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#trying to clear out my drafts and some things don’t have sources or links >:(
talenlee · 1 year
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2023, The 10th Year Of Press.Exe
New Post has been published on PRESS.exe: 2023, The 10th Year Of Press.Exe
Hey, it’s January! That’s an odd-numbered month, which means there’s not going to be a theme here. It’s also the start of the year and there’s going to be a bunch of stuff getting cleared out from 2022 so it’s not going to have a proper theme but it’ll definitely have something… themey.
What’s coming? Well:
February is a month of Smooches!
April is a month of Self Indulgence!
June is a month of Pride!
August is a month of Tricks!
October is a month of Dread!
December is a month of ‘Ween!
Then, each month, look forward to
A How To Be article talking about a character in 4th edition D&D
A worldbuilding article talking about building my setting of Cobrin’Seil, or building settings in general
At most one article on 3.5 D&D, one on 4e D&D
Each month I’ll show you at least one article on Magic: The Gathering, where I’ll show you this month’s daily custom cards, and well, we have a big special project for that, which we’ll talk more about soon.
An article talking about an OC, usually from City of Heroes, but hey, wide open world.
One piece of graphic design for a t-shirt, mask, or sticker
A story pile article each monday, with at least one anime a month (loose target)
A game pile article every friday, with at least one video a fortnight (harder target)
Each month I’m going to present at the end of the month, a summary of the game dev I’ve been doing that month, which is also going to be built out of articles posted on other social media spaces.
Ah.
Yes.
Other social media spaces.
You know, like Twitter, where I used to do this all the time.
I’m writing this back in December, of course. I don’t know what’s going on with Twitter. But I think it’s probably bad, and I think I’m enjoying not having to be on a space that predominantly is known for everyone on it screaming about how bad it is. So what I’m going to try and do going forward is do things like dev threads over on my Mastodon, which lets me do long-form threading with graphics, and search my own history. That’s what I really liked about what twitter gave me. I’ll also be presenting things on Cohost and Patreon to see what the audiences there want to say.
Basically, what you’ll find where:
Drafted article ideas where you can comment and give me direct suggestions where I’ll be able to meaningfully engage? Cohost.
Threads for showing ongoing progress on projects where I’m primarily taking notes on my own work? Mastodon.
Places for answering polls and questions about the game development I’m doing where you get to provide meaningful input into things I’m doing? Patreon.
Just the video articles? Youtube!
Each of these platforms is going to do a different job, and that’s important. I need to stop treating you as if you’re going to different sources for content firehoses. What I want you to do is come to my blog to look at the best of my material, and look at those other platforms as places you can go if you want more. This blog hosts articles. Those places are for social interaction, in different ways.
Particularly, this plays into the new way I’m approaching Brainstorm posts. Instead of having each month open with a post explaining that month’s game project, which can feel a bit like an open space, my intention is to present a link to the month’s brainstorming thread on Mastodon. Mastodon serves a purpose that the blog doesn’t necessarily, where it allows for lots of small additions, maintained in reverse chronological order, threaded on one another. At the start of each month, there’s going to be now, a post summarising that thread. This also stops cutting off a bit of extra time, where scheduling meant sometimes a month was more like three weeks of working on something rather than 31 days.
Below the fold, though, there’s some reflection on the history of this blog, why we have ten years of Press, and how I feel about realising this is now one of the longest ongoing projects I’ve ever had.
Goodness me
This blog started out as a byproduct of a change I wanted to make in my life when I was 29, turning 30. I realised that I’d spent my twenties trying things and starting a dozen projects but finishing nothing, which meant that all the ideas I had and all the concepts I was sure of had resulted in a lot of incomplete things. I’d had it in my head that I’d write a book or become a videogame maker or something like that. I felt, in the back of my mind, that I was always working on a thing, and any day now I’d make the thing.
I hadn’t.
I mean, there were things I made! I made things like a D&D setting and outlines of ideas, and D&D prestige classes and feats and magical items, I had been working on these small things but I’d never internalised that ‘small things’ and ‘big things’ were still just things. I mean I had a whole D&D setting, which one of my friends had printed out and put in a book, but that wasn’t a thing for people to read. It was a thing for me to be happy I had (which is noble enough on its own).
This blog is a thing that charts to my life, and now it charts to this particular period of my life. The year I turned 30, I made a plan. I would write one thing a week, a short story being the aim, and at the end of the year I would have 52 things that were made ‘together’ and that would count as a book. It had no option but to count as a book. Fox made this blog, which I think was her idea and it was a good one. Give me a place I had to put things, after a period where we once shared a blog on another site.
I wrote that first book. I’ve told this story before – about midway through the year I realised just how much I wanted a plan, how I wanted structure. I was using the blog in a very random way, and there’s probably a bunch of stuff back there that’s a big bad or meanspirited in ways I’d probably not be wild about now. I think I should keep things up, generally speaking, to make sure I’m accountable for things I said and so that if I did something that deserves an apology, I can actually do that. But I did write that book, The Sixth Age Of Sand.
It’s not great. I mean I like some of the ideas in it a lot, I like the way that it built bits of a world. I kind of like the idea of how a modern setting becomes a magical setting, with the idea of it being like buildups and thresholds and I liked the idea that the previous civilisation that we never knew about on earth was entirely made up of crabs.
In the November of that year, of my first year of university, while studying for my first exams, I wrote my first book for Nanowrimo – I wrote Immortal Engine, which was much smaller, tighter, and built out of a burning desire to finish a story that I could make with a structure. I like that book, not because it’s amazing writing or because it’s very good, but because it was my first book, and that book required a world that then became the setting for my next book, One Stone.
One Stone is a book that even now I’m proud of.
When I started this blog, I started making this blog because I imagined I would become a videogame journalist who wrote books on the side. Those were two things I liked, a lot, conceptually. Still kinda do. But what happened along the way was being believed in by teachers, and guided by friends and enabled by an audience. To shift from I think games doing this are bad to the next level of well why don’t I do things differently to suddenly… there are games. We made games. We made games, because again, Fox has been instrumental to this.
It’s been a weird few years. I became a game maker. I grappled with the challenges of self-identity. I started a youtube channel, because I was intrigued by the different ways you could use video to explain ideas. I acquired a stalker at one point. I got a dog! I progressed through multiple types of conceptual rage and started writing about my material conditions. I became an anarchist, which I’m still cautious about saying because I’m afraid the boss of anarchism will find me and yell at me for saying it and I know that’s dumb.
There’s a sort of soppy inclusivity that internet content creation wants to induce you to, the ‘we’ did it, you did it with me, you, the reader, you helped, and you totally did! I really like to imagine that someone is reading what I have to say, and that alone is enough to make sure I do it. I remember someone letting me know they laughed at something I said about Touhou predating Dark Souls and…
I smile.
I throw a lot of words out there and they wouldn’t be here if not for Fox. I press post because I imagine my audience, I visualise people who are interested in the kinds of things I want to talk about in the way I want to talk about them and bless, some of you are out there and have found it.
This blog does give me stressful nights sometimes, when I feel I haven’t done enough, written enough, worked enough for the Patreon dollars I receive, and the inherent anxiety of knowing the Queue Hungers. but I still love this feeling, this moment, when I’m able to bring my focus to bear, and let words spill.
Thank you for showing up, and thank you for telling me what you think about what I do.
Hey, wanna know why the blog is called press.exe?
I’ll tell you at some point this year.
Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!
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taekooktimeline · 2 years
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Hi everyone! I’m back from vacation and have started drafting some updates. It was lovely to disconnect! I’ve shared a few vacation photos on Twitter 🥰I’m hoping to add them in the next week or two, depending on personal life obligations. I have drafts but I get OCD and like to sit on things and reread them to make sure they’re ok before I post ❤️
In the meantime, because social media can be ugly and toxic, I do want to address something. Please remember that I only have one twitter account, which is the one found at the top of the blog. Any other account is not affiliated or endorsed by me in any way.
This account had asked to follow me -
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I always check profiles of people asking to follow me so I looked deeper and it’s a newly created account.
Tbh, I am disappointed they’re choosing to use my blog’s name for their Twitter account. They could’ve picked any name and chose the same one. It makes me worried about future confusion between my work and theirs. They clearly know about the blog to have asked Sara and I to follow. I want to make it clear this is NOT me and it’s NOT affiliated with my blog in any way. I do NOT know this person. I do NOT talk to this person. I am NOT collaborating with them in any capacity. I even reached out, though I never heard back.
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No, I don’t own the rights to “taekook timeline” but after over a year and a half of using this name, I think it’s common courtesy to choose a different name if you’re choosing to pursue creating a timeline of your own. Especially when it’s clear you know about this blog. Perhaps I worry too much but I see how easy it is to twist things on SM, and I can see someone being confused about my association with this account.
The reason I am addressing this, and archiving this post, is for two reasons. 1) concerns of plagiarism and 2) if this account were to ever say something controversial, a foolish person could see the username and try to link it to me and say I endorse, am part of, or affiliated with this account. People are so quick to spread drama and misinformation. I’ve worked hard to build this blog with respect, love and positivity. I will always do my best to protect my hard work and my credibility, and I’m doing that now. If any of my work is reproduced, and especially without credit, on any other platform from any other account, please know it wasn’t with my permission.
So to be clear, I only have one twitter account. I don’t collab with anyone else. Any other account, such as this one, is NOT me, NOT associated with the original Taekook Timeline (on tumblr and google docs) and I do NOT endorse or have any part of this. I can’t stress enough I just don’t want confusion.
I’m not looking to start drama or spread negativity, in fact I find it quite draining, and this account could have the best intentions. I’m all for Taekook support in whatever capacity people want to share it. But I have to take steps, given the toxicity of SM, and be cautious and preemptive, to protect myself and my reputation/credibility, hence why I’m documenting this and making it clear I’m not affiliated with any twitter account besides the one I’ve provided at the top of google docs and tumblr.
The account didn’t respond to my concerns, though they did tell Sara our account is a source for their work.
On a more positive note, I go to LA in 2 weeks and I am so so excited for my first BTS concert😭I have only eaten In N Out Burger one time, so I’m weirdly excited to eat it again (I’m determined to pit stop at one lol). I hope you’re all doing well, and thank you for reading. All the best💜💚Kayla
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cherryblossomtease · 3 years
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Chapter 15
18+ only
warnings and summary - Masterlist
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Because sometimes all you need is a simple reminder of who started this mess in the first damn place 💜
Warnings : as always 18+ only please- dom Zemo, sub Bucky, sub reader, punishment, m/m, m/m/f, light bondage
Authors Notes: Really didn't think I would be posting this weekend but it's a holiday in the states so why not! Still working on the rest by you know, neglecting everything that matters to create this fictional world. Anyhow, I can honestly say this is by far the most graphic story I've written so I'm a little nervous but it's already done, can't change it now, and I honestly don't want to! That said I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing!
~
Nothing lasts forever, especially when it’s this good. And this fabricated reality is about as good as it gets. Still, you know this boat will dock soon and goodbyes will be said. There’s really no way around it, try as you might to come up with a plan to talk Bucky into staying. Even now as you fight to stay asleep, your brain is working hard to create a solution while you refuse to give into your worries so early in the day.
You turn onto your stomach ignoring the dark thoughts, choosing instead to enjoy the feel of a strong arm across your back and a leg, hairy and heavy over both of yours.
Settling again with a content sigh, sleep starts to pull you back under. Thank the stars. You really aren’t in the mood— even if your dreams apparently are.
And what had you been dreaming about anyway?
A little house on a wide cliff overlooking water, and something else? The harder you try to remember the more you feel yourself slipping back into that dream space.
There was a small animal. What was it? A rabbit? Its fluffy body too close to the edge of the cliff. But in the dream you’d stayed standing in the doorway of the little house too indifferent to go and save it….
You feel bodies moving lazily, a stream of breath along your back that tickles; arms and legs and the men they belong to not fully awake and starting to stir like you, even as you quickly slip back into sleep until you’re standing in the doorway of that house again with the warm winds on your face and a view of the French sea below. The drop is dangerous. Deadly even.
Why haven’t you started talking Bucky into staying yet? Because you don’t like thinking about it too much. That's why. You start walking towards the edge of the cliff and you’re fully aware of your worlds crossing over —real thoughts present in your dream.
It’s probably bad luck to resent good deeds, after all that’s what he’s leaving you for. He wants to go off and live the life of the hero he never got to be. That and to keep Zemo’s location safe; but that’s besides the point. Hmm… Look at me, selfish even in my dreams. You smile when you shouldn’t.
Staring over the edge of the cliff it’s suddenly clear how unstable the ground is here and you gasp as it crumbles beneath your feet without warning.
Your eyes open with a start.
Well, that was a bit on the nose. Your subconscious does like to lay it on a thick sometimes, especially when you continue to ignore the things bothering you for too long and you've been setting these feelings aside since the text came through.
But just as quickly as you’re left to shake the shadow of the eerie dream, your frown fades replaced by a slow smile.
There is a very familiar poking at your ass that can sometimes be annoying-- this morning it’s welcome. You reach back and feel for the body that the greeting belongs too, comforted by the warmth and solid muscle of Bucky’s thigh under his tight boxers.
Mmmmm, the source of my distress and my desire, you think and grin into the pillows with a soft moan when his hand, hot and strong takes hold of your hip, massaging as he presses his erection into you.
You’ll talk to him about your dreams later.
Feeling a draft where there should be warmth, you open an eye to find breaks of sunlight in the space between Helmut’s arm and torso. When you turn your head you’re met with the sight of his bare chest, broad and covered in the softest dark hair. His necklace hangs off center, and you, as always, are helpless to it.
Your hand leaves Bucky’s thigh and your fingers slide over the delicate links in the chain and down into the soft chest hair as you turn your head to find he and Bucky locked in one hell of a kiss for so early in the day. It must have been their movement or the sound of their lips that woke you and pulled you from the doom of your fatal fall.
Dreams are so strange…
Your heart flutters when Helmut lays his hand over yours pressing it tight to his chest. “Good morning love birds.” You snicker and watch Bucky pull away from Zemo looking a little embarrassed. He does pause to kiss your cheek however before getting out of bed with a long stretch.
“So where the hell are we anyway?” He asks going to the balcony door, looking out at the passing waves. “Feels like nowhere.”
Zemo is looking down at you, stroking your profile, kissing your nose. “We should be well within the middle of it actually.” He answers, eyes still fixed on you.
“Perfect” You say softly letting him pull you so close that he blocks out the light as your lips meet.
“Breakfast is ready sir,” Oeznik calls from outside the bedroom door.
Zemo grumbles at the interruption but you’re starving. “What? I’m not going anywhere” You huff turning away, trying to escape. “You just said so yourself. I've got no place to go.”
“All by design” He smiles and lets you get up, giving your ass a smack as you go. Bucky is watching from the doorway and laughs at your yelp-hop-rub combination.
Swearing under your breath you go over to the closet, grab your silk robe and pull it on over your shorts and tank top, yawning as you drag your feet over to Bucky. You pat his stomach, kissing him quickly. “Hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Lets go up.” You say tugging at him as Zemo gets up and puts on his own robe across the room. It’s not the thick one you liked from before the raft, but silk like yours— Tom Ford if memory serves— god his influence is strong. How the hell do you remember this stuff?
You watch him scratch at the back of his messy nest of hair like he always does in the mornings, somehow looking both sexy and adorable, alternating between the two with the ease of flicking a light switch. You can only smile at the enigma that is Helmut Zemo and pull Bucky away from the doors.
The three of you leave the room shuffling along, making your way down the hall to the den. Zemo trails you and Bucky accepting a small espresso from Oeznik as he watches the way you and your Sergeant interact. Neither you nor Bucky are necessarily morning people and though it’s nearly ten, you’re both somewhat irritable now that you’re actually moving around and slightly hungover from yesterdays sangrias as you make your way up to the top deck where breakfast will be served.
The sun is so bright you huff about not being able to find your sunglasses and Bucky accuses you of being a diva. The only appropriate reaction is to give him a shove.
Zemo snorts a laugh at your near sibling like banter which you’d established after so many months together, but once you find your glasses on the bar counter and get a fresh cup of coffee and a bloody Mary chaser in your body you’re feeling like a new woman ready to conquer the day… a day spent doing nothing really.
It’s all so casually decadent that it’s nearly sinful. Whats the one? The sin that doesn’t sound as good as lust but feels better after all that fornicating you’ve been doing— Sloth? Yes, you think reaching for what’s left of your blood Mary from the lounge chair, the ultimate of all the sins. Thou shalt not be a lazy ass sloth all day on your yacht.
Cheers.
You read on the deck for a while, play a few rounds of shuffle board with Bucky by the pool and attempt to best Zemo at chess in the den.
Lunch is wonderful, and you think you will need to meet this mystery chef at some point before the trip is over followed by a nap on the bedroom balcony.
When you wake up in the very late afternoon you venture down the hall with your book and unexpectedly find the men in your life moaning on the floor of the den in a tangle of beautifully tanned arms and legs. So you very quietly slip past, feeling a flush rise up your neck to your cheeks highlighting your wide but tight lipped smile.
You stay above decks giving them privacy feeling only the slightest twinge of jealousy. Not because you think you’ve been excluded but because you could use another session like last night.
A shiver runs deep in your belly thinking of the way Helmut brought you to climax, but you’re still more than happy to give them time alone. After all, you’ve had the Baron to yourself for far longer than Bucky.
You sink down onto the upper deck sofa, the image of them entwined, the sounds of their heavy breathing and Bucky’s near innocent moans enough to make you consider touching yourself but you wait, letting the urge build, one of them if not both will take care of you later.
So when Bucky comes up and finds you with a funny look on his face you’re completely confused. “Whats wrong?” You ask putting your book down.
He’s poured a drink and sits down beside you on the couch.
“I don’t know if I can do it.” He says shaking his head tossing back the bourbon.
“Do what?” You have an idea but you thought for sure he’d be eager to try, at least it looked like they were well on their way to his first time.
“Letting him control me, I’ve never had someone tell me no. Not like this.”
“Oh” You smile. It’s the no sex. The lack of it is a cruel form of control but the end results are glorious, if he could just be patient enough. “He won’t let you come?” You ask a little more patronizing than you’d intended.
“No!” Bucky whines taking his cue from you and you stifle your laughter. He’s so cute, even in the throws of his sexual agony. “And it’s making me crazy. I mean I’m already crazy but this is different.” He looks around and leans closer to you. “If you were to so much as look at my cock right now, I’d be done.” He says under his breath.
You let go and laugh rolling your eyes. Dramatics seem to come as naturally as submission to him. “That’s against the rules.” You warn eyeing him sidelong and attempting to go back to your book.
“I can’t take it. Fuck the rules.” He says again pulling the paperback from your hand.
You wave your finger in his face. “James. You’re not allowed.” You say playfully.
“Please.” He begs running his finger down your cheek, brushing your neck and gliding along your clavicle where he knows you’re sensitive.
“I can’t!” You lean away a little surprised by his attempt.
“He won’t know!”
You shake your head “I know but…” You try not to smile.
“I can’t take it.” He insists leaning in to kiss you. “I promise; it won’t take long.”
You give in and laugh sensing his desperation as you kiss. He does feel tense. The muscles of his arm and shoulder are wound tight as a chord. You smile against his lips letting him ease you down onto the couch, your book dropping to the floor as he moans, sliding his hand down your thigh, pushing your knee up and his own hips forward letting you feel what you’re fairly certain is the most rock solid hard on you’ve ever had pressed to your body. You whisper his name as his lips find their way to your neck and his hand slides between you to free himself from those amazing shorts.
“Shame, I had every intention of making your patience worth the effort. But you do love to prolong your torment, don’t you soldat.”
You gasp and Bucky hangs his head as Zemo comes sauntering over. Your laughter is a mix of nerves and feeling like you’ve been caught sneaking around with a boy like a damn teenager. It’s been years since you’ve felt a rush like this. Leave it to the Baron to stir that old excitement again.
“Don’t move” Zemo orders, pointing a finger in your face. You freeze, legs open where Bucky was, your arms tight at your sides. “Sit” He growls at Bucky who obeys begrudgingly as he slides back onto the couch.
Very quickly Zemo shoves your legs closed and grabs you by the arm pulling you up to standing. You lean away as he shakes his head keeping you close, his hold so tight you wince “I thought you knew better by now” He scolds you sounding disappointed.
“I told him not too?” You try looking as innocent as possible. You truly had no intentions of fucking him, but maybe a quick hand job?
There is a flicker of excitement in Zemo’s eyes. It's been so long since you’ve given him a reason to really go for it and you hold in your smile because you’re meant to be sad and hang your head. “I’m sorry Baron.”
He ignores your attempts to apologize and pulls you over so that you’re standing in front of Bucky. He looks you both over for a moment thinking and then smiles. You don’t know if you love or hate to see him looking so pleased. Nothing “good” ever comes of that smile.
“Look James.” He says, waiting until Bucky raises his head. “I want you to see what listening to your eager cock and not my rules get gets you— and her.” He tells Bucky before giving you his undivided attention.
Zemo turns your back to Bucky and you feel his hand between your shoulder blades pushing just a little. You bend at the waist, not all the way, just enough to make sure Bucky knows where his attention should be.
This flouncy little designer sun dress you’ve changed into after your nap only helps direct his gaze as Zemo drags the fabric up slowly so that the reveal of your ass is yet another way to torment him all on its own and you give yourself over to the Baron and wonder how bad this will be.
“Pull them down.” He tells you, his hand smoothing over your simple lace panties. His voice is not so angry as it was when he found the two of you, but every bit as firm, and you glance up at him as you hook your thumbs into the waist band. He nods and you quickly obey, pulling your underwear over the curve of your hips and ass and swear you hear Bucky groan when you bend to pull them from your ankles letting him see the diamond shape of your pussy from behind for just a second, your smile hidden from view.
When you stand again, Zemo offers his forearm. You rest your stomach against him, your hand gripping his shirt, the other you will have to try very hard not to cover your backside with because you know that the breeze will be the last nice thing that you feel.
He tosses your dress back up holding you, adjusting the way he stands just a little so that you are safe but immobile.
“Count them off; to five.” He says leaning just a bit closer. The tone in his voice is confident. Zemo knows that you’re well aware of what this means.
“Yes Baron.” You say exhaling, trying to prepare, but five? Fuck. He does not intend on holding back. If he was being playful he would give you ten or more, but five? He knows you won’t be able to take more that that.
You dig your fingers into his forearm and hold your breath.
The first strike makes you cry out.
The way Zemo can raise his hand and bring it down on your ass is unrivaled. He doesn’t mess around. There is no teasing, no playing, no cute little taps to warm you up. Just instant punishment.
“One.”
Your voice shakes and the rousing heat of adrenaline spreads through your arms and legs.
Again he lifts his hand and brings it down quickly with a stinging force that sends shock waves through your body. Your cry is weaker this time, trailing longer.
“Two.”
You pull his shirt tighter into your fist, your cheeks are on fire already when you feel the air stir as his hand rises again. You wonder if Bucky is watching, you wonder if he see’s how your thighs flex and your flesh shakes when the Baron strikes you.
You close your eyes and draw in your bottom lip trying not to moan, but you arch your back and your hips begin to circle ever so slightly with the anticipation of the next smack. You’re practically whimpering as you offer up your backside for more.
Zemo can feel the light vibration of pleasure sounding in your chest and his laughter is a low, very amused rumble as he raises his hand just a little higher this time.
The next smack lands and you toss your head back with a gasp. You would have gone to your knees if he wasn’t strong enough to hold you up. “Three” You whisper but you don’t move. The air brushes your pussy, wet in spite of your reddening skin.
“Don’t look away.” Zemo says.
There is the answer to your previous question. Bucky likes it, but it’s not always easy for him to watch.
“James!” Zemo snaps and waits. Bucky must be looking again because you feel the Baron move.
The fourth strike comes and you steady yourself knowing you can take it, wanting it, loving it as much as your feel your legs shaking. “Four”
You’re breathing hard, as you anticipate the final blow, desperate for it to be over but sorry for it to end. You rest against him for just a second feeling both safe in his hold and powerless to his dominance.
When the last of your punishment lands you hang your head, rounding your spine unable to offer yourself anymore. You can not pretend and this is why he’s given you so few.
Letting your hips drop as your body shudders and a single tear falls, you whisper, “Five” And only Helmut hears you say it.
Very gently he pulls your dress down, the soft cotton is cool over your burning skin and he turns you around to face him.
He brushes the tear from your cheek, holding you in such a way that you can go limp in his arms. “It wasn’t that bad, you’re just out of practice.” He says smiling at you knowing it wasn’t kind either.
You’d love for him to know just once. Maybe let Bucky give him a slap across the ass to make it fair. But when you look at him the thought is all wrong if not hilarious and you just shrug a little and hang your head again, resting on his chest.
“No breaking rules.” He scolds affectionately, “Even if you’re only trying to help. Understood?”
“Yes Baron.” Your voice is very small.
He gives a nod, kisses your forehead and looks over his shoulder at James. “So, is this what you wanted?”
“No.”
“No… no I don’t think it is.” He agrees. “But I understand. She’s damn near impossible to resist still you must learn to control yourself. Apparently I’ve not made that clear. Perhaps a more direct approach.”
You both look at him wide eyed. What’s more direct than this you think not even close to recovered from your spanking.
“Both of you, go down to our bedroom.” He says as though nothing has ever been more obvious “Take off your clothes. Wait for me on the bed.”
You look at Bucky. He looks at you.
“You fucked up,” You mouth to him.
Bucky just gets up and pushes past you both.
*
“I suppose you could say I’ve had to get creative with my plans for you. I know that pain is something you can’t respond to in ways that she can.” Zemo says, smiling as he glances down at Bucky and then over his shoulder at you on your knees behind him. “Have you finished?”
You look up from what you’re doing, hoping it’s right. “Yes, I think so?”
He comes around to look at the rope binding Bucky’s wrists. It’s just for show to heighten the experience. Of course Bucky could break free if he wanted to— his strength is no match for a few rough fibers— but this is a training of the mind as well as the body. “You see, pleasure can be just as awful.” Zemo says, his voice making you shiver as he checks your work, tugging and tightening the rope a little more.
Leaning in close, he strokes Bucky’s jaw, his finger reaching to trace the spine of his ear and you smile when the hairs on Bucky’s right arm raise and Zemo loses the air of control for a second simply becoming the man who cares for the other deeply. “The irony of tying you to a chair to satisfy you is not lost on me, based on what I know of your past. But if you can endure it, I promise it will be nothing like the pain you’ve known. I could never hurt you in that way. Still, if at any time this is too much, if it triggers memories that change it from what it’s meant to be, please— James— say the word, your word and it stops.”
Bucky nods. “I will” He says softly.
“Nothing now?” Zemo asks genuinely wanting to know. Bucky shakes his head. “No, nothing.”
Zemo gives a confident nod and kisses the back of Bucky’s head patting his cheek a little harder than he needs too. “I only want to make you feel good— eventually.” He teases and Bucky rolls his eyes with a small laugh.
Pleased, Zemo pushes up and goes to sit in the soft chair across the room, notably more comfortable than the one Bucky has been placed in. Although the more obvious differences being, Zemo is not bound, Zemo is not naked, and Zemo has not been so gently stroked and toyed with that he’s been left with a perfectly vulnerable erection like Bucky has.
You’d had a hard time focusing on the ropes as the Baron made it happen. The way he’d taken Bucky in hand, winding down the length of his sex was in a word, mesmerizing. And when Bucky made that sound, that soft, pleading sound and Zemo stopped — his brow raised with such smug confidence— you wondered who would break first, you or Bucky. He’d quickly brought his hand up with one last tease, his fingers swirling around the curving head of Bucky’s member only to let go as though he’d lost interest.
Bucky’s groan was deep. He was beyond frustrated, but instead of breaking out of his restrains and fucking one of the two of you, he sat there just waiting to be punished for breaking rules in the first place.
He watches as you come and kneel before him, naked yourself as you’ve been told to be. He actually looks slightly scared but mostly curious. His erection is as always flawlessly pretty, arching up and back, smooth while perfectly veined and so inciting.
You only know what it is you’re meant to do to him because you’ve had it done to you before. You figure it’s very similar, only the mechanics are different because his is a man. If Zemo doesn’t approve, he’ll tell you.
The Baron in charge picks up his drink, the ice rattling as he takes a sip and lets the scene settle in his sights for a moment. He likes to see the two of you together, his two helpless things— his to play with and his to love.
“Begin.”
Bucky inhales, but you smile at him to show that it won’t hurt— it’ll just drive him mad.
First you take the little bottle of body oil from the floor and put some in your hands rubbing them together.
He raises his brow watching you and starts to relax thinking he might understand now. You take him in hand and start to stroke, you are after all very good at this. Over and over again, up and down his long, thick shaft, curving your hand over the head of his cock until he moans and rolls his eyes shut. When he opens them he does seem a bit confused by this sudden attention and he flashes a smile because it feels so good. If this is all that’s been planned, he could get used to this sort of punishment.
The room is quiet, there’s nothing but the soft hum of the ship, his breathing and the wonderfully obscene sound of the oil you’re using against his skin as you work faster…
It’s not long before you feel him stiffen and his breath grows quicker, his thighs flex, his hips raise an inch and he starts to moan softly, a staccato sound of pleasure that makes even your heart beat faster. He’s been waiting and suffering through so much you can feel the joy of release seeping into every inch of his body.
“You feel it happening?” Zemo asks softly. “The start, the pressure mounting? You see, she is very good. And she will get you there James, every time— right to the edge”
You yank your hand away and he jerks forward mouth open cock twitching with the start of an orgasm he will not have.
“To the edge” Zemo chuckles. “A cruel punishment for a greedy man who must learn to wait.”
Bucky quickly lifts his head, the realization flashing in his eyes as his chest rises and falls. He looks down at you.
You smile and reach for him again.
*
“Please” He begs breathless.
“Not yet” Zemo says leaning forward a bit in his seat, the drink in his hand all but forgotten. You notice the ice has long since melted as you wait for permission, watching over your shoulder.
He gives you a nod and you turn back to Bucky.
Wrapping your hand around him again, you feel him so solid he’s like stone. His thighs are flexed, his hips raise up in the chair as you begin to jerk your hand up and down and the light reflecting off the oil makes you both shine like gold.
He moans and you watch the muscles of his abs flex as he feels the orgasm coming on, helpless to it and your skilled hand.
“I’m going to come.” He groans sounding sorry for and drops his hips.
“No, you won’t. I did not say that you can” Zemo says like the villain behind you.
“I can’t it hold back” Bucky pants, his voice is thin he sounds like he very well might lose control and you feel him pulse in your palm. You twist your hand around sliding it down to the base thinking it might help hold him off if your focus is less near the collection of nerve endings.
Zemo stands and comes to you, tapping your shoulder. You let him go with a quick up and down and Bucky’s disappointment is the saddest thing you’ve ever heard.
When Zemo looks down at the wonderfully pitiful sight, Bucky shuts his eyes. “Yellow.” He whispers. “Please, yellow.”
“All right.” Zemo says kindly and gives his head a rub. “Rest”
“Thank you.” Bucky manages.
You stand not caring what Zemo says and kiss Bucky’s cheek.
“You okay?” You ask, your hand on his shoulder, lifting his chin to look at his face.
“Please… don’t, don’t touch me for a minute?” He asks and you give an embarrassed laugh understanding his request. You’re not exactly innocent in his torment.
“Of course I’m sorry I…” Your sentence is cut off.
Zemo has you by the back of your arms and pulls you tight against him. “You, not her.”
Bucky sighs dropping his head.
“I’m still confused. Is, this what you wanted?” He asks feigning ignorance though with you naked its clear what Zemo means.
Bucky won’t look.
“Answer me.”
“No, I mean— yes Baron.” He concedes.
You feel Zemo’s laugh along your neck. “You wouldn’t have been fast enough to finish before I found you. Well, maybe you, but not her. Tell me, how quickly can you make her come?”
“What?”
“How quickly?”
You shut your eyes as soon as you realize where this is going.
“I don’t know. I mean she always got there.” Bucky says sounding slightly self conscious.
Zemo smiles. “Two minutes. I can finish her off in just two.”
“Ha!” Bucky doesn’t believe him, who would.
Oh Bucky…
“Tell him it’s true.” Zemo leans towards you.
You nod glancing at them both. “He does this… thing.” You tell Bucky. “He works my spot and my clit at the same time and I come. Fast.” You say simply and totally helpless to it.
“It’s not always the most fun, rarely my first choice; but great when we’re in a hurry.” He shrugs and takes a knee before you even realize that he has. “Open your legs.” He says looking up at you.
Your eyes go wide, surprised to see him down and waiting with Bucky watching. Still, you part your thighs and wisely lay your hands on his shoulders knowing you won’t be able to stay upright without the support.
“This? Right James? This warm, tight, safe place? This is what you wanted?” Zemo asks, teasing Bucky with the way he slides his fingers between your velvet soft folds. You feel him turn his hand and his finger circles your entrance. He sighs and takes hold of your hip to keep you in place.
Two fingers slip inside and you hiss against the stretch, biting your lip as your head lolls to the side. You try to hold in the loudest of your noise but it’s hopeless.
The Baron starts to do his thing and you wonder if you might be able to deny him the pleasure of making you come in front of Bucky again, but just like always you end up gripping his shoulders to keep from falling as he does a perfect come hither with his two fingers as his thumb rubs with the perfect amount of pressure on your throbbing clitoris. He can’t resist and licks your peak for good measure until you hold your breath as he sucks sloppily and until you come on his hand and just as quickly as always. Your wild moaning is nearly feral but you could not care less. It makes you smile to hear him laugh softly so pleased with himself and you and your eyes shut as you pant, catching your breath.
Lowering your head, your eyes only half open, you both look over at Bucky who is glaring at the Baron.
“James.”
“Yes.”
“Stop breaking the rules.”
“Yes Baron.” He says giving in completely.
Zemo smiles and slowly pulls his fingers free from you, raising his hand just enough to show them so wet and sticky and glistening. He kisses your belly and looks up at you. “Go lie down.” He says rubbing your stomach, smoothing his hand over your soft tuft of hair. You’re still floating as you do, happy to go and rest and leave them to it.
“Would you like to come now?” You hear Zemo ask Bucky as he gets up and goes around the chair.
“Please.” Bucky whispers watching you sink down onto the bed on your side.
“I can finish you off just as quickly as I did her.”
“Yes. Please.” He begs through clenched teeth rising up again as if presenting himself to be relieved, the steady rush of blood to his lower half turning his cock a darker shade of desperate as it rises up like a tower ready to fall. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” He pants “I’m sorry I tried to fuck her. I’m sorry for breaking your rules. And I will do anything, please just… fuck. Please!”
Helmut leans down hushing him, pressing his face close to Bucky’s, grabbing him around the chest as his left hand comes reaching over his stomach promising an end to the day’s long torment.
He grips the soldiers gorgeous, endlessly taunted dick; your natural lubricant replacing the oil to help glide his fingers along.
When Zemo starts to work Bucky you can see through the look on his face that this is all he’s wanted to do for so long and you are reminded that this is as much the Baron’s discipline as it is yours— as it is Bucky’s.
Bucky makes a deep sound that gets your attention. His body flexes and you think he looks like a bomb ready to blow. A sexy, finely muscled, lightly tanned bomb with a look of pained excitement as his legs open and his jaw flexes.
“Are you mine James?” Zemo asks, his lips brushing his ear,
“Yes” He says pitifully raising his hips, thrusting once into the Baron’s hand just as Zemo lets go. A deep frown fixes between Bucky’s brows as he waits until Zemo grabs again and starts to perfectly stroke him.
Bucky’s mouth opens, his eyes fix on the incredibly hypnotic rhythm of Zemo’s hand.
“You’ve always been mine haven’t you?”
“Yes!” Bucky nearly shouts, his brows turned down with the exquisite anguish of the nearing release.
“Say it again,” Zemo demands, his right arm tight around Bucky, his eyes shut relishing in the control and the love, you listen to the wet rhythm as it gets faster.
“Yes.”
“Say it!”
“I’ve always been yours” Bucky moans loudly and glances over at you unable to keep your hand away from your pussy selfishly wanting to come again.
“Once more.” Helmut says opening his eyes. The muscle of his arm is flexed beautifully as he pounds.
Bucky moans so similarly to you that Helmut just smiles. He knows, he understands the hold he has over you both.
“I’m yours” Bucky manages and the Baron focuses his movement as if pulling the orgasm from Bucky’s body willing it to come forward. He jerks his hand up and away…but this time he’s finished the job.
He holds Bucky as the man cries out, his hips rising high this time, his cock pulsing with a tight up and down as he finally —god, finally— gives a high pitched groan with that first explosive release of come that shoots past his stomach and onto his own chest followed by equally satisfying spasms that send milky droplets flying free into the air and across his stomach onto Zemo’s arms; Bucky’s groaning and gasping near tears with the absolute exhaustion and relief of his well deserved climax, his moans and gasps of surprise so raw and unaffected.
By the time he lowers back down to the chair unable to do much more than sit there, limp and panting with his eyes closed, Helmut is holding him, caring nothing for the mess. He seems to love the sight of the pearlescent results of Bucky’s incredible orgasm as much as you do.
Smiling as he strokes Bucky’s hair, kissing his temple, he says with a tone only Helmut Zemo could manage at a moment like this, “You see. When you listen to me, I make it worth every second, every moment of torment. Yes?”
Bucky nods but it’s weak.
Zemo chuckles softly, kisses him again and reaches down easily undoing the ropes.
“Look at you both.” He says trying to sound angry, as if it’s not all his fault. “You can’t come to dinner like this. I’ll run a bath.”
He leaves Bucky and comes to the bed bending over you, his hand so sticky from the combination is heavy on your belly as he kisses your lips. “Hows your ass?” He asks.
“Still on fire.” You say and he winks as he rises.
“Good."
*
“You’re pretty quiet over there.” Bucky says splashing you from across the large tub. You’ve both been in for a while now after Zemo took a quick shower and left you alone letting you know he’d be up waiting at the dinner table.
Roused from your daydream but still not sure you want to talk about why you’re so quiet, you glance over and shrug.
“Whats wrong? You’re not mad about what happened are you?” Bucky asks sliding a little closer. The tub is surprisingly big in an already large bathroom and yet again you wonder how you’ll return to real life when this all ends.
“What happened?” You ask him.
“Getting you in trouble? He really put a shine on your backside.” Bucky says, a smile breaking through any attempt at being serious.
You sit up surprised to hear that’s what he thinks it could be. “Ha! No. Not at all. That was amazing… god” You tip your head back, the image of Bucky, naked and tired to a chair with Zemo holding him and whispering in his ear will be seared into your mind for life. “I didn’t know you could come that much.” You say, slowly looking back down at him,trying not to giggle.
“Neither did I.” He says practically blushing before he grins. “Same goes for you.” He tosses right back.
You laugh and roll your eyes. “Okay well we both know he’s capable of turning us into sex crazed idiots apparently.” You say with a cheeky grin and Bucky laughs shaking his head with a sigh.
“What is it? Some Sokovian spell or something, magic from the old world?” Bucky says with a thick accent wiggling his wet soapy fingers in the air.
Laughing you scrunch your nose. “Nah, that’s all him. Just wait until you’ve been around him long enough to get to the good stuff.”
“The good stuff!” He looks shocked “Well what the hell is all this!”
“This is amazing, but it not… well it’s not him. Theres so much more than sex. Watching tv. Eating dinner in bed. Naps— once he read to me.” You say with a sigh and the room goes silent as you both slip into a day dream laced with Helmuts beautiful voice surrounding you as he reads the classics on a warm summer night…
“You think he sits around daydreaming about us like this?” Bucky asks with a frown. “I worry sometimes.”
“Really?” You ask looking into his big blue eyes. Hundred years old and still so sweet. “Of course he does. Bucky, he wouldn’t have done any of this if he didn’t spend as much time thinking of us as we do him. Don’t be so naive”
He nods looking out the window and you know he’s just out of practice. He probably had a swarm of girls around him back when his life was normal. Maybe even a secret guy. But how long ago had that been. And since he’d been released from the words, his only real time spent with anyone has been with the two of you. For a moment you wonder if that’s fair. He should go out on dates or something, but then again you did try to get him on some apps. He hated them all. Women swiped right like it was their job of course, but he thought it was strange and wanted to meet them the old fashioned way but when he did he could only focus on what he didn’t like and just compared them to you— and Zemo.
“Hey.” You get his attention again. “I mean it, I’m really not upset about anything that happened earlier. Thanks for being such a rule breaker.” You say with a wink.
“No problem” He laughs as if that was his intention. Bucky’s expression softens as he sits back, the water rocking under the bubbles.
Bubbles. Talk about a diva, is anyone is on this big ass boat it’s him. Two adults having a bath drawn from them; why not throw in the bubbles. You roll your eyes ignoring the way your chest gets tight with the feel of being so adored and loving every second of his over the top ways and focus on Bucky who looks stunning in the bath— your heart sinking just a little.
“So what is it?” He asks unaware of your many distractions.
You look back to the window staring up at the sky for a while. “I’m just… sad.” You say giving in to the truth “I mean, I’m thrilled being here. But I’ve had this idea that I could talk you into staying with us. I keep imagining this life with you and Helmut and I know it can’t happen for so many reasons but I’m stubborn and spoiled. I truly hate not getting my way. So I keep thinking, maybe.”
He goes quiet now understanding, and then you feel his hand on your knee under the water. “I know. I’ve thought about it too. Maybe a little too much. Definitely enough that I’ve almost convinced myself it could work, but no. It just wouldn’t.”
You press your lips hesitant to say in case you might offend him but decide to just go for it. “And you’re sure it’s not just that you miss it? Saving the world and everything? I mean, I can see how it would be appealing— from controlled killer to stoic hero.” You tease gently, wiggling your brows up and down until he laughs a little, probably more annoyed than you’d like, and whatever facade you’d put on crumbles. The look of heartbreak turns your brows down, twisting your face with the agony of losing him. He looks surprised to see you so broken about it and finds your hand through the water.
“Hey hey hey.” He pulls but you’re not in the mood to be comforted. Bucky hates when you don’t let him coddle you, but he knows better than to fight it so he simply answers your question. “Yes.Well. No I mean, it’s nice. But honestly, if you really want to know, I could get used to being domesticated.” He shrugs letting go of your hand as he looks towards the shower where Zemo was and you swallow the tears that have been overpowered by your intrigue.
Managing a laugh at his expense you poke his arm on the rim of the tub. “Really? By me or Helmut?” You ask and swear you see him blush.
“You’ve already proven you can turn me into a homebody, and happy to be there, so —Maybe both?” He shrugs and there is such a tone of possibility in his statement that you’re instantly transported into a world in which the three of you are living happily. Maybe in this Mediterranean paradise, you’ve just come home from the market with ingredients for a dinner that Bucky has asked you to pick up and you help him cook while music blasts in your small but bright kitchen and you dance around until the house smells delicious and you set the table, flirting and toying with one another until everything looks beautiful before rushing to sit just as your Baron comes through the door…
Even here and now sitting in the tub with you, Bucky looks like the sweetest house husband glowing a soft gold in the light of the sun. What you wouldn’t give to be his forever. His his and hers, you think and your chin quivers with the threat of happy miserable tears.
Bucky isn’t oblivious to your hurting but he’s trying to keep strong, he can’t give in to you, not this time. “We’ll never know if I stick around.” He says and your little vision fades “I think I’ve got one visit, maybe two in me before someone notices an avenger hanging around their town and his cover is blown. You don’t want that. I don’t want that. I’d never forgive myself."
“I know.” You say and only realize that your head is down when his hand, which is covered in white bubbles reaches to lift your chin.
“Hey, come one. None of that. We’ve only got a little bit of time. I just want to make the most of it. Give me enough good memories to finally forget about whats left of the bad.”
You smile and nod, blowing the bubbles away before they go up your nose. “Fine.” You sigh and look back out the window hugging your knees. “Buck, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He says only cringing a little when you call him Buck.
“Do you think you might ever love him?”
Bucky freezes. He looks— odd. Uncomfortable. Exposed? You realize very quickly that he already does, even if he’s not aware of it and decide not to push him
“It’s okay. I was just curious.” You say and try to calm him with your smile “We come from very different worlds. Letting myself love a man like Helmut Zemo took little to no effort for me, for you— I know why it might come as a shock. But I think you’ll find, when you do admit it to yourself and to him, he might just surprise you with how quickly he says it back.”
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babyboibucky · 3 years
Text
Babysitting Bucky - Part 5
Pairing: FATWS!Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 2,368
Summary: You’ve been assigned by the government to keep an eye on the Winter Soldier to ensure that he was no longer a threat to the world.
A/N: It has begun lmfao, check out the link at the end of this post if you’d like to be tagged in the next updates! Would love to receive feedbacks! 
MASTERLIST
-
You found yourself in the conference room of the Avengers compound, together with Sam, Bucky, Sharon and Fury discussing about an upcoming mission.
Sharon went over the brief of the mission with everyone. There was an intel about a certain drug cartel that decided to expand their business and venture into the trade of biological weapons as well. Grabbing the folder on the desk, you skimmed through the information and frowned when your eyes landed on a familiar name.
“Black Sparrow? I thought the entire organization was taken down during the raid years ago?” You asked.
Bucky turned to you, “You know these guys?”
“One of my first missions, I was the assigned liaison officer to check up on the whistleblower who was placed under the witness protection program.” You explained.
Sharon sighed, “Apparently, not everyone was imprisoned. Whoever decided to keep the organization going, we have no idea.”
The mission required all of you to find out about the illegal trades. There wasn’t much information provided, except for the tip that an important trade might be taking place soon.
“Black Sparrow’s nest is said to be hidden within a fruit shop downtown.” Sharon added.
Fury let Sam takeover the strategizing, with him deciding to do a stakeout to see how the organization operates. Once the trade takes place, raid the nest, find out the other groups involved and most importantly the source of biological weapons.
“You up for a stakeout, Buck?” Sam asked.
Bucky shrugged and glanced at you, “Only if the babysitter agrees to do so.”
You let out an exasperated breath, “Mister Barnes, I would appreciate it if you’d address me properly.” You scolded.
Sam cleared his throat, “Alright. Sharon and I will try to research on the potential groups involved in the trades. Stakeout starts tonight so pack your things.”
-
All your things have been packed and you were about to leave your room when you received a call from none other than Secretary Ross.
“Ugh, what does he want now?” You complained to yourself before accepting the call.
“I heard about the stakeout, Agent. Isn’t it convenient?”
You rolled your eyes; the secretary’s voice was too chirpy, as if he was excited. He was definitely up to something, what it was, you still didn’t know. Something about the mission you were tasked to do was off. They didn’t even tell you for how long you needed to tag along the Winter Soldier.
“Yes, sir. I will make sure to keep an eye on the subject and report whatever it is that I find out of place.” You reassured, hoping that the secretary would simply hum in agreement and end the call.
“Good. But wouldn’t it be better if you stir things up a bit?” He asked.
You frowned, “I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”
Secretary Ross chuckled, “Push his buttons, Agent. See how he reacts to certain triggers.”
God, he really wants you to dig some dirt on Bucky. You were supposed to tell him that you already tried doing so and that nothing bad happened, but the Secretary reminded you that he wanted to see a detailed report about it and ended the call.
You didn’t want to push Bucky’s buttons anymore. Bringing up the Soldat seemed too much already and he had already proven how much in control he was of himself. However, you felt conflicted as well since you needed to file a report. You could easily fake it though, but you were afraid that the secretary might have eyes and ears lurking around.
You were too deep into your thoughts, almost losing track of the time. Thankfully, FRIDAY interrupted and informed you that Bucky and Sam were already outside the compound, waiting for you.
-
“You’re eight minutes late, Agent.” Sam reprimanded as you approached them.
“Did you have a hard time packing Bucky’s diapers and feeding bottles?” He teased.
Bucky grunted in dismay, “Jesus, Sam.”
“Sorry, had to take a phone call from the secretary.” You responded and began placing your things inside the trunk of the car.
Bucky stiffened at the mention of Secretary Ross, his hands tightened into fists at his side. You eyed his stance and noticed that he seemed uncomfortable. Who wouldn’t be if the government had their eyes on you?
“Nothing to worry about, Mister Barnes. You’re all good. I made sure of that.” You told him reassuringly before sliding into the passenger’s seat.
Bucky drove to the stakeout location with an uncomfortable silence in the air with the occassional directions coming from the GPS. You were slightly nervous about being on a week-long stakeout. It wasn’t because you were afraid of Bucky, but being with him by yourself was intimidating.
Seven days with the Winter Soldier. With no one else around.
You and the Winter Soldier. On a stakeout. For an entire week.
The more you thought about it, the more it was beginning to sink in. You’ve had your fair share of stakeouts in the past, but you were either by yourself or paired someone you closely worked with. But a stakeout with Bucky Barnes? How the fuck were you going to keep calm the entire week and maintain your calm persona?
“So...” Bucky trailed, tone unsure as if he too was uncomfortable with the silence and decided to break it but not knowing how to proceed.
“Do you want to turn on the radio?” He asked and cleared his throat, keeping his gaze on the road.
You looked out the window, “Yeah, why not.” You said with faux nonchalance.
Bucky quickly turned it on and adjusted the volume. He skimmed through various radio stations before settling on one.
Despite having the radio playing in the background, the atmosphere between you and Bucky remained awkward and uncomfortable. You could tell that Bucky could feel it too, so you decided to start a conversation.
“How has it been being an Avenger?”
You didn’t know why you chose that question, but it was the first thing that popped into your mind.
Bucky let out a soft chuckle, “Is that part of your research on me or are you actually trying to start a conversation?” He asked, glancing at you with amusement.
“You know what, forget about it, Mister Barnes.” You waved off.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was genuinely curious.” He sheepishly responded, “But to answer your question, it’s been...weird so to speak. Especially having someone watch my every move.”
You shrugged, “Well, I apologize but I don’t have a choice. This is my job and I have to—“
“I know, Agent. You don’t need to explain, I completely understand. I’m really trying not to make it hard for you to do your job.” He explained.
You were actually surprised at how easy it was to talk to Bucky. You were expecting him to be completely broody and tight-lipped, considering all the things he went through. There were times when he’d be moody of course, but for the most part, he was friendly. And very kind.
“Well then I appreciate it, Mister Barnes.” You stated.
Bucky let out a breathy laugh, “I’m still looking forward to the day when you’d call me, Bucky.” He said and gave you a smile.
You felt your face heat up from the way he smiled at you and how his eyes crinkled at the sides. He almost looked the same as he did in his photos dated back to the 40’s, when he was oozing with that boyish charm and innocence before he was drafted for the war.
You immediately looked away and bit your lip.
-
The two of you arrived at the cheap motel that was situated a few blocks away from the fruit shop. The building was old and almost looked dilapidated. It was known to be the number one spot for illegal transactions. It was the perfect place for a stakeout.
“The old lady at the reception seemed suspicious of us, I saw how she eyed the both of us when we checked in.” You said upon entering the motel room, groaning at the stench that welcomed your nostrils.
Obviously, the room was far from decent given the quality of the motel itself. There were two beds separated by a night desk and a small coffee table; the cream curtains were splotchy and dusty, some parts of the wallpaper were torn apart and the flooring creaked with every single step.
“I think she was merely judging us, thinking we’re one of those couples.” Bucky said as he placed his bags on the bed.
“Those couples?” You asked, walking over to the other bed and inspecting the bedding.
“Well, I heard this motel is a popular location for shooting x-rated videos.” Bucky explained casually as he walked towards the window, pushing the curtains aside, revealing the perfect view of Black Sparrow’s nest.
You almost choke on your own spit, “You mean to say...that old lady thought we were going to shoot porn?!”
Bucky hummed, “Maybe. It’s probably for the best, that way we’ll remain unsuspicious. Less chances of being interrupted as well.” he replied casually, as if it was no big deal but you also noticed that the corner of his lips curved into a slight smirk.
Clearing your throat, you regained your composure and went to unpack your things instead, starting with some of the weapons you brought. A stakeout often resulted to a raid so you had to make sure that you were prepared in case of an attack. Bucky moved away from the window and closed the curtains again before sitting on his bed.
“Those all yours?” he asked with interest as he watched you arrange your knives and guns on top of your bed.
You glanced at him for a quick second and saw the glint in his eyes as he observed your arsenal, you just hummed in response and started cleaning your guns while Bucky watched in silence.
“When we sparred...” he trailed and you froze, expecting him to confront you when you brought up the Soldat to trigger him.
“You used Romanoff’s technique. Where did you learn that?” he asked.
You shrugged, “Mister Barnes, it’s not that hard to learn that move. I’m just as trained as you and Mister Wilson, I know a lot of moves.” you explained but Bucky didn’t seem to buy it.
“It’s actually kinda hard to execute that move. Not a lot of trained agents can do that easily.” he pressed.
You pursed your lips before looking up at him, “Sounds to me like you’re trying to compliment my skills, Mister Barnes.”
Bucky ended up letting go of the topic.
-
The first few hours of the stakeout was uneventful; you and Bucky simply kept watch to see whether there were suspicious movements in the fruit shop. It seemed to be a regular fruit shop but there were certain people walking in and out of it that looked pretty shady.
This was going to be a difficult task.
There were small conversations between you and Bucky, mostly formal and about the mission. Everything seemed to be going well but you knew that the longer the both of you would stakeout together, the more it was going to be uncomfortable. You figured that you’d cross that bridge when you get there.
It was past six when you felt a pang of hunger; the last time you had a meal was during lunch. You needed to get food before your stomach could even embarrass you in front of Bucky who remained staring out of the window, keeping watch.
“I’m getting us food for dinner, would you like anything?” you asked.
Bucky shook his head, “Anything is fine.” he offered a small smile.
You left the motel and thankfully, there was a nearby Mcdonald’s a couple blocks away. On your way back, you decided to casually pass by the fruit shop to get a closer look. You didn’t want to linger around but you did notice that there were certain people who kept on going in and out of the store throughout the day. You rushed back to your room to inform Bucky about it and upon stepping inside, you were welcomed by the sight of the Winter Soldier fresh out of the shower wearing only a towel that was wrapped around his waist while he was drying his hair with another towel.
Your eyes immediately zoomed in on the droplets of water that was running from Bucky’s neck down to his pecs, sliding lower to his chiseled abs. Your eyes remained on his abdomen, even when the water had disappeared into the towel around his waist. By the time you snapped out of your trance, you shifted your gaze back to Bucky’s face hoping that he didn’t catch you staring at his body.
Oh, but it was too late because your eyes were immediately met by a pair of baby blues.
“I...b-bought...” you stammered and wanted to slap yourself for sounding like an idiot. “...dinner from uh...Burger King.” you continued, unable to look away from Bucky’s piercing gaze.
“Mcdonald’s.” he said.
“What?”
“You bought from Mcdonald’s...not Burger King.” Bucky corrected you, pointing towards the brown paper bag in your hands.
You coughed and finally managed to look away from Bucky’s half-naked figure, “Yes, I meant Mcdonald’s. Sorry.” you softly said and pre-occupied yourself by taking out the food from the paper bag and placing them on the small table.
As you focused your attention on arranging the food on the desk, you felt Bucky hover behind you. His bare chest slightly pressing against your back as he reached for the french fries that was still inside the paper bag. You stood still and tried to keep your cool despite the closeness between you and Bucky. He pulled away just as quickly and grinned when you looked back at him with a frown.
“You smell good, Agent.” he said before grabbing his clothes from his bed and walking back into the bathroom to get dressed.
You blinked a couple of times before you realized what had just happened.
“Fuck!” you whispered under your breath.
This was going to be one hell of a stakeout.
-
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anghraine · 3 years
Text
Consolidating (...at considerable length) some of the ideas from the Denethor+Faramir vs most Silm Elves discussion:
A. The basic issue is this: Tolkien depicts or references Denethor’s and Faramir’s special Númenórean abilities (non-exhaustively listed here and discussed here) virtually every time either one of them appears. And some of these abilities seem like they would have been awfully useful to the Elves of the Silmarillion, but for some reason, weren’t actually used by them.
The most notable has to do with lies and deception. Gandalf says it is difficult to deceive Denethor and “dangerous” to try—a statement backed up by Faramir’s interactions with Gollum in TTT, when Gollum squealed in pain when he tried to lie to Faramir, and was unable to wholly prevent Faramir from seeing information “in his mind.” It is clear in the Silm, however, that a good number of Elves can be deceived without setting off similar abilities, with a few exceptions like Galadriel.
So I’ve been wondering why that is, based mostly on LOTR.
B. There is, of course, the potential meta-reason that some of these specific abilities would probably break the plot of the Silmarillion, which is packed full of Elves, while nearly full-throttle Númenóreans like Faramir and Denethor are quite rare in LOTR, only show up infrequently apart from Aragorn, and are thus much less disruptive to the narrative as a whole. But that doesn’t explain anything in-story.
Various ideas came up in the general discussion, but I think they can be roughly divided into two types:
1. Most Elves don’t use these abilities because they choose not to, or
2. Most Elves don’t use these abilities because they don’t have them.
Under #1, it’s possible that Elves prefer not to use these kinds of powers for their own Elvish reasons. It may be that many of them simply don’t care for intrusive telepathy and similar abilities. It may be that there are taboos and protocols around it that fade by the Third Age, especially the later Third Age, but are very much in effect earlier on.
But the underlying assumption here is that they could have used the same abilities if they had chosen to do so, but are not (by and large). One of the questions that arises here is if all abilities of this kind have to be deliberately ‘activated’ to work, or if they naturally just happen and will only stop if controlled or repressed. If it’s the latter case and there are actual methods of control, it may be that Denethor and Faramir never fully turn off their abilities because they don’t know how. Who was going to tell them?
The Faramir-Gollum scenes might support this. Faramir is certainly trying to extract information from Gollum, but it doesn’t seem at all probable that he would deliberately inflict pain on him. It’s possible that some of this is just part of his being as far as he knows. 
Meanwhile, there are also several possibilities involving #2. I think this one is, on the face of it, more difficult to accept (not-quite-full Númenóreans with greater powers than many Elves? bzuh?). But there are probably some ways it could work.
The first is relatively simple. It’s clear that Elves (like Númenóreans!) have different ranges and clusters of ability. An Elf being very powerful doesn’t mean they can do ALL THE THINGS. It means they’re very powerful at the things that they do (which might be many!). And there are some abilities that are very widespread, and some that seem to be less so. It may be that deception detection in particular is something that’s fairly uncommon among Elves as a strong ability. It’s not 100% assured that any given Elf has all the abilities of any given Númenórean.
The second possibility is a little more complicated. LOTR and Middle-earth generally (but esp LOTR) don’t operate on a hard magic system with clearly-defined rules. Galadriel points this out, and that the hobbits aren’t really distinguishing Elvish “magic” from Sauron’s “magic,” but they are in reality very different things. Elvish abilities are byproducts of their inner selves. Even outside of LOTR, Fëanor’s abilities (for instance) are inextricably tied up with his fiery spirit. The link between spirit or will or disposition and outwards ability is much stronger with Elves than with the other peoples of Middle-earth. 
So it would still be the case that Elves aren’t doing some of these because they can’t—but it wouldn’t be a matter of power or arbitrary talent, but because of their underlying characteristics. It may be that things like what we see Denethor and Faramir doing require a temperament that most Elves don’t have (but Galadriel does, lol). 
In that case, I would then wonder if Denethor’s and Faramir’s abilities are outgrowths of their dispositions. Their abilities seem to revolve around gathering information and commanding others; they’re described as “commanding” and they love information, so it makes sense that that’s how their abilities would manifest. Then again, it may be that Númenórean powers, though similar to some Elvish ones in outcome, operate differently.
Tolkien comes up with several ideas for where Númenórean specialness comes from in general. In some places, it was Númenor itself that changed them, and their decay in Middle-earth comes mainly from the loss of Númenor. In some places, their gifts have to do with their mode of living and thinking. In some places, it seems to be entirely hereditary; things run in particular families (like the kingly healing of Elendil’s heirs) and are reinforced by ~pure blood (um). And sometimes it seems like their gifts are, at least in part, literal gifts from the Valar which are gradually being withdrawn by the end of the Third Age. Or some combination thereof.
Regardless, the ancestors of the Dúnedain did not come by their abilities naturally. Either directly or indirectly, their size, their lifespans, their craftsmanship, their mental abilities, and more were given to them by other powers. Perhaps Elvish powers were the template for Númenórean powers, but it doesn’t work the same because Númenórean powers are ultimately coming from a divine source. That might even be why Denethor and Faramir are associated with wizards (i.e. Maiar) much more than Elves, which is pretty astonishing on the face of it. I mean:
“Ah well, sir,” said Sam, “you [Faramir] said my master had an elvish air; and that was good and true. But I can say this: you have an air too, sir, that reminds me of, of—well, Gandalf, of wizards.”
He [Denethor] turned his dark eyes on Gandalf, and now Pippin saw a likeness between the two, and he felt the strain between them, almost as if he saw a line of smouldering fire drawn from eye to eye.
???????????????????????????
The first quote is particularly interesting because it contrasts Faramir’s wizardliness with Frodo’s elvishness, as if those things are not quite the same, though Faramir is also briefly associated with Elves later on.
There’s also the issue of Elros; it seems extremely probable that most Númenóreans are descended from Elros at this point (in fact, multiple times over). The Stewards are explicitly so in multiple drafts of the Appendices. While it’s so remote that it wouldn’t make a difference in most cases, maybe part of what goes on with Númenóreans is that some of them inherit a fraction of Elros’s abilities, which ultimately derive from Elves, Edain, and a Maia. Maybe all these Númenórean-??wizardly??? types cropping up in time to fight Sauron is a sort of last hurrah for Melian’s blood among the Dúnedain, and what we see in Denethor and Faramir is the share they got. 
Or not!
Anyway, this is a lot, and it’s not like the possibilities are even mutually exclusive, so maybe two or more are all operating at once, to make things even more complicated. Or maybe something altogether different is. But I think this is everything that’s come up so far wrt the (inverted?) disparity between Númenóreans and most Elves. 
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indiaalphawhiskey · 3 years
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I respectfully disagree with your last post (as an author). I’ve been in this fandom for 6 years and noticed it’s a little bit toxic when it comes to certain issues that should be normal and obvious to anyone.
I don’t get the “I choose the people I want to take criticism from” part. Ok, so why posting your work on a public page for independent writers where every subscriber will be able to read it and comment on it? Just send it to the people whose opinion matters to you and have a discussion about your work with them. If you post your work on a public page made specifically for independent writers, you are automatically posting it for everyone on that site. And every person has opinions on things and feels invited to express it if that particular thing is public and comments are open (I’m talking about respectful opinions, not slurs and offending someone).
If it was only for you and the people you actually want to get feedback from then wouldn’t it be easier to create an “élite” group where you read your work and then discuss it together? Because your post sends a very negative and exclusionary message to people that are reading your work for the first time or without knowing you as an author. It really seems like you are saying “dear readers, your opinion doesn’t matter to me so unless it’s positive I don’t want to hear it because this fanfic was written for me and this list of people.” Then don’t post it. But why making people feel excluded or bad because they did something normal just because they didn’t know it wasn’t written “for them” as you said in your post. And constructive criticism is just an opinion too as long as it doesn’t contain vulgarities, you don’t have to listen to it. Other’s opinion shouldn’t change the way you feel about your work but you also shouldn’t make them feel uncomfortable and bad for expressing it in a respectful way on a public page.
I know that authors on AO3 aren’t paid and that’s just for fun, but that’s what every page like AO3 is about: putting your work out there for other people to read with the possibility to express their personal opinion in a respectful way (I mean, you CAN disable the comments). Why making it public and then complaining and making other people feel bad for expressing their opinion on it? It’s not a diary or a personal Instagram profile.
So, first off, thank you for saying you respectfully disagree with me. I appreciate that you’re trying to be polite. 
There are many different ways I can answer this ask, because there’s a lot to discuss here, however, I’m exhausted by this conversation and have tackled it many times before, so I’ll link things when I see fit and get straight to the point.
My question for you is this: What is the purpose of you posting negative  (even though well-worded, polite, and tactful) unsolicited comments on a person’s fanfic? Why do you do it?
That’s not a rhetorical question, I really want you to think about the answer, because, for something to be called “constructive criticism” (which is specifically what we’re discussing here, versus the opposite “destructive” criticism) there has to be a point beyond just the fact that “it’s a public forum” and therefore, you feel entitled to express your opinion, whatever it may be. (That reasoning, btw, is called entitlement. No one said you weren’t allowed to have an opinion, but if you’re saying it to the author with no constructive, bettering purpose behind it, then at worst, your intent is to hurt them, which is just mean, no matter how politely you word it, and at best, you’re saying your opinions and preference take precedent over the author’s own.)
There are three reasons that I assume one can have when posting constructive criticism on work/art:
1. You want to help make them be a better writer, both now and in the future. 
I, and other fellow authors, explain why this doesn’t work here and here, and there are more posts about it like this one, if you need to hear it from voices that are not from the Larry fandom (which I assume you do, since you said this is a little bit toxic here particularly.) 
I encourage you to read all those posts, to get a better explanation in context, but the gist of them is this: for something to be truly constructive (synonym: helpful), the source, the timing, and the tact is key. Let me demonstrate: There is a difference between telling a friend while shopping, “I wouldn’t buy that dress, it’s not the most flattering on you,” and saying, while you’re out at a club, “Oh, that dress isn’t the most flattering on you, I wouldn’t wear it again.” -- Both are honest, worded politely, and both will achieve the same outcome: she will not wear the dress again -- but only one of them will cause undue stress, embarrassment, and self-consciousness (under the guise of being helpful), and that is all due to tact and timing. At the store, she can change into something else, and won’t assume you think she looks awful the entire day while you’re out. At the club, the damage is done, there is nothing she can do to change it, and you’ve just ruined her night.
The same goes for writing. I have seen people gracefully and willingly rewrite their entire first drafts based on astute and even harsh comments on their work, by their betas. I have never seen someone take down a fic and edit it based on a piece of constructive criticism given by a stranger on AO3. What I have seen based on that scenario, is people taking that criticism to heart and reflecting on whether or not they ever want to write again, because when they made themselves vulnerable, some people looked at it as an opportunity to ask for what would cater best to their own tastes, instead of appreciating the work as a true product of the author’s personal feelings and experiences. That results in less writers for the fandom, less content, and a whole lot of undue discouragement which is not something we want (nor is it actually constructive).
2. You want to engage the author in a deeper discussion of their work.
This is in direct answer to this part of your ask:
It really seems like you are saying “dear readers, your opinion doesn’t matter to me so unless it’s positive I don’t want to hear it because this fanfic was written for me and this list of people.”
You feel passionate (both positively and negatively) about my work? That’s lovely. I say, start a discussion with me. Ask me questions. Learn why I made those decisions. A discussion starts with an invitation to have a conversation (two ways, you say something, I say something, rinse repeat). It doesn’t start with “I didn’t like” or “This could have been better if”, and it certainly doesn’t start in a public forum, like the comments on AO3, where the writer runs the risk of looking like a defensive asshole. 
But India, you say, what if I don’t have the means to have a private conversation/the writer doesn’t have tumblr/they’ve long since been inactive in the fandom? The answers are, respectively: leave a polite comment asking if they’re willing to discuss, if they are willing to discuss, leave a polite comment asking how to contact them, and if they’re no longer active, find other friends with which to discuss your feelings in private.
But India, that seems like so much work. It is, flat out. But if you really felt that strongly about something I wrote, you would make that effort to understand it. Otherwise, why not just walk away?
3. You don’t know better.
I found this part of your ask extremely interesting:
“But why making people feel excluded or bad because they did something normal just because they didn’t know it wasn’t written “for them” as you said in your post.”
The reason I found it interesting is because it means that there are people who assume that all work that is public was made for them, to suit their tastes, which is, frankly, a bizarre way to consume art. I do not go into The Louvre, look at the Mona Lisa and say “I don’t see the hype, it’s not something I would hang in my living room.” I look at it and think “What does this piece say about Da Vinci and his life? What has this brought to the world? How has this helped people/art/culture?”
(No, I am in no way comparing my talents to Da Vinci, I am not delusional. But, I don’t think my work deserves any less thought than that of a professional artist, simply because I’m an amateur and it’s on the internet and not in a gallery, and you have the superpower of anonymity.) You asked me what the point was in posting my work publicly if I didn’t want to hear every single person’s personal (negative) take on it, and the answer is this: I post what I write publicly, because I hope it helps someone. I hope my thoughts, feelings, experiences, loneliness validate someone, entertain them, help them through a tough time, bring them comfort. I post because I want to invite people to lose themselves alongside me, heal alongside me, dream alongside me. 
(Notice how I said “someone” and not “everyone”. How I said “someone” and not “an élite group that discusses my work”, because yes, I do hope that my work positively impacts someone outside of my betas, my friend group. Does that mean someone can leave negative comments on my work? Yes. But should they? That’s a different question.)
I know my work won’t be a positive experience for every single person, but my goal was never to be relevant to every single person. So, my question is, if I’m not relevant to you personally -- if my work doesn’t touch you personally, heal you personally, entertain you personally, why not just walk away and find something that does? Who does your negative opinion really help? How is it constructive? What is its purpose? Why do you do it?
I will apologize for this, though: I spoke on behalf of all writers, and maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have been clear that though many writers feel this way, not all do. There are some, such as, I assume, yourself, who do view negative comments on AO3 as constructive, whether or not they are solicited, and I’m sorry to have spoken on behalf of you. However, I do still stand by this, though: it is much better to be kind than be right, and that definitely goes for comments on fic.
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I’d love to hear your thoughts on the Irish-ness of Dracula, if you wanna ramble about it!
(Okay I just want to apologise for how long this took to answer because I know it’s been sitting in my inbox for over a month but..depression and work happened and I just didn’t have the time or energy to complete it. I seriously do apologise for this but I hope you enjoy the post anyway!)
So the first thing I need to clear up is this: the concept of a monster or a demon that feeds upon the life force of humans is not limited to one singular culture or folklore. In fact, this core concept is a wider cultural phenomenon and variations of it exist across both countries and continents. And no one country can take sole credit for the this core concept of vampires. Anyone who tries to claim otherwise either doesn’t know much about vampires or is intentionally being disingenuous. There can be cultural variations that are specific to certain folklores (and to just blatantly steal these would be cultural appropriation), but the main idea of vampires exists across a wide range of folklores and no singular person, group of people or culture can take credit for the creation of vampires.
However, arguably it was the work of Bram Stoker that aided in the solidification of the concept of Vampires that we know today. While there were other authors from a wide range of nationalities who wrote about Vampires before Stoker (including John William Polidori who wrote the Vampyre in 1819)...Dracula is the best known. (Now I personally believe that’s because Dracula is an absolutely banging novel, although I do concede that the prevalence of adaptations of Dracula from the 1920’s to today helps keep Dracula in the forefront of audiences minds.) In addition, it’s important to remember that Stoker was inspired by another Irish author Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, who wrote the novel Carmilla. As far as I know, Le Fanu and Stoker actually worked together on a magazine!
Another thing I think that needs clarification is the common belief that Stoker heavily/religiously based Dracula on the historical figure Vlad the Impailer. This is heavily debated by scholars. While there’s an obvious, undeniable similarity between the names of these two...the similarities start to wain after this, with only small similarities between the two and there’s even literal contradictions between the history of Vlad the Impailer and Dracula’s history in the novel. In fact, there’s not much indication that Stoker based the character Dracula off Vlad the Impailer, or even that he had a working knowledge of Vlad the Impailer beyond the name. In all 124 pages of his notes, there’s nothing to indicate that Stoker’s inspiration for Dracula came from Vlad the Impailer.
(Plus Dracula in the novel wasn’t even originally called Dracula...he was called Count Wampyr in the original drafts of the novel and this was only changed, from what I can gather, in the last couple of drafts.)
In fact, I’d personally argue that that connection between Vlad the Impailer and Dracula is actually something that’s been retroactively added by other artists, for example the 1992 film “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” heavily leaned into this idea that Dracula and Vald the Impailer were one in the same, and as time has progressed people assume that these elements were in the original novel when that’s simply untrue! Stoker didn’t write that! It’s a retroactive addition by other artists that’s just assumed by the masses to be canon. This phenomenon is actually super interesting and it’s absolutely not limited to Stoker’s novel Dracula/the modern day perception of Dracula (another example would be Mary Shelley’s version of Frankenstein versus the modern day perception Frankenstein). I’m not sure if there’s a word for what this is, but I like the term “cultural canon”, where something that’s been added in by other artists has become as good as canon within the minds of the masses and as such is ingrained within the cultural perception of something, despite it having no basis within the original piece or even directly contradicting what is in canon.
(Now I’ll absolutely concede that Stoker taking the name of a historical figure and possibly their likeness from another country and making them into a literal monster is something that should be discussed. I don’t know how Vlad the Impailer is viewed within Romania - whether he’s viewed positively or negatively or a mixture - but regardless he was a historical figure and Stoker did eventually use that name for his own creative purposes. Again, Stoker didn’t say that Dracula and Vlad the Impailer were the same person, that’s other artists doing, but there’s still issues with Stoker that needs to be discussed)
Now, I’ve seen people talk about how Stoker took a lot of inspiration from the Baltic folklore surrounding vampires for his novel, but I don’t really know this folklore very well and therefore I don’t feel like I’m qualified to discuss it. If anyone is more well versed in this topic wants to add to this post then they’re more than welcome to! I don’t deny that Stoker too inspiration from places other than Ireland (like the novel is set in Whitby) but I just feel like people over hype the relation between stokers Dracula and Vlad the Impailer.
Now, onto the Irish mythology side!
So the most obvious inspiration for Dracula comes from the story of Abhartach. here is a link to an actual, respectable retelling of the story of Abhartach which I’d highly recommend people read (it’s really not that long) but the key points go as follows:
There was this Irish chieftain called Abhartach, who was really cruel and the townsfolk didn’t really like him. So, the townsfolk and another cheiftain (known as Cathain) banded together to kill Abhartach. They did succeed in killing him (yay), however, Abhartach just sort of...rose from the dead and began another reign of terror (not yay). However, Abhartach needed to be sustained by blood and required a bowlful every day to sustain his energy. Cathain comes back and kills Abhartach once again, but Abhartach rises from the dead once more and now needs more blood. Abhartach is only banished when Cathain uses a word made from yew wood and wounds Abhartach with it. Abhartach is buried upside down with a grant stone over the grave to stop Abhartach rising once again.
Sound familiar? The similarities between Abhartach and Dracula are undeniable! Yes, there’s some differences between the two but the core story here is almost identical. I could totally reword that paragraph, omitting the names, and it would be indistinguishable from a short summary of Dracula! Even the way that the main characters find out about the wooden weapon that can kill the monster is similar, as both Jonathan and Cathain go to wiser and older members of their community to learn more.
(Also please mythology blogs don’t come for me I know my retelling was an incredible oversimplification but I’m writing on my iPad and my thumbs are starting to hurt. People have wrote full papers on the similarities between Dracula and Abhartach and there’s so many more people more qualified than me, I’m just an 18 year old trying to make a fun and interesting tumblr post. Again, if anyone wants add anything like extra sources or more information or even to point out my mistakes then I more than welcome the additions)
Another piece of folklore that’s also said to have inspired Dracula is the Dearg Due. Now there’s multiple different versions of the tale, but the version I have heard goes like this:
There’s a noble woman who wants to marry a penniless peasant boy, but her dad disapproves and wants her to marry another man who is much richer. The rich man and the noble woman were eventually married but the woman didn’t love the rich man. In retaliation, the rich man locked the woman in a windowless castle where she starved to death. The woman was buried by the locals who took pity on her, but because she was buried hungry she came back to life and drank the blood of her father and her husband as revenge. The version I heard says that the dearg due now basically wanders ireland drinking the blood of men who have hurt or wronged women (as one should) but there’s other endings to the story.
(Again is anyone has a reliable source they want to share then please feel free to add!)
So this is another Irish piece of folklore that clearly includes some elements that we now associate with vampires. Now people (including Wikipedia) claim that this story was specifically what Stoker based Dracula on, and while I definitely think that Stoker was aware of this story and took inspiration from it, I personally think that the Dearg Due inspired the concept of Dracula’s wives more than Dracula himself.
However the key point still stands: Stoker was likely aware of these legends and even the most staunchly anti-Irish person would have to concede that there’s similarities between all three stories. And very rarely are these similarities discussed in classes about Dracula...which I feel is a real disservice. I don’t think students should have to have an intense knowledge of Irish mythology (my knowledge is spotty at best) nor do I think it should be an exam question...but even a brief acknowledgment of “hey, Stoker was inspired by these stories and you can clearly see similarities between them” would be nice. Moreover, it further solidifies my original argument that Stoker was, at least to some extent, Irish and that his Irishness inherently influenced his work.
Also...the social context of what was going on in Ireland in this period can’t be ignored! Again, while Stoker did spend time in both England and Romania, he spent a lot of his life in Ireland and therefore would have known what was going on in his own country.
Dracula was published in 1897, which is exactly 50 years after the worst year of the Irish Famine/ The Great Hunger/An Gorta Mór. Now I don’t have time to do a whole history of the Great Hunger but the effects of the famine were greatly exacerbated by the horrific mismanagement of Ireland by the British government and the British system of ruling in Ireland. How many people died during the famine isn’t clear, but we do know that the population of Ireland at the time was 8 million and the population today is 6 million...200 years later and we still haven’t recovered. So while we all like to joke about the fact that Stoker wrote about an unfeeling member of the aristocracy literally feeding off others with no remorse and basically ruining their lives...are we really going to pretend that there isn’t social commentary there? Scholars specifically think that Stoker was commenting on the absentee landlords (basically British aristocrats who owned land in Ireland but didn’t live there and as such didn’t care about the well being of their tenants) who would often have tenants forced off the land when they couldn’t pay rent...despite the fact that their tenenants were already starving and had no money because their only source of food and income failed.
(I’m not being shady by the way, I also love to joke about the social implications of Dracula, but I feel like people forget that the jokes have actual points behind them)
There was also a cholera epidemic in Ireland in 1832 which is generally accepted to be one of Stoker’s biggest inspirations. You can read more about the epidemic here if you wish, but I’ll summarise what I feel are the key points. Not only was Stoker’s mother from county Sligo and lived through this cholera epidemic, but Stoker also asked her to write down her memories of the epidemic and used her accounts to aid in his research of the cholera epidemic. Now the fact that he was actively researching this should indicate that it would influence his work, especially considering the situation in county Sligo was incredibly morbid. There’s accounts of the 20 carpenters in Sligo town being unable to make enough coffins to keep up with the amount of people dying, resulting in hundreds of dead bodies just lying on the street. However, the most horrific account from this epidemic was the stories of terrified nurses placing cholera patients into mass graves while they were still alive. Stoker himself literally stated that Dracula was “inspired by the idea of someone being buried before they were fully dead”. So while at first there seems to be very little relation between the novel and a medical epidemic, it quickly becomes clear that Stoker’s fascination with this historical event influenced his writing.
My overall point is that Stoker’s irishness inherently influenced his writing. Writers don’t write in their own little bubble, divorced from the world around them, their views and work are shaped by their position in society and their upbringing (it’s why I dislike death of the author as a literary theory). So when people try to claim that Dracula is a piece of British literature...it indicates either a lack of understanding of the context in which Stoker was writing in or a wilful ignorance founded on colonialist ideas. His influences are so obvious to me as an Irish woman but they rarely get discussed, and even if they are it’s seen as overreaching! To call Dracula British literature and to ignore the inherent Irishness of the novel does a great disservice to Stoker!
Anyways I really hope you enjoyed this discussion my love! Once again I apologise for how long this took to write. Also I’m sorry if this comes off as argumentative or anything, that absolutely wasn’t my intention, I just have a particular style of writing long posts haha.
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therealabbyham · 3 years
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Racism in modern media.
A lot of controversy over the depiction of people of color (POC) in modern media has arisen. With both the Black Lives Matter and Stop Asian Hate movements that have happened in the last year, both new and old shows and movies have been brought forward as examples of what is not okay. Now, with some research, I'd like to go through these examples and go through what has made them controversial.
"Stock characters and slapstick tropes have always existed in theatre, from Shakespearean comedies to even something as seemingly benign as the Disney Channel show “The Suite Life of Zack and Cody” (remember Esteban?). But ethnic stock characters have been tricky to write in an increasingly politically correct 21st century, despite their appearances in such Broadway classics as “West Side Story” and “The King and I." (The Muse at Dreyfoos)
”Song of the South (Disney film) - By far one of the most controversial and well-known instances of controversy. So much so that Disney never sold the movie on DVD and will not be putting it on Disney plus. Disney's most recent effort to erase the racism from their history (also see: the crows in Dumbo and the original draft of Fantasia), was to go farther in changing Splash Mountain. Originally they had gotten rid of the characters on the ride (who were all characters from the movie), now, however, they are changing the ride altogether, changing it into a Princess and the Frog-inspired ride. "Song of the South’s African American characters are treated warmly, particularly Uncle Remus, who is Johnny’s best friend and confidant, a charismatic storyteller, and, most importantly, the film’s conduit to the animated world of Br’er Rabbit... The problem isn’t necessarily what Song of the South depicts, but what it chooses not to depict. Although Harris’ Uncle Remus stories were set in Georgia after the Civil War, the film adaptation never makes it clear when the story is taking place... If you’re not a scholar or an Uncle Remus expert, it’s very easy to assume that the film is set before the Civil War, and that Remus and Aunt Tempy (Hattie McDaniel) are slaves — and that they are completely fine with that." (Quotes from Screencrush) "By stripping out any concrete details of time and place, Disney essentially turned the plantation system into a ludicrous utopia where blacks and whites live in harmony — a harmony where the only thing that’s clear is that the blacks are inferior and servile to the whites, but are content to work the fields anyway." "Several of Remus’ stories are about Br’er Rabbit wanting to run away from his problems; the moral, inevitably, is that you can’t avoid trouble and there’s no place like home. These lessons are particularly important to Johnny because he doesn’t like life on the plantation initially and wants to run away to live with his father in Atlanta. But when coupled with the African American characters’ oddly cheerful attitude about their social status, the movie seems to be arguing on behalf of complacency. Don’t leave the plantation, don’t try to better yourself. Just go with the flow."
Thoroughly Modern Millie (Broadway show) - The show is about a young girl named Millie who moved from a small town to NYC, and the show is known for having "the subplot and the peddling of outdated Chinese stereotypes". (A lot of this will be in quotes from the previous link). Although "the play is set in the 1920s... the script was written in 2000, based on source material from the 1967 film of the same name" On Playbill, another study is done, "As much as the 2002 Tony-winning Best Musical is a love story about making it in the big city, the show’s major subplot centers on “white slavery.”" An argument could be made that “To actually have real Chinese guys singing and speaking in their own language and meaning it, and to link their immigrant story to the same story as Millie ... and come to America because of the American Dream, all these people who come to New York to reinvent themselves and be modern—I think is exactly what the Chinese guys are all about." (This is irrelevant if the characters are not played by someone who's Chinese). With accurate casting then it might be "another opportunity to cast shade on racist attitudes and assumptions about us [the Chinese] and what we know and how smart we are and what we’re capable of..." However it still "can be racist if you do it racist. This show can be done racist but it doesn’t have to and actually, it can actually be anti-racist." Personally, I think if the line you walk is so fine and covered in eggshells, it may not be worth it (but of course, it's an opinion, even if it's widely accepted). Even Ashley Park, who wanted to be Millie, thought “It’s one of the characters that I’ve loved, always, but I always figured I’d never play it just because of the race stuff that’s in [the show].” because she's Korean-American.
Emily in Paris (Netflix show) - Speaking of Ashley Parks, let's talk about Emily in Paris, one of Netflix's most controversial and most hated shows. To put it simply, the show (which I have not seen) is about an American girl who moves to Paris. Yep. That simple. In a video by Friendly Space Ninja (who's French), he says "I've been insulted by this show, more than once... Emily in Paris has a huge racism problem... and it also comes up as arrogant." He goes on to say, "When people say Emily in Paris portrays French culture in a very insulting way, they're not exaggerating." "The French in this show think Americans are the greatest and they aspire to be more like them and as a French person myself... Yeah no that's not accurate." "During the entire show, Emily tries to teach the French that doing things the American way is the right way." (I highly recommend watching this video if you don't mind the swear words, it has good points, that's why I'm just using quotes). "Emily in Paris only has two characters of color... these two characters of color are made of degrading cliches..." "All of the racist things [Mindy, a POC character,] says were written by a white writer." "The other non-white character is this guy... He's one of Emily's co-workers and he's gay... and I had to read he was gay online... and his entire point of existence in this show is to be the most stereotypical gay man the writers could come up with... all he does is stand in the background and act sassy... The writers are so dismissive with him I'm pretty sure the only reason they made him black is so they could kill two birds with one stone." "Emily in Paris has two actors of color and both of them feel like an afterthought." My thoughts: Don't watch this show. It has a season two coming out, don't watch it, even if you want to see how bad it is. There will be someone online who will tell you why it's bad and you'll save time reading or watching their review instead of giving Netflix a reason for a season three.
Anyways, those are just a few (obvious) examples of how racism isn't okay, even if it isn't inherently meant to be racist. Song of the South was meant to be a heart-warming movie full of stories about morals, but it's been banned and basically erased from Disney history because it comes off as being pro-slave. Millie was meant to be a commentary on Asain stereotypes while lifting up Asain actors so they were given more opportunities, yet most schools have banned it. And Emily in Paris, despite its connections that got it nominated for awards, was such a dumpster fire, a good review is near impossible to find.
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optimismrpt · 3 years
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HOW RIGBY RUNS A ROLEPLAY : A VERY SPECIFIC GUIDE ( OF SORTS )
BONUS CONTENT: ACCEPTANCE DAY
I think it’s essentially to start with this disclaimer: This is merely how I run a rp and I’m not saying by any means it is how a rp should be run. I have found success through these methods all in combination and I can’t promise that they work all the time.
IMPORTANT ! if you use this guide as a basis for your rp please credit back to me somewhere on your front page, rules, or plot! this is a very specific type of rp (small limited run plot heavy skeleton rp) that i have worked very hard to develop over the past five years. i want you to learn from my successes and failures, and please give credit where it is due!
It is a lot of work! Like A LOT! And if you don’t have time to admin with full commitment this is not the right type of rp to attempt.
With that in mind, let’s go!
FULL GUIDE IN THE SOURCE LINK! 
BEFORE THE ACTUAL DAY
First of all, getting apps is fun and it’s easy to get wrapped up in the excitement and want to move things forward as soon as possible. However, I recommend you don’t rush! Do not move up your acceptance date or the date that you close the inbox! This isn’t fair to the people who were planning on finishing up their apps before the original deadline who now have to crunch to meet the new deadline or may not be able to make the new deadline at all because of irl responsibilities. It’s always good to give lots of warning for the inbox closing and stick to it! 
I also recommend that you do not lower the threshold of people needed to open. Sometimes it can be disheartening to set an app threshold at ten and then only get six apps, even if the days grind on with no new apps, stick it out and keep promoting! Opening with less than eight characters (and for apples I’d say 15 characters) is going to make activity lackluster. It’s better to delay opening for the sake of having a grand first day than to jump the gun and end up making the rp fizzle before it can even start. 
About 52 hours before acceptances are set to take place I like to write out a to-do list and put it in my drafts. It usually involves ‘write acceptance posts, update skeletons, update main, post acceptances, post follows, post opening note’. Just having everything you need to do between then and opening written out in order is so helpful. And being able to check things off the list creates both a feeling of relief and excitement. So make a plan, determine how soon everything needs to be done, and work through it meticulously. In the rush of opening day it can be easy to forget important things like updating the triggers page.
If I have time I try to write everything hours in advance. When it comes to things like opening announcements and plot drops I try to write those at least 24 hours of their release time. And this is why I like, for competitive rps, to close the inbox and then give myself at least two hours to deliberate. But I’d even encourage giving yourself 6 hours between the inbox closing and posting acceptances. I know that’s a while to make people wait but apps can get pretty long and reading them all (and probably rereading a few of them multiple times) can be a lengthy process! 
I always try not to read the apps at all before the deliberation time. I find that if I read an app when it comes in that gives the first person an advantage because they have more time for me to adapt to their vision and start to assimilate it and get attached. And that’s not fair to the people who may have stumbled upon the rp later. So I just read the app far enough to get the info for the app count.
Just as a general rule I like to post important dates and times in at least two different timezones. For example ‘Acceptances are at 6am GMT / 1pm EST / 10pm PST ’. That way you can show that you are keeping other timezones in mind. And plus it’s nice to just to the conversion work so your applicants don’t have to. 
DELIBERATION TIME
Start by reading the apps which don’t have competition. These ones are easiest because it’s not a matter of determining whether they are the best of the bunch, it’s just deciding whether or not they are are passable. So I always read those first and then write their acceptance post immediately after I make my decision so that at least I’ll have that to post at the set acceptance date. That way, even if I haven’t made a decision on all the apps I’ll have something to post to show that I am reading apps and trying to stick to schedule! 
When your are dealing with competitive apps there are a few things I look for in an application: 
The most important is that the applicant seems willing to talk to you. This could be asks, ims, or even a little note in the app! Writers who want to make it clear what their intentions/desires/goals are ooc are going to be the easiest to work with! Plus it gives you an idea of how flexible they are! Those who dig their heels in when you offer up alternative suggestions are probably not good to work with. You want to find someone who has direction, intention, and ideas but don’t treat your ideas (or anyone else’s) as lesser than their own. 
Call for humor! I’ve found that I have trouble with people who take themselves and their characters too seriously. This means that they often won’t be up for plotting since they don’t want their character to be anything less than graceful. Humor is a really good sign that a writer is fun, creative, and understands their character. 
I also get wary of people who overhype the rp. Making edits/adding memes in the talk tag is all very nice, but when it looks like an rpt is promoting my rp just to give themselves an advantage over other applicants I tend to count that against them. I don’t like the idea of an rpt trying to use their signal boosting and popularity in the rpc as leverage over me. 
One of the biggest red flags is someone not sticking to the skeleton! If someone blatantly disregards one or more aspects of the skeleton that is an instant strike against them. I don’t like it when people have ocs that they adapt to fit a skeleton because most of the time that means that they don’t really care about the skeleton and your ideas. However, if they contact me about changes to the skeleton in advance and ask if some edits are alright then that’s actually a really good sign! I want people to play a character that they are happy about and I’m willing to change up any skeleton. I just need to know the applicant is willing to work with me instead of against me. 
Do not be afraid to deny applications. I used to never do this because I felt it was too mean and judgmental but now I realize I reserve the right as an admin to deny any app or character that I don’t vibe with. Go with your gut, and if the application is making you uncomfortable or nervous in any way, do not accept them. Sometimes it’s better to have one role go unwritten than to have someone who isn’t good for the group. Because both ic and ooc dynamics contribute to the effectiveness and survival of the group, you need to be excited to work with everyone and their characters. 
One of the ways that I protect myself from muns who may not be right for the rp is by putting a password in the rules. Often the apps that make me uncomfortable are the ones that disregard or contradict the skeleton or plot. It’s clear that the mun either wasn’t paying attention, reading the pages carefully, or just chose to ignore what they read. It’s often That the apps that I don’t vibe with end up being the ones that don’t read the rules and therefor don’t put the password. So not only is it a good indicator to me that the mun might not be very considerate but it’s also a great default reason to deny an app without having to tell the mun directly that you didn’t like other aspects of their app. Most often I allow them to reapply if they’d like to but their acceptance won’t be immediate, so that there’s a chance someone else might apply for the same role with an application than doesn’t skeeve me out.
ONCE YOU’VE MADE THE DECISION
Write out your acceptance notes. I try to write a full paragraph for everyone when I am accepting for a skeleton rp. If there’s more than 20 characters being accepted then obviously don’t, since that’s way too much to ask of you. But if it’s a small group I always endorse writing a little welcome the chosen mun saying what ti was about their appt hat you gravitated towards. It’s kind of a way to also provide feedback to those who were denied as to what their app might have been missing. Plus, it’s just a good way to get the right vibes going for the ooc portion of the rp. Muns need to feel appreciated! After all they put in the work to get there! 
I also like to offer feedback to those who were denied but with a disclaimer that most apps are chosen based on how they mesh with the other apps, since that’s something no one can anticipate. Usually the quality of the writing isn’t as big of a factor as how the character plays into dynamics with the others and whether or not their desired plots and connections with your vision and everyone else’s. Most of the time people won’t take you up on it, but be kind and thoughtful to those who do. However, if they are aggressive towards you in any way because they are upset about being denied block them immediately. Just trust me on that one. 
Keep everyone updated as to your progress! Just telling everyone where you are at (in the process of reading apps, writing the acceptance notes, or taking a break) is a good way to put everyone’s minds at ease. It’s especially important to let people know if you are logging off for a while on acceptance day.  That way people aren’t stuck refreshing the page and dreading that you might be ignoring them. On acceptance day I like to make a post every time I come online or go offline. It may seem like oversharing but it’s honestly so helpful to both you and the applicants. 
POST-ACCEPTANCES
Once you are about to start posting acceptance notes, turn off anon. I know that anon can be very useful for those shy and curious folks that don’t want to im you directly, but this is another case where you’re just gonna have to trust me. For your mental health turn off anon and keep it off for at least 48 hours. I usually keep it off permanently unless there are more roles that need to be filled in a second round of acceptances. There aren’t really any questions that should need to be asked anonymously once you have a full roster of muns and this is a good way to get people used to asking you questions via discord, im, or dm. To prevent nasties from bullying you and to open the line of communication between you and your members, turn off anon! 
And finally, once you have posted acceptances, close your laptop or turn off your monitor and don’t come back to it for at least an hour. I like to give myself two hours to go on a walk, eat some food, and just do non-rp things for a while. Acceptances are stressful and it’s important not to get swept up in it and feel overwhelmed. Taking a step back and remembering you exist outside of rp and outside of being an admin is so important. It’s hard to resist temptation, but if you have anon off really the only thing that’ll come into your inbox are follow messages and those can wait for two hours (or more)! But like I said above, keep everyone updated that you are going to log off for a bit and you’ll be back. Just so no one assumes the worst. 
Just remember to be kind to your applicants and to yourself! It’s a stressful time for everyone! 
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savrenim · 3 years
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tropesssss
this got long so I am putting it under a cut; all of my additions will be in italics
Hi, I’m the tvtropes anon who is also the recent long ifmlam question anon. I‘m very happy you like the page! I made it because I wanted people to enjoy it so it’s great to know someone does. I am very actively updating that page. I intend to comb every chapter for tropes and by then I should gotten most stuff that I’m capable of getting, so I’ll message you. “Most stuff” because I bet after all the chapters I’ll realize something in hindsight or learn a new trope that definitely applied to the fic and go back and add it, but that’s probably going to cause way fewer additions than when I’m actively rereading the fic in search of tropes. “That I’m capable of getting” because I’m one person and am capable of straight-up missing things, or of noticing things but not knowing it’s a trope or that it has a trope on TVTropes. Other people are likely to pick up on stuff I missed or know tropes I don’t. Oh! I spent awhile trying to find a trope for touch-activated powers and only found very specific powers like the Midas Touch instead of a trope for touch powers in general. If that trope exists I definitely missed it and there’s room for someone to add it. “Adding back stuff the original cut” needs to be its own trope I s2g. The closest standalone trope I found was Adaptation Expansion, which can be plain old additions the original didn’t have as well, it’s not exclusive to “the original cut this and now the adaptation put it back in” which is what I so desperately want. So until then, it’s an Adapted Out inversion… I also have lots of thoughts about Adapted Out and its inversion. There’s lots of different “types” I identified when I was crawling the Hamilton musical trope page for people the musical adapted out that the fic put back in. I might actually get to separate them by these “types” because the ifmlam Adapted Out section is getting hella long. It’s literally just turning into “a list of every historical person who wasn’t a full character in the musical” lol. Anyways, the “types” 1) Stuff in the source material literally does not exist in the adaptation. In the original book, Character A is 18 in the year 2000 and has 2 loving parents and 7 siblings. In the film adaptation, Character A is 18 in the year 2000 and has 2 loving parents and the truthful line “I’m an only child.” 2) Stuff in the source material doesn’t get included, but there’s no proof it doesn’t exist in the adaptation. The theatre adaptation doesn’t show or mention Character A’s parents, but they never say anything like “I never knew my parents.” 3) Stuff in the source material ultimately doesn’t get included in the adaptation (could be type 1 or 2), but it did get included in drafts of the adaptation/the adaptation creators really tried to include it but never found space for it so it never reached the drafts. Also noticed “types” for adding stuff back when I was working on the fic page. I’m wondering if Adapted Out inversion isn’t the right thing to describe some of these? This list is also going to include half-adding stuff back because it wasn’t 100% removed, which makes me wonder if everything I put under Adapted Out is being used correctly… maybe the characters not 100% removed are actually just an Adaptation Distillation and the readdition is an Expansion? I’ll look into it. But I digress. 1) Character gets a pretty vague reference in the adaptation’s adaptation, one that isn’t a crystal-clear identification of who exactly is being referenced. For example, the theatre adaptation of the film has Character A refer to “my siblings.” That means at least 2 siblings are included, but we have no clue if this means all 7 are included or not. Or the theatre adaptation of the film shows Character A dancing with someone at the ball. The original book had Character A dance with several characters at the same ball. It’s probably one of those characters, but we have no clue exactly which one. 2) Character gets a clear reference in the adaptation of the adaptation. The theatre adaptation of the film also has Character A refer to “my sister, the pilot” and the
original book has only one sister of Character A that is a pilot. It also has Character A buy baseball tickets with someone with pink hair, and the original book has only one character who buys baseball tickets with Character A and has pink hair. 3) Character is referenced/addressed by name or role in the adaptation of the adaptation. 4) Character appears in the adaptation of the adaptation. Mix and match. I’ve noticed a lot of vaguely referenced characters upgrading to clear references (a 1 situation upgrades to a 2), and clearly referenced characters who were only mentioned getting clear references and mentions again but also appearances (a 2 and 3 situation upgrades to a 2, 3, and 4). Now I realize if you start with a 2 and one-of-3-or-4 situation and upgrade to a 2 and both-3-and-4 situation, you weren’t wholly Adapted Out of the story, you just get your role expanded. I’m pretty sure that’s Adaptation Expansion instead and I’ll have to fix that (I just checked the Adaptation Expansion page again and it directly mentioned reintroducing darker elements of fairy tales back in, so adding back stuff that already existed counts too. It’s not just for making up new stuff to expand on what existed the way I thought). But I’m really not sure if going from a 1 to a 2 is Expansion or inverting Adapted Out. Maybe it’s a different trope entirely. Ditto with being unsure for going from a 1 and one-of-3-or-4 situation to a 1 and both-3-and-4. And for swapping which of 3 or 4 you have, but staying a one-of-3-and-4 situation. Also not that sure where to draw the lines. When does it stop being “yeah Hamilton Adapted this Out and you put it back in, it’s an Adapted Out inversion” and start being “this was way too far removed from/insignificant to the musical’s story to be considered Adapted Out of it, so putting this true historical thing in this fic is no longer Adapted Out”? (It’d definitely be Shown Their Work but I think there’s a more specific trope for it?) Like, is the incident where he talked to John Witherspoon is clearly referenced in a musical line without mentioning Witherspoon himself (and later he’d evacuate the college before the soldiers got near it), is that significant enough a line and significant a role in Hamilton’s life to make the guy Adapted Out and thus making it an Adapted Out inversion when you put him back in? If he’s not significant enough, Sally gets the same line count in the musical (“everyone who loves me has died”) that could make one think of her and how she’s not here, and gets around the same mentions in the fic. Is her “you actually don’t exist” version of not appearing as opposed to Witherspoon’s “we’re not mentioning you but you probably do exist” enough to make her count as Adapted Out in the musical and to thus make her inclusion an inversion of that trope in the fic? Troping this fic is probably my new hyperfixation. Why couldn’t it be math, I literally have a math class whose work I’m neglecting to trope this fic lmao kill me Oh one more thing I am worried the Round 2 musical will fly off into the tumblr namechange void someday. I know I have a copy, from when I could actually message you on tumblr and asked you permission to back up some tumblr posts and you said yes. So I thought of instead of asking you to put it somewhere else, I could get it backed up with that web.archive.org thing or the wayback machine or whatever, maybe those are the same things, in order to be able to link to your stuff somewhere other than tumblr and have it still be clearly yours (my current backup is a Google Doc full of copy/pastes from tumblr because I didn’t think of better options when I did that. If I was inclined to lie, I could very easily just… change it and claim it’s still a copy/paste from you). But then I realized it’s probably better for people to go to your actual pages to give you the traffic instead of the wayback machine or whatever. I don’t remember if you finished songs for the round 2 musical or if it was just a general outline, but this is a request/suggestion (not a demand) to have you
put that on ao3 too instead of only on tumblr? Again, thanks for writing it and for responding to me about it.
hi anon! thank you very very much and it is very cool to see how excited you are about getting all the tropes down! I'll be honest, I hadn't even heard of adapting in or adapting out or any of the trope inversion terminology or downplayed or just. all the lexicon that tvtropes uses, so I am not going to be useful in terms of you making those calls, but I both trust your judgement as well as the glory of a crowdedited thing is that the crowd will eventually reach consensus, hopefully!
one correction, though, re his sister Sally: whenever Wait For It is supposed to have been sung, which I'm assuming you're referencing, it is definitely before the late 1790s as the Reynolds Pamphlet hasn't gone down yet, and Sarah (Sally being a nickname) Burr-> Reeve died in 1797. so the musical line could only have been a reference to that specifically if they were ignoring timelines, which, to be fair, they do quite a lot (the 'first murder trial' bit from the end of Non-Stop actually happened in 1800.)
as for the round 2 musical, I do not have any plans of posting it on ao3, or really anywhere else besides tumblr. I do not post things to my ao3 that are not intended for and thus edited for my ao3. quite frankly, I barely intended to post 'musical, round 3' to ao3; it just got too long to make a reasonable tumblr post and I'd written a lot of active lyrics enough for it to become worthwhile to add that extra polish and throw it up as a fic. round 2 was mostly a thought experiment, I have no more written than the single tumblr post I wrote about it, I plan to write no more than that post, and I do not plan to bring it up to my ao3 standards and will not be posting it on ao3.
I'm honestly not too worried about traffic for ifmlam, and do not mind a link to wayback machine, or cross-posting the post to another website. honestly I don't really care if you put it up on ao3 yourself; I think someone else did it for they had a version of 'musical, round 2', and it was really cool and fell under the general 'fanworks of ifmlam' category. so if you care deeply about things being on ao3 you can post it yourself with a note of it was copy-pasted from the author's tumblr, I don't really care. however, if you're worried about preserving the proof of canoninity, I have no plans of changing my tumblr url mostly because I did so once and it was deeply inconvenient to try to go back and change it in all of my fic, but also tumblr might go down, who knows, wayback machine may very well be safer. also, like. these days I have moved on to enough other different work between both being interested and active in different fandoms as well as spending most of my time writing original work that it feels kind of like false advertising to direct people to my blog specifically for the sake of ifmlam with the expectation of more ifmlam content. when ifmlam gets new content, it'll be on ao3, and there really isn't a lot of related content or fandom blogging on this blog anymore, and given that I link to my blog in every chapter, I figure the people who want to look at my other writing and/or actually support me via ko-fi or patreon have ample chance to. I'm not really concerned about whether or not I'll lose audience because the tvtropes page linked to wayback machine instead of my actual blog if that's what you decide to go with.
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raelly-writing · 3 years
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Into the Abyss
Thancred/fWoL, 5.0 Shadowbringers MSQ level 80 spoilers.
I’ve had this in my drafts for ages, but finally was in a decent enough mental space to finish it up. And now I think I’ll go and write something fluffy.
Passing mention of the tank role questline. :)
AO3 link
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”Y’shtola, Urianger, I need to know.”
Viana frowned at the elezen scholar where he remained seated on one of the undersea rocks. His head was lowered, whether in thought or to avoid her gaze she did not know. There was a twinge of guilt for the forceful tone she’d taken but this was no time to beat around the bush. Besides, focusing on them was better than letting her gaze stray to the silent, white-clad figure in her periphery that had remained stock still throughout this whole exchange.
Standing next to Urianger, Y’shtola crossed her arms, a disapproving frown of her own on her features. “I will not have you prematurely end your life,“ she responded firmly.
“And I am not planning to,” Viana shot back “But I need to know that you can dispose of me if it comes down to it.” Despite trying not to, her eyes flickered to Thancred for just a second. His head was downturned, hair obscuring his face, but his posture was tense where he leaned against the rock wall. Her chest grew tight, and suddenly it felt hard to speak. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she returned her attention to Y’shtola and Urianger. “I can’t ask any of you to strike me down - for all we know the Light will just corrupt whoever does it into another Lightwarden.”
As if to remind her, sparks of white suddenly danced at the edges of her vision. She bit back a groan as she closed her eyes, though she already knew it did nothing to lessen the glare of the flashes. “So, tell me, is there a way I could strand myself in the rift where the Light won’t harm anyone?”
“Opening a gate to transport thine there wouldst require preparations,” Urianger’s quiet voice replied. “The Exarch did not share how he planned to accomplish such a feat.”
Prickles of pain skittered up and down her spine, making her muscles tense under the weight of her gunblade and armour chafing against her suddenly hypersensitive skin. Forcing herself to keep her voice steady, she spoke slowly and firmly, “You had days while I lay unconscious.” The dizzying lights danced at the inside of her eyelids, taunting her. For all the things Urianger had concealed, right now she needed that resolve of his to do what was best for the worlds at large. “Don’t tell me you did not think of some way to do what G’raha- the Exarch had planned to do himself, or some other way to subdue me if it came to the worst.”
There was a brief silence. “There… may be some way, yes,” Urianger finally responded. “But I hath not the time to ascertain it to be an assured method to contain the aether thy harbour. If thou truly is able to traverse the Rift to the Source, mayhaps there wouldst be a way to prevent thy from reaching thy destination...”
Gritting her teeth, she nodded. “It’s better than nothing at all.” She wanted to see G’raha rescued, but she could feel the Light grinding away at her very being.
It was disorienting how slow her senses and reflexes were becoming – if they faced more opposition down here in the sea trenches she’d have to let Thancred take the lead in whatever fights there were. Her limbs felt too stiff, as though her skin was already in the process of turning into fine porcelain, and the familiar weight of her gunblade seemed too heavy in her hands.
And it wasn’t just her physical body that was affected. Though she had not said anything to the others, while imbuing some of her cartridges with aether she’d felt like the usually easy task took more effort than usual, like her aether was stagnating. In this state, she’d just be a danger to herself, and more importantly, a hazard to the others if she failed to intercept a blow meant for one of them.
As the flare of pain stilled to a mulling, lingering ache, a numbing, cold sensation of fear flared in her chest in its stead. Would she even be able to see this to the end before whatever Ryne had done to contain the Light failed?
A hand on her arm made her open her eyes to find Y’shtola at her side. Her expression was determined, though Viana had known her long enough to catch the traces of concealed worry in her expression. “Whatever Emet-Selch has in store for us, I for one will fight to see you ridden of this burden, my friend.” She turned her head ever so slightly, glancing back towards Urianger and Thancred. “We all will.”
“I know,” Viana replied quietly. “And I hate asking it of you three…” She sensed the weight of Thancred’s eyes on her then, and swallowed, her throat feeling as dry as if she’d swallowed a mouthful of sand. “But… if I’m turning,” she spoke, slow and firm. Urianger finally looked up and she met his golden gaze. The guilt hung heavily over his features. “I need to know you all will do what is necessary, whatever that may entail. Contain me, seal me away until you can dispose of me.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, but nodded. “Thy will shall be done.”
A small, tired smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you, it eases my mind to know that.”
The sound of the twins’ bickering drifting through the cave made them all glance in the direction of where they and Ryne had gone to scout ahead in the tunnels. It felt wrong to keep this conversation from them, but Twelve, she knew none of them would accept the idea. Y’shtola cast one discerning glance in Thancred’s direction then turned to Urianger. “Let us hear what they’ve found.”
Urianger nodded and got up, but paused for a moment. “I swore to thee that I wouldst see this made right,” he spoke quietly. “Have faith my friend, and we shall prevail.”
“My faith in you all never waver, Urianger,” Viana replied with a small, reassuring smile. There was a flicker of something akin to relief in his expression, and he finally managed a hesitant smile of his own before following Y’shtola to meet the younger members of their group.
As their steps faded away, leaving her alone with Thancred in the small seafloor grotto, he pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against. When she bridged the gap between them with a few slow steps, he glanced up at her. There was a hard determination to his eyes, but there was pain there too.
Reaching out, she took his hand in hers, not sure what to say. Thancred’s fingers were cold where they were left exposed by his gloves - her own were not faring much better - but it was a welcome skin on skin contact before he laced his with hers. The comforting weight of his other arm settled around her waist, hugging her close so he could press his cold nose against the side of her neck. Inhaling slowly, she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his hair, wrapping her other arm around his shoulders. The scent of salt, fish and seaweed clung to him, but she could detect that earthy, masculine tone, laced with gunpowder, that she associated with him - a comforting reminder of the few private moments they’d been afforded in the past weeks.
“It won’t come to that,” he broke the silence with a gruff murmur. “You will be fine.”
She knew it was as much to reassure himself as her. Unbidden, her thoughts strayed back to that first morning she’d woken to him tracing the scars on her back. Despite the heavy subject it’d sparked, the intimate warmth of that moment, the joy she’d felt just resting in his arms, the tender look in his eyes and heartfelt smile… it was a sharp contrast to the cold that seemed to have seeped so deep into her bones that she wondered if she’d ever feel warm again. Drawing a slow, shuddering breath she squeezed his hand. Had it truly only been a few weeks since then? Would that she somehow could turn back the clock to be back in that moment with him again.
But the path would lead here again no matter what.
A sudden flare of pain made Viana groan as white sparks once more danced behind her eyelids. Vaguely, she was aware of his hand slipping from hers to hold her steady when her knees threatened to give out from under her. It felt like something jagged was logged in her chest, making it hard for her to draw breath.
“Easy there, I’ve got you…” Thancred’s low voice spoke in her ear. Trembling, she tried to focus on him and not the pain or the panic that bubbled right under the surface of it. The searing pain in her chest continued, her breaths pained wheezes while hot tears stung at her eyes and slid down her cheeks.
Thancred kept murmuring into her ear while holding her steady, even as she leaned more and more of her weight onto him. Had he not, she would probably have tumbled to the hard seafloor as she jerked to the side and finally, after a series of rib cracking coughs, spat out more of that viscous white fluid. Nausea curled in her stomach at the cloying, numbing feeling it left in her mouth. It was like having a mouthful of fine, gooey sand in texture.
With a trembling hand, she reached for the water canteen hanging off her belt, but Thancred’s hand was already on the clasp, and pressed the cool metal container into her hand.
“Here,” he spoke as he quickly unscrewed the top.
Choking out her thanks amidst the waves of pain, Viana took a quick mouthful of the water, eager to clear her mouth of the vile liquid. Thancred said nothing, just kept her steady when she leaned to the side and spat out the white-tinted water.
She felt him press a brief kiss to her cheek as he steadied her once more, arms securely wrapped around her. These attacks weren’t getting any easier. Shivering, she cradled the canteen in her hands and rested her head on his shoulder, wishing for the pain to subside.
“Better sit down for a moment,” he said quietly.
Nodding, still with her eyes closed, she let him lead her. White sparks still danced behind her eyelids and there was an unpleasant, crawling sensation at her back, as if her skin was shifting and changing form.
Thancred knelt in front of her as he helped sit down on a low rock, staying there with his arms wrapped around her while murmuring soothing words in her ear to ease her through the waves of pain. She was not used to feeling small, or vulnerable or weak and fragile. Ever since she’d left Ul’dah as a teen she’d been used to shouldering her own problems, to carry on no matter what happened. But as she curled herself around Thancred’s solid frame, there was comfort in not having to hide her quiet whimpers while she kept her face pressed against the crook of his neck, to just allow herself to be held and supported without fear of judgment or pity.
It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two that they sat there, yet it felt like an hour before the white lights and stabs of pain slowly ebbed away once more and her breaths came a bit easier. Awkwardly, she loosened the vice-like grip she had on his coat sleeve, trying to will her hand not to tremble. “Forgive me,” she whispered harshly as she straightened her back.
She felt one of his hands leave her waist to cradle her jaw, keeping her from rising to her full height. “You are not the one I want apologies from,” he replied as he rested his brow to hers.
Despite his soft tone, there was a hard undercurrent to it that betrayed his anger at the situation, and those who had shepherded her towards this destination.
He shifted slightly, his nose nuzzling against hers - a motion that had quickly become familiar to her. The memory of Tesleen turning flashed before her mind’s eye. A hard jolt of fear made her jerk her head to the side before he could kiss her - fear that some of that tainted ichor might still linger on her lips, of somehow passing on the corruption festering within her to him.
Thancred froze, hazel eyes seeking hers.
Tears stung in her eyes while her heart ached for that small bit of intimacy. Blindly, she set the canteen aside and grasped his wrist, pressing a kiss to the back of his fingers, where they were covered by his gloves. “I’m sorry I just… the Light… it corrupts, I don’t…”
“It’s okay,” he whispered, the harsh, jagged edges of regret and sorrow all too clear in his voice. “I understand.”
All of a sudden, she felt cruel. If that argument in Twine had gone differently, if she had not been angry enough to accidentally let slip what she’d hid away in the depth of her heart, then… then perhaps he would not have kissed her and they would have just kept ignoring this that lay between them. Perhaps then he would have an easier time to let go of her, to just mourn her as a friend, rather than something more - forever a ‘what maybe could have been’ instead of something real and tangible, something that felt good, and sweet and right that was cut short by the cruelty of the universe.
A hot tear rolled down her cheek. Death was something she had made peace with a long time ago. Yet, this primordial force that was threatening to break free and twist her very being into something wretched and relentless, it scared her to her very core. It would not be clean, or final. Some part of her would linger, like fragments of a cup that had been shattered against the wall, its contents still barely clinging to the shards.
The mere thought of turning on him and the others made nausea twist and coil in her stomach. Thancred was smart - he must know that it was a very real possibility that he might have to fight her, to buy the others time to contain her were she to suddenly lose control. Even if she knew for sure that striking her down would not corrupt the next person into another Lightwarden, she could not ask that of him. Not after seeing first-hand how that act of putting down a loved one had festered and eaten away at Granson nearly to the brink of ruin.
Regret and grief were such potent emotions.
Drawing a slow, shuddering breath, she closed her eyes. “Thank you, for everything, Thancred,” she whispered. “They’ve been dear to me, these past few weeks.” Would that she had had more time with him.
Thancred moved slightly, slipping his hands from hers to cradle her jaw. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones as he held her gaze. A turmoil of emotions swirled in his eyes, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched. “I’m not going anywhere yet,” he spoke firmly. “So don’t you dare try to tell me good-bye now. Not when we still have a chance to defeat that Ascian and somehow fix this.” There was a flicker of despair over his features, a momentary crack in his stern facade. “Just don’t.”
Viana blinked at him, then slowly nodded as she swallowed. “You’re right.” When she woke in the Crystarium, she had not planned on quitting, to just go quietly and let whatever Emet-Selch said come to pass. She’d fight for this world, and herself. For Thancred, the twins, Y’shtola, Urianger, Ryne and G’raha. For the Source.
Faint though it was, hope did remain.
A small smile curled the corner of Thancred’s mouth, though it did not reach his eyes. Leaning up, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “There’s that determined look I know so well.”
Huffing out a tired laugh, she nodded. “Alright, let’s do this then.”
Viana gathered up her canteen and returned it to her belt, then stood up on only slightly unsteady legs. Thancred squeezed her hand reassuringly as they left the small grotto to find the others. She’d draw her strength from his support, and that of her friends’, as they pushed onwards, further into the darkness.
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vanveronicango · 4 years
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hi! sorry if this is a bit out of nowhere but i love your gifs! they're so clear and crisp! and i was just wondering if you had any tips on how to achieve the quality that your gifs manage to have?
ooh thank you so much. nonnie! i’ll leave some tips under the cut. if you’re ever interested in a full tutorial, please lmk! i always thought about doing one, but there are already 5 million on this site... but so many are different from each other, so hey, who could it hurt. anyways here’s some stuff i thought of :)
1. ALWAYS use 1080p. Others say 720p or 1080p, but I don’t think i’ve ever used 720p unless the show/movie is literally not available in 1080p. you can see the difference! i’ve used 2160p as well, but that’s not necessary at all, and you’ll only find that on much newer stuff.... besides, 1. most computer monitors/phone screens only go up to 1080p anyway, and 2. once you resize the gifs to tumblr dimensions, there is literally no difference between those two)
2. know your sharpen settings! for me, it’s almost always .3 radius, 500%, gaussian blur & more accurate. however, once in a while, this can change, depending on the camera used when filming the show/movie (i.e. an indie film with a lower quality cam) or the quality of the file itself. for example, for my recent set here, i had to do that setting, and then an extra, lighter smart sharpen layer on top of that, because it still wasn’t crisp enough, due to the lower-budget camera quality. ALSO: PLEASEEEE DON’T OVERSHARPEN! equally, don’t skip sharpening. it is probably the base essential component, and your gifs will look amateur if you don’t have it, no matter how good you are at coloring :)
3. don’t be afraid to experiment. even if you think something will be too dark, too bright, too dull, too vibrant... try it! every show/movie is vastly different to color and edit, so always try out new things. ALSO a really good method is to upload the gifs you made into a new post, and save it as a draft. this will show exactly what the gifs will look like when posted, which is always quite different than what you see in your photoshop workspace. this will allow you to know your gifs are at the quality you want before posting
4. always upload every frame of a recording. don’t only capture every other frame, and definitely don’t skip two or more frames in between. this makes the gif jerky and definitely seem lower quality. i see this a lot with newer gifmakers. just use every frame, and make the giffed clip shorter if it’s over the size limit! better to have a smoother, shorter gif than a long, jerky one, any day. ((some people may argue that deleting every other frame doesn’t make a difference, but if you want a smooth gif... trust me, it does).
5. 98% of the time, my time delay between frames is .05. a lot of people say .06, but i find this a bit too slow, unless the gif is very small, in which case the frames move faster, so they need a slower delay (idk the logic okay just work with me!!). also, i’ve noticed a trend (esp in the pale community, even though i’m not a part of it anymore), is to put a lower frame delay, so the clip moves really quickly. i don’t like this personally, as i find it super distracting to watch gifs move at a fast forward pace, but it’s your choice. .05, i’ve found, moves closest to the natural pace of the source material, if not the TEEEEEENIEST bit slower, but in a very nice, natural way, and barely noticeable at all (.04 is just too fast imo).
6. this one is a complete and total preference thing, and you don’t at all need to follow it. but if you’d like an insight into how i like to make my gifs... i always like the coloring of the gif to be naturalistic and just slightly bright. meaning: i don’t make my gifs overly vibrant, i like to keep my colors natural. this isn’t to say i don’t change the coloring up from the original scene - if a someone is lit very blue, or red, or too much of any color, i like to try to adjust the colors so their natural skin tone shines through more. if a scene is extremely pale, i like to bring up the vibrance a bit - not unnaturally so, but so there is more color tone to look at. and in terms of the ‘slightly bright’ part, i like to up my exposure/levels/curves/brightness (the combos of those four change with every set... some gifs look Bad with adjusted levels, some look washed out with higher exposure, etc) so it pops a little bit more on the dash. again, not in an unnatural way. 
7. in #6, remember when i said if something is lit too much of a certain color, i like to try to get natural skin tones back (if it’s a shot of a person)? sometimes, this isn’t possible. in this case, embrace your colors! for example, if a scene takes place in a darkroom with the intense red light on, your not getting any skin tone out of that... so embrace those reds! up the vibrance a bit, get your red selective color layer out, make the red pop. it’ll look lovely in a set!
8. very similarly, if a scene is extremely dark, a lot of the time it will diminish the quality if you try to brighten the whole thing up. embrace those darks, while finding the light areas to bring up. for example, that same gifset i linked above. there is a gif in there where he is standing in complete darkness, with only one side of his face lit up. not only is this a symbolic shot and there is a reason for one half of his face being in darkness, even if you did try to brighten the whole thing, alllll of that black space will become gross and pixel-y, and the light spots on his face will be overexposed. instead, what i did was take that black space and make it even blacker, while using curves to keep that area dark and bring up the brightness in his face, which gives it a lovely contrasting effect. i love this look in gifs... dark vs. light!! embrace what the scene gives you!
9. this may be obvious, but know tumblr’s dimensions. if you upload a gif at the wrong size, it will either shrink or stretch it, completely ruining the quality. (my most used dimensions are 540px for single gifs rows, and 268px for double gif rows)
10. always put a final BLACK selective color layer at the end of your layers, and up the blacks slightly until they are True Black. this will make sure everything has a good level of contrast, and appear as smooth and hq as possible!
hmmmmm i think this is all i can think of for now.... there is some other more subjective stuff as well i guess, but most of it doesn’t have to do with gid “quality” or “crispness”, so they’re prob beside the point. these are the important points i can think of. if you need anymore specific help, feel free to shoot me another ask/message!
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itoshikimaegirl · 4 years
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Starting a Self Ship Blog
An incomplete guide by an accidental self shipper
(Your mileage may vary)
Hey y’all this has been in my drafts for a while, slowly being chipped away at while I gathered more thoughts and experiences to try and put together something I felt was genuinely useful (mostly things that I’ve observed as contributing to “successful” self shipping blogs). I’m not sure how helpful it will end up being, but I figure I’d throw my two cents out there anyway! Let’s get started.
Things to consider/plan for before starting your blog, in no particular order:
Is the blog primarily for yourself (ie as an escape or just somewhere to hang out and be you) or for interacting with others (meeting other shippers, making friends, engaging the community)?
What type of content will you be posting mostly? Art, imagines, writing, aesthetics, canon content?
Will you use an OC for self inserting or will you use your irl self? Or a mix depending?
Those are some basic ideas for getting started. Not everyone wants the same thing out of running a self ship blog! Some people just want a quiet little place to be creative and explore some fun stuff and be themselves and some might want to interact and make friends to talk about shipping with. It's a good idea to get a general direction together before starting just so you know what to put more focus on. That being said…
Getting Started
Most of this will be written under the assumption that you want at least some kind of interaction. If you want your blog to be 100% for you and only you, my advice is to leave this post and just go for it buddy, I believe in you wholeheartedly! Do whatever you want and live unapologetically! And also be prepared that not everyone will get along with you if you live that way (that’s okay, but something to keep in mind!)
Otherwise, my first piece of advice is to set boundaries. You must be honest with yourself at this point. Find out exactly what you are not comfortable with and then make that clear somewhere on your blog. (It’s okay if it changes later! But it can make things tricky depending, so I just want you to y’know, take some time, get a feel for yourself.)
Choose a clear theme with a legible font. There are all manner of people out there and not everyone has the same ability to parse between complex fonts or low contrast colors. Making sure your information is accessible to more people increases the likelihood of gaining more followers/mutuals!
Some good information to have easily available for potential followers: 
The name you'd like to be called + your pronouns if you find them relevant
Your age (or if you're a minor or not if you don't want to give an exact number). Not all minors feel comfortable interacting with adults + not all adults feel comfortable interacting with minors. You don’t owe anyone an exact age, but it is polite to give a basic understanding at least.
A list of your f/o(s) (fictional other(s), the characters you will be shipping yourself and designation of whether they’re romantic, platonic, or familial in nature)
A list of your self insert OCs (if applicable) and which worlds/franchises/characters they are linked to.
Whether you're comfortable with people sharing the same f/o(s) as you. There is no wrong way to feel as long as you're respectful! You do not get to harass others who share the same f/o as you or try to get them to stop. On the flip side, following + liking/reblogging content from someone who said they do not feel comfortable interacting with people who share the same f/o is rude. Don't do that.
A BYF/DNI list entailing some definite no-nos for you. Lots of people have different opinions! The community thrives on behaving like a community, so it's imperative that we communicate clearly and be respectful of avoiding drama where we can!
Whether you’ll be posting N//SFW content or not and what your tag for it will be!
Continuing On...
So you set your blog up, you got your theme sorted, and you’re ready to start talking about your shipping adventures!!
...but how?
A lot of people get cold feet at this stage! Especially when talking to the void can feel a lot like being on stage in front of a silent audience. Of course, having an audience at all isn’t necessary to be a shipper. Maybe you’re okay just rambling away about anything your heart desires whether or not you get notes... but! This guide is for people to get some connections going to have some support!
The number one advice I can give you is this: you get what you give. Now, relationships, in a good and perfect world shouldn’t be transactional... but you can’t really expect people to know who you are or what you’re about or that you’re even comfortable interacting unless you interact with them first! Choose some self shippers to follow and start paying attention to them. Comment on their posts where applicable, send them asks, engage with their content in a supportive way for them. If they reblog ask games, send them some asks from the prompts list, and sign your self ship blog name. Chances are they’ll remember you the more you engage and check out your blog too. Being on anon can feel safer... but it doesn’t let anyone know who you are so they can make friends with you.
This may take some time, especially if you only come around erratically. Be patient. I promise no one dislikes you. The internet is a big place with a lot of voices shouting over each other. Your time will come! Just keep at it and keep talking about your own content in the meantime. The more consistent you are with your activity, the better.
“Okay, but what kind of content should I make?”
A lot of people are artists! Or draw as hobbyists. You can draw, draw, draw you and your f/o(s) to your heart’s content! Art is a really good way to get people aware of your ship because it’s so easily and quickly legible to the mind! Don’t feel bad if you’re not a super experienced or skilled artist either. It’s not about being the best, but giving yourself the best content you can, telling your story, and having fun!
Others are writers. Write some scenes between you and your f/o(s) that you feel capture your ship or moments that are important to you. You can also find a ton of imagines and prompts to help get you started if you know you want to write but can’t think of where to start. Try searching up ‘f/o imagines’ or something similar!
What if you don’t feel comfortable drawing or writing? Well, fear not. The only limits to your blog are your imagination. Maybe you can visualize settings and moods and graphics just fine—you can make moodboards! Find some pics of things that remind you of your ship and smash ‘em together (just make sure to ask before using fanart)! 
You also don’t have to be a great writer to simply just talk about your ideas. Maybe you have a cool idea for a story that you’ve been daydreaming about a lot... just go ahead and muse about it on your blog. Followers might ask for more details, or even give you ideas too!
Make a playlist! Got any songs that remind you of your f/o(s)? Of their ship with you? Curate a nice playlist and share it if you feel comfortable. It’s a good way to get a lot of emotions and sentiments across in a fun, interactive way.
The bottom line is be kind and be friendly. People find it easiest to communicate when they know where they stand with you! Give clear signals for what kind of interaction you want and get out there and socialize and you should be just fine.
And after that?
Okay, so maybe you’re in a pretty good place already—you have a good network of mutuals you enjoy talking to or anything else you set out to accomplish. Well, if you’re doing okay, keep at it!
But also before I let you scramble away, let me hit you with some healthy affirmations to keep in mind as you enjoy your stay (source: dude trust me, no really I’m an adult with a lot of social experience and I care about you and your mental health):
Don’t apologize for talking about the things that make you happy. It’s your blog. I promise you don’t ever need to feel guilty for posting a lot or talking about your f/os or being indulgent with yourself. I don’t care if you feel like you’re bein’ a huge, obnoxious mary sue or anything else. Don’t apologize!! 
In the same vein, don’t feel guilty/apologize for not being able to give a ton of attention to everyone else. We all have different lives, buddy! There are hundreds and hundreds of blogs on here! It is not your responsibility to give attention to every last person. Save some for yourself. It’s okay, this is the permission you need to hear. You’re free now. The only caveat is that people also won’t always have time for you, and you have to be okay with that. We’re all just doing our best to be there for each other. 
It’s okay to block people for your mental health. Yes, even people who didn’t “objectively” do anything wrong. You are the master of your own online space and experience. You get to build this castle that is whatever you make of it, and if you need to block someone for as small a reason as they just spread too many negative posts and you’re trying to relax, it’s okay. Now, you probably shouldn’t just go blocking friends without warning, but friends and strangers online are a little different. Be prepared to communicate calmly... but don’t feel like blocking is some horrible offense. It’s really not.
Don’t feel bad and apologize for not always being around. It’s your blog friend, don’t worry about “providing” for your followers. They’ll live. Look after yourself. Live your life. You matter first, here. (Your f/o(s) think so too, they told me so.)
When in doubt, ask questions! This applies to literally everything, even outside of shipping. It’s just a good way to live and prevents a lot of misunderstandings from growing into even bigger ones. Unsure of something with someone? Just ask. Be calm, be polite.
Above all things, be kind. Stick with your boundaries for your happiness and health. Remember that you are important!
Now... dusts my hands... I think that covers just about everything my lil brain is capable of fitting into a single brain hard drive. I’m wishing you all the best and I hope, if you’re new at this, or have been thinking of starting, that you take the plunge and have a blast with it. You’ve got this!
Cheers! x
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theawkwardterrier · 4 years
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things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 42
AO3 link here
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Who wakes first? Who can tell? Perhaps it is Steve, his hearing still acute, his muscle memory still practiced from responding to the slightest sound of a child’s step in the hall. Perhaps it is Peggy with her now early-rising body, her old agent’s urgency. Perhaps it does not matter. They turn toward each other in the empty house all the same. His fingertips brush against her beneath the blanket, in the dark. She rests in the warmth of him.
“First snow,” says one as the flakes fall heavy and quiet onto the roof.
“Do you remember?” says the other.
“Of course.” And then, although there’s no way to know how the serum works on an aging brain, no guarantee that the memory-related treatments that Tony and the Stark Industries bio-med team have been studying will indeed be effective or even workable: “All of it. Always.”
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When Steve comes back from his turn on patrol to find Peggy—Agent Carter sitting at the doors of the old barn they’d taken shelter in for the night, his first thought is that she’s second-guessing the watch schedule he’d set up. Which he actually wouldn’t mind - he’s still new to this commander business, and he knows that any of the rest of them have more experience and she perhaps most of all - but he wishes she’d have talked to him before the middle of the night.
Then he notices that she’s curled up tightly, legs and arms tucked in: not exactly a state of battle readiness.
“Are you alright?” he asks softly, approaching with care. It’s started snowing, but not enough to muffle anything.
“Dugan was terribly noisy getting up for his patrol. Woke me completely with all that grumbling and toe-stubbing and it was too bloody cold to get back to sleep. I’d have taken his turn, but he’d already gone.”
The moon is mostly hidden by the trees, but he can make out a hint of her smile. He’d been pretty sure he’d never see it directed at himself again, she’d been so mad at him the last time they’d been around each other. During the four days since she dropped in on their assignment, she’s been perfectly polite, professional, but held back from any more than that. She’s fallen in easily with the rest of the Commandos - every five minutes they’re asking her to settle some argument or a bet, or it’s “Peggy, tell us that one about Corporal Franks and the sheepdog again,” and even Bucky smiles at her although smiling doesn’t really seem to come all that naturally to him these days - but with him she’s all firmly tilted chin and observant eyes and “Captain Rogers.”
Until now, apparently.
He settles beside her in increments, not trying to fool or distract her but to give her a chance to tell him to get lost if she wants. She just watches him. Finally, forearms rested atop tented knees, he asks, "So what made you decide to come out here instead of staying where there's at least four walls and a roof?"
"It started snowing." She looks upward before facing him, flakes decorating her eyelashes and dampening her usually pristine hair. "And I know that this sort of weather is terrible news for so many, and it won't make our job any easier, but it reminds me of home and sometimes you must grasp those little pieces of magic and hold with both hands."
I know what you mean, he thinks, but what he says aloud is, "Why does the snow remind you of home? I would have thought it would be rain."
Actually sounding fairly amused, she says, "Dealing in anti-English stereotypes, I see. Though not even the most damning ones."
"Well, I've been to London. Seen it with my own eyes." He widens them a bit for effect and somehow their gazes catch, as if they're having a staring contest, before they look away.
"Yes, well, I didn't grow up in London. We lived farther out in the country. And when I was small, my brother would wake me up the first night it snowed each year and we'd go out - terribly underdressed, mind you, slippers and dressing gowns - and just watch it float down toward us. We would catch the flakes on our tongues and stay out until our faces were raw. Mum would tell us off if we didn't get back inside before she woke up, but then she'd just make us each hot chocolate and bundle us in front of the fire."
"That sounds—" Steve clears his throat. "That sounds beautiful."
"It truly was." She shuffles her feet a bit, and then, sounding wry, though he wonders if it might be to avoid the slight shaking in her voice, says, "I don't suppose a city boy like yourself had such similar experiences?"
He snorts. "Not hardly. Snowball wars in the street when there'd been a storm, sure. But if my mother had caught me sneaking down four flights in the middle of January or catching something from outside in my mouth, I certainly wouldn't have gotten hot chocolate."
"A shame for you, then." Her eyes gleam celestial in the near dark. Without meaning to, he takes in a gulp of frigid, pine-scented air.
"Seems to me," he says, "that I just have an opportunity to make another, better memory for the future." He pauses, glances down then back up at her. "Or—Well, this one's a pretty good one too. A first first snow memory."
The quiet between them is content, broken as it is by the sounds of birds and animals on their nightly business. A gust blows over them and Peggy shivers.
"Here," Steve says, automatically moving to unbutton his coat, but she shakes her head.
"Remember what Howard said."
The sound he makes in the back of his throat is half humorous, half rueful. She'd been there to hear Howard yell, "Don't forget to try to stay warm - not too warm, though! We're not totally sure what could happen to you extreme temps. Might be that your temperature and the way your brain processes it don't match up. Should probably test it when you get back," just before Steve left HQ.
"Well," he says, clearing his throat and continuing to undo his buttons, stretching his legs out in front of himself. The coat is heavier than any he's ever had and she has one much the same, but they're not particularly well insulated. "It's still cold as hell out here. We can share it."
The words hold awkwardly in the air as she looks over at him. A voice that might be Bucky's is telling him that he's not smooth enough to use words to make it better and he should just keep quiet and hope she lets it go. His own voice is low when he speaks again. "Just to keep warm, I swear. I would never—" His fingers fidget over the last button. "I know you have reason not to trust me. I should never have assumed anything or spoken to you like that, and I'm sorry for it."
"I know you are," she says with surprising immediacy. "Watching you over the past few days it's become clear to me that I wasn't as mistaken about your character as I had thought. And that perhaps I shouldn't have shot at you."
"It was," he says, feeling foolish, "some pretty good shooting," and she climbs over his left leg and tucks herself beneath his arm, inside the warmth of the wool with him.
"What a charming compliment." Her breath clouds softly against his neck. "I'll have to tell my mother."
"Maybe talk me up a little too." He isn't entirely sure what he's saying. "If I ever make it there for a first snow, I'd like some of that hot chocolate afterward."
She gives a hushed little laugh. "I'll make certain to. Although I wonder if I've elevated my childhood memories too highly. You might end up being disappointed."
There are, he estimates, likely only about another ten minutes before Dugan comes back around to this spot on the patrol route and they should probably be inside by then. He plans to savor each moment until he hears footsteps out here with Peggy beneath the first drifting snow.
"Believe me," he says. "If it's even close to this, I don't think there's any way I could be disappointed."
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Steve's sitting at the drafting table they'd set up in one corner of the living room once it became clear that he was going to be drawing as more than a hobby. The pot of heavy stew he has on a low flame lends the aroma of tomato and garlic to the air.
He's working on two sample wedding announcements, one in a cartoon style for the bride, with she and her fiance sharing a milkshake with two straws (the sort of simplified image that he recognizes wryly will become emblematic of this era while allowing people to ignore the complexities) and one with more classically elegant florals for the bride's mother. He's been distracted and has to force himself to focus, so just the two designs have taken him all afternoon. It's only once he's finished the latter that he looks up and realizes simultaneously that it's dark, Peggy still isn't home, and that it's started snowing.
He reaches over the tabletop and lifts the edge of the dotted green curtain, peering at the falling flakes illuminated by the streetlight.
"The hell?" he mutters to himself. They'd had barely a dusting all winter, it had been in the seventies for half of January, and now it's snowing in March.
Apparently the stew was a good choice for tonight. Peggy will want something hot and filling when she gets here.
He reaches toward his pocket to check the time then shakes his head at himself and looks at his wristwatch instead. 7:56. It's not unheard of for her to arrive home this late but she had seemed to think it would be a fairly light workday. Changes of plan like this always makes him wonder if something's gone wrong, not with Peggy who can generally handle herself, but with one of the many balls they're trying to keep in the air: Korea is still a concern, of course, and Hydra has been bristling from the targeted test strikes they've made so far, and of course there's Bucky. They've been getting close to finding him, each source of Peggy's confirming Steve’s memorized information seeming like it will be the last link, each day feeling like it might be the one.
Forcing himself to stand, he stretches, circles aimlessly around the apartment a few times, then gathers himself enough to remember to tidy up. The snow is still coming down, big floating flakes that are actually starting to accumulate.
Once his supplies are put away, the counter wiped down, and the table set, he allows himself to call over to the SHIELD offices. If Peggy has something to tell him, she will when she can, and if not it might be an interruption to something important. But there are, he reminds himself, more normal explanations for a late arrival and if she's just catching up on paperwork he'll be happy to know that too.
He's very aware of how lucky he is that they get at least some degree of normal.
But the switchboard operator who picks up, recognizing his voice, tells him that Peggy left nearly an hour ago. He thanks her and hangs up, frowning. It usually takes half that time to get back.
He considers starting in on his next project or picking up a book in an attempt to distract himself, but before he can even make a decision, the power goes out, leaving him blinking in the near darkness, the flame from the stove the only light.
After he searches around by feel for the matches and then by match-light for a flashlight, he turns off the burner and heads down to make sure the neighbors are alright.
Mrs. Lester on the first floor sits sewing by the light of what seems to be a lantern set up on her table, and reminds him peaceably that she grew up in a country cabin without any electricity at all so this doesn't bother her in the least. The Trimble brothers on the second floor ask a whole lot of questions that he can't answer ("When do you think the power will come back on?" and "Do you think it will snow again tomorrow?") but seem fine. Esther Stoneham in the little top floor apartment even seems glad about the lights having gone out - it'll mean that her toddlers Caroline and Eddie might actually just go to bed instead of trying to play with everything in the place.
"I've lit one candle," she tells him, with exhausted eagerness. "And I'm telling them that's all there is so they had better be done picking up the toys before it goes out.”
He meets Peggy coming up the stairs as he's on his way back down.
"You're home," he says, just as she reaches the landing, her camel-colored trench dark and dripping a bit, and asks, "Do I smell a stew?"
They go inside together, door locked behind them.
“Another first snow together,” he says, catching and holding her chilled fingers in his.
Her eyes are soft on him. It always strikes him when they have these sorts of moments, when she’s with him to share these memories that had been held by only the two of them: their memories. “Still some magic to it, though I wouldn’t have said no to a bit better timing. I didn’t even wear a scarf today.”
He lights some candles around the place while she goes into the bedroom, joining her once he's finished.
"I would have adored a good bath," she says, standing before the bureau in her slip and sorting around in the dim light for her warmest pajamas. "But I suppose we can't have everything."
"I think I can promise a bath sometime in the near future." He walks into the bathroom and picks up a towel. Once she's finished changing, he starts to rub gently at her hair, drying it carefully of the cold moisture. When he's done, her cheeks have lost their outdoor redness and she's a bit frizzy.
There was a time, not long ago and all of forever away, when he never thought he'd see her like this, relaxed and unguarded, completely beautiful in the disheveled, comfortable way. He kisses her forehead, her temple, her cheek, her mouth, her mouth again for longer. She presses up into him, hands holding him closer, a dreamy, satisfied hum building in the back of her throat, until, approximately simultaneously, his hand hits one of the bottles lined up atop her dresser, knocking things around, and her stomach reminds them it's quite late and they still haven't eaten.
Steve ladles stew, luckily still warm enough, into bowls. Peggy slices bread and spreads hers liberally with butter. She's only five years on from army food and ration cards.
"How was your day?" he asks as they sit across from each other in the quiet, candlelit kitchen.
"I had an interminable meeting with a very sweet man from the BID who somehow kept expecting me to speak Dutch, which is unfortunately not among my many talents, and then I was informed by Howard that selecting Eugenia Cavendish to head our Australia division was being perceived as an insult to the men who’d interviewed for the position.”
“Howard said that?” Steve asks, already thinking about socking the man next time they see each other.
“No, he merely informed me of how it was being perceived, which I might already have guessed. And I informed him in return that I don’t particularly care, and I suspect Genie’s prepared herself as well.” She takes another bite. “And then I had an errand to take care of after work, and got caught up in the weather. I tried to wait it out, but finally decided to take a chance and I’m glad I did or I might have been waiting all night.”
“An errand?”
“Yes, I—” She looks just slightly flustered, as if she’d hoped he wouldn’t catch on that bit, then says decisively, “Oh, let me just get them.”
From her bag, she takes a bakery box, a bit damp, a bit crushed, but mostly intact, and sets it before him, nodding at him to untie the twine and open it up. When he does with careful fingers, he finds two cinnamon buns lying inside.
“You were talking yesterday about how your mother made them once, as a treat,” she says as he takes them in. “And I know that you’ve had quite a lot on your shoulders lately. So I called around and had some put aside.”
Their local bakery closes at 3 and usually sells out of the more popular treats long before then. There wouldn’t even be anyone to open the door without some convincing. Steve looks down at the pair of pastries, sweetly puffed up and perfectly iced, for long moments. How simple it is, to be thought of, an offhand comment remembered, to have someone go out of their way for him. To have Peggy, in the midst of all that she does, go out of her way for him.
“Thank you,” he says, meeting her eyes, the box still cradled in his hands.
“Here,” she says, standing with her bowl. “Come, my darling. Let’s finish eating in the sitting room. The windows are better there. We can sit and watch the snow. A bit of magic. I think we can both use it.”
Her gaze from across the table is so kind: Peggy sitting beside him as he’d cried in that bombed out pub, Peggy reminding them both of the things they have to be proud of, Peggy here and now, understanding him without words, promising so much more to come for the two of them together.
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The bedroom door slams open without warning, and both Steve and Peggy shoot up in bed as all four of their kids tumble through the door.
“It’s snowing,” Emma says, fingers fluttering gleefully downward as she catapults toward the bed.
“Snow day!” Drea sings eagerly, bouncing into the blankets. “Snow day!”
And indeed, when Steve looks out the window into the near darkness, he finds several inches already on the ground and more still falling.
“I guess you’re right,” he says. “Any chance you all will go back to sleep for at least a couple more hours?” When they blink up at him (Rosie actually snorting out a laugh), he just shrugs. “Okay. Pancakes, I guess.”
The roads aren’t going to be cleared for several hours at least - everything around here shuts down for even a sprinkling. Peggy could likely place a few calls to give herself some sort of priority in order to get in for at least the later morning, but she doesn’t. Instead, for the first time in its history, Peggy phones her work and tells them to activate the phone tree and inform everyone at the Washington office that they can switch to essential staff members only for the day.
“That was nice of you,” Steve comments, giving her a smile, a brief kiss, and a cup of tea as she joins them all in the kitchen.
“They can always telephone in an emergency, though there hopefully won’t be any today.” She sips her tea, watching him standing there flipping pancakes on the griddle and adding bacon to a pan, looking at the children bundled in their robes, making wonderful, impossible plans for the day. “And it was a bit of a gift to me as well.”
The radio news, along with the official school closure, announces that the storm might have some staying power. By the time they’ve finished breakfast, it’s late enough that Steve says he’ll dig out his old snow boots and go see if the store’s open to pick up some essentials.
Even for him, the walk to town takes longer than usual, and it turns out that their early rising was lucky: people are flowing into the market and the shelves are starting to clear. Steve gets a bag full of staples, then asks Mr. Hillyard if he can leave them in the back office for a bit and borrow his phone to call Peggy. Looking around, he sees several elderly shoppers who likely need a hand getting things back home - the wind has a bite to it and they probably shouldn’t be out in that at all, much less carrying heavy bags down uncleared roads.
It’s several hours before he’s finished making deliveries and promising to come back tomorrow to help shovel walkways, before he finally starts home himself. On the way he is waved over by Wally Davenport, father of Rose’s friend Marcia, a portly man with his coat zipped to his chin who stands talking to Mrs. Gregory, the grade school principal.
“Cold enough for you?” he asks, fairly cheerfully Steve thinks for someone who has his hands stuffed so deep in his pockets that he’s bent nearly in half. Mrs. Gregory waves goodbye to the two of them, looking a bit relieved to be freed from conversation.
“I’m ready to be back home with Peggy and the kids,” Steve says, shifting the bag in his arm and trying not to sound pointed.
“Bet that brood of yours is happy to have the day off,” Wally replies obliviously. “I know that my two are—”
Later, it is hard to tell whether Steve’s hearing or his speed makes the difference. Likely it’s both: his sharp ears immediately detecting the moment that the branch of the old, spreading pine above them, unused to the weight of snow, cracks and collapses, his instinctive arm hauling Wally out of the way as the enormous bough crashes down before them.
“Lord almighty,” Wally says, swiping a hand across his forehead and staring wide-eyed as if he expects the sidewalk to have crumbled into pieces from the force of it. “You’re pretty fast there, Grant. Don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”
If you hadn’t been here, Steve thinks to himself, walking through the overcast, snow-cushioned streets after he’s sent Wally back home to his wife and kids. Perhaps if he hadn’t been there, Marcia and Dougie would have found their memories of this day destroyed by the memory of their father’s death. Perhaps if he hadn’t been there, Wally would have already moved on toward home, heard about the fallen branch only later, whistled when he walked by and spotted it.
This life, the life he and Peggy have made themselves...He lives always within its normalcy, lives with the knowledge that he is in some ways entirely apart. Some days - when Nate asks if he thinks people will ever really walk on the moon, the afternoon Rose brought home that first Beatles record, saying her friends told her it was pretty good - he is struck by all that he knows, all the ways he is permanently outside of time. Some days, like when he’d turned on the news to see, suddenly before him, footage of John Glenn circling the earth for the first time, he feels entirely a part of it all, and sometimes, like when he’d seen Jerrie Cobb go up six months later, he finds pride in what he’s managed to do here. And often, he does not even think of it much, is simply a husband, a father, with errands to complete and homework to oversee, listening to his children’s chatter, Peggy’s laugh or her sharp sigh when they talk in bed at night.
The house, as he approaches it, looks unfamiliar for a moment, and then he blinks. There is Emma’s window, with the pretty curtains she’d selected. There is the scratch Nate left on the garage door when he was learning to make turns on his bike last summer. There, beneath the snow and frozen earth, sleep the bulbs he’d planted. There is the porch swing where he and Peggy sit to have a drink together when it’s warm out, the welcome mat where Rosie dropped a pitcher of Kool-Aid and left a stain, the front door that Drea will help him touch up in the spring.
He walks down the front hallway, feeling each step. In the doorway to the living room, he stops. The kids are still in their robes, scattered around with books and blankets, barely glancing at him. They’ve built a fire; it is still high in the grate.
Peggy is sitting with her own book, leaning on one arm of the sofa with her feet tucked beside her. She looks up at him, her hair a bit messy, eyes familiar, all of her beautiful.
“Oh good, you’re home,” she says. “We were waiting for you to get back before we went out into the yard together.”
He can picture it: snowmen and snow angels and forts and everyone laughing their way through a merciless snowball fight, burrowing back inside to wrap their hands around mugs of hot chocolate. Having this day, this wonderful day, and another tomorrow and for days and years to come, perhaps not the same, certain to be filled also with shock and worry and disappointment and heartache, but made of so many of these same small and loving moments.
“Yeah,” Steve says, complete with it all. “Yeah, I’m home.”
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perspective-series · 4 years
Text
Lilliputian Perspective (5/10)
By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67
Warnings: Fear, threats, and mention of injury
(Check the reblog for the links to any future chapters)
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 Roman finally reach his cave, the sun setting fast but still giving bits of light. He was pulling several carts behind him, panting all the while. “This better be enough food for you!” He shouted as he entered the cave.
Logan smiled, touched by Roman’s efforts. “Do you need a hand?” He asked, noticing how the Lilliputian struggled.
 “...Yes, please.” Roman said, moving out of the way so Logan could grab them. He looked over towards Patton and nodded at him. Might as well be civil if he couldn’t get rid of him.
Logan took the carts one by one, moving them towards the back section of the cave that could be considered his area. He looked them over, finding a large assortment of meats, veggies, fruits, and cheese. “This is impressive, how did you manage it?” Logan raised his eyebrows, digging into one of the carts after giving the meat a sniff. It there were any bones, Logan found them easy enough to chew.
 Now that they knew, Roman didn’t bother hiding the fact he stole them. “It was difficult, but I ended up having to do each cart one at a time. And from different areas, as to not raise too much suspicion.” Roman explained.
 Patton frowned. “So you did steal it.” Patton sighed at Roman’s grin.
 “Yep! You’re welcome!”
“I do appreciate your effort,” Logan admitted, pausing between mouthfuls. “But this isn’t exactly what I meant by a sustainable source of food. Surely you can’t do this forever. Or very long at all, in fact.”
 Roman frowned. “I can do it for as long as I need to.” He huffed. Though...Logan did have a point. What were they going to do?
 His thoughts were halted for a moment though when he noticed something on Logan’s arm. “...What’s that?” He asked and Patton tensed.
Logan glanced at his arm, only now remembering the tent that had been balancing there. “Oh, right. I do apologize, but Patton suggested I use your tent.”
 “What? Why? What happened?” Roman turned to Patton, expecting an answer. Patton bit his lip.
 “Well...I needed some water. And so did Logan, so we went out and got some...and then we may have...run into the bandits that had been chasing after me.” Patton explained, looking down. Roman blinked.
 “I’m sorry, what?” He asked.
“I have a slight wound.” Logan cut to the part about the tent, pointing at his arm.
 “Not that! You bumped into more people! And you just let them go!” Roman yelled and Patton winced.
 “They said they wouldn’t tell anyone!” Patton tried to defend but Roman just glared.
 “And you believed them?!” Roman glanced between Logan and Patton at that.
“Not particularly,” Logan admitted. “But I trusted Patton’s judgment.”
 “I didn’t think it was right to keep them trapped here,” Patton admitted and Roman groaned. 
 “Well, get ready for the freaking army to come through because they definitely told the king already!” Roman exclaimed.
 Patton paled. “An...An army?”
Logan stopped his eating, beginning to grow concerned. The singular sword had not harmed him terribly, but a Lilliputian army would certainly possess enough firepower to do him harm, especially if he kept trying to harm no Lilliputians himself.
 “What? You think the king would ignore something like this? Even coming from a couple of criminals, he would send people to go and check it out.” Roman explained.
“Well, it’s possible we will remain unharmed here, considering the incident happened at the lake.” Logan reasoned. “Although we’ll have to find a new water source.”
 “We can only hope.” Roman huffed. “No one is leaving this cave though, that’s for sure. We can’t have anyone finding us.”
 Patton nodded. “Right, okay.” He was quiet for a moment. “...Sorry.” He whispered, looking down. Roman blinked and sighed, going over to awkwardly pat Patton’s back. 
 “Look, you can’t help that you have one of those pure hearts or whatever. Just be more careful next time.” Roman said, before taking his hand away and moving away.
“What would you have recommended?” Logan asked quietly, keeping his voice down. “For future interpretation.”
 Roman thought for a moment. “...I don’t know. I mean, taking them back here doesn’t sound like a great idea either…” He hummed. “Probably should have thrown them in the ocean. You could probably throw pretty far, right?”
 Patton’s eyes widened. “No! We can’t kill them!”
 “I never said kill, I just said throw them in the ocean!” Roman tried to defend himself.
“It’s not a terrible idea, assuming Lilliputians can swim?” Logan looked to the two in front of him for confirmation.
 Roman grinned a smug grin towards Patton. “Yes, we can...usually.” He added as an afterthought.
 “No! We are not throwing anyone into the ocean!” Patton exclaimed, not believing he had to actually argue this.
“Actually, on second thought, that would still be impractical.” Logan pointed out. “They would either drown, which would be immoral, or they would swim back, and we would be back to square one.”
 Roman pouted as Patton sighed in relief. “Well then, I’m out of ideas,” Roman admitted. “You shouldn’t have been seen in the first place.”
“Well, I cannot just stay in this cave forever.” Logan sighed. “But there is no way to guarantee that I avoid detection.”
 Roman sighed. “You make a good point...we need to work towards actually getting you out of here and back home.”
 Patton frowned. “But...how?” 
 Roman bit his lip. “I...don’t know. Logan, any ideas?”
“Well, with the right lumber I could build a raft.” Logan suggested. “Although it might be difficult to find enough trees large enough, and it wouldn’t be a subtle process gathering it all. Not to mention, it would take me quite some time to build it.”
 “Well...that might be our only option. Cause it’s either that or you stay here forever, eventually, get caught and probably chained up as some sort of war machine for the kingdom.” Roman said and Patton whined at that, not liking the idea of Logan being put in that situation.
“...I prefer the raft.” Logan said, setting down the cart in hand with a few remaining vegetables. He suddenly had lost his appetite.
 “So do I,” Patton whined and Roman sighed.
 “We all do. Look, I don’t want to see you get caught, Logan. You’re a...good person. And while I usually don’t hang around those kinds of people, I’ll admit it’s kind of nice.”
“You hardly know me, but the sentiment is appreciated, Roman.” Logan gave him a soft half-smile.
 Roman smiled back and then yawned. “Well, we can think up some more plans tomorrow. I am exhausted.” 
 Patton nodded, also yawning after watching Roman. “Yeah, I am too. It’s been quite the day, wouldn’t you guys say?” Patton asked, chuckling a little.
 “Absolutely.” Roman agreed.
Logan gave a large yawn of his own, already beginning to lie down. 
 Roman made his way to his bed but Patton hung back, biting his lip. “Uh...where can I sleep?” He asked and Roman blinked.
 “Oh, right, um…” Roman looked around and went over to a pile of his things, digging through it. He pulled out a sleeping bag with a grin. “Knew it was here.” He handed it to Patton, who took it.
 “...Did you-”
 “Yes, Patton, I stole it.” Roman cut him off with a sigh. “I thought we already established this.”
 “Right, sorry,” Patton said. He didn’t really feel comfortable using a stolen sleeping bag but he didn’t have any other choice, apparently. He set it at the foot of Roman’s bed and climbed into it after setting his backpack up like a pillow.
 Roman climbed into his own bed. “Logan, feel free to lie down anywhere...just as long as you give us enough space.” Roman didn’t want to become a pancake due to Logan rolling over.
“Relax, I’ll be back here.” Logan scooted further into the cave, away from the Lilliputian dwellings. He was not known to rock in his sleep regardless. “I don’t suppose you have anything I could use to prop my head up?”
 “Uhh…” Roman looked around. “...You could use that pile of gold?” He pointed with a shrug. 
 “Roman, that wouldn’t be very comfortable,” Patton said from the floor and Roman huffed. 
 “I don’t know what he usually sleeps on, maybe he likes that kind of thing!” Roman exclaimed, although even he highly doubted that.
“I’m not a dragon.” Logan rolled his eyes at that suggestion. “No matter- I expected not. I shall just use my arms.”
 “Sounds good.” Roman yawned. “Well, goodnight.” He said, before lying down and curled up under the covers.
 “Goodnight!” Patton said back, doing the same. There wasn’t a lot of cushion between the hard cave floor and his sleeping bag but it did the job.
“Goodnight,” Logan repeated the sentiment, settling in. Despite the relative uncomfortableness of the cave floor, and the slight chilly draft floating in from the ocean, Logan found the setup quite suitable. After all, he was still exhausted, and within just a few minutes he was fast asleep, peacefully snoring away.
***
 Virgil rode through the forest, atop his horse along with several of his knights. Er, his father’s knights. They weren’t his, of course, not yet anyway. Night had fallen already and yet they saw no sign of the giant the bandits were talking about. Virgil sighed, he should have no it was some sort of joke or something. Now, he just wasted his knights’ time and they would all see him as a bad ruler.
 Virgil was just about to tell everyone to turn around and head home, when a nearby night stuck his arm out, effectively stopping Virgil and his horse. “What? What is it?” Virgil asked and the knight looked at him.
 “You don’t hear that, Sire?” The knight said and Virgil blinked. He was about to say no, he didn’t, when he paused. A deep, rumbling sound echoed around him, shaking him to his core. So much to the point he couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard it before.
 Virgil gulped, that didn’t sound good. With his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, he motioned for the knights to follow him as they hopped off their horses and went closer to the sound. Soon, it was clear the sound was coming from within a cave, a...rather large cave, Virgil couldn’t help but notice.
 Hesitantly, he led the Knights towards the mouth of the cave and looked into it. Everyone froze as they took in the sight before them. A giant, just as the bandit’s had said, sleeping inside the cave. Virgil’s mouth went dry at the sight and he took a step back in fear.
 “Sire? What should we do?” A knight whispered to him and now all the attention was on him to make a decision. He let out a shaky breath. 
 “We...We need the army.” Virgil spoke, doing his best to remain calm. “And-And something to tie the giant up with and we need it before he wakes up.” As Virgil said this, no one moved. He turned to them. “That means go!” He whisper yelled at them. They got into gear, running back towards their horses and heading back to the castle. Only Virgil and one knight stayed behind to keep watch of the giant.
 “...Please don’t wake up.” Virgil mumbled as he stared at the giant.
Logan moaned, his body feeling sore from the way he slept but at least his mind was well-rested. However, as he began to try to get up, Logan was puzzled to feel his legs were...restrained? 
Logan opened his eyes, gazing in surprise as what had to be at least several hundred Lilliputians stood in front of him in the cave mouth, all frightened and all armed. Well, so much for secrecy. In the crowd, Logan could also pick out Roman and Patton, who were both bound and gagged. 
Looking down, Logan’s hands were bound at the wrists, with what appeared to be many layers of tiny ropes all braided together. With a flex of his wrists, Logan could tell it was relatively sturdy, but he imagined if he tried he could break through. Logan Imagined this was the same sensation keeping his ankles tied together, and wondered how the Lilliputians had managed all this in the night while Logan remained asleep.
 Roman yelled but it became muffled due to the gag in his mouth. Patton, who was on his knees next to him, had tears in his eyes. He had one knight watching him, while Roman needed two to keep him still. His eyes widened, suddenly, when he saw the prince walking around the cave.
 “Sire! The beast is awake!” A guard shouted, backing away from the giant. Virgil swallowed as he looked up and met the giant’s gaze. Okay, he could do this. He could do this. He took a step closer and immediately regretted it, but he didn’t move back.
 “...D-Do you speak?!” Virgil asked, wincing as he heard himself stutter. Hopefully, this giant didn’t catch that.
“Yes,” Logan answered, watching as a more regal-looking figure in black and purple approached him. He kept his answer short, wanting to stay cooperative.
 Virgil’s eyes widened in surprise. Okay, that made things easier...right? “Okay, then tell me why you are here? And who are they?” He motioned towards the two lilliputians tied up as well. “Are they your captives?”
“Ah...no.” Logan decided, thinking back on it. “This is Roman’s cave, and he allowed me to stay here. Patton has been assisting me as well. I come in peace, I washed up on your shores sometime in the night yesterday.”
 Peace? Could that be true? 
 “Do not listen to it, your highness.” His advisor came up to him and spoke. “It is a beast and cannot be trusted, do what is best for our people.” Virgil winced but nodded.
 “R-Right.” Right, he couldn’t let the beast trick him. He curled his fists, gaining the courage to look back up at the giant. “Beast, you are hereby under arrest! You and your lackeys will be coming with us.” Virgil spoke, happy to note he didn’t stutter that time.
“Alright, first of all, not a beast,” Logan said, remembering Roman and Patton’s fears upon first meeting him. “I do not, and will not, consume any Lilliputian. Secondly, your highness, with all due respect, how do you intend to take me under arrest without my assistance? After all, I do believe I have done nothing wrong.” Well, aside from trespassing on the island, but Logan could not help that.
 “You being here is wrong!” A random guard shouted from the giant’s right. 
 “Yeah!” Another agreed. Virgil’s advisor stepped forward, glaring at the beast.
 “We are not going to wait around for you to do something.” The advisor spoke. Virgil bit his lip, he knew they were waiting on him to give orders but the giant was also right. How were they supposed to get him out of here? His eyes glanced towards the lilliputians who had helped this giant and he got an idea. Not a very...nice idea but he had to do something.
 “If you do not come with us.” Virgil began to speak. “Then we will hurt your partners in crime.” He hoped this worked.
 Patton’s eyes widened in fear, while Roman’s narrowed in rage. He started to struggle more and another knight had to come to hold him down.
Logan frowned. “Why would you hurt one of your own? They’ve done nothing wrong, and I hardly know them.”
 “They committed treason, helping you, you beast.” His advisor spoke. “It was a nice try, Sire, but this beast does not seem to care for its slaves.”
 Roman practically growled at that. He was no one's slave! Least of all Logan’s! Unfortunately, he couldn’t even struggle anymore due to how many men were holding him down.
“Well, that’s a bit harsh.” Logan darkened his gaze, not liking that particular Lilliputian. He turned back to the regal figure. “What are you, the king? Do you often let your men speak for you? Where I come from a leader like that is called a coward.”
 Virgil ducked his head, cowering at the giant’s look. “I-I’m the prince…” Virgil murmured in fear, taking a step back.
 “And you, beast, have no right to speak to him in such a way!” His advisor said back and Virgil winced. Why was he still talking? Couldn’t he see that it was just making the giant angrier?
“I do believe I’m done speaking with you,” Logan informed him, his eyebrow twitching. What an insufferable man.
 The advisor looked livid and like he was about to speak again anyway, when Virgil placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Please, I-I can handle this.” Virgil lied. His advisor huffed but stepped away, turning his back towards the giant.
 Virgil turned to face the giant again. “I’m...sorry about him.” He never did like his father’s advisor.
“Apology accepted,” Logan assured him, wanting to remain civil. He looked out amongst the crowd. “But are all these theatrics truly necessary? It seems the only thing that’s been created is tension.”
 “How can we know that you are telling the truth?” Virgil spoke, feeling a bit more confident now that the giant wasn’t glaring at them. “The people-er, my people are afraid and I-I have to do what is best for them.” Virgil let out a shaky breath once more. “If...If you truly don’t mean any harm, then come with us willingly.” Virgil tried, despite not thinking it would work. It at least gave him more time to come up with an actual way to get this giant locked up.
“Well, I would, but you’ve tied up my legs.” Logan reminded him, glancing back briefly at his feet. “And regardless, I am more than willing to cooperate, but I will not come as a prisoner.”
 “Um, well, you really don’t have much of a choice in that,” Virgil said hesitantly. “The people would feel safer if you were locked up, at least until, uh, we...figure this all out?” Oh geez, this was quickly falling apart on him.
“Do you even have a cell large enough to encase me?” Logan asked, always of a logical mind.
 “Uh, well not a traditional one,” Virgil admitted. “But we’re making...arrangements.” Arrangements being metal chains big enough to hold the giant in a more open cave that was closer to town.
“What sort of arrangements?” Logan pressed.
 “...chains?” Virgil revealed, although due to a few glares from a few of the knights, he figured he probably shouldn’t have revealed that. Or anything. He was really bad at this.
Logan considered this. He wanted to cooperate with the Lilliputian government to show he meant no harm, and this prince seemed willing enough to cooperate in turn.
“Alright, I will come with you.” Logan finally agreed. “But, in exchange for my compliance, I have conditions.”
 Virgil blinked and stood up a little straighter. “What sort of...conditions?” He asked hesitantly. He glanced back towards his advisor, who was back to glaring at the giant.
“First, you release Roman and Patton.” Logan nodded towards the two who had helped him. “Second, my legs will need to be untied so that I can have the mobility required to cooperate.”
 “Sire, I don’t think-” His advisor tried but was quickly silenced by a look from Virgil. He then glanced between the giant and the two lilliputians. 
 “...Okay. Untie his legs!” Virgil ordered, before turning to the guards holding the lilliputians. “Let them go.”
 The guard did as told, though it was clear they didn’t like it. As soon as Roman’s hands were free, he ripped the gag off. “Finally! How dare you silence me!” He shouted, glaring at the guards. Patton was glad to be free but he was looking at Logan worryingly.
 The guards ordered to untie Logan’s legs were far more hesitant, slowly inching closer to do just that.
“No need,” Logan assured them, noticing how nervous they were to get close. “I can manage myself.” He shifted slowly around, trying not to terrify the army too terribly as he sat up. Though it was a bit difficult with his wrists still tied, Logan found the correct pocket easily enough. He pulled out his swiss army knife, taking the blade and sawing at the ropes entangled around his ankles.
 Virgil, along with Patton, Roman, and everyone else in the room, stared in terrified awe at the sight of the giant knife. Most took several steps back, even more wary of the giant than before, knowing he was armed, despite not even needing to be.
 Virgil slowly realized the giant could have gotten out of the bonds at any moment. And yet he had waited specifically for Virgil’s permission. 
 Virgil didn’t know what to make of it.
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yvynyl · 4 years
Text
Dear Readers + Listeners,
I’ve been sitting down this morning to try to rejuvenate this project - the core of YVYNYL - for months now and frankly, I haven’t had it in me. I log in, look at the tens of thousands of unread emails, the dozens of unpublished saved drafts. Life throws you all kinds of annoying challenges and some of the burdensome, unpaid ones simply become the first thing to go. YVYNYL as a project has been one of those things for me. At least, YVYNYL as it has been for the past few years. I let it drag and dip into a swamp that took all its energy out of itself. I didn’t let my intentions give it the lightness, ease, and energy that I wanted to give it. 
Now, in the early months of 2020, I find myself pondering what comes next. For one thing, I still have more than two dozen unpublished Letters to YVYNYL sitting in my ‘to publish’ Drafts section of the site, but still in need of one last push, whether it be a small edit or publishing detail. Every time I log in to Tumblr the only thing I see is un-author sourced recognition gloop and more random internet re-posts. Nothing is original. Nothing here is clear. It’s all just about how many people were bored enough to just click “like” as they swipe and swipe and swipe. Or maybe that’s 98% of the internet itself these days. 
I wish things here on Tumblr were better. I’m glad that it hasn’t closed up shop entirely. It still seems to have the slightest bit of steam within the context of the personal blog platform amongst people who love music. All kinds of music. Posting it, linking to it. And while I don’t have as much personal time as I used to have to engage on the level of spending ten’s of hours a week to read indy music blogs and to cull through the endless waves of independent music being published, I am still drawn to the possibility that many of us share a goal. We want to use music-the-artform to explain our lives, our burdens, our stories. The words we use, the ones we write are our tools for being outlaws, preachers, writers, wildly independent thinkers, anything we want. We are the people with a deep reverberating reason to listen to and make more music. We are the people listening with intention. Even if that group is a fan base of 10. Or 100. Or 10,000. 
I love those relationships. Back in the late 00′s and the early 10′s, a lot of us were finding space to do just that, finding great new music. Now, I’m searching and searching again for that place, that energy, that community. 
If you’ve read this that long and you are interested in being a part of that kind of community, here it is. Read on. And if anyone wants to jump in with me to make that idea thrive. Let’s do it together. Let’s publish good work. Let’s tell stories. Let’s sit together, far away from one another or together in a club. Let’s meet each other. Let’s date each other. Let’s surf the constant flow of the now and how much it serves as a beacon of truth. The ultimate experience we all crave. 
Thank you for reading and listening to this rant. I don’t know whether I’ll keep pushing on here on Tumblr or let it die and reuse the connections I already have on Instagram, Facebook, or Twitter. For now, I just need to write this. To get something going. Anything. Otherwise, it will be truly lost. And truly dead. 2007 to 2019. Long live 2020! and beyond! 
Click on to see some of the best-unpublished Letters here. It’s my goal to post a bunch of these, even though some are half a year old. 
And thank you for being a supporter of this long-suffering project. If you’d like to join, head over to the socials or if you’re in Philly, let me know and we’ll go share some coffee or tea.
Love,
Mark* aka @yvynyl
PS - If you are a designer, wanna help me out and rebuild this page on Tumblr or on something else, hit me up!
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