on Lan Wangji that Wei Wuxian is always seeking his attention. That’s got to be a little flattering, even for a fuddy-duddy.

I think there are a few things going on here after Wei Wuxian gives him the drawing: 1. Lan Wangji is embarrassed! Why is Wei Wuxian drawing a picture of him and adding a flower in his hair?! No one has ever done something like that for him and, of all people, why Wei Wuxian? 2. I think he feels slightly touched to be given a gift, especially from Wei Wuxian, who is such a prankster. 3. He doesn’t hate it! He places it carefully on the desk in front of him, as if it’s something nice that he doesn’t want to wreck. We know Lan Wangji has no issues destroying things he doesn’t like, as he demonstrates when he rips up the porno mag. He easily could have crumpled up the drawing and tossed it away, but instead he keeps it, which suggests that he DOES like it and IS touched by the gift.

Hey, remember that time that Lan Wangji got so angry with Wei Ying that he actually broke a rule? I do! It’s one of my favorite lines: “Piss off.” (note: that text is not actually him saying piss off, the screenshot is from earlier)

Wei Wuxian is such a little shit! And as he later says to Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, he pulls this little prank to get Lan Wangji back for making him transcribe all the texts and using the silencing spell on him. Even though he’s supposedly apologized and repented for breaking the rules, Wei Wuxian still feels like he needs to retaliate against Lan Wangji. Like, I love the guy, but he’s such a shit! Wangxian would have been wangxian so much sooner had he not been like this for so long! Yes, Lan Wangji is a stick in the mud, but Wei Wuxian causes trouble on purpose. I love all these scenes, but it does get a little frustrating that Wei Wuxian just doesn’t get it, y’know?

I like here how Wei Wuxian seemingly doesn’t understand why Lan Wangji is mad, and then looks all offended. And I included angry Lan Wangji just because.

Jiang Cheng is me: You literally offended everyone in that room, and then you played a trick on Lan Wangji, which made him so angry that he told you to piss off. I’D tell you to piss off too! I seriously can’t blame Jiang Cheng for all his eye rolls and exasperated looks at this point in the story. Wei Wuxian lives to make trouble, it seems, and Jiang Cheng just wants to learn and make a good impression for the Jiang Clan. If you can’t tell, I really like Jiang Cheng.

Lan Xichen asks if his brother has found out who got into the Back Hill, and Lan Wangji pauses, lets out a sigh, and says, “Wei Ying.” I don’t fully know what all that means, but my interpretation is that he’s disappointed. As if he expected more of him, was trying to find a way it wasn’t him, but then finally admits that it was indeed Wei Wuxian. Of course, Wei Wuxian actually tried to tell Lan Wangji who it really was sneaking around the Back Hill, but Lan Wangji didn’t want to listen. At least, in this case, they know Wei Wuxian is relatively harmless, and maybe Lan Wangji’s admission is more that he feels a bit like he failed to find out who the true threat is.

I should count how many times they say “Lady Wen” in this scene. It’s already up to three and it’s only five seconds in. But seriously, Jiang Cheng, could you stop drooling?

The final count was five times. Slightly less than I thought, but the first four times did actually occur before the two boys even stepped inside.

This scene also has a cute moment with Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian (“You were sick because you were missing me!”)—cute to the point where Jiang Cheng must have rolled his eyes. Although, I think it’s this moment that Wen Qing witnesses that makes her think twice about Wei Wuxian. In her mind, she compares him to her own little brother, so her heart softens a little.

Lan Xichen: I looked at you, and you seemed to want them to go. Don’t you want that?

Lan Wangji: HEART EYES

Okay, but he looks very soft here, doesn’t he? By all accounts, I don’t know why Lan Wangji would want to go ANYWHERE with Wei Wuxian right now, but he feels drawn to him, despite being bothered by him, despite being pranked by him. He really doesn’t know what’s in his own heart. Thank goodness Lan Xichen is there.

With how long Wei Wuxian was waving around that liquor, I’m surprised Lan Wangji didn’t dump it out sooner. His tolerance for Wei Wuxian is getting better! He’s not using the silence spell on him anymore, he answers some of his questions (or uses silence to answer in some cases). Progress! Progress is happening here!

I also like that even when Wei Wuxian is with Jiang Cheng, Wen Qing, and Wen Ning, he still seeks out Lan Wangji for conversation and company.

Lan Wangji is angry at Wei Wuxian, because he’s angry at himself, and he’s angry at himself because he’s frustrated by his own feelings: he wants to hate Wei Wuxian—he’d feel better if he hated him, but the fact is, he keeps finding more reasons to like him. And his response to those frustrations is to try and push Wei Wuxian away.

“Stay away from me.”

If you’re just casually watching this series, you see Lan Wangji just being angry and annoyed by Wei Wuxian for quite some time, until probably they go to the Wen Indoctrination camp. But the changes in his attitudes toward Wei Wuxian in particular are more subtle than that. I think Lan Wangji is trying to warm up in his own way, but he just becomes frustrated by his own feelings. Maybe he likes Wei Wuxian, but doesn’t understand why, or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to hate him. At this point, Lan Xichen has already told him a few times that he needs to make friends, and how about Wei Wuxian? He’s also noted that he could tell that Lan Wangji wanted “the boys” to go along with them. It would be frustrating to have someone, even someone you greatly respect, to tell you how you’re really feeling, especially when you’re as stubborn as Lan Wangji.

And Lan Xichen actually smirks after this, hahahaha!

She’s touching my leg, she’s touching my leg!!! You can’t tell me he didn’t think about this in bed every night for at least a week. I’m sure it’s extremely obvious already to Wen Qing that he’s crushing hard on her, and that must make her a little uncomfortable. I don’t think the feelings are reciprocated in the slightest.

Okay, but imagine if they’d let Su She go on his own like he wanted. He’d probably have died, or certainly run away. His spiritual power seems very weak, as he can’t call his sword back once he sends it into the water. Luckily Lan Wangji is there to save him.

Other episodes: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

#cql rewatch #cql #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #lan xichen #jiang cheng #wen qing #wen ning #mdzs #mo dao zu shi

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atomicwedgienerd · 4 years

Text

Flattening the Curve

Chet hadn’t wanted to rent the room but he didn’t really have much of a choice. His lease at his old place was up and his coffeeshop was closed due to the quarantine. If he didn’t find a place soon, he would be out on the street just as everything went into long term shut down. So when he saw the ad for the single bedroom with food included, he jumped at the chance.

Of course, this was not an ideal situation for him. Mr. Gunderson, the man renting the room, was definitely kind of a fuddy duddy. He wore a tie every day and kept his hair in a rigid flat top haircut, the kind of haircut worn by NASA engineers in the 1950s. Dotted around the house were pictures of Mr. Gunderson’s son Gilbert who looked like a miniature version of Mr. Gunderson. Mr. Gunderson, a barber whose shop was now closed due to the quarantine, seemed to keep his son’s hair to the same precise specs as his own and the two had flat tops precise enough to set their watches too.

Gilbert was now away at MIT studying engineering, stranded in Massachusetts as the state had shut down, so Mr. Gunderson had cleared the remainder of his stuff out of his old bedroom and rented it out. Now it was Chet’s. There was always a look of chagrin on Mr. Gunderson’s face when he caught Chet’s decor through the cracked door. Album covers on the wall, some weird creepy art, the perpetually unmade bed. But the thing that bugged Mr. Gunderson the most was Chet’s grooming.

His hair fell in long cascading curves of a super hip undercut. It had been dyed slime green though now the roots were well grown out. Chet kept a scraggly beard and wore ripped jeans and band t-shirts. Mr. Gunderson shuddered whenever he heard him practicing his guitar through the door, imagining him bopping along and tossing those green curls around casually.

The two mostly stuck to themselves outside of Chet occasionally sitting in silence at the dinner table before hurrying back to his room to play guitar. The two couldn’t be more different.

As the quarantine stretched into week four, Chet found himself struggling. Even for his usually disheveled self, he was looking a mess. The hair on the side of his head had grown way out and it looked bad with his dyed hair on top. Mr. Gunderson caught him checking it out in the reflection of the toaster at breakfast one day.

“You know, if you need a haircut, I’m a barber by trade,” he said. “I’ve been cutting my own hair this whole time.” Chet snorted and looked at the man. His flat top looked as fresh as it did the day Chet had moved in. He clearly had skill. But he couldn’t trust his head of hair to a man who thought that haircut looked good. It was too old fashioned, too severe!

“Thanks but I don’t think I need a flat top,” Chet rebutted.

“Well every boy needs a good flat top,” Mr. Gunderson laughed. “But I can cut other styles too.”

Chet considered it. It would be nice to still look fresh even though he was in lockdown.

“Ok, but just touch up the fade. I definitely like the frazzled, dyed curve on top.”

Mr. Gunderson shuddered. There was nothing he appreciated less than this rebellious hair on an otherwise handsome young man. Chet could look so nice if he just shaved, committed to a nice conservative haircut, and did something about all those ratty old clothes he wore. He was the same size as his son Gilbert and Mr. Gunderson couldn’t stop thinking how nice Chet could look in a nice bowtie and plaid shirt like Gilbert liked to wear.

“Sure,” said Mr. Gunderson with a wicked grin and his fingers crossed. “I’ll just give you a little touch up.” He grabbed his barber’s cape and draped it over Chet before going to grab his clippers out of the garage. Chet rolled his eyes and waited as the boring tones of Mr. Gunderson’s old Bert Kaempfert record played from the living room. Was he really about to get a haircut from a man this old fashioned? Before he could change his mind, Mr. Gunderson was back and the clippers were whirring.

Chet sipped from a beer as he felt the clippers cut across the back of his neck. It felt great as the curly neck hairs dropped away and Chet could feel the wind of the ceiling fan brush across his neck. He had missed that feeling. He glanced down at the cape and saw more and more locks of hair drop and slide down the shiny black fabric as Mr. Gunderson did his work. Maybe he really did have what it takes for a modern fade.

Chet sipped on his beer and relaxed when suddenly he felt the clippers graze across the top of his head and saw a shock of green hair fall down the cape. He started to protest but Mr. Gunderson gave him a stern look and Chet fell silent. He couldn’t quite explain it but there was something in Mr. Gunderson’s gaze that just shut him right up. He wanted to fight back, but part of him wanted to comply. Chet felt his rebellious attitude squirm back down into the pit of his stomach as he sat there compliant.

He shook in fear as more and more green hair tumbled down the cape. He should stop him. He should stop Mr. Gunderson right now! But part of him enjoyed the thrill. He hadn’t expected that. Some part of him was honestly relieved that Mr. Gunderson was taking charge. Chet felt a tightness in his skinny jeans as his penis grew to attention. He was enjoying it! A moan of ecstasy escaped his lips as Chet felt a wet spot in his underpants. He was dripping with precum with every swipe Mr. Gunderson was taking.

Finally Chet felt the clippers run down the top of his head so tightly that he could feel them graze the top of his scalp. He was jelly, shaking in the seat. He wanted to say something but he just heard a tiny squeak come out of his mouth as Mr. Gunderson gripped his shoulder and said “No talking, son.”

“Yes Sir,” Chet said, at first shocked by his compliance, and then humiliated, and then pleased. It felt good to submit to this man. Chet felt the older man’s strong hands as they began to work a thick paste into his hair. He could feel just how short each bristle of hair had been taken on the sides but the shocker was how short it was on top. Chet couldn’t have more than an inch there now. Mr. Gunderson pulled out the blow dryer and began running the brush over Chet’s shorn locks.

“I may have taken a little more off than you were expecting,” Mr. Gunderson said with a grin as he handed Chet the mirror. Chet gasped when he saw himself in the mirror. The rebellious green curve of hair he had was completely shorn away. Mr. Gunderson had given him a flat top just like the one he gave himself and his son Gilbert. All that was left was a narrow ring of jet black hair standing at a perfect ninety degree angle to the rest of his head. Chet tilted his head downward and stared at the bald spot Mr. Gunderson had shaved into the top.

“What the fuck is this!?” he groaned. With a crack, Mr. Gunderson slapped him across the face.

“I won’t have that kind of language in my home, do you understand me?” he barked at Chet.

“Yes,” said Chet, a little shocked. Mr. Gunderson slapped him across the face once more.

“Yes WHAT?”

“Yes, S-s-s-sir!” Chet stammered, taken aback by how forceful Mr. Gunderson had become, but also shocked at how his body was reacting. He could feel himself shrinking from the older man, but also his erection was raging beneath the cape. He liked being treated this way! It was so humiliating, but also felt so right.

“A boy like you should have been given a cut like this a long time ago. We’re going to make this a weekly habit of yours. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Chet, before quickly adding “SIR!”

“Now lay back, it’s time we did something about that terrible beard of yours.”

“But...” began Chet before feeling Mr. Gunderson’s sharp gaze on him. “I mean, thank you Sir.” Chet felt humiliated. All this time he had spent playing in a rock band, rebelling against norms, being a total queer freak... and here he was erotically thrilled to be dominated by this forceful man who was making him into a clean-cut little conformist.

Mr. Gunderson began slathering the hot lather on Chet’s face. Chet whimpered as Mr. Gunderson dragged the straight razor across his neck and cheeks, wincing as he saw the sheer amount of beard coming off in each swoop. After a few minutes, Mr. Gunderson wiped off the remaining shaving cream and splashed Chet’s face with an excessive amount of Old Spice. The sting shocked Chet and he gasped before the overwhelming stench of the aftershave overtook his senses. It was so powerful and reminded Chet of all the old-fashioned men he had known growing up. This was not the way that queer hipsters smelled! But the odor made him feel warm and contented, and extremely horny.

“You’ll be using this every day,” Mr. Gunderson said as he handed Chet a large bottle of the stuff. “This is the same thing I use and the only thing my son Gilbert has ever used.” He pulled the cape off Chet and sent the remaining scatters of slime green hair falling to the floor. He handed Chet a broom and dustpan. “I expect this floor to be spotless.” Chet just uttered a meek “Yes Sir” and immediately got to sweeping as Mr. Gunderson retired to the living room to flip his record.

Chet finished sweeping and retired to his room. He ran his hands over the humiliatingly short and conservative haircut and felt himself rise to attention again. The landing strip on top was particularly humiliating but Chet couldn’t stop thinking about how powerless he had been in Mr. Gunderson’s chair and how much he enjoyed that. He would have done whatever the old man had asked of him. He started at himself in the mirror, at the clean cut boy he had become, and beat off furiously as he rubbed the sharp sides of his flat top and the smooth landing strip. He had never cum that hard in his life and he sprayed all over his fresh cut hair. The humiliation overtook Chet again and he realized he was powerless to stop it. He belonged to Mr. Gunderson now.

A week later when Mr. Gunderson demanded Chet sit down for his next haircut, there was something warmer about the man. He praised Chet for how well he was maintaining his clean cut face and how he could definitely smell the Old Spice he was using.

“There’s just one problem, son,” he said.

“What’s that, Sir?” Chet stammered out.

“I won’t have someone in my home that dresses like they pulled their clothes out of the dumpster. My son Gilbert left a few of his outfits behind. After we’re done here, you’re going to bring me all of your clothes and we will throw them out and replace them with respectable clothing.”

“No w--” Chet stammered before hesitating. He saw the mean look in Mr. Gunderson’s eyes and immediately become aroused. Mr. Gunderson was going to completely tailor Chet’s appearance and he knew there was no way to fight it. What would he do? Leave? He couldn’t! And besides, he was already leaking precum just thinking about how embarrassed he would feel in Gilbert’s conservative clothing.

Chet went back up to his room, freshly flattened and his hair standing to perfection and brought all his clothes down in a trash bag so Mr. Gunderson could throw them out. Soon after, Mr. Gunderson came down from the attic with some old boxes of Gilbert’s and began showing Chet his new wardrobe: plaid shirts, high rise pants, bow ties, suspenders, even a few old pocket protectors. Mr. Gunderson patiently taught Chet how to tie a bow tie and by the end of the evening, he was dressed exactly the way that Gilbert was in all the family photos.

Chet gulped when he saw himself in the mirror. All rebellion and individuality had been removed from his appearance. He looked like a nice clean cut nerd from the 1960s and he could barely recognize himself. The bow tie was tied nice and chokingly-tight as the starched collar of the plaid shirt scratched his neck. His pants were held above his belly button with a pair of vintage suspenders. A pair of white slouchy socks peeked out from below the hem as Mr. Gunderson slipped a pair of Gilbert’s brown suede Hush Puppies on to Chet’s feet. With the exception of the glasses, Chet looked just like a dark haired version of Gilbert. But luckily he had his contacts so he didn’t need glasses.

“Take them out,” Mr. Gunderson said almost reading his mind.

“Sorry Sir?” asked Chet hesistantly.

“Take out your contacts,” he demanded. Chet gulped and ran to the bathroom where he pulled the contacts out of his eyes and put them in the case. He hurried back to Mr. Gunderson, stumbling a few times as he bumped into an end table in the hallway. Mr. Gunderson snatched the contacts out of his hand and threw them in the garbage.

“Here, try these on.” He handed Chet a clunky pair of frames. The prescription wasn’t quite the same but he could see well enough. Now from head to toe, he looked like a retro cleancut nerd. Chet had always been embarrassed of his bad vision but now being embarrassed was a perk. The thick lenses made his eyes look tiny and the retro frames made him look so old fashioned. They were black plastic with a clear bridge, the kinds of glasses people didn’t wear anymore. They were retro nerd glasses.

“You look perfect, Chester,” Mr. Gunderson said.

“My name is Chet,” Chet said.

“I’ve seen the lease you signed,” Mr. Gunderson said. “You and I both know that Chet is short for Chester, your real name. It’s disrespectful to not use the real name your father gave you, isn’t it, Chester?”

Chet was overwhelmed with humiliation. He hadn’t been called Chester since he was a child. But he knew he couldn’t say no to Mr. Gunderson.

“Yes Sir,” Chester said. “My name is Chester.”

Mr. Gunderson smiled. “That’s right, Chester. Now it’s almost 9pm. Don’t you think you should be getting ready for bed?”

Chester just gulped. Going to bed at 9pm was humiliating but what else could he do?

“Yes Sir,” he said as he headed up and got ready. When he arrived in his bedroom, he found a stack of freshly folded tighty whiteys on his twin bed. On the back waistband of each pair Mr. Gunderson has stitched in a tag that read “CHESTER.” Chester knew he’d be wearing these every day from here on out.

The next morning, Mr. Gunderson was up nice and early and he made Chester hand over all his decor. He redecorated the room with Gilbert’s old furniture. Chester’s queen sized bed was replaced with a modest twin bed and all the weird art and albums on the walls were replaced with science posters and signed Star Trek pictures. Chester felt a twinge of humiliation as he saw Mr. Gunderson take his possessions out to the curb but the need to submit to the man was more powerful. He barely even put up a fight as Mr. Gunderson took his guitar away.

“A good boy like you shouldn’t be playing a guitar anyways,” Mr. Gunderson said as he snapped the neck of the instrument. He unlatched a large box that he had brought down from the attic and revealed a shiny red enameled accordion. “You’re going to learn how to play a more respectable instrument. This is one of Gilbert’s spare accordions. Since he has so much time off right now, he’s even agreed to teach you how to play over Zoom so I’ve arranged for him to give you lessons every morning from 8am until 10am.” Chester’s boner raged from the humiliation and it took all his energy to muster out a meek “Thank you Sir.”

Chester was humiliated during his first lesson as he was tutored by the equally nerdy and meek Gilbert. Just hearing someone as nerdy as Gilbert correct him and call him Chester was overwhelming. Every time Gilbert would tell him “Gee whiz, Chester, you’re sounding better and better,” Chester would respond with a geeky “Thanks friendarino” as his erection dripped with precum. He couldn’t get enough of it! Soon, the lessons had taken on a more familiar tone as it was clear Gilbert had a crush on Chester. Chester could barely handle it. Just a few months back he had been making out with all kinds of hot skeezy punks at the bar. Now he was getting hit on by a four eyed nerd in a bow tie. And when Gilbert asked him if they could be internet boyfriends, Chester couldn’t help but say yes. Now he was a huge nerd dating another huge nerd over the internet.

Eventually Chester became an expert accordionist and the pandemic became a thing of the past. Gilbert finished his engineering degree and moved back home. Mr. Gunderson wouldn’t let the two share a room so they did the only logical thing and made things official. Mr. Gunderson called a local Episcopalian priest and he swung by to marry the two nerdy boys. Chester couldn’t believe it. Gilbert and Chester Gunderson were two married nerds! They wore their bowties and pocket protectors and matching glasses every day and even though they were married, Mr. Gunderson made them sleep in separate twin beds in the same room. Each one would play the accordion during their weekly appointments where Mr. Gunderson, whom they both now called “Dad” gave them identical flat tops before sending them back to their shared room for more practice and a fun night of chess. There was nothing cool or hip or modern anymore about Chester. His every moment was one of abject humiliation, and he couldn’t be happier.

It’s time to sacrifice your modern hipness and become a retro nerd. Join other nerds at the nerdification discord.

#nerd #nerdification #hipstertonerd #hipster #maletransformation #cleancut #preppy #retrohair #retrofetish #flattop #flattophaircut #dad #transformation #maletf

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princessanneftw · 4 years

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How Princess Anne became the shining light of the beleaguered monarchy

Once seen as haughty and aloof, today her old-school approach has never been more in demand

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor of the Telegraph.

Visitors to the Princess Royal’s house, Gatcombe Park, are often surprised to be greeted with antique-display cases groaning with ornaments, bookshelves overflowing with hardbacks and piles of magazines dating back to the 1970s. According to one friend, the 18th-century Grade II-listed Gloucestershire stately has a ‘homely’ feel, thanks to the frugal Princess’s reluctance to throw anything out.

‘It’s quite a nice thing really,’ they said. ‘There’s barely a place you can sit down in her house. Every time the staff go in there they try to take something away.’ A surprising revelation, perhaps, about the Royal family’s resident stickler, whose decadesold ‘updo’ and penchant for wearing white gloves on royal engagements suggest a somewhat starchier outlook. But as the Queen’s only daughter prepares to celebrate her 70th birthday this month, it seems that appearances can be rather deceiving.

Now more valuable than ever to an institution not only trying to reposition itself in the wake of a global pandemic, but still smarting from the fallout of Megxit and the Duke of York’s association with Jeffrey Epstein, Anne’s old-school approach has never been more in demand. Despite describing herself as ‘the boring old fuddy-duddy at the back’, who keeps reminding the younger royals not to forgo ‘the basics’, the Princess Royal, who has always put duty first, is finally getting the recognition she deserves.

Her appearance in June alongside the 94-year-old monarch for Her Majesty’s first ever video call shows how much the Queen is coming to rely on the Princess. And the public response to her appearing to snub Donald Trump during a Nato leaders’ reception at Buckingham Palace last December suggests the nation is finally warming to her modus operandi.

Where once Anne was regarded as haughty and standoffish, she is now hailed as one of the great English eccentrics whose unparalleled royal work ethic, carrying out more than 500 engagements a year, has rightly earned her national treasure status.

And having allowed a film crew to shadow her for the past year, the Princess, who is usually reluctant to blow her own trumpet, has never appeared more at ease with herself. She was persuaded to take part in last week’s ITV documentary Princess Royal: Anne at 70 because its makers, Oxford Films, had successfully produced Our Queen and Our Queen at 90 about her mother. Shadowing Anne on her dusk-to-dawn engagements – and featuring interviews with her children Peter, 42, and Zara, 39 – the documentary revealed just how much the Princess is cut from the Queen’s ‘keep calm and carry on’ cloth.

Having been regarded as a bit of a royal renegade as a teenager – and chosen to forgo titles for her own children, despite her own HRH pedigree as a ‘spare to the heir’ – Anne’s life story is a contradiction of both protocol taskmaster and occasional rule-breaker. As one insider who knows the Princess well put it: ‘She can turn from laughing and joking one minute to being an absolute stickler for the rules the next. She’s extremely dutiful and would hate to be regarded as being on the wrong side of protocol. You’d never dream of asking her a political question and she’s not at all gossipy.’

Erin Doherty’s portrayal of Anne in The Crown, as the deadpan princess with the permanently raised eyebrow, certainly sums up her teenage years when the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh were apparently so concerned about their daughter’s lack of direction, they asked the late Dame Vera Lynn for advice. Prince Philip, who famously joked of his daughter, ‘If it doesn’t fart or eat hay then she isn’t interested,’ allegedly confided in the Forces’ sweetheart: ‘We are concerned about Anne at the moment, trying to get her to make up her mind about what she wants to do.’

According to her school friend, Sandra de Laszlo, who boarded with Anne at Benenden: ‘She was a very normal teenager – sensible and fun.’ Leaving school with six O levels and two A levels in 1968, Anne had already resolved to follow in her parents’ duteous footsteps. Less than a year later, she made her official debut on 1 March – St David’s Day – when she handed out leeks to the Welsh Guards at Pirbright Camp in Surrey. It was to be the start of one of the most industrious royal careers in modern memory – with more than 20,000 engagements clocked up since.

Soon after she started work, she began dating – and in 1970, Anne’s first boyfriend was Andrew Parker Bowles, the dashing young adjutant of the Blues and Royals, who went on to marry Camilla Shand – later to become her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Cornwall. The Princess and the brigadier – described as her ‘horsey husband’ – remain close and accompany each other to Royal Ascot and other race meetings every year.

Anne is also on good terms with her first husband, Captain Mark Phillips. A Sandhurst graduate with an equestrian streak, like Parker Bowles, Phillips met the Princess at a party for horse lovers in 1968 and reconnected at the Munich Olympics four years later, when he won team Olympic gold in the three-day eventing. They married in 1973. He was at the then 23-year-old Anne’s side a year later when she was threatened at gunpoint in an attempted kidnapping. The couple were returning to Buckingham Palace following a charity event when their limousine was forced to stop on the Mall by another car. When the driver, Ian Ball, jumped out and began shooting, Anne’s bodyguard, Inspector James Beaton, was injured, along with her chauffeur Alex Callender, and journalist Brian McConnell and Michael Hills, a police constable, who happened upon the scene.

But the attempt to hold Anne to ransom for at least £2 million is even more memorable thanks to the impervious Princess’s refusal to obey Ball’s order to get out of the car, replying with a trademark: ‘Not bloody likely!’ Eventually, she exited the other side of the limousine, as had her lady-in-waiting, Rowena Brassey (who is still with her to this day). A passing pedestrian, a former boxer named Ron Russell, punched Ball in the back of the head and led Anne away from the scene. Anne later told officers: ‘It was all so infuriating; I kept saying I didn’t want to get out of the car, and I was not going to get out of the car,’ according to files later released by the National Archives. ‘I nearly lost my temper with him, but I knew that if I did, I should hit him and he would shoot me.’

She was similarly sanguine about becoming the first member of the Royal family to have a criminal conviction after one of her dogs, a three-year-old English bull terrier called Dotty, attacked two children in Windsor Great Park in 2002. Pleading guilty to being in charge of a dog that was out of control in a public area, she insisted on no special treatment and took the £500 fine and £500 compensation on the chin.

The incident followed a number of brushes with the law for motoring offences, with Anne having twice been caught speeding on the M1 in the 1970s. She was also fined £100 and banned for one month in 1990 for two speeding offences and fined another £400 in 2000. On both occasions she pleaded guilty immediately, insisting she was late for an engagement.

As she said in the documentary, mistakes do happen when there is no ‘training’ for the job of being royal. ‘It’s just learning by experience. But hardly ever does anything go quite according to plan. You have to learn that.’ It wasn’t as if she didn’t feel the pressure of being the sovereign’s second-born, either – once describing the fly-on-the-wall Royal Family film, which followed the Windsors for a year in the late 1960s, as ‘a rotten idea’.

‘The attention that had been brought on one ever since one was a child, you just didn’t want any more. The last thing you needed was greater access.’

Famed for telling reporters to ‘naff orf ’, much of Anne’s mistrust of the media appears to stem from its rather uncomfortable coverage of Phillips fathering a love child, Felicity, with New Zealand art teacher Heather Tonkin in 1985. The Princess didn’t emerge unblemished either, having been revealed by The Sun to have received love letters from Tim Laurence, then the Queen’s equerry, in 1989, when she was separated – although still married to Phillips.

Anne and Mark finally divorced in 1992 and the Princess remarried eight months later, choosing Crathie Kirk in Scotland, as the Church of England did not at that time allow divorced persons whose former spouses were still living to remarry in its churches. The Prince of Wales had nicknamed Phillips ‘Fog’ on the grounds that he was ‘thick and wet’; but with his Royal Navy pedigree and impeccable manners, ‘quiet man’ Laurence fitted into the Royal family perfectly. One friend described the vice admiral as ‘a thoroughly decent man who never forgets a face’, before adding that ‘some may regard him as a little bit boring, but he’s a much safer bet than Mark ever was.’

Ever the pragmatist, Anne allowed Phillips to remain living on the Gatcombe estate, even after he married Sandy Pflueger, an American Olympic dressage rider, with whom he has a daughter, Stephanie, 22. As one equestrian insider put it: ‘The horsey set has always been very incestuous. Yes, Mark was serially unfaithful but there’s a lot of that going on – Anne just turned a blind eye.’

Now divorced from Pflueger, Phillips, 71, has vacated Aston Farm on the 730-acre estate, to make way for Zara, her rugbyplayer husband Mike Tindall, 41, and their daughters Mia, six, and Lena, two.

Peter also lives on the estate with his estranged wife Autumn, 42, and their daughters Savannah, nine, and Isla, eight. The couple are still living together despite announcing their divorce in January – an unexpected development that has left the Princess ‘sad and disappointed’, according to insiders.

One source said: ‘One thing about the Royal family is they are incredibly close. They are the most dysfunctional family there is, but the Princess and her children and grandchildren are as tight as anything.’

As ever, horse riding remains the tie that binds, with Anne – a former European eventing champion, BBC Sports Personality of the Year and competitor at the 1976 Montreal Olympics – passing on her enthusiasm for the sport to Zara. In recent years, Peter has taken over the running of the Festival of British Eventing at Gatcombe.

By her own admission, breaking with royal tradition by insisting that her children were called Mr and Miss ‘probably’ made life ‘easier for them’. ‘I think most people would argue that there are downsides to having titles,’ Anne said recently. Having initially been brought up, Downton Abbey-style, on the ‘nursery floor’, with her parents often away for months on end on royal tours, it was Anne who insisted she go to a ‘proper’ school – the first daughter of a monarch to do so – rather than be home-taught.

Both Peter and Zara were sent to Port Regis, a co-educational prep school in Dorset, before following in their uncle Charles’s footsteps to board at Gordonstoun in Scotland. Unlike the heir to the throne, who described it as ‘Colditz in kilts’, they thrived in the outdoorsiness of it all, excelled at sport and both ended up at Exeter University – Peter to study sports science and Zara, physiotherapy – despite university having eluded both their parents.

Zara also surpassed her mother’s equestrian achievements by winning the Eventing World Championships in 2006 and a silver medal at the 2012 Olympics – all while Anne was watching proudly from the sidelines.

One friend recalls how the Princess would think nothing of queuing up for the Portaloos at competitions like any other parent, much to the horror of Zara, who would tell her: ‘Mum, you can’t do that!’

Inconspicuous in her trademark Barbour jacket, tweed hat and sunglasses, Anne would regularly be stopped at events on her own estate by police not realising who she was. ‘I remember it happening a couple of times,’ said one source. ‘She was very good about it – she said: “Don’t worry, you weren’t to know.”’

After Zara collected individual and team gold medals at the 2005 European Eventing Championship in Blenheim, Anne invited the entire team, grooms and all, back to Gatcombe to celebrate, serving up ‘sandwiches and scampi in a basket’, in the courtyard. Very much a hands-on mother and grandmother, the Princess has a number of long-serving aides – but no large entourage. Along with Rowena Brassey (now Feilden), Lady Carew Pole has also been the Princess’s lady-in-waiting since 1970.

Unfussy Anne still insists on doing her own make-up and hair – which hasn’t been let down publicly in decades. Although according to one source who once witnessed the rare sight of her unclipping her bun and redoing it during an equestrian event: ‘It really is quite something. It’s still as long as it was when she was in her 20s.’

Part of Anne’s agelessness is down to genes. ‘She always says she doesn’t have very good role models for slowing down,’ Peter told the documentary. As Countryfile presenter John Craven found out when he dared to ask if Anne still rode, only to be rebuked: ‘Her Majesty is still riding, so come on!’ But as well as inheriting her mother’s DNA she shares HM’s strict adherence to style codes – and her aversion to profligacy.

Guests at the 2008 wedding of Lady Rose Windsor, the daughter of the Duke of Gloucester, were astonished when Anne arrived in the outfit she had worn to her brother’s wedding to Lady Diana Spencer, 27 years earlier. The size-10 Maureen Baker floral-print frock still fitted perfectly.

Quite what Anne must have made of Diana and Fergie’s wardrobe expenditure in the 1980s has never been disclosed – although it has long been reported that the Princess never thought too highly of either sister-in-law, regarding Diana particularly as ‘hogging the limelight’.

There were even reports that she viewed the pair as ‘lessening the stature’ of the Royal family, describing them behind the scenes as ‘those girls’. As royal biographer Penny Junor put it: ‘There was Diana on the one hand, who was incredibly touchy-feely, who hugged children, who put children on her lap, who even kissed people in public. And there was Anne, not touching anyone, not playing up to the cameras at all.’

As far removed from the suburban housewife as you can get, when Anne was once spotted mending fences at Gatcombe, she apparently retorted: ‘Somebody’s got to do it!’ ‘She’s never shirked anything in her life,’ said a friend. ‘She’s a real grafter.’

Weekends will invariably be spent with her four grandchildren. Revealing a surprising knowledge of popular culture – despite her dislike of indoor pursuits – the Princess revealed her familiarity with Catherine Tate’s stroppy schoolgirl character Lauren when she commented that Mia’s attitude to equestrianism was, ‘Am I bovvered?’

‘She’s superb with the kids,’ said a friend. ‘She’ll often be in the stables with the grandchildren. She’s got a tremendous sense of humour and is very likeable and kind. She loves Mike [Tindall, Zara’s husband]. He makes them all laugh.

The friend also pointed to Anne’s ‘surprisingly fruity’ sense of humour, adding: ‘And the Princess can swear all right. I’ve heard her use some quite colourful language.’

If the Queen instilled in Anne a love of horses then it was her father who encouraged her other great passion in life: sailing. Anne would regularly accompany the former Royal Navy commander to Cowes Week, and it is a testament to Philip’s infectious love of seafaring that Anne and Tim have kept their yacht Ballochbuie on Loch Craignish in Argyll, since 2012. The couple enjoy nothing more than cruising around the Inner Hebrides, where Anne indulges her passion of visiting lighthouses. She is patron of the Northern Lighthouse Board and is understood to have ‘bagged’ more than half of the UK’s 206.

But it hasn’t always been so easy combining work and pleasure. Anne was put to the diplomatic test when she became the first member of the Royal family to visit the USSR, at the invitation of the then-leader Gorbachev in 1990. In typical style, the Princess didn’t shirk the responsibility – and stayed for two whole weeks. Visits to war zones including Sierra Leone, Mozambique and Bosnia have been similarly taxing – with Anne once insisting after a particularly gruelling tour of Africa: ‘I don’t come here looking for trouble. I come to see if I can help.’

Her association with Save the Children, which dates back to 1970, has seen her slum it on camp beds and visit disease-ravaged Mozambique refugee camps. Once urged by photographers to hug an emaciated child, she refused, saying, ‘I don’t do stunts.’ And in response to a comment on her supposed lack of the maternal instinct, she said: ‘You don’t have to like children particularly to want to give them a decent chance in life.’

Yet her reputation as one of the most diligent royals ever has also been honed by her dedication to little-known domestic causes, like the Wetwheels Foundation, which provides ‘barrier-free boating’ for the disabled. One of more than 300 charities the Princess is involved with, its founder Geoff Holt, a paraplegic who was the first disabled person to sail solo around Britain in 2007, and then across the Atlantic in 2010, has known Anne for over 30 years. ‘I’ve got photos of us going back decades. I’ve got older and older and she’s stayed the same,’ he joked.

‘She’s got to be one of the most hard-working people I know. I’ve never known anything like it – the amount of engagements she packs in. She doesn’t do sycophancy, though.

Michele Jennings, chief executive of Hearing Dogs for the Deaf, of which the Princess has been patron since 1992, also tells staff ‘not to fawn’ when the Princess visits. ‘She hates that,’ she said. ‘We’re a pretty down-to-earth charity and when she comes she’ll have dogs jumping at her shins and crawling all over her, but she doesn’t mind one bit. There’s no awkwardness.’

Another source revealed how during one royal visit, Anne had joked about missing out on all the posh canapés – royals are discouraged from eating in public. ‘I’ll just have to put up with Great Western’s finest,’ she quipped, referring to her train journey home.

Although a ‘daddy’s girl’ growing up, since the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret died in 2002, Anne has become ever more devoted to her mother. Having helped to counsel the Queen through many royal crises over the years, the Princess has been HM’s first port of call when discussing recent tumultuous royal events. Although one can only guess what stalwart Anne makes of Harry and Meghan’s behaviour, she has made no secret of her opposition to royals trying to modernise the institution, seemingly referring to the Sussexes when she remarked recently: ‘I don’t think this younger generation probably understands what I was doing in the past and it’s often true, isn’t it? You don’t necessarily look at the previous generation and say, “Oh, you did that?” Or, “You went there?” Nowadays, they’re much more looking for, “Oh, let’s do it a new way.” I’m already at the stage [of ], please do not reinvent that particular wheel. We’ve been there, done that. Some of these things don’t work. You may need to go back to basics.’

When she turned 60, the Queen elevated Anne to the Order of the Thistle and there was a joint birthday party with Andrew, who was 50 that year. But Covid-19 – not to mention Andrew’s fall from grace – mean this year’s celebrations will be more muted. Indeed, she is not thought to have had much contact with her brother, with whom she shares a love of country pursuits, but little else.

With the Queen having been self-isolating at Windsor Castle since March, it is thought Anne will be reunited with her parents at Balmoral this summer, where she and Tim will once again take in Scotland’s sights by sea.

At a time when the monarchy finds itself somewhat cast adrift, it is the indefatigable Princess Royal who is proving to be its trustiest anchor. As she prepares to turn 70, showing no sign of slowing down after half a century of engagements, lighthouse-lover Anne has become the Royal family’s beacon of good, old-fashioned public service.

#couldnt add the last couple of photos #because tumblr doesnt function properly #but here u go anon!#and everyone :)#princess anne #princess royal #newspapers

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antihero-writings · 3 years

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Premonitions

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Character Focus: Glen (Oswald) Baskervlle, Jack Vessalius, Vincent Nightray, Gilbert Nightray, Kevin Regnard, Oz Vessalius

Summary: Jack, Glen, Vincent, and Gilbert thought they were going on a relaxing vacation in the mountains, but a creature from The Abyss has a bit of an adventure in store...or is it a warning?

(Written for the Phmonth19 Tragedy Trio prompts "Wolf," "Ruins," and "Winter.")

(For those who’d like some Glen, Jack, Vince, and Gil cuteness. There's at least a little of that here, which was super fun to write. )

Notes: If you can believe it, this is actually a fic for Phmonth19! It was for the Tragedy Trio prompts "Wolf," "Ruins," and "Winter."

I liked a lot of the prompts during Phmonth19, and wanted to find a way to use multiple simultaneously. I liked the idea, but ended up struggling with where I wanted to go with it, and having too much to do during Phmonth19, so it didn't get written then. But I liked it enough to continue it and return to it eventually.

I hope you enjoy it even so!! Please know that when you comment you are both making my entire week, and motivating me to keep writing more fics like this one!!

Premonitions

A young boy weaved in and out of the crumbling artifices, hopping down from a half-broken wall to a mossy ledge on a lower level of the ruins. It was probably a room in the past. It wasn’t now.

They’d warned him not to go in here. But if forbidding something was incentive for most kids, it was practically a command to him.

They told him it was dangerous, unsafe, that anything could fall and crush him, or crumble beneath him, not to mention that there was a sort of energy here: it infected people, made them into madmen and monsters, and if said monstrosities didn’t attack and kill you…you might just become one yourself.

As if he needed a better invitation.

Most regretfully, he hadn’t found any horrifying monstrosities yet. Just a bunch of cracked stones and sewer rats looking for corpses to clean off. Occasionally something shimmered in the dirt, but more often than not it was just a rusted piece of metal, or cracked bit of glass.

He kicked up a board to see a dagger laying there. He frowned, considering it, before picking it up, examining the details on the hilt. Might make a nice souvenir if he could manage to clean the rust off.

He couldn’t help but wonder what happened here. People said this place was dropped into the Abyss, that it had become a hole to swallow all that dared to enter. But what exactly did that mean? He’d heard of the Abyss, and the Chains that lived within, but never of anything other than sinners being dropped into it. What kind of atrocities had everyone there committed to warrant the whole city being dropped into the Abyss?

He kicked another rock, before glancing up, his red eyes widening.

A wolf sat in front of him.

He hadn’t even heard its footsteps. It just sat there on the wall above him, swishing its tail. He took a few steps back.

It was gold and ethereal, its tail long and wispy, like a gust of wind frozen into flesh. Said tail flicked back and forth. White eyes left trails in the air—like slits in a mask, only letting the golden light inside it break through the eyes—yet they held no mal intent—(he’d learned to be able to see that, to feel it, almost). It seemed intelligent.

Was this one of the monstrosities they warned him about?

His hand tightened around the dagger.

The wolf stood, but after it took a few steps forward it looked over its shoulder as if to ask “Are you coming?”

The boy took a step forward himself, to run after its disappearing tail, compelled by some inclination; he knew he ought to follow it, that it wanted to show him something.

“Kevin! Kevin!” A familiar voice called from far away. “I’ll not have you sullying the Regnard name with another one of your insolent games! If you get eaten by some Chain you’ll only have yourself to blame!”

When Kevin looked back the wolf was gone.

*****

Jack breathed deeply through his nose, as he entered the cabin, then breathed out just as noisily.

“Smell that mountain air! I just love the snow, don’t you? I always feel like something’ amazing is going to happen!”

Glen rolled his eyes, dropping their bags—(which Jack had made him carry inside, citing the fact that he was carrying Vincent).

“Say, Jack…” the boy sitting on his shoulders spoke, “do you think we’ll see the northern lights up here?”

“I don’t know! …What do you think, Glen?”

“Probably not.”

“Aww!” Vincent pouted, bumping his fist on Jack’s head.

“Ow!” Jack reacted in an over exaggerated way.

“Eh! I’m sorry!”

When Jack had found out about the cabin the Baskervilles owned in the mountains he knew it would be the perfect place to spend a few days relaxing and playing in the snow—and what better way to remember how to have fun than to bring Gilbert and Vincent along?

When Jack brought up this idea, Glen had blatantly refused. Ever the responsible leader, Glen didn’t take vacations from his duties. But lately he had started having conversations with the rose bushes, and everyone agreed he could stand a few days off.

Glen was just starting to unpack their stuff when—

“You guys want to go sledding?” This was Jack’s voice, of course.

It was a resounding “yes,” from the kids, complete with jumping up and down and shouting.

“We just arrived,” Glen grunted. “Wasn’t the point of this trip to relax?”

“And what better way to relax then hurling yourself down a snowy mountain on a thin piece of wood?”

Glen blinked. “Reading.”

Jack grabbed his arm, pulling him out into the snow. “Don’t be such a fuddy duddy. Come on!”

Glen glared at his friend as he promptly dragged him off into the snow.

Soon they were flying up to the tallest hill they could find on Raven, then, after they successfully reached the top, they proceeded to push each other down it on sleds, with much giggling and whooping (from everyone except Glen). When they reached the bottom, they would fly back up on Glen’s chains—(who seemed to enjoy the show).

At one point, a little while into the festivities, Vincent was waiting for his turn when something in the corner of his eye flickered. He turned to see in the woods, behind a tree, a creature.

Vincent froze when he met the wolf’s gaze, a shiver running up his spine, more than just the cold, his face twisting in fear.

“What’s wrong, Vince?” Jack put a hand on his shoulder, glancing from the terrified boy to the empty air he was fixating on.

The wolf ran in a figure eight around two of the trees, brushing up against them, its form leaving tracks in the air. Then it paused again to stare at the boy with white, smoky eyes.

It didn’t look completely there.

Vincent pointed shakily towards it.

Jack put a hand on his shoulder. “…Where?”

He pointed more emphatically.

“I’m sorry Vince, I…I don’t see anything.”

“What’s going on?” Glen asked, hopping off Raven and landing beside them with Gilbert in a flurry of black wings.

Vincent just kept pointing, his finger a vibrating signal.

Glen’s eyes widened.

“What is it?” Jack demanded.

“It’s a wolf. Or at least…” he paused, noticing the strange color, and misty nature of the creature.

“I don’t see it,” Gilbert said softly.

“That’s okay,” Jack crouched down by him, “Neither can I.” He stood back up to his full height, reasoning with Glen, “If you two can see it, and we can’t…”

Glen nodded at him, before taking a few steps forward, and finishing the thought:

“I think, more likely than not, its something from the Abyss.” He squinted at it, watching it playfully thread the trees. “I think it wants us to follow it.”

Vincent tensed at the idea.

Glen looked over his shoulder, his eyes flicking to the boy. “I can always go after it by myself if you’d like to return to the cabin.”

“Oh it’ll be fine! Don’t worry!” Jack took the hands of both boys. “With Master Glen with us, nothing’s going to hurt us!”

Glen rolled his eyes, but Jack’s words seemed to comfort them.

Un-summoning Raven, Glen walked in front, the other three following a short distance behind.

When the spectral wolf saw they were going to heed its call, it moved further into the forest, always dancing around the trees as it waited for them to catch up.

They followed it quite some ways—(especially since they were tired from all the sledding)—until the trees stopped abruptly in a cliff edge. Jack had to put his arms out in front of the boys to keep them from walking any further.

As they raised their eyes, they saw across the gorge a plateau.

“I-Is it still there?” Gilbert asked softly, looking all around them.

Vincent and Oswald looked around but the wolf wasn’t anywhere close to them.

“There!” Vince pointed after a moment. The wolf was across the gorge, weaving in and out of a stone ruin on the plateau.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Gilbert asked nervously. “Maybe we’ve followed it far enough…”

Glen had already summoned Jabberwocky, and was currently climbing on its back.

“You coming?” He asked the group flatly, holding out his hand.

The three glanced at each other, before Jack helped the kids onto its back, and hopped on himself. Jack hugged the boys tightly, as Gilbert held just as tightly to Glen’s coat.

The wind was cold and biting as they flew through the air, but the ride was very brief, and they landed moments later in a puff of dust in the center of the ruins.

“What is this place?” Jack asked the air, and no one answered.

They ventured cautiously into the ruins, at first sticking together, but soon curiosity overtook them, and they each wandered in separate directions, captivated by different rooms. The place wasn’t too vast though, and thus didn’t allow them to stray too far from each other.

Glen found the throne room, or where it most likely once was; a huge empty room in the center of the ruins, empty, save for the collapsing chair, backed by the skeleton of a large window, holding broken pieces of colored glass. He slowly marched up to it, running his fingers along the ghost of the chair, looking out the window at the now frozen water far below, wondering what sort of king ruled here.

When he turned around, the wolf was sitting in the center of the room, swishing its tail at him. Glen was sure it wanted him to understand something, but he couldn’t quite discern what.

He noticed at the side of the room there was a large structure. At first he mistook it for a collapsed bit of wall, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was a piano. He set his fingers on a few of the notes, but they only gave a croak.

It’d been too long.

He lifted his head and raised his voice to ask the wolf about the place, and learn if it could respond, but it had moved on.

Gilbert found the old kitchen, the food there long since turned to compost for rats and roots. Then he found the servants’ quarters not too far from there, full of rotting bedframes and hungry mice, wondering what sort of servants were here, and if their king was as noble as Glen-sama.

He didn’t see the wolf pass beneath the doorframe behind him.

Vincent found a room that likely belonged to a child. It was faded, but there was paint on the walls: designs of flowers and vines. He almost stepped on a clay sculpting of a bird that may have served as a toy, once.

On a broken dresser he found a box which, once opened, turned out to play music, the notes discordant after years of rust and neglect.

He thought he saw something else, and lifted up the half-bug-eaten board. He immediately dropped it, wishing he hadn’t, the something that was there making him cover his mouth in shock and horror.

He felt a nudge at his back, and almost screamed, whirling around to see the wolf behind him. Fear glued his lips, welled his eyes with tears.

The wolf cocked its head to the side, as if confused by his fear. It licked his hand, and Vincent drew back, though it felt like a brush of wind.

“W-W-What do you want?!” He stammered.

But he could not understand the wolf’s words.

Jack descended a staircase a bit further out of the way and found—more in tact than much of the buildings—a dungeon.

It was a large stone room, lined with cells, sectioned off by rusting bars. He pressed one open with a creak and found an empty room, and a skeleton. He continued on until he found one without a skeleton, whose bars were bent, as if the person within had managed to escape through them. He entered through to find there was a journal in this one. He picked it up, brushed and blew off the dust and frost, the pages just as creaky and unwilling to budge as the doors.

He sat on the floor where he found it and began to read. Many of the pages were too damaged by time to read, the ink fading, the pages crinkling and crumbling, but he could make out at least bits of the story. It seemed the writer was in love with a girl, but, due to her being the ruler of this kingdom’s queen, they could never be together. As the pages continued, the writer seemed to grow more and more obsessed with her; his phrases containing less and less sense and sanity. Jack couldn’t tell exactly how he ended up in the dungeon, nor how he apparently broke out—if the bends weren’t made by weather or time—but in his not-quite-sane state, he must have done something very stupid. Maybe a lot of things.

When the final pages became too illegible, he looked up and saw in the waning sunlight, the tally marks on the wall. As he began to dust and defrost them, he realized the whole wall was covered in them. He ran his hand over the grooves, thinking of how long this person must have been left alone inside himself, and what that might do to a person.

He couldn’t see the wolf pacing around his feet, reading over his shoulder, couldn’t feel the wolf trying to nudge him, nor hear the wolf try to ask him voicelessly: “Do you understand? Do you understand?”

“There you are.” A deep voice broke the silence, almost making him jump.

Glen was standing in the doorway, Vincent and Gilbert at either side of him—(Vincent clinging to his coattails rather tightly).

“Did you find anything interesting?”

Jack set the journal on the floor beside him, standing and stretching, yawning the words: “Not really, no.”

Upon noticing the pink light cast on the floor through the small window, Jack asked, “Do you think we should head back?”

Glen gave a curt nod, turning around to leave, and Jack ran to catch up.

*****

A young boy with golden hair and green eyes stood in the midst of a ruin; a caved in part of the city—or what once was the city.

After putting his hand to his chin in thought, and a good dose of looking around, he pulled a watch out of his pocket. When he flipped it open it began to play the soft tinkling notes of a somewhat sad song.

“I still don’t know what exactly happened here,” Oz muttered softly to himself, “but…I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He didn’t see the wolf poking its head out from around a wall behind him, didn’t see its ears perk up, nor, now that someone had finally heard and headed its warning, hear its satisfied howl;

“Thank you, Dear Rabbit.”

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this-idiots-left-eye · 3 years

Text

Premonitions

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Character Focus: Glen (Oswald) Baskerville, Jack Vessalius, Vincent Nightray, Gilbert Nightray, Kevin Regnard, Oz Vessalius

Summary: Jack, Glen, Vincent, and Gilbert thought they were going on a relaxing vacation in the mountains, but a creature from The Abyss has a bit of an adventure in store...or is it a warning?

(Written for the Phmonth19 Tragedy Trio prompts "Wolf," "Ruins," and "Winter.")

(For those who’d like some Glen, Jack, Vince, and Gil cuteness. I definitely enjoyed writing some! It's something I've wanted to write about for a while)

Notes: This is actually a fic for Phmonth19! It was for the Tragedy Trio prompts "Wolf," "Ruins," and "Winter."