#which pretty much informs like. every other thing about the construction of the language

[tibli]

Me: Okay I'm gonna make it so the languages in this story are literally just mirrors or real ones but with different names slapped over them so i don't bog myself down building yet ANOTHER fucking conlang.

Me, later on: Damn, none of the languages I can find really fit this particular group of people, what do I do?

Another Fucking Conlang:

Me: No

Another Fucking Conlang: :^)

Me: GOD DAMN IT

[talenlee]

Goblin, Vandal, Sugg

Every word you’ve ever used comes from somewhere. The structures you use to discuss ideas is informed by ideas that came before it. I’m not getting all Sapir-Worf about this (and if you don’t know what that is, you don’t have to know because it’s probably not true), but rather wanting to draw your attention to the way the world you live in is in part defined by the words you use. If you’re an English speaker, there are ways you describe food that are a byproduct of French invasion centuries ago. Words like ‘technocrat’ and ‘hyperspecialised’ are constructions that borrow from how intellectuals used to use Latin. Your swear words are almost all from the poor working class, and used to describe sex, god, or excrement, and that’s not how all swear words work in all cultures!

Your world shapes your language.

In any given fantasy setting you work on, you don’t usually have the same linguistic history to justify why the people there talk like we talk now. In fact, to be completely fair, they probably don’t talk like us at all: you have fantasy languages, across fantasy constructions. Any given phrase a character in your world says is probably not using the exact same words as we are and we’re all working with a sort of fictionalised fantasy that makes the concepts reasonably translate across.

There’s a whole treatise then about how we handle Native American names and loanwords that we italicise like etouffee.

Point is that you have words, in your world, and you can attach stories to them. You’ve probably seen me talk about Orcs and how they relate to language and stereotypes, along in my long post on the word ‘Orc’. Here’s another set of examples I like for my world of Cobrin’Seil, as they pertain to the best little evolved raccoons, the Goblins.

The word ‘Goblin’

In Cobrin’Seil, most people speak two languages. Most people who speak only one language speak Common, and Common is full of loanwords from other languages. ‘Orc’ and ‘Beast’ are well known loanwords. There is a word that has risen in prominence throughout all the common-speaking countries in less than seventy years, and the word it displaced is still even in functional and legal use.

The word is both new and old; new to common, but an old word to the language it’s from. This word is Goblin.

Goblins are by no means new. They’re one of the three great old cultures of the world, a social symbiote culture that pretty much exists in any given settlement of any size. It’s usually seen as a sign of health that a community can sustain Goblins — in the same way that communities that lack pets are probably culturally alienated from all the cultures that do keep pets — and if you encounter an enclave that lacks goblins, it’s often because that enclave is specifically for a purpose and has done proactive things to drive out Goblin presence. Goblins are a culture that’s as old as Orcs, older than Ogres and even most of what you’d consider modern-day Elves.

But the word Goblin was not a word in common language and descriptors that was used in dictionaries and education and technical words, until what are known as the Peoples Reform. Not People’s Reforms – but the legal system of the Eresh Protectorate (which tends to set precedents most of the rest of the world follows) formalised the idea of Peoples. For most cultures, this didn’t make a lot of changes, but it did peel out of the laws one of the largest and long-standing carve-outs for Goblins that eroded the idea of their own cultural identity and heritage. The word Goblin is encoded as the term Goblins use to describe Goblins.

Linguistically, Goblin is a funny word. It’s an omniterm; without modification, it serves as noun, pronoun, verb, adjective, adverb and preposition and it does so in entirely intelligible ways to those contextually familiar. The sentence ‘Goblin goblin goblin goblin goblin’ is a meaningful sentence describing a party taking care of a third party because they see the commonality they have with one another. Good luck making that make sense in a sent letter though.

Goblin is possessive; in a lot of ways it can be translated to the common term ‘us,’ with some wiggle room. It’s also a comical non-answer; guards asking a Goblin ‘what are you doing?’ will often get the answer ‘goblin,’ which in this case means something like ‘being myself and doing what I should be doing,’ which is an answer but it is also unhelpful, and you have to understand how goblins communicate to get a handle on what that might mean. Goblin language is simple but contextual and it tends to highlight that goblins are extremely prosocial. Goblin language makes very little sense without the context of who is talking and about what.

There’s a real truth to the fact that many Goblins who have taken to theatre or art will write dialogue in Goblin but stage directions in Common.

But the word is new, legally, but the people aren’t. What was the change? Well, prior to the Peoples Reforms, the term the human kingdoms used for the people known as Goblins was the term Vandal.

The Word ‘Vandal’

You can’t kidnap a Goblin.

Legally, I mean.

This isn’t because Goblins were protected under the law, no no, the laws were way too racist for that. The crime was that, wherever you transported the Goblins to, the people didn’t want Goblins there, so you were committing a crime by inflicting Goblins on them. Basically, it was considered a crime to take a Goblin from one place to another, because the place the Goblin arrived didn’t necessarily consent to the presence of a Goblin.

The term for transporting a Goblin was based on an archaic term for Goblins that operated on the assumptions that Goblins were just a problem and a pest brought into any space. They were known as Vandals, a term hypothetically meaning all nonhuman troublesome cultures including Gnolls and Bugbears, because if those people arrived in a place, they’d wreck things. Funnily enough, Gnolls and Bugbears got removed from this term over time because they would usually, if it rose to legal levels, be committing much more dire crimes, and also, guards didn’t like just bullying them at random, since they were very big and tough people by comparison to the much smaller Goblin. Over time, ‘Vandal’ came to mean ‘Goblins, and behaving like a Goblin,’ and that association meant the legal term got ensnared around it. Ultimately, dropping Goblins off in a space that did not want them was the act of Vandalism. Vandal then, was a term used to not to refer to the Goblins themselves; much funnier, instead, it was the legal term for a person who committed the crime of nonconsensual transporting of Goblins.

During the Peoples Reforms, since this law already existed, the crime of Transporting A Goblin Nonconsensually remained on the books, but Kidnapping, as defined under laws, had its historical Goblin Carve-Out. Nowadays, kidnapping a Goblin is typically treated as Vandalism (Kidnapping), because tidying up old and technically incorrect laws is a lot of a pain in the butt. This even applies when the Goblins are lawyers, who as it turns out, delight in getting non-Goblins in trouble for ‘Vandalism,’ which is a catch-all term under Eresh law for ‘general goblin-like behaviour.’ And we’ll talk more about what makes something Goblin-like in the context of Cobrin’Seil another time.

The word ‘Sugg’

But there is a word, ambiguous in meaning and origin that exists in common, that most people know and that word is ‘sugg.’ It seems to indicate a sort of laziness, a restful state. If you see a Goblin curled up on a pile of playing cards, ears out, eyes closed, you might say ‘can’t use those cards, there’s a goblin sugging on it.’ Or ‘sorry man, I’m pretty sugg.’ The word is extremely ambiguous but it has a thread throughout it of being:

Indulgently lazy

Very relaxed

Overwhelming and absolute

The thing is, nobody’s too sure what it means, and when you ask people who would know, they tell you to ask a Goblin. Goblins, after all, are where the word comes from. In fact, if you ask the right goblins in the right trail you’ll find that while Goblins use the word ‘sugg’ in the same way, they think it comes from Common. Why?

Because Goblins got the word from this thing they found in established human communities. There’d be a nice small dark box, full of paper that you could just curl up in and nest in, and on the outside of the box, there’d be a notice: SUGGEST IN BOX. So they assume the Goblin who enjoys that box the most must surely be their sugg-est Goblin. Which meant paying attention to how they all sugg, and from there, the neologism was born.

Now, non-Goblins and Goblins alike use ‘sugg’, each convinced they got it from the other.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[desceros]

Hi, you probably don't remember me, but I'm the 🪻 anon that sent asks once or twice. Still very much a nervous fan! Your work and the way you write about your experiences and feelings still positively stun me every time I read your posts.

I've been thinking about writing for the tmnt and rottmnt universes for a while now, but I'm still very uncertain about my own interpretation of these characters. If it isn't too much to ask, I'd like to know how you do it??

Your work has such fluidity and... sense?? I don't really quite know how to put it into words, but it inspires me very much! Anyway, I guess I'm asking for writing tips?? I know each interpretation is unique and our own, but I can't help but adore yours! I hope you're having a good day/night, Ms. Desceros!

Ps: English is not my first language, so sorry if my rambling aren't really coherent. (〒 u 〒⁠)

– 🪻

i do very much remember! and i'm so sorry i had this sitting in my inbox for forever and a day lmfaoooo i didn't want to rush the answer and instead give it proper thought/answer for you! :D

so it sounds like you're asking two different things here, which is 1) how do i establish strong characters, and 2) how do i construct flow in a fic.

characterization

for characters, it starts pretty simply with just consuming a lot of the character. for example, with the turtles, i've watched rise and bayverse both a lot. like, a lot a lot. enough that i can hear their voices in my head when i'm writing, because i've heard them so much.

specifically, i've watched it not just casually, but also with the ears of a writer. what words do each of the turtles use? how do they phrase things? when one of them gets annoyed, how does he communicate it? when they're scared, what do they say? how do they move their bodies? what do they do in the background of scenes where they aren't the focus?

once you feel like you kind of know the answers to those questions, the next step is just to write! i probably have about... hm... 30-50k of fic in my icloud that i wrote before i started posting things. the purpose of it was just to figure out how i liked the turtles to sound. because i write them as older adults, they sound just a little different than they do in the show. i inject my headcanons into their voices. these things change how they act, and i fiddled with it until i was happy with it. knowing i wasn't going to publish these made it really easy for me to get creative and push things, until i found the boundaries that i like and that feel good for me.

flow

so good flow is something that really comes with a lot of experience writing. it's one of those things you... pick up as you write a lot, so this part is going to be a bit more. hm. disconnected. nuanced. how you like things paced, how things feel good under your fingers; these are things you'll get better at as you go on. that said, it's something i've very consciously worked on myself, so i do have a few tips for you that'll hopefully speed up that process for you!

my biggest tip is to READ. find authors (fiction and fanfiction!) you like, and READ them. but again, we're not doing it recreationally, we're doing it as a writer.

read your favorite authors and think. think about the things they include and what they don't. what information do they convey in great detail? what information do they convey in exposition? what information do they leave for you to garner on your own? why do you like how they include things? why do you like what they don't? do you miss certain things? do you wish they wouldn't bother with others?

for example, i really love brining in the emotions of a scene. how something makes a character feel. basking in that is something i really love reading, so i have a lot of it in my writing. and i enjoy doing it without Telling you how someone feels. i don't say "donnie is sad." i tell you how his shoulders slump. how he gazes off to the side with a listless expression. how his eyes cloud over with uncertainty. these are things i've enjoyed reading, and so i've incorporated into my writing. i will slow down the flow of my fic, putting a bit of rubato on these moments, because i like how it feels.

i personally enjoy things to be very fluid, connecting from one scene to the next with as little a break as possible. think of french vs english. french is very fluid, english is very percussive. they're both languages, both good, they just sound different to the ear. part of constructing that, for me, means i write from beginning to end without skipping around. it's a style that has its pros and cons, but it allows me to have a single thread, unbroken, though the entire work.

ultimately, your writing is a stained glass of everything you love. the words you think are pretty, the turns of phrase that catch your eye, the verbs that bring action to life. this is the foundation of what people will call your "voice," and a large part of that is your flow, or pacing. i can't really... tell you how to create your stained glass. but this is how you can create your own, and make it something you find beautiful.

[call-me-doll-face]

These Ties That Bind

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Warnings for chapter: slight angst

A/N: Sorry guys, this is a rewrite of the story i posted the other day! I didn't feel like I'd done the chapter justice. This is just getting to know the characters and setting the feel for the story! It's my firs time writing for avatar so please be patient! Any feedback or constructive criticism are welcome! Let me know what you think, if you like it I'll keep updating! @jakesullyfatjuicypeen thank you for giving me the confidence to try this! ❤️

“Hey, I’m Jake.”

“Rory. Nice to meet you.”

“Right back at ya, doc.”

Jake Sully had been right about one thing, the most dangerous thing about pandora IS that you may grow to love her too much... and love her I did.

I had been filled with a sense of wonder when I'd first arrived to be grace Augustine’s assistant. I thrived on the need to learn, the need to devour the information put in front of me. Grace really enjoyed that, i dare say she even respected it.

I was there when jake Sully arrived. I was witness to all his chaos, fell victim to his cocky tendencies a time or two. We struck up an unlikely friendship (that was very involuntary on my part) and that was the end of it.

Or the beginning... depends how you look at it.

“Will you stop following me? I have work to do jake.”

“You work too much, doc. Spend some time with your favorite cripple.”

“Jake!”

I was with jake every step of the way.

When he'd gotten separated on that fateful outing with grace and they couldn't recover him before nightfall, id sat beside his link unit for hours. I'd refused to leave, even though I had been completely and utterly exhausted.

“Where is jake?” I ask as grace and the others return from their outing, eyes searching for the obnoxious man and not finding him.

“What happened, what did you do?” I instantly start accusing, fear coursing through me. Grace gently grabs my shoulders, forcing my brown eyes to meet her own before speaking to me.

“Rory, he’s going to be fine. There was an incident and he got separated. He will pick him up tomorrow morning.” My hands shove her away from me. How dare she, how dare she downplay the seriousness of the situation.

“Why did you leave him out there! How could you! Rules be damned, they can go to hell!”

I'd been the first one he'd seen when he finally woke from the link, gasping wildly, filled with excitement, and instantly telling me about where he was, who he was with. Honestly, he talked so fast I could hardly keep up.

“Jake, open your eyes. Jake, look at me, come on you stubborn ass.” I say, tapping his stubbled cheek in attempts to get him to wake from the link. My breath leaves me in a harsh exhale when his pretty blue eyes slowly blink open. “Yeah, there you are… there you go.”

Gripping the back of his neck I help him sit up, eyes moving over him with worry. He just gives me a blinding smile, laughing as his hands grip my arms.

“You’ll never believe where I am doc!”

There were nights when we’d just sit laughing as he’d tell me about the wonders of the land. He’d teach me the language as he learned it, both of us giggling as he’d imitate how Neytiri would call him names.

“The stars are so different here… I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” We lay side by side, shoulders touching as we look up at the Pandoran sky.

“Nah, they’re the same stars. Just different perspective.” Scoffing over at him, all I can do is roll my eyes before looking back to the sky.

We lay there in silence for a little while. Every now and then his finger will lightly run over mine, seeking the warmth and comfort from the physical contact.

“Do you know which one is earth?” My voice is soft as I ask him the question, not willing to disturb the peacefulness of the moment. When the silence stretches on for another couple minutes, I start to think maybe he won’t answer.

“Yeah, its right-” Leaning up on an elbow, his big body leans over me slightly, pointing to a bright light in the sky. “-There.”

“It’s beautiful.” I whisper softly.

“Yeah… They are.” He murmurs, eyes that look like molten gold studying my face.

I got to watch how his affection and admiration of the Na’vi woman grew.

“I just… She makes me feel so alive doc!” Jake motions excitedly as he follows me, trying to get in front of me so that he could have my full attention. Needy man. “I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s fierce, proud, always keeps me on my toes!” When he once again gets in my way and interrupts my work, I glare up at him in aggravation.

“She sounds wonderful, jake. Now please, every time I try to work you make it impossible. Go. Away.”

The good also came with the bad though… I was on his side every step of the way when things went to shit. I stayed in that little trailer in the hallelujah mountains, hiding from Miles Quaritch.

Jake somehow got the clan to accept grace and I, though they were very wary of us. What had happened with the school grace and ran had a lasting affect on them… who could blame them right? Humans always have a way of destroying everything they touch.

Seeing that I was always the one to tell jake how it is, the two of us always butting heads, it was only natural I was the one to yell at his over mating with Neytiri. I love her, but she was promised to tsu’tey, they both had their responsibilities to the clan and pig headed jake had gone and fucked it up.

I’d gotten over it quickly of course, knowing how much he loved her.

Then the attack on the home tree happened. Then grace.

“JAKE! JAKE, WHERE ARE YOU?” I shout out as I stumble through the destruction. My skin in hot to the touch, some spots burnt. Soot and ash cling to my skin and hair and my throat burns due to the heavy smoak surrounding us.

The Na’vi people scream and cry around me. Some stumble around, shouting much like I am in search of their families… others sit on the ground, sobbing as they hold someone to their chest…

I refuse to let my eyes settle on the bodies... I know that if I see them, if the reality that these people had been massacred in front of me sinks in before I can find jake… God I might just lose it.

“I’m here! Doc!” I hear him before I see him, his big blue body emerging through the smoke and barreling towards me.

“Oh god, oh thank god!” a sob is torn from my burning throat at the sight of my best friend, very much alive and moving towards me with desperation in his eyes.

We reach each other at the same time. He couches down, gathering me in his arms before standing to his full height, lifting me easily off the ground. Usually, I would complin when jake uses his strength to treat me like a rag doll but right now all I want is for him to pull me closer.

“Are you hurt? Doc, focus, are you hurt?” He cups my face, hand covering the entire side of it, fingertips pressing into my hair and onto the back of my head. Those pretty eyes of his search my dirty face. Hand shakes my head slightly to get my attention on him, prevent me from spiraling out of control.

“I-I’m okay… Neytiri?”

“She’s okay. She’s safe.” Pulling me back into his chest he presses my ear to his chest, letting me listen to his heart as his body heaves under me. He’s sweaty, dirty much like I am but I just cling to him as he shushes me gently, chin resting on my head.

Devastation had consumed my very being… I felt like I was dying inside as I took in the destruction around me. Everyone had lost so much, and all for greed.

When Jake had become Toruk Makto and united all the clans in order to fight the sky people, I’d been so proud. However, when the day came, I couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down my face.

Jake had seen this, his face dropping, and confidence quickly replaced with worry.

His big hands gently gripped my arm, knowing how easily he could hurt me in his avatar body, and pulled me aside. “Hey, hey, hey. What’s with the tears, little bird?”

I can’t help but laugh at the nickname. He’d given It to me the first time he’d taken me for a ride on his ikran, Bob. He’d laughed at how happy I’d been in the sky, flying with the wind in my hair. Had said with a fond yet teasing voice that if I weren’t born a human, I would have been a bird. Probably had been, in a previous life.

The nickname had obviously stuck.

“I can’t lose you too Jake.” My voice comes out small, so unlike my normal loud self. I’d be ashamed of the way I’m acting if I weren’t so afraid I’d never see him again.

“Oh, come on. You know damn well that I’m too stubborn to die.” He laughs light heartedly, trying to cheer me up as he kneels so he can be level with me.

Even with me standing, my face is level with his while he kneels. Any other time the size difference would make me laugh… now I just can’t bring myself to find it funny.

When I don’t give him a response and continue to stare at the ground, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Come on kid, I don’t want to leave here knowing you’re upset… just in case...” He doesn’t have to finish. The words go unspoken but we both hear them clear as day.

In case I don’t come back.

His hand engulfs the entire back of my head as he pulls me forward, pressing his forehead against mine in a rare display of affection between us. I don’t fight him for once, just lean into the embrace and breathe him in.

Neither of us notice Neytiri approach, but I jump when I feel her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take care of him, human.” she says gently.

Neytiri hated me at first, telling jake that I needed to be with my own kind. Over time, seeing how much jake cared for me had softened her. After that it didn’t take long for me to grow on her as well.

“Take care of yourself too.” I demand as I hug her tightly. Well, it probably didn’t feel very tight to her, but you know.

After that I watched them fly away.

“Come on tiri, you got this! Come on, just one more push!” Her screams fill the mauri as she tries to push the baby out. Jake and I are flanking her on either side, letting her grip our hands as the pain wracks through her.

She whimpers, head rolling to the side so her tired eyes can meet mine. I can tell she wants to give up, the labor being complicated and long, taking everything out of her. Jake is panicking, worried to death something is going wrong and that something will happen to her or the baby. Right now, I have to be her strength, so I stroke her hair out of her face and give her a stern look.

“One more. Give me one more.” Sweat rolling down her face, tears filling her eyes, she nods her head to me. Gripping my hand tightly once more I watch in amazement as she gathers her strength and once more lets out of loud scream as she pushes.

My eyes widen and my head whips to the side as a cry, strong and mighty, is heard.

I’d never seen anything so beautiful, watches as the little blue baby is cleaned and wrapped in a blanket. “You have a son… You did so good, tiri. He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, little human.” Neytiri is wrecked, absolutely exhausted but she still reaches a hand out to stroke my cheek in thanks.

“Come here little bird, come meet your nephew.” Jake says, and my heart has never felt so full.

“Oh, I’m going to get you, you little rat!” I threaten, lunging after Lo’ak as he squeals in mock fright.

I chase him in circles around his mom and dad, both laughing at our antics.

“Oh no! neteyam, save me!” He shrieks diving to the side.

I gasp loudly as the older boy (who is damn near the same size as me) jumps onto my back, sending us both to the ground in a pile of giggles.

“Dog pile!” Jake shouts and I quickly send him a glare before all of the kids jump onto me, laughing and screaming.

“No, no! mmph!” I gasp as I try to wiggle out from under the little brats that are my nieces and nephews. “Help!... Can’t… breathe!” I wheeze out, greatly exaggerating that fact.

Of course, stupid jake makes absolutely no move to help me.

‘I hate you.’ I mouth to him, and he just sends me a cocky grin.

‘I hate you more.’ He mouths back, playfully flashing his fangs.

“What is it, sweet boy?” I ask as lo’ak walks to me, dropping his head onto my shoulder while I chop fruit. I’d grown a soft spot for the younger boy, so much like jake when I’d first met him that my heart grows with joy.

“Nothing.” Instantly I can tell he’s lying to me. Dropping the knife, I turn to him, sitting so we face each other, knees touching.

“You have never been able to lie to me. What is it?”

“Nobody sees me. All I am is a disappointment to the family. They all want me to be like Neteyam, the perfect son, But I never will be.” He refuses to look at me, but I can still see the water that gathers on his lash line. His ears fold back, tail winding around himself and giving away just how badly he feels.

Reaching out, I run a soothing hand over his ear. “I see you, sweet boy. I am so proud of you.” Scooting closer to him, I gather him in my arms, which is comical given how much bigger he already is than me.  “I promise your father is also proud of you, lo’ak. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

---

“DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND HOW YOU’RE MAKING THEM FEEL, JAKE? HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO THEM THE WAY YOU DO!” I shout at him, hands shoving at him as he flashes his fangs in anger at me. We are standing in the middle of their mauri, all the kids kneeling on the floor while me and their father fight. Neytiri stands to the side, ears folded against her head and watching us with sad eyes, but not stepping in.

“I AM THEIR FATHER, ITS MY JOB!” he shouts back, stepping into my space threateningly as his chest heaves with rage. His hands tremble at his sides, tail whipping behind him.

“THEN ACT LIKE IT! THEY ARE YOUR SONS, NOT SOME RANDOM SQUAD! EVEN NEYTIRI HAS TRIED TO TALK TO YOU AND YOU JUST BRUSH HER OFF!” The argument is getting more and more heated, tension levels rising to an almost catastrophic level.

“Tsmuke… it’s fine, really.” Lo’ak says in a quiet voice, not wanting his dad and I to fight because of him, feeling like he’s already caused enough trouble.

“Yeah guys, please don’t fight.” Neteyam agrees, trying to play mediator.

“No boys. No.” it takes everything in me to not snap at them, take my anger out of them. Instead, my words are just stern, firm. I watch as they duck their heads and nod in compliance before turning back to jake. “Fix. This.” I hiss, before turning and storming out of their home.

---

“I got nothing. I got no plan. But I can protect this family. That I can do.” My heart breaks at his words, not looking at them as they share a moment of intimacy. “Little bird.” Jake says to get my attention and finally I look up at them.

I let him take my hand, let him gently tug me into the circle of their arms. “Wherever we go, this family is our fortress.” His words are full of conviction, and my heart breaks further as I gently pull away from them. They both watch me with confusion, not understanding why I all the sudden need space from them.

“Jake, Neytiri…I...” my voice breaks off as I try to remain strong. How do I tell two of the most important people in my life that I can’t go with them? That as much as I’m dying inside, I NEED to stay here…

Thankfully (and selfishly) I don’t have to. Much like he always does, jake picks up on the words I’m not saying. I watch as his big body stiffens. My golden eyes narrow on me harshly, ears pressing back and baring his fangs as his tail whips in anger.

“No. No, you ARE coming.” He snarls, and I raise my chin defiantly. I know he doesn’t mean to be harsh, I know he’s just scared and doesn’t want to lose me.

Neytiri senses the tension rising and presses a gentle hand to Jakes chest to calm him before looking to me, ears folded back as well. “Why, Yawne?”

My heart breaks further as the softness of the voice, the pain lacing it.

“I’ve been teaching the children here… making a difference... they need me...” I see jake open his mouth to retaliate, already knowing what he’s going to say, I need you, but Neytiri senses there’s more and sends him a silencing look. “I’m not Na’vi jake… I won’t be accepted into another clan after everything that’s happened… I can’t go... this is my place.”

Nobody says anything after my confession, a heavy silence filling the marui and suffocating us. I can see that jake is having a hard time accepting it, every bone in his body wanting to fight it, but finally his shoulders fall in defeat.

Letting out a shaky breath he pulls me against his hard chest, cradling me there. “What will I do without you, little bird?” He asks, and all I can do is hug him tightly as I squeeze my eyes shut.

----

Shortly after that, with a heavy heart, I watch as them and the children leave the clan.

Jake doesn’t look at me as he walks past, knowing if he does, he won’t have the strength to do what needs to be done.

Neytiri just sobs loudly, gripping my forearm before forcing herself to move on.

Kiri and tuktuk wrap me in tight hugs, whispering how much they’ll miss me and wish that I’d come with them.

Lo’ak is quick to pull me in, pressing his forehead to mine. “Nga yawne lu ere (I love you)” he says quietly, and I murmur it back to him before letting him go.

Neteyam is last, and he just gives me a sad smile. Taking my hand, he presses a beaded bracelet into my hand, and upon further inspection I see it’s not a bracelet at all. My eyes widen as I look up at the boy, gripping the song cord. “For when we meet again, tsmuke. (aunt)” and then he’s gone.

They’re gone…

But that’s just the beginning of the story.

[turnaboutdick]

I love language. What's a random linguistics thing you've been chewing on?

rAAAGHHH A CHANCE TO BABBLE ABOUT MY INTERESTS?!?!?!? ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡I’LL TAKE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!

OK SO I’ve admittedly been thinking a lot about the universal translator from star trek lately because i started re-watching the st series deep space 9. i am fully aware that there's a lot of holes in the way the whole thing works since the concept is pretty much a plot device to have the story flow nicely but i like thinking about its implications just for fun! 

so. the UT translates every single language, even from new encountered cultures/species(!), and it works by (((as far as i remember)) analyzing the new language and comparing it to a massive database of other languages in order to deduce the new language's grammar. 

one of the things i think about for entertainment is: if i for any reason i was the first encounter with “The Aliens” and they had a universal translator like the one from star trek… how would That go?

Like, for example, if i used the formal form of spanish when i'm talking to them (because i am Polite), would the universal translator assume that Spanish only has that form? Or is there a way for machine translation to infer the existence of an informal form even if I only refer to the aliens in formal spanish?? ((in other words, is there something embedded in the way spanish is constructed that would hint towards the existence of an informal form? and could a super clever machine like the UT pick up on it))). Furthermore, if their alien language makes no distinction between formal and informal, does it even matter at all that i am trying to be polite with them??? (((i mean, it would matter to me in my heart but like objectively speaking,,,,,,, probably not??🤨 but even if i know it's not gonna carry out into their language i would still use the formal form and try to be polite.....))) 

also, in-universe i’ve always wondered why some characters are able to switch from English to their own language. shouldn’t all their speech be translated, if the UT is constantly running?? the only answer i can think of right now is that the universal translator somehow reads their mind (?) or is somehow aware of the speaker's intention/desire and can sense when a speaker wants to switch back to their language. Which would make sense. and i think that is part of the canon explanation for how it works –some technobabble about brain waves that i can't remember right now–, but if that is the case then it only poses more questions to me. like, for example, if someone makes a joke that would be hard for outsiders of their culture to understand then:

1) would the u.t. be able to tell this?  because maybe yes maybe the UT can deduce grammar and syntax but there's so much more of Us in the way we use language!!1! can it deduce culture or slang or idioms?? a lot of the language we use is so nuanced, which is precisely one of the limitations of machine translation.

but lets say the technology is so advanced that it can tell when things are jokes and when said jokes will be hard to understand for outsiders, then: 2) would it make use of equivalence OR would it opt for something like literal translation?  domesticating stuff (or finding an equivalence) could make communication “easier” or "more comfortable" for the receiver but aren’t these people in space precisely there to learn about new things and cultures? When you domesticate a text, part of its original meaning gets lost... wouldn't scientist or historians or whatever be apprehensive about losing that information about other cultures? Someties when i consume things that have been translated into my language, i wonder about all the inside stuff like that that i might be missing lol

SDJDSKDSFHDSJKHDSK ¿¿¿¿in sum ???? i have many thoughts and questions regarding the Star Trek Universal Translator** and literally no concrete answers. i just run around thinking about it. i think most of the answers depend on the situation i guess. (**many of which can be applied to translation itself)

this ended up not really being Linguistic Facts and just me voicing my brainrot. im sorry. i tend to go feral over anything that is about translation and/or language teaching bc that’s what i'm majoring in and the universal translator has always been such an engrossing concept to me. PLUS i had never actually shared any of my thoughts on this outwardly and i had a lot of fun rambling ((( you might be able to tell by the long ass wall of text i replied with. WHICH. AGAIN. IM SORRY))))

[raychleadele]

This gorgeous girl just joined my doll family this week! She’s in need of some tlc - her legs are quite loose and she needs a gentle bath - but she’s in pretty good shape!

She was originally a Jess, but Jess is a character that was released after my childhood American Girl obsession had ended, so I don’t really have any connection to that character. I do, however, absolutely love her face! She’s so sweet looking, I couldn’t resist her.

Because I don’t feel attached to Jess, I want to give this girl a new identity. I’m still working out who that is exactly. Currently I’m leaning toward making her a Karen immigrant (the ethnic group, not the memed-to-hell name) living in the United States. The city I live in has a significant population of Karen people who have come from Thailand and Burma, and ever since I started teaching here I’ve had at least one if not a few Karen students in my class every year, and all the Karen people I have met have been really lovely. I’d love to have this girl represent their culture in my collection.

If I do take her character this direction, I’d like to craft her at least one traditional Karen outfit, similar to these. I love the bright colors and tassels of their traditional clothing! The construction seems very simple so it should be easy to make, though finding the perfect fabric might prove the most challenging part.

I had the privilege of witnessing a traditional Karen bamboo dance a few years ago, and I love the idea that this girl enjoys learning these traditional dances after school, likely at her church which also acts as a community center for other Karen people in her area. I can also imagine the challenges she’d face going to an English speaking school all day and coming home to family that speaks very little or no English. She might feel like she doesn’t have mastery of either language, but loves dance as she feels like she can express herself freely without needing language at all. I’ve also been imagining her shopping at Asian grocery stores like the ones we have here, and perhaps learning traditional Thai recipes from her grandmother. Maybe she enjoys the same squid flavored chips I’ve tried!

The trickiest part right now is deciding on her name. I know that the Karen people do not traditionally have surnames like many other cultures do, and instead the multiple parts of their name are spoken together - all parts of the name have meaning like a sentence does, so calling someone by only their “first” name would not be appropriate. Most of the Karen people I’ve met have three single syllable parts to their names, but as I don’t speak their language I don’t know how to properly construct a name with real meaning, and I certainly don’t want to simply mash some syllables together without actually knowing what they mean, if anything. There also doesn’t seem to be much information about Karen names online. I could certainly give her a more Westernized name instead, as I’ve also met Karen people who are named that way. It’s something I will have to keep thinking on, so for now she remains nameless.

Oh! And before I wrap this post up, one more thing.

I wanted to share a closeup picture of her hair. Most online descriptions of Jess say she has brown hair with red highlights, but before seeing this doll in person I never really found good photos of what it looked like. Most pictures make it simply look dark brown or even black. In person the red is quite subtle, but it does shine nicely in natural light and looks very pretty!

[tastydregs]

AI CEO on GPT-4: This Can Get “Super-Dangerous Very Quickly”

Bad Precedent

OpenAI released its hotly-anticipated GPT-4 on Tuesday, providing a 98-page "technical report" on the latest iteration of its large language model (LLM).

But despite the lengthy documentation and the company's not-for-profit roots, OpenAI has revealed extremely little information about how its latest AI actually works — which has experts worried, Venture Beat reports.

OpenAI, however, claims it had good reason to play its cards close to the chest.

"Given both the competitive landscape and the safety implications of large-scale models like GPT-4," reads the paper, "this report contains no further details about the architecture (including model size), hardware, training compute, dataset construction, training method, or similar."

In other words: this is OpenAI's Krabby Patty formula, and they won't be offering up the recipe anytime soon.

Secret Sauce

According to Lightning AI CEO William Falcon, an AI researcher who previously worked under Meta's Chief AI Scientist Yann LeCun, OpenAI's refusal to cough up their secret GPT-4 recipe is a precarious move.

OpenAI is "basically saying, it's cool, just do your thing, we don't care," Falcon told Venture Beat, arguing that OpenAI has set a "bad precedent" for competing AI startups. "So you are going to have all these companies who are not going to be incentivized anymore to make things open-source, to tell people what they're doing."

"These models can get super-dangerous very quickly, without people monitoring them," he added. "And it's just really hard to audit. It's kind of like a bank that doesn't belong to FINRA, like how are you supposed to regulate it?"

Show Your Work

Falcon makes an excellent point. It's easy for anyone to say that they're doing all of the right things to get to a certain outcome. But if you don't actually show your work, outside regulation is pretty much impossible.

There's also the reality that the existence of the paper is pretty misleading altogether. Though the OpenAI paper is called a technical report, it doesn't exactly contain much technical information. And that, says Falcon, does everyone a disservice.

"You're masquerading as research," the CEO told Venture Beat. "That's the problem."

In any case, though, the technical report made one thing clear: that despite its name, OpenAI's doors are firmly shut — and that's unlikely to change.

READ MORE: Lightning AI CEO slams OpenAI's GPT-4 paper as 'masquerading as research' [Venture Beat]

More on GPT-4: OpenAI's GPT-4 Just Smoked Basically Every Test and Exam Anyone's Ever Taken

The post AI CEO on GPT-4: This Can Get “Super-Dangerous Very Quickly” appeared first on Futurism.

[pumpkinpaix]

hello there, hope you're having a nice day <3

so i've been reading a lot of fics lately, uk for sanity's sake, and i've noticed that in most of them, lwj doesn't use contractions (eg., says do not instead of don't)?? and i think he doesn't in the novel either but i don't remember lol so i can't be sure but anyway that made me curious - does chinese have contractions as well? does he not use it bc it's informal?

hello there! I’m doing all right, i started to answer this ask while waiting for a jingyeast loaf to come out of the oven 😊 many thanks to @bookofstars for helping me look over/edit/correct this post!! :D

anyways! the answer to your questions are complicated (of course it is when is anything simple with me), so let’s see if I can break it down--you’re asking a) whether chinese has contractions, b) if it does, how does they change the tone of the sentence--is it similar to english or no?, and c) how does this all end up with lan wangji pretty much never using contractions in english fic/translation?

I’m gonna start by talking about how formality is (generally) expressed in each language, and hopefully, by the end of this post, all the questions will have been answered in one way or another. so: chinese and english express variations in formality/register differently, oftentimes in ways that run contrary to one another. I am, as always, neither a linguist nor an expert in chinese and english uhhh sociological grammar? for lack of a better word. I’m speaking from my own experience and knowledge :D

so with a character like lan wangji, it makes perfect sense in english to write his dialogue without contractions, as contractions are considered informal or colloquial. I don’t know if this has changed in recent years, but I was always taught in school to never use contractions in my academic papers.

However! not using contractions necessarily extends the length of the sentence: “do not” takes longer to say than “don’t”, “cannot” is longer than “can’t” etc. in english, formality is often correlated with sentence length: the longest way you can say something ends up sounding the most formal. for a very simplified example, take this progression from least formal to absurdly formal:

whatcha doin’?

what’re you doing?

what are you doing? [standard colloquial]

may I ask what you are doing?

might I inquire as to what you are doing?

excuse me, but might I inquire as to what you are doing?

pardon my intrusion, but might I inquire as to what you are doing?

please pardon my intrusion, but might inquire as to the nature of your current actions?

this is obviously a somewhat overwrought example, but you get the point. oftentimes, the longer, more complex, more indirect sentence constructions indicate a greater formality, often because there is a simultaneous decreasing of certainty. downplaying the speaker’s certainty can show deference (or weakness) in english, while certainty tends to show authority/confidence (or aggression/rudeness).

different words also carry different implications of formality—in the example, I switched “excuse me” to “pardon me” during one of the step ups. pardon (to me at least) feels like a more formal word than “excuse”. Similarly, “inquire” is more formal than “ask” etc. I suspect that at least some of what makes one word seem more formal than one of its synonyms has to do with etymology. many of english’s most formal/academic words come from latin (which also tends to have longer words generally!), while our personal/colloquial words tend to have germanic origins (inquire [latin] vs ask [germanic]).

you’ll also notice that changing a more direct sentence structure (“may I ask what”) to a more indirect one (“might I inquire as to”) also jumps a register. a lot of english is like this — you can complicate simple direct sentences by switching the way you use the verbs/how many auxiliaries you use etc.

THE POINT IS: with regards to english, more formal sentence structures are often (not always) longer and more indirect than informal ones. this leads us to a problem with a character like lan wangji.

lan wangji is canonically very taciturn. if he can express his meaning in two words rather than three, then he will. and chinese allows for this—in extreme ways. if you haven’t already read @hunxi-guilai’s post on linguistic register (in CQL only, but it’s applicable across the board), I would start there because haha! I certainly do Not have a degree in Classical Chinese lit and she does a great job. :D

you can see from the examples that hunxi chose that often, longer sentences tend to be more informal in chinese (not always, which I’ll circle back to at the end lol). Colloquial chinese makes use of helping particles to indicate tone and meaning, as is shown in wei wuxian’s dialogue. and, as hunxi explained, those particles are largely absent from lan wangji’s speech pattern. chinese isn’t built of “words” in the way English is—each character is less a word and more a morpheme—and the language allows for a lot of information to be encoded in one character. a single character can often stand for a phrase within a sentence without sacrificing either meaning or formality. lan wangji makes ample use of this in order to express himself in the fewest syllables possible.

so this obviously leads to an incongruity when trying to translate his dialogue or capture his voice in English: shorter sentences are usually more direct by nature, and directness/certainty is often construed as rudeness -- but it might seem strange to see lan wangji’s dialogue full of longer sentences while the narration explicitly says that he uses very short sentences. so what happens is that many english fic writers extrapolated this into creating an english speech pattern for lan wangji that reads oddly. they’ll have lan wangji speak in grammatically incoherent fragments that distill his intended thought because they’re trying to recreate his succinctness. unfortunately, English doesn’t have as much freedom as Chinese does in this way, and it results in lan wangji sounding as if he has some kind of linguistic impediment and/or as if he’s being unspeakably rude in certain situations. In reality, lan wangji’s speech is perfectly polite for a young member of the gentry (though he’s still terribly rude in other ways lol). he speaks in full, and honestly, quite eloquent sentences.

hunxi’s post already has a lot of examples, but I figure I’ll do one as well focused on the specifics of this post.

I’m going to use this exchange from chapter 63 between the twin jades because I think it’s a pretty simple way to illustrate what I’m talking about:

蓝曦臣道：“你亲眼所见？”

蓝忘机道：“他亲眼所见。”

蓝曦臣道：“你相信他？”

蓝忘机道：“信。”

[...] 蓝曦臣道：“那么金光瑶呢？”

蓝忘机道：“不可信。”

my translation:

Lan Xichen said, “You saw it with your own eyes?”

Lan Wangji said, “He saw it with his own eyes.”

Lan Xichen said, “You believe him?”

Lan Wangji said, “I believe him.”

[...] Lan Xichen said, “Then what about Jin Guangyao?”

Lan Wangji said, “He cannot be believed.”

you can see how much longer the (pretty literal) english translations are! every single line of dialogue is expanded because things that can be omitted in chinese cannot be omitted in english without losing grammatical coherency. i‘ll break a few of them down:

Lan Xichen’s first line:

你 (you) 亲眼 (with one’s own eyes) 所 (literary auxiliary) 见 (met/saw)？

idk but i love this line a lot lmao. it just has such an elegant feel to me, probably because I am an uncultured rube. anyways, you see here that he expressed his full thought in five characters.

if I were to rewrite this sentence into something much less formal/much more modern, I might have it become something like this:

你是自己看见的吗？

你 (you) 是 (to be) 自己 (oneself) 看见 (see) 的 (auxiliary) 吗 (interrogative particle)？

i suspect that this construction might even be somewhat childish? I’ve replaced every single formal part of the sentence with a more colloquial one. instead of 亲眼 i’ve used 自己, instead of 所见 i’ve used 看见的 and then also added an interrogative particle at the end for good measure (吗). To translate this, I would probably go with “Did you see it yourself?”

contained in this is also an example of how one character can represent a whole concept that can also be represented with two characters: 见 vs 看见. in this example, both mean “to see”. we’ll see it again in the next example as well:

in response to lan xichen’s, “you believe him?” --> 你 (you) 相信 (believe) 他 (him)? lan wangji answers with, “信” (believe).

chinese does not do yes or no questions in the same way that english does. there is no catch-all for yes or no, though there are general affirmative (是／有) and negative (不／没) characters. there are other affirmative/negative characters, but these are the ones that I believe are the most common and also the ones that you may see in response to yes or no questions on their own. (don’t quote me on that lol)

regardless, the way you respond to a yes or no question is often by repeating the verb phrase either in affirmative or negative. so here, when lan xichen asks if lan wangji believes wei wuxian, lan wangji responds “believe”. once again, you can see that one character can stand in for a concept that may also be expressed in two characters: 信 takes the place of 相信. lan wangji could have responded with “相信” just as well, but, true to his character, he didn’t because he didn’t need to. this is still a complete sentence. lan wangji has discarded the subject (I), the object (him), and also half the verb (相), and lost no meaning whatsoever. you can’t do this in english!

and onto the last exchange:

lan xichen: 那么 (then) 金光瑶 (jin guangyao) 呢 (what about)？

lan wangji: 不可 (cannot) 信 (believe)

you can actually see the contrast between the two brothers’ speech patterns even in this. lan xichen’s question is not quite as pared down as it could be. if it were wangji’s line instead, I would expect it to read simply “金光瑶呢？” which would just be “what about jin guangyao?” 那么 isn’t necessary to convey the core thought -- it’s just as how “then what about” is different than “what about”, but “then” is not necessary to the central question. if we wanted to keep the “then” aspect, you could still cut out 么 and it would be the same meaning as well.

a FINAL example of how something can be cut down just because I think examples are helpful:

“I don’t know” is usually given as 我不知道. (this is what nie huaisang says lol) It contains subject (我) and full verb (知道). you can pare this straight down to just 不知 and it would mean the same thing in the correct context. i think most of the characters do this at least once? it sounds more literary -- i don’t know that i would ever use it in everyday speech, but the fact remains that it’s a possibility. both could be translated as “I do not know” and it would be accurate.

ANYWAYS, getting all the way back to one of your original questions: does chinese have contractions? and the answer is like... kind of...?? but not really. there’s certainly slang/dialect variants that can be used in ways that are reminiscent of english contractions. the example I’m thinking of is the character 啥 (sha2) which can be used as slang in place of 什么 (shen2 me). (which means “what”)

so for a standard sentence of, 你在做什么? (what are you doing), you could shorten down to just 做啥? and the second construction is less formal than the first, but they mean the same thing.

other slang i can think of off the top of my head: 干嘛 (gan4 ma2) is also informal slang for “what are you doing”. and i think this is a regional thing, but you can also use 搞 (gao3) and 整 (zheng3) to mean “do” as well.

so in the same way that you can replace 什么 with 啥, you can replace 做 as well to get constructions like 搞啥 (gao3 sha2) and 整啥 (zheng3 sha2).

these are all different ways to say “what are you doing” lmao, and in this case, shorter is not, in fact, more formal.

woo! we made it to the end! I hope it was informative and helpful to you anon. :D

this is where I would normally throw my ko-fi, but instead, I’m actually going to link you to this fundraising post for an old fandom friend of mine. her house burned down mid-september and they could still use help if anyone can spare it! if this post would have moved you to buy me a ko-fi, please send that money to her family instead. :) rbs are also appreciated on the post itself. (* ´▽` *)

anyways, here’s the loaf jingyeast made :3 it was very tasty.

[stressedoutcanary]

Hold On - Jason Todd x Batgirl!Reader

Summary:

"Hey! I see a vent inside, maybe if we get to the roof-"

BAMMMM

"Of course, just shoot open the lock and alert whoever's inside. What a great strategy! Why didn't I think of it?! Oh I know, because it's dumb!"

Warnings: Language, Canon typical Violence, Occasional Angst lets be real it's Jason we are talking about, Kidnappings..?

Word count: 1.6k

A/N:- I...should be studying right now buttt I had fun writing this and yes, I took the title from the song Hold On by Chord Overstreet, I think it fits this perfectly.

I wasn't going for a series but here we are.

Part 2, Part 3

•°•°•°•°

It was a quite night for Gotham. Every person was busy with their own work and so were you, even if it was a little different from what people down below on the streets were doing. As of yet, you had stopped two muggings, busted a few armed two-face goons trying to rob a bank and were currently running across rooftops.

'Maybeee I can get off easy today, go home, microwave the pizza that has been waiting for me in the fridge, get a nice, warm shower and then straight to bed'

You hummed to yourself at the delightful thought as you sat on a gargoyle overlooking the city. You were enjoying the feeling of the light breeze on your face. It was soothing in a way. Not long after, you were startled by your comms crackling to life out of nowhere as you heard Oracle's automated voice in your ears.

"Batgirl I am going to need you to check out the area near Gotham Central Park for any visible strange activity. There are several missing persons reports filed this week that I have tied up to that particular region."

'So much for a warm bath and a good night's sleep, way to jinx yourself (Y/N), you dumbass'

"Isn't that park under construction or something? You know after the whole Justice League fiasco last month?", you questioned.

"Yep but people still go there, in the mornings for walks and at the nights for certain activities."

"Of course they do, I swear, people here are on a whole different level." You sighed. "Alrighty then Babs, I am on it."

•°•°

After climbing up a couple of fire escapes and swinging off of numerous rooftops you finally reached your target destination. There was a deafening silence when your feet landed on the damp grass. You took in the misted surroundings and decided to look around for something out of the ordinary. There was a broken bright neon sign by the corner of the street which caught your attention, you could only make out the last bit, it spelled Parlor.

'That seems awfully familiar. Something about it is odd but I can't quite place my finger on it'

You were lost in thought when you felt someone move behind you, there was rather little time for you to react so you choose the 'hit first ask questions later' option. You clenched your fist, twisted your upper body and delivered a quick, staggering blow to the shady figure lurking behind.

.

"OWW!! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"

.

"HOOD?!"

Sure enough, Jason was on the ground clutching his ribs looking like a hurt puppy.

You moved your hands up and massaged you temples. You do not want to deal with him. Not today and if possible not ever. Even though you never let it show, you always avoided a run in with him. He may have become a part of the family again but you were far off from forgiving him.

You watched with narrowed eyes as he got to his feet and and dusted off the grass from his jacket.

"So on a Scale of one to Demon brat, how much do you hate me?", the smirk on his face and the way he wiggled his eyebrows at you almost made you want to smack him with a crowbar yourself.

"What? Dami?! I don't-- I don't hate Damian, he just gets on my nerves sometimes, something you do all the time.", you enjoyed, maybe a little too much, the way Jason's smirk turned into a small pout. You smiled a bit as you shook your head at his childishness.

"Before you start chucking batarangs at me I want to make this clear; No, Oracle did not send me here to be your backup or whatever, I just happen to be investigating the same thing which obviously led me here to you. So how about we work on this together and watch each other's back", Despite the uncertainty of your rejection, he sounded hopeful. It seemed as if he was ready to build the old, worn out bridges of your relationship back up again. It sent an unexpected warmth through your chest.

"Just like old times?"

"Just like old times.", Jason repeated as you both did a rather unsuccessful fist bump and grinned like idiots.

•°•°

You walked up to the seemingly abandoned building, Jason examined the door for traps whereas you decided on taking a look through the glass window.

"Hey! I see a vent inside, maybe if we get to the roof-"

BAMMMM

"Of course, just shoot open the lock and alert whoever's inside. What a great strategy! Why didn't I think of it?! Oh I know, because it's dumb!", you whisper shouted with a scowl. Jason just shrugged and tilted his head to the side, pointing towards the now open door.

"Ladies first, so lead the way, unless you're scared.", it was a playful challenge on Jason's part, one that you were more than ready to accept.

"Oh you're on Red."

You stepped inside and it was all business from there on. You took in the condition of the room; dusty desks, broken glass, oddly placed mannequins and footprints leading up ahead into a long hallway.

"They seem recent enough", Jason gave a slight nod at your discovery.

Considering the darkness of the hallway, you and Jason shared a look and switched on your night vision lenses. You both started taking cautious steps, the occasional soft thud of your boots being the only sound in the vicinity.

The end of the hallway was forked up and there were two rooms at the end of each passageway.

"How is this place so big! it didn't seem this huge from the outside", you could hear the exasperation in Jason's voice. You figured not getting to hit someone might be getting to him or that he was just bored.

"Look I will take the right, you take the left, our comms are already connected, if any one of us finds anything we tell the other and remember we do not engage in a fight alone. Am I clear or do you want me to write that down for you"

"Yes ma'am, but just so you know you are starting to sound like The old man", you rolled your eyes at his comment and went on ahead towards the right as he went the other way.

•°•°

You scrolled through the torn down bookshelf kept in one of the rooms and you were making a mental note in your mind that there were a lot of medical journals in the bunch, when your comms buzzed.

"I am sorry", Jason whispered in a soft voice and you froze for a spilt second, eyes widening.

'No (Y/N) don't listen to him, he doesn't know what he is saying, just focus on finding those missing people and get this over with'

With that thought you tried continuing your investigation as if you had heard nothing.

"I said, I am sorry (Y/N). I know you heard me. I also know you've been avoiding me, cutting me out and you don't have to reply if don't feel like it but...I just wanted you to know..."

"Now is not the right time for this Hood and...for what it's worth I am not looking forward to a forgiveness session with you...", you felt awful for cutting him out the way you did, your heart clenched at the harshness of your words as you clicked off your comms, but you refused to have this discussion right now. If you were being more honest to yourself you just couldn't bear the emotions it would bring, so you chose the easiest way; completely shutting him out.

It was few minutes after the highly uncomfortable talk with Jason that a wall poster had caught your eye. You moved your hand over it, somewhat wiping off the dust, there was something scribbled on it making it harder for you to read the actual text. You squinted, trying to make out the words

"The people need...perfection...and that is what Pretty Dolls Parlor strives to achieve."

You scanned the area near poster for fingerprints and clicked your comms back on.

"Hood, get over here, I found something and I think this is the make or break kind of information", you were waiting for scan to complete, concern creeping up your mind when there was no reply from the other end.

"Red Hood? can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Red?! Answer me Damnit!!"

A whole lot of Nothing.

As soon as you heard the chime of the scanner signaling its completion, you sped the other way towards the left corridor, towards Jason.

'Jay please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.'

By the time you reached Jason's location you were panting from the lack of breath and were already cursing yourself for bringing Jason along. To say that the man can take care of himself might be an understatement, he is basically a lone wolf, but still the thought of something happening to him while he was with you hurt like hell.

You looked around frantically and almost jumped out of your skin when you stepped on a gun. You heart almost stopped, it was Jason's. To make matters worse, there was no other sign of him or of were he went. You picked up the gun holding it securely in your hand. You could literally hear your heart pounding in your ears.

Suddenly, through the reflection from the glass window in front of you, you caught a glimpse of a man wearing a blank white face mask, you turned around, immediately switching to a fighting stance but that only did so much for you. A flashlight was switched on and shoved near your face, the night vision of your lens intensified the light, blinding you completely.

Before you could react, a metal pole connected straight with the back of your head and just like that you were lights out on the ground.

°•°•°•°•

Author's cute little extra Note:

*wiggling my eyebrows rn*

I might be a little too obsessed with the Arkham Knight game hehe.

Well that ended well for you, didn't it?? Jason's gone missing and you get a nice concussion to garnish your anxiety level? No? Okay I will stop talking now.

Tell me if you want to be tagged for the next parts.💕

[captain-ozone]

Fic Writer Review

Thank you for the tag, @flutteringdreams-matw​!! I loved reading your review, and I’m stoked to have the opportunity to fill this out myself, too!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?  46. And not all of them have been transferred over from FFN. There’s at least another dozen between multiple fandoms over there, lol. 

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 656,571. My word. 

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?  When one of your fandoms is DC Comics...Does that count as one or several? LOL. xD

There’s been Merlin, Danny Phantom, Batman (Comics), Young Justice (cartoon), Teen Titans (cartoon), Titans (TV Show), Smallville (TV show), The Justice League (movie), The Flash (Arrowverse TV Show), Miraculous Ladybug, Harry Potter, Rise of the Guardians, How to Train Your Dragon, Sword Art Online (anime), Blue Exorcist (anime), The Bright Sessions (podcast). Might be missing some.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 1. Come Alive (Young Justice) 2. life, if well lived (Batman) 3. On Three (Miraculous Ladybug) 4. a million dreams (Batman) 5. Genesis (Danny Phantom)

@redriotted​ should be informed that my top two are fics she requested from me via prompts I’m sure neither of us expected I would ever fill. Love you, dear! I credit you for these fics!

5. Which of your fic do you want more attention for?  Difficult question for me to answer. I’ve been gifted with lovely feedback on most of my work. I guess if I were to choose one it would be Locking Up the Sun (Batman)? It’s a Fantasy AU. A fantastic exercise in world-building. I had so much fun with it that I’ve been playing with the idea of spinning bits of it into an original work.

6. Do you respond to comments, why or why not? YES. I try to respond to every review and comment I receive. I understand it takes a lot of time and energy for some people, but from the moment I posted my first Merlin fic in 2011, I needed to respond, even if with nothing more than a little thank you. And I’m not about to stop the habit. I met some of my dearest friends responding to reviews. I still meet wonderful people doing so. :) 7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?  Uhhhh, I’m not sure? I guess it depends on perspective. Most of my fics end happily, or rather, I am quite heavy-handed on the comfort part of the Hurt/Comfort trope. I do bittersweet more often than I do angst. I wrote a Merlin AU inspired by The Picture of Dorian Gray about Uther Pendragon that was pretty angsty? Grief was another one, also in the Merlin fandom. I’m sure there were some in my FFN Merlin oneshot collection Rabbits and Bathroom Breaks that apply, but lord knows I hardly remember half of what I’ve posted in that monster. 

8. Do you write crossovers? Once. I wrote a Rise of the Guardians/Frozen crossover with an Elsa/Jack Frost pairing as a gift for a friend.  9. Have you ever received hate on a fic? Oh, of course. Who hasn’t? I’ve been cursed out more than once, too. It always stings, but it’s a matter of stepping back and asking myself: is this constructive? will this make me a better writer? Once you frame the comment/review that way, it’s a bit easier to see that it’s unproductive to linger on it for long. It’s someone’s personal preferences and/or beliefs not aligning with your own. Or someone who can’t quite distance themselves from fiction enough to realize you are not always what you write, nor are you a reflection of the characters/plot you’re writing about.

10. Do you write smut? if so what kind? Rarely, and only as crack or as a joke. Nothing I would ever share in public. RIP Uther Pendragon/Troll fic of circa 2013-2014. I do so wish I’d saved you somewhere safe. 11. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes, but I have no idea where they are posted or in what language. Most of the requests came over FFN, so I’m sure they’re available somewhere. In some capacity. 

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not quite. My friend and I wrote every other line of the aforementioned Uther/Troll fic in a chatroom, if that counts. 13. What’s your all time favorite ship? I’m far more interested in platonic/family relationships in pretty much every fandom I’m in. If I were to choose one? Adam Hayes/Caleb Michaels from The Bright Sessions. Or Barry Allen/Iris West in The Flash.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?  *eyes Shift warily*

I KID. I made a promise over half a decade ago, and I intend on keeping it.  In all seriousness: A Merlin time-travel fic I started ages upon ages ago. I hardly remember what the point of it was. There is a fun scene I’ve considered posting as a oneshot more than once over the years, though, just because it makes me laugh.

15. What are your writing strengths?  Dialogue, I think? I love it. 

16. What are your writing weaknesses? Imagery/action. Give me a single scene focused on a conversation between two hopeless individuals that need some TLC and let me forget about where they are sitting or if they are sitting at all or if there are things that need describing around them, please and thank you.  17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?  I’ve done it, in some capacity. I used my knowledge of Latin grammar from old high school classes to try to write spells for Merlin fics. I probably butchered quite a few, lol. I think it’s important to use language as accurately as possible, though, if it were to be used at all. Most of the time I take the lazy man’s route and use dialogue tags and italics, just so I can avoid making ignorant mistakes. As a reader, as long as I have translations in front of me, I’m golden.  18. What was the first fandom you wrote for? Merlin. I owe that fandom everything. 19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Come Alive. I don’t know that I have ever had so much fun writing anything in my life. a million dreams (my Flying Grayson time travel tear-jerker) and Not a Bit (my MLB Brothers AU, inspired by the original PV) come in close second. I dig my family feels, obviously. 20. What fic are you most proud of?  Shift, my Danny Phantom AU, if only because it’s been seven years since I posted its first chapter. Writing it has felt like pulling teeth at certain points, but it has been with me for a long, long time. Rereading it is like looking at a time lapse of how I’ve developed as a writer, lol.  Heart of Gold (Merlin) is another. Before Shift, it was the longest fic I’d ever written, one, and it was my first time really developing an OC/attempting a redemption arc as well. It was far from a perfect fic, but boy did I feel like a queen when I finished it. I’m sure you might’ve done something like this at some point, @cdelphiki, but here you go! @breynekai-tfc, too! And anyone else who sees and wants to share, please do so! 

[wevegottogetaway]

Thanks fo’ saving my ass tonight

I got so much going on with uni, but I couldn’t resist. If you too are queen/king of procrastinating uni work, you have my deepest support! Hope you enjoyed x

TW: none (except fool language)

Part 2    -    Part 3*

Office parties have never been y/n’s cup of tea, the idea of enjoying yourself in the very place people usually count down the hours before they can leave, is rather ludicrous in her humble opinion. Alas as the boss’ personal assistant, she not only had to plan and organize the whole shebang but her presence was also required, supervision purposes and all that. The only solace sweetening the deal for her was that she’d be in charge of the catering too, and y/n learnt very early on that good food and greater booze could make any boring work function at least tolerable.

Now that the festivities are in full swing, conversation flowing almost as heartily as the champagne in the guests’ eager mouths, y/n thinks she did quite well. The vast open space of the office is decorated with taste, the music set at the perfect level as to not overpower the boring chitchat bouncing off its walls, and to her greatest delight, the catering company she hired has truly outdone themselves. All in all, everybody seems to be having a grand time, and y/n decides that’s reason enough to officially relieve herself of her supervisor’s duties.

As she scans over the assortment of canapés, mini-quiches, crudités and other mouth-watering ambrosias, y/n fails to notice the tall figure casually approaching her. She’s in the midst of pondering whether she should try the humous or a cream cheese and salmon toast first, mouth salivating and stomach growling in appetite, when a raspy voice interrupts her inner battle, "I see m’not the only one who’s here just fo’ the food".

Her eyes pop off the delicious hors d’oeuvres to the sight gracing them next and she doesn’t know which is the most appetizing. Because standing a few feet from her is Harry, vibrant smile and pretty dimples on show, as he leans over the verrines platter to pick the best-looking one. He’s wearing an olympic blue floral suit on top of a scandalously unbuttoned transparent shirt, a bold number that would grant anyone else looks of surprise and confusion but looked absolutely divine on his broad frame. Besides, after two years working at the office, everyone had gotten used to his unconventional fashion choices by now.

Y/n quirks an eyebrow in curiosity as she dips a cucumber stick in a bowl of humous, before quipping, "not a big fan of these things?"

Harry lets out a small chuckle in a ‘no kidding’ way, and attaches his emerald eyes to hers, "they’re kind of a drag, if m’bein’ honest."

She smiles at his admission, realizing they both share an aversion for mundanities, "I know right. Like, why party here where everyone has to be on their best behavior when we could be down at the bar without the boss gallivanting around?" she cries out in exasperation and not for the first time, Harry thinks she’s quite possibly the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. His smile widens the tiniest bit at her passionate rant, "my thoughts exactly. Do we even know what we’re supposed to celebrate?" The question makes her laugh, she wouldn’t have known either if not for her involvement in the affair, "well as the person behind this all drag," she give him a pointed look at his jeering choice of word, "it would be weird if I didn’t."

Harry’s face falls at the possibility of having offended her, but his uneasiness quickly dissipates when she starts laughing at him. "M’sorry, that came out wrong," he tells her before letting out a giggle of his own and y/n revels in the moment. The idea of interacting with him beyond the usual ‘here’s the presentation for today’s conference’ or ‘do you have the quarterly report ready’ is rather intoxicating for her already feeble nerves. "Don’t worry, I take no offense, I’m just as bored as you are," she reassures him with a smile, "the party is for a new potential investor, something about wooing them with some ‘corporate fun’. S’a load of bullshit if you ask me".

Harry nods at the explanation unimpressed, his boss’ intentions being the least of his worries. Aside from being the classic douche every manager typically insists on being, the guy has always made his distaste about him pretty clear, so Harry would rather focus on more interesting things. Like how beautiful y/n looks right now, her hair tied up in a loose bun at the top of her head, leaving a few strands to fall around her face. "You look amazing, by the way," he brings himself to say, though he thinks his compliment doesn’t even do her justice.

Y/n looks down at her own outfit then: a knee-length red dress composed of a skater skirt and a backless top that only holds with a couple pressure buttons clasped behind her neck. Her cheeks warm up to match the color of her apparel, betraying the timidity she’s always fallen victim of whenever he happened to be in her vicinity. Y/n’s never been one to shy away from her feelings or trip over her own words when facing her crushes, but there is something about Harry that teleports her right back to her sheepish 13 year-old teenage self. Also, she’s not too keen on office romances and the drama that usually ensues so she’s always made sure to stifle her blossoming attraction and keep their relation work-appropriate. Surely that must account for most of her awkwardness, doesn’t it?

Her eyes trail back to his face and her response comes in a shy euphemism, "thank you, you clean up quite nicely yourself." It’s enough to quirk Harry’s lips in a bashful smile, their  complexion evidently on edge as they tread uncharted territories. Professionalism has always regimented their interactions with kind but polite rigidness, neither of them quite inclined to cross that invisible line, but tonight seems to challenge that.

Tonight, Harry is resolute in his infatuation, no longer inhibited from social construct but driven by a quest for knowledge; anything that will help him decipher her carefully shielded crux. Tonight, he endeavors to scrape the edges of her rough diamond to expose the gem encapsulated inside, peel back the stoic layers of her exterior to find her unapologetic and intrinsic nature. Tonight, he is thirsty for secrets and confidential disclosures, and he won’t leave until he’s drained it all out of her. Unless she tells him to fuck off, obviously.

Harry keeps the conversation going as he browns the buffet for a new delicacy to snack on, "so, what would you be doing if you didn’t have to be here?" He wants to know everything, the present and the past, the good and the bad, the superficial and the substance, the messy and the orderly, but he figures he should start by what she likes to do in her own time. The things that loosen her up after a tense week at work, the things that will make her eyes shine with passion as she relates them back to his curious mind.

The question reaches her ears as she takes a sip of her drink, "mmm," she smiles around her glass before placing it back on the table, "-that’s easy. Playing pool with the gang at Gibson’s." Her answer spills without hesitation, a heap of follow-up questions already brewing up in Harry’s brain, but the foreign name is what beckons his attention first, "Gibson’s?" he echoes with a faint rumple pulling the skin between his eyes. Is that the name of a friend? A boyfriend? Out of all the questions he’s contemplated, y/n’s relationship status never crossed his mind. He’s always assumed her to be a single woman, the evidence of a significant other never present in her language and demeanor.

A wave of relief washes over him at her elaboration, "it’s a bar couple blocks from my place. It’s been my friends and I’s HQ ever since we all met." The sentiment has her eyes sparkle at the remembrance of all the happy memories the place hosted, and Harry stores the information in his mental list of all y/n’s soft spots.

"Sounds rad, so you play pool?" he inquires with enthusiasm. He’s been knows to play a game or two in his youth, though it’s been a hot minute since he’s felt the weight of the cue in his hands as he sinks ball after ball in their respective pockets. He remembers the elation of it all, the adrenaline coursing through his veins at each successful strike, and his heart flutters at the thought of ever sharing a game with her; she seems like the competitive type in the most entertaining way possible. Before his thoughts can spiral into much filthier realms, like bending her over the table mid-game when his own skills prevail and she turns into a sore-loser, y/n’s voice rings him back to reality.

"Uh uh, correction," her expression suddenly turns in false seriousness before she proves him right about her competing tendencies, "I win at pool." Her eyes are so full of confidence, a spice of mischief sparkling in their corner, she would have no difficulty persuading anyone of anything that passes the threshold of her mouth. Harry certainly doesn’t doubt her mastery of the bar game, but it doesn’t stop him from challenging her in a slightly elevated pitch, "oh is that so?"

Y/n only grins at the banter, not at all fazed by his taunting remark, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." She reaches for another snack, not taking her come-hither look off his handsome face, and Harry revels in her flirtatious advances, a smug smile taking possession of his lips as he surfs of the same wave of seduction. "Is that a challenge?" he philanders back, fueling the sensual back-and-forth they seem to have embarked upon.

"Not much of a challenge if I know I’ll win," y/n replies with cheek, her self-assurance once again burgeoning like sexy wildflowers sprouting from the ground underneath Harry’s feet, wrapping around his ankle and growing along his body to twine around his spellbound heart. He absolutely loves her unfaltering aplomb, finds it undoubtably sexy but he can’t let her know that just yet.

"Cocky."

"Confident."

They both chuckle at their repartee, enjoying this ping-pong of quick-witted banter they’ve never found in anybody else before. It’s like their intellects were meant to collide in galvanizing forces, the encounter of two fiery psychs too brilliant to one up the other.

Harry is mesmerized by their connection, if he knew sparks would fire this bright, he would have made a move ages ago. "Fuck, you’re something else," he shakes his head in incredulity before confessing, "definitely not what I expected."

Y/n’s chest tingles at his comment, a rivulet of liquid glee leaking through her arteries to pump her heart and her ego full of bliss, "Oh so you expected something, did you?" She punctuates her teasing with a thousand-watts power smirk, and Harry finds it strikingly alluring.

Not about to let her have the upper hand however, a burst of smugness crosses his features as he boomerangs her earlier allurement back to her, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." It earns him a deep jazzy laugh rooted in her tummy and a tinge of pride swirling in his own. He wants to pry laugh after laugh from her belly until her last giggle, only relenting once the muscles in her chest are aching from unbridled joy.

Y/n sighs in content before taking a bite out of a mini-tartlet as she considers how to proceed in this much too flirty conversation. "So what would you be doing tonight, if not for this stupid party?" she returns his first question before realizing,  "-wait a sec, what are you doing here if you hate these things so much? My presence was mandatory but yours isn’t."

"I’ll have you know I was coerced into coming too," he quips back in a fake defensive tone, hand pressing to his chest, "Mike from accounting begged me to tag along, he just broke up with his girlfriend so I didn’t have the heart to tell him no." The selfishness of the gesture softens her heart in a goo of adoration, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Softie."

"Chivalrous."

His comeback has her giggle, a rejoinder already tiptoeing at the edge of her lips, "see, who’s cocky now?" Her eyes are full of jest and lightness, somehow taking the weight of the party off his shoulders. Turns out, food and booze are not the only remedies for boring work functions, y/n’s company is just as effective if not more, and that’s with the guarantee of a hangover-less comes next morning. Harry is truly happy he decided to make an appearance tonight, a sentiment he definitely didn’t foresee for the night. The realization has him faintly shaking his head in amazement, his lips letting out another whispered "something else" softly enough that it doesn’t quite reach her already inflated ears.

"So did you have any plans tonight?" She reiterates the question not wanting to ever stop talking with him.

There are probably a hundred exciting plans he could have conjured up to come off half as intriguing as she seems to be, but instead he decides to go the honest route, "nah, I would have probably crash on my couch, this week’s been pretty hectic." His truth is confirmed by the faded blackness tinting the skin below his eyes, a proof of hard work and long hours under the heedlessness of a greedy superior. Y/n knows it all too well, having had firsthand experience with her boss’ jackassery. That’s why she directly inquires, "boss giving you trouble?"

Part of Harry is eager to steer the conversation back to more pleasant waters but he guesses talking a little bit about work was inevitable at some point, especially since they both share palpable distaste for their superior. "The maniac keeps giving me last minute reports like I’m expected to work all night along on his bullshit projects," he explains dejectedly before running his hand through his luscious curls in sign of frustration. "Barely finished in time fo’ the party tonight, I had to slip in his office to put the file on his desk, that fucker had already left."

Y/n listens attentively, her chest tightening in empathy at the recollection of his misfortune. She’s very familiar with the embittering feeling that comes with working your ass for someone that barely registers your efforts and dishes the office hours before you can even dream of clocking off. She’s faced the same scenario time and time again, including tonight, when she’d come up to lock the boss’ office hours after he left to get pampered for the party. She barely got time to make the double commute to and from her place, much less spend hours getting dolled up. She does remember the odd file on her boss’ desk though, "oh I was wondering what that blue folder was about, he never usually leave unattended paperwork on his desk."

Harry starts nodding in confirmation before stopping dead, eyes widened in distress, "wait, did you just say blue?" he asks in urgency.

Y/n frowns at his sudden agitation, her mind reeling to try and visualize the state of the surroundings she left several hours ago. She’s pretty positive she saw a blue binder laying there, not that she knows the ramifications of that simple fact, "yes I think so, why?"

The dire nature of the situation becomes painfully obvious as Harry’s face turns into a mess of  dread and panic, "oh shit, oh fuck, no no no," the words keep tumbling from his mouth in a ramble of nerves. "So stupid, m’so fucked" he keeps muttering self-admonition in quiet anger, hands griping at the root of his hair.

Concern is starting to fester in y/n’s guts as she takes in his disheveled state, "Harry, Jesus, take a breath, tell me what’s going on," she steps closer to him, one hand softly holding at his biceps as she tries to connect their gazes.

Once his eyes plug into hers, pupils blown out in turmoil, he finally calms down enough to word  out his mishap, "s’not the right file on his desk, I only use red binders for the reports." Spinning around out of her hold to shout his stress back to the wall in a loud "fuck!", Harry’s mind is caught up in a swirl of possible excuses to give to his boss, all sounding more ridiculous than the other. He can’t think of way to fix his mistake and escape the inevitable berating coming his way comes morning.

Fortunately for him, y/n is not about to let this happen, "it’s okay, we’ll fix this," she encourages. "What’s on his desk right now?"

Harry looks back at her then, not totally convinced that this all mayhem is salvageable. His boss is never going to tolerate this minor negligence, especially once he finds out the irrelevant material mistakenly slipped amongst his work. "My 14 year-old niece’s english project" the answer comes out as a question, a hint of self-deprecating humor lacing through his words. "Bloody hell, he’s gon’ have my head fo’ that one."

Harry is adamant in his doom, but if anything, y/n is not a quitter. "No he’s not. He hasn’t seen it yet, right? You said he was already gone when you brought the file."

He takes a long breath, "I suppose not."

"Guess it’s a good thing I have the keys to his office then, yeah?" She smiles proudly as a beacon of hope shines on his conflicted face. The forest green of his eyes seems to breath back to life in an endearing revival, effectively tugging at y/n’s heart’s merciful strings.

"Fuck, you’d do that fo’ me?" his shoulders loosen up in relief, the tension slowly simmering down to a gentle buzz, as he envisages the possibility of an illicit break-in. Well, as illicit as it may be, considering they have the keys. Still, best they don’t get caught snooping in the boss’ office, for both of their sake.

"Of course, silly. No questions asked," y/n answers with a smile, and her willingness to put herself in potential trouble, warms Harry’s heart from inside out.

"Y/n, you’re an angel, a life savior," he grabs her shoulders in each of his hands, his gratitude painted all over his soft traits. "Fuck, I could kiss you right now." The words fly out of his mouth without him realizing their significance after spending the last ten minutes coming onto her. And well, y/n isn’t too opposed to the idea either, and she thinks she might hold him to that promise in retribution for her saving grace when the time and space works better in their favor. "Alright Casanova, let’s get your ass out of this mess," she grabs her purse form the table and takes his hand to guide him through the cluster of people milling around the office space, eventually reaching the row of elevators across the room.

As they stand waiting for their lift to come, Harry starts fidgeting with nervous energy, feeling like a kid who’s about to get caught trying to steal straight from the cookie jar. "Shit, alright, we have to be discrete if we want to pull this off," he tells her, not taking his eyes off the room in case someone would look at them and read their plan straight off their guilty-looking faces.

"Says the guy in the flashy suit," y/n immediately counters, in an attempt to revive the playfulness of their synergy. The night was going swimmingly before the whole ordeal, and she’s convinced this foxy little adventure can only add to the appeal of an evening full of surprises.

Harry’s indignation at her dig teeters from his pouty lips, "hey! It’s not that bad." She giggles at his poor rebuttal, and as the doors of the elevator open, they quickly take a few steps inside.

"Harry, that suit is so loud, it could break the sound barrier," y/n teases as she eyes the crowd of people frivolously chatting away, while waiting for the door to close back.

"Thought I cleaned up nicely," he cheekily throws back her words from earlier, letting them resonate within the small confines of the elevator as they make their way up to their boss’ office.

She turns to face him then, a smile spreading on her supple lips, "don’t get me wrong, you look wonderful, just nowhere near decent for a secret spy mission."

Her words have him beaming back at her in a second, his mind fixated on her compliment rather than how impractical it is that his clothes are flashier than the Queen’s; in his defense, neither are y/n’s. "Damn, just got upgraded from nice to wonderful, this night is actually turning around," he chirps as the door open to the deserted hallway of the top floor.

"Alright, more action and less flirting, Styles," y/n playfully chides him. "Go get the right file, while I open his door, we should be quick in case he decides to bring the tour and his special guest up here." She sends him off with a tilt of her chin in what she knows to be the direction of his office, and Harry complies with ease and starts backtracking a few doors down, "yes ma’am."

While he’s gone to fetch the correct document from his office, y/n rummages through her purse to find the key of her boss’ office and unlock the door. Once she’s inside, she makes her way around the imposing mahogany desk commanding the space, and finds the imposter file sitting innocently on the polished wood. For pure curiosity’s sake, she starts leafing through its contents and lets a small chuckle as she takes in the endearing work of a young aspiring writer.

Her reading is interrupted by Harry’s hurried strides when he joins her in the room. "Here’s the damn report," he flings the folder on the desk next to his niece’s, red clashing with blue, mocking him for his slight negligence. As he absorbs the sight of y/n’s face engrossed in the teenage’s fiction, he moves slowly behind her, getting a glimpse at his niece’s whimsical words over her shoulder, before his eyes settle on the bare skin of her back.

Y/n welcomes his sudden proximity, has stranding on end as she feels the soft puffs of his breaths against her neck. "Your niece is quite the writer, does she always come to you for advice?"

She ignores the shivers running down her spine, and gulps when Harry’s voice greets her ears in a deep quiet hoarse, closer than she excepted, "usually, yeah. I was the one who got her into writing, so it’s kinda become our thing, I guess."

She smiles at his softness, "that’s really sweet," and draws in a long breath in a vain attempt to calm her jitters. She can almost feel his presence on her skin though they’re technically not touching, her fingertips tingling in anticipation.  

Another frisson travels through her when he responds with a low "mhm," his nose slightly grazing behind her ear, taking in her beguiling fragrance. Jasmine and vanilla, fresh and soft, exciting and comforting at the same time; it suits her perfectly.

"Harry-" she doesn’t know what to follow the whisper of his name with. Careful? Not here? Please don’t stop? At this point, she wants nothing more than to succumb to his affections, regardless of their improper whereabouts.

Harry brushes the back of his index down the smooth skin of her back in a featherlike caress, "thanks fo’ saving my ass, tonight," he murmurs into her ear, before laying a small kiss behind it.

Y/n is exulting under his tender ministrations, her eyes closed to enhance the feeling of his touch. "Anytime," she breathes out as her head tilts backward, a hand coming behind his neck in a silent plea not to let go, and Harry smiles against her skin at her receptiveness, goosebumps of his own blossoming across his body.

His next words are out of his mouth before he can think, "mmm, I owe you a big one," his playful persona resurfacing now that the situation was handled. They snort in unison at the double-entendre, and Harry slides his free arm around her waist to bring her closer to his chest in silent remittance. Y/n doesn’t mind though, she kinda likes this boyish side of him, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Gross."

"Hilarious."

Their ping-pong of wisecrack is back despite the tension permeating the air. It’s the kind that speeds heartbeats and moistens palms in lustful anticipation, the kind that curtails people’s breath as their lungs fill up with voluptuous aphrodisia. "Will you let me kiss you? Show you all my gratitude? I really wanna have a taste, love," he pleads for her permission, and y/n is too consumed by desire to deny him, "have it."

In one swift move, he spins around and latches his eager lips onto her. Passion ensues, hands roaming all over each other to find the perfect hold; the back of a neck, the lapels of a suit jacket, a few strands of hair, the curve of an exposed ribcage, it’s all intoxicating but there is always more to explore. Their tongues are caught up in a heated tango of their own, swirling around each other to quench the thirst of passion, licking their lustful way around their mouths.

At one point, Y/n finds herself pressed against her boss’ desk, one leg around Harry’s waist as he attaches his hips to hers in a heated embrace that leaves them breathless upon parting. He rests his forehead against her temple as they both process the intimate exchange, not ready to burst out of this fairy bubble. "Fuck, been waiting to do that for a while," he exhales with a smile, still incredulous at the evening’s proceedings, and the girl nestled in his arms.

"Same," she agrees and gently cups his face to bring his eyes back to hers, barely believing the adoration and warmth swimming within his lovely olive irises.

Harry’s heart feels like a ticking bomb about to implode, the sweet taste of her lips already providing him with a fix he didn’t know he was addicted to. "One more," he demands against her mouth before diving into another searing kiss. This time his hands explore more meticulously, scavenging for other soft spots to add on to his mental list. The dimples in her back right above the curve of her ass seem to rival the area at her side right below the swell of her breast, but Harry is pretty sure he’ll find more sensitive spots in the near future. Hopefully.

Once again, the need for oxygen compels them to part way, but neither of them make a move to separate their tangled limbs. Y/n is reveling in the moment she’s been daydreaming about for months, "so good," she keeps whispering sweet nothing against his lips while rubbing her nose against the bridge of his.

Harry clears his throat as he regains his bearings, realizing that there are still very much in the middle of their boss’ office, a place they are not supposed to be in, doing stuff they’re not supposed to be doing. At least not here. "Let’s get outta here, yeah?" he brushes a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, "you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and I’ll tend to yours once we’re back at my place, what’dya say?"

And well, how can one say no to that?

➪ Masterlist

[talenlee]

Game Pile: Dream Crush

Back before you, satistically, were born, there was this thing called The Nineteen Hundred and Eighties. These are defined by nobody my age properly remembering them and attributing all sorts of things to them that didn’t necessarily exist. But also in that space, there were things like dating TV game shows, which took off in the 1970s and were petering out by the 80s.

Oh okay, so a dating TV game show is a TV game show where the premise is one of the prizes is a really cool date, and you win it by picking one of the potential dates and going out together.

Oh, so a TV game show is a type of game where the game is played primarily on TV, for an audience and—

Oh okay, so a TV is like a really big phone that only could receive streams from five people—

Anyway, the board game Dream Crush.

Dream Crush is, in its purest sense, a social deduction game. Players are presented with arbitarily similar options, and then every other player tries to guess what your choice would be amongst those options and for why. Players check these, scoring points based on if they correctly guessed what you would guess, then add another arbitary difference to the options, and repeat the process. The winner is the person with the most points, which really doesn’t matter. This isn’t a game with a powerful agonic edge – it’s honestly close to a combination of alea and mimicry instead, if you want that kind of reference.

But that anodyne description of the gameplay loop isn’t what it feels like what you’re doing. What you’re doing is meeting a collection of possible dateable people, and determining if you’d date them based on information that gets revealed about them in stages. This information is, typically speaking in this game, contentious but not direly negative; you’re not going to see a card that says, say ‘is a racist,’ but you might see a card that says ‘calls strangers sir and ma’am.’

The funny part of the game, and make no mistake, this is a game about making funny things happen, comes when you listen to people make assumptions about what would appeal to you, and how much these things matter to you.

What Dream Crush offers in this space that sets it apart from a lot of other voting games — well, the voting game that everyone knows in this space, really, which is Cards Against Humanity.

Like, you do know that right? Systemically speaking, Dream Crush and Cards Against Humanity are the same thing. They’re language roulettes, and you vote on who has the best combination of ball and slot. I have a special kind of low-key resentment about the way that Cards Against Humanity works, not because the engine works badly but because it’s taught a generation of players that this is how modern games work, that they’re all just voting games.

I see a lot of voting games in the indie space, games that more or less are trying to make a similar kind of product to Cards Against Humanity when they’re not just straight up making more of Cards Against Humanity. This is in part because they aren’t well-versed in alternatives, but it’s also because the core engine of that game is pretty strong in a particular kind of way. See, with Cards Against Humanity, the incentive system for the game is just screwed: You’re not actually incentivised to play the game well and care about who wins. What you’re trying to do is determine who played what and how to push points away from the player in the lead. Now, nobody does that, because it’s too hard, but when the cards are revealed and you can determine who reacts and how, it’s entirely possible to determine based on people’s reactions who is or isn’t playing a particular card.

The incentive system of that game, if you care about winning is a game of social reads in that voting period. Now, this never comes up because people who play Cards Against Humanity are focused instead on the ‘ridiculous’ outcomes of their ‘joke’ cards.

In Dream Crush you’re not trying to construct a joke and punchline combination. The game is producing potential date options, players are discussing what they think about those options, and then people are making a choice from this selection and other players try to predict what you did. You don’t score points based on what you chose, you score points based on what you can determine of other people’s choices – and that means that you need information.

The game presents you with ways to get information – like, asking questions – but you can’t actually coerce it out of anyone. There’s no ‘look at a player’s hand’ thing here. The game is very much a game about communication. Where many other voting games want to obscure people’s choices during the choosing, Dream Crush uses its formula to instead induce players to talk.

The game rules do specify you need to be true to your heart and that’s a good push towards a sort of good faith engagement with the game’s fiction. It’s not actually that important, like you can’t prove someone’s heart or preferences, but even if you try to play to the most mechanistically challenging play pattern, you don’t score any more points by messing with people’s abilities to guess you. You still need to be able to work out what other people are choosing, in order to play the game and that means that even if you don’t want to engage, you still need other people to talk!

It’s not like Dream Crush is going to work for everyone. It still builds itself around the idea of going on dates and building relationships with people which isn’t universal experiences go. For anyone who finds it a no-go it’s a hard no-go, and it sucks to get completely walled by the fun goofy game that everyone else is able to enjoy. Plus, there are some people who wouldn’t be comfortable picking certain kinds of partner, which can be based on how they physically read the cards. Don’t push it with this otherwise pretty novel game.

Still there is one final detail: Character names are deliberately chosen to be gender ambiguous, and for a large cast of them, that means that you’re dealing with a body of weirdoes who have hobbies like sword collection and muppetry and use flip phones and have gender ambiguous names. What I’m saying is that there’s a very real Nonbinary Polycule Interaction simulator buried here.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[billiedeanhwrd]

when i fell you were there, with your hands in the air

cordelia goode x fem!reader

summary: your depression is hitting you harder than most days, cordelia comforts you 🤍

warnings: depression, slight mention of childhood trauma, it's angsty mental health fluff basically

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is my first ever fanfic and i'm very very nervous about it, so pls don't be too harsh, constructive criticism is very much welcome though!! also i'm sorry about any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language. i also have to add that this was very much self indulgent and based on my own experience with depression, so if you don't relate, that's fine, everyone experiences it differently. I hope you enjoy it tho, have fun reading <3

today was one of those days again. one of those days where everything seemed grey and pointless. one of those days where taking a shower was too exhausting. one of those days where it didn't matter if you left your clothes on the floor or a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. one of those days where you isolated yourself. one of those days that seemed to return to you every morning for almost 3 weeks now.

you had been struggling with depression for years now and attending therapy regularly still didn't take away from the embarrassment you felt about your illness. cordelia didn't know, you didn't want to burden her with your subjectively "silly" problems. It wasn't easy hiding something so life consuming from your lover, but whenever you were with her you felt as though you could reach for the stars and there was no point in ruining happy moments with sad stories.

Whenever you felt really depressed and unable to function, you isolated yourself. Cordelia and you had been together for 7 months now and the first time she thought she had done something wrong which had resulted in you needing space from her, but when she confronted you, you reassured her that sometimes you needed some time to yourself because you were a more introverted person. While that might be true, you wanted nothing more than for her to take you into her arms and tell you everything was going to be okay again, but the fear of possibly burdening the already very busy supreme held you back from confessing what was weighing you down.

you were used to this already, you always kept your darkness to yourself, too afraid of being too much or being abandoned by your loved ones, while the rational side of you knew that the people in your life who truly meant something to you would never abandon you because of your chronic depression, anxiety left no room for rationality.

you were always feeling kind of down, but some days it was easier to cope and enjoy your day despite that... and then there were those phases where you felt unusually down, those phases that caused you to isolate yourself and wait for the storm to pass in solitude. They usually lasted only a few days or maximum a week, but this one had been going on for much longer. cordelia was worried, you had never needed so much "alone time to recharge your social battery", but she didn't want to overstep your boundaries and possibly push you away, because what you weren't aware of was that cordelia too struggled with abandonment issues and fearing she would be "too much" (which she could never be for you, you adored every single second you could spend in the blonde witch's presence).

After leaving multiple text messages and trying to call you, only to be greeted by your voicemail, cordelia took it upon herself to see what was going on with you. The knocking on your door would've usually startled you, but you had just ordered a pizza, too tired to prepare a meal yourself and assumed the delivery was faster than they had stated on their website. your jaw fell open and the door was quickly closed again, shit shit shit, what am i supposed to do now? the place looks like a mess, i can't let cordelia se-

"y/n can you open the door please?" she asked in her gentle voice. "Uh, yeah, give me a second" you replied, hastily throwing on a hoodie that had been lying around on your couch, coincidentally that hoodie being one you stole from cordelia a few weeks ago, something that made your girlfriend's heart warm up a little and relieve her of some of the worried thoughts she had that this might be your way of signaling to her that you no longer wished to be in a relationship with her.

"can we talk? i haven't seen you in three weeks and you haven't answered any of my texts... what's going on? you know you can talk to me about anything..."

"uhm, yes, of course. sit down, make yourself at home, would you like anything to drink?"

"no, thank you, i just want to talk to you"

you didn't have the energy to lie to the woman who held your heart in her hands anymore, you were terrified of her reaction, not only to you being mentally ill but also to you hiding it for so long.

"i'm so sorry delia, please don't be mad", you anxiously stuttered out. cordelia grabbed your hand and smiled reassuringly, signaling for you to continue talking.

"I didn't tell you before because i know you've already got so much going on with the academy and i didn't want to pile onto that with my irrelevant issues... I was diagnosed with depression amongst other things a few years ago, it's something i have to deal with every day and some days are easier than others, but sometimes it all comes crashing down on me and i feel like i'm lost in an ocean of a sadness so powerful, i can feel the pain on my body. I know it can be challenging to be close to someone with severe mental issues and I understand if you don't want to continue being with me, i would never want you to stay with me because you pity me or because you're afraid i'd do something to myself if you'd left, you're not responsible for my feelings or actions and i would never want to impose you with such a burden and-"

you stopped rambling when you noticed the tears flowing down cordelia's cheeks.

your eyes widened and your heart started pounding rapidly in your chest. "i'm sorry, was that too much?"

"no, no, no, no, no... it just pains me to know that you've been dealing with this on your own for such a long time because you don't value yourself enough to believe that other people might want to support you through your everyday battles. y/n, i know you, you're the girl who's always there when someone else needs a shoulder to cry on, anytime, anyplace, you always go out of your way to make others feel seen and accepted, why would you ever think that you don't deserve the kindness you so openly give to others?"

now it was you who was crying, cordelia was right, you didn't value yourself enough to believe that. you didn't actively think of yourself as less than others but that thought always unconsciously motivated the way you dealt with the things that were bothering you.

cordelia patted her lap, signaling for you to sit on her lap and come into her arms. you hesitated though, you weren't used to being so vulnerable and open with your emotions and it scared the shit out of you. you feared cordelia was possibly annoyed at you and was only doing this to get it over with and then get out. she watched you, while you were anxiously deciding what your next move would be, her heart broke for you, you looked like a scared baby dear when all she wanted to do was to comfort you.

"baby, look at me"

her chocolate colored eyes were so full of love, simply looking into them managed to get your heart rate down.

"it's okay, i'm not mad at you for talking about your feelings and all i want to do right now is to hug some of your pain away, so please, let me hold you"

you melted at her gentle words and understanding nature, cordelia was an incredibly smart woman, who went through traumatic things herself and even from that little information you shared, she understood you. she saw her younger self in you, so incredibly lonely but oh, so scared of being vulnerable with another person, due to the emotional abuse her mother subjected her to, and while she might not have gone through the same things you did, she felt like she understood your feelings in this exact moment and she wanted nothing more than to make you feel safe with her.

you slowly crawled into her lap, still afraid this was all a trick to hurt you, but when she started combing through your hair and reassuringly whispering "i've got you" and "you're here with me, i promise you, you're safe", you relaxed into her arms.

after about half an hour of laying there with each other, calming down and enjoying the other one's warmth, you spoke up.

"delia?"

"yes, my love?"

"so you're not leaving me?", you hesitantly asked.

cordelia sat up and looked straight in your eyes while asking "would you leave someone you love because they're depressed?"

"no, never"

"then tell me, sweetheart, why would i leave you?"

her response left you speechless, you almost missed her confessing her love. "you love me?"

she hugged you tight and pressed a kiss on your forehead. "more than anything, and please, never worry about telling me about what's going on in that pretty little head of yours, no matter what it is, i wanna know, okay?"

you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding and confidently replied "okay"

a few minutes passed before you spoke up again when you remembered you didn't say those 3 special words back.

"i love you too, by the way"

cordelia smiled lovingly and stood up to reach out for your hand and pull you up. "i know, now let's go to bed, we can clean up this place tomorrow"

you accepted her helping hand and engulfed her in a hug. the way she so naturally used the word "we" and didn't seem to mind helping you clean up your mess of an apartment made you more emotional than you'd like to admit.

And while you knew this would not be the last time you were overwhelmed by your depression, you now knew that you could count on the woman who loved you to stand by your side and help you get through even your hardest day.

[emrosedeleon]

The Descension of the Qabalstic Worlds;

Or, the Tarot Suits, the Four Alchemical Elements, Theoretical Astrophysics and Magickal Metaphysics;

Pretty much every time I mention these categories of 4-sided things, I use a particular order which is informed by a Qabbalistic description of a necessary hierarchy or sequence to the elements:

Fire/Wands

Water/Chalices

Air/Swords

Earth/Pentacles - or Disks

This order is meant to be a description of the mechanistic manner by which things existent only in Spirit, or in concept, or in a kind of Platonic world of Forms may become manifest, become heavier, become reality.

The order is also reversible, describing how our brains incorporate information into ideal consciousness space.

Fire is Spirit, Consciousness/Creativity or Willpower, that which is subjectively known, like one's identity, gender, instincts, faith, and values

Water is Emotionality, Sense Data or Interrelation, that which is intersubjectively felt, like one's sense of community, family, love, partnership, and inspiration

Air is Articulation, Intellectualization or Empiricism, that which is intersubjectively known, like one's sense of ontology, abstraction, language, metaphysics, and culture

Earth is Material Reality, Consequences/Time or Pain/Pleasure, that which is subjectively felt, like one's material conditions, lived experience, embodied sensations, material necessities and mechanistic existence

Fire being Hot and Dry contrasts directly to Water which is Cold and Wet - these are a good, almost direct analogue for Cohesive and Adhesive, respectively. Water is both, Fire is neither. Wet things touch other things and say hi and stick to them, Cold things stick to themselves.

Fire, then, pushes forever and always outwards - against the air, against it's fuel, against itself, it pushes out and up and away and it takes everything it can to be incorporated into and used by itself, it burns things, it rises, it carries, it animates, it energizes.

Water is alternatively the universal solvent, it will pull everything up into itself to be dissolved and dissolute into the all-encompassing pool, the dissolution of the other into the self. Water also holds its shape, it falls into a space, it is defined by its confines.

Air is Hot and Wet - it hates sticking to itself, it will become infinitely thinner to fill out a space, but it also wants to bounce off of and say hi to all the edges of a thing, in all directions - and then it bounces off itself, communicating to itself where those edges are.

Earth is Cold and Dry - it holds shape, better than anything else, it'll do it without another container - it is it's own container, it's the universal container. Or really that's gravity and we'll talk about that later, but Earth holds shape to push against Water and Air.

Those are the most foundational significations of the elements, they're the 4 basic modalities of being, and one way to describe a 4-sided set of universal energies.

Qabbalah assigns a specific order which is meant to describe the nature of reality and consciousness.

It helps if we look at the elements as planets

First Mars/Solis/Fire determines will, a declaration of individuated manifestation within the Universe - but it is still only intention, instinct and consciousness posing itself against a constructed antipode to be conquered.

Then Venus/Luna/Water determines how one relates to an external pole in a mutualistic cocreative fashion, how the constructed antipode influences the site of consciousness and will.

Next, Jupiter/Air conceptualizes of a framework and theory of this relationship, the brain describes the antipode to itself with words and concrete concepts, it devises a plan of execution.

And finally Saturn/Earth is the material execution of this intention manifesting in material action.

Fire>Water>Air>Earth

The Hermetic I am, I think it'd be effective to borrow a metaphor from astrophysics.

Or maybe I'm just describing the same Universe they are, lol.

Either way, there's a relativistic description of spacetime and Information which I think can be illuminating of this concept.

Relativity implies that one can look at the background radiation at the edge of the observable Universe, record that information of where there was energy and where there wasn't, calculate how long ago that was - and then one should theoretically be able to predict all of time.

How is this possible?

Well it's not - you'd need a computer with more processing power than the entire Universe, which would necessarily require more total energy - and you would need a way to calculate perfectly your seed data.

But still, Relativity implies time is deterministic.

In Relativity, the property of -Information- can never be destroyed. We can never access the precise relationship of forces on the quantum scale within an experiment setting due to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, but that data is there.

The reason we can't know it is because observing things always affects them, you're always waiting for radiation to bounce off of a thing, waiting for it to respond to other energy before we can measure that response - but on that scale, it's a devastating amount of energy.

It's not that there isn't Information there, it's just that we can't turn up the gain any further without corrupting the signal.

But all of spacetime is just the communication of confounding waveforms cascading out from the antimatter annihilation at the dawn of time.

At the end of time, in the Heat Death, when all of Spacetime becomes a temperature non-gradient, all those packets of energy will remember their journeys.

The exact pattern of emanation and radiation and coalescence and gravity and evaporation and dissolution carried them there.

And therefore, if one could catch a snapshot at any given time, they could theoretically extrapolate to any other time.

History is not random, it's narrativistic, because one moment always meaningfully follows the previous.

And if one were a photon, they'd be moving at lightspeed, and then spacetime is infinitely compressed for them - and functionally they are above time, perpendicular to time.

And this is a very Hermetic thing to be able to see: the continuous, eternal, working Universe.

From above, we can see the real truth about time: that all things really are just interactions of light, just cascading, confounding waveforms.

Gravity is just a bunch of light falling into itself for a while - life is just light deciding to act like a mechanism for a while.

Consciousness is just a harmony of cascading waveforms temporarily and tenuously agreeing to think.

Society is merely a waveform confounded from these waveforms.

Political parties and kittens and electronics and human people are all just extremely complicated machines made of light.

But really it's wackier than that - because the whole thing is just one big thinking machine made of light.

Alan Watts once said something about this concept which really stuck with me - 'In much the same way we might call a tree fruiting, this is a Universe that peoples.' if you examine the whole mechanism from above, from perpendicular to the flow of time, then you can see the whole process is one thing, apple and tree, world and observer.

This pattern of cognition, I think it's reflected, I think, in the very history of the Universe.

Explosion>Gravity>Thinking Universe>Human Society/Heat Death.

Fire>Water>Air>Earth

This descension also maps directly onto the Hegelian process of Spirit - an intolerable status quo inspires need among the oppressed and this fosters within them first a subjectively felt disquiet, then intellectual theory of resistance, finally mutual aid.

The descension of the world can even be used to describe the process which produced society. At various points in our evolutionary history, we first developed the capacity to pursue needs in order to eat and evade danger. Then we developed the ability to share these intuitions directly between individuals in order to ensure mutual survival. Then we developed a socal structure of larger communities, underpinned by language and shared social constructions. Finally we conversed with one another to the point we knew enough about the world to shape it knowingly and to engineer our own environments.

Fire>Water>Air>Earth

As for how the process reverses itself, the best metaphorical tool I have is something I was talking in a creative writing class - that the brain doesn't understand all information at the same speed.

You might feel a gun in your back before having time to search for words.

And then even as our brain summons words like 'I don't want to die,' or 'What about the cat,' or 'I deserve this' - these kinds of thoughts betray predispositions of mood, but they precede the subjectively felt associated emotion. Only then would the intention to do something hit.

The translation of something physical, like the threat of a gun - into something entirely of the mental, neuminous, Platonic realm - the realm of light, this process follows the reverse order of elemental hierarchy:

Earth>Air>Water>Fire

Then to actually properly do something, the whole process runs back down from the brain to the nerves.

Fire>Water>Air>Earth

Wands>Chalices>Swords>Pentacles

Explosions>Gravity>Consciousness>Heat Death

Conquest>Cooperation>Coordination>Civilization

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 3

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

Word Count: Ch 3 - 1637

In case you missed it: Chapter 2 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 3

One month is not enough time to get used to nights in the bunker, she thinks as she stares at the back of Dean’s door. It’s too sterile, too unnatural, with the quiet permeating every crevice and recess.

There must be some sort of muffling spell or noise cancellation technology… or maybe just really good insulation. She’s used to the chatter of customers, the ding of the door chime, the clatter of plates, and the sloshing of the dishwasher. She’s never had to listen to herself think this much before, and she freely admits she is not a fan.

It’s been about four hours since Dean stormed out. “I’m done,” he said, but she doubts she’ll have to wait much longer. Those last words he shouted before Castiel came in, the way he gripped her and she had to force herself not to cling right back, tells her they aren’t finished, either with their argument or each other.

Muffled footsteps, the only sound besides her heart beat and non-stop internal monologue, let her know moments before the doorknob turns that Dean is back. The door swings open, not with the angry force she’s expecting, but with the same weary resignation that bows his shoulders as he steps into his room and shrugs off his jacket.

His eyes meet hers for an eternity, then he deliberately takes two more steps forward and closes the door firmly behind him.

She’s in his arms without a moment’s hesitation, her mouth on his, devouring him with every bit of desperation she possesses. He tastes of scotch, and she can picture him sitting despondently at the local watering hole, glaring balefully at a single glass of liquor for hours.

His arms constrict automatically until she’s equally breathless from his embrace as she is from the kiss. Just when she thinks he may have to physically hold her up, Dean pulls away just far enough to stare hard into her eyes, his expression daring her to challenge his next words.

“We are not done talking. You are going to tell me every detail of your deal, whether you like it or not. And don’t think for a second I’m going to let you go through with it. Choices be damned, Andy, this isn’t just about you anymore, and you know it.”

She refrains from telling him how much of a dad vibe he’s giving off as she shoves his flannel from his shoulders and pulls his face back to hers, clenching a handful of his t-shirt in a death grip.

Neither of them is gentle as they remove clothing and stagger their way to his bed; she knows they don’t have the time to be, and he suspects as much but doesn’t say so aloud. Neither is willing to ruin their precious remaining moments together by bringing up something as distasteful as reality. Nails score flesh, fingers bruise limbs, even their lips come away with faint traces of blood from accidental clashes with teeth.

“How long?” he rasps, his lips ghosting over her sternum. Her nails dredge shallow furrows across the backs of his thighs as he pulls back before thrusting hard, driving her into his mattress. “How long have we got?”

She tugs his mouth down to her breast, hissing as his teeth scrape and tug. Her fingers thread into his hair, holding him in place, silently willing him to let the subject go. She can’t answer him. She’s had a month with him, and while she’d rather have something closer to a lifetime, all she’s asking now is two more uninterrupted, untainted hours.

If she tells him, then the shortness of their time becomes real, everything becomes devastatingly real. Here in the bunker that is far too quiet for her own peace of mind, she can pretend the outside world and all it’s insane occultists and apocalypses and demons and deals don’t exist. She can pretend it’s just her and Dean, and nothing else bad is waiting on the other side of the horizon.

And he’d try to stop her. And probably succeed. So, no. She can’t tell him.

It’s some time before both of them are sated enough to lie relatively still. She keeps her back to him, knowing if she looks in his eyes she is liable to spill every bit of information she has left, and she does not want a repeat of the scene from earlier. Once was more than enough.

“I’m waiting, Andy.”

We all have to learn to live with disappointment, hun, she thinks. Aloud, she sighs and pushes herself back until her shoulder blades press against his chest. She’s been cold since they first brought her to the bunker, and his warmth is almost enough to make her forget that she’s chilled to her marrow. She shivers, forcing a partition up in her mind to keep out thoughts of her impending departure. She’s going to wait until he’s asleep, then head out to make the last rendezvous.

Sunrise, Dean, she thinks, despite her best efforts. I’ve got til sunrise. We’ve got less than that.

Luckily, she’s had enough caffeine to give a draft horse the shakes, and he’s running on three hours sleep for the last couple of days, so he should pass out pretty soon. The last thing she needs is the infamous Winchester Interference with her plans.

With the confidence that comes from knowing she’s right at the end of everything, Andy rolls over and pulls Dean’s head down so his cheek rests between her breasts, cradling him like a child and stroking his hair just as she’s longed to do since he strolled into her diner and winked at her over a stack of pancakes. He doesn’t protest, doesn’t even pretend to resist, instead nuzzling deeper in her embrace, and that’s when she really knows she’s wounded him far more deeply than she should have been capable.

“It was only supposed to be a fling,” she remarks to the top of his head as she runs her nails over the base of his skull. He shivers, pulling the blanket over them up to his chin and sliding his arms around her waist. His shoulder lies on her stomach, its weight sitting comfortably against her belly. “The first time I met you, you declared your love for me because I brought you bacon, for God’s sake. At four in the afternoon. You were supposed to be a good time, Dean, one good night, and then ride on out of town like a good boy.”

“You’d already be dead if you hadn’t given me your number,” he points out. For once, his lascivious nature is dormant, and he doesn’t so much as sneak a stray lick or grope, despite his optimal position. She strokes her thumb down the side of his jaw, scrubbing over several days’ worth of stubble that covers his cheeks. He turns his face into her touch, sliding his nose against the sensitive skin under her breast, and then it’s her turn to shiver.

“Andy, before you do anything stupid, anything else stupid, I need to tell you...I need you to know that I...”

“No, you don’t,” she chides, cutting him off before he can choke out any more ill-advised words. She can’t hear them right now, they would break down every barrier and barricade she’s constructed to hold herself together for these last hours. And, anyway, he can’t possibly mean them. They barely know each other. “But you could. I think both of us might have, eventually. So, we have that, at least.”

Her ribs creak at the sudden tightening of his grip, and she squirms until he relents enough to allow her breathing to return to normal.

“It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

His words end on something that she would never in a thousand years tell him sounds like a crack. She silently strokes the velvety hairs on the back of his neck, waiting for him to finish clearing his throat.

“Don’t try to be the hero; it never works out for anyone involved, even the people you’re trying to save.”

“Don’t start with me, Dean Winchester. Here we are, having a nice moment, and I will not let you ruin the time we have left with arbitrary things like depth and honesty.”

The air system hisses soothingly in the background, but she won’t let herself be soothed. This time left is for him, she’s not fooling herself about that any longer. What does she have left but Dean, anyway? She’s got three, four hours left at the most, and this is how she chooses to spend them.

She rolls once more, pulling Dean underneath her until she lies atop him, flush from collarbone to ankles. He watches her, his face soft and open for once, golden and warm in the dim light of the little bedside lamp. His hands move slowly, reverently, to glide over the curve of her jaw and mouth, and she can feel the faint tremors that run through his hands. She kisses his fingers one at a time before lifting her eyes to his.

“No, you don’t,” she repeats, “But you could.” The world needs the Winchesters around a hell of a lot more than it needs her. And while she might make people happy, saving people and hunting things is the Winchesters’ family business. This is her only chance to make sure they and the world stick around long enough for that to keep happening. ...

Chapter 4

[lilbabycee]

tidal // steve rogers 🌊

↳ summary: tony doesn’t trust his kid and steve has to play mediator, although those duties don’t come without a reward

↳ relationship: dad’s best friend!steve rogers x stark!reader

↳ request: steve defending his soft girl when she starts crying when someone yelled at her...maybe she thanks him by putting her mouth to good use @donutloverxo + what about dad’sbestfriend!steve x reader?...I need me some Steve please!! (anon)

↳ word count: 5.4k (this has no business being this long)

↳ warnings: angst, smut, dirty talk, slight degradation, some light fluff kinda

↳ author’s note: i do love a stark!reader so this was so much fun for me - enjoy my loves! x

The relationship that you have with your father is complicated. It reminds you acutely of the foamy sea that you used to tentatively wade in and simply stare at with a wide-eyed, childlike fascination when your parents took you to the Maldives or Seychelles or Ivory Coast, each summer a different place and a different tide. There’s a sense of predictability to it, a routine you have in a language that is understandable to nobody but the two of you. He pushes and you pull, coordinating your movements in a choreographed dance so as to safely row your canoe filled to the brim with trust and love through the rocky seas of life. 

He’s made a mark on you that will always be a permanent imprint on your soul much like the way that water stains the surface of the sand but it’s not as if you perceive that as something negative. You attribute the best parts of yourself to your mother and father and although their DNA isn’t housed inside your body, you’re more Tony’s child than he could have ever asked for. He hears so much of him in the tone of your voice and sees Pepper whenever you cross your arms over your chest and pin him with a look he knows too well - her influence is all over your mannerisms - and the both of them in the charming brightness of your smile when you let yourself laugh freely.

The moment he saw you, barely hours old and sleeping deeply - something that he found out that you would carry with you throughout your years - he’d thought you were cute (all babies are cute and the hundreds of other babies he’d seen in the past few weeks were also cute). But when you’d instinctively gripped Pepper’s finger tightly in your impossibly tiny fist and blinked awake sleepily, he’d fallen in love with your pretty eyes first, the way that you stared through him like you already knew him and it was then that he knew you were his as much as he was yours.

Of course, things weren’t- aren’t always as picture-perfect as they seem. He knows that there are days when you haunt his nightmares, dreams where he can’t protect you plaguing his conscience and causing him to crowd you with what he thinks is love. Rather, it’s an overbearing and often patronizing kind of attention that feels like a thousand sharp needles piercing through your skin. You’re very in touch with your emotions, a quality about you that Tony is sure that you must’ve learned from your mother, while he has the tendency to avoid sentimentality like it’s a disease and that’s where those arguments start, the ones that flare up and spread like forest fires.

In fact, you’re having one of them now. Tony knew how this was going to end before it even began but he can’t help but always engage because he’s as stubborn as he raised you to be. His jaw is set and his nostrils flaring as he stares at you - you’re his progeny, his baby, half of his heart who is standing in that way that reminds him of his wife with crystals in your eyes that make him wonder if you ever wear that diamond necklace he bought you last year.

“You never take me seriously,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes at him which causes a fat teardrop to spill over and run down your cheek. His eyes soften briefly at the sight of your emotional state before he looks away, the painful tugging at his heart trying to pull him towards you. He won’t give in to it: that’ll mean you win. “See - you can’t even look at me, Dad-”

“Sweetheart, I take you plenty seriously,” Tony gnaws on the end of the pen in his mouth, still sitting in front of the holograms of all of the data he’s been trying to process for the past few hours. His feet are propped up on the table, casually crossed at the ankles and shoulders completely relaxed, leaning back in his chair and balancing precariously one of the wheels, sitting in the exact same way that he always told you not to. He taps out a rhythmic beat against his leg with his fingers, eyes darting around the room as he pretends to be interested in everything but you. 

His entire posture radiates the feeling that he doesn’t give a shit about you or what you have to say and it makes your heart sink to your stomach despite the fact that you know this man. You know that he’s just putting on a front and he’s really listening because he was the one who drilled into your head that you always have something to say that’s worth listening to. Yet you cannot for the life of you accept that this man in front of you is acting so coldly when his own daughter is trying to tell him how she feels.

The scoff that comes out of your mouth is involuntary and Tony can’t fight the twitch of his lips because it sounds so much like him, but he only lets it linger for half a second, not allowing you to see how affected he is. Both him and Pepper were under the impression that once they had kids, Tony would finally take the steps towards being willing to share more of himself with the people around him. And he did, for a while. But once you hit those teenage years, he was forced to come to terms with the fact that you wouldn’t be his baby forever - you’d grow up and think your own thoughts and breathe your own air in an environment that he hasn’t polluted with his own ideals. 

His heart beat out of his chest every time he thought about it and he had to face the facts: he was scared. And so he went on the defensive, coddling you and trying to shield you from the harsh realities of the world that he had to face from such a young age. Unfortunately for the both of you, you didn’t appreciate being spoon-fed by your parents your whole life: you have a sense of maturity and independence that Tony is terrified of and it manifested itself in rebellion, a phase in your adolescence hat had almost gotten cost you your life in more situations than he cared to admit. 

“I’m not kidding, Dad,” you reply, your head feeling as if it’s under construction because the unbearably loud banging on the inside of your brain is driving you crazy because he’s deflecting and you know it. A river of tears slide their way down to your chin and you don’t even bother to wipe them. “And you keep making jokes like this isn’t serious-”

“I haven’t been making jokes,” Tony points out calmly, playing around with a bunch of numbers that don’t mean anything to you and distractedly manoeuvering some stupid data table that is somehow more interesting than his own child. 

As much as you try, you genuinely can’t help it when you stomp your foot, the loud noise breaking through Tony’s nonchalance and causing him to arch an eyebrow at you. 

“This isn’t some temper tantrum, Dad,” you tell him, the strength in your voice breaking down and causing it to crack. Your hands come up to clutch your head tightly in a futile attempt to bring yourself back to Earth, tired of the way that your emotions throw your brain into orbit. Your feet are on the ground but it doesn’t feel like it, your rage burning your skin and setting a bonfire in the depths of your body. “You fight me on everything - first it was college then it was working for S.I then it was becoming an Avenger… you think I’m still some little kid-”

“Because you’ve proven time after time that you can’t fend for yourself,” Tony cocks his head as your eyes lock, daring you to challenge him on his statement because the two of you know how much validity it holds.

“That was one time!-”

Tony sighs, shaking his head in what you assume is disappointment and while in any other scenario your heart would’ve sunk, this time it stays where it’s been for the past ten minutes, perishing in the flames licking the sides of your stomach. He gathers some of his papers and tucks the pen in his mouth behind his ear before he starts to make his way to the door, leaving you to stare at his back as his hand drops on the handle and he addresses you again. “One time that you could’ve gotten killed, Y/N, so we’re not doing this today-”

“You know what, Tony?” 

You’ve never called him that before - not even when you’re in large crowds and everyone seems to be yelling Dad! - and you know it’s vindictive and a step too far but it’s exhausting being treated like a helpless child. This has the desired effect, freezing him in his tracks and as he turns on his heel, you know that you may have crossed a line but you can’t bring yourself to care because your fury has consumed your whole body and the heat is boiling the blood running through your veins.

“What did you just call me?”

“Anthony,” you inform him matter-of-factly, hands on your hips while the hardness of his eyes halts your racing blood flow, the iciness freezing your bones while hot rage seeps out of every single one of his pores so palpably that you can almost see the steam spilling out of his ears. “You can fuck right off until you decide that I can be trusted enough to make decisions for myself and you know what else? You can-”

“Hey, hey, what’s going on in here?” 

You bite back your next words as soon as that rich timbre caresses your ears and the rigid posture of your body begins to slowly melt at the sound. You don’t even have to look behind you to know that it’s your dad’s best friend - ever the hero - coming to diffuse the ticking time bomb that is this argument between you and your father.

“This isn’t your battle to fight, Rogers,” Tony doesn’t peel his eyes off of you at all, not even sparing his friend a glance. 

And as much as you don’t like Tony at the moment, you can’t help but agree with him.

“Steve, he’s right,” you tear your eyes away from your dad, turning around so that you can glance over at the golden man whose presence alone has wrapped you in a comforting safety blanket that already makes you want to stand down. 

“No, neither of you are,” his blond hair is pushed back away from his face and you’re momentarily distracted by the hard lines of his jaw and the thick beard that covers them. He’s speaking in that same low voice that he uses to rally the Avengers when he’s clad in red, white, and blue, and you have to discreetly squeeze your thighs together at the sound. 

The rational part of your brain knows that this is not the time to be ogling your dad’s best friend but you can’t help the way that your heart starts beating double time when he enters a room and how his warm gaze sets your entire body alight, not unlike the way that your unbridled anger is making you feel right now; the only difference is that Steve triggers a deep desire for something unknown tucked away so secretly that it only awakened when you met him.

But you know he’d never do that to Tony - shit, you don’t know if he’s still holding a candle for a love once lost all those years ago and frankly, you don’t want to risk embarrassing yourself by feeling the poison sting of rejection dealt from the sickeningly sweet lips of America’s apple pie. The lethal mix of sugar and malice would only rot your heart and you don’t know that you could survive the decay.

“In fact, both of you are acting like children,” he booms, his hands landing on his hips while he shakes his head disbelievingly at your familial dispute. Steve opens his mouth as if he’s about to continue, but Tony simply holds a hand up and it almost immediately shushes the supersoldier.

“No need, Capiscle,” Tony cocks his head to the side almost mockingly, his eyes still glued resolutely on your wet face. “I just wanna say this: if you are going to be so ungrateful of everything that your mother and I have sacrificed for you, then you can get the fuck out of my house. You have no idea what we’ve had to go through just so that you can live a safe, healthy lifestyle in which you don’t have to want for anything. The fact that you have the audacity to speak to me like that is a testament to how much we’ve failed as parents because you are the fruit of all of our labor: a spoiled little brat with no conception of the real world because everything revolves around you, doesn’t it princess?”

He spits the endearment out and you can only assume that it is because it has left as bitter a taste in his mouth as it has yours. Throughout his heated rant, your hands started shaking and at first, you couldn’t figure out why but you soon realized that it’s because Tony’s never yelled at you like that before. He barely even raises his voice at you because he’s never wanted to be anything like Howard but today, it seems as if he could no longer contain all of the pent up frustration that he’s had with you that has been building for years. 

And because of this, you’ve been rendered speechless with no visible emotion on your face save from the seemingly endless stream of tears that spill from your glassy eyes. You don’t know what hurts more: his words or the fact that he’s still staring at you like a stranger.

“Tony, that’s enough,” Steve intervenes when the silence between the three of you stretches on for what feels like an eternity. He positions his body so that he’s blocking you from your father’s cold stare. “I’m not gonna let you talk to her like that-”

“Oh, come on, Cap,” Tony scoffs and you don’t have to be able to see him to know that he’s folded his arms over his chest. “You don’t even know what-”

“And I don’t need to know,” the broad man in front of you interrupts him loudly and you can do nothing but watch the altercation happen because even if you tried, you can’t pick your feet up off the floor. “Whatever she’s done or said to you doesn’t warrant you speaking to her like that. You’ve fought her at every corner, what do you expect? For her to just lie down and take it? She’s your daughter: you should know as well as I do that she’s as hard-headed as you. You need to take a step back and stop being a backseat driver - she’s an adult now and can make her own choices, Tony.”

And with that, Steve circles an arm around you and lifts you up into his arms, his waist trapped between your legs and your arms gripping his neck. A moment passes when Steve breezes past Tony where your gazes meet and the usual sweetness of his hazelnut eyes has turned bitter with guilt and resentment. You avert your stare as quickly as you can to bury your face in Steve’s muscled shoulder and as your cheek rests on it, you’re reminded all too vividly of the way that Bucky or Sam or Steve (or your dad) used to carry you to bed when you had fallen asleep between the pages of your textbook or face down next to a cold bowl of whatever Pepper had cooked for you that night. 

Really, you’re almost convinced that you must’ve dozed off during the short trip from Tony’s lab to your bedroom because when you finally snap back to attention, you’re still in Steve’s arms but he’s standing still in front of your bed. And neither of you say anything for some time, letting the moment breathe while Steve soothes you silently, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your spine as quiet sobs wrack your shaking body.

“Hey, hey,” he hushes you, eventually sliding you down his body and placing you on the bed. You’re sure that your face still reflects your previous mental state but you feel significantly better now, the hive of bees that were slamming at the insides of your heart have tired both you and themselves out and are now resting. You look up at Steve with wide eyes, wet lashes brushing your skin lightly as his baby blues drill into yours so deeply that you’re sure that he must be able to see inside your head by now. “I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay because the answer seems kind of obvious, but I will ask if you need anything?”

You hesitate before giving him an answer, torn between confessing those powerful feelings for him that you’ve tried so hard to repress and letting him go. Instead, you grab one of his hands between both of yours, tugging on it so that he kneels in front of you. 

“You didn’t have to do that for me back there,” your eyes flick up to his quickly and you can’t help it when you start to play with his fingers, consciously having to stop your mind from wandering to unsavory places. “I-I know you and my dad are, like, best friends, so I never would’ve asked you to put your friendship at risk and stand up for me like that… it was, uh- it was really sweet of you, Steve, so thank you-”

Steve jerks his head back and for a tense second, your heart drops because you’re sure that you’ve offended him but then he says:

“Y/N, you don’t have to thank me- not at all, I mean- it was the human thing to do,” Steve insists, forcefully grasping your chin in his large hand to make him look at you. The disbelief that sparkles in his eyes lights up your soul and makes a shy smile spread across your lips. 

He leans in to plant a chaste kiss on your cheek like he usually does, but you decide there and then that you really are tired of having your dad take the reigns from you every day. You want to be able to confidently grab life by its metaphorical balls and take a leap of faith off of what is admittedly a very steep cliff. So you grip his face between your hands and redirect his lips to your own. 

He’s completely unresponsive for several seconds, causing a scorching hot wave of embarrassment to flood your face - a part of you wants to hold out hope and pray that maybe he’s just shocked by your bold move but you’ve learned not to cling onto unrealistic expectations so you move back, eyes squeezed shut because you can already taste the sourness of rejection on your tongue. 

But he knocks all of the breath out of your body when he climbs on top of you and crashes his lips back on yours, cradling your face between his wide palms as he slides his tongue into your mouth. It’s messy and raw as your teeth clash with his almost violently but the feeling of his soft lips on yours soothes that ache, their warmth curing the hurt in your heart. He swallows any breath you have left in your lungs as your lips move in tandem with his. 

When you pull away because you think you’re about to suffocate, Steve presses his lips down the column of your neck, sucking a bruise right underneath your ear and playfully biting your earlobe. The rough sensation of his thick beard on your sensitive skin makes you giggle breathlessly and your chest heaves as his hands move smoothly down to your waist, hooking his thumbs in the waistband on your shorts. 

But then his hands stop moving and you look at him with confusion written all over your face. He lowers his head to your abdomen, resting his forehead on your stomach and your hand instinctively weaves through the golden strands of his hair. 

“Steve?-”

“You want this, sweetheart?” he kisses your stomach and moves right in between your legs, looking up at you as his thumbs still toy with the stretchy material of your black shorts. 

“Of course-”

And you don’t get to finish your sentence because you gasp as Steve whips off your shorts with unprecedented speed. He takes your panties right with them, throwing them somewhere to the side - you don’t care to notice where because Steve’s eyes are more black than blue and his gaze is locked on your core. 

This is when you get an idea.

When you take your t-shirt off, you’re only left in the black bralette that you normally wear around the house, so you whip that off too without any preamble. Steve’s eyes are so focused on the bounce of your breasts that it gives you the opportunity to muster up all of the energy you can, locking your legs around Steve’s waist (your eyes can’t help but travel to the obvious bulge in his blue jeans) and flip him over so that you’re sitting right on top of his erection. 

“Wh-”

You shush him, pulling at the bottom of his shirt so that he gets the message to take it off. He does as he’s told but narrows his eyes at you. You almost don’t notice because you’re staring at the glorious expanse of his sculpted upper body. You’ve always thought that he looked like a Greek statue and right now, the way that the sunlight streaming through your window bounces off of his smooth skin and brings out the green in his eyes only emphasizes the fact that he’s a true work of art, a masterpiece in his own right. 

Pushing yourself up so that you’re nose to nose with the supersoldier on his back underneath you, you lean down just enough so that your lips ghost over his when you speak. 

“I’m supposed to be thanking you,” you press your lips against his momentarily, watching the way that his eyelashes flutter when you slowly slide your hand down his powerful chest, over his muscled stomach and down to his jeans-clad crotch to boldly palm his dick. 

“Honey, you don’t have to-”

You cut him off with another quick kiss, moving down his body with the grace of a trained dancer (you can thank your mom for over ten years of ballet) so that you can unbuckle the black belt at his narrow waist. Steve props himself up on his forearms, staring down at you with hooded eyes and your eyes keenly follow the swipe of his tongue over his cotton candy lips.

You take your time pulling his zipper down, noticing how his eyes follow the movement of your hands as you push his jeans down his thick thighs. Your mouth is close to watering at the sight of his white Calvins which are very obviously tented in the front and you snap the elastic band of his boxer briefs playfully before pulling them over his erection.

It’s impossible to stop the way that your eyes grow comically large at the size of his cock, something at the back of your mind wondering whether or not you’ll be able to fully take him down your throat. He’s heavy in the both of your hands, the tip flushed red and leaking pre-cum. 

But it’s the cocky little smirk on Steve’s face that steels your resolve. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Too big for you?” he teases you in a surprisingly steady voice, inhaling again to continue his jeering, but his head falls back and his breath audibly stutters because you flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe up the underside of his dick.

“You were saying?” you taunt right back, a smile of your own gracing your face. He doesn’t have a reply to that, instead moving his hand down to grip the back of your neck tightly, guiding you back down to his cock.

The tip of your tongue swirls around the head of his length before you take the bulbous tip between your lips, sucking lightly and enjoying the way that his blunt fingernails are stabbing into the skin of your neck. You don’t tease him for much longer, one hand on the base of his manhood while you relax your throat and attempt to take all of him in your mouth. Your fight your gag reflex tooth and nail, reveling in the quiet sighs and moans from the man above you.

What you can’t swallow you work with your hand, your other hand coming up to toy with his balls and roll them between your fingers and palm. He controls the speed at which you bob up and down his cock and you keep watching the array of emotions on his face, feeling the power and control that you have over him surge through your body.

“God, doll,” he groans, his lower lip between his perfect teeth. “You’re such a good girl, takin’ all of me like that.”

His words spur you on and you really push your boundaries by taking him all the way down, so close that your nose is being tickled by the dark blond hairs at the base of his cock. What you’re not expecting is the way that Steve applies pressure to the back of your neck that’s just enough so that you can’t move. Your eyes sting as he keeps your head down, making you swallow and choke as small tears leak from your eyes. You’re forced to breathe through your nose as Steve groans when your gag reflex kicks in, your throat constricting around the heavy weight of his dick.

“Such a good little slut, huh?” he smirks, running the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, baby, suckin’ your dad’s friend off like a little fuckin’ whore.”

You can’t help the way that a loud moan falls from your lips, though it’s almost entirely muted by the thick cock in your mouth. 

“Oh, you like that?” Steve’s confidence is only making you wetter. He eases up on your neck, allowing you to withdraw about an inch before he pushes you back down. “You like being called a slut, pretty girl?”

You nod as best as you can under the circumstances, fighting back another moan.

“That’s good, honey, because you’re gonna be my little cockslut from now on, hmm?”

And finally, he pulls you off of him completely, reveling in the way that your eyes are glossy with tears and your lungs gulp down huge breaths as thin strings of saliva hang from your lips. 

“Messy girl,” Steve reprimands you condescendingly, but his voice sounds strained and he looks like he could cum just from drinking in your disheveled state. “You’re gorgeous, doll.”

You can’t stop the smile that grows on your face at the praise, and Steve cups your face gently and leans in to give you a sweet kiss. 

“You gonna let me cum in your mouth, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your lips, nudging your nose with his. 

“Yes, sir,” you tease playfully, not wasting any more time and wrapping your lips around his dick once again, running the tip of your tongue against the prominent vein down the side while you bob your head up and down. You’re more determined than ever to push him over the edge, wanting to be the one who has complete control over his pleasure. 

“That’s it, just like that- shit, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he warns you after he takes your face between both of his hands and fucks your mouth, your jaw relaxed as he uses you to chase his orgasm, eyes closed and head hanging back as he loses himself in the throes of desire. 

You bask in the sense of satisfaction that you get from the way that his cock twitches in your mouth and the shout that he gives when the evidence of his release floods your mouth. You happily let it slide down your throat, sucking on his tip lightly as you do. The tangy taste lingers on your tongue and as you pull off of him with a pop, you have to wipe around your mouth because you’re sure that he’s made a complete mess of your face. 

“Holy fuck, darlin’,” he heaves, pulling you up to rest against his chest but not before you take the time to admire how beautiful he is. A light pink flush that’s started at his cheeks has traveled down his neck and bloomed on his chest - you love the way that it’s burning the tips of his ears. With your chest pressed against his, he ghosts his fingers up and down your back while his lips press against your shoulder.

“Your dad’s gonna kill me… and I didn’t even get you off, baby,” he mutters, only a second away from pouting and it makes you grin. 

“He won’t because he’s not gonna find out… and I didn’t want you to,” you reply simply, lightly circling one of his nipples with the tip of your nail. “Besides, you have plenty of time to do that later.”

Steve readjusts himself so that his back is leaning against the headboard and you’re perched in his lap, straddling his thighs. His brows are knitting together and a frustrated frown mars his pretty face. 

“No, I want to,” he insists, warm hands landing on your hips and rocking them back and forth so that your clit catches on the muscles of his legs. You bite your lip so as to suppress a moan. “It wouldn’t be-”

“Y/N, babe, are you in there?”

The two of you still as a knock followed by Tony’s soft voice bleeds through the door. 

“Shit,” you curse quietly, scrambling off of Steve and grabbing the nearest article of clothing that you can find. 

“I know you don’t wanna talk to me right now, but I don’t wanna leave things like this so I’m comin’ in, sweetie-”

“Dad, no!”

But it’s too late, the door opening just enough to reveal your father’s face whose whiskey eyes immediately land on yours. Thankfully, you were able to pull on Steve’s shirt and your shorts, but you can’t say the same for the six-foot-something supersoldier who has skillfully rolled underneath your bed, still naked as the day he was born. 

“What’s going on in here, hon?” Tony quirks an eyebrow at you as he pops his head around the door, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as his eyes scan the room. 

“Nothing,” you say breathlessly, running a hand over your face as you silently pray that your dad won’t catch his friend hiding beneath your bed with no clothes on. 

“Okay?” he draws out the word, obviously confused as your eyes meet his. “I just wanted to say so-”

“We’ll talk about it later, Dad,” you try to smile and move towards him so that you shoo him away from your room.

“You sure?”

“Positive,” you affirm, putting your hand on top of the one he has wrapped around the side of the door and squeezing it reassuringly. 

“If you say so,” Tony lets go of the door, spinning on his heel and starting to stroll down the hall. You let go of the breath that you weren’t aware you were holding. “And give Bucky back his shirt!”

A laugh bubbles up in your chest as your heart warms watching your dad throw a wink at you over his shoulder, knowing that the choppy seas have stilled and the water’s calm once again, the tide returning to its regular routine. You shut the door with a click before turning back to see Steve sitting casually with his back resting against the side of your bed.

“So, uh,” a cheeky smile graces his face. “Same time tomorrow or?”

tagged: @literaturefeen @evnscvll @donutloverxo @stargazingfangirl18​