#yes this is inspired by the fucking CONSTANT 'what do you think of this american state!!1!' posts

[nintendont2502]

I'm gonna be a little bitch for a second GOD it's so so so fucking exhausting being a non USAmerican online. Like. Jesus fucking christ the levels of defaultism are just,,,, god. The 'default' audience for every post is Americans. American pop culture is universal obviously, and god forbid you bring up a show from your own country because no ones ever watched that! The millions of kids in your country don't count clearly. When American places are mentioned it's always Town, State, Country, but when anywhere else is mentioned you're lucky to get State, Country, or the closest major city if you're really lucky. Fahrenheit and MM/DD/YY and American spellings dominate even though they're the only country that uses them. People constantly talk about how x and y 'breaks the law'. They mean American laws, because those are obviously universal. American news and American politics are everywhere. You *have* to care about this. If you don't, you're a monster. The only time my country makes it is when we're literally burning to the ground, and even then they don't even touch the political side of things. Even international incidents somehow get brought back to America - call your representative (I dont have one). Go to these protests (they're on the other side of the world). Sign this petition (it's for US residents only). Im going to go insane.

#sigh #yes this is inspired by the fucking CONSTANT 'what do you think of this american state!!1!' posts #i Dont. #I Do Not give a shit aboit fucking ohio or whatever #and the assumption tjat everyone everywhere has thoughts on these states (KNOWS these states) is just #gh #what do YOU think of tasmania? or the act? or queensland?? #what do you mean you dont know them?? everyone does!! #god #i know im being a bitch and over dramatic but im so fucking tired man #me.txt

[renaultmograine]

The constant depiction of Evil Voodoo worshipping Aztec Trolls, bad Native American Tauren, and native Drust'var whom are all depicted as savage counterparts to perfect ersatz europe with their ersatz christianity.

And before you say anything, yes many expansions do depict tauren as evil.

I think this is the first time I was ever asked my opinion on the people that are based on my ancestry, wow! And how amazing it is that you focus on the fact that the Drust are "non-christian" and not the fact that they're vrykrul, almost as if you don't wish to actually claim that the nordic people might face racism from the depictions of them.

How quick you are to forget that the Aztecs sacrificed people regularly, that Native American tribes warred against each other constantly, and that the vikings raped and pillaged. Yet, there's still good things from all these groups of people.

The fact that there's evil trolls doesn't make commentary on the entire Aztec culture as a whole (especially because the specifically Aztec trolls are depicted as victims after having a global spanning empire like the British), the fact that there are bad Tauren says nothing about the Native Americans as a whole, and the fact that the Drust lost a war to the 'ersatz Christians' (which I mean if you ignore the whole part where the Drust druids also hated Gorak and what he did to their culture it's a handy thing to bludgeon people with) says nothing about.... paganism as a whole, I assume is what you're trying for here?

I don't subscribe to the idea that drawing aesthetic inspirations from the world you know is inherently racist, ESPECIALLY the moment that they might be depicted in a negative light. If I can live with the fact that Thor is a superhero without going to pick fights, looking for trouble in other people's inboxes for liking Marvel, I think you can too over WoW.

"Also related, any opinion on the massive controversy about "Exploring Kalimdor" using racial stereotypes?"

The moment I read this ask btw, I knew you were a disingenuous person, because I was one of the people loud about how bad the Exploring Kingdoms: Kalimdor book was when those previews were released. Not a single person thought that book was good and no one would defend that writing, and no it isn't hypocritical of me to say that after what I've just said, there's a difference between depicting a group of people that draw inspiration from real world cultures as sometimes bad and then saying that a grown ass adult had to be taught to read and write from someone else and putting it in the light of 'I grow up from a savage uneducated culture' in some vain attempt of developing a character. The trolls ruled the fucking world at one point. No one believes that they can't read.

#warcraft #ask #anonymous

[bridgertonbabe]

hi shinnie bestie i'm american and it's kind of a rough time to be an american rn esp today and i just wanted to let you know that your benophie fics light up my day a lot so ty! 💕☺️ (and if you happen to want to include a little drabble with anything benophie related that I would also appreciate)

Omg thank you so much! I'm sorry for the awful time you're going through atm with recent events 💕 but perhaps I can give you a little something to cheer you up! 🤗

I hope @newtonsheffield doesn't mind but I was inspired by her Dentist AU titbits featuring Kate as the dentist Anthony has a major crush on and keeps making up excuses just to see her. This little drabble is what happens when Anthony books an appointment on Benedict's behalf to have a check-up and when Benedict sees Kate's cute blonde assistant, he begins to understand the appeal of Anthony's constant visits...

“Ben!” 

Benedict frowned the second he had stepped into the dentist surgery, the door not fully closed behind him, as his eyes landed on his older brother. Anthony slapped down the magazine he had been flipping through and jumped to his feet. 

“Cutting it pretty fine, aren’t you?” Anthony shook his head as he strolled over to the reception desk and leaned over it. “Posy; Benedict Bridgerton’s here for his half eleven appointment.” He informed the receptionist. 

“Yes, thank you, Anthony.” Posy huffed and rolled her eyes as she clicked at her computer screen. “You can both take a seat until you’re called.” 

Anthony then strutted back to his seat and patted at the one beside him for his brother to sit. Still puzzled, Benedict joined his brother and fixed him with a quizzical stare. 

“What?” Anthony hummed.

Benedict stared at him long and hard for a few seconds. “Well, Ant; this would be the part where you tell me what the hell you’re doing here.” 

Anthony pulled a frown back in equal measure. “I’m here for moral support.”

“Moral support?” Benedict scoffed. “I’m thirty years old - I don’t need to be accompanied to the dentist for fucking moral support!”

“Funny, I seem to remember you bawling your eyes out the last time we went to the dentist.” Anthony raised his brow. 

“The last bloody time we went to the dentist together was when we were kids - and I only cried because they got a massive injection out. Which I had every right to cry over, by the way!” Benedict hissed at him. “Now will you go? I’m more than capable of having a check-up by myself!” 

“Well considering I’m the one who had to book this for you, I think I’m well within my right to stay and make sure everything’s okay.” 

Benedict stared incredulously as Anthony picked up a magazine and nonchalantly began leafing through the pages. 

“I didn’t ask you to book this bloody appointment for me!” Benedict rebuked. “You made the booking without even telling me and then ordered me here last week!”

“You’re welcome.” Anthony bit out petulantly.

“I never even asked you to book this for me! I can book my own damn appointments!” he argued but Anthony snorted. Benedict then leaned in closer to his brother. “Don’t think I don’t know the game you’re playing here. I know you’ve suddenly booked check-ups for every last member of the family - not to mention the multiples trips you’ve made here in the last six weeks!” Anthony clocked his head at this, and despite his composure Benedict could see the slight alarm in his eyes that someone was onto him. “Contrary to all of our teasing, some of us do check the shared Google calendar. Now tell me, brother; what’s the real reason behind your constant trips here?” 

Anthony looked him in the eye for a moment, during which Benedict sensed a glimmer of defeat, but then his older brother tsked and returned his attention back to the magazine in hand. “Oral hygiene is a very serious matter, Ben. I’m merely being due diligent in ensuring every last Bridgerton tooth is in tip-top condition.” 

Benedict was aghast. “This is all because of due diligence for oral hygiene?! And you’re saying phrases like tip-top? What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Benedict Bridgerton?” The receptionist called out. “Dr. Sharma’s ready to see you now.” 

“We’re coming!” Anthony answered eagerly, dumping the magazine back on the table, and bouncing to his feet. “I’ll show him the way, Posy.” 

“Of course you will.” The receptionist sighed. 

“Come along now, brother. We don’t want to keep the good dentist waiting!” Anthony beckoned before he began striding down a corridor.

Benedict simply stared on after him, flabbergasted with his brother’s strange behaviour. He glanced to Posy, who shook her head despairingly, before trailing on after Anthony. 

When Benedict caught up with his brother, Anthony practically shoved him into the room, before brightly greeting the dentist; and all at once, Benedict knew the reason why Anthony had become a near-permanent occupant of this dental practice. 

Anthony Bridgerton was smitten with Dr. Sharma, who lazily greeted him by name just from hearing his voice. His brother was so clearly besotted with the beautiful long-legged dentist that he was oblivious to Benedict staring into the back of his head, patiently waiting for Anthony to notice so he could begin teasing him. Anthony only seemed to remember his own brother was in the room when Kate side-stepped him to greet her patient and offer him a seat in the dental chair. 

As Benedict settled back in the chair, he raised a brow at Anthony, who was wittering away to Dr. Sharma and regarding her like a schoolboy desperate to answer a teacher’s question. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Benedict turned his head to the door upon someone muttering the very same thing he was thinking. In an instant, Benedict dropped all intention to tease his brother for his multiple visits to this specific dentist, not now his interest had been sparked by the very pretty dental assistant in the doorway. 

“Ah, there you are Sophie.” Dr. Sharma greeted, interrupting whatever Anthony had been blathering onto her about. “Anthony’s very kindly brought in the last of his siblings.”

“So now we’ve got a Bridgerton full house.” Sophie remarked airily, shooting Anthony a withering gaze that went unnoticed by the man himself. “I daresay the whole practice could be run with just your family as clients.”

“It has been said before that we have more family members than the population of a micronation.” Benedict chimed in. 

It was then that Sophie’s gaze landed on his, and her green eyes sparkled with amusement. 

“Sophie, this is Benedict.” Dr. Sharma introduced as her assistant began getting the instruments ready. “I believe Mama Bridgerton said he’s the most handsome of her sons, didn’t she?” 

“No.” Anthony suddenly blurted out in a whiny voice, and Benedict had to choke back the snort of laughter in his throat from how much his brother resembled a child in that very moment. “He is not.” 

“Hm, I guess it’s up to interpretation.” Dr. Sharma hummed to herself, and shared a knowing look with Benedict. “Personally I find Gregory quite handsome.” She smirked, aware of how much she was riling up Anthony; a grown man of thirty-two years. “What would you say, Soph?” 

“Gregory does have those adorable dimples.” Sophie replied and turned back to Benedict and the dentist. “Though I can see why Mama Bridgerton was hyping our patient up to us.” She said, her eyes twinkling as she met Benedict’s hopeful gaze. 

“To you.” Benedict could have sworn he heard Dr. Sharma mutter underneath her breath. 

“I guess the important takeaway here is that you’re ranking Colin as the least handsome, which is something I’m glad we can all universally agree on.” Benedict quipped, and he felt smug when Sophie giggled in response. 

“So, just a routine check-up we’re in for today?” Dr. Sharma enquired as she wheeled her chair over to Benedict. 

“That and he’s got this real crooked grin.” Anthony interjected. “Women say it’s handsome but personally I think he’s treading the line between charmingly crooked and repulsively crooked.”

Benedict, Dr. Sharma, and Sophie all stared at him in light of his comment, with his brother in particular shooting him an offended look. 

“What the fuck?!” Benedict mouthed at him. The second they stepped foot back outside of the practice, he was going to beat his brother to a bloody pulp. 

“Jeez, tell us how you really feel.” Sophie tutted sardonically. 

“I’m sure your brother’s teeth aren’t repulsively crooked, Anthony.” Dr. Sharma said in a reprimanding tone, and Benedict felt some retribution by the falling of Anthony’s face. 

As the check-up got underway, Benedict couldn’t help but feel rattled by his own brother’s rude comment. He’d never thought much about his smile or the state of his teeth, but after such a harsh remark he was suddenly very self-conscious, particularly when there was a very pretty dental assistant helping Dr. Sharma inspect his mouth. 

Despite being scolded, Anthony continued to chat to the dentist, asking after her mother, Mary, and her sister, Edwina. It quickly became apparent to Benedict just how familiar Anthony was with the dentist as he asked more and more personal questions that normal patients wouldn’t know about. It also explained both Sophie and the receptionist’s withering regard for Anthony, and Benedict couldn’t blame them if he was always like this around Dr. Sharma. 

At one point the dentist suggested to Sophie that she put some music on. As Anthony continued wittering away to Dr. Sharma, Benedict felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. “This one’s for you.” Sophie murmured to him as the music began playing. 

Benedict listened and despite the fact his teeth were being inspected, a smile pulled on his face at the song Sophie had chosen. He remembered one summer several years ago when Eloise had this song on repeat as she and Penelope danced about in her room. I Love Your Smile by Shanice was always an upbeat and feel-good song; but the way it had now been dedicated to him by the beautiful blonde dental assistant cemented it as a song he’d hold dear to his heart forever more.

His check-up came to an end in time with the song and before he rinsed he gave Sophie a nod of appreciation for cheering him up. He was then informed by Dr. Sharma that he did not in fact have crooked teeth in a pointed tone that he knew was meant for his brother. Benedict thanked the dentist and Sophie offered to escort him out. 

“I don’t know many thirty year old men who have to be accompanied to a dentist’s appointment.” Sophie remarked as they headed back to reception. 

“I didn’t have much choice in the matter.” Benedict groaned. “Believe me, I’m more than capable of having a dental check-up without my older brother tagging along.”

“Oh, I know that. You think the rest of your siblings and your mother weren’t all giving Anthony the stink-eye when he insisted on joining them in the room?” she smirked. “In fact, I’m quite surprised your brother-in-law didn’t challenge him to a duel when Anthony started claiming he never wore his mouthguard when he goes boxing.” 

Benedict couldn’t help but snicker at this - it was the first he was hearing of poor Simon being dragged along into all this. 

“I can only apologise for Anthony.” Benedict said once they were in the reception area. “I can see why he’s doing this but I don’t quite understand why he’s acting the way that he is.”

“Probably because he doesn’t have the balls to actually ask Kate out.” Posy snorted from her desk.

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Benedict sighed, exchanging a grin with the receptionist before returning his attention back to Sophie and his mouth softened into a lazier smile. 

“It was nice to meet you, Benedict.” She smiled up at him and pushed a lock of golden curly hair behind her ear.

“You too, Sophie.” He beamed back.

As he paid for his check-up, Sophie rounded the desk where Posy sat and began looking over a clipboard, and then Anthony rejoined him.

“You ready?” his brother asked sulkily - clearly this visit hadn’t been to his liking. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” Benedict nodded and they headed for the door. “You know,” Benedict said, his head occupied with Sophie’s bright green eyes, “if you like, I could feign a phantom toothache or something.” He shrugged.

Anthony came to a stop and his face lit up immediately. “Are you serious?” 

“Sure.” Benedict smiled and shot a look over his shoulder as Sophie chatted to Posy. 

“Brilliant!” Anthony patted him on the back. “So I was thinking; what if we got Simon to punch you?” And instantly Benedict’s smile dropped. 

“You’re kidding... right?” 

“We get him to punch you right in the mouth and rush you in here for an emergency appointment - and if we’re lucky and he’s done some actual damage then we’d have multiple appointments to come back in for -”

Benedict was no longer listening to his brother as Anthony manically formulated his hare-brained scheme. He was confident Simon would much rather punch Anthony in the mouth, but more importantly than that, Benedict had a better way to go about getting what he wanted. 

“Could you hang on one sec?” Benedict asked and gave his brother a pat on the shoulder. He then turned and headed back to the reception desk where Sophie was just turning to leave. “Sophie?” he called out.

She looked up in surprise but a dazzling smile greeted him as he approached. 

“Did you forget something?” she asked. 

“I did - your number.” He replied and shot her a crooked grin. 

Sophie’s cheeks instantly turned pink while Posy looked between them with utter glee. 

“I’d really like to take you out to dinner, if you’d let me.” He continued. “And I promise there’s no chance of my brother tagging along, if that’s a deciding factor.” 

The smile on her face grew from ear to ear as she wordlessly accepted the appointment card Posy handed to her, and wrote down her digits without her eyes leaving his. She then passed it over to him with a wink. 

“I get off at five if you want to take me for a drink.” She suggested. 

“It’s a date.” He beamed back before sauntering back triumphantly to his dumbstruck brother. “You’re on your own.” He said in passing, giving Anthony a pat on the back, and strolling outside. 

#requests #bridgerton drabble #molly's dentist au #benophie #benedict x sophie #kanthony #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #kate sharma #anthony bridgerton

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

15 Questions

Thanks for the tag Moya!

1. Are you named for anyone?

Technically yes. My middle name is a biblical one, and also my…. Aunt?? Cousin? I’ve met her but I think she’s my dad’s first cousin and I don’t know what that means I am to her.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Like… what type of cry? Sobbed? End of December. Cried? About a week ago. From laughter? Sunday night. My brother was building a clearance gingerbread house and the icing said “made in a nut free facility” and my brother leaned over to me and said “so no men there?” And I lost it. Later he just fucking leaned over and started to hands free eat the house and I lost it again. Just little tears? Last night. I saw an instagram reel and I got misty eyed. I don’t remember what it was about.

3. Do you have kids?

Haha no. I’m not strictly opposed? But I’m not fucking doing that by myself and relationships are real low priority to me.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

I used to more. Not so much anymore?

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Mostly what they’re doing. And then if they seem happy or not.

6. What’s your eye color?

Blue

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Honestly neither but I guess happy endings. But not inspiring movies. I fucking hate inspiring movies I spent enough time in church having my emotions manipulated I’m not fucking paying to sit and do it again. Miss me with that shit.

8. Any special talents?

Talent? Uh, I have super flexible shoulders? I guess I would consider my natural aptitude to figure shit out as a talent? Other things I would consider as skills cause I worked for them. So like crafts and my flexibility and writing.

9. Where were you born?

Florida.

10. What are your hobbies?

You don’t have the time to have me list them. And they rotate pretty frequently. But!! I just got a drop spindle and I’m currently obsessed with it. But crafts are definitely a constant. Any craft, I’ve probably tried it once. I’m really not kidding.

11. Have any pets?

Not at the moment. I want rats someday but I’m so busy I wouldn’t be able to give them a good life 😞

12. What sports have you played?

As a child: basketball, soccer, football (like American football lol), tennis, cheerleading.

As an adults I’m pretty active but not really in organized sports. Now I’m doing mostly running, gymnastics, and pole dancing.

13. How tall are you?

5 foot….. 5??? 6???

14. Favorite subject in school?

I honestly liked most of it. I hated geometry tho. One I always wanted to do was Linguistic but alas, FL state law kept me from doing it. 😭 (not that like linguistics specifically is illegal, google excess credit hour laws)

15. Dream job?

Hahahah i don’t even know. I don’t particularly want to work. However I wish I could do animal education at a zoo. I would love that. I would love just answering questions about iguanas.

Oh. Oh wait… my like, dream unbelievable never going to happen job would be an acrobat. Fuck. When I was younger interacting with circus related material like movies or books or even color palets would make my heart hurt. Like sometimes I couldn’t interact with it because it just hurt so much. It’s just so cool and fucking magical and mesmerizing. I loved it. And even at like 15 I thought it was too late for me to ever be a part of that world.

And then when I turned 22 and had a fucking life meltdown, I was watching fucking unus anus and heard Ethan talking about gymnastics and decided to just… try something. And I quickly found out it wasn’t too late?? That I still had a chance to learn and try and experience circus arts??? Now I’ve tried acrobatics and aerial silks and contortion and pole and got on a trapeze once. And now it’s my motivation for how I take care of myself. I have to eat food and move my body and take care of myself. I have to because if I don’t I’ll never be able to try lyra/aerial hoop. I gotta keep going because I’ve got pole on Wednesday and I’m so close to the body spiral.

When I get emotionally low I remind myself I gotta keep going so I can get back to my circus arts.

(Please note I know circus haven’t always been good and nice and happy places. I get it. I know. I’m not talking about that)

Tagging! @as-a-matter-of-whump @brutal-nemesis @cowboy-anon @i-can-even-burn-salad @jordanstrophe @just-a-silly-little-whumper @milk-carton-whump @poopraven @quietly-by-myself @redstainedsocks @susiequaz12 @thoughtsonhurtandcomfort @ziptiesnfries @tearyvictim @

#tag game #about the raccoon #I haven’t used that tag in so long! #I just forget it’s there!

[tiny012]

I’m going to try and address this shit 

Because this is some shit that has wrecked my brain. 

I have been barely on here for the past couple months thanks to work. 

Have barely interacted with BlackManta, SMCempthy and others since I haven’t been on here lately.

I just been on here as of late thanks to SabanMoon been found and discussions about that.    

But lets talk about this if I can. 

The first message I got Wednesday which didn’t make any sense and still doesn’t make any sense and the other two I got today which I didn’t releazie I had them until I checked my email when I was at work. 

Lets talk about the second one 

1.  “ Your asses are racist because you only believe Japanese women are something to worship and have faith in their misogyny and religiously, your all are atheist calling an Asian character God.” -Doesn’t make any damn sense what so ever. I have been born and raised in the church I do consider myself a Christian. We can’t help the fact that it has been pointed by other  that Naoko and even writers from the 90′s anime where inspired by religious undertones in them( like Usagi being called the Messiah, and Chalice being called the holy Gail)  . It’s something that a lot of shows have taken things from the Bible and religion. I’m really trying to understand how the hell it’s racist tho.   Now when we was first called racist I was thinking they was going in the angle of how all of us feel about how people are trying so hard to Americanized / whitewash Sailor Moon. How all of us was so against it  and trying to say it racist of us to feel that way. 

2. The fuck is a fucking lipstick is good because Asian Women are people who live understood.” - This doesn’t make any sense either since people was literally having a fit about girls and Chibiusa having on lip gloss when Sailor Moon has always been marketed to teens/girls. It was about the fact people was acting like Chibiusa was having on Mac lipstick which she wasn’t and she was having on lip  gloss which girls her age start to experience with.  

3. Fat is being mocked - Yes We know about that damn episode 4 that aired on my damn birthday . Hate that episode and hate the fact that Usagi is drawn cubby like she supposed to be. We know fat is mocked by the fact they keep saying she’s overweight even thos she burns through everything since her being a senshi. 

4.and your ass is interested in smut about minors - It was no point in name calling and have barely read any smut in a while  because like or not my taste for it just really left me as I got older.  I enjoyed for a while and I just stopped reading it. Hell I barely read fanfics now because I don’t have the time since I’m working. We not going to get on this moral high ground bullshit because people been writing smut about Usa/Mamo or any other ship in SM for 30 years. Also the fact people have age them the fucking up. 

5.and dare shows are ChibiUsa is sexy in your dumbness post that SMC isn't misogyny.- Lord compared to the 90′s anime .. That’s all I’m going to say on that because how the hell SMC showed Chibs as being sexy unless she was Black Lady which was for reasons. 

It’s like this person is going back seven or eight years in time bring up shit which like “ whats the point?” 

oh before I go to the next one I got this to show yall 

This one popped in my inbox like 5 mins after the one I just talked about which only means the same person sent it becasue how would they know? 

How would they know I was going to get an anon was going to say the same things they are warning me that they are going to say? 

You are making youself look sus!

Here’s a screenshot of my Gmail

Like 

Don’t be suspicious.

Don’t be suspicious. 

What the hell?? 

Seriously

Stop playing troll tag in my inbox! 

I’m trying so hard to keep my anon on for people who still like to send me anon messages ( and I answer them whenever I can) but constant shit like this has been making it so hard as I get older and just tried of this bullshit. 

So I’m cutting it off for now. If you come with my submissions with that bullshit I will cut that off as well. 

I’m not in my 20′s anymore when I had time for this shit. 

I’m in my 30′s and just sick of it.

We are to GROWN for this shit! 

GROWN!

We got lives that don’t evolve around petty Sailor Moon shit that is over 8 years old. 

Just please stop. 

Shit. 

I don’t even feel like addressing the other one. 

#tanya rants about sm

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 5

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Perma tag: @nathleigh

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever

Marinette listened in on Tim for three days.

Not actively, of course, she didn’t hang onto every word he said. She just let her consciousness drift in and out of the conversations he had while she worked on finishing up the outfit she had designed for Audrey...

And, yeah, she was getting to the point where she was willing to bet on him being an okay guy. Better than okay, even. He was just so… genuine?

The first two days he had come in sick. She knew the signs of working while sick by heart, the trudging around and the groaning and the constant banging your head on the desk when you pass out randomly, and damn she was pretty sure even she wasn’t as bad as him. He probably shouldn’t be working at all, to be honest, he was CEO and there was nothing stopping him from taking the day -- or even just a few hours -- off. But, no, from the sound of it he was drinking ungodly amounts of coffee and calling it okay.

And despite the fact that he seemed absolutely miserable, he hadn’t taken it out on anyone. She had yet to hear him be impolite to anyone, not even the people that worked under him. His secretary had made a scheduling mistake and he had not only assured her it was fine but didn’t even require her to fix it.

Even when he was talking to himself while working he never once said anything questionable. And he talked to himself a lot. It was like a podcast, honestly, just hearing him rattle off numbers and weird business terms she hadn’t learned because she was self-taught. He talked almost constantly and he should have slipped up by now, yet here she was three days later with nothing to show for it except for a whole lot of guilt.

Marinette hadn’t thought much about it on the first day, everyone had their good days from time to time. On the second day she said ‘oh, it’s a coincidence’, but on the third day she had to call it: her paranoia had been a little unfounded.

Literally the worst thing about him so far was that he didn’t seem to care much about his own health… and that wasn’t really a bad thing about him as much as it was a bad thing for him.

So, yeah, it looked like she had no real reason to listen in on him anymore.

… but…

Something about him was nagging at her. He was a nice guy and she’d like to be his friend… it was just that, sometimes, she could swear she recognized his voice.

And it wasn’t like there were a lot of people she knew in America, she knew who he probably was.

Her hand itched towards the tiny device hidden under her window seat. One click (and maybe a little researching) and she’d know for sure who the bats were. The only thing stopping her was the knowledge that, if she did know their real names, she’d accidentally call them by them once and immediately get thrown either into a cell or out of Gotham. She was a meta (kind of), she was already on thin ice. She didn’t need the paranoid idiots that were the bats being more wary of her than they already were.

So, she left it alone.

She kept the bug, though. Mostly just because she wanted to hear it directly from him rather than just guessing by his voice. After all, voices can be similar. If he were to directly talk about bat business while she was listening in, though… that would definitely be a point towards her theory, to say the least.

And, yeah, she knew it was kind of messed up. She could be listening in on some innocent guy for all she knew, but it was… morally kind of okay? The whole thing about stalking is that it makes your victim feel unsafe. If he was Red Robin then he had found the bug and hadn’t felt unsafe enough to remove it and if he was a civilian then he would never know about the bug and therefore couldn’t feel unsafe. Therefore, it wasn’t stalking, not really.

… yeah, that makes sense.

She glanced at her sketchbook and yawned. She really needed to get a new outfit idea soon. Good thing Tim said he was taking her out tomorrow --.

Shit, Tim was taking her out tomorrow.

She jumped up from her spot at the window and ran to her closet. What to wear, what to wear...

Frenchie: where are we going tomorrow

Spiderman: It’s a surprise.

Frenchie: fuck your surprises tim what do i need to wear

She heard his laugh crackle through her earpiece. Rude.

Spiderman: Casual clothes.

Frenchie: there are LEVELS of casual tim

Spiderman: Oh, so we’re breaking out the capital letters. This must be serious.

She scoffed. Of course it was serious.

Frenchie: just tell me what to wear

Spiderman: A t-shirt and jeans is fine.

Kwamis, send her strength. Like she was going to wear a t-shirt and jeans. Did he even know who he was talking to?

But at least she had a gauge on how casual she could go. She picked out a light pink button down and black shorts for herself and then, because she had a little bit of foresight, she added some black tights.

She smiled faintly and dropped back in her bed.

She couldn’t wait to see where he was going to take her.

She found out the next day. Because that’s how things work.

She raised her eyebrows. “There’s no way it’s actually called a ‘space museum’. You’ve gotta be lying.”

Tim shrugged, a grin poking at his lips. “Do you really think I’d make it up?”

“Well, considering your outfit, I’d say you aren’t the most creative of guys so maybe you did,” she teased.

Tim looked down at his outfit and pouted. He was wearing little more than a black turtleneck and pants under a white jacket. “Must you make fun of every outfit I wear?”

“Only the bad ones. Seriously, would it kill you to wear a little bit of color?”

He rolled his eyes. “At least I thought to bring a jacket. It’s thirty degrees!”

She had forgotten that Americans used Fahrenheit, sue her.

Of course, she was never going to admit to this. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Maybe I’m just not a wimp.”

He snickered. “Oh, so you’re not cold?”

“Not at all.”

“Then stop hugging that coffee cup.”

She looked down at the coffee cup that was her only source of warmth and happiness in this cruel world that had two different measuring systems (three if you counted Kelvin). She gripped it tighter. “... no.”

He rolled his eyes again and, after a beat of hesitation, shrugged his jacket off and offered it to her.

Marinette normally wouldn’t give in this easy… but she really was cold and his clothes were far thicker than hers were and she knew that her teeth would start chattering soon which would have been so embarrassing...

So she blushed faintly and slipped the jacket on. It smelled like ungodly expensive cologne. “Thanks.”

He grinned. “I’m taking your coffee as payment.”

“No --!”

~

After dropping by a cafe so Marinette didn’t kill him, Tim took her to the space museum (yes, that actually was what it was called).

He thought she would have missed the night sky. Gotham hardly ever had a clear night due to the thick smog that hung over the city like a curse. And they spent quite a lot of time outside at night, she must have been feeling a little homesick.

So, he rented out the museum for the day. Yes, the whole museum. He was rich and mildly famous and what was the point of that if he wasn’t going to use it to make the people he cared about happy? He doubted she would be able to enjoy the sights as much if people were constantly taking pictures of them and asking about their relationship.

She raised her eyebrows just slightly but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the lack of people.

They slipped through the rooms quietly in search of inspiration.

Many of the rooms were your typical museum things: exhibits showing off different space rocks and explaining stars and supernovas. They didn’t stop much here, obviously, there was little to be inspired by. The most that happened for a long while was Marinette stopping from time to time to take a picture of a nice color that she wanted to try and replicate later.

And then she had stopped to look at a spacesuit. She blinked a few times before breaking into a grin and flipping to a new page in her sketchbook. He could barely make out the name ‘Jagged’ from where he was fiddling with his camera a respectable distance away.

So, Marinette, at least, was having a productive time. Tim was… a little stressed, to be honest.

Tim was having a particularly hard time getting ‘inspired’.

It had been years since he had picked up his camera, which was certainly a problem but it wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that he had never been one to take pictures of locations or objects. Sure, there was the occasional picture of the Gotham skyline, but he had always had a tendency towards taking pictures of people. Batman and Robin working as a team to take out a bunch of thugs, Robin and Nightwing racing each other across the rooftops, Batman and Nightwing stopping for ice cream after a particularly long patrol… and now he wanted to take pictures of Marinette.

But that would be weird because a) the first day he had implied he took pictures of attractions in order to alleviate suspicion about why he just so happened to be on the same rooftop as her and b) she probably wouldn’t think they were close enough for him to take pictures of her.

He kind of wished he could just go back to the old days where his subjects didn’t know he was there and he wouldn’t have to worry about what they would think about him if he took a picture of them.

His fingers itched towards the camera hanging from his neck because she looked so cute with her tongue poking out of her mouth and her orange, yellow, and white colored pencils sticking out from between her fingers like little Wolverine claws and he loved the way his jacket looked on her and --.

“You can stop staring, I’ll be done as fast as I can.”

His brain shorted out and the only response he could come up with was a squeaky: “Sorry?”

She looked up from her work with an awkward smile. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long, I just… if I don’t do it now it’ll slip my mind. I’m working as fast as I can, though.”

He was rebooting. Give him a minute.

Ah, there it was.

Wait, she thought he was being impatient?

“Nononono take your time, it’s fine! I just...”

He trailed off before he could finish the thought because this was the second time they had hung out he couldn’t make things awkward between them already.

… but she was giving him a confused, vaguely concerned, look and he was pretty sure that if he didn’t come up with something soon it would be awkward anyways.

“IwasjustwonderingifIcouldtakeapictureofyou?” He blurted out before he could stop himself again.

She blinked once. Twice. And then a blush spread across her face.

“Oh. Uh… sure?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said.

“It’s fine. A little sudden but… fine,” she said with a tiny smile.

Tim couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.

Not one to be blushy for long, apparently, Marinette flashed a wink. “Should I call up my friend Adrien for modeling tips or…?”

He rolled his eyes and schooled his face back into his usual grin. “It’s fine, just keep working. I’ll figure out angles and stuff.”

She tipped her head to the side confusedly. “Don’t you need me to be still?”

He didn’t look up from messing with the settings of his camera. “Not at all. You’re probably going to be one of my easier pictures.”

“... thanks…?”

“I do mostly nighttime photography. Capturing things in motion without it blurring requires a --.” He cringed. “Sorry, um… basically, when you want to take photos of things that are moving fast, you need a lot of natural light.”

“... you can talk about it more in depth, if you want.”

He shrugged. “I’d bore you.”

“I like your voice,” she said… then she seemed to realize the implications because she cleared her throat and did her best to backtrack: “In comparison to every other American I’ve heard so far, at least. Why do your accents… sound like that?”

“Ah, yes, because everyone knows that French people have the best accents.”

“Excuse you, I have been told by many people that my accent is actually very nice.”

He grinned. “By whom? Half-drunk men on the street?”

She gasped as if offended. “I get my information from much more reliable sources... like drunk women in bathrooms, thank you very much.”

“I see. My mistake. I apologize.”

“As you should.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Don’t you have a design to make?” She looked down at her sketchbook and a silence stretched between them as she squinted at her design.

“You forgot what you were doing, didn’t you?”

She groaned and rested her head in her hands.

He took a picture of her exasperated pout.

~

Marinette ended up with two outfits.

One was for Jagged, based off of the spacesuit she had seen. She had figured that, with all the songs he wrote about being free, there was bound to be one about how he ‘finally had his own space’. It was good to be prepared.

The other was for Cassandra Wayne. Marinette hadn’t thought much about it, to be honest. She just knew that Cassandra liked the color black with designs on top of it, and that the planetarium had a nice star pattern that would work for that. It would be super expensive, what with all the gems she would need, but it wasn’t like the Waynes couldn’t afford it.

… and then she looked up to see Tim pouting.

She giggled, resting her head on her hand. “What?”

“My sister is getting a dress and I’m not.”

Oh, so he was an actual fan. Interesting.

She brushed that conversation aside in favor of teasing him: “You want a dress?”

“Yes! No? Yes? I --.” He huffed and took a seat in the chair next to her. “I have faith anything you make will look nice.”

She felt a blush rise to her face and she rolled her eyes. “Hm. Telling the person in charge of your wardrobe ‘I have full faith in you’ is a terrible idea.”

“Oh? I don’t think you, in good conscience, can make and give me anything bad.”

She squinted at him for a minute before breaking into a grin. “Wanna bet?”

He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing her for a few moments, before smirking. “Sure, how about we put five thousand on it?”

She choked. She’d forgotten he was rich rich.

She was quick to backtrack: “Nah. With all your fashion choices so far I can’t trust you not to wear it to some Gala or whatever it is you rich people do.”

“Damn, there goes that plan.”

She grinned and looked down at her sketchbook. After a few seconds she flipped to a new page. She squinted at his outfit for a few moments before starting to doodle something.

“What’re you making now?”

“I’m making you something with some color.”

He huffed. “Excuse you, I’m a goth in a family of goths. I can’t wear color.”

“Yeah, yeah. Trust me, I know. I’d say Richard is the black sheep of the family in that aspect but he’s the one wearing color.”

He laughed a little. “So Dick is the white sheep, then?”

“Yea --.” She stopped and then squinted over at him. “Dick?”

“It’s what he insists everyone calls him.”

She looked down at her sketchbook for a moment, processing, and then shook her head. “Your brother has a degradation kink.”

Tim brought his hand to his mouth in stunned silence before pulling his phone from his pocket and definitely not informing the family group chat of his discovery.

She snickered and went to work on the outfit again. It was a simple one, because she didn’t want to go too far out of his comfort zone, but there was no way she was going to be friends with a monochromatic idiot.

She leaned over until her head rested on his shoulder. He tensed up just a little before resting his head on top of hers.

~

When she had finished he took a picture of the planetarium to keep up pretenses and they had made their leave.

… but first, they stopped by the gift shop. Because why not?

Tim could have bought everything there for Marinette -- and probably would have, if asked -- but, considering she had freaked out about five thousand dollars earlier, he figured maybe he should keep that more or less quiet.

Instead, he followed her around while idly bouncing a Saturn shaped bouncy ball. It was a terrible shape for a bouncy ball and he kind of loved it, to be honest. Not to mention the little smile Marinette made behind her hand every time the ball would try another mad dash for freedom was pretty cute.

And then they hit the t-shirt section. And her lips twitched as she reached out and picked up a bright blue shirt that said ‘May the F=MA be with you’ in white text.

“It’s awful. It’s perfect.”

He grinned. “Wow, look at you. You know one of the simplest physics formulas by heart, aren’t you smart?” He joked.

She bowed. “I know, I know.”

He held out a hand for it and she stared at him for a few seconds in confusion.

“I’ll hold it until we get to the front desk.”

She squinted at him. “I’m paying for my own shirt.”

“I can afford it,” he said with a sigh.

“So can I.”

“Either you let me pay for it or I’ll keep track of everything you buy while with me and add it to your commissions.”

“... either you let me pay for it or I’ll never make an outfit for you ever again. I know your measurements and style, Timothy, you won’t be able to get past me.”

They narrowed their eyes at each other, daring each other to call their bluffs…

And then his shoulders sagged. “Fine.”

He’d just have to use his connections to lower prices on fabrics for her. Did he mention that he was rich and mildly famous? Yeah. It was pretty cool.

~

She smiled as she leaned against the doorframe to her apartment. “Thanks for taking me out. It was fun.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled back. She was determinedly ignoring the way his smile made little butterflies flutter in her stomach. She patently hated butterflies. They weren’t allowed.

“I had fun, too. Want to do it again, sometime?”

“... sure, I guess you passed my test.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Your test?”

“Oh, yeah.” She waved him off. “If you had made any creepy comments today I would have blocked you.”

He seemed a little relieved by this information, though she wasn’t quite sure why. “That’s a pretty good test to have in Gotham.”

“I know, I’m pretty smart,” she said jokingly.

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

Damn it, now she was blushing. Shit.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you flatter every girl you take to the space museum? Is this your strategy?”

He snickered. “Well, considering you’re the only girl I’ve taken, I’m going to have to say yes.”

She hummed. “I’m glad I’m so special to you, because that means you won’t drop me when I never give you this jacket back.”

He huffed. “You can’t just do that.”

“I can and will,” she teased. Then, because she wasn’t a completely cruel person, she reached up to her coatrack and pulled down a red scarf for him. “Here, take this so it’s more of a trade than stealing.”

“If I don’t?”

“Then you get to walk back to your house in the cold like that.”

He snorted. “What happened to not wanting to steal?”

“At least I offered!”

He rolled his eyes and leaned down so she could wrap the scarf around his neck.

She looked up at him, a blush spreading across her face, and then carefully draped it over his shoulders. “There. Now you have a splash of color.”

He smiled at her. “Ah, I see, this was all just a plot to get me to wear colors. It all makes sense now.”

“Of course.” She tugged him down more by the scarf to press a kiss to his nose. “You should wear red and black more often. They’re totally your colors.”

He smiled a little dopily. “You have no idea.”

She pushed his face away. “Weirdo. Go be cryptic somewhere else.”

“Fine, fine. See you in a few days.”

“See you then.”

~~~

Bonus Batfam group chat stuff

Timtamalam: What if Dick makes everyone call him that because he has a degradation kink?

LetMeLeaveTheChat: i fucking hate this family.

BloodSon: This is exactly the kind of lowbrow humor to be expected of you, Drake.

Timtamalam: I’m unappreciated in my time.

CAss: :0

Timtamalam: See, this is why Cass is the favorite.

YouDontSeeMe: DickJoke please respond

DickJoke: I raised each and every one of you and this is the thanks I get

LetMeLeaveTheChat: sucks to suck, dickwad.

DickJoke: That’s it when I get through all this dumb Heartless stuff I’m coming back to the manor and we’re all going to have family time

CAss: :(

ItsEggplantNotPurple: damn it

YouDontSeeMe: crap

LetMeLeaveTheChat: fuck. and an extra “fuck” on duke’s behalf.

BloodSon: Look at what you have done, Drake.

Timtamalam: Sorry guys.

#stalker x stalker #maribat #timinette #timari #shutterbug #timmari #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin

[growup-thatbeautiful]

Cooler; Bucky Barnes x Reader

New Girl Inspired for @madjazzhatter

“I’m telling you, Buck, I’m not your cooler. Sure, a few times I might’ve been the reason you didn’t get some that once or twice, but 99% of the time it’s your own damn fault, Barnes.” It’s all true. He’s proving her point just by being himself right now, making one of those over the top faces he has and adjusting the collar of his coat. It’s not even his coat, she reminds herself.

“You’re both right, actually. Y/n, you have, on occasion, proven to be a terrible wingwoman. Purely awful. Bucky, you too have the tendency to, uh, discourage people from talking to you. I mean, you’re always frowning. You have a great smile, man, learn how to use it.” Bucky reaches across the sink and hits Steve upside the back of his head.

“Come on guys, we had a good vibe going. Let’s not have any infighting before tonight. Bucky, are you absolutely positive that that’s what you want to wear?” All three of them are standing in from of the bathroom mirrors, presumably making themselves look better to go to the bar at 5:30 in the afternoon, which is actually not that early for them.

“This coat makes me feel sexy.” Bucky does an awkward spin move, throwing up finger guns at himself in the mirror. Y/n rolls her eyes dramatically, patting Sam and Steve on the back before walking towards the door.

“Yeah, nothing says I’m a creep like a man in a women's trenchcoat,” add Sam. Y/n leans against the frame of the door, watching her boys make fools of fixing themselves in the mirror.

“So, just to be clear, you’re saying I can’t come tonight, right?”

They look at each other and shake their heads. “That’s fine, I have a lot of…things I need to do today anyway. You know, spoons to clean, yarn to yarn.”

“Gotta get that yarn yarned,” says Sam, practicing his facial expressions in the mirror and holding a thumbs up in the direction of y/n.

“See? You’re going to have a much better time here than you would have at the stinky old bar! We’re doing you a favor.” Bucky pats y/n on the head, earning himself a confused look.

She turns away from them, exiting the room just in time to hear Steve say, “You still work at that bar, Buck.”

They’re home within five minutes, and y/n is left to her own devices. There are times when she wishes that she had more nights like this, alone and able to do what she wants. Right now is not one of those times. It’s not that she doesn’t have things she can do, there just aren’t any things that she wants to do.

After fucking around for a little while, a noise at the door startles her. Her mind immediately goes to danger, causing her to call Peggy, even though she’s on a date, and Bucky, even though she was told that she was usually the downfall of his fun nights.

For some reason, Bucky answers his phone, but he sounds pissed about it. “Buck, you need to come home, there’s something at the door.”

“There’s nothing at the door, y/n. You know it’s an old building, maybe it has something to do with the pipes. You wouldn’t be worried if you listened to pipe talk during our loft meetings.”

“Those are boring. I’m surprised you listen to those talks.”

“They make me feel more like a man.” He pauses before continuing,”You know you’re being a cooler right now, right? Do you see it now?”

Yes, she thinks. She definitely see’s it now. “Just come home.”

Bucky, Steve, Sam, and two girls that are along for the ride arrive at the apartment. They find y/n curled up on the couch with their baseball bat, and she almost hits Steve when he comes into the room.

“So, this is our roommate y/n,” introduces Bucky. “And this is the place. Bathroom is down that hall… and so is basically everything else. Y/n, could you help me find some, uh, bottlecaps in the your room.”

“Sure, what kind? I have twist offs and the pop kind.”

“You know I’m not actually here about bottlecaps- actually it doesn’t matter. Listen to me. That girl out there, for some reason, is sexually attracted to sad men. You understand now fantastic that is for me.”

“Yeah, wow, that’s a goldmine. Now I feel partially responsible for your sex tonight, so I have an idea.” Bucky and I call everyone to meet in front of the couches, a cooler of beer beside us.

“The game is true american, but with a sexy new twist. Clinton rules! Everyone pick your interns and remember-“

The loft mates join in at this part, “The floor is lava!”

“Wait, this doesn’t make any sense. What are the rules? How do you play this?” The girl that Bucky brought asks.

“It’s easy. The floor is lava, doves versus hawks, the couch is the Mason-Dixon Line, no cabinets,” explains Steve helpfully, choosing the blonde, Carrie, as his partner.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Vanya, the girl that Sam brought, is sitting on the table and drinking, definitely not playing, but Sam seems happy talking to her.

The game goes as smoothly as a game with no rules can go. The loft is a mess, and most of us are missing various articles of clothes, which is a good sign for Bucky. Y/n, Steve, Carrie, and Y/n are all sitting at the table, different levels of intoxicated, trying to figure out who has to go behind the hallway door and kiss, a Y/n original idea that she’s positive will fix her spot as not a cooler. On the count of three they all put up numbers on their foreheads, chaos enduring between Steve and Bucky, both telling Carrie different numbers.

In all the confusion, on three, Y/n and Bucky end up with the same number, meaning that they have to kiss.

“Shit,” swears Bucky.

Y/n and Bucky look at each other, and say again, “Shit.”

“No, come on guys, let us out of here. This isn’t what I meant when I said kiss, I obviously meant, uh, a metaphorical poetic kiss. Don’t leave me back here with him!”

“Well,” says y/n, leaning back against the wall, sliding down to the floor next to Bucky, with his head in his hands. “I guess we should do this, then. They aren’t going to let him out of here anytime soon.”

“Yep. Let me just-“ Y/n stands up, while Bucky stays on the ground, crouching.

“What are you doing? I’m up here.”

“I thought we were staying on the ground.”

“Fine. Let’s get this over with. Pucker up, Mr. Buck.” As soon as it’s out of her mouth, y/n grimaces, regretting a lot of things.

“Come on, don’t do that. You’re making it weirder than it already was.”

“Yeah, I regretted it immediately. I think this does prove that I’m your cooler.”

“Yeah, you think? It’s okay, Steve’s just gonna tell her about his heartbroken Peggy-struck heart. This might be the only time that he wants to be sadder than me.” They spend a few minutes arguing back and forth about various unimportant details, like if they’re going to stand or sit, where they’re going to put their hands, and if Bucky should be so nervous about this. At some point in time Bruce, y/n’s boyfriend, came along and decided to join the rest of them outside.

Finally, after the constant chanting of “kiss kiss kiss kiss” from the hallway to get to her, y/n says, “Come on, Buck, just be a man and kiss me!”

“No! Not like this.” His eyes go wide when he realizes what he just said, and he starts shaking his head before I even get my question out.

“What do you mean, not like this?” Bucky doesn’t give an answer, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. He starts gesturing around wildly, trying to find something to say.

“No, I didn’t- it’s just not, like, you know- not like that.”

“Yeah, I’m out.” Before y/n can get another word in, Bucky is climbing out of the window. Without thinking, y/n yells at them to open the door, which they do. Steve and Sam are freaking out over Bucky, asking him all these questions, and Bruce is busy laughing about how Bucky would rather climb out of a window than kiss her. Luckily, Peggy is still thereto try and help her understand what’s happening.

Things dial down after that. Steve and Sam give Bucky a firm talking to and a night to think of over, and y/n goes to sleep alongside Bruce. She’s awoken in the middle of the night gm the same scratching that she heard earlier, so she goes to investigate.

Bucky must’ve heard it too, because he’s right there beside her with the baseball bat. Apparently their new neighbor has a dog that’s been causing all of the problems. It’s also the place where Bucky’s coat was supposed to go. As far as their neighbors go, it’s not the worst interaction they’ve had. This one only thinks they wear other people’s clothes and carry around bats.

“So, I guess you didn’t need to come over. Sorry I ruined your night.” They walk back to the hallway together, arms brushing against each other.

“Nah, it was probably for the best. French coat Bucky had a lot of unearned confidence, lot of random dance moves.”

They stand facing each other, y/n looking up into Bucky’s eyes. “Goodnight Buck.”

“Night, Y/n.” Bucky leans in, encouraged by y/n leaning in too. They’re lips touch, the kiss passionate and all at once. Bucky’s hands are in her hair, and as soon as they break appear she misses the touch.

“I meant a little something like that.”

This was so much fun to write! I love to concept of a new girl based au, feel free to send more of this or any other requests.

#nxvna writing #nxvna post #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #new girl au #marvel fic #tfatws fic #bucky imagine #reader x bucky barnes #you x bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes

[redjennies]

some "discourse"-y thoughts regarding the cr leak under the cut. do not read if you want to avoid the spoiler.

okay like I'm just gonna out and say it: the way Marquet was portrayed in C1 was pretty orientalist. and by that I mean, it relied on tropes about West Asia/"The Middle East" that while common in fantasy settings, still reinforce old harmful stereotypes about a real world region that a troubling amount of Westerners currently think we should bomb off the face of the planet for being "backwards terrorist savages." like there's no getting around that. I'm not backing down about that. it's just true. get over it or cry to someone else about it. (like seriously if you argue about this to me directly, you're getting blocked. I'm absolutely not fucking putting up with the same kind of hateful abusive nonsense I got over the age gap discourse about this one, kiddos.)

and yeah finding out Campaign 3 is going to be in Marquet makes me a little anxious. I knew this was a possibility and even a likely one at that, but finding out for sure still set off some minor alarm bells. I think it would and should for anyone who's even remotely sensitive to this. yes, the cast has grown since then and they have consultants and I really don't think it will be as bad (I don't know there's not really a definitive metric for "how orientalist can you get?") if only because it's not a small arc in a larger story, it's a whole story. still I really don't think we should blame anyone for being concerned about it. this isn't "who should kiss whom?" drama. this is "how is a group of white Americans going to roleplay in a setting inspired by a real region that is often demonized and exoticised in fantasy and also they have a bad track record with this exact thing."

if people want to opt out of watching this - whether entirely or until there's more evidence that it's being handled respectfully, I can actually totally understand that. I'm going to watch it, but I can easily see myself tapping out if it goes poorly. I can especially see myself tapping out if it goes only slightly poorly but I have to read a bunch of fan bullshit about how The Cast Can Never Ever Do a Racism.

I don't know how to explain this other than: I want it to be good. I really, really do, but this is something we need to keep our eyes open and be mindful if we're going to consume it. we need to not shut people down who raise concerns as "haters." I know this has gotten lost in the constant barrage of hyperbole fostered by social media, but it's good to be critical of what you're watching. stay kind and be willing to listen.

#not tagging #disclaimer: this is probably not worded The Best because i have been taking naps instead of sleeping all at once again

[rextasywrites]

Hello, could I request Lady D x Ethan NSFW please. From reading your list I’m 100% good with pregnancy/impregnation, lactation if the inspiration takes you that way. I look forward to seeing what you can do :)

Hey! I focused on the lactation part of your request, the impregnation/cream pie coming at the end! I hope you enjoy what I have written for you!!! :) <3 <3 <3

Warnigns: SMUT all the SMUT, lactation kink

The start of their relationship was more than...unusual. During the search for his baby daughter, Ethan had stumbled across the Castle Dimitrescu and its owners. Lady Dimitrescu had instantly taken a liking to the american guy, blown away by how determined he was in finding his daughter, not caring about any God or government. 

With the help of the vampires, Ethan was able to find his daughter again, and Lady Dimitrescu offered them a place to stay while they recovered from the horrors they had to witness, and Ethan to recover from the loss of his wife...again.

At this point, Rosy wasn’t able to eat solid food yet, and the milk from the cows gave her a belly ache, making her cry all night long.

“You know...I could help her.”, Lady Dimitrescu said as they watched the little girl in her crib, sleeping soundly after crying her tummy ache away.

“How?”, Ethan asked with a frown, looking over to the tall vampire next to him. 

Lady Dimitrescu sighed and pointed to her chest, “I can lactate. I could feed her an-”

“And you are just saying this now? We could have fed her like this since we arrived! Alcina, come on!”

“I didn’t know if you were okay with this, Ethan Winters.”

“Oh, don’t ‘Ethan Winters’ me now!”

Lady Dimitrescu and Ethan both chuckled at that, but it was a good decision. Rosy would get her food, and Ethan could catch a glimpse at the amazing chest of his new...roommate. Castlemate?

A few hours later, Rosy was hungry again, squirming in her crib. Alcina picked her up and tugged her dress down, just far enough to expose her breasts and bra. The bra was quickly lifted as well, letting her breasts fall down. A bit saggy from previous nursing times, but oh fuck if they weren’t tasty as fuck. Rosy quickly latched onto her nipple, drinking as if her life depended on it. After she finished drinking and Lady Dimitrescu helped her let out a few burps, the little girl settled into a deep slumber, fueled by her full belly.

“Isn’t she cute?”, Ethan asked into the room as his eyes were on Rosy sleeping soundly.

Lady Dimitrescu, still with her breasts out, nodded as she stood next to Ethan. Ethan wanted to talk to her, turning his head...and was greeted with a load of tits right into his face. His whole face burnt red in a record breaking blush as he stumbled over simple words to form a sentence. Lady Dimitrescu laughed at his shyness, wiggling her upper body a bit. “Oh, come on. Are you such a blushing virgin, Ethan Winters?”

“I never have them shoved into my face!”

“Then you are missing out onto the pleasures of life.”, she laughed as she grabbed onto Ethan, pulling him right between her breasts. And fuck, they were soft and warm and felt...cozy. As if that was the place he was supposed to be.

“Not...not with Rosy in the room.”, Ethan muttered from between her breasts, nearly suffocating with joy. Lady Dimitrescu grinned, pulled him off and put her breasts back into place. “Meet me in my chamber when my daughters are gone, will you?”

*

At night, the daughters went out for a little hunt. Sometimes, they liked to drink animal blood, but this night they were out for something more human. In the town next over were some promising ‘subjects’ for a fuck and drink, so the three women went out to chase their prey.

But Lady Dimitrescu? She stayed home - her prey tonight was someone completely different. Alcina couldn’t deny her hunger anymore. She wanted this man between her legs ever since he stepped a foot into her castle. Hundreds of years of female lovers had its perks too, but a good dick once in a while...she couldn’t deny its sweet sides.

“Alcina?”, Ethan stepped into Lady Dimitrescu’s studies, closing the door behind him and locking it...even though the daughters could teleport into the room if they desired. Old habits die hard.

“Ethan my dear, come here.”, Lady Dimitrescu smiled at her hopefully new lover, patting on the bed next to herself. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, ready for whatever he had in mind.

Ethan joined her by her side, nervous as if it was his first time ever. Judging by the fact that he produced a mutant baby with Mia, it is proven that this was clearly not his first time. Lady Dimitrescu smiled and grabbed his hand, placing it on her impressive chest. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Of course. It is just a bit overwhelming, I have never-” “Never fucked a woman that tall with such an impressive chest?” “Let’s say, women your size are a rare breed!”

Lady Dimitrescu laughed at that, guiding him to pull her dress down, exposing her bra and breasts once more. Everything she wore was kept in white, making her appear even more pale than she actually was. Cream on porcelain. “Don’t be shy.”, she chuckled and pulled her bra down herself. What a sight, Ethan thought to himself, gently trailing his fingers over her soft skin, feeling what would be soon his.

“Oh come on, don’t be shy.”, Lady Dimitrescu said and grabbed his wrists, pulling him closer to bury his hands in her soft flesh, but a bit of tenderness underneath. Ethan pulled a face when he realized how tender they felt, giving Lady Dimitrescu a concerned look. “Oh, don’t worry. That’s what happens when I don’t milk myself for a while. My breasts are so full right now…”

“How can I help you with that?”

“Suck on them, Ethan!”, Lady Dimitrescu groaned out and grabbed hold of Ethan’s hair, pushing him against her breasts. Heaven on earth for this man. Without thinking twice, Ethan parted his lips, sucking on the soft breasts. Sucking, biting, everything he could do to leave some marks. Lady Dimitrescu groaned and leaned into his touch, needing more from the man and his exquisite mouth.

It all seemed so natural, as if they had done it thousands of times before. Moving as one, feeling as one. Ethan moved over, latching onto her nipple with an eagerness he had never felt before. Lady Dimitrescu guided his head, and for a moment she bucked her hips for a little bit, just enough for Ethan to notice.

“Careful, I am going to leak soon…”, she said as she cradled Ethan’s head, urging him on to continue. Soft whines and moans escaped her lips, so perfectly red with her expensive lipstick, ready to be smeared around someone else's lips. And she was right. At first, there were only a few drops coming from her nipple, leaving the faint sweet taste on Ethan’s tongue. But Ethan had a sweet tooth, and once he tasted something sweet, he couldn’t stop.

Sucking as if his life depended on it, Ethan helped with his hands too. Pressing, kneading, sucking. The drops of milk changed to a constant small steam of milky sweetness, covering Ethan’s mouth with every suck. “Ethan, yes, carry on like this. Just like this.”, Lady Dimitrescu moaned out, her eyes closed as she took in every movement from him, needing more and more. She couldn’t deny the pool of wetness forming between her legs, a desire bubbling up. But first, her breasts. Then she could ask him for a quick fuck.

Once her left breast felt empty enough, Lady Dimitrescu pulled Ethan away, smirking down to him. “Aren’t you a good little pet for Mommy?”, she smirked, and Ethan couldn’t do more than nod. She leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his lips, tasting his unique taste and her own milk. “Now carry on. Then you may fuck me if that’s what your heart desires.”

At the mere mention of fucking, Ethan’s cock started to twitch in his pants, a feeling he had missed so much. No time to get off while searching for your own daughter in a village full of werewolves and vampires. But now was finally the time, and Ethan was more than ready to give her the fuck of a lifetime. Lady Dimitrescu’s right breast wasn’t as full as her left one as she had used this side to nurse before. Just fine for her, because she didn’t want to waste more time with nursing. She needed her sweet release while her underwear stained with the signs of her lust.

While Ethan sucked and nibbled on this side, Lady Dimitrescu let her hand wander down on his body, down to his pants. She cupped the bulge in his pants, feeling him up as he moaned against her softness. So much desire…

“Ethan, come on.”, Lady Dimitrescu moaned and made Ethan pull away from her, a trail of milk dribbling down his chin, “Fuck me. Please.”

She didn’t have to tell Ethan twice. He got off her lap, taking off his shirt in a swift motion, revealing his toned upper body. Lady Dimitrescu reached forward, trailing her hands over his chest, leaving goosebumps wherever she touched him due to her cold skin - perks of not being alive. Her hands tugged on the seam of his jeans, telling him to finally get rid of them too.

In no time, Lady Dimitrescu had taken care of her dress, abandoned on the floor as she laid down on the bed, watching as Ethan took off his jeans and boxers, his cock jumping out of its ‘prison’. She licked her lips at the sight, wiggling out of her underwear. “Come on, Ethan!”, she whined.

Ethan moved between her legs and dragged his fingers along her folds, “Damn, you are so wet already…”, he muttered to his delight, proud of how much he had turned her on. Flicking over her clit, he managed to pull the sweetest sounds from her lips, edging both of them on to finally carry on. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. Fuck me Ethan, fill me up.”, Lady Dimitrescu moaned and this was all Ethan needed. He spread her legs just a bit more, an iron grip on her thick thighs as he pushed himself inside of her. She was wet and tight, his favourite mixture. “Fuck…”, both of them sweared at the same time when Ethan started to move, filling her up.

One of Ethan’s hands stayed on her thigh, but he used the other one to rub over her clit. Even sweeter were her sounds, needing to reach her orgasm as fast as she could. Her desire for Ethan was burning with a thousand fires inside of her, warming her up like no one has done before. Little streams of milk ran from her nipples and Alinca never looked sweeter than in this moment.

“Fuck, fuck, you are so wet...I am going to fill you up Alcina, do you want this?”

“Please, fill me up Etha! Fill me up!”

Ethan gasped and his cock twitched inside of her. He felt his own orgasm approaching, needing to fill her up. Every second felt too long, his hands working faster on her clit while he hammered inside of her. Lady Dimitrescu arched her back with a loud moan and came around Ethan, squeezing every last drop out of him. Ethan followed suit, burying himself deep inside of his lover before he filled her up. Every drop stayed inside of her, making sure she could feel his lust and need for her.

“Ethan…” “Alcina…”, the two grinned at each other as their orgasms faded, Ethan’s cock slipping out of her. Alcina reached down, scooping a bit of their juices onto her finger and sucking it clean. “You have a taste I could get used to.”

“Give me a few minutes and I am good to go again, okay?”

“Seems like a good thing, Ethan Winters.”

#ethan winters #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x ethan winters #ethan winters x lady dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil #wraith17

[wienerbarnes]

Witch Bitch

Pairing: Bucky x Witch!Reader

Word Count: 3,943

Warnings: witch stuff, burning at the stake 😳

A/N: this is heavily inspired by american horror story: coven bc i recently watched and ive been binging all of it lately but its not necessary to know anything about ahs lol i kinda just used their fancy magical terminology and concepts bc they were cool🤪 

MAIN MASTERLIST

The best time of the day was breakfast. It was the time when Bucky, Sam, and Sharon were most often together. Sometimes training overlapped and they missed lunch. Sometimes missions ran long or friends were in town and they missed dinner. But the morning? They were all early birds, all awake by seven. They took that shared characteristic and shared breakfast together whenever they could. Bucky usually took care of the coffee, Sam usually took care of the eggs and bacon, and Sharon usually took care of the bagels, toasting them to perfection before slathering on a layer of cream cheese.

It was a moment of peace in their day. Quiet before the noise of the gym or the conference room or the jets or the private trainings or the interviews with prospective agents or anything else they do on a daily basis. It was a time for three friends to just sit and eat and enjoy each other's company as though they are just that: three friends. Not super soldiers or captains or special agents. Just people being normal. Normal doesn’t last long, though. It never does for them.

Bucky’s on dish washing duty this morning while Sam and Sharon chat idly behind him, waiting for him to finish so they can all leave together. A soft voice interrupts them, though, making the three of them stop what they’re doing because no one has access to this floor except for the people that live here - meaning them three.

“Who’s in charge here?” You ask.

“Who the hell are you?! How did you get up here?!” Sharon asks, ignoring your question.

You were in a long, flowy black skirt, slit cut in the left side exposing your leg, and a long-sleeve black shirt, tucked beneath the waistband. Think black boots cover your feet and a black hat sits on your head to complete your look. Bucky almost doesn’t notice the folded black umbrella underneath your arm as his eyes trail down the multiple chains and necklaces around your neck, falling between your breasts.

“I’ve been trying to find someone to help me but the people in this building are not very helpful. I figured I’d find who’s in charge myself, something that you all don’t seem to want to help me with, either.” You explain.

“The only way to even enter this building is through strict appointment and background checks, and no one’s even allowed past the nineteenth floor.” Sam explains.

“Why are you entertaining this? I’m getting her out of here.” Sharon says, moving to walk towards you to take you out of the building herself.

As she nears closer and closer, you wave your hand lazily, without taking your eyes off Bucky, the only one who hasn’t said anything this whole time, and Sharon collapses on the floor soundlessly.

“Jesus!”

“What did you do!”

Both Bucky and Sam panic as they rush to Sharon’s body on the floor. They frantically run their hands over her body, looking for the point of injury that made her collapse the way she did, but they find nothing. No holes, no blood; she didn’t even make a sound.

“She’s not breathing and she doesn’t have a pulse, what the fuck did you do to her?!” Sam yells at you.

You roll your eyes, “Okay, you got me. I don’t need help finding who’s in charge, I already know it’s you. I still do need your help, though.”

You’re ignored as the two men hover over their friend, unsure of what to do or what even happened to her.

“Oh, alright, move.” You order them, stepping over Sharon’s body.

You stand before her, lifting your hands to hover over her body before closing your eyes and letting out a deep and long exhale. Bucky and Sam watch as it takes only about seven seconds for their friend to suddenly gasp for air, jumping back to life. The boys crowd her once more, checking her eyes, her pulse, everything to convince themselves that she’s actually alive like that, and if she was even dead in the first place.

Sam finally looks back up at you from the ground, as though he just remembered that you’re there, “What are you?”

You smirk in response, ready to finally get what you came here for.

…

“So, you’re a witch?” Sam asks, the four of them now occupying a private conference room for some privacy.

“A witch who killed me.” Sharon adds.

“And a witch that brought you right back.” You reply, leaning back on your chair, leg crossed over your knee, slit exposing your thigh. Bucky’s eye twitch to look at your bare skin for a second before returning to meet your eyes.

“So… what do you do?” Bucky asks.

You smile at his innocent curiosity, “All witches don’t have one universal power. Some are clairvoyant, some do voodoo, some dabble in pyrokinesis, divination, transmutation, descendum,” You glance over to Sharon, who’s still pouting at you, “Resurrection.”

“And can you do all of those?” Bucky asks.

“Almost all of them, but I’m not here to talk about me.”

“Why are you here?” Sharon asks.

“You guys hunt the Nazi’s, right?” You ask, aiming your question towards Sam, knowing he’s the Captain in charge.

“Hydra, yes.” He confirms.

“Well, your Nazi’s somehow got a hold of my magic. And they are playing with very dangerous fire,” You begin.

Bucky interrupts, “We’re all for taking down Hydra, but, don’t you think you’re a little more… powerful than us?” He asks.

“Bucky!” Sharon slaps his arm, as though she’s shocked that he would ever admit such a thing.

“I am. But I’m not that powerful, either. Not anymore, at least. A group of those Hydra invaded the coven my sisters and I were at. I was the only one that escaped.” You tell them.

“Did Hydra take them?” Sam asks.

“No, they killed them.” You respond, growing irritated as the subject grows touchier and touchier.

“Can’t you just bring them back like you did me?” Sharon inquires.

“No! I can’t. Like I said, I’m not that powerful anymore. Maybe I’d be able to bring back a house full of dead girls when it was me and twelve others but it’s just me now. I wouldn’t come all the way over here if I had other options.”

Silence grows over the group as they process what you’ve gone through. Surviving through the massacre of your fellow witches and not being powerful enough to find the people that did it on your own. You’re vulnerable.

“So what can we do?” Sam asks, ready to join forces with you.

“Help me locate the men who did this so I can handle the magic part.” You tell him.

“What magic do they have?”

“Although witches control most of the magic, sometimes it can be taken on in… physical forms. Specifically blood. The blood they retrieved was from a witch that was skilled in Vitali Vitalis.”

“The alive within the living.” Bucky translates.

“There are two worlds: the living and the dead,” You begin to explain, “Vitali Vitalis keeps the balance between these two things and it’s one of the most difficult powers for a witch to master. Oftentimes it’s used to give parts of your own life, health, and energy to someone who needs it. But it can also allow you to take life from someone and give it to yourself.”

“Like immortality?” Sam questions.

“Not quite. Any witch can be killed with a knife or bullet. This kind of magic keeps you from dying of age. I’ve only ever known one witch who mastered it.”

“What happened to her?”

“She used it for evil, like this. Took the souls of hundreds in order to allow herself to live for almost three centuries. Until she was killed, of course.” You finish, a small smile on your lips knowing that she got what she deserved.

“What, you burn her at the stake?” Sharon jokes.

“Yes, actually. We did.” You tell her matter-of-factly, becoming more and more irritated at the fact that she doesn’t seem to take this is as seriously as you are.

Bucky interrupts, sensing the rising tension between the two girls, “So when we find these guys, you’re going to burn them at the stake, too?” He asks.

“Yes,” You say, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “The consequence of using magic like this for evil is death by fire. I hope you all don’t think the rules will change on account of these men being Nazi’s?”

“Well, we just have a different way of doing things -” Sam begin to defend

“Yes, I’m aware. The countless destruction caused by you and other militaries, the millions of innocent lives lost yearly, not only in the constant war and irresponsible handling of your nuclear and alien weaponry, but by incorrect prosecution. Not to mention the billions of dollars spent on your ridiculous prison systems that don’t work when actual bad people escape and the death penalty practices in certain states. I just figured my way was easier. And cheaper.” You reply.

Silence crowds over the four of them once more as they think over all their options.

“I’m in.” Bucky speaks first.

“Me, too. Even if I don’t like you.” Sharon follows.

“Feeling’s mutual, dear.” You smile at her.

The three of them look to Sam, waiting for his commitment as well.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

Plans were made, theories of location were thought of, and plans to execute the mission were put into place, all of which included you. A temporary room was given to you when the information of your lack of a place to stay was brought to light. Only for the duration of this mission, is what Sam told you, but you can spot the amount of love and light in his heart from miles away.

It was later that night, and you’ve since cleansed the room, going as far as to place a protective spell on the entire floor. You’ve lost too much already, and you’re not about to risk anything.

A knock at the door sounds and the visitor you’d been expecting has finally arrived. You walk towards the door, still in your clothes from earlier but now you’ve removed your shoes, and open the door to reveal Bucky.

“I was waiting for you.” You tell him.

“How’d you know I’d come?” He asks, stepping through the door when you step aside, silently gesturing to him to enter.

“I can hear your thoughts. You've been debating whether or not to come see me for the past thirty minutes. Your mind is very loud.”

“Tell me about it.” He mumbles to himself, thinking about the countless nightmares, voices, and all the other reminders of just how loud his mind was.

“You can ask all your questions, you know. I won’t take any offence. You’re just curious.” You tell him, settling on your bed, hoping he’ll join you and stop hovering near the door.

Luckily he takes the hint and takes a seat across from you.

“I’ve never met a witch before. A real one, I mean. Like, someone born a witch. Like Salem witches -”

“I understand.” You chuckle lightly.

“You don’t seem… afraid of me. Or, hesitant, rather.” You tell him, thinking about how he’s received your presence here compared to his colleagues.

“I was wary when you killed my friend, but… you just need some help, is all. I’m sorry, by the way, I’m not sure if I said it before, but, I’m sorry for what happened to your friends.” He tells you.

He’s very polite. But you supposed that’s not abnormal considering he got his manners from the 1920’s. You like it, though. You give him an appreciative smile before giving him the okay to ask you whatever he wanted.

“So you said that witches can master multiple powers but have one specialty; is yours resurrection?”

“Yes; it was the first power I ever exhibited when I was a teenager. I was about fourteen or fifteen. My next mastered skill is descendum and then clairvoyance, where I was in my twenties, or so.” You tell him as he looks at you with pure fascination in his eyes.

“What is - what is descendum?”

You pause, “The power to descend your soul down into the afterlife - to hell. And return alive.”

His eyes widened, not even knowing that was something someone can do; not even knowing that hell existed in the first place, “So, you’ve been to hell?”

“Yes. I’ve also been able to retrieve people from hell, their soul. A variation of my power of resurrection, I suppose.” You explain, not being too fond of that power; descending to hell.

Bucky sits in silence for a few minutes, and you let him. You can hear the question lingering around in his head; what he’s thinking. But you let him build up his own courage to ask it. You know he’s only scared of the answer; the answer you know he’s not going to like.

“What is hell like?” He whispers.

“It doesn’t matter what my hell is like. Everyone has their own personal hell they experience when they die.” You tell him.

Confusion clouds his features as he registers your answer.

“Is there… Is there no heaven?”

You smirk, “It’s nice that you’ve remained religious after all this time.”

“Yes, there's heaven. But only for the purest and most innocent of souls. And rarely do people escape life without sin. Everyone has evil in them.” You tell him, knowing it’s a harsh truth that no one wants to hear.

The people Bucky’s killed, the crime he’s committed, the families he’s hurt; it all passes through his mind. Everyone has evil in them.

“What was your hell like?”

“I’m not telling you that.” You tell him quickly.

Bucky ponders what his own hell will be like, after seeing the way you’re clearly shaken up about your own. The fall from the train. The man in a lab coat sawing off the rest of his arm. The needles poking through his skin in the middle of some facility. The chair.

He doesn’t realize that he’s looked away from you until he snaps his thoughts back to the present and sees he’s looking down into his lap. He glances up to see your face, your soft features and kind eyes staring at him. He glances from your eyes to your lips and back up again before clearing his throat, not realizing how close he got to you during his time here sitting on your bed.

“You know, I, uh, I should go. Thank you for, uh, answering my questions, but we head out pretty - pretty early tomorrow, so,” He trails off, standing and patting down his shirt to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in a nervous habit.

He makes his way towards the door and his hand touches the knob when he hears your voice, “Hey, Bucky?” He turns slightly to face you again, a hum to indicate for you to continue.

“Thank you for coming to see me. And thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me. You’re a very good person.” You tell him sincerely.

He gives you a nod of you’re welcome before exiting.

He’s not sure if you told him that because you truly mean it, or if it’s because of the state of anxiety and existential crises you’ve put him in now that he’s going to be thinking about his personal hell, but he appreciates it, nonetheless.

He thinks you’re a pretty good person, yourself.

…

The mission goes off without a hitch. The combined skill of the Avengers’ stealth, spyware, and experience along with your magic and witchery makes for an easy capture of the men who killed your witch sisters and stole your magic.

It’s not long before the facility they were at was shut down and cleared out, arresting any officers and rescuing any prisoners or hostages, and the five men specifically responsible for the destruction of your coven are in separate custody. What’s left of the blood is returned to you, as well.

That’s where the group of you stand now, a decision to be made about the criminals you’ve captured. To be put in the maximum security prison floating in the ocean, or to be put to death by fire.

“I don’t believe in being the executioner of people.” Sam tries to convince.

You can’t help but let a laugh escape you, “Do you know who you work for?! Do you know who you are?!” You remind him.

“Those guys can’t escape the Raft.” He tries, referring to prison in the middle of the ocean you’ve heard about.

“You did.” You respond, knowing about when Steve Rogers took him out of that prison, along with other superheros.

You see Bucky and Sharon look between the two of you, torn between how these Hydra criminals should receive their fate. Staring into the hot depths of flames or rotting alone in a cell? Both seem to be too merciful, in Bucky’s opinion.

“This isn’t just running the facility or experiments, Sam. This is different. They were using dark magic to commit crimes. Maybe they should face the consequences of a dark-magic-punishment.” Sharon offers.

You don’t have time to be shocked at Sharon agreeing with you and picking your side before Bucky agrees and Sam is outnumbered. He stares at you and gives a single nod, allowing you to do this your way.

You smile, a silent thank you for giving you the closure and opportunity to serve justice to those who did you harm. “Off to Massachusetts, then.” You tell them, and Sam takes his seat in the pilot's chair, Bucky accompanying him in the front of the jet.

You take a seat, making yourself comfortable for the flight to Salem and you feel a body take the seat next to you. You glance up to see Sharon looking at you, but you notice she has something in her hand, offering it to you.

You look down to see a small plastic bag of fruit gummies. But not just any fruit gummies, you realize. Halloween themed fruit gummies. The pictures on the outside show the various options inside: witch’s hat, a broom stick, a melting pot, a vial, and a magic wand. Hilarious.

You take the gummies, though, accepting her attempt at a truce.

It’s not long before you and your temporary teammates find themselves standing before a large, empty field, multiple wooden stakes standing about fifteen feet tall scattered about with plenty of space in between.

You lead the walk to a group of them standing tall in line, so the men can be burned at the same time, as opposed to one by one. A group of large, burly agents lug the Hydra operatives along, behind you and the rest of the team.

Bucky hangs around your left, as to not be in the way of the black umbrella held in your right hand, and Sam and Sharon trail behind you. You can sense their uneasiness and tune out their worried thoughts. Everyone’s first burning is always an experience; they’ll get over it.

Bucky doesn’t seem worried, though. In fact, you can’t hear his thoughts this time around. But he still stands tall and straight, walking with confidence, so you make a safe assumption that he’s okay.

None of the men’s cuffs or shackles are removed, but thick rope is tied on top of it, around the wrist and looped around the waist, tying them to the stake. The cuffs are special grade - high tech Avengers vibranium - and they can be retrieved later once the fire burns out.

“Any last words?” You ask, more for tradition than whether or not you actually care.

They look scared, obviously not expecting their fate to look anything like this. You remember seeing Bucky tackle one of them in the facility, prying his mouth open to rip out a tooth, or what looked like a tooth, like a dog caught eating something it wasn’t supposed to. A cyanide pill.

Silence comes from them, except for one of them, “Hail Hydra!” He yells, as if that cowardly and pathetic phrase would change anything.

With a raise of your hand, seemingly with no effort, you wave it and the stakes all begin to rise up in flames. There’s nothing to spark, no twigs, no gasoline, nothing, and Bucky watches as the flames rise, growing stronger as they engulf the five men. They begin to scream, and Bucky looks over at you, as if to confirm you didn’t bring gasoline or something with you, and he sees a smile slowly grow on your lips.

They haven’t stopped screaming; they’re still alive when you turn and begin to walk back the way everyone came. Bucky follows, and eventually Sam and Sharon do, too, the other agents staying behind until the end to retrieve the cuffs and shackles that will survive the fire.

“So, now what?” Sharon asks, the air quieter as the screams have slowly stopped in the distance.

I can’t imagine what kind of paperwork follows this, “Back to the tower.” Sam responds.

“The coven’s only a short walk from here.” You say, not needing to elaborate much more. The men have been caught and brought to justice, but you still have a broken, battered, and beaten down coven to fix.

A friend of yours was meant to go by and retrieve the… bodies. Which you’re grateful for. But magic won’t help you fix the walls, the floors, mop the blood, or find other witches in need of an escape and a place to improve and master their powers. You have a lot of work to do.

As the view of the jet gets closer, you prepare to bid your goodbyes to the Avengers, your thank you’s as well. Regardless of your attitude towards them before, you couldn’t have done this without them.

A metal hand engulfs yours, pulling you back a bit as Sam and Sharon continue on.

“Do you need any help?” Bucky’s warm and gentle voice floods your ears, hand still in yours.

“You guys have been more than enough help, now, really.” You try to tell him, but he has none of it.

“You may be tough, but you can’t fix up that house by yourself,” He tells you, “I can be pretty handy, fixed up a few things back in my day.” A soft smile grows on his face.

You glance over his shoulder as Sam and Sharon wait by the entrance of the jet, “Don’t you have to go back?”

“They won’t miss me.” He tells you, not even looking back to confirm with his teammates, hand dropping to run it through his hair.

You giggle at him, before giving him a shy nod in answer to his offer to help you fix up your big house.

“I’m going to hang out here for a few days.” He yells over his shoulder.

“We figured.” Sam calls out, and Sharon throws you a wave as they board the jet, the opening close after them.

“Lead the way?” Bucky offers you, taking your hand once more, interlocking the fingers this time.

And so the two of you are off, one of your hands still clutching the umbrella, holding it above your head, and the other hand interlaced with the one of a handsome and kind super soldier. This wasn’t the way Bucky expected the last two days to transpire, but he’s glad they led to holding the hand of a very pretty witch.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x witch!reader #marvel #bucky oneshot #love me some magic #also if anyone watches ahs... hmu i love it #ive watched all of them except cult and im currently rewatching freak show rn

[maxwell-grant]

Charlie Chan. Who is fascinating, because he was created explictly to be an anti-Yellow Peril character. Unlike most Chinese characters of the time, he's both intelligent, physically capable, and unambiguously heroic. In the novels, he's simultaneously proud of being Chinese AND proud of being an American citizen. He gives orders and instructions to white people, and the narrative treats this as perfectly normal and acceptable. There's a bit in the first book, when an attempt to trap the..(1/2)

(cont'd)There's a bit in the first book where an attempt to trap the protagonist fails, because a message supposedly from Charlie clearly isn't because Charlie's English isn't broken, it's like poetry. Etc. The movies made him more stereotypical, & played by white actors in yellowface, but still, he's a heroic Chinese man, who is as capable and patriotic as any white man. Nowadays, he's thought of as racist caricature. Which he is, but still, it makes one think.

I'm not nearly as acquainted with Charlie Chan as you are (and I definitely suspected he was less racist in the original books because that's nearly always the norm when it comes to pulp characters) but yeah, that "Which he is" is forever going to be the most unfortunate and saddest part of it all when it comes to Charlie Chan. For all the virtues that can be bestowed on Charlie Chan, for everything great that the character had going for him and inspired, the fact that the least offensive image of the character I could find to put here for illustration's sake is from the Hanna-Barbera cartoon kinda exemplifies the big elephant in the room when it comes to Charlie.

Charlie Chan is a great example of two things: One is the way progress is never a fixed quantity and often what was progressive and forward-thinking in it's time can become something outdated and backwards and downright offensive given enough time, and the 2nd is my constant stressing that this is all the more incentive to reclaim the pulps and either highlight or fix aspects of them, instead of dismissing every aspect of them based on the preconception that everything about it's history is unforgivably bigoted and must be handled with the nuance of a sledgehammer.

I stress time and time again the need to highlight and understand the prejudices that went into pulps, because either ignoring them or wielding them as a weapon to attack them does no favors to anyone. The pulps weren't exceptionally bigoted - look at literally any medium in it's time period and you'll find bigotry and prejudice and hatred - and they were exceptional in the number of POC heroes and heroines. Pulps were a medium of experimentation and cheap entertainment that gave way to much, much more varied kinds of protagonists than were permitted in films, serials, novels, comics and radio serials of the day. Imagine if no one was allowed to bring up and discuss superheroes without mentioning the Superman Slap-a-Jap posters or the Captain Marvel story so horrifingly racist it was recounted by an American ambassador after it deeply offended a friend's son and a major influence on the 1950s anti-comic trials. "Pulp fiction had deeply, unforgivingly racist depictions that deserve intense scrutiny and cannot be ignored" and "Pulp fiction was significantly ahead of every other medium at the time in regards to authors and editors striving to publish stories about heroic POCs, this cannot be dismissed and is something that needs to be perpetuated" are not exclusive facts. "A product of it's time" is not an excuse and never was, but it's a fact nevertheless.

Every time someone speaks favorably of Charlie Chan in any capacity, they have to start with a long preface of everything positive that the character had going for him. Yes, he's a deliberate subversion of the Yellow Peril, he's a heroic protagonist, he's plump and good-natured and humorous but far from a joke, he's friendly and pleasant and well-educated and wise, he's a good dad and family man and a terrifically sharp detective who's so good at his job he gets called to solve crimes all over the world, and none of these traits are apparent to people who have to google the character and repeteadly see a white man in awful make-up into every single image of the character, who watch the movies and cringe at the broken English. It's hardly relevant in the face of all the Asian-American critics who acknowledge the character's virtues but rightfully point out that this fortune-cookie spouting caricature, acting subservient to whites and whose virtues are based around his proximity to a white American ideal, doesn't represent them and they shouldn't pretend it does.

Which isn't to say that to like Charlie Chan is "wrong", a lot of East Asians love Charlie and the character's obviously got fans in Asian Americans. It's a complicated subject and I obviously cannot begin to vouch in a subject so heavily based around perceptions I cannot experience. And I deeply detest the idea of speaking for others on their particular experiences on this kind of matter, which is something Americans do a lot everytime they talk about representation in media.

So instead, I'm going to tackle this on a roundabout manner by going on an unrelated tangent to bring up an example of representation that isn't quite representative of what it's supposed to be, has a lot of issues that have been dissected by critics among the people it was supposed to represent, and none of that stopped the character from being popular and beloved and from being claimed anyway. And it's a Brazilian fighting game character, which means it's completely within my ballpark.

Yeah, obviously Blanka doesn't look like anyone who lives in Brazil (whatever resemblance he bears to redheaded jungle protectors of Brazilian folklore is purely accidental). Obviously neither Jimmy nor Blanka are Brazilian names or even exist in the Portuguese lexicon. Obviously there are issues in Street Fighter's approach to representation across the board, sure, and I'd actually say Laura is much worse than Blanka in that regard (again, my opinion, obviously not universal), but the fact remains that Blanka is and has always been pretty controversial. Obviously there's Brazilians who took offense to Blanka and they weren't wrong to do so, and I obviously do not speak for everyone here, that goes without saying.

Obviously the idea that Brazil's major representative in a global cast of characters, the first big name Brazilian character in videogames, is going to be a freakish jungle monster who roars and bites faces has problems, as is the fact that all the others get to be regular people representing fighting styles from their countries while Blanka doesn't. None of the Brazilian SF characters represent Capoeira, which is kinda shitty to be honest. And there's a whole stereotype of Brazil as a backwards land of beasts and savages that Blanka's creation played into. There's no shortage of ground to criticize Blanka's representation and Ono actually apologized in an interview once, but then he learned one teensy little thing:

Street Fighter is very popular on Brazil. Would you like to leave a message to the fans from there?

"Ono: Yes, I'm aware. At the time of Street Fighter II a lot of the arcade machines produced went there, so I knew we had lots of fans there. A message to Brazilians, well, I'd like to apologize. I know Blanka's a weird character and I don't want any Brazilian to feel uncomfortable with that.

When Blanka was conceived, we knew there were forests in Brazil, and so we thought he could look like that. I was actually kinda nervous knowing I'd meet Brazilian journalists. Still, this is the first Street Fighter in ten years, so we'd like all fans to play, including Brazilians, which are many.

Thanks. Well, but you should know that Brazilians love Blanka

"Ono: Ah, good! I was scared of getting beat up if I ever went to São Paulo! (laughs)"

(That's from a 2012 tv special called The Greatest Brazilian of All Time where over a million viewers voted to elect whoever they wanted, and Blanka was going to win. He was polling ahead of Aryton Senna and PELÉ, fucking Pelé, yes this happened. He wasn't even disqualified for being a cartoon character, it was an open poll, he was disqualified due to canon stating he had been born in Thailand, which I think may have been retconned since then. Again, A MILLION BRAZILLIANS voted for this contest, and Blanka was going to win.)

Blanka is great and sweet and lovable, he made the best out of the incredible shitty hands fate dealt him and became a cool and strong green man who shoots lightning and flies, a self-taught warrior who rides whales and planes to fighting tournaments, and he loves his mom and friends and kicks ass and after he's done he dances in joy and gives the kids of his village piggyback rides, and Brazil loves him. He doesn't represent any existing person or fighting style, he's rooted in a negative stereotype and incorrect assumptions, he's not even really Brazilian, and he's our boy and nobody can take him away from us.

No criticism of Blanka, no matter how in-depth or even right it is, is ever going to affect that, because regardless of what was wrong or misguided and offensive about him, we claimed him and loved him so throughly that Capcom kept playing up Brazilian representation in every subsequent game post Alpha, and because of Blanka's impact and reception in such a big game, Brazilian characters have become a staple of fighting games, and that's how we got much more diverse representatives in those games. Fighting games have more Brazilian representation than LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE on media not produced here. It started as BAD representation, with way less thought put into it than Charlie Chan, and it still mattered to a lot of Brazilians who reclaimed it and made it better than it was ever intended to be, and as a response to it, it gradually became better. 

Progress is not a fixed quantity, it's an uphill battle, and it's not unwinnable. Everything's gotta start somewhere.

The Good Asian is a ongoing comic that I think does the best job I've seen yet of handling an Asian American detective protagonist, which is not really a high bar in the first place, and more to the point, The Good Asian illustrates the 2nd part: the reclaiming. The Good Asian deals a lot with the realities that a 1930s Asian-American detective would run into, the strained circumstances and relationships between said character and the world around him, because it's born from an author who took a look at Charlie Chan and Mr Moto and the like and recognized the potential in those stories that could not be fulfilled in it's time period by the people writing said stories. 

The Good Asian pays little reverence to Charlie Chan, but it acknowledges that it cannot exist without Charlie Chan, and it reclaims the Charlie Chan premise at the hands of someone more adequately equipped to tell a gripping story that goes places none of Charlie's contemporaries would ever go. Regardless of how good or bad of representation Charlie Chan was, Charlie Chan mattered and was beloved and inspired a better example for others to improve on or rebel against.

I desperately wish that I could google Charlie Chan without having to look at a guy in yellowface, and the ONLY way that's going to happen is if the character ever gets meaningfully brought back and reclaimed for good by people who can meaningfully tackle the character and present him as he should have always been presented.

And then, I imagine it would be a lot easier to show people on how swell Charlie really is. A true, positive role model and hero, who no longer has to look like a gross cartoon to be able to exist at all. Who can finally be what he was always meant to be, and always was deep down.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #charlie chan #detective fiction #the good asian #street fighter #blanka

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 1) John Deacon x Reader Series

I’ve read so many fan fics in the past four months and I thought it was high time to try my hand at it. I’ve created this side blog so that I can 1) Express my love for Queen and 2) Not annoy the randos from high school and college who still follow my main. This’ll be a slow burn folks, so hold on to your hats.

Series summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader (eventually)

Chapter Warnings: Lots o’ curses

Chapter Summary: This is basically just some set up for the series. No Deacy yet, but a meet-cute to happen very soon! I got the band name with the help of some random band name generator so be kind. I’m hoping to introduce in some songs readers may not have heard - I was thinking of “Heart of the Night” by Juice Newton while writing this, hence the single name and album.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

- - - - - - -

Days of Our Lives Documentary Shoot - 2010

(Brian May and Roger Taylor Joint Interview)

“The early 80s were huge for us, for sure. I believe we were at our biggest then, internationally speaking.” Brian states, glancing over to Roger.

“Yes, Another One Bites the Dust really set things a-flame I think. The traveling and playing were constant. The crowds getting bigger by the venue. Parties, hotels, girls, more parties. We were meeting just so many people.” Roger adds.

“And one of those being a certain American female rock singer.” The interviewer adds quietly from off-camera.

Roger glances over to him with a questioning look, but Brian catches on quick, like always.

“Ah yes, that particular rock goddess. We did meet her around then, I believe, yes. Maybe a few years after.” Brian says knowingly, still playing along.

Roger stares into space with a confused look on his face until the realization hits him. “Are we talking about Y/N?” Roger mutters to Brian. “Yes” Brian chuckles, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“Oh, what a spit-fire she is! Not back then though. Fred really worked some magic with that one. Almost inseparable those two were.” Roger laughs out, a wave of nostalgia washing over his face.

Brian raises his large eyebrows, “Deacy would beg to differ I think.”

Roger smirks, “Oh, well that’s a whole different story.”

- - - - - - -

1982 - MTV Studios, New York City

You run your hands up and down your thighs, trying to will your left knee to stop repeatedly bouncing up and down. The satin of your pants does nothing for the layer of sweat on your clammy hands. You fold them together in your lap and gaze around the studio instead, taking in the bustling of crew members as they ready for the pre-taped interview. The god-like VJ, Alan Hunter, sits in a chair off to the side as someone artfully pieces his blonde locks into place. He grins over at you with a small wave. You limply lift your hand in a greeting, pasting on a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

You catch your pained expression as you glimpse a monitor off-camera. A friendly woman backstage had painted your face to the point of being almost unrecognizable. Gone was the evidence under your eyes of the restless sleep you’d fought the previous night. They were wide and doed, rather than their normal crescent shape. Your lips full and vibrant, your hair bounced and fanned out around your face. And your skin seemed to be glowing, masking the spots that had popped up overnight from stress. You looked every bit the rock goddess the label hoped to paint you as, and the exact opposite of the nerves currently threatening to overtake your body.

“Y/N, I can feel you vibrating from here. Take a deep breath. It’s gonna be fine.” Rich commented from beside you. His legs were splayed out, his arms bent behind his head. Looking as relaxed as can be, as if he were on his couch at home catching a movie marathon, about to doze off.

“How can you be so calm right now?” You rush out. “Who knows how many people are going to see this interview. Do you know how many times a day I accidentally let the F word fly out of my mouth?”

Rich lets out a snort. “I happen to know exactly how much you curse, thank you. Yesterday you said fuck 3 times in one sentence. It was charming, my mom loved it.” He moves his right arm to squeeze around your shoulders. Usually, it would be a comforting display of friendship, but you shake it off.

“And look at those three. Already so at home, I see.” You nod to the three other members of the band. Steve is exuding energy like yourself, but it’s excitement that bubbles from him. His eyes flit around the room quickly as he taps out some unknown rhythm on his bent legs. A wide grin permanently fixed on his boyish features.

At the far end of the couch, Eddie and Lawrence are wrapped up in a not-so-silent game of knuckles.

“Son of a-- Will you take off those damn rings? It’s my turn and I’m still getting bruised.” Lawrence huffs. Eddie wiggles his long, skilled, silver-clad fingers in front of his face and raises his eyebrows. “It’s all about the look, baby. Gotta play the part of the guitar god.”

“Will you both knock it off.” You call over to them. “We need both those sets of hands in playing shape for tomorrow night.”

Eddie turns, probably to counter with some playful comment about how you mother them too much, but Alan approaches.

“Alright, guys. And girl.” He flashes his perfectly white teeth your way again. “We’re about 5 minutes out from going up. Anybody need anything? Water, vodka, beer…” He turns his gaze to Steve, who is still tapping lightly on his legs. “A Xanax, perhaps?”

“Waters all around would be great, thanks.” You offer. Alan nods to a twitchy PA waiting to his side and they hurry off.

“Oh wait up, a Bud Light too, if you have any!” Eddie calls after them. The other three boys echo the same as well.

“You can take the boys out of Long Island…” you mutter to yourself. Rich teasingly pokes your side. “And something stiff for the lady!” He shouts out.

“In all manner of ways” Steve giggles. You feign a shocked expression and reach over to place a gentle slap to the side of his head. He looks over with big apologetic eyes and you stifle a laugh.

In record time, the lanky PA rushes back over with a myriad of drinks, all threatening to topple over on the tray they were precariously balanced on. Another PA trails behind, handing you all water, which you’re in desperate need of. They hand the drinks out one by one and stop before you. “Your water, Miss. And I didn’t know what you liked so I have a jack and coke, a whiskey sour, and a gin and tonic.”

“The gin and tonic is great, thanks.” They hurriedly hand you the drink and go to turn away. “Love your hair by the way.” You tell them. “I’m absolute shit at styling mine. Guess I’ll have to learn now.” They smile back at you and run a hand through their short locks before disappearing amongst the rest of the crew.

“Okay, we’re ready to rock n’ roll!” Alan exclaims, getting the band’s attention as he sits down in a chair next to your side of the couch. “We’re going to start off with a few basics on the band. Your lower thirds will have your instruments labeled but feel free to explain how you guys started out, your influences, your process. I’ll prompt you in between and then we'll talk about the album and promote your upcoming tour towards the end. Should take 15 minutes tops, so keep your answers brief. But I won’t say no to any rowdy stories you want to throw in.” He finishes with a wink.

The band nods along as you gulp down a breath, your palms becoming even slicker. The stage manager’s high voice rings out around the studio. “Playback ready! Live to tape in 5.. 4...” Rich places a hand over your knee and gives a squeeze. “Light em’ up, Bun” he mutters in your ear.

“3.. 2..” She holds up a finger and then points it at Alan, a wide smile already set on his face. The camera light flicks red as the MTV open plays from speakers around the room. Alan beings as the song fades out.

“We’re here in the studio and boy, am I excited to get to know this next band. Over at MTV we’ve been watching the steady rise of their single “Heart of the Night” on the charts. And as an added surprise, they’re here to introduce their very first music video. I’m very pleased to welcome to the studio, Lo & The Limbs!”

You try to relax your face as a camera pans across the band and settles on a two-shot of you and Alan. You know your eyes are gleaming with anxiety so you glance down the couch, silently praying for one of the boys to take the lead.

“Thanks for having us Alan, it’s such a trip to be here.” Eddie says with ease, resting his forearms on his knees.

“So, I have to ask. Who is Lo? Is it you Lawerence?” Alan questions the piano player.

“Oh god, no.” Lawrence chuckles. “Our high school was affectionately called Lo High, for Long Island HighSchool of the Arts. So we sort of tacked that on while playing during those years to let people know where we were from. That and well, as you can see we’re all above 6 foot except for Y/N, so a lot of limbs going on here.”

Alan gives a short laugh. “You released your debut album, Quiet Lies, earlier this year to growing success. Why don’t you tell me how you all started out.”

“Well, the boys and I have been together for a few years. We’ve been friends since grade school and we always just used to jam about. As we got older we started playing local bars back on Long Island to mostly middle-aged crowds, trying to break in, but it wasn’t working. Then Rich had the idea to invite Y/N to join up and it’s all kind of all taken off from there.” Eddie explains.

“We needed a pretty face to balance out all these ugly mugs” Steve pipes up.

“It took a while for her to finally concede though. She was off being too studious for the likes of us.” Rich adds on with a smile and nudge to your side. Your eyes grow wide as you feel a question directed at you coming on.

“Is that true, Y/N?”

“I- I guess, I was at NYU studying documentary filmmaking.” You choke out, but continue on. “Love this lighting set up, by the way, it really hides all sins.” That gets a light chuckle out of the crew surrounding you.

“And these sins you’re hiding are…” Alan grins but quickly bounces to the next topic. “Certainly a good call, Rich. Heart of the Night is the only song off the album that Y/N is singing lead on and look how well it’s doing. How did that happen?”

“Most of our songs were already written from before when we finally got the money to record. We wanted Y/N to feel a part of it, so she went on and wrote Heart of the Night and we were all very pleasantly surprised that it’s become such a hit.” Steve explains. “She also directed the music video we’ll be debuting today. I can’t believe she let us do all the things we did in that… well, you’ll just have to see for yourselves. We can be a bit of a handful.” The boys all chuckle.

“That and she plays the weirdest collection of instruments. Rhythm guitar, any type of strings, the saxophone… She's a boss on the harmonica.” Eddie turns to you as he speaks. “You just need to get over those pesky little nerves about your singing, Bun!” He points in your direction.

You feel the heat rise behind your perfectly painted cheeks at the slip of your nickname. You cast your gaze down at your lap. Not liking how the conversation has turned directly onto you.

Alan quirks an eyebrow at you. “Bun?” He teases.

You have yet to lift your eyes when Rich answers for you. “Bunny, an affectionate nickname. It’s stuck around since grade school when she wandered into Lawrence's backyard in search of a rabbit she was chasing.”

“A rockstar called Bunny. There’s a first for everything.” Alan quips, but quickly notices your displeasure in the current topic. Sensing your growing panic, he addresses the rest of the group. “This has been quite the debut album, with more hits sure to come from it. Any bands you’ve taken inspiration from while writing and producing?”

Rich jumps at the question. “Fleetwood Mac would be a big one. The way they layer their sounds is just unmatchable. You catch something new with every listen of an album of theirs.”

“I can’t be a pianist from Long Island and not mention the granddaddy, Billy Joel.” Lawrence adds. “His songs take you on such a ride. They’re full stories, each one of them.”

“And you, Y/N?” Alan directs the next question. “Who will you be drawing inspiration from when you write your next hit single?”

You smile to yourself. “It’s gotta be Queen for me. I’ve loved every one of their albums. I mean, the way they’ve changed their sound just in the past few years alone. They’re always transcending. Never afraid to try out something new or weave a different genre into one of their songs. But you always know it’s a Queen song. I saw them 2 years ago when they played the Garden, and fu--” You catch yourself as you get more animated. “And they were all just so on. Perfectly in sync. There’s something so distinct about their sound, so practiced. I’d love to get to their level, to be able to experiment like that. To give joy in the way they’ve given it to me.” You finish. Realizing you’ve rambled for a bit, you turn your eyes downwards yet again.

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you talk since you came into the studio!” Alan laughs. “Well, you heard it here first folks, Y/N L/N is a Queen fan, just like the rest of us. I’m sure you’re just as excited about their new album as well.” You nod quickly as Rich hides a smile. Knowing full well you’ll be first in line to purchase their new album, Hot Space when it drops.

“But before you get off to writing more hits, I believe you have a tour coming up!” Alan states, signaling that the interview is wrapping up.

“Yeah, we have a small American tour starting in February. But until then we’ll be opening up for Hall and Oates during their tour of the NorthEast next month.” Steve says excitedly, bouncing slightly in his seat.

“And with that, I think we’ll roll into the long-anticipated music video and directorial debut for the lovely Y/N L/N. Thank you all so much for coming in today and I can’t wait to see what’s next on the horizon for you. Here’s Lo & The Limbs with Heart of the Night!” Alan keeps his painted smile till the red light vanishes from above the lens on the large pedestal camera in front of him.

You breathe out the breath you’d been choking on as Rich puts an arm around your shoulders. He leans in and whispers lightly, “And only one hint of a fuck, ladies and gentlemen. She might just make it in this business after all.”

- - - - - - -

One Month Later - Veterans Memorial Coliseum - New Haven, Connecticut

The Limbs bound off the stage in full force, glistening with sweat and excitement. It was the largest crowd they’d played for by far. 10,000 people cheered from the audience as roadies and crew moved around them to set up for the main act, Hall and Oates. Rich spreads his long arms and huddles the rest of the group into a family hug, your skin sticking to one another, the smell of sweat filling your noses.

“I just want us to all remember this moment.” He speaks to the group, foreheads touching. “Even if nothing happens past this album. That was insane.”

“Absolutely bonkers, dude!” Steve says and he bounces up and down beside you. You all take a deep collective breath and squeeze.

“Alright, get off of me you fucks.” You laugh, untangling yourself from their vast expanse of limbs. “We all stink and I have to get out of all... this” You gesture to the skin-tight bodysuit your best friend, Dawn, had insisted you wear. Eddie presses a light kiss to your temple as he lets you into the dressing room first to change out of their view.

You close the door and sigh, glancing at yourself in the mirrors that line one wall of the room. Your eyes are bright, your hair is two times the size of when you went out on stage an hour before, and your makeup looks like you’d been in a fight. Grinning to yourself, you start to unlatch the halter top of the bodysuit, excited for the air to cool your skin.

Just as you are about to shimmy out of the rest of the ensemble, the door bursts open.

“Shit! Lawrence, what the hell?!” Scrambling to cover your top half.

Lawrence trains his eyes to the ceiling as he speaks. “Bunny, you gotta… just cover up and get your ass out here. You just... You gotta see, c’mon.”

Flustered, you hurry to redress your sticky body. After making sure everything is properly covered, you step out into the hallway backstage, already glaring at the boys. They’re all tight-lipped, staring at one another. “Okay, someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” You say loudly. “Shhhhh” Rich hisses as he gestures behind him with a shake of his head. You glance over his shoulder to see the backs of two men. John Hall and Daryl Oates.

“Yeah, okay... I don’t get it. We’ve hung out with them like 5 times. Why are we fangirling?”

Rich widens his eyes at you and you glance back at them again. This time they part and you can catch a glimpse of who they’ve been talking to.

The flash of a tight leather jacket, a mustache, and two front teeth shining while laughter erupts from behind them.

You gasp.

“Fucking, fuck. That’s Freddie fucking Mercury.” You say, a bit too loud.

The bold man in question locks eyes with you. Something mischievous dances behind them as he narrows his gaze. Daryl and John move to their roadies to get fixed up before heading out on stage and Freddie lets out a sharp burst of laughter as he makes his way over. Your stomach churns with embarrassment but you can’t tear your eyes from his.

“Quite the redundancy of expletives, my dear. All you had to do was say hello.” he grins at you, all teeth. You’re not one to get too clammy in front of other musicians, but your voice gets trapped in your throat. You pray to whatever gods are out there that your eyes don’t get any wider.

Eddie’s easy charm luckily saves you. “This beautiful songstress right here is Y/N L/N.” You barely lift your arms as Freddie pulls you in for a light hug and kiss on the cheek. “But you can call her Bunny.” Eddie grins. So much for easy charm you think as you stare daggers into the profile of his face.

“Ha! Bunny? Oh my, that is wonderful.” Freddie chuckles. “It sounds as if you’re a socialite... Or a stripper. I can’t tell.” He beams at you. You can’t help but beam right back.

“Come along. Let us watch the show and you can tell me which one it is.” He says with a wink. “And introduce me to these giants you call your band.” He grabs your arm and leads you off, the boys in tow. Bouncing with excitement for what’s to come.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deacy fic #deaky x reader #deacy x reader #angelofmydreams

[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Saint Jude's Miracle: A Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) Fanfiction. Chapter VI

Summary: Javier and Steve reunite and reflect on their past and their present and the hurtful memories they have to carry from their time in Colombia. Meanwhile Isa struggles with her everyday life and not having news from Javier for days is starting to worry her.

Word count: 2,6k

Warnings: PTSD talks, mentions of violence. (This is me trying to solve one plothole from season 2 from a character I really liked and hated at the same time👀)

A/N: So this took longer than I thought, I completely lost the inspiration and words didn’t flow I had to restart this many times. I guess I will look at this in a few weeks and think I should have revised even more, but I promised to post this today, so there it is. This is plot and more plot with a little bit of angst and fluff at the end.

Series masterlist

Chapter VI: Old Friends

Time is a curious thing; here they are many years after: Their bodies are not the same; the jeans are tighter around the belly and the hair is already grey in some parts, wrinkles around the eyes bear witness of the years that had pass through them, but nonetheless the conversation flows as if not a day has passed.

The empty beers sit to the side of the table leaving a small pool of their condensation over the wooden table. The music is loud at the bar and Javi and Steve had been quite for a few minutes now. The question floating above them making the air thicker every second it passes without addressing the matter.

“I should have reach to you sooner” Javi says holding his half bottle, is it the fifth or sixth he has finished?

“Don’t worry about it” Steve shakes his head and leaves his bottle on the pile “I called a few times, but I thought you needed time to process it all”

“The thing is I didn’t” Javi shows half a smile “I really fucked up and when they gave me Cali I thought I could redeem myself. Tried to do it by the book, tried to outsmart them” he leans on the table “and what happened? It was a fucking charade” he snarls

“You did well getting all that shit on the news” the blond agent taps on his friend arm “Shit! I wanted to quit myself when I saw it”

“They didn’t give me another option. But...” Javi crosses his arms over his chest when he feels that familiar feeling, the words and feelings choking him

“You didn’t want to”

“Fuck, I’m a middle age man! This is what I’ve been doing for my whole life? What was I supposed to do?” he exhales deeply, a burden is lifted out of his chest

“Everybody said it was unfair if it helps” Steve consoles

“I guess not Stechner” Javi scoffs

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Steve comes close “He disappeared. For real, MIA. Nobody has heard from him in years”

“Well, I don’t wish death to anyone...” Javier shakes his head:” who am I kidding? Fuck him!”

The two of them laugh out loud for a few minutes; the waiter guessing that their laughs deserve another round; leaves two cold beers on their table with a wink

“For Stechner, I guess”

“May he rot in hell” and they drink together

“So...about that wife of yours” Steve has been dying to ask more about Isa and Connie has tasked him with getting all the information he can gather.

“Isa” Javier reaches for his wallet. In the small plastic pocket inside it, there’s a picture of the three of them on a photo booth, the same day they had to go to the mall to get Elvi’s photo for her school application.

Elvira is seated on their laps while Javi and Isa smile at her

“Oh, she’s gorgeous. You’ve been always lucky with the ladies, Javi”

“Well, I am. I don’t know how she bears with me. I give her too many headaches”

“Connie was happy when they stopped asking me to go on field operations. Not gonna lie, it felt good for a bit getting back to a desk and just do paperwork. But then...” Steve blue eyes look glossy in this light and after too many beers “I saw myself reflected on the glass doors of the office and shit, it hit me; I was old and dying on a desk. And then you called”

“I understand”

“When you said you were married with a kid, I really couldn’t believe that you and I were once those dudes in Colombia”

“It feels like a million years ago”

“And just a few days ago at the same time” completes Steve and Javier nods

“What does she know? your wife, how she handles all that?”

“She doesn’t. When I met her she was...first of all she had left Laredo before everybody knew me for the Escobar shit, so when we met, we were just two strangers. We could talk and I could kick everything under a rug and let her form an opinion about me by herself without interferences” his gaze wanders over the tables: families having a quite dinner; a couple that has an untouched plate in front of them while they kiss and talk in whispers.

“And after you married?” Steve asks interrupting his thoughts

“I just told her the necessary” he shakes his head the necessary is almost nothing.

“Well, it’s better that way, but I couldn’t hide it from Connie. Man! I was out control; everything and anything could trigger me. I was anxious, paranoid all the time. I woke up in the middle of the night, got my gun out of the safe if I heard a car tire exploding or any loud noise and I’d had my heart beating fast for hours. And let’s not talk about the nightmares”

“The helicopter?” Javi asks, his voice is thin almost a whisper remembering the extreme methods the police used when the hunt for Escobar was on its peak

“Yeah...and many others. I keep on seeing the two of us entering that house, but instead of finding Olivia crying, she’s dead, shot dead as her mum” Steve sniffs and coughs moving uncomfortably on his chair. “That’s when I looked for help”

Javier nods remembering so many nights where he thought his brain could kill him, reimaging that kid in the ally, rescuing Helena, all the things he saw when Los Pepes were unleashed. By your hand.

“We should call it a night, amigo”

“I see your Spanish has not improved. Just the two words you knew back in Colombia” Javi scoffs with a grin

“Cabrón”

“Yep, that’s the second one”

Isa

It’s been two days since he left and he hasn’t called. Isa tries to focus on everything she needs to do before Elvira starts the new school year. She has called Chucho every afternoon thinking that maybe he had some news, but nothing.

“Ese marido tuyo aguanto mientras Elvi era chiquita y ahora que pudo se largo” (Your husband stayed with you while Elvi was a baby and now that she’s grown, he has left you) her mother commented once she got the news that Javi was away and he hadn’t call in three days. News travel fast in a small town and she hears the comments about her, about Javi: he did it again, he left another woman and run away, he left her as he left Lorraine. Every day Isa had to struggle with her own thoughts and the constant reminder from her mother and the ladies in Laredo that something was wrong with Javier.

Her brain repeats the same litany:

He must be caught up in something

Maybe he’s somewhere where there’s not a good connection

Maybe he cannot call for security

Maybe he did run away

Maybe he’s in danger

She tries to stop her mind when it gets that fast spiraling down towards the darker scenarios she can imagine. On the third night after he left and hadn’t called she had a terrible nightmare and she had to keep her little night lamp on as she does every night he spends away and every day since then, the lamp is on while she rests, sleeping just for a few hours and then spending hours turning back and forth trying not to think about the worst possible things she can imagine. What would she do if he never comes back? What would she do if something bad happen to him? Even though they had made peace by making love in that old truck before parting she could not forget their arguments and the things left unsaid. He would never leave them like that, would he?

Isa tries to be calm, not to project her fears and worries onto her daughter but each day she’s challenged with the never ending things she has to do at home each day: laundry, cooking, cleaning, and every time she thinks she’s finished there’s something new that has come up. Elvira is stressed, as any kid her age, watching the summer slipping away with its long days of freedom on top of her dad being away. So she’s more agitated than usual, sassy and misbehaving just to get her mother’s attention.

The trip to the supermarket is a long chant of demands: I want Cereals, I want Ice cream. All Isa can hear is IwanIwantIwantIwant and the wheels of her shopping cart screeching on the ground. She thinks her wrist is about to snap open just trying to hold Elvira’s hand so she sticks to her side.

“It’s really crowded, cielo, stay with me” she sighs trying to be patient.

But the moment, Isa hesitates and looks down to read her shopping list, she’s out

“I’m gonna get my cereal”

“Elvi!”

Isabel gains a few complaints from some old lady that she almost railed over trying to run for her daughter.

“Oh, you want that one?”

“Yes, please. I can’t reach” Isa laughs softly watching her daughter acting polite and looking like an angel towards the stranger woman. The lady gives her the colorful box and Elvi jumps excitedly until she sees her mum at the end of the aisle.

“¿Qué te dije de que te separases de mi?” (What did I tell you about running away from me?” the little girl pouts and answers

“I thought you would say no if I ask for this”

“Ay, Elvi. I’m sorry if she bothered you” Isa smiles to the woman. She is on her 40s, Isa guesses, she has a beautiful elegant visage framed by a brown with blond highlights mane. She smiles widely with her scarlet lips: “No hay problema” (No problem) she answers in Spanish, her accent seems different to the Mexican-American accent Isa is used to listen to in this part of Texas.

“Gracias igualmente. Está obsesionada con esto que está lleno de azúcar” (Thank you anyway, she’s obsessed with this sugary thing” Isa ruffles her child’s hair

“La comprendo, mis hijos son igual” (I understand, my kids are the same)

“¿De dónde es? tiene un acento muy bonito” (Where are you from? you have a very beautiful accent) Isa asks, for a moment she thinks that she might be overstepping but the woman laughs softly patting Isa’s arm with her hand stylishly decorated in elegant gold and diamonds rings, her manicure is perfect.

“Colombia,pero ya llevo unos años acá en los Estados Unidos” (Colombia, but I’ve been here in the USA for a while now)

“¡Oh! me han dicho que es muy bonito” (I’ve been told it’s very beautiful) Elvi grabs her mum by the hem of her dress rushing her to finish the boring conversation, mainly because she wants to get back home and open the box of cereal “Bueno, un gusto” (Well, it’s been a pleasure) Isa waves

“¿Cómo se llama?” the woman asks when they’re leaving

“Isa, ¿y usted?” (Isa, and you?)

“Judy. Un placer” she grins

The TV has already passed to that late night teleshopping advertising stupid stuff with even more stupid people repeating again and again the same lame catchy phrases. But there’s silence at this hour, Elvi is sleeping soundly and now Isabel can rest on the sofa, eyes fixed on the stupid people on TV and her longing for Javier.

She took the laundry out of the dryer today. Mixed in all the clothes an old “University of Texas” t-shirt that Javi rarely wears around the house and that she has stolen as pajamas. Without even realizing it, she smelled the fabric only sensing the sweet scent of the softener she uses so she had rushed to the bathroom and sprinkled the t-shirt with Javi’s cologne. And now hugs herself silently praying that tonight will be the night he calls.

The TV volume is set to the minimum and when the strong ringing sound surrounds the house Isa thinks is coming from it until she realizes that is coming from the kitchen. She runs, stepping on Elvi’s toys and bumping her knee over the sofa. Limping she runs and picks up the phone

“Hello?” her voice is shaky

“Isa is me” Javi says on the other line

“Javi, thank God, where were you? You told me you will call when you’d arrive and it’s been three days and I...” she babbles

“I’m fine, I’m sorry...it’s been a little bit crazy” he sounds tired and he’s speaking softly as if he cannot raise his voice

“Are you okay? Are you in danger?” Isa sniffs, the tears rolling down and she leans on the cold tile wall of the kitchen

“No, it’s just we have to go to different places, meet a bunch of people. I didn’t have the time. I’m sorry Isa. Elvi’s sleeping I guess?”

“Yes, but she will be really happy to know that you called”

“I’ll try to call earlier tomorrow”

“Yes...please, she’s being a bit difficult lately”

“Why?” Isa can hear how the bed creaks on his end and his deep grunt

“I guess it’s the end of summer, you’re not here, my mum...”

He huffs

“Elvi told her we didn’t know where you where and you can imagine”

“She hates me even more”

“Don’t worry about her. Tell me about the job” Isa sits on the ground holding the phone on her shoulder

“Isa...I rather listen to you”

“I haven’t done much. Nothing interesting”

“It doesn’t matter” he answers

And thus she begins telling every tiny detail, Javi was silent on the other side and when she asks if he’s listening he just hums.

“Anyway...I guess that’s all. And I hope you’re not mad but your old university t-shirt has a new hole in it which somehow makes it even more comfortable”

“You’re wearing it now?”

“Yes...I miss you so it’s just like having your arms around me”

“I miss you too, Isa. I only have this old dude on the medallion and the picture I keep on my wallet to remind me of you...not that I need anything to remember you”

“That old dude...” she laughs “he’s a saint and I think he’s doing a good job for the moment”

“Really?” Isa smiles widely when she hears his deep chuckle on the other side

“You’ve said I miss you for the first time, I will say it’s even a miracle”

“What? I’ve told that plenty of times” he says a little bit offended “ but we’ve never been parted that much since we’re together”

“You don’t say you love me that much either...” Isa adds

“That’s not true” he says firmly

“Yes it is, I’m not mad, you express it in other ways. I’ve accepted that when I marry you”

“I’m sure I say it many times...”

“You can say it now...” she whispers

“I love you, Isa, and I miss you” he mutters

“See? Saint Jude is working its magic” Isa laughs. Her heart is full and she feels like an enormous weight has been lifted. He loves me, he’ll be back

“So I’m not a lost cause anymore?” Javi replies with an amused tone

“We’ll see when you get here”

“And you won’t say it back?”

“What?”

“That you love me and miss me”

“Ay, Javier” she sighs “I sleep every night waiting for you with the lights on, praying that you will get back to me soon, I sleep with your t-shirt and even if I don’t believe in it really, I keep praying and praying that you will be back to our bed, that I will turn and you’ll be there, so yeah, I miss you and I love you. Te amo”

“Yo también te amo”

“Good night, mi amor”

“Good night”

(taglist: @sara-alonso)

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal characters #Pedro Pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #Narcos #Narcos fic #Javier Peña x ofc #Javier Pena #Javi Peña #Javi Pena #Javier Pena fanfic

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 2

First part

Next

Perma tag: @nathleigh

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades

Tim wheeled his bike into the alleyway nearby and set the alarm to call him if someone messed with it beyond the normal ‘must touch cool thing’ instincts.

Once he was sure that his bike couldn’t be easily stolen, he turned back to where Marinette was waiting for him.

She struggled with her phone with her gloved fingers. His lips twitched into a grin and he took a moment to school his face into a neutral expression before he started over.

After a second, her head turned to look at him and she flashed a wink, pocketing her phone.

“Cheers!” She chirped, flashing him a wave.

Tim raised an eyebrow at her behind his domino mask. “I hate to break this to you, but that’s a British thing.”

He could only see the top half of her face, and yet he was sure she was pouting. “Kwami, this is Canada French all over again.”

“Canada --?”

“They speak the language all wrong,” she said, as if that made it make more sense.

“I feel like you’re implying that I speak English wrong.”

“Would you rather I say it outright? ‘Cheers’ is a cute word and it sucks that Americans don’t use it.”

“Is this really a hill you’re going to die on?”

“Not just a hill I’m going to die on, it’s the hill.”

He scoffed lightly at that, then turned to get the door for her. The moment they stepped inside they tensed. The silent stares pressed in on them on all sides and he felt Marinette shuffle just the slightest bit closer to him as they took their place in line. The Gothamites continued watching them -- no, they were watching her -- warily, and of course they were (new people in costumes usually meant pain for them).

Well, he could assure them she was safe, at least.

He slowly, carefully, threw his arm over his shoulders. Marinette’s hand twitched towards the arm on instinct to throw him off, but otherwise she didn’t give much indication that what was going on was weird. There were a few more tense seconds before people turned back to what they were doing, visibly relieved by the fact that she was apparently on the good side. Chatter started back up.

Marinette relaxed slightly under his arm and he gave her shoulder a little squeeze in a weak attempt at comfort.

“Kwami, I forgot how much being a new hero sucks.”

“Vigilante,” he corrected her absently.

She rolled her eyes. “At least try and make it sound like you’re not a cop with a bird theme.”

He sputtered, pulling away to cross his arms over his chest. “Hey!”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes!”

She rested her hands on her hips.

“We break laws!”

She snickered. “So do cops.”

Tim… didn’t have a retort for that. Luckily, he didn’t need to have one, because it was their turn to order. Neither of them hesitated and within a minute they had their drinks and were out the door. They waved for the few cameras pointed at them on their way out, false smiles lighting up their faces, and then quickly ducked back into the alleyway to have their drinks in privacy.

“I’m going to start going places as Red Robin more often since it seems to mean I’ll get served quicker,” joked Tim as he leaned against the wall.

She gave him a puff of laughter and then pulled the bottom of her mask up to take a sip of her caramel frappe. He watched her expression for a moment and then decided that it must have been good because she didn’t instantly recoil. He pulled his coffee to his lips and took a confident gulp, only to choke.

“Shit,” he hissed, fighting the urge to spit it out.

Now that he knew what to look for he could see the pain behind her eyes.

“It’s really bad,” she informed him, purposefully just a moment too late in her warning.

He huffed a little, looking at the cup in his hand. It’s an iced coffee! How do you even mess that up?

There was a beat as the two vigilantes considered their options, before giving each other shrugs and downing their drinks. It may have been bad, but at least it was caffeinated. Marinette, lucky her, had an easier time of it because she’d gotten whipped cream with hers. He was tempted to snatch the drink from her hands to have something to wash down the cup threatening to sully the good name of coffee for him…

But he didn’t have to. She smiled and offered him the last of her whipped cream. He squinted at it suspiciously as if expecting it to be poisoned. After the coffee incident just a moment before he wasn’t about to take any chances.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s actually good, promise.”

“If you’re lying I’m taking back vouching for you to Batman,” he told her.

Her eyes crinkled with mirth.

“I’m serious! If it’s terrible I’m marching back to the Batcave --!”

“All the way back?”

“Yes! All the way back to the Batcave! And I’m going to revoke my vouching!”

“Oh noooooo, not the vouching!” She said, bringing her hands to her cheeks in mock terror. When he continued to ‘glare’ at her she snickered and assured him that: “It’s fine, I’m pretty sure it’s from a can.”

He squinted at her, because canned whipped cream was still far below his normal standard, but he did end up taking it. It was… okay.

“See? Not poisoned.”

“Very suspicious thing to say unprompted but okay.”

She grinned, reaching over to swipe some cream off his nose. “You’ll die in exactly four hours”

He rolled his eyes. “Hm. I guess I should go home and work on making an antidote, then.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that. I’ll see you later.” She leaned forward and pressed her mask to his cheek in a sort of kiss before heading off.

He watched her leave, smiling to himself. He leaned back against his motorbike absently, thinking.

Well, he supposed he didn’t need to watch her to make sure she was safe anymore. She was Ladybug, she could take care of herself in a fight…

But then a thought occurred to him: she couldn’t detect him when he had been watching her earlier. He bit his lip anxiously. Sure, he was trained to evade detection but did he really want to chance it? In a place like Gotham the ability to tell when you’re being watched is an absolute must.

Okay. Fine. He’d watch her just a little longer…

~

Marinette frowned when her phone rang while she was doing some late-night work.

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, M’lady?”

A wide grin stretched across her face and she fell back in her bed. “Chaton! And here I was thinking you would never call!”

Adrien laughed. “Well, our time zones don’t exactly match up and I forgot that your sleep schedule is less of a schedule and more of a suggestion.”

“Fuck you, too, then.”

He laughed and she could hear him shifting around on the other side. She heard him zip something up on the other side and she lit up. “When’re you coming over?” He sighed and that was all it took to let her know that he had bad news. The momentary silence afterwards as he tried to figure out what to say was a good indication, too.

“I can’t, unfortunately. The Son of Hawkmoth moving away right after he gets jailed isn’t a good look. The United States Government isn’t that eager to have me, either.”

She wasn’t about to give up that easily. “Just steal the horse miraculous from Fu and come over illegally.”

He snorted. “Yeah, no, straight up disappearing is even more suspicious, thanks.”

Marinette frowned. She supposed that made sense…

She pulled her cat plush over so she could rest her head against it. “It’s so boring without you.”

“You’re making new friends, right?” He questioned, concerned. “I saw on the news that you’ve met the other vigilantes already.”

“Yeah, I guess… but they clearly don’t trust me.”

“Well, did you trust me when we started out?”

“No…”

“So give them time. They’ll realize you’re the best person on Earth soon enough.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, obviously. They’d have to be blind not to notice that.”

“Well, one of them is called Batman --.”

“I’m hanging up on you.”

He laughed at her and she smiled as she burrowed into her plush.

“Thanks, Chaton.”

“Anytime. Now, go to sleep.”

She rolled her eyes and hung up on him without promising him anything.

~

He leaned against the concrete of the roof, head on his arms to prevent scratching up his chin as he watched her through the window. He kind of worried about her having the blinds open like that, anyone could look in at her, but at least she closed it at night.

Still, he couldn’t deny that it certainly made things easier for him. She did most things by window light -- to save electricity, he theorized -- so he didn’t have to work all that hard to keep track of her.

Currently, she was working on stitching some pieces of an outfit. Her tongue poked out of her mouth a little when she concentrated, he had learned. A tiny part of him wondered if she did that as Ladybug, too, and he just couldn’t see it under her mask.

He kind of wished he could ask. Maybe one day he would (if they ever got close enough for him to reveal he’d been watching her without her knowledge, of course).

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts, and he groaned to himself as he synced his earbuds and picked up.

“Yeah, B, what do you need?”

~

Listen, Marinette liked her job. She had the privilege of designing most of the outfits she did and that was a lot of fun -- certainly more fun than working solely on commissions -- but… sometimes she just wants to be told what to do. Artist’s Block is real and it fucking sucks.

Thankfully, Gotham gave quite a bit of inspiration. The difference between Gotham and Paris was striking. Paris was pristine; lots of tourists meant keeping the city in a constant state of newness, all bright colors and surfaces so clean you can see your reflection in them. Gotham, on the other hand, felt exceptionally lived in; graffiti, decaying buildings, cracked sidewalks…

She found a nice vantage point that overlooked the city and looked out over the horizon. That was another difference between the two: the height of buildings in Gotham was far more varied than those of Paris. It was more interesting to look at, she thought.

(It had been a point of annoyance at night as she could no longer jump from rooftop to rooftop with ease, but that’s not the point here.)

Maybe she could do something inspired by all the different heights. Audrey would probably like a dress like that.

She smiled walking to a nearby gargoyle. Red graffiti dubbed them Charlie, and who was she to not use his preferred name?

“Hello, Charlie, may I sit on you?” She joked quietly.

Charlie did not answer, not that she really expected him to.

She perched herself on the gargoyle’s back and pulled her sketchbook from a secret pocket in her leather jacket. She hummed tunelessly as she sketched out the shape.

Layers of different lengths -- and different colors, too, of course, she thought as she pulled out some colored pens (what’s the point of different layers if you don’t make it rainbow?) -- and oh it definitely had to trail a little in the back for the drama…

Artist’s block hit her like a too-high wall on patrols as she stared at where the bodice needed to be. What should she do? Obviously it needed to be relatively simple otherwise she risked the dress being an eyesore but…

It was just her luck that the moment she came to a decision about what to do for the bodice and accessories is the moment the first water droplet hit her sketchbook. She pulled her gaze to the sky and noticed the storm cloud overhead.

Shit, it was starting to rain.

She looked back down at her sketchbook, irritation spiking under her skin.

Option one: tough it out and continue drawing so she doesn’t risk forgetting the idea she’d had.

Option two: don’t risk her outfit (or her health, she guessed) and just head inside like a sane person.

… Marinette chose option one. She wouldn’t be herself without the occasional bad decision.

She drew her jacket over her head and hunched over her sketchbook as she continued sketching out her design.

Except, after a few minutes, she didn’t feel the beat of the rain on her jacket. She blinked a few times because she could still hear the rain nearby and she started to wonder if she had died somehow before she caught the sound of someone moving just out of her seeing range.

She turned her head to see a man holding an umbrella over her head, her jacket falling back to rest on her shoulders.

She gave him a once over. It was a little paranoid, she could admit, but she was in Gotham; it paid to be cautious. He was wearing a thick trench coat and gloves, which was a big red flag. He also had open posture -- more open than was natural, actually -- what with his slight slouch and hands spread wide in a somewhat placating gesture. The only good thing was that he was keeping a respectful distance, even standing a bit in the rain in order to avoid crowding her.

… well, he had an umbrella, at least.

She gripped the gargoyle tighter with her legs just in case he decided he wanted to try and push her, then turned to face him more.

“Hi,” she said carefully.

“You know, it’s illegal to be up here,” he said, flashing her an almost blindingly white smile.

She grinned. “You’re breaking the law, too, then.”

“Yeah. I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me.”

She reached a pinky out and, after a second’s hesitation, he returned the gesture.

Deal made, he wiped some of the water away with gloved fingers and took a seat beside her.

He clearly trusted her more than she trusted him, even allowing his legs to hang over the side of the building. She wondered why, vaguely, but she couldn’t exactly go and ask...

So, instead she smiled and said: “Thanks for the help. Water stains are a bitch to get out of leather.”

“You’re welcome, but I really can’t believe you went out without an umbrella in this city of all places.”

She shrugged sheepishly. “I’m a little new here, to be honest.”

She watched him carefully out of the corner of his eyes. The man frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by her laughter.

“I’m kidding, I’m not stupid enough to genuinely tell someone that. I was just going for the Manic Pixie Dream Girl aesthetic.”

His shoulders relaxed in a way that would have been imperceptible if she hadn’t been trained to check body language. She let herself relax her grip on the gargoyle a little as well; he had been concerned about her right then, he was probably pretty safe. Safe enough to not strain her legs too much, at least.

“Well, I do like your aesthetic,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “The Manic Pixie Dream Girl stuff, my outfit, or what I’m drawing?”

“All of it. But mostly the outfit.”

She felt a faint blush rise to her face but she brushed him off with a: “Yeah, thanks, but I’m not about to start taking fashion advice from a guy in a trenchcoat.”

He gasped and brought his free hand to his chest in mock offense. “Excuse you, this is peak Gotham fashion!”

“It’s shady, that’s what it is.”

“That’s what Gotham fashion is!”

She couldn’t have rolled her eyes harder if she tried. And she did try.

Her gaze fell back to her work and she sighed as she pulled out her pens and started working on finishing up her sketch.

“So, what’re you up here for?” She asked because she didn’t want to risk him getting bored and leaving with the umbrella.

“Hm? Oh, I do photography in my spare time. Figured I’d scope out some new areas.”

“Know all the best places in Gotham?”

“You have no idea.” The man flashed her a grin. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone in person, though, so I figured I’d get some update shots.”

“Well, if we both need to go sightseeing around Gotham for our things, why not do it together?”

He raised an eyebrow at her but she could see the way his lips twitched downwards with concern. “Trust me that much already? We’ve just met.”

“Well, you seem like a nice guy...” She smirked. “And I could totally beat your ass.”

He scoffed and unbuttoned his trenchcoat to prove to her that he did, in fact, have muscles hidden beneath all those layers and she laughed before she noticed the shirt he was wearing.

Holy shit. She’d made that shirt. He was wearing one of her shirts. She could see the gold stitching partially hidden beneath his collar, and fuck maybe she was concerned about all the wrong things.

Her eyes narrowed in on him just slightly. He clearly wasn’t actively hiding the shirt and didn’t seem concerned that he had shown her, which meant he:

a) didn’t know she was MDC,

b) saw her as just another artist,

or c) was showing her on purpose so she could make an informed decision about being his friend.

So… he didn’t seem to be a threat to her.

Maybe she could do some checking up on him, though, just to be safe.

She smiled. “I realize I never got your name. Probably would be a problem if we’re going to be spending more time together from now on.”

He grinned. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to be friends with someone if you don’t even know their name. I’m Tim Drake.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said, watching his expression carefully.

He remained impassive. She wasn’t sure what that meant -- or if it meant anything at all, for that matter.

She pulled out her phone and offered it to him, taking the umbrella so he could type his number in with both hands. That done, she stuck the phone back in her pocket and smiled up at him.

“I’m stealing your umbrella, by the way,” she informed him, grip tightening on the handle in case he tried to take it back from her.

He grinned and made no move to do so. “If you must. Can you at least walk me inside the building before you run off with it?”

She giggled. “I guess I can do that, yes.”

~

It had been a long time since Tim had fanboyed this hard.

If he was any younger, he would have fallen back on his bed and squealed like a person in those old movies. As it were, he still wore a dopey smile.

He had MDC’s number! And not her work number, because he’d already had that, this was her real number!

And, even cooler, she might just let him go with her to get inspiration! Who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to watch one of their favorite artists do their thing?!

… oh, yeah, also the protection thing, obviously. That was the whole reason he was doing this, after all.

It would be so much easier to protect her if he went out with her on these excursions. Just being around men tended to ward off potential assailants. It was perfect!

Which meant he wouldn’t have any reason to follow her for her own protection anymore…

Wait, what about when she needed to go out for chores like groceries? She’d still need to be safe for that! Gotham is a scary place! What if someone tried to follo -- what if someone tried to mug her or something dangerous like that? No, she still needed his help!

Yeah, no, he has to do this. It’s for her own safety.

#haha this took forever dont @ me #timinette #timari #shutterbug #timmari #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #maribat #stalker x stalker

[bebepac]

WIP 07.22.2020

Guess what day it is, guess what day it is WIP WEDNESDAY!!! LOL.  Is anyone else wondering where the heck this week went?  Because I really am.  I’m still a little whipped from working 6 days last week,  but this is what I’ve got going on. 

I’m also planning on redoing my tag list on my fics next week, to see if people want to be on and off and shifted around, If anyone wants to be officially perma-tagged as when I started this blog I didn’t know what TF that meant.  LOL.  Also if you are interested in my Ellie Fic,  Chapter 1 is done, so if you would like a tag on that please let me know,  I posted a little more below as a teaser.  

I totally worked on these in the wrong order as inspiration struck me, so the fic I have finished, is the one I for real started last.  Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.  Because in my mind that made perfect sense.  Blame it on the alcohol yo.

I am leading first with Pop’s Place, as this is the one that surprised some people ALOT with what Liam told Mia about Drake’s relationship he’s still currently in.... apparently.... 

First up: 

Mom’s Birthday

Pop’s Place Chapter 7

*still in the writing process*

"Did you show her the pictures?"

"You were right she didn't even look through them all. If she did she would have realized they were from last year."

"And how did she take it?"

"It really hurt her feelings. I wasn't planning on her crying.  We shouldn't have done this Mollie."

"Oh good grief Liam, don't be a baby and get a conscience now. You’re gonna reap all the benefits, if you play your cards right. The way he broke up with me here, IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!!!!! Neville even thought it was funny.  Drake has it coming.  Where are you?"

"I'm at her place. She went to get us some drinks."

"He was going to ask her to be his girlfriend, when he got home you know.  From the vibe I got, he was pretty sure Mia would have said yes. So you're welcome."

"Thank you Mollie."

"You know we wouldn't have been able to do this to him, if he cared about social media. I'm surprised he even has his cell phone, not that it's working. He's going to walk into a shit show when he gets back.  So if you want to make her yours, you better move fast."

"I'm invited to her Mom's birthday party."

"Get you some!"

"I intend to."

"Damn, she's in for a treat, you're great in bed you know, Liam Rys."

"Oh I know."

Liam quickly put his phone away when Mia came back out of  the house with their favorite apple juice.

*^*^*^*^*^* Next Up *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The Fight Within

Fast Forward Chapter 12

*still in the writing process*

 Are you happy with the way your life has turned out?"

"Yes My Love. I love you, and our children more than life." He gently touched her stomach. I can't wait to meet our second little girl."

She placed her hand on his. "Can we talk about children?"

"Of course."

"This is going to be our last baby Liam, I don't want any more children."

"Riley why? You are an excellent mother."

"I feel like my attention is so divided."

"Well I know we were both against having a nanny, maybe that would help."

"It won't because, I don't want any more children. We will have two babies in diapers again. Two breastfeeding again. Do you know how tiring it is? Especially when none of them start out wanting to take a bottle? And don't look at me like that Liam, you have always been helpful there. Diaper changes, nightly cuddles and snuggles,  but sometimes babies just want Mommy. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had more than 2 consecutive nights of more than 4 hours of constant sleep? After I give birth, I am going to get a tubal ligation or you're gonna get snipped.  And I can already tell by the look on your face Liam, you don't want it to be you."

"Riley, I carry the royal bloodline of Cordonia."

"So do our children.  When this child is born, I will have given you four heirs Liam."

*^*^*^*^*^*^* Next Up*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Chapter 1: Crown Princess Blues

Ellie (Ali) Rys: Hartfeld University Student

*finished*

She wondered how Nic was going to take the news.  

She walked out of the palace down the walkway to the practice arena.   That is where the Junior Guards were practicing. Being a Junior Guard was a stepping stone to get into the King’s Guard Academy, which Nicolai was planning on doing to follow in his father’s footsteps.  

She always went on Tuesdays when Nico, her mother’s guard, was training them.  

“Your Highness,” he greeted her when she walked in.  

“I wanted to see our future guards in action, that will help defend The Crown someday.”  

“We live to serve The Crown!”  The group chanted, bowing to Crown Princess Ellie.  

She nodded in return.  

“As you were.”  He saw Ellie’s eyes find Nic’s from across the room.  A large smile quickly crossed his face.   He could tell by Ellie’s eyes, which were Riley’s beautiful eyes, she was smiling too, but her mannerisms were just like her father’s.  King Liam had taught her to hide her true feelings very well. But Ellie’s eyes were her mother’s, and they were a dead giveaway.  

Nico immediately saw how his son Nic’s demeanor had changed, and the bright pink flush that was on his face.

After watching them spar for about 30 minutes,  He decided to get them a break, which gave Nic a little time to talk to Ellie.  They quickly disappeared into a secluded alcove.  Nic couldn’t wait to kiss Ellie as soon as he knew it was safe. She ran her fingers through Nic’s hair as she kissed him.  Their kiss was so brief.  Nic leaned in again.

Ellie pecked his lips again softly.  “Save some for later,”  she smiled at him.  

“There’s something I need to tell you. I picked a University.”  

“That’s great Ellie.  Let me guess where.”  

Ellie noticed Nic’s smile start to fade after time after time she said no.

“Ellie where are you going to university?”

“To America,  Hartfeld University.”

The color drained from Nic’s face.  “Break’s over, I have to get back.”  

He didn’t even kiss Ellie goodbye, he just walked away.   He walked away quickly because he didn’t want Ellie to see him cry.

“Nicolai, wait!” Ellie called after him, but Nic walked even faster.  Ellie sighed walking back in the direction towards the palace.      

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^* next up *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

At Long Last

150 followers fanfic Giveaway

*still in writing process*

“Are you ready for bed my Love.”  

“Yes, I will be in a few minutes.”  Riley kissed Liam’s lips.  

“Excuse me?”  Jason said.

“We’re getting ready to go to sleep.”  Liam said, he tried to keep his voice level, as he didn’t know what Jason Brooks was getting at.

“Not in the same bed with my daughter you’re not.”  

Liam let out a surprised laugh.  He immediately felt Riley hit his arm.

“You’re serious.”  

“Yes the hell I am.  She’s not your wife yet, you’re not sharing a bed with her as long as I’m under this roof.”

“Dad this is his palace.”

“Jason you have lost your mind. Siri what are Cordonian jails like?”      

“I don’t give a flying fuck.  You’re not married to him yet Jelly Bean, and I want to keep your virtue intact.”  

Riley thought of all the things she had done with Liam… Yep… that virtue has been gone a long time ago.

She watched Liam and her father stare each other down.

Liam’s ears turned bright red, as he turned to Riley.  “My love.  I will have some things moved to your old suitor room.  I  will see to it that it is properly cleaned for you in the morning.”

Liam watched as Riley gathered some of her things, to take to the other room.

He slipped his arms around Riley’s waist.  “Maybe I can sneak down the hall and spend the night with you instead.”  

“Don’t even think about it, I’m a light sleeper.  Do you need any help with your things Jelly?”  

“I got it Dad.”

She settled in her room.   Liam sent her a selfie from the bed with him pointing to her side of the bed, where Chance was curled up.  “We miss you Love.”  

“Still want to marry me?”  

“Of course… but your dad is quite the character.”

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^* next up *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The Indescretions of the Father

Heroes and Villains Chapter 7

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^* earlier that day *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

“Love you look upset, what's wrong?”

“Your father…”

“I know I was supposed to be at your confessional and at the last possible second he told me I would not be attending and it would be him instead.”

“That’s not what.. Your father said some really inappropriate things to me.”

“Like what?”  

She went over the things Constantine had said during the confessional about her body and lust.

“My father would never talk to a woman like that.  You have to be taking what he’s saying out of context Riley.  I know you are still upset about the task Riley.  I am too….”

“Are you saying you don’t believe me Liam?”

“No that’s not at all what i’m saying Love.  If you would just cal.…..”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down Liam Rys!!!!!!!  Your father is disgusting, and talked about you and me together, and he stared at me like I was a piece of ass Liam.”  

“Riley please….”  

“You know what, don’t bother coming by the next couple of nights, I don’t think my schedule can accommodate you this week anyway.”

Liam watched Riley walk away slamming the door behind him.

“He didn’t believe you Riley? How could he not believe you?  I’ve seen the way Constantine stares at you when he knows Liam isn’t looking. King Constantine is a dog.”  

“So you believe me?”

He stroked Riley’s cheek gently kissing her lips.

“Of course I believe you Riley.  I know you wouldn’t be this upset if it didn’t happen.  Prince Liam can’t see who his father truly is because he’s too close.  I’m sorry he hurt you.”

He hugged Riley.

“I know a place that makes the best american cheese burgers and chocolate milk shakes.  Go put your sweat pants on girl, we’re gonna go there and eat until our stomachs are full and happy.”  

“No Greek tonight then?”

“You can have some Greek Meat if you would like later.”

Riley laughed.

“That was dirty Nico.”  

“Yet you’re still laughing.”

Still in the pipeline:  Life of Riley:  Beach Vacation:  It’s in my brain,  just nothing concrete typed out yet.  

*^*^*^*^*^* end of chapter teasers *^*^*^*^*^*^*^

What are you guys working on @burnsoslow @loveellamae @dcbbw @queenjilian @indiacater @hopefulmoonobject @bbrandy2002

Tagging some peeps that really expressed interest or had some very strong responses from the previous chapters of these. @hopelessromanticmonie  @atha68​ @queenwalton​ @debramcg1106 @axwalker @kingliam2019 @kimmiedoo5 @texaskitten30 @sanchita012 @mom2000aggie @gabesmommie1130 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @marshmallowsandfire @jared2612 @cordonia-gothqueen @batgirlassociationofgothamcity @losingbraincellseveryday @mrsdrakewalkerblog @sadlibrahours @cordonianroyalty @blueaster-blog1@choicesficwriterscreations

#bebepac writes #pop's place #fast forward #heroes and villains #at long last #ellie rys #crown princess ellie #trr fanfic #trr fandom #trh fanfic #trh fandom #trr mc x drake #trh mc x liam #trr mc x liam #riley brooks #king of cordonia #queen of cordonia #cordonia

[kinetic-elaboration]

November 13: 1x23 A Taste of Armageddon

Feeling pretty tired now, and it’s been a rough day, but I did rally to watch, and enjoy, an episode of Star Trek.

A diplomatic mission today. The Enterprise comes with friendly intentions!

I don’t entirely get this Ambassador or the back story here. They want to set up diplomatic relations with this solar system, because Federation members somehow get killed there a lot. But the Eminians don’t ever leave their solar system, so if the Federation is having problems with them it must be because the Federation is messing around in their space. So perhaps you could just no go there?

Mmm love Kirk being A Captain. “I’m thinking about this ship, my crew.” He’s not a fan of Ambassadors or people usurping his power.

And Spock seems very interested in all of this.

Aw yeah another cool 50s sci fi background! There are more of these than I remembered.

All of the interior hallways, as well as the exterior painting, are all nice and bright and multi-colored for those new color TVs.

It’s hard to pinpoint why, but I feel like this is an effectively Alien culture. Like maybe it’s the weird hats or the colorful hallways or the initial mysterious nature of them, but they just feel very not human, in a way ST alien guest stars don’t always manage imo.

Those annoying colonists lol. Sent them to a new planet and now they’re attacking us.

“If this is an attack... where’s the attack?”

Everyone in Star Trek does a lot of scanning and surveillance.

“Our civilization lives--the people die--but our culture goes on.” Literally America’s COG plans.

“I do not approve. I understand.” I love Spock so much.

The target has been “classified destroyed.” Kirk is confused and rightfully so.

Hmm, is Spock meditating?

Oh, there’s McCoy! Guess he didn’t get the memo yet that he and everyone else is dead.

Scotty know when Kirk’s voice isn’t Kirk’s voice. I love Scotty also and appreciate that he’s getting a bigger role at this point in the series.

I guess Spock is still a “Vulcanian.” Ngl... kind of wish they’d stuck with that. It has a certain ring. I feel like this is the first mention of their telepathic abilities--aside from the mind meld specifically. And they’re “limited” abilities. But not so limited that he can’t control that dude’s mind without touching him--and through a door. Mom suggested the ability is stronger with touch, which makes sense, especially as they do have psychic bonds with each other. But still. That looked pretty powerful to me.

Kirk is so apologetic about possibly being forced to kill.

“I’ll cover you.” It’s probably because of STXI that that affects me so much lol.

I can’t believe “there’s a multi-legged creature on your shoulder” worked! I remember seeing this ep for the first time and just completely losing it at that.

No one’s even gonna talk about the Prime Directive today, I guess.

So it’s already escalating as Anan said: real weapons used to destroy their weird suicide machines, now real weapons to attack the Enterprise.

Scotty’s not impressed by their fire power though.

If only Spock were here to be reminded of his father.

“The best diplomat I know is a fully activated phaser bank.” But they’re not military lmao.

Kirk is so turning up the charm again with Mea. But she’s not very susceptible to it and he’s getting kind of impatient, so it’s like Aggressive Charm.

I feel like this ambassador isn’t very smart. He’s too trusting, doesn’t seem to have great instincts. As opposed to Scotty, who is also Brave and Good, taking a stand.

“The haggis has hit the fan.” Please tell me that is not a real Scottish saying.

I know Kirk and Anan are supposed to be, like, tense and dangerous and threatening in this scene, but it’s reading almost flirty. “Would you...like a drink?” Kirk’s little finger crook thing.

You can tell he already has a plan at this point, which is kind of unusual in terms of Star Trek structure imo. Like usually you’re more with Kirk as he develops a plan, and here you’re watching him hint at the plan. “I don’t need my ship to destroy your whole planet” and so on.

“A man like that would have preferred to die fighting.”

How’d the diplomats get down to the planet? I thought the shields were still up.

They’re really giving Fox the Cliff’s Notes version of their society, huh? “Nice to meet you, you’re off to die now, sorry, really.”

Spock’s like “Oh, no, an Ambassador being killed?? How terrible...”

“Keep her from leaving. Sit on her if you have to.” Unexpectedly hilarious like wtf kind of order is that. And then the Yeoman like trying to look all fierce and Mea’s like “Yeah, okay,” eye roll.

“I’m practicing a peculiar variety of diplomacy.” Spock is such a bad ass. And he’s having a good time being action hero.This is why Vulcans think he’s weird.

Now he needs to find the Captain!

Kirk and Spock both using schoolyard tactics to win fights: tripping someone, the old spider trick. And they’re effective!

Quite possible even better than the spider scene is this ‘Spock comes to rescue his boyfriend and Kirk already has two guns trained on the room’ scene. “I thought you needed help.” / “Oh, I need the help.”

“We’re not going to kill today.” Honestly this one speech is deeper than all 7 seasons of the 100. Also more optimistic and nicer.

Kirk versus the computer again lol. This time, with firearms!

“A feeling is not much to go on.” IT IS IF IT’S A SIMPLE FEELING AMIRITE FELLAS?

“You almost make me believe in luck.” / “You almost make me believe in miracles.”

Honestly where the fuck is EITHER of those things coming from? Like no one was talking about luck and they definitely weren’t talking about miracles!! No one mentioned any miracles, Jim!!

He always gets so flirty after the danger is over, though. Every single time. “Ah, yes, all is well, now time to say something romantic or suggestive. As a treat.”

And then they play that weird comical music over Spock’s confused face as if that made it less queer.

So anyway this isn’t the official Vietnam War Episode but it’s kinda giving me Vietnam vibes. (According to the amazon trivia, I’m right: the computer tallies of the war dead was inspired by Vietnam causalities being shown on tv at night.) From an American perspective, it’s far away, it’s largely invisible, but it’s also long, it seems to exist for its own sake.

Also interesting that no one ever mentions why the two sides are fighting--probably because after 500 years, they don’t know. They just continue on in this mechanized, unceasing way.

That was a really good episode, and even though the actual danger of computer isn’t really what they predicted, I think it holds up regardless, in a different way.

I mean first of all technology has done a fair bit to sanitize war--the use of drones, for example, that allow the aggressors not to see their damage.

But also, and this is like only a half-thought really, but... One thing I think about a lot that the show didn't predict is that the internet allows us to see so much more than any other group of people in history. everything is very close, and there are pictures and videos and so on, from all over the world, available to you at any given time. I think this is very hard to deal with psychologically. So thinking about that in relation to this...it's a different balance but for the Eminians, war was both very real and close--it's constant, and people die all the time in huge numbers--but also very far away, because it's happening essentially hypothetically. So the dichotomy doesn’t line up in the same way but it still exists, imo.

And wow, that “we’re not going to kill today” speech. That was an interesting little wrinkle: that part of why the Eminians continued warring was because they felt like it was just inherently who they were. Their nature. Same philosophy espoused by all the grimdark showrunners of today. “I’m smart and brave and deep because I’m showing a mirror to humanity!! A MIRROR!”

And then here's Kirk, a Classic Hero, coming in and saying, "Yeah, wow, deep, you've determined that your species has a violent history. That's cool and all but have you considered that every single day you can consciously choose to make different, better choices?"

This was a good Kirk ep, a good Spock ep, and a good Scotty ep. It bums me out that he’s seen as comic relief now I guess... as my mom said, Scotty liked a joke but he was never comic relief.

I think it would be interesting to hear more of Spock’s thoughts in this ep, though. He’s the son of an ambassador and his people also had a warlike history that they dealt with in a way different to how humans do. But the method of problem solving of the Enterprise Captain and crew today was very martial, much more about brute force, and strategy as well, than peaceful talking--an overall plan I doubt many Vulcans would like. It would be interesting to hear how he thought of it all to himself.

Anyway, it’s getting late! Next up is a very decidedly good Spock ep, This Side of Paradise. Might be watching it on Wednesday so..not too long to wait!

#the year 2020 #2020: star trek #2020: fandom thoughts #star trek tos