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antifictionsfiction · 2 years

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Worth the Free Admission - Part 2/5

Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4

Fandom: Children’s Theater Critic with Alfred Molina

Pairing: Arthur H. Cartwright x gn!reader

Rating: T

Chapter summary: Cartwright takes you up on your offer and shows up to a rehearsal. For some reason he seems significantly less self-assured than when you first met him.

Warnings/tags: age difference, insecurity, mutual pining

Chapter word count: 1644

A/N: Once again, major thanks to my friend B. (@scorsesedepalmafan ) for support and creating and providing the lovely gif! ❤ And a special shout-out to my friend Anna (@castanierprosper ) 😊

Even after persuading yourself over and over that you wouldn’t take Cartwright’s upcoming visit into account when preparing for the class, your notebook was overflowing with detailed notes. Your planning seemed to cover every minute of the usual two-hour class and then some. Even as you were waiting for Cartwright to arrive in the rehearsal room, you were speed-reading through all twenty pages – again. You were sitting on the edge of the small stage at the far end of the room, surrounded by scattered papers, pencils and paper clips. You had some cleaning up to do before the kids came and made an even bigger mess of your own chaos.

A knock on the door – far too polite to signal Cartwright’s arrival to you right away – finally drew your attention away from the notes. Just as you invited the interrupter in, the door flew open, apparently by accident. The large man you would recognize anywhere now took a leap and reached for it to prevent it from slamming into the wall. With Cartwright’s long limbs coming into play, the whole situation looked exceptionally comical. As if to complete the gag, Cartwright then proceeded to adjust his glasses that had gone askew with his sudden movement, and blurted out an apologetic greeting. You observed he had remembered not only your last name, but also the first. And you had thought you were the only one who had set out to impress today.

“Mr. Cartwright, a pleasure to see you again,” you got up from the stage and walked up to him with an extended hand ready to shake. You were yet to decide whether your words were just a pleasantry or not. Cartwright, on the other hand, appeared genuinely pleased, once he got over the shock of his own entrance.

“I am not interrupting your work, am I?” he asked, pointing to the open notebook and pages of your latest script spread across the stage.

“Well, you are about thirty minutes early,” you chuckled. Of course ‘on time’ meant ‘unnecessarily early’ in his language. Well, at least you didn’t have to clean up all on your own, “But no. I was just going over my notes for today’s class.”

“Ah, I see you do take advice. May I take a look?”

You ignored the condescending subtext of his remark, knowing there would be many other opportunities to get defensive later. Instead, you led him over to your makeshift working space and handed him the notebook after checking it was open on the right page, vary of the more personal nature of some of the entries. Cartwright flipped through the pages, with a satisfied nod or a hum every now and then.

“Yes, this is very good. I have to say I’m impressed by your planning skills. Of course, my guess would be your lesson plans work significantly better on paper than in practice, much like your play. But we can build on this.” He handed you the notebook back, looking at you with certain expectation. Was this a compliment? Was it constructive criticism? Was it just criticism? What you knew for sure was that it was a prompt for you to take charge of your own goddamn work.

“Right. First we need to get the space ready for rehearsing. I’d really appreciate your help, can you bring out those boxes over there, please?” you directed him towards a tall shelf rack with a couple of boxes placed on the top shelf, well out of your reach. Cartwright didn’t even need a chair. You were almost beginning to believe inviting him here was a smart idea.

---

Cartwright had responded to your offer to join the kids in the warmups with a resolute ‘no’, and now he was occupying your favorite chair while you were physically engaging in the exercises. You had underestimated his ability to comment even on the most basic of warmups, but here he was virtually dissecting six-year-old Andy’s take on a walk through the forest.

“Are you wearing shoes? Are the soles of your socks made of steel? If you are walking barefoot, where’s the discomfort? Where’s the pain? You need to make a creative choice and follow it with an action!” The boy had slowed down, walking in a circle in uncertain wobbly steps, trying to follow instructions he couldn’t decipher. You gave Cartwright a quick ‘let me take care of it’ look and took over again.

“The forest floor is full of rocks, crunchy leaves and protruding roots, how does it feel? Is it easy to walk on?” you asked.

“No!” the kids echoed.

“Well, then maybe making careful steps and rising your knees higher will help,” you suggested and observed the focus in the kids’ faces as they took more deliberate steps, some of them even going as far as wincing in pain from stepping on a particularly sharp imaginary rock or root. You praised them all, and even Cartwright seemed satisfied with the progress - not that it was his accomplishment, even if he most likely thought otherwise.

At first you found it quite easy to deflect his pompous input just by overlooking it and carrying on the way you usually would. However, coming into the second half of the class, you could tell he was getting restless. Something about the way he hunched in the chair sent an image of a big, neglected dog into your brain and suddenly you almost felt guilty for ignoring him.

“Mr. Cartwright, are you sure you don’t want to join us? We’re going to move onto some improv skits now, it would be wonderful if you could contribute with some ideas,” you offered him your hand with a smile. He gaped at you in disbelief for a few seconds before getting his words out.

“No! I couldn’t- I can give you my thoughts on the performance, I- I’m not an expert-“ You cut him off mid-sentence, by leaning in a little and lowering your voice.

“Mr. Cartwright, they’re children, remember? They’ll eat up any crazy idea they hear, especially if it’s coming from me. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they love yours, too. Alright?”

“Alright,” he gave a sheepish nod, taking your hand and following you to the stage.

God, his hand was so comfortingly large and warm, heating up your own – and you couldn’t explain where that thought had come from for the life of you. You quickly dropped said hand to avoid the possibility of any further thoughts of this kind emerging. You cleared your throat both to get the kids’ attention and end the moment of odd tension you had accidentally created. If you had the courage to sneak a look at Cartwright, you would see the rather prominent blush spread all the way up to where the rim of his glasses rested on his cheekbones.

“Do we have to play with him?” asked Ollie, pointing at Cartwright. It was an innocent and understandable question, given Ollie’s experience. But it didn’t exactly work in favor of your pursuit of peace. You could feel the critic tense behind you without needing to look at him. You hoped the other kids wouldn’t join in, because the idea of defending Cartwright against a gang of annoyed children somehow terrified you more than defending the kids against Cartwright had.

“Ollie, come here for a minute,” you pulled him towards you and Cartwright and stepped away from the stage to get a shadow of privacy. Humiliating the boy in front of the rest of the class would never be on the menu again.

“I know you didn’t mean it, but what you just said didn’t make Mr. Cartwright feel great. Is that right Mr. Cartwright?” you raised your brows, signaling to Cartwright to clarify his feelings. He didn’t.

“I erm-“

“But he was so mean to me and he hates how I play,” sniffled Ollie. So he had taken something from Cartwright’s critique after all, something you would have to tackle in the future.

“He doesn’t hate your acting, Ollie. I think you both said ugly things to each other, but you can still be friends if you apologize to each other, hm? Mr. Cartwright?”

Although Cartwright had taken off his specs, there was a glassy shine to his eyes, not nearly as though he was on the verge of tears, but something was going on inside his head.

“Yes, I apologize, dear boy. Despite the obvious shortcomings of your perform-“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence again as you jabbed your elbow into his side with enough force to throw him off. He shot you an alarmed glance but got the point of your little message.

“I apologize, Ollie,” he corrected himself. You touched Ollie’s upper back, urging him to take his turn apologizing.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cartwright,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the ground.

“Call me Arthur.” Cartwright smiled and grasped Ollie’s tiny hand in his massive one, “Everyone, you can call me Arthur,” he called out to the class, obviously having taken note that the class called you by your first name too. The kids all started giggling and shouting Cartwright’s name like a mantra, all while pulling him into the midst of their miniature crowd. Cartwright’s attempts to free himself from their clutches fell flat, but you could tell he wasn’t using even a snippet of his true strength. Above all, he appeared to be relieved by the sudden change in their attitude towards him.

“Alright, release Arthur so that he can help you come up with new characters for this little story we’ll be playing!”

Your order was met with ten excited yesses and squeals and the kids plopped down onto the stage, waiting for further instructions from you. You and Cartwright joined them on the ground, and before you went on to explain the next task, you noticed him watching you with a slight grateful smile.

#arthur h. cartwright x reader #worth the free admission #alfred molina x reader #alfred molina fanfiction #arthur h cartwright x reader #alfred molina #funny or die #gender neutral reader #rated t

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ilcaeryx · 3 years

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Cascade [Gojo Satoru/Reader]

Summary: Satoru picks you up after a wild night in Tokyo’s party districts. While he’s dying to be more than your close friend, he won’t act until he’s certain you want him, too.

Tags: Gojo Satoru/Reader, Cute, Fluff, Humor, Slight angst, Nightlife, Pining, Pre-relationship

Word Count: Almost 2k

Author’s Note: Feels good to complete something. I listened to The Rose’s cover of ILYSB while writing this.

---

Gojo Satoru’s 1AM drive to one of Tokyo’s nightlife district was strictly for serious business. While he would fit into the crowd of youthful people enjoying the neon stinging their eyes and body contact with at least four strangers at all times, he had zero intentions on partying. Indeed, his sole mission was to retrieve a package – that package being you.

Lulled into rumination by the car engines constant humming, Satoru pondered about your occupation of his mind. Even though his days were busy, he would associate the concept of you with quite literally anything. Bickering with the higher ups? He could envision himself cranking up the drama as he told you the story, smiling smugly inwards at you cooking him comfort food to soothe ‘his stressful day’. Whenever something hilarious or crazy happened, he would automatically think ‘I’ll tell Y/N this later’. One would expect it would annoy him but it was not the case; Satoru was entertained by his daily fantasies, very much enthralled by the walking-on-clouds-feeling his body would produce during his mental escapades. If one Y/N thought equalled one endorphin molecule, he was experiencing a cascade.

His first thought after awakening every morning was your face between his palms, his fingers frigid against your temples. If things between you two ever developed, one day your face would be his first experience that day, every day for the rest of his life. Right now, Satoru would pin your relationship as close friends. As much as he would overinterpret your behaviour towards him, he was quite certain you were not interested in discovering whatever else could unfold between the two of you. Not yet, his positive inner self protested. Maybe never, his negative inner self retorted.

Despite his conflicting emotions, he gathered himself up into a presentable version of himself while he walked to the nightclub your friend had mentioned. Your safety was his number one priority right now, regardless if you were into him romantically or not.

~~~

“Text me when you’re home!” you yelled over the pulsating music, bidding your friend farewell by blowing her a kiss. In a dramatic motion, she caught the invisible kiss in her palm and clutched it against her chest.

“I will! Stay safe, bitch!” she screeched back before submerging into the human current outside the club, her cursed energy swashing to and fro like a solar flare.

Even though his evening had been a cozy movie-night in his bedroom, Satoru’s limbs felt heavy from looking at you. With your shoulders drooping and hands massaging your left thigh, you were finally punished from dancing non-stop all evening. Indeed, your hair clung to your forehead, neck and upper arms, intermingling with the shining perspiration on your skin. Nevertheless, you seemed to relish in whatever banger was playing inside as you were gently swaying side to side.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said, pre-emptively shushing him with your index finger in the air. “But I’ll take a shower once I’m home.”

“I was actually thinking that I should’ve brought a towel, considering that your sweat’ll soak the car seat,” he said and tucked some slick strands away from your face. Your mortified look cracked him up. “It’s fine, I’ll lend you my jacket.”

“Your expensive-ass jacket? Thanks, I’d rather freeze to death.”

He rolled back his shoulders as he slid his jacked halfway down his back, hands still in his pockets. A little disappointment tinged his tongue. “Are you sure? I warmed it up just for you.”

“Yeah, stop stripping and let’s get the hell out of here.” You smacked his back with an open hand, pushing him onwards. “God, I can’t wait until we get home. I’m so tired. Are we going to your place?”

Let’s not read into anything, Satoru thought. ‘Anything’ meant both your off-hand comment about his place and the fact that your hand remained steady on his back even after you two joined the crowd. Physical closeness wasn’t anything new between you but the context provided another layer of complexity to read into. Suddenly, being the completely sober adult in charge seemed like too heavy a responsibility for him...

Without meaning to, his back tensed up. “No, you weirdo. You can sleep off the alcohol in your own bed.”

You either weren’t bothered by his tenseness or you didn’t notice, as you shifted your hand around his waist. You carefully leaned against his arm. “Sounds boring. Don’t you want to talk all night?”

Like always, your presence burned his arm, enough that he was unable to feel the strangers he bumped into on his other side. This was a sign, right? Or were you flirting as a friend? In the past, he had people confess their ‘love’ for him and apparently they thought his teasing and touching meant he fancied them. Being extremely lovable wasn’t easy, especially not when any platonic affection could be re-constructed as romantic by the other part. You, too, were extremely lovable and affectionate… Had he been in your shoes, this proximity wouldn’t have had any romantic subtext. But unlike him, you had a good personality… This could be the night you two finally spoke about whatever was between you two.

Or the night where you lose a friend because of your stupidity, his negativity brought up.

It had a point. Yeah, you were a good person and a terrific friend – he’d be an idiot if he lost you. Compared to his co-workers and allies, you were awfully soft; he liked how you doted on him, even when he was a pain in the ass. If you rejected him now, your dynamic wouldn’t be the same and his life would be much harder for it.

“We can talk later today,” he said, his arm automatically shooting out to stop an accidental elbow-right-into-your-chest-accident. He settled his arm around your shoulder after giving the guy the evil guy through his glasses. Watch your limbs, man.!

“That was close,” you said, sighing. “Thank you, Satoru! I’m sorry about having to call you out this late, by the way. Did I wake up you?”

He both cursed and rejoiced on the inside now that you changed subject. “Couldn’t be helped that your friend had an emergency. Next time, try to wake me up later for an early breakfast instead.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us.”

His lips faltered slightly, smile not feeling as genuine. He adjusted the collar on his jacket to hide it. “To the nightclub?”

Your index finger jabbed into his side accusingly. “Anywhere! Last time we hung out was… uh…”

This was the first time in a few weeks you two had spoken in person by yourselves. As you both mostly met together with your friends, you tended to invite him whenever the gang planned something. He admitted to himself that he often declined because he only wanted your company, but you never offered to join him instead. Whenever he invited you out, you’d be perfectly alright with hanging out just the two of you, though.

“Two weeks ago?” He squinted into the lights of an incoming car. “It’s because of work but-“

“I’m not a hikikomori, you bastard – I’ve got a job too, but I’ll make time for you, you know?”

You’d make time for anyone, Satoru thought, somewhat discouraged.

The crowd thinned out as you entered the parking lot, though the place was jam-packed with cars. Both of you remained quiet as you passed by couples on the way to Satoru’s car. When you detached yourself from his side, he rustled your hair. You stood on your tippy-toes to return the favour, messing up his hair worse than he did yours. He liked seeing you struggle to reach his head, so he didn’t mind.

“I missed you, scarecrow,” you said, pinching his cheek. He elongated his smile to feel one knuckle touch his lips. “What is the gremlin and scarecrow duo without the scarecrow?”

~~~

Slumped against the window, you were peaceful the entire ride home. Every so often, Satoru would catch a glimpse of your sleepy face and his heart would clam up. He made the right decision in picking you up, even though he aged weeks in those twenty minutes you two had spoken. Your interactions followed a pattern: he’d look forward to meeting you, creating fantasies and expectations of what could be; when you were with him, he would attempt not to ruin your current friendship to the point where he’d feel sick; and whenever you two parted, he’d overindulge in his memories. In two days, he’d be prepared to undergo this rollercoaster once again.

He drove into your street and called your name.

You immediately woke up and looked outside. “What time is it?”

“Almost 2AM…” he exhaled deeply, hands falling into his lap. He still had to drive home, so he’d be in bed in 30 minutes.

“Everything hurts,” you said, bending forward to readjust your high heels. “My legs are killing me… I won’t be able to walk tomorrow. I’m not sure I can walk now.”

He understood what the lilting tone at the end of your sentence meant and with great effort he stepped out of the car. Your giddiness as he opened the car-door on your side was intoxicating, as was the feeling of seeing you stretch your arms towards his neck. He cradled one arm below your thighs and one behind your back.

“Watch your head,” you chided softly into his ear, covering the top of his head as he carried you out of the car.

“Gimme keys.” Satoru leaned slightly backwards to account for your weight as you handed him the key to your apartment. With your bare arms against his neck, he would be surprised if you didn’t notice how his pulse rose.

Your apartment door opened and he stepped into darkness, shutting it behind his back.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, heading for your bedroom with his shoes on. Your teeny apartment had a teeny bedroom with a single sized bed.

“Say, Satoru,” you said, your cheek pressed below his ear, “are you sure you don’t want to stay and talk?”

“Just go to sleep, Y/N.” Satoru leaned over your bed to carefully lay you down. Your grip on his neck loosened and he thought you’d comply until you kissed his neck, his soul almost as soft as your lips.

“What about now?” you asked and released your arms, falling onto your bed. Your hair spilled around you, a gloria around your tired face. “I’ll let you sleep in my bed, if you want to.”

Honestly, he wanted this. Everything he’d thought of earlier this night could become true if he gave in, which was insane enough to send his head swimming. He’d endure this cramped bed for you, even with his feet being colder than hell and his back aching from sleeping on his side. Gojo Satoru was more than ready.

However, he did not want this to backfire. What if you were simply too horny, lonely, exhausted or intoxicated to consider the consequences right now?

You rolled towards the wall, leaning on your side. Your eyelids fluttered weakly, your exhaustion almost overtaking your body and yet you found enough strength to pat the empty space beside you. “See, there’s space. I’ll always leave space for you.”

Ah, fuck it.

Satoru’s personality was bad; his attitude was self-indulgent; his morality was concrete grey; and his discipline when it came to you near non-existent. If you awoke tomorrow and found that you had fallen asleep with the love of your life – then great, you were both on the same page. If he had completely misunderstood your intentions, he would absolutely bullshit his way out of trouble, like he always did. Whatever, everything’d be alright someday.

---

If you enjoyed this, give me a like/follow/reblog/comment/scream into the void. I hope everyone had a good New Year and let’s hope that 2021 is kind.

Started this 22/11/2020, finished 10/01/2021.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #gojo satoru x reader #jjk reader inserts

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

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Your place Part 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (High School AU)

Warnings: yandere, obsession, bullying, degradation, dubcon.

Words: 1776.

Summary: You suffer in the arms of America’s golden boy, the one who has been bullying you for years.

Part 1

P.S. Some more smut, finally! All characters had reached 18 years of age. Hope you’ll enjoy!

______________

"Are you going to come on Saturday?"

Steve moved his hand down your naked belly, watching you laying close to him on your bed and breathing softly. You glanced back at him, his handsome features illuminated by the dim light coming from the lamp on your nightstand.

"Where to?" You asked as he covered the back of your hand with his palm twice bigger than yours.

"The field house. We have a game."

He traced your knuckles with his fingertips and you thought how odd Steve was. Who could have thought the school's biggest bully was such a cuddle-bug after sex? It wasn't bad, though. You actually liked this side of him.

"Sure."

You weren't interested much in basketball or any other sports, but it was easier to come rather then fight Steve again. He was stubborn like a mule. Besides, a part of you felt like you belong there - many of your classmates were coming to see almost every game.

Why did Steve care whether you were there or not? Surely, he had already been showing you off in front of everyone as much as he could as if you were his trophy - now you sat close to him in class and then in cafeteria during lunch time; he was dragging you with him after classes along with his stupid friends. The whole school knew the nature of your relationship, and the first weeks it was making you bitter and hateful. Steve Rogers head fucking forced himself on you, yet instead of sympathy all you got was an enormous amount of jealousy. You were still receiving hate mailes dropped into your locker. The girls kept whispering curses behind your back as you walked down the corridors with Steve and his pack of wolves. He was able to make everyone silent, though. Now even his friends had no right to bully you like before. He reserved it purely for himself.

"Did you buy yourself a dress?"

"What dress?" You blinked in confusion. "Do I need a dress on Saturday?"

Steve smiled at you and leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"No, kitten, I'm talking about the prom."

You rolled your eyes at his words. Of course, Steve Rogers needed to show off everywhere he possibly could - he definitely hoped to become prom king. You, on the contrary, didn't care much. In fact, you didn't want to come there at all. You hardly had any friends at school, and coming to watch Steve flashing his smile and basking in the rays of glory would only make you more irritated with him.

"No, I didn't."

"Then we could go together. I know one nice place."

"Where? 5th Avenue again?"

You smirked, watching the guy frown. Last time you went shopping together was a nightmare for you. You ended up with several bags of expensive lingerie Steve paid for, and you were disgusted at yourself for giving in to him. True, his family was twice wealtier than yours, but it didn't mean you wanted anything from him. Except for leaving you alone, that is.

"And what of it?" Rogers asked you sharply, rising above you. "If I want to buy you a dress, I will."

You sighed, turning your head to Steve and pulling your body closer against his. You learned to enjoy this intimacy with time as he taught you what making love to each other meant. You were pleasantly surprised at his efforts to make you feel good.

"Steve, please. I don't want to think of it now. It's... ruining the mood."

He purred as you caressed his blonde hair and snuggled closer to you, dropping little kisses to your face and touching your cheek affectionately. Steve loved being tender. You believed he had a real physical need to touch you one way or another, often without any sexual subtext at all. It was almost as bad as his need to bully you verbally, especially when he was aroused. You were still learning how to cope with that.

If only he didn't make those photos of you and him in the locker room that time. It was the only reason you obeyed him three months ago when he declared he wanted to keep you close. You didn't know if Steve had stored those pictures somewhere, but you weren't worried about them anymore. His obvious obsession with you would keep him from showing photos of you naked with his cock buried inside your wet cunt to the hilt. You could walk away now, yet everything wasn't as easy as before. Steve made sure to gain trust of your parents, pretending to be the perfect caring boyfriend to you and just a very good guy to everyone else. He also made you meet his parents who turned out to be surprisingly nice, nothing like their son. Steve's mother Sarah took an immediate liking to you and often sent you a huge piece of her famous raspberry pie. It was a highlight of your day when Steve handed it to you during lunch. If you broke up with him now, you were sure he'd make up some story where you were the one to blame, and it would make your life even more miserable.

"Why are we doing this, Steve?" You asked him quietly as he played with a lock of your shiny hair. When be looked back at you, you realized he knew what you were talking about.

"What do you mean?" He grunted in return.

"You know this can't last forever." You said, your voice tired. "There are only a few months left before the graduation."

You were still stroking his hair as he bit down on his plump lower lip, his eyes not leaving your face as he stared down at you from above. There was something unsettling in his gaze, something dark, even scary, but you refused to be afraid of his temper tantrums.

"We're applying to different colleges, and they're not close to each other. How do you think we can keep... this going?"

Steve struggled for words, and you saw he was getting frustrated. It was odd - he liked to use aggression as his shield, rarely showing his vulnerable side to anyone and barking off whatever accusation you threw at him. Yet here you were, looking at the guy who couldn't utter a word to answer a simple question.

Was it despair you saw on his pretty face?

"You can choose the same place, too."

"Are you joking? My family would have so sell our house to pay for my studies then." You let out a sigh.

"You can apply for a grant. With your grades it's not impossible."

"Steve, let's be realistic. You wanna go to Columbia University. Do you have any idea how many people are applying for a grant to study there?" You said and, seeing him getting more agitated, wrapped your hands around his muscular shoulders, reaching out to kiss him again.

He deepened the kiss immediately, swirling his tongue around yours and then licking the insides of your mouth when you mewled softly beneath him. The soft vibration against his lips made Steve shivered from pleasure. He spent a bit more time rolling the tip of his tongue all the way around yours and finally released you, dropping a kiss to your chin.

"If you can't make it, I'm going to apply to the same place as you." He whispered, and you felt his cock gradually getting harder. "I'm sure they'll be happy to take me."

"Steve, you're mad." You shaked your head. "What are your parents going to say? They want the best for y-"

"I don't care what they want, it's up to me to decide." The guy growled and bit your lower lip gently, lowering himself on top of you again. "You're my girl, and my girl is going with me. I still have those photos in case you forgot."

"Ah!"

You squeezed your eyes shut as his fingers touched your overstimulated clit, rubbing it skillfully as you squirmed. Your mouth fell agape as you were left gasping for air, trapped under Steve's athletic figure. Moaning at his touch, you looked at him, feverish, getting aroused again, your hands caressing his back as he smiled at you. He loved when you were a blushing mess beneath him, crying out his name as you were orgasming. No one else got to see you like this.

"I know you were a good girl today, but I want some more. You can handle it, can't you?" The guy cooed in your ear. "Come on, kitten. Show me how you mewl with my cock inside you. You're gonna mewl for me, right? Do it. Now."

You did as he said when his fingers were slowely fucking your sloppy cunt, your core aching for his dick almost painfully. Mewling softly, you kissed him again, and Steve slammed into you, muffling your high-pitched cry with his mouth as he started rocking his hips. It felt so good, so fucking good. A wail of pleasure ripped from your throat, and Steve grinned at you.

"You're such a good little kitten, Y/N. I think next time we won't go to a restaurant, I'm just gonna give you a cat bowl full of my cum. You're gonna lick it clean, yeah? You're gonna do that for me, dear?"

"Yes, yesss, Steve." You whined as you felt your pussy kissing the base of his cock with a lewd sound. Panting and moving with Steve, you already felt one more orgasm building up, your mouth open and drooling. "I'm a good kitten, I'm a good kitten... pleaseplease Steeeeve..."

He groaned at your words, speeding up gradually and watching your eyes roll to the back of your head: he was rubbing against your g-spot to make your pussy milk his balls dry. Of, he fucking loved seeing that stupid expression on your face when you came, completely helpless, dependent on him to give you pleasure no one else could.

Steve was the one and only who could make you like this. Who the hell cared what his friends or parents said if he could hear you moaning his name beneath him whenever he liked? You were becoming more and more accepting, clinging to him when others were to mock you in public, spreading your legs for him when he cornered you in your or his own room. You grew to enjoy obeying him like a good girl you were, and Steve was going to keep you, finally, after all those long years of waiting.

He would make sure you never left his sight again.

___________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @lovelydarkdaydream

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #captain america #yandere

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dropfromthesky · 2 years

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so I've been listening to a playlist @green-blooded-hobgoblin-posts made for me <3 and just!!!! i have so many thoughts right now and anyone who comes across this post will now have to read it so here we go HJDSHDJ

yknow how there's just. something so small and precious about people around you? and you may not notice it until you actually do, but it's the small things, it's the big and medium and it's all in the actions and body language, text, language (verbal and written,) how someone reactions, emotions, everything

and,, idk!! I've kinda realized that within this past year it's been a lot easier to acknowledge all of these amazing things around me

the snow is so bright, it's white, and it doesn't make it seem nearly as dark as it usually is because of how light reflects (!!!!) off of the crystals. you can actually see what the snowflakes look like (props to that one post with closeups of them cause oh my god I may cry) if you really look at them — on your clothing, hands, windshields, windows,,,

rain is clear and sometimes depending on humidity it can feel cool or warm

the smell of a wood stove that reminds me of times when I'd lay down by the one in the kitchen of my aunt's house several provinces away, just finger painting away

the concern in someone's texts when it's phrased just right / they use tone tags and you can tell that yes, someone does care, they always have,

getting to see someone grin, the small etches of a smile in their eyes, eyebrows, the bridge of their nose, their lips when their mask is off

being able to hug a friend and just yell because holy fuck you did that!!!!! you did the thing that terrified you and you survived, people liked it, those whispers to friends that you saw you can just imagine (and it's possible it's true!!!) that they're surprised that yes, you can sing, you're the same person as the one 2 years ago who sang the same song in front of the exact same people, and is brave enough to do it again, with that same song, and you imagine that they can hear the passion in your voice and actions and the lyrics, are encouraging when they see you mess up and you hear the truth and pride in their voice when they go up to you and tell you how well you did, affirming that you're brave and that they could've never done that themselves—!!!!!!!! the cheer of a friend or two from hearing you go up, the fact that, hey, you might've been too nervous to even remember the lyrics, you practiced in the drama room for an hour or two AND DID IT, IT WAS LAST MINUTE AND YOU DID IT and the concern in a friend's voice who you hold so close and dear to your heart, asking if you're really okay to do it, and you yelling back at him in the hallway that you appreciate it, because you do and you can't verbalize it well but that's!!!!! 2 years of friendship, hopefully, and even if it isn't, it's the way that people care about you and I'm crying on the couch right now holy fuck but im not done :')

it's you looking over to your friends, sitting in the bleachers and realizing that even if after you performed with the rest of the jazz band, and stayed for a song from the choir after but left because you were tired and wanted to eat, that they came to see you perform (and if they didn't you can always imagine that yes, that was the case!!!!!)and that they appreciate you and are proud of you, just as much as you are appreciative and proud of them, too, that it's the thought that counts!!!!!

it's sitting down and crying tears of joy because you realized that even if things do get fucked up, this is one of the best years, months, day(s), hour(s), minute(s) of your life, and you're healing, and things feel okay. things feel okay and are going to be okay!!

it's listening to a song and feeling so many emotions, the subtext from someone's voice, their lyrics, it's the passion. it's the emotions. it's the implication behind words you may or may not have been meant to hear

it's how you dance, at night, with your class, in front of an entire school (some from the junior high even!!!), giving them a taste of what's to come, reveling in the surprise and joy from you and others joining everyone else on stage, it's the clapping along, enjoying what's going on because it might be too loud, might be too much, but there's something so nice in performing, live, for an audience and live theatre

something that feels almost impossible to have done in the past few weeks but you did it either way. you did it!!!! and you did it knowing fully well that these are theatre kids you're performing with, you're a theatre kid, and the audience could choose to mock you or not, but fuck it because you're having fun, and hey, maybe they are actually enjoying it but are too shy or anxious to say or show it in a way that matters!!!!

it's how the world works, it's the motives behind a small act of kindness, the small "thank you" from a friend, and the hum in response back at them by you, it's sitting down with a friend while two of your other friends do an amazing thing in another room, so you're left alone with her, and complaining about the food but still eating it anyways because you still like it, in some way, and can't be bothered to throw it out

it's the contented purrs from your cat, the knowledge that at somewhere along the way she learned how to trust you, it's the weight of her against your chest that makes you wonder, is this what cuddling him would feel like? and you fall in love all over again, your love of cats deepens because she's so comfy and nice, and she's letting you hold her for 30 minutes before going to lay down and sleep again in the chair next to you

it's hanging out with others (sibling & friend) and showing them a video game that you really like playing, and laughing and just enjoying the small peace that hanging out offers

the world is big and small and overwhelming all at once but I love it so so so so much :')

#a sparrow yells into the void #positivity #small things in life #small things #long post

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benthelastskywalker · 3 years

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My Reylo Story

As some of you may or may not already know, I didn’t start off as a Reylo when TFA came out. Instead it was a journey and I wanted to share my story with you.

First, however, I think it’s important to explain where I was coming from both as a shipper and as a Star Wars fan pre-TFA. I first became aware of shipping in 2009/2010, or at least what it meant. I guess I could say I’d been a shipper long before that, I just wasn’t aware of it as a thing until then. But here’s the thing, I didn’t ship based solely on chemistry. To me shipping was more than just about whether or not a certain dynamic interested me. It was about wanting the characters to be happy in that relationship. So for me, how the characters treated each other was a pretty big deal.

So because of that, I had a hard time when I saw people shipping pairings that I viewed as “toxic.” If one character is being mistreated or flat out abused by another, how could they be happy? While I can honestly say I never sent anyone hate for shipping those things, I did post plenty of “anti” posts about those ships (tagged correctly, though) and followed anti blogs.

Onto my history with SW. I grew up on Star Wars. I’m not exaggerating when I say that. My parents both saw A New Hope in theaters as teens when it came out and both became fans. After they met and got married, they showed the movies to my three sisters and me from an early age. I don’t even remember the first time I watched the original trilogy because I was so young. There was never pre-SW time in my life. It’s something that has always been a part of my life. The legacy characters are life long friends.

The prequels came out when I was between nine and fifteen. And overall, I was not impressed. I liked the first movie well enough, but the dialogue in the other two made them almost impossible to watch and the love story between Anakin and Padme did nothing for me. It wasn’t until I was older and getting into shipping culture that I realize why. It was just not a healthy relationship and one I couldn’t support. While I acknowledged the prequels as canon, I basically grew to ignore them and focus on the original trilogy.

When I was in college, I had to take a speech class. One lesson was on story telling where the teacher stressed the golden rule of story telling: “Show, don’t tell.” The example she used was of a selfish child. “Don’t just say ‘he’s selfish’,” she said. “Show him acting selfishly.”

Sometime after that, I was rewatching the original trilogy. I got to the part when Luke goes to confront Vader on Endor and Luke tells him, “I fell the conflict within you. Let go of your hate.” I had a light bulb moment of, “Wait, what? What conflict? We never saw any conflict!” Luke mentioning the conflict within Vader was the first clue that were was one. I realized then that Vader’s redemption had no real build up across the three movies. It all takes place in the third act of the final film. It wasn’t a journey. It was a spur of the moment turn. And it bothered me. “Show. Don’t tell.” That’s the rule. And Lucas told us.

So then TFA came out and we got Kylo Ren. And they actually showed us his inner conflict and I loved it! I loved the character. He was instantly my favorite. I kept thinking “This is what they should have done with Vader!” Not even him killing Han, which I was totally devastated about, could make me dislike Kylo.

Yet, I wasn’t looking for the romance in the story. Because of this and because of what I’ve already said about my shipping history, it did not cross my mind at all that Reylo would be a thing. Not even an inkling. So if you had asked me right after I watched TFA for the first time who I thought Rey would fall in love with, I would have said Finn. Not because I shipped it, but because I just didn’t see another candidate.

It was only when I got home from the theater and got onto tumblr and started seeing posts about Reylo that I realized it was even a thing. I was shocked! As much as loved Kylo Ren, I didn’t get how anyone could ship him with Rey. He had kidnapped her and mind probed her after all.

But the thing is, I wasn’t angry so much as I was just confused. So I did something that I will never regret. I reached out to Reylos and I asked them what they saw in the ship. And their answers surprised me. They pointed out how Rey had fought back in the mind probe scene, showing that Rey wasn’t just a helpless victim. They pointed out the differences between how he treated Rey in that scene and how he had treated Poe when he was been mind probing him earlier. They also said it had the potential to the reverse Anidala (which intrigued me). They also pointed out (and I think this was the biggest misconception regarding Reylo and Reylos at the time) was that they didn’t actually want Kylo and Rey to get together right then, that they both had growing and maturing to do and they acknowledged that it wouldn’t be healthy for them to be together as they were at the end of TFA. And they explained all this nicely, without any hint of judgment or rudeness for someone who didn’t get their ship.

After that I went to see TFA a second time. This time I tried to see what they saw. I started to get it, but I still couldn’t bring myself to ship it. Shortly after that, I saw a post where someone said something about Ben being manipulated by Snoke since infancy. I reached out to that person and was like, “Where are you getting that from?”

“Oh, that was in the TFA novelization.”

So, I got a hold of the novelization and read it. Sure enough I learned that Ben had indeed been manipulated since infancy and that really changed pretty much everything about how I viewed him. I had loved the character before, but now I really began to sympathize with him.

But the novelization did more than that. It made me realize that Reylo might just be something that wasn’t just in the shippers’ head, because the subtext...oh my word, the Reylo subtext was all there. And the novel made it quite clear that Finn and Rey were just friends, nothing more. So that was the last time I ever thought FinnRey might happen.

While I didn’t consider myself a Reylo at that point, I continued to keep up with all of the Reylo theories that were floating around. It helped that one of my mutuals was going through the exact same thing too and were we able to talk about it together.

Then TLJ came out. Oh, boy. I find myself smiling whenever Kylo and Rey talked and going, “This! This is what the shippers predicated!” I came out of that movie, so happy. I was disappointed that he had returned to the light right then, but I never doubted he would eventually get his redemption.

It was only in the months leading up to the release of TROS that I finally admitted to myself that I was a Reylo and it’s something that I’ve never regretted, nor while I ever. Despite the disappointment that TROS turned out to be, I still love the ship, I love the characters, and I love my fellow shippers.

Becoming a Reylo has certainly changed my view on shipping too and while there are still those ships that make me cringe, I’ve learned just to ignore them.

If there is one thing I’ve learned from this experience, is not to turn away from people with differing opinions, but to actually talk and listen. This goes beyond shipping. This applies to every aspect of life.

And now I’m curious to hear your Reylo story.

#star wars #reylo

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

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Catfish for Dinner

A dark!Catfish piece inspired by @pajamasecrets ‘ HCs here (and thank you for the beta!!). This will be a series of one-shots like my Hummingbird and Nightingale ‘verses.

My Asian OC has been tasked with infiltrating a dangerous weapons cartel undercover.

Warnings: Violence, insinuations of violence, and insinuations of rape.

Catfish for dinner, the note read. I stuffed it in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed without tasting. If anyone were to discover that Maria the cook had been passing messages to me…. my stomach whirled at the thought of what might happen to her.

What the note meant, I had no clue. I only had to stay alive until I found out.

Later that day, the buzz of a small plane interrupted a make-out session I was enduring with one of Cerrino’s lackeys. I didn’t dare look up; I continued moaning as if his mouth was a gift from God (it wasn’t).

The pilot of the little Cessna 172 appeared at dinner. The staff served their usual smorgasbord of mediterranean fish, steak, and vine leaves, with copious amounts of wine.

Cerrino stood and gestured widely. “Ah, at last, our new pilot,” he announced. “May he live longer than Nikolai.”

I swallowed, the wine like dust in my mouth, as I recalled the end Nikolai had met. Unsavoury was a severe understatement.

The stranger stood on the steps leading up to the big table, silent. A ballcap that read standard oil company was tugged low on his head, hiding his eyes. I got the impression of a strong jaw, scruffy at the edges, and broad shoulders. He wore a faded red button down and dirty jeans atop aged hiking boots.

“Meet Catfish,” Cerrino drawled, toasting with his glass. A little wine sloshed down out of the glass and on to one of the cartel lackey’s heads. He did not react; he knew better. “Before you sit at my table, I need to know you are loyal.”

Without preamble, he pulled a Glock 19 from his waistband and tossed it to Catfish. The tanned man caught it and checked the cartridge.

Cerrino yanked up the lackey he’d spilled wine on by the collar. The man’s dyed blond hair was streaked with red from the alcohol, a twisted sort of foreboding. “Kill him.”

The lackey started trembling.

My gaze was riveted on Catfish. He lifted his head and I caught his gaze for a fraction of a second - big soulful brown eyes that looked very, very tired.

He pulled the trigger. His hand didn’t shake. Not once.

A couple of lackeys came to clean up what was left of their colleague. Cerrino sat back down and stuffed a vine leaf in his mouth like he wasn’t covered in blood spatter.

Catfish had made a clean kill - a single headshot. But my stomach still rebelled. I covered it by taking a tiny sip of wine, holding the liquid in my mouth, and trying not to vomit.

“Come, sit.” Cerrino gestured to the space between me and another girl, also Chinese, her inky black hair pulled into a high ponytail. Cerrino and his fellow arms dealers seemed to have a thing for Asian girls. Not that I could complain. It was the reason I’d been able to infiltrate them, wasn’t it?

Catfish slid the pistol into the back of his waistband and moved over to our side of the table on silent feet, despite his rangy, muscular form. He wasn’t big, but lean and lithe. Dark hair curled out from under his ballcap. As he pulled out a chair and sat, I glimpsed a smattering of grey in the patchy scruff clinging to his jawline. His scent reached me, motor oil and clean sweat and just a kiss of thyme. A combination that could quickly become addictive, if a girl wasn’t careful.

One of the staff moved to pour him wine. He didn’t react.

I clenched my free hand on my thigh, nervous. Was this who Maria’s note had meant, and if so, was he going to say something?

“The house is yours,” Cerrino said across the table through a mouthful of oily fish. A little grease ran down his chin; he didn’t bother to swipe it away. “As are the girls. Any you like; I am generous to those who... remain loyal to me.”

The unspoken subtext in his words were crystal clear.

Catfish sipped his wine. His gaze darted to me and then to Abigail, the girl on his other side. She smiled at him nervously. Newer than me, she’d cried the day before yesterday and narrowly escaped a beating for it.

Abigail - not her real name, I suspected - met my gaze behind Catfish’s back, and shook her head minutely. She’d been a virgin when she’d arrived here-- I knew.

I hadn’t even breathed a syllable about my real intentions here to anyone. Even Maria, on agency payroll, wasn’t a hundred percent sure who I was-- only that I was important and that she was to feed me whatever information came her way.

Resolutely, I winked at Abigail. I would make advances on the man between us to save her from having to bed him. I let my gaze rake over him. Tall, rangy. Mid forties, perhaps? Those big dark eyes would be nice to look into while I pretended to enjoy myself. Over the last six months I’d become very good at pretending.

If I didn’t get out soon, the line between pretense and reality would blur even further.

Abigail’s face deflated in relief and she went back to picking at her food.

“What’s the matter?” Cerrino asked, his wine glass full again. “Those two not to your liking?”

I looked up and around the room. I had become used to this debauchery at dinner. Several of Cerrino’s inner circle had girls on their laps who fed them tidbits of food. Sometimes they fed us girls, either with their hands or directly from their mouths. That was my least favourite.

Cerrino’s right hand man, Addison, sat to his left, his tongue so far down a girl’s throat that he could easily have been examining her tonsils. I hated kissing Addison.

I’d been surprised an hour earlier when Abigail and I had been seated together, no man between us. Now I knew why.

Catfish set his wine down and drummed his finger on the table. If I was reading him right, he had no wish to dally with either of us, but I knew Cerrino when he was drunk. He liked everyone under the cartel’s influence to fall in with him; share his vices, be equally complicit.

“Kiss me,” I hissed.

Catfish’s dark brow winged up.

“Not Abigail,” I murmured, smiling through it as I leaned into him. “Me. Abigail is scared.”

If he understood what I meant, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave me an almost imperceptible nod, and then pushed his chair back and tugged me on to his lap. I perched on his thigh as his arm came tight around my waist and he lifted his face for a kiss. I couldn’t read the emotion in his bottomless brown eyes--if indeed any emotion was present--but I’d rather it was me than Abigail, so I lowered my head and met his mouth.

He kissed me hard, licking into my mouth right away. He tasted of red wine and just a shiver of mint, and the scruff on his top lip tickled my skin. At any moment, I expected his free hand to come up and grope me, somewhere, anywhere, but he only kissed me, nipping my bottom lip as he ended the contact.

Cerrino had sat down to eat again, apparently satisfied. I knew what would happen now. I would have to go to this man’s room tonight. I would be at his mercy.

Dinner continued. Catfish held me on his lap, saying nothing, and I wondered if I would ever hear his voice. I kept replaying the moment he’d shot the lackey in my mind, like taking a life was nothing to him. If that was so, he truly belonged among these terrifying men.

I tried to eat. Catfish didn’t comment as I forced down a few bites of vine leaves and fish. The food was delicious as usual, spiced and savoury, and I gulped water. For his part, Catfish seemed to listen to the conversations between the men and Cerrino. His face seemed relaxed, but I could feel the tension coiled in his long, lean body as he sat beneath me.

I peeked over his shoulder. The Glock sat there, just a few inches from my arm around his neck.

Abigail saw the path of my gaze and shook her head minutely.

I could do it, though. I knew I could.

I just needed a distraction. Was I planning on shooting anyone right now? No. Of course not. But a gun, stashed somewhere in my tiny little room, that’d be something worth having. Even if it had only that one bullet in it. I could surely steal the correct ammunition from somewhere in this Godforsaken pleasure pit.

Humming as if I was having a grand time, I trailed my hand up Catfish’s chest, toying with the open neck of his button-down shirt. He didn’t outwardly react, but I saw a muscle in his cheek tic. I’ve got you, I thought, my fingers slipping over the hollow in his throat, as the palm of my other hand slowly descended down his back.

“Dancing with the devil, honey?” he asked, and the endearment was not said as such.

In that moment I realised two things: one - his face might be nice, but his voice, that husky-edged, kiss of Texas drawl, was made for absolute sin - and two, Catfish was a guy I wouldn’t be able to win over as easily as most of the one-brain-cell lackeys here.

“Just getting a taste of what’s to come tonight,” I lied, sweetly.

Catfish snorted. I noticed he’d barely touched his wine. Either he, like me, was here on false pretences, or, even more dangerously, he was one of them, but without the usual vices of women or alcohol to dull the edge of his more unsavoury appetites.

Which one it was, I would find out soon enough.

******

Part 2: Off the Deep End

Tagging: @emmy-dandiliom918 @spacegayofficial @thirstworldproblemss @cinewhore @poenariuniverse @keeper0fthestars @scarlettvonsass @casually-introverted @knittingqueen13 @phoenixhalliwell @10-96dispatcher @buckstaposition @agirllovespasta @songsformonkeys kiizhikehn-cedar

#dark!Catfish #frankie morales fic #francisco morales #triple frontier fic

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florencecastlewritings · 4 years

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Writing Dialogue

Below the read more is a lesson on writing effective dialogue in fiction. As with everything in art, rules are there to be broken, so please do treat the below lesson as a guideline rather than a legal document, and remember that it is based on what works for me as well as advice I have received from other writers. It might not match your style, and that’s all right. It’s also a very lengthy blog post, but I have used headings to try and break it up and there’s a little contents of sorts at the start, so feel free to skim/skip where needed.

If you do find it useful, however, please consider helping me through a tricky time by sending a few pennies my way via ko-fi.

Dialogue is the written speech of your characters in your story. For some people, writing effective dialogue comes naturally, for others it feels almost impossible to master. It is worth considering, as well, the differences in dialogue for different kinds of media - in screenwriting, for example, a writer will be able to rely more heavily on actors’ expression, comic timing, body language and other effects such as music. However they will also be constrained by shorter time, more need for unnatural exposition, and lack of internal thoughts. The following lesson will focus on dialogue in fiction - for short stories or novels - although some rules will be applicable to dialogue in other mediums too, so they’re worth keeping in mind.

The Purpose of Dialogue

Dialogue should:

Progress the story

Deepen character and relationship

Have realism

Be embellished/supported with suitable dialogue tags and appropriate narration.

Easier said than done. Let’s take them one at a time.

Progress the story

As with most writing, the writer needs to be constantly asking herself ‘what is the point?’ Why am I having my characters say/do/notice this? It may be to deepen character and relationship (and we’ll get onto that), but for longer stories we must acknowledge that the dialogue needs to move the plot along as well, as much as we might want to indulge in a bit of pointless fluff now and then.

Dialogue can drive the plot in a more engaging and exciting way than plain narration. Narration on its own can be effective at building tension, but usually only in small doses, and having many pages of narration without dialogue or internal thought will feel more like a summary of events or a witness statement than the author would perhaps like. Consider the below:

Breakfast was tense that morning. They ate silently as they pondered what to do. Michael buttering his toast so aggressively that it was surprising that the knife didn’t go through it. Susan asked him to stop, but that only started the arguing again. He accused her of expecting him to get over the affair so quickly. She threw back that there was nothing left to say if he refused to get therapy, and she had warned him for years that things had to change, and that it had been one foolish night in twenty years of unhappy marriage. She, Susan insisted, had excused plenty of foolish mistakes on his part.

Compared to:

‘Will you stop that?’ she said sharply. Michael did not pause in the furious buttering of his toast. ‘I said I was sorry.’

‘What, you say the magic word and I’m meant to shrug it off?’ he replied. ‘Pretend it never happened? Pretend you didn’t-’

‘You’ve made your anger perfectly clear, and I understand, but you don’t need to be so aggressive with everything, I get it.’

‘Oh, here we go. Buttering toast is aggressive now.’

‘Well, yes, like that - I’ve tried to talk to you like a grown up, but-’

‘It really bloody winds me up when you just say insane stuff patiently and without emotion and think that makes it acceptable, d’you know that? I’m allowed to be angry, you cheated.’

I could continue. The first example can pack a lot more information in, but using dialogue to drive the plot makes for more interesting and deeper meaning. It turns it into a story, rather than an account of events that occurred. It allows the writer to layer the plot with character work and unlock the story a little at a time.

In this regard, it is good to have your characters talking. To each other, to themselves, to the reader - whatever your particular style demands. Having that personable voice is engaging.

There are a few “rules” to keep in mind in order to ensure you remain plot-focused with your dialogue:

Avoid small talk. Enter late, leave early. Naturally there are exceptions (if you want to emphasise the awkwardness of a relationship between two characters you might want to include some failed attempts at small talk), but the usual chit-chat and extended greetings that we are used to saying in every day life can normally be skipped or avoided. You don’t need to have lots of ‘hi, how are you?’ ‘I’m fine thanks, you?’ ‘Fine, cheers. Have you seen the rain?’ Your characters are allowed to just get to the point and your reader will thank you for it.

Have characters on their own thought trajectories. This is a great way of driving the plot, and though it can be tricky to master it can really help in making your characters believable individuals as well as creating some conflict. If characters know each other, or both know the topic, they will likely jump ahead, make assumptions, fail to answer each other directly - this can be a great way of showing that they’re on the same wavelength, but can also be a vehicle for miscommunications and misunderstandings, or deliberately misleading one another. In that vein, don’t have the characters telling each other things they already know, unless made to sound believable.

Similarly, don’t have characters say things solely for the benefit of the reader. This is called exposition, and while exposition is necessary, it can be clumsily handled in dialogue. It’s made fun of frequently in films where they have such limited time to get background information across. You definitely don’t want dialogue like ‘So, Michael, it’s been three years since your divorce, have you thought about dating again?’ Michael knows this, his insensitive friend knows this, the reader is not stupid and knows that it’s not natural sounding. If it must be said in dialogue, weave it into a more natural conversation - ‘I haven’t been to Ibiza in three years, and I don’t plan on going back any time soon. Don’t want to run the risk of bumping into Susan and Jorge.’

We’ll get onto weaving it in with narration and dialogue tags later, which makes that a lot easier, but, in short, use dialogue to drive your story.

Deepen character and relationship

This is my favourite thing to do, and why I often prefer to write shorter stories than longer ones. A writer can find great joy in bringing a character to life through dialogue, dragging them away from plot vehicles and making them people of their own.

Firstly, it’s important to remember that your character’s background and personality will affect the way that they speak. If all your characters sound the same, they probably sound like you! A well educated character will obviously have a different way of talking than a common street urchin, but everyone has quirks and patterns to their speech that you can use to say a lot. You might use long meandering sentences with lots of rhetorical questions for a character known to be boring, for example. You might use short, sharp sentences for a character that’s grumpy or distracted with some deeper internal struggle. You can use the way two characters talk to each other to say a lot about their relationship and power dynamic, especially if you remember that good dialogue should have subtext (what isn’t being said being important).

A good example of this is from the short story Hills Like White Elephants, by Ernest Hemmingway (CW; indirect discussion of abortion). Consider the short passage below.

‘It’s really an awfully simple operation, Jig,’ the man said. ‘It’s not really an operation at all.

The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on.

‘I know you wouldn’t mind it, Jig. It’s not really anything. It’s just to let the air in.’

The girl did not say anything.

‘I’ll go with you and I’ll stay with you all the time. They just let the air in and then it’s all perfectly natural.’

‘Then what will we do afterward?’

‘We’ll be fine afterward. Just like we were before.’

‘What makes you think so?’

‘That’s the only thing that bothers us. It’s the only thing that’s made us unhappy.’

The girl looked at the bead curtain, put her hand out and took hold of two of the strings of beads. ‘And you think then we’ll be all right and be happy.’

It’s a really interesting story that is almost entirely dialogue, so it’s well worth reading to get a good sense of using subtext. I wasn’t aware of the abortion connotations when I first read it because I hadn’t heard of the very dated term ‘letting the air in’, but really the story is great at demonstrating the uneven power dynamic between the two even without knowledge of what the operation is. Without much description (though ‘man’ and ‘girl’ says it all really, doesn’t it?), you get a sense that a much older man is persuading this reluctant girl into this act by leveraging how hopelessly in love she is with him, though he does not seem to feel the same way. He speaks most when he is trying to persuade her - the rest of the time he is snappish and short with her childish and ignorant questions about the world around them. The above passage is the only time in the story where he refers to her by a name, and we can gather that it’s a pet one. The girl’s silence says as much as her dialogue, and when she does speak it is questioning - looking to him for authority.

Understanding character motivations and background is what makes this masterful use of dialogue. It would be tempting, for a novice writer, to have the girl argue. For her to say something like ‘what if we could be happy without it?’ But where that should be, there is silence, or repeating his thoughts back to him - because Hemmingway is not only driving the story but emphasising the imbalance of their relationship and her own naive nature. She would not argue with him, she can only wish that he will change his mind. This is all through dialogue and a tiny bit of narration, barely any dialogue tags, and really says so much without saying it at all. Show vs tell is about more than description after all.

That kind of depth when it comes to writing dialogue is... really hard. I haven’t picked Hemmingway to suggest that this is the quality all writing should be at, and I certainly don’t mean to intimidate anyone. But it really is a golden example of thinking about your dialogue within the context of the character, and how their background, situation, and goals will affect how they respond and react to those around them. Your character may not always be able to say what is convenient for you, the author, to tell the reader, because it may not be in their nature or sound authentic. But there are clever ways around that and it can make for more powerful writing, between the lines of what is said.

Have realism

If you skipped down to this bit, I understand. It’s the area that people most often struggle with. I find that people tend to fall into two traps here - either their characters sound like robots because they are over formal and have too much emphasis on being grammatically correct or over eloquent at the expense of natural dialogue, OR they swing in the other direction and try to replicate perfectly how people speak in day to day life.

If you do have a problem with stilted dialogue, it is a good idea to listen to how people naturally speak and try typing it out to get yourself out of the habit. But on the whole, the way people normally speak actually doesn’t sound that great in written format. In real life, we use lots of filler words, we get muddled, we go off on tangents, we trail off, we stutter and stammer and phrase things badly, we um and ah and say far more with our body language and expression than we realise. If you ever read transcripts, from interviews or courts, you’ll see how much of it actually doesn’t make a lot of sense. Our brains make sense of it when we listen to others, based on other parts of communication. Yes, sometimes adding in a ‘er...’ is beneficial and good, and you might have a really nice character moment of someone anxious trailing off when they realise no one is listening to them. Sprinkling those moments in can absolutely make your dialogue sound more authentic, especially when carefully used with character knowledge, but be careful not to over use it. In written dialogue, our characters can and should be more articulate and quicker to formulate their thoughts than in real life for the sake of the story. Striking that balance between overly structured and too real and easy can be really hard, but it only comes with practice - reading dialogue out loud can be a big help, as can writing the dialogue first with no narration or speech tags (more on that later).

Some common mistakes when it comes to dialogue:

Having one character speak too long without a break. Monologues are tough to get through as a reader and don’t come up often in real life in any meaningful way. They can end up cheesy or exposition heavy. Occasionally you can get away with it with very particular characters, but in general, avoid.

Over use of names. It’s really distracting as a reader if dialogue is constantly like, ‘what do you think, Harry?’ ‘Charlie, I just don’t know.’ ‘Really, Harry, you need to decide if you’re going to marry her or not.’ ‘I know, you’re right, Charlie.’ Use names to get someone’s attention and then don’t use them again unless you need to make it clear to the reader who the character is talking to.

Not using contractions. Even very formal people use contractions such as don’t and won’t, it is part of natural rapid speech. Save the ‘do not’ and ‘will not’s for when the emphasis is really needed.

Having characters speak in unison. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes this can be used to hilarious effect and can always be used for a bit of comedy. But on the whole people don’t do this, including twins.

Misuse of slang or dialects. If you’re going to use it, make sure you do your research. It’s also worth bearing in mind that if you over use it, it will be hard for the reader to understand and may break immersion.

Over explain for the reader. I mentioned this before but it’s worth repeating. If you went outside right now and saw a UFO, you would probably shout something along the lines of ‘wtf is that?’, and you would perhaps point or scramble for your potato to take a shaky video. You would probably not shout, ‘look at flying saucer! I’ve never seen anything like it!’ Think carefully about realistic reactions, even if they are not particularly convenient to you as a writer.

Over use of exclamation marks/caps lock. People aren’t that vibrant and it’s tiring to read. The less you use it, the more punch it packs.

Using narration and dialogue tags

First, a quick grammar lesson. Sorry.

‘This is some speech.’

‘This is also some speech,’ said the character.

‘Is this also speech?’ asked another.

‘Well,’ said the first, ‘yes.’

‘Brilliant,’ said the other. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’

I use single quotation marks because I’m British and annoying, the conventional double quote marks the Americans use (”like this!”) is also correct. The only important thing is that you pick one and stick to it. Quotation marks always surround the words that are being spoken aloud, and must be opened and closed. Where the sentence ends, you must use a full stop (period), or another piece of punctuation like a question or exclamation mark before closing the speech with the marks.

Where there is a dialogue tag (he said/said/replied, etc), the sentence is continuing, so a comma is more appropriate (but you can also use a question/exclamation mark and the sentence still continues), and again this must go before the speech marks close the dialogue. If you want to continue the sentence with the dialogue tag in the middle, you can continue by using another comma, or you can end the sentence with a full stop and continue the dialogue as a new sentence.

Use a new line for a new character speaking.

Phew, that’s over so you can pay attention again. But unfortunately I still have more to say.

Here is a fun little exercise. Take the below dialogue between two characters, A and B.

‘Do you love me?’

‘You’re drunk.’

‘Why won’t you answer the question?’

‘Sit down. I’ll make you a tea.’

‘I don’t want tea, I want an answer! Tell me!’

The dialogue alone already tells us a bit of a story - a picture is probably already forming in your head, perhaps of the characters, perhaps of the setting. As it stands it’s ok, and if you struggle with dialogue it can be effective to write only the dialogue out in this way (this tip from my writing teacher also helped me cut down on purple prose!). But now look at the scene:

It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that Alex was woken at 3am by repeated bangs on the floor and shouts through the letterbox. Nothing else would have made her rise from bed. If she had suspected even for a moment that it was anyone else, she would have called the police.

But as usual, it was Sam. Blonde, tousled hair a mess, eye make up smudged, pouting lips trembling as she swayed.

‘Do you love me?’

‘You’re drunk,’ said Alex, wincing as Sam’s grey eyes shone with tears. ‘You’d better come in.’

‘Why won’t you answer the question?’

Alex ignored her, pulled her in by her slender arm. ‘Sit down. I’ll make you a tea.’

‘I don’t want tea. I want an answer. Tell me!’ Sam’s voice was loud and high, and it pierced her.

So, we haven’t actually added that much narration or dialogue tags (t’s best, if you can, to avoid using them too much), but we’re able to give a clearer picture of these two characters. You may even now be reading the dialogue in a different tone to the one you originally did - picturing the scene with a different feel. Not convinced? How about now?

Yet again, as had happened dozens of bloody times before, Alex was woken at 3am by incoherent, slurred shouting through the letterbox.

‘Do you love me?’ was Sam’s immediate demand as Alex wearily opened the door.

Alex rubbed her hand over her bleary eyes and sighed. ‘You’re drunk. You’d better come in.’

Sam turned on the tears at once, mascara running in thick, spidery lines down her blotchy cheeks. ‘Why won’t you answer the question?’

‘Sit down,’ Alex muttered. ‘I’ll make you a tea.’ She stood aside and jerked her head towards the living room.

‘I don’t want tea, I want an answer! Tell me!’

Wincing once more at her piercing shriek, Alex closed her eyes.

The very same dialogue can be shaped by carefully worded narration and dialogue tags. It’s a fun exercise to do with writing buddies - all use the same dialogue and see how different the stories come out. It can also be a pretty nifty way to challenge writers block or shake up a scene you’re struggling with.

Some extra tips from my writing teacher - I fully confess that I am not always the best at following these ones, because my writing has been heavily influenced by JK Rowling who also doesn’t seem to set much store by them. But they are good, and since I’ve kept them in mind my writing has improved.

Avoid overuse of adverbs (’she said nervously’). Use action or dialogue alone to convey this information instead.

Avoid overuse of verbs besides ‘said’. The reader will skim over said and barely notice it, if every character is whispering and muttering and shouting all the time it stilts the flow of the scene - use sparingly.

Use tags when necessary to ensure clarity as to who is speaking, otherwise let the dialogue stand for itself.

Use internal thoughts in place of speech tags sometimes.

Use action beats (’he turned to stare coldly out of the window’) in place of speech tags sometimes to help set the pace of the scene.

I hope this very lengthy post has helped! Please do get in touch if you have any further questions or would like any elaborations on anything I’ve mentioned here, or if you have suggestions for future lessons!

Lastly, I hate to do this but times must - if you have even just a couple of quid to send my way it would be a massive help to me. If you did find this useful, please consider donating to my kofi.

#Writing advice #writing lessons #writing dialogue

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Come Home to My Heart, Chapter 8 (Lemyanka) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 ✨| previous chapters

A/N: wow… I can’t believe there are only two chapters left after this one… that’s crazy. This little story is my baby now so I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading it! <3

-8-

“Ouch!” Scarlett yelled as soon as Priyanka pinched her arm. “What was that for?”

“You’re friends with Lemon on Facebook? What the fuck?”

“Ah, yeah…” She rubbed her arm. “She befriended me a while ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We live together.”

“I didn’t believe you’d mind and I thought she would add you too. I don’t know, I probably was high as fuck.” Scarlett sipped her Frappuccino.

“You, Kiara, and my mother back-stabbed me. I can’t believe it.”

“If it’s any consolation, she only posts pictures with her friends and when she’s at the dance studio… also, she spends an unhealthy amount of time rambling about The Sims.”

Seemed about right.

“I’m more worried about the pictures I appear as «tagged» on your page.”

“Yeah, you’re like a hot mess there.”

Priyanka and Scarlett went for a beverage that afternoon after stopping by the mechanical workshop to check on Priyanka’s car –it was still uncertain and the mechanic had ordered a few pieces that were supposed to arrive later that week- luckily her parents had lent her the family car for the afternoon.

Priyanka had ordered a strawberry smoothie but almost forgot about it. Her thoughts were somewhere else.

“Priyanka, are you there?” Scarlett called her.

“Yeah, sorry…”

“Girl, you’re like… gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Uhm…”

Scarlett sat with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. She had cut her hair recently and the tips of her blonde bob were perfectly symmetric, it was almost in discordance with her rock-star-punk-grunge aesthetic of ripped fishnets, piercings, and leather jackets but Priyanka knew her better, she was just a softie who had cried with The Little Mermaid.

Goddammit. Don’t you see the subtext of female liberation, Priyanka? She had said with tears in her eyes.

“Nothing… only that you’ve been distracted lately. How weird is it that this behavior coincides with the return of certain someone to your life? Odd, isn’t it?”

“Cut the sarcasm… I know what you’re implying. Lemon helped me out the other day only because that’s what any person would’ve done.”

“No, you’re overestimating human kindness. Trust me, spending your entire afternoon with someone to help them with their… how did she call it?”

“Jalopy.”

“I mean, accurate.” Priyanka stuck her tongue out. “What I’m saying is that’s a big gesture and you should take it as a white flag from her.”

“When you’re right, you’re right.”

“So… what are you going to do now?” Scarlett inquired.

“I have no idea… You’re the second person who said something like that. Denali thought she was provoking me the other night in the club –she’s out of her mind- but she also said that I should make the next move.”

“I agree.”

“But what if I make a fool of myself in the process?”

“That wouldn’t be a novelty.”

“Fuck you.”

Scarlett lighted up a cigarette.

Right at that moment, Boa walked out of the café with an Iced Americano in her hand, she spotted both girls sitting outside and approached them.

“Hey, you two! I was going to text you later today.” She greeted both of them.

“Hey, girl.” Scarlett waved.

“Hi, Boa! Nice to see you.” Priyanka hugged her.

“So listen, some of the girls –myself included- are planning a little day at that lake that’s like half an hour from here and since the more the merrier, maybe you’d want to join us.”

“Sounds cool. Do you have a date in mind?”

“We set Thursday but if any of you guys can’t we could change it.”

“No, I think Thursday is fine for all of us. Priyanka?”

Priyanka had her thoughts floating like a cloud.

“When you say «some of the girls»… you mean?”

“Tynomi, Kyne, me…” She began listing.

“Boa we’re looking for a name started with «L», five letters, common yellow fruit used often in the kitchen.” Priyanka elbowed Scarlett.

“Oh! Yeah… We’re trying to convince Lemon to go too. She wasn’t into the whole nature thing but…” She cleared her throat. “If we convinced some more people maybe she’d change her mind.”

“Great so we’ll be there.” Scarlett wrapped her arm around Priyanka. “Text me the details later.”

“Sure, see you on Thursday!”

“Bye…” Priyanka smiled and when the girl walked away, she immediately turned to Scarlett. “What was that?”

“«Thank you, Scarlett, you’re such a good friend» you’re very welcome, Priyanka.” She put out her cigarette. “I did what it had to be done.”

“I see… but what if Lemon doesn’t show up?”

“She will be there and even if she doesn’t we could still have a nice day on the lake or whatever. Jeez, do I need to give you a pep talk whenever we plan something?”

“We’ll need a car, I can’t borrow my parent’s car all week and you came here by bus. Can Juice drive us there?”

“Yeah about that… Juice broke up with me.”

Priyanka frowned. “I thought you guys weren’t dating.”

“We weren’t, that’s why she gave me an ultimatum.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“She agrees with you, obviously.” Scarlett leaned back on the chair. “However, I never wanted to break her heart with promises I wasn’t sure I was going to fulfill. I never promised her more than what I gave and it worked for some time.”

“Until it didn’t…”

It wasn’t shocking for Priyanka, she had always known that Juice wanted more but Scarlett –being the stubborn she was- never was going to admit she felt the same way, instead, she acted reluctant whenever the idea of having a serious relationship was brought.

“Scarlett, are you sure this is what you want?”

“Listen, what’s the point of starting a relationship with someone who doesn’t live in the same city.”

“She lives literally half an hour from Toronto.”

“Besides, I don’t want to give my freedom away… I don’t see myself ready to be in a relationship and you can’t say anything, you haven’t dated anyone for more than three days.” Scarlett pointed.

“Well, you got me there but this isn’t about me… don’t you see it? You’re about to lose something real and why? Because you’re scared of admitting you want it too.”

Scarlett looked down. “She deserves better than me…” She whispered.

“You idiot, she doesn’t want better, she wants you and you alone.”

“I feel like you’re insulting me somewhere there but…”

“Scarlett, focus.”

“You’re right, okay? I’m scared, I don’t want to hurt her and I’m terrified I might be too stupid to make a mistake or something… and now I don’t know what to do, I’m not a romantic person, I know nothing about big gestures…”

“Maybe roses? Carriage rides? Singing songs under the starry sky?”

“Gross…” She paused. “maybe roses though.”

“You did set the bar very low so…”

“Oh, shut up.”

“C’mon, I’ll drop you at her house.”

After taking Scarlett back to Juice’s house for what hopefully meant there would be a reconciliation between them –Priyanka had her fingers crossed- in the meantime, she stopped by her brother’s house. She had promised one of her nieces she’d take her to rent some DVDs they would watch after dinner.

It took less than five minutes to lose her at the video store.

“Mel? Mel?!” She started looking around. “Where did you go?”

Priyanka heard her voice coming from one parallel aisle.

“You’re very pretty.”

“Aw, thank you…you’re very pretty too.”

Priyanka also recognized that voice.

“Are you lost?”

She felt undoubtedly relieved when she found her niece chatting with Lemon who had kneeled on the floor to be at the same height.

“What’s your name?” Lemon asked the little girl.

“I’m Melanie.”

“Nice to meet you, Melanie. I’m Lemon, like the fruit.”

“Nice to meet you… Miss Lemon.”

“Did you come here with your mom? With your dad?”

She shook her head. “With my auntie.”

“Ah, I see… What do you say if we look for your auntie?”

“She’s right there.” She pointed at Priyanka behind her.

Lemon turned around and met the brunette’s eyes.

“Oh. It’s you, auntie… I should’ve guessed.”

“The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?” Priyanka smiled proudly.

Lemon was wearing a yellow and white striped long dress with buttons in the front, white sneakers, and had her hair tied in a French braid.

“You really convinced your brother to name his daughter like two-fifths of the Spice Girls, didn’t you?”

Priyanka rushed and covered her niece’s ears. “Shhhh… He doesn’t know that yet. It took me seven of the nine months of my sister-in-law’s pregnancy to plant the idea… neither Ginger nor Emma were working, so it was down to Melanie or Victoria.”

Lemon chuckled.

The brunette released the little girl from her grip. “Mel, go pick the movie you like but stay close where I can see you, alright?”

The little girl nodded and skipped with joy toward the kids’ movie section.

Priyanka looked at Lemon. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting my nails done, obviously.” She had a DVD box in her hands.

Priyanka rolled her eyes. “Knowing you, it must be… let me see, either Legally Blonde, Clueless, something with Meg Ryan on it, or… Drop Dead Gorgeous.”

She showed the title on the box. It was Drop Dead Gorgeous, a movie Lemon worshiped for her love for beauty pageants and bizarre humor.

“Rita has never watched it, can you believe it?”

“And you’re looking for new ways to traumatize her.”

“That might be my mission on Earth all along, spread the words of wisdom that come from this film.” She tapped the box with her acrylic nails.

Priyanka peeped over her shoulder to check on her niece who was still deciding between two Disney movies.

“So… are you going to the lake thing Boa’s planning?” The brunette asked as casually as she could.

Lemon shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not that into nature and being eaten by bugs…”

“Oh, so she’s a city girl now.”

“Listen, I spent a good ten years of my life going camping with my dad and hating every second of it. I thought it was finally over when I moved.”

“The girls and I are going… and I’m sure we’re taking some type of booze with us, snacks, a campfire… It will be fun.”

Lemon tilted her head. “I didn’t know you wanted me to go.”

Priyanka felt the heat on her cheeks. “Boa said the more the merrier… plus my car is still at the workshop and Scarlett might have screwed up her relationship with the one person that has a car among us.”

“So you need a ride… that’s it?”

“Yeah… and it’ll be fun being all together again.”

“Sure… okay. I’ll tell Rita and we’ll be there.”

“Really?”

She nodded.

At that moment, Priyanka’s niece returned with a DVD of Brave in her hand.

“Are you dating my auntie Pri?” She asked unscrupulous and unfiltered like any six-year-old.

Priyanka’s mouth dropped to the floor.

“Mel! You can’t ask people… That’s not… You don’t get to…”

“But daddy said that you like girls and that if you were going to date someone it would be a girl… and she’s a girl.”

Logic.

Lemon covered her mouth with her hand, she was blushing underneath.

“Mel just because I’m talking to a girl it doesn’t mean that I’m dating her.”

“But she’s pretty… she’s prettier than you.”

“Oh, I like her.” Lemon giggled.

“Hey! You little brat, who’s the one renting movies with you.”

Traitors.

“Why aren’t you dating her, auntie Pri?” Priyanka covered the girl’s mouth.

She was asking the real questions.

“Okay, I think it’s time to go home. Brave, huh? Good choice.” She looked at Lemon. “See you on Thursday…?”

The blonde smiled. “I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay, great.”

“Goodbye, Priyanka. Bye, Mel.” She waved at them.

The girl barely had the chance to wave back since her aunt dragged her to the line of the checkout counter. She stared at Priyanka with her wide brown eyes.

“What is it?”

“You like her.” Mel said with a mischievous look on her face.

“Shhh… keep it low…” She looked around to check Lemon wasn’t around. “You can’t just say those things, Mel. Exposing people’s feelings isn’t right.”

“So you like her.”

“Jeez, calm down Regina George.”

“Who’s Regina Gorge?”

“It doesn’t matter… The thing is… Lemon and I are… friends? Just that, okay? We’ve known each other since we were your age and I don’t think she likes me that way.”

“Have you asked her?” Her niece inquired.

“Well, no…”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She was scared of the potential answer to that question. “It’s complicated… growing up is complicated.”

“I don’t want to grow up never.” She whined.

“Me neither.”

Priyanka took the DVD to register it and pay for it.

Brave, sure.

On Thursday morning, Priyanka received a call from Scarlett, she explained that things with Juice were smooth sailing and that –since they had left the problems aside- she was going to pick her at home. In the car, there were Juice, Scarlett, Kiara, Denali, and Priyanka whereas Lemon and Rita had relocated in a different car.

The day started on the wrong foot since that change in scheduling but Priyanka had the hope it could only get better from there. She had a full breakfast with her parents and then prepared her things in a backpack, including sunscreen, snacks, a towel, and things only her mom could remember to include –and that she yelled from downstairs to make sure Priyanka would remember.

Priyanka brushed her hair and tied it into a ponytail, then she put her turquoise bikini on –she liked how the color looked against her skin-, grabbed a pair of denim shorts with embroidered flowers and a white cotton tank top. She found a pair of aviator sunglasses on the drawer of her room that were definitely her sister’s –emphasis on the «were»- and with a pair of flip-flops, she was ready.

Boa had said that it was allowed to swim on the lake where the water was shallow and that there was a lifeguard just in case. The weather was in their favor, the day was all warm and sunny even when it started with a couple of clouds, it had cleared up since then. Her mother reminded her to take a light jacket with her because it could get colder during the evening.

Priyanka was about to argue with her when she heard the sound of the horn outside. She put the jacket on her backpack and said goodbye to her mom before opening the entrance door.

To her surprise, there was an egg yolk car parked in front of her house.

Lemon rolled down her window. “Get in loser, we’re going to a lake… for some reason.”

She had a pair of heart-shaped pink sunglasses resting on top of her head and a lollipop on her hand.

“What is this?”

“I told you I was going to pick you up.” She unlocked the passenger’s door.

Priyanka got in the car and buckled up. Her entire body was tingling.

“I thought you were sharing a car with the other girls.”

“Don’t change the plans I’ve already set, I’m a Virgo.”

“Don’t you have a bumper sticker with that written on it?”

“I’m glad someone has finally seen it.”

Priyanka threw her backpack on the backseat and noticed how empty it was.

“Wait, what about Rita? Wasn’t she coming with you?”

Lemon got the car moving.

“No, I pushed her down the stairs yesterday.” She said, dead serious. “I’m just kidding; I went to pick some things from Tynomi’s place, Kiara and she were speaking in French and got along well so she decided to go with them. Because of that, I have the trunk full with two coolers and their bags so –for their own good- I hope they gave me the right address.”

Just then it hit Priyanka it was just the two of them for the next half hour.

Lemon looked lovely with a yellow poplin puff-sleeve crop top with little lemons embroidered around the neckline and a pair of navy paper bag shorts. The strips of a bright yellow swimsuit could be seen underneath her clothes and she was driving with sneakers because driving with flip-flops is hell but overall the look screamed summer in the Italian Riviera with a glass of limoncello.

And well, Priyanka was gay and thirsty.

“Did you hear what I said?” Lemon asked raising an eyebrow when they stopped in a red traffic light.

“Something about music…?” It was a wild guess and she would be lying if she said her fingers weren’t crossed.

“Yes, can you put something on the radio?”

Priyanka scanned the CDs on the glove compartment and finally decided for the always great Good Girl Gone Bad –just because she wanted Shut Up and Drive to play while Lemon was driving- and because it had some iconic bops.

“Are you certain about the route we’re taking?” The brunette asked.

“What do you mean?” Lemon clicked her tongue. “I know how to follow directions. I also have a map… I’m a strong independent woman who needs no instruction on how to get to a stupid lake in the middle of nowhere-”

“Hello, my friend and I are lost; do you know which is the best way to get to the lake?” Priyanka had to pat herself on the back for that level of fake kindness, she even batted her lashes.

Lemon, on the driver’s seat, kept grumbling something in a low voice.

“Yeah, you’re almost there, it’s five minutes from here… you have to take the next entry to the left and then continue straight forward. You’ll be there in the blink of an eye.”

“Thanks, good man. We appreciate it.” She waved at the man at the gas station. Then she turned to Lemon. “You see? It wasn’t that difficult.”

“We were almost there.”

“Yes, except for the fact that we’ve been driving around in circles for the past fifteen minutes. I told you it was the right entry.”

Lemon huffed and puffed like a child.

Priyanka attempted to skip one of the songs but the blonde interfered by pushing her hand aside. Priyanka crossed her arms on her chest and pretended to be offended.

Just like the man had said, in no time they spotted the lake entrance.

Lemon sighed of relief while Priyanka cheered.

“Yay! We made it!”

Once they got closer, they agreed it was all worthy. The beautiful scenery of the lake with crystalline blue water framed by the rows of mountains covered in green and leafy pine trees left them in awe.

A figure waved at them –probably one of the girls- they were gathered in a small semicircle that resembled a beach with dirt and gravel next to a wooden port. There were other people around, families, some kids playing in the water, swimmers, boats, and canoes.

Lemon parked the car in an empty spot among others, some of the girls helped them with the coolers and the bags that were on the truck.

“Good night, ladies.” Scarlett mocked.

“You two finally made it.” Boa grabbed one of the coolers with the other girl’s help.

Priyanka was about to say something about their delay in the same joking tone but she caught a glimpse of Lemon, she was serious, noticeably embarrassed by the situation. So instead, she cackled and played it down.

“Yeah, can you believe I told her the wrong entry on the highway? Lemon almost killed me we were spinning around for like fifteen minutes, right?” She looked at the blonde and subtly winked.

“Ah, yeah…” Lemon’s eyes were big just like a deer caught in headlights, the tips of her ears turned red just like her cheeks. “But we’re here… so… it doesn’t matter.”

“Priyanka you dumbass, we’ve come this way before.” Scarlett nagged her.

“Oh, shut up… I forgot.” She picked her backpack and threw it over her shoulder. Lemon hadn’t moved. “Hey, let’s go. We have all day ahead.”

The blonde nodded and locked the car before following them to the port.

The view was even more breathtaking up close as the sunlight shone onto the waters of the lake, it also glinted on the gold rims of Priyanka’s glasses and bathed her completely in a warm sensation.

They were received with cheers –especially since they have the food on the coolers and it was almost noon-, she saw Kiara applying some suntan oil and chatting with Rita and Starzy over a small wooden harbor, as soon as Scarlett and Boa arrived with the cooler, the blonde started an argument with Ilona over the best way to ensemble a tent –and repeatedly called each other “sis”-, Kyne, Tynomi and Juice ignored them and started setting a grill.

“You didn’t have to lie to cover my blunder.” Lemon whispered.

“I know.” Priyanka stretched her arms. “I figured you’ve suffered enough for one morning. If you’re feeling generous you can get me a drink or something in return.”

Lemon scoffed. “Get it yourself.” She started walking to where Rita, Starzy, and Kiara were but before she was further in distance, she turned around. “Thank you, though.”

Priyanka smiled at her and then went to help the other girls with the food. They entrusted her washing the vegetables at some gazebo nearby with a little kitchen and a sink. Tynomi helped her peeling and cutting once she was done and then they prepared the skewers. Scarlett’s pyromania was helpful to light the fire, although the flame that rose in the air caused quite a fuss.

Right when Priyanka put the last skewer on the trade for Tynomi to take it to the grill, a paper cup with pink lemonade and ice appeared in front of her, Lemon held it steadily.

“Oh, hey there.” Priyanka took a sip, it was sweet and it had something that kicked in. “Thank goodness this has alcohol on it.”

“It’s vodka, careful with the empty stomach, though.”

“Signature cocktail?”

Lemon shrugged. “I guess it falls into the category of colorful and sugary.”

“I don’t know if it’s because it’s hot as fuck but this is actually delicious.”

“Of course it’s delicious, I made it.”

“That’s obvious; you can taste the modesty on it.” Lemon made a childish grimace. “Have you jumped in the water yet?”

“I just soaked my feet for a little.”

“And?”

“Cold like a penguin’s butt.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

Lemon took the cup back and drank a sip, her lip gloss stained the material. She kept biting her bottom lip as if she wanted to say something but she sneaked out to help Boa with something when Priyanka wasn’t looking.

In that part of the lake it was allowed to camp and there were several tents set around the land, there were also a couple of forest rangers roaming around –probably attracted by the fake fire alarm- but the girls had been clever enough to keep the bottles saved in the coolers. They all ate vegetable skewers and hamburgers sitting in a big circle and drank beer and cranberry vodka in paper cups.

Someone had brought a radio and they all sang Stars Are Blind when it played. After having lunch they stayed there reminiscing and telling stories from school. They were all laughing and cracking jokes it took Priyanka by surprise when the story of her seven minutes in heaven was brought.

“More like seven minutes in hell.” She gagged.

She re-told the story for those who hadn’t heard it and then realized that Lemon was among those people. The blonde hadn’t said a word since she started her narration, in fact, she paid attention to every word that came out of her mouth. She didn’t laugh when Priyanka tried to minimize she kissed a guy she didn’t want to kiss or when she tried to use the humor as a shield as she had done before.

“What an asshole.” She said when the brunette finished the story. She was angry and it showed. She was so mad she had sobered up.

“Yeah… but on the bright side… that helped me realize things. It was enlightening, I dare to say… even when that closet was dark as fuck.”

“Still… I hope he chokes or something.” Lemon was fuming.

Later on, Ilona exposed Scarlett who had claimed to be in detention many times in high school when she was just in the library, studying. Even when she tried to argue, Priyanka caught her friend sitting right next to Juice as she tenderly held her and stroked her hand with her thumb. She assumed things were alright with them now and couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of what they had.

Vodka, it’s me… I have seen what you did for others…

Lemon told a story about one time she got lost in the subway with their friends and they almost ended in Staten Island –Priyanka refrained from commenting on the fact that Lemon wasn’t good at following indications, indeed- and Denali, the only non-Canadian of their panel discussion mentioned it had happened to her as well.

“I’ll be in New York for a competition in a few months.”

“You should come to visit me.” Lemon smiled brightly.

“That would be fun… Priyanka could come as well.” She stared at the brunette who gaped at her in surprise. “And tell me, do you have any single friend?”

“I’ve got some… yeah. I could make some arrangements.”

“I’d love that.”

“Slut-Nali.”

“Proudly.”

Later during the afternoon, some of the girls were brave enough to try to dive in the shallow waters of the lake, Priyanka among them, and, she regretted the moment her body made contact with the glistening surface but once her body was fully immersed it was like a shot of adrenaline in her body.

She surely looked like she had seen a ghost when she emerged because Lemon laughed loudly at her. The blonde was cozily sunbathing on the shoreline at an unsafe distance for someone mocking the swimmers.

Priyanka moved her arms toward her.

“Don’t you dare… Priyanka, I swear to God if you even try-”

The cold droplets touched her skin before she could finish that sentence.

The blonde squirmed and squealed.

“Bitch…” She shook the water off her body.

“Who’s laughing now?” She moved like a fish in the water.

“You won’t be laughing when you need your towel to get out.” Lemon waved it like a flag.

“Listen, you…” Priyanka started walking out of the water, the other girl was already running.

It was way colder out of the water and it took the brunette a minute to get used to, get her flip flops, and chase after Lemon who still had her towel on her hands. She hid behind Rita and stuck her tongue out, the girl caught in the middle raised her hands in a sign of rendition. They were like a couple of kids. Priyanka was about to say something when Scarlett and Juice came near them.

“Hey, we rented a boat over there and we were wondering if you would like to come with us.” Juice grinned.

“I pass, I’m not going on a boat ride with these two.” Rita pointed at them, Lemon was still looking over her shoulder.

“Pri, Lemon? What about you?”

“Sure… it would be fun, as soon as this bitch gives me my towel back.” Priyanka cast an accusing glance at the blonde.

Lemon threw the towel directly to her face.

“What’s so thrilling about a boat ride?” She asked while Priyanka wrapped herself in the towel.

“You said the same about coming here today and yet you’re having a good time, right?” Lemon shrugged. “C’mon, I’m not going to push you in the water or something.”

“Now I know for a fact that you’ll try to push me into the water.”

“Are you possibly scared?” She taunted.

“I’m not scared of a boat if that’s what you’re saying.”

“It’s settled then, we’ll meet you in five minutes over the pier where the boats are moored.” Scarlett grabbed Juice’s hand and they walked away.

Priyanka put her shorts and sunglasses on; she grabbed her bag and hung it over her shoulder. She checked on Lemon when she was done putting clothes on too.

“Ready?”

The blonde hesitated for a moment. “I guess.”

“Listen, there’s really nothing to be scared of, we’ll get life jackets and everything.”

“That’s not- Never mind.” She shook her head and grabbed her things. “Let’s go.”

Juice and Scarlett were already waiting for them with their life jackets on, they explained to the girls how to put them on.

“You two get in the boat and we’ll untie the knots and push it in the water.” Scarlett indicated.

The boat was made of wood and painted in white with matching paddles, the name Perseverance was written in blue on one of the sides.

Lemon sat first and she helped Priyanka to get in.

“Did you know it’s bad luck to change a boat’s name?” She told Priyanka. “It’s said they always sink if you do.”

“We should double-check this isn’t repainted or something underneath, right?”

“Why? Are you scared?” Lemon mocked.

Priyanka elbowed her.

Juice was done with the knot and she jumped in the water to help Scarlett.

“Okay, one, two… three.” They pushed the boat that swayed a little with the waves before stabilizing.

“Have fun you two!” Juice waved at them.

“Wait…” It took Priyanka a moment before understanding what was going on. “Hey!”

“Oh my God…”

The girls behind were cackling as the boat was carried further by the water stream.

“I think we’ve been set up.”

“There might be a chance, yeah.”

Scarlett mouthed a soft «Sorry» but Priyanka knew she wasn’t regretting anything. This had to be planned beforehand and she had a vague idea what the point was. She stared at Lemon who had picked up one of the paddles and was examining it.

“Do you think we can go back?”

“I doubt that we can row against this current.” She declared after taking a look at how the water kept taking them away from the coast. “Our best chance is to let it drag us down to calmer waters where we can paddle from to the closest coast.”

“You really learned a few scout things when you were camping with your dad, didn’t you?”

“Aren’t you glad I did?” She smirked.

Certainly, Priyanka was glad because at least one of them had a clue of what to do and how to get them out of that situation but, at the same time, it meant that they were going to be stuck for a while in that boat.

As they started moving away from the coast, the silhouettes of his friends became blurry and they were surrounded by the vast scenery of the mountains and the woods. The sun was lukewarm and the little waves rocked the boat like a cradle, it was soothing.

Priyanka laid on the floorboards and looked at the clouds crossing the sky. Lemon watched the water around the boat to eventually join the brunette.

“This is nice,” Priyanka whispered. “I think it’s the longest we’ve been without arguing or bitching.”

Lemon chuckled. Priyanka looked at her and could see every detail of her face, the curve of her lips the little mole over them, the tip of her nose, the length of her lashes, the color of her eyes…

Suddenly she felt shy.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that I can be an annoying bitch sometimes but you’re the one person that’s always there for me…” Lemon murmured.

Priyanka’s cheeks turned red. “What?”

“That’s the first line of the last e-mail I wrote for you after we… drifted apart.”

“I never received it.”

“I never sent it.” She fidgeted nervously. “I don’t know if it would have made any difference, you seemed pretty determined to me.”

So they were going to talk about it. It was the conversation neither of them had brought up for the longest time but it was there, lingering in the air like a dark cloud of unsolved problems.

“I needed to put some distance between us…” Priyanka felt the unavoidable knot on her throat like whenever someone touched the subject. “I wasn’t being honest with you… I was scared. You had these plans that didn’t include me in your future, I felt like I was being left out while my plans always included you.”

“Priyanka, I had to move forward to survive… Yes, I met new people, I made new friends and I set new goals but you were never out of the picture. It was difficult for me because I don’t know, you were always the one that everyone liked instantly and you made friends in a heartbeat without even trying it. Your friends were our friends because of that but when I was on my own… I feel like I’m more an acquired taste, people tend to like me better when they know me but until then…”

She sighed.

“I had these problems that seemed small in proportion and I didn’t want to become a burden for you, being so far away from each other. I just wanted to share the good parts. You were the only thing in my life that felt like a constant and then… you were gone.”

She looked at Lemon in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever apologized for that. And just for the record, small problems, big problems… I should’ve been there for you no matter what. Back in the day, I don’t know… it’s not an excuse but I felt like it was easier to push you away and that you got to live a life without me at some point.”

“Why?” Lemon frowned.

“I don’t know.” Priyanka lied. “I didn’t want to be a burden either.”

“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t know what to expect when I saw you here but, these last couple of days I realized how much I had missed you. I wrote that in the e-mail too, I wish I had sent it.”

Priyanka’s heart skipped a beat.

“Me too.” The brunette spoke clearly. “I’m freaking proud of you and everything you’ve achieved… What I’ve heard because I didn’t befriend your New York friends on Facebook to find out.”

“They were my friends too. I didn’t add them only to stalk you or something like that. And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing amazing too… aside from that car of yours.”

“Laugh all you want but I bought that car to go visit you in New York someday.”

Lemon sat straight on the boat. “You were going to drive all the way there in that to visit me? That counts as risking your life, you know?”

“Well… yeah… that was the idea. I wanted to see you.” Priyanka sat down as well.

“Pri…”

“And you only came back for your dad’s wedding… why did you come back now? After so long?”

“My dad’s wedding was… an event. It would’ve been fun to have you there though, there was so much booze.”

“They can always renew their vows.”

Lemon laughed. “Well, and as I told you before, my mom was going on a cruise ship so I wanted to visit everyone here. The fact that it coincided with your visit was mind-blowing for me too.”

“Were you mad?”

“Yes, I was fuming.”

They both started laughing at loud.

“I’m not going to lie I did want to start a fight that day in the dining… and later on the club… and on the cereal aisle…”

Priyanka threw water from the lake at the girl’s face.

“Hey! Don’t!” Lemon shook her head. “I think it got on my eyes wait…”

“Oh no, sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

Priyanka got closer but at that moment the other girl counterattacked with some more water.

“Bitch…”

“You deserved it.” She cleaned some drops. “But I think it really got on my eyes, can you hand me my bag.”

Priyanka’s face was still wet but she did as she asked.

“Shit, my contact lenses are falling.” She looked through her bag until she found the container.

“Do you need help with that?”

“No, just a second…” She removed both contact lenses and saved them back. “Better.”

“I’m over here.” Priyanka mocked.

“Fine… I can’t see beyond my hand.”

“I know that.”

“Could you get me my glasses? They are there, somewhere…”

“Yeah, let me…”

Lemon’s bag had lip gloss, sunscreen, candy… transparent frame glasses.

“Here.” She put them in her hand.

“Don’t make fun of me.” She mumbled. “I never wear these in public…”

“Lemon, I’ve known you for ages I do remember how you look like with glasses on.”

Priyanka took them back and opened the temples before placing them gently on the blonde’s face. She adjusted the nose pads above her nose and removed some hairs out of her face.

“There,” She looked proud of her work. “See, nothing less than stunning.”

Lemon had a beaming smile on her face, she’d never look bad with or without glasses on.

She didn’t realize how close they were until Lemon batted her lashes. She could’ve kissed her right there but instead, she just moved away with her pulse running wild and her face feeling hot and no sunshine to blame for it.

The blonde extended her little finger as a white flag. “Are we good?”

Priyanka sighed with relief. “Best friends forever.” She sealed the pinky promise.

However, the word «friends» tasted bitter on her tongue.

“That’s right.” She was still holding their fingers together. “Priyanka and Lemon, Lemon and Priyanka.”

“You won’t happen to have something to eat in that bag of yours, will you?”

“I think I packed some Oreos this morning.”

“You’re my hero.”

It was almost sunset by the time they got back to the coast and they still had to border the lake to get back where the other girls were. Nonetheless, the setting of the sun was a spectacle they watched in awe as the daytime ended with the sun’s departure.

It was starting to get cold and Priyanka was the only one who had brought a jacket so she lent it to Lemon –it looked a bit oversized but she still looked good on it.

They walked for a little before meeting the rest of the group, luckily the place was fully enlightened and they had made sure they hadn’t gone too far to lose sight of the camping area. The other girls welcomed them back with a big cheer, some of them were already setting a little fire to toast marshmallows and sing songs with a guitar.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Lemon headed to the public toilet while Priyanka joined the circle around the bonfire.

“So…” Denali sat next to her right away. “How did that go?”

“You knew.” Priyanka crossed her arms on her chest. “I can’t believe it, y’all helped to orchestrate this stunt.”

“…maybe. But it was for a good cause.”

“Which one?”

“Getting you a girlfriend.”

Priyanka rolled her eyes.

“I swear…”

“What happened over there?” Scarlett, Kiara, and Juice surrounded her like a group of teenagers.

“She doesn’t want to spill the details.”

“That’s because nothing happened and you should mind your own business.”

“What do you mean nothing happened? You two were there for like two hours.”

“We did talk about why we first fought and other things but it’s nothing close to what you think so you should drop it. I’m being serious right now.” She cleared her throat. “Lemon and I are friends… that’s it. Don’t try to push it further because it’s not going to happen.”

It was clear at that point that fixing their friendship was more important than risking her feelings; maybe she could tell Lemon one day and they could laugh about it just like they had done earlier but, at that moment, things were very recent and fragile to drop any more information into the mix. Priyanka wanted to have her on her life and she wasn’t going to lose her best friend over some unrequited love she had.

If she had dealt with it most of her life, she surely could do it again.

The girls protested but they sat back in their places. Lemon joined them shortly after, she sat next to Priyanka, the sleeves of her jacket looked like sweater paws on her.

“Hey, do you mind going back with the girls? I was talking to Rita and she’s kind of tired so I’m going home with her.”

“Oh, sure. No problem. Is she alright?”

“Yeah, just tired and maybe sunburn. I don’t want to drive when it’s too late either.”

“Alright. Are you still coming to dinner with my family? My mom said she’ll be waiting for you.”

“Saturday, right? I’ll be there.” She smiled. “I’m really glad we got to talk today, Pri.”

“Me too.”

She hugged her Lemon before she left; the blonde then greeted everyone else.

Priyanka watched in silence as the yellow car left the park.

Her heart shrunk, this was the right thing to do, they were friends again, and yet… she felt empty inside.

#rpdr fanfiction #lemon #priyanka #lemon x priyankya #childhood friends #friends to lovers #lesbian au #come home to my heart #plastiquedoll #conceit welcome #drcan #can1

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benka79 · 4 years

Text

Saying 'I Love You' never felt so good

McDanno meta. Season 4 meta.

Okay, I'm here again because I couldn't put these thoughts in my previous meta!

You can find my previous meta here.

I need to scream about the foreshadow and subtext of the Beautiful first, real, I Love You in the show, episode 4x18.

Let's start

After choosing you

Okay, I said in my previous meta Danny chooses Steve and Grace instead Gaby.

But, before that happens, we had a conversation between Steve and Danny at the beginning of the season 4.

Remember when they were hostages of terrorist that belonged to a drugs cartel in the Palace? There was a wounded person and Steve was kneeling by his side, and Danny came and said he was about to say the three words to Gaby? Remember Steve's reaction to that?

I had to ask for help to my friend @mrsaquaman187 , I don't have the gifs but I do remember when Danny started saying it, Steve closed his eyes and scratched his left eyebrow.

This is sign of uncomfortable, and nervousness.

Why he reacted like that? Oh well, just because he knows Danny said 'I love you' to him in their first date, and then he began to date Gaby, so... That wasn't serious for sure, and he thinks he is gonna do the same to her. So... Steve gave an advice, he said Danny needed to know well if he was about to say those words, because is a big deal.

We know Danny didn't say it to Gaby, but to someone else...

Then we have Amber... But she is not the one

Okay, pay attention to this... Because the episode in which Amber appears, starts with this scene...

Gif credit @wildandwild

Grace says this after Danno confess she's the number one in his list.

And look at what she says, NUMBER TWO ISN'T EVEN CLOSE.

Because when Danny meets Amber, Amber says they're neighbors, because Danny is from Jersey and she's from New York.

So, the second one in Danny's list IS NOT CLOSE TO DANNY. Is not Amber. (Even if I love her, because she's badass and fabulous).

The writers made it wilders, because we will have Steve talking to Grover, saying Danny is IN THE NORTH COAST, WHICH MEANS, HE IS NOT CLOSE TO HIM, DANNY IS FAR AWAY FROM STEVE, AND VICEVERSA, SO, STEVE IS SETTLED HERE AS DANNY SECOND IMPORTANT PERSON IN HIS LIST.

Then we have Danny doubting if he should give this cute woman a chance, because, okay, he's not getting enough attention from his Seal and Gaby is gone. He decides to give it a shot.

Jealousy and Acceptance

Okay, what I'm about to say here is very sad.

When Danny arrives to Steve's house, he asked for Amber, and Danny had this sad expression in his face, but then Steve said Danny was perked up, and Danny mocks saying he doesn't perk up. And there's this exchange of looks, and Danny is smiling, but he's hiding what he is feeling right now. And then... This... (Thanks Trisha)

The following gif set credit belongs to @peggyswilliams

Fine, we have Danny naming situations, these situations are the same that brought Danny and Steve to work together and then to become great partners and best friend's, so, the face is screaming jealousy, but also, sadness. Because Danny is saying here YOU ARE SO KIND WITH YOUR NEW FRIEND, PEOPLE WILL THINK YOU TWO LIKE EACH OTHE.

And this, my friends, is huge!!!!

Danny is recriminating Steve about the way he treated him when they first met, and they way they flirted, and all those golden days full of dates and silliness, PEOPLE THOUGHT WE LIKED EACH OTHER. So, he is saying YOU CONFUSED ME, I THOUGHT WE HAD SOMETHING THERE. And his face is full of sadness and longing.

Danny sees Steve being kind with Grover, and getting close to him, and he is Jealous, and he knows Steve is like this with everyone.

But this one, Danny is sad, and jealous, and disappointed, he is mourning that time when they were something else than friends.

Then Steve's tunes around and Danny face is pure longing. Is amazing, the performance is perfect, and you can read it all over his face and his eyes. His longing for Steve. For those days in which people thought they liked each other.

The I love you, and how Danny perked up after that

Episode 4x19 in which Danny and Steve were trapped when that building crashed, it was very pivotal in the show.

First of all, because Steve attention was again focused on Danny.

Steve thought Danny had died, so when he hears his voice, he runs to him, and holds his hand, with the biggest smile, showing his happiness and relief.

Steve was practically taking care of him, offering him water and trying to take care of the wound. In the middle of the horrible situation, they were bonding again.

Then... When Steve was about to explode that bomb to get them out from there, Danny tried to deliver a message to him, thinking that could be their last hours. But he couldn't, so he said it like a joke, because joking I their defense mechanism to say how they really feel for each other, is their safe place.

So this happened... Danny says, playing around, that he hates Steve, and Steve got the message, he turns around to the bomb, and says I LOVE YOU TOO, BUDDY.

His body language here was showing honesty, but at the same time, he said it natural.

But for Danny, it meant A LOT. Because Steve said before YOU SHOULD BE SURE TO SAY IT, BECAUSE IT CAN'T BE UNSAID.

And this scene showed us it meant more to Danny that to Steve in that moment.

The following gif set belongs to @flipse

Danny looks away, rants, makes circles about the idea he wants to express, because he feels embarrassed. But Steve, Steve is trying to recall what is Danny talking about.

Steve waits... "Come one, you are gonna make me say it?" Steve keeps waiting for him, because he already recalled what Danny is talking about.

The it comes, "I lOVE YOU."

In this moment of the season, it meant a lot to Danny, more than it meant to Steve, because Danny is the one pining for him. Steve is focused on Cath and his problems.

This entire Sun and Moon story will keep going until something huge will happen: THE LIVER TRANSPLANT.

There's a huge change attitude in Danny after 4x19, in 4x20 Danny mocks Steve (with a wink to the mcdanno shipper in their anniversary) but he mocks him about Cath, saying she wants to be away from him. Steve remains speechless for a moment, this is the old Danny there, the Danny that just perked up after a love confession, and is happy, and when Danny is happy, he flirts and plays around with Steve. After this Danny describes Steve like a black cloud that never goes away. Again using the joke to express how he feels about Steve. Their girlfriends are far away from them, but Steve is always there, by his side. Is like if Danny were saying "YOU DON'T WANT TO BE AWAY FROM ME", pointing at the previous joke he made about Cath and Steve.

Then, the I Love You comes again, freely, and comfortable.

There's another HUGE example of Danny playing around with Steve, this time trying to make him jealous, and enjoying his face with please, when he decides to bet for Lou, instead Steve.

Please go check this gifset here.

Look how Danny is deliberately trying to make Steve jealous, and he has immediately success on that.

And this face here...

Gif credit @indiguus

It says everything, Danny is so happy they're back in the game, he is enjoying Steve reaction with such a heart eyes on his boy. He loves him, deeply, and he enjoys to play around with him like this. Is definitely an attitude a lover would take just to watch a pretty mad/jealous face.

Infinitely priceless.

The season ends with Steve saying I LOVE YOU, with romantic meaning to Catherine, pointing us the love triangle, and the current unrequited love in wich Danny is pining for Steve, but at this moment, he is in order be with Catherine.

This was the I LOVE YOU season. Check this post from @five-wow , they also picked up the same analogy to show how important these three words were in season 4.

To Conclude:

Season 4 was the one in which Danny was planning ning for Steve, he even chooses him and Grace instead Gaby. He finds a new love interest, but he doubts I'm initiate something with her at first, because his feelings for Steve, which are unrequited in this season.

The story of the Sun and the Moon, two lovers separated by the day and the night, will end at the end of season 6, when Steve and Danny lives will connect again into a deeper meaning.

Hope you like my rants. See you in the next ones!

If you want to be tagged on these McDanno thoughts, just let me know.

Buenos Aires, October 17th 2020, 6:39 PM

#mcdanno #mcdanno meta #season 4 meta #h50 #h50 meta

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cassiecasyl · 4 years

Text

we’re making it up as we go

Note: I haven’t seen 15x19 yet, so I’mma go into hiding after posting this to watch the episode. This is just a thing I was too tired last night to finish.

Prompt:

Chuck realizes the power of love through Destiel (that moment in s4e22 when Castiel volunteers to fight an archangel so Dean can do his thing bc I always got this vibe from that scene) + paired with s15e18

Read on ao3.

“You know what every other version of you did after gripping him tight and raising him from perdition? They did what they were told. But not you. Not the one off the line with a crack in his chassis.” Broken. That’s what they saw him as. The angel unable to follow orders, the one that was always causing trouble, even if he couldn’t remember it. Having his memory wiped countless times because no amount of brainwashing would ever stick. Defiant, rebel, traitor. Human. Just like Dean, no, following Dean, he transformed from the loyal soldier to an independent warrior.

When Castiel first laid a hand on you, he was lost. A reminder, cutting deeply, of how he didn’t fit in among his old family anymore. How they hated him, and Dean for taking him away from them, for poisoning him. His human weakness. Just like Akobel had said, how could he know them and not have fallen in love with them? At Dean’s side, Castiel had never felt lost, maybe confused though. At Dean’s side, he was found.

Dean. Hurt, angry, fighting, hopeless. The man preaching that there was always another way was at the end of his rope. He was lashing out at everyone, furious at the thought of being controlled, caged in. “You’re not in this story,” Chuck had once told him, before he revealed himself as God, in the beginning of Castiel’s fall. It seemed like so long ago now.

“Well, we’re making it up as we go,” Castiel had defended, because this was what Dean wanted, and this was where he belonged. Next to Dean’s side, keeping him safe. So, he had already given himself up back then, walking into a fight with an archangel with no hope to win. He’d figure it out.

That’s how they ended up here, at this epiphany that meant the end of Cas’s life, revealing a truth, and ultimately, saving Dean Winchester. He had slipped through the lines of the story, had hidden in the subtext, and now turned it around.

“I love you,” Castiel cried, happier than ever, as he found happiness in the being rather than the having. His very last action was a rebellion, and it was to save Dean Winchester. It seems that his whole being came down to this. Moments later, he was embraced by the empty, and pulled into its realm. He left his love behind, safe and soundly sobbing.

It was inconvenient love, Chuck realized as he watched this defiant finale unfold. It had been growing in the little cracks within his imperfect writing, like weeds on the street, and had planted its seed in Castiel’s chassis.

Once, he found it entertaining, and encouraged it even by resurrecting Castiel again and again. As Metatron had pointed out, it made for a good story. The angel had been an interesting play ball. But now, only frustration rose in him as he turned his perfect ending upside down, not even letting him enjoy Dean being murdered.

He’d seen it coming long ago though, hadn’t he? When Castiel was ready to sacrifice himself just to sneak Dean into a story he wasn’t supposed to be in. Chuck had seen something in the angel then, had realized his humanity that night, but had denied it. How stupid it was. It had been right under his nose and he had deemed it too unimportant to see it as a threat to his story. And now, it was slapped right into his face.

Castiel loves Dean Winchester. It was a rule his characters set up against his will, defying their very creator. It wasn’t something he had ever planned for, that he ever thought would interfere. He huffed frustratingly. Every other version had followed their plan, but it was exactly that he didn’t what made this version so fascinating.

So, what now? With Castiel finally gone, Sam, Dean and Jack mourning. The nephilim had to go. Of course he had survived. But what Chuck wanted was a perfectly world-shattering finale between just the brothers. Like it had started, so should it end.

An ethereal scream disrupted his thoughts as it echoed through several dimensions. He looked up, trying to locate it. He growled in recognition then, his eyes illuminated in pure rage. How dare he? Castiel had weaseled his way into this story and now, even after his final death, he wouldn’t lay still. The Empty’s scream of pain and frustration shook his core, tucking at him in a frightening way. It was more of a vibration, though.

Castiel opened his eyes to darkness. For a moment, he thought he could make out a little light through the all-encompassing, lethal hug, maybe a last glimpse of Dean. But, he was laying on the ground. Why was he awake? He looked around for a sign of his captor, or even his family. Jack had got him out before, hadn’t he? He’d been in full shape though.

Hope is a treacherous thing that sinks into the roots of your very being, wrecking it. Castiel knew that. But it was also what had let him time and time again back to Dean. It was there, always at his side, sometimes barely alive, sometimes a wildfire.

He heard it before he saw it. A scream filled the void, frustrated and tired, full of hatred. The angel flinched away from it, but there was nowhere to go. The entity manifested before him, taking from all around to form its body. “You just can’t stay asleep, can you?” it snarled, wearing Meg’s face. “Why does everyone have to make it loud these days? It’s not fun. Go back to sleep, Castiel!”

In all his lifetime, Castiel had never seen someone so seething with rage, letting it consume its whole being, and he had met Wrath. Hell, he had spent years with Dean Winchester, known for his poor anger management. Still, he wasn’t as intimidated as he thought he’d be. The Empty wanted something from him, and he wanted out. Maybe, they could come to an agreement, like before.

“No,” he said, and it was almost amusing how it infuriated the cosmic entity.

It moved closer, threatening the angel with its presence. “I could crush you, angel,” it whispered into his ear, “I could throw you into nothingness so poor that your being will forever be forgotten. You will never have even existed.”

“No,” Castiel simply repeated.

“No? Have you listened to a word I said? I could evaporate your very being and that’s what you say? No?” The want for sleep seemed to fill the Empty’s voice more and more with every word. It was at the end of its line. It was exhausted.

“If you could, why haven’t you already done so?” Castiel stated calmly, a strange contrast to the Empty. The living and the forever dead. Light against dark. The eternal struggle, reimagend. “You’re tired, and we both know there’s only one way to get rid of what’s keeping you up.” It growled, hating to be proven wrong.

“Don’t wake me up ever again!”

Castiel found himself in a blur until warm hands touched him, probing, worried, shaking in ecstasy. “Cas? Oh my God, Cas!” Dean whimpered, and Castiel blinked into the yellow light of the winter sun. He shivered, pressing closer to the hunter. They were smiling, laughing, united. “Don’t you ever leave me like that again! You hear me, dumbass?” Dean accused him, though unable to hide the grin on his face.

Castiel laughed, feeling the picking at his exposed skin, the impossible warmth that filled his heart, the sadness, anger, everything. He was so completely human. And Dean, Dean was there right in front of him, not letting go, crying of happiness. “I love you, Dean,” Castiel said, letting the happiness in those words swirl through. This was who he was. Castiel loves Dean Winchester.

“I know, Cas, I know,” Dean whispered back, sporting one of those rare smiles that reached his eyes. He was beautiful. “I love you, too.”

(Chuck watched from afar, his expression unreadable yet undeniably angry. This angel, who had weaseled his way into the story, had defied death again. Following love, he wound his way into a book he wasn’t supposed to be in, tossing words aside at his will. He scoffed as the angel and hunter kissed. Loved had won, after all. Chuck hated it.)

Tag List: @nightmare-in-plaid @luciferstempest @aniridescentdreamer @gnbrules @starrynightdeancas

#destiel #fanfic #my fic #S15 spoilers #castiel loves dean winchester #deancas #Chuck is angry #the empty is pissed off #tbh idek what this is #15x18 #coda

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hornsandthings · 5 years

Text

vices i admire;

pairing: barry berkman x reader

summary: reader accidentally finds barry’s stash of weapons, and barry is forced to come clean.

tags: fluff, angst // word count: 2.3k

a soft muttering woke you, the low grumbles and frustrated huffs stirring your hair.

“he don’t bolt—put a bolt into—to a nut; he don’t bolt a nut—fuck—”

lazy and lethargic, you nuzzled closer to barry’s neck as your hand came to rest on his chest. he was much warmer than the light comforter, and holding him close at night was the only way to keep the chill at bay. he responded just as languidly, arm curling around your waist tighter. you knew, however, that this was due to distraction, not fatigue.

“runnin’ lines?” you mumbled into his skin, voice thick and heavy with sleep. it was nice to wake up with barry, to have him close like this. he had always been a very nice and generous man, but often you thought he was somewhat unknowable, too. at times when he thought you were asleep, you saw how hard his mind worked, those thick brows betraying a deep frown. barry was approachable, but seldom open.

“—then you get yourself a couple of shots—spots, goddamn it; spots on your hat—”

a smile pulled at your mouth, a giggle trapped in your throat. you could only imagine barry’s expression – flat on his back, glaring at the ceiling, looking harsh while he accommodated your nuzzling with soft touches.

“barry,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his clavicle. you had to blink the sleep away, but there he was, looking down at you.

“—a salesman is got to dream?” he finished, eyes saying how did you sleep? while his words ended that speech. you laughed, cupping his jaw as you pulled him in for a kiss. it was easy and gentle, but you could still feel the soft intensity he managed to place behind it. again and again did he mould his lips to yours, carefully nudging you so that he was hovering above now, cradling your cheek in a way that always hinted at caution.

shuffling steps in the next room, a heavy sigh that dragged in a way only a performer could manage. “barry!” someone called, “you forgot the milk! goddammit, man, you know it’s just an aisle away from the gatorade—”

barry deflated, mouth already working up an annoyed mumble but you kissed the tip of his nose, warding away the whispered “fuck!” that was on the tip of his tongue. you jumped as the roommate pounded on the door, offering up another weary sigh.

“please, man. breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“your cereal is eighty percent sugar. you know that, right?” he retorted back while still looking at you, eyes flickering to your grin. you bit your lip during the pause, trying to smother your laugh. barry only looked put out.

the doorknob turned, letting out a tell-tell squeak and now barry jolted. “fine, fine!” he quickly shouted, hurriedly pulling the covers up to his shoulders as you gripped him closer like a shield. your briefly eyed the nearest article of clothing – in the corner, a few feet away – and burst into a big belly laugh at barry’s alarmed face, quite comical with those expressive brows as he swallowed thickly.

he grumbled a little, disentangling himself from you between quick, chaste kisses. “i’m sorry,” he sighed, shaking his head as he shrugged on a hoodie, fumbled with a pair of pants. “i’ll be back soon, alright? thirty minutes.”

“no worries, baby,” you mused, wrapping the comforter all around you as he left. daylight crept in beneath the blinds, and you allowed yourself to just sit a while, taking in barry’s room. there was little to indicate he’d been a marine, most of it packed away into a box stored in the closet. instead, things that told of his aspirations to acting dotted the room: gene’s book on the bedside table, a pile of old scripts in the corner, spare props peeking out from beneath the bed. you’d only seen him perform onstage twice so far; while his delivery couldn’t quite communicate the amount of effort he always put into it, you supported his desires wholeheartedly.

this thing with barry – it was only a few months old, but the dedication throughout had felt pure and strong. the care between you two was genuine, and there was more than just simple attraction; the way he touched you, held you – it was laced with adoration. huffing a chuckle, you stepped out of the bed and wriggled into your underthings. muffled sounds from the television filtered through the door as you searched for your socks, tuned to some morning soap.

this – you wouldn’t mind a life like this. to spend the nights with barry, wake up in his arms, coming to also know his lines from the sheer amount of times he went over them; to become part of his life in a way that meant more mornings like this. perhaps you two weren’t quite there yet, but sometimes – just from the way this particular happiness felt – you could tell that you, at least, were close.

resolving to tidy up, you reached for the comforter to disentangle the knot you’d made of it. the material snagged, and with a frown you tried pulling to no avail. kneeling at the foot of the bed, you realised it had caught in the mattress’ zipper. jerking the quilt hard, it finally ripped free, tugging the zip right open with it.

your heart stopped, skin crawling as goosebumps developed. with a trembling hand, you uncovered the array of firearms so expertly displayed within the mattress fibre. there were pistols, barrels, bullets and silencers; black, menacing things with an express purpose. to hurt. to kill.

the door swung open and barry jerked to a halt, mimicking you as he went very still. those wide eyes and thick brows were no longer comical or endearing; no, they were alarming, frightening, intimidating. right now, he was a stranger.

“i—i didn’t mean to—,” you stuttered, throat closing and jaw hurting as fear began its slow asphyxiation. barry was breathing just as hard as you, horroron his face as that stash of guns glinted dully in the space between.

“listen, i—”

a shout of laughter rang from the kitchen, and barry’s jaw clenched as your gaze flickered to the door behind him. both reminded of the presence of other people – help for you, trouble for him – barry moved slow, nudging the door closed.

“listen,” he said again, low and deliberate, “i can explain.”

you scrambled back as he stepped forward, sliding until your back hit the wall. a soft whimper fell from your mouth as he continued to near, but as soon as the sound hit him, he lowered to his knee a few feet away.

“after afghanistan—i didn’t have anything else to be good at,” he started, desperation replacing the alarm on his face. “someone took advantage of that. i—i had to do things…”

barry’s breath hitched in a way that forewarned tears, and your own eyes stung.

“i tried—i’m trying—to get out of it, but i’m in so deep, sweetheart, it just won’t—fuck!”

he gasped for breath, shaking his head as if trying to straighten his thoughts. you were shivering, reading the subtext that was simply terrifying. incomprehensible. those odd hours when he’d show up at your door, distraught and in need of comfort; he’d always blamed it on his acting process, the result of getting into character, but now – now you knew better. you couldn’t even look at him anymore, those red and tearful eyes just too much.

“i know it’s wrong. i know. it’s not who i am—not anymore. i realised it when i came to LA, but i knew it before. deep down. but—but i’m good at it, and they won’t just let me be—”

“barry,” you pleaded, “barry—”

“please, please believe me,” he begged, even clasping his hands together. nausea roiled in your gut, mind sticky as reality slurred. barry – this… this man – was frantic; instability and guns didn’t make for a good combination. “i can’t let it happen again—i need you to just figure this out with me, alright? please.”

“i w-won’t tell a-anyone,” you rushed, thoughts racing. you wanted to believe him – god, you’d wanted to love him – but this… this was horrifying. “i promise, just—please don’t h-hurt me.” you were curled into yourself, knees and hands drawn up to your chest.

barry flinched in disbelief. “i won’t ever hurt you,” he promised, no fumbling to be heard; it was clear despite the dishevelment that threatened to undo him. barry’s distress tugged at your heart, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to that line yet. your eyes drifted to those weapons again, torn between sympathy and repulsion. barry winced, covering up the flap as he risked moving closer.

“the war is over, barry,” you whispered. a sad, simple truth laid bare, barely making its way to him. you should’ve known that such integration after serving was too good and too soon; a life without violence may not ever be enough for him.

barry’s voice failed, giving a mournful nod instead. “i’m sorry,” he said, voice filled with unadulterated sorrow for himself, for you, for what had happened, for everything. “i’m so sorry.”

it was quiet for a time. he was crying softly in front of you while you just stared at the door beyond him, shutting down breath by breath. eventually barry realised, moving away.

“i’m not holding you hostage,” he murmured, a hollowness to his voice that sent a dull spike of fear within you. “you can… you can go,” he said, jaw feathering as he probably weighed the consequences.

nodding mutely, you grabbed your jeans and the first shirt you found, not even noticing that it was actually barry’s. breathing deep, you eyed him as prey would eye a predator; wary, distrustful, afraid. he slouched, seeming to fold into himself as he allowed you a wide berth.

and so you left, putting one step in front of the other and keeping your head down, pulse still thundering in your ears. his roommates greeted you but all you heard was a series of discordant sounds, including your own vague reply before the apartment door shut behind you.

+++

two weeks. it had been two weeks of no contact, and barry had barrelled through the days thinking his world was imploding again. he tried to keep up a sense of normalcy by going to work, to acting class, to the grocery store, to the bar with his friends. routine. routine was all that could save him now.

he’d wanted to be selfish, to keep you there until he was sure you wouldn’t eventually resort to the police, but unfriendly memories had come unbidden – of chris, of janice. he couldn’t fuck up this one – it was you, goddammit, he couldn’t even think of laying a hand on you. so he had let you go with the shred of hope that you’d see the truth of barry berkman. there were times he’d wanted to come and visit you, but he couldn’t risk scaring you even further. god, just the look on your face, the tremble to your lip – it sickened him to know that he was the cause of it. you’d been cowering from him, so vulnerable and exposed; caught in a twisted caricature of more intimate scenes you two would share. he hated himself for it. every time he loaded another shot, he could taste the spilled blood in his mouth, see the betrayal in your eyes. even now, as he watched some movie trying to be mindless for just one hour, the guilt nagged at the back of his mind.

a knock on the door. looking around, he met the raised brows of his roommates and acquiesced. with a sigh, he trudged over, expecting another lost missionary—

but it was you.

it was you, eyes bruised and face gaunt with the knowledge that had troubled you for days. his fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, but he stepped into the corridor instead, shutting the door behind him.

“what—,” he croaked, voice breaking. “you—”

you let out a shuddering breath, and barry shifted on his feet as he saw tears glistening in your eyes. “i believe you, barry.” it was a low, breathy sentence, drenched in dread and regret. it seemed like you were going to say something more, but you just shook your head.

despite this, barry’s heart lifted in a desperate sense of relief. a hitched, breathy laugh fell from his mouth. it was instinct to reach for you, and although you tensed, you fell into his embrace with a muffled sob, hands fisted in his shirt. barry swallowed his own tears, holding you close, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“you’re important to me,” he confessed. “you’re part of this good life – the one that i want, the one with happiness and love – and i don’t wanna give it up. i promise i’m not a monster… i, uh, don’t think i am? i—i don’t wanna be.”

with a sharp inhale, you looked up at him as you cupped his jaw. your brows were furrowed, corners of your mouth turned down, but you were holding him. you were here.

“i don’t know where we go from here,” you admitted, “but i care for you, barry. i want you to be okay.”

he nodded, face crumpling as he did so. hands cradling your neck, barry kissed you with all the longing he had in him, all the yearning and pining for things that were always so close to slipping from his hold.

starting now, he told himself. the mantra that always failed him, but the one that he tried – always tried – to live by. perhaps this time.

starting… now.

#barry berkman x reader #barry berkman imagine #barry berkman fanfiction #i love bill hader :(#his lines are from a. miller's death of a salesman

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nika-the-hunter · 4 years

Text

House of Mist [Ch. 11]

Central Seattle Ruins, Pacific Northwest. House Mist Territory +157 days

Nicole and Rykis walked down the path that had been worn through the tall grass. The old road surface was clearly visible here under the dirt. It was cracked and crumbled, resembling gravel more than the flat concrete it had once been. The other trees, not the evergreens, were starting to get their leaves again, and were bringing brighter shades of green to the pale urban ruins. This was her first spring, and it was wonderful, everything was so full of life.

Her meeting with Fort Discovery had gone well; so well in fact that she was absolutely convinced that working with the House of Mist had been the right decision. She and Rykis had spent the remainder of the day walking around the small settlement named after the original park it was built on. There had been a fort there before at some point in ancient history, but its name had been lost to time.

She met many Humans in the fort; over half of them had ties to the region that went back to before the Collapse. Those that had migrated over to Fort Discovery from elsewhere had interesting stories of the world outside the region as well. She had made it a point that return trips would be common for her. The children that her Ghost was entertaining followed him the whole time, trying to play tag with the mechanical ball.

Pedro and Athena had ideas for expansion that Nicole could help with. They had been in radio contact with a group of people due east that were worried about a band of Fallen lurking around their town. The town had been cautious about Mist, but stories of the friendly Fallen out west had apparently made the journey to them. They were willing to move into Mist territory but had no way to do it without drawing the attention of the local Fallen crew. Pedro had planned to bring it to the Kell’s attention soon, but the campaign against the House of Devils had kept the Kell busy. Now that things were calming down, he would bring it up and suggest that Nicole help convince the others that Mist was extra safe.

When Nicole finally left Fort Discovery, she found the Archon taking a video call with an Eliksni Vandal who wore a banner she did not know. Though there was a lot she did not know already. It was hard to tell the color of the armor with the screen glare from the angle they were at, but it looked green. Marakis had ended the call and turned to face the two who had approached. He briefly mentioned that he was speaking with the House of Exile, before asking about their tour. Later Rykis told her that the House of Exile was an Eliksni collective that lived up on the moon. Mist apparently had a trade deal with them regarding Ether.

On the flight back to the Archons compound, they all talked briefly, Marakis was interested in how she and Rykis were getting along. He seemed really excited with a Guardian and Eliksni living together and seemed to read the subtext of what was really going on quite well. Sparing them the embarrassment of just saying it.

The day was nearly over by then with the sunset lighting the sky in a bright gold. Their walk back towards downtown kept them in the shade already. Her Ghost spent his time orbiting around the two and occasionally flying off to scan something dangling in the old windows. The ruins were mostly empty, Mist Eliksni lived in the newer buildings that were further downtown. Those buildings were still old pre-Collapse construction, but they were in much better shape than the stone and steel skyscrapers that made up ninety percent of the city. Over the centuries after the collapse, those buildings had remained free of overgrowth and were still somewhat waterproof, unlike her hotel across the lake.

“So, are we headed back to the Kell to catch that truck back, or are we walking home on our own?” Nicole asked.

“No, the Kell gave you the choice of living elsewhere now. You’re not restricted to Baron Acskis’ outpost.” He replied.

“So... where are we headed then?” He did not really answer her question.

“We’re headed to where I lived before. I think that you might like it.” She could see the edges of his face move behind his mask in what she recognized as an Eliksni smile, then he shrugged. “If you do not, then we can go to your hotel tomorrow, or maybe somewhere else.”

“Oh, alright. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

“Mm, not as long as you think, I visit it whenever you’re busy around Bellevue.”

Nicole nodded. “Well that’s good; I’d hate to keep you from home.”

There was a bleep from her helmet that was clipped to her belt. She looked down and saw something flashing on her visor. “Oh hey, give me a second.” Her helmet slipped over her head, but she did not activate the seal.

The blinking icon opened into a list that took up half of the view screen. The word Quests was in bold at the top, with little icons and what she guessed were the quests themselves listed on it. There were only a few entries. The currently highlighted ‘quest’ had a graphic of one of the metro trains she had seen in the tunnel over a banner for Umic. Memory Troubles was the name with the description “Locate Metro Security Records.”

The chirp of her Ghost sounded from the helmet’s internal speaker. “Hey! You finally checked out the Quest tab!”

“What is this?” She asked.

“Well, you seemed to be getting a lot of things to do, so I decided to put together some of my own quests for you. Usually these come from the Vanguard at the Last City but given how we’re not planning on going there any time soon, I’ll do it for you for now.”

“Okay... why did it just pop up now?” she stopped Rykis. “Hold on for a second.”

“Well follow the marker and find out!” the Ghost replied, at the same moment a diamond shaped marker appeared. He sounded excited which was very unlike himself.

Nicole nodded in the direction the marker showed and started to go. “Sorry Rykis. My Ghost found something he wants me to see. We gotta’ detour.”

“Then lead on, Neh-cole.”

The marker led back and over one block, to the front doorway of a tall office tower. The building's stone facade was crumbling in places, leaving piles of rubble underneath the trees. Once at the door, the icon appeared again further inside. It stopped at a stairwell leading down into the dark. “Alright, we’re here. What did you find?”

Her Ghost appeared from inside the doorway and played his flashlight over the remains of a sign hanging on the wall. The letters had faded but most were still legible. -Metro Transit Authority. Regional Security Office.

“I found the place!” He did a spin inside his shell. At first, she was not sure what he meant, but the name of the ‘quest’ connected the dots. The camera down in the subway tunnel had been looking right at where her body had been. It was still working and sending the data back somewhere and something was still giving it the command to record. Robust systems were still working somewhere. But if she wanted to find out what had happened to her, all she needed to do was go down and find the network hub. It was not a priority; she had actually forgotten about it up until now. The discovery of her cause of death was more of a hopeful curiosity than an actual objective. However, there it was... at the bottom of the staircase were some answers about her previous life. Under the helmet she bit her lip and gave it a good two seconds of thought. The answer was obvious.

Down she went. Quickly at first, but immediately slowing for caution; the stairs were slick and covered in moss. That was something she was used to seeing out there. Buildings, trees, rocks, and even growing on the side of Eliksni crates that had been sitting just a little too long; moss was everywhere. The bottom step was submerged beneath a few centimeters of water and somewhere deeper in the basement she could hear flowing water.

At the far end of the large open space, Nicole could see dozens of blinking green lights hidden behind a window. The working systems were a good sign that this was the right place. She stepped into the ankle-deep water and apologized to Rykis. He was not wearing any sort of water-resistant footwear, but he followed her anyway without complaining. Sloshing through the water, Nicole noticed that people had died down here fairly quickly. A few had died at their workstations, leaving their skeletons collapsed over keyboards and left computers in stand-by mode.

The sign on the side of the door said that it was the data-storage room. It was exactly what they were looking for. The blinking lights were the status lights for over a dozen large computer racks. The hum in the room was loud, and the air was warm. The doorway was raised higher than the water, someone had some forethought when they built the place in the basement, so there was no water inside. Once inside with the door closed behind them, Nicole could not hear the water flow anymore.

Nicole had no idea how to search all this for what they wanted, so she waved to the machines. “Okay Ghost, do your thing.”

He chirped and flew over to one of the stacks. “This might take a while. These cameras have been recording for centuries...” The Ghost flew from stack to stack, an optical beam connecting with each tower. “Just have to find the feed from your station and trace where it goes. It was Olympic... I think?”

“Well take your time, Ghost. It’s not like Rykis and I can do anything.”

After a few minutes scanning through the various racks, he had found the data. “I got it!” he exclaimed with all his fins expanding out from his core. “Well, are you sure you want to watch this, last chance.”

Rykis looked at the Ghost, and then to Nicole. “What did he find, what are we looking for?”

“Well he found the recording of how I died. The first time.” Nicole grimly smiled. “I'm hoping it’ll give me something to work with. So yes, Ghost, start it up.”

He floated over to a dormant computer station and interfaced with the monitor. The screen flickered and flashed to life. The multiple camera feeds from across the station appeared. There was even sound.

Olympic Park Station -28 minutes

Umic Security Officer Nicole Walker rushed down the escalator leading into the chaotic subway station. Her heavy plasteel ballistic vest almost knocked her off balance in the shifting sea of Seattle citizens. Thirteen hours ago, she had thought that the vest had been overkill; her regular uniform had woven strands of sapphire wire which was good enough to stop mid-caliber ammunition. But as the day progressed, she no longer felt that way, and was grateful for the vest.

Gunfire at the top of the stairs brought her around with her rifle, aiming the carbine towards the odd colored daylight streaming in at the top of the shaft. The citizens and refugees parted and dropped to either side, clearing a firing lane to the doors. At the top of the stairs her partner, USO. Keane, fired out the door and onto the street. An explosion rocked the shaft and people fell, more pushed deeper into the station. “I’m gonna’ close the doors!” Keane shouted. “Get in here now.”

He fired again, Nicole tried to get back up the escalator, but the parted sea had closed and everyone that was up near the top was making their way down whether she was in the way or not.

A cluster of blue energy shots peppered the wall above Keane. A large group of people finally made it through the doors, and he slammed his fist into the switch on the wall. The station’s storm shutters dropped from the ceiling and bounced once off their rubber seals.

They were locked in, and the bad stuff was locked out.

Another explosion from outside shook the ground again, more gunfire erupted nearby, it was all muffled by the storm shutters. “Everyone downstairs.” Nicole ordered. People that had remained on the stairs, even after the crowds fled, slowly got to their feet, and moved down to the station.

The trains were still running, “Thank the Traveler...” Nicole muttered. There were casualties and moving the injured on foot down kilometers of tunnel was just not going to work.

“Please form a line! Cue up at the marked positions!” A Transit cop in a high-visibility vest was directing the panicked people to where they could board the next subway car. “We’ll get you all out of here as fast as we can. The trains are running double-time and filling up at previous stations!”

Nicole walked over to one of the small coffee shops along the wall that had its lights still on. The windows were smashed, but two of the original employees were busy passing out water and snacks to anyone who came for them. She grabbed two bottles of water and a small bag of sugar cookies. Downing her bottle in one go, she headed back into the space between lines where Keane was wiping the sweat from underneath his helmet. “You alright?” She offered him the other water.

Taking the water, he also drained it. “Yeah... uh... just glad those doors are doing the job.” He nodded over to a group of Seattle Police Officers talking on the other side of the next line. “They got working radios. Military’s been trying to get up here for hours apparently. Something is bogging down the roads, and the weather is just insane.”

She nodded. “We could really use the help. A bunch of street cops and some deputized, heavily armed, and highly skilled, security guards ain’t going to help everyone.” Nicole smirked; trying to add some humor into the situation.

Keane returned the look with a thin smile. “Yeah, doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

The ceiling chimed. “Train approaching... train approaching.”

At the front of the lines, the Transit cop checked his wrist pad. “Alright people, this train is only two-thirds full! Stay in line and wait your turn. We’ll all make it out, just don’t push.”

The sleek subway train slid into the station and squeaked to a stop. The cars were packed, but apparently only part full. Once the doors opened, no one got off, and the lines began to squeeze in wherever they could. With a blow of their whistle, the crowds stepped back and allowed the Transit cops to get the doors sealed and sent the train on its way. “Next train arrives in... five minutes,” chimed the ceiling.

Two more trains came and went, but the population count in the station did not seem to be decreasing. People were just spreading out now that there was more room.

Nicole noticed a lone kid standing in the middle of the station clutching a stuffed animal. It was covered in dirt, but she thought it might have been an Orca. The little girl could not have been older than five, but she did not look scared or sad. Nicole walked over and took a knee beside her. “Hey there kid, where are your parents at?”

The girl looked at her and shook her head. “I dunno, mommy went to get daddy. She said to wait here.”

“Well which way did she go?” Nicole asked. Hopefully it was not far.

The little girl pointed the stuffed Orca up the stairs. “She went up there.”

Nicole looked up that direction and frowned. That was not good.

“Train approaching... Train approaching.”

Unknown to Nicole, the station security system picked up a conversation going on down one of the maintenance corridors, coming towards the station.

“Holy shit Sam, where did you get those?” Voice one spoke out, in audible surprise.

“From nowhere. I ain’t telling.” Voice two was gruff, and noticeably angry. “Here, take it, it's loaded.”

Voice one huffed and had to hurry to follow “What the hell are we going to do with them?!”

“We’re getting on that next train. I'm getting us out of this place.” A sharp click-clack sound was registered with the system. It was identified as the racking of a shotgun pump by algorithmic analysis.

It would have alerted the authorities if there was anyone left to pick-up. There was not.

Back in the station proper, the next train was slowly gliding into the station. It was only one fourth full. Plenty of room for evacuees. The door in the backside of the station burst open and out rushed two men. One had an assault rifle, and the other in the front was carrying a large gauge semi-automatic shotgun. He fired it into the ceiling once. “Everyone fucking back off. We’re getting on that train, you hear me?” the man bellowed. Chunks of plaster fell to the ground around them.

People froze in place, some dropped to the ground. The traffic cops had their hands on their sidearms, but nobody drew their weapons; not with a threat like that in a crowd of civilians. “Hey now, there's plenty of space for everyone. Just put the guns down.” One of the cops motioned slowly.

“Nah, we’re going. Now. Get everyone out of the way.” The guy in front swept the gun across the station. “Stay the fuck back.”

Nicole eyed the gunmen, both the shotgun and the rifle had large drum magazines, however the guy with the rifle seemed put off by what was going on. That did not change the fact that he was still waving the gun around the crowd.

One of the cops that had been back near the coffee shop came around slowly and half crouched. He looked like he was going to try and tackle the shotgun wielder. If shots started flying, things would go bad very quick.

Nicole threw herself in front of the kid who was just out in the open, well in the line of fire. Too many potential targets had been behind the kid.

The man with the gun reacted to Nicole's sudden movements and fired at her. Under normal conditions, if that shotgun had been loaded with buckshot, it would have just caused a few dents in her plate vest. However, that gun had been loaded with high-velocity solid slugs.

At the range they were at, there was nothing that could be done. The slug smashed into the center of her plasteel plate, causing it to deform beyond its threshold. Her chest cavity was crushed. The plate had stopped the bullet, but not in any manner that would have saved her life.

Central Seattle Ruins +157 days

Nicole watched her original self crumple to the floor and die. The others, who she did not know or recognize, took down the men with the guns. They tried to revive her, but it was no use, she was already gone. Her fellow security guard was visibly distressed and started to kick the guy who had shot her while he was detained. However, the officer in the bright yellow vest pulled him off and shoved him away. The girl was loaded onto the train with the Umic guard and sent away almost immediately.

The people that remained in the station pulled her body far out of the way, moving it to its final resting place on top of the mezzanine above the tracks. One of the people that helped carry her body placed her arms on her chest and draped a tablecloth from the store over her. He seemed to say a prayer and leave, but there was nobody else up there to witness it.

“Well there you have it.” Her Ghost blinked. “There is more to the recording near the end, but that's how you died.” The video sped up and the station eventually emptied, leaving her body sitting alone on the platform. Nobody else entered the station after the last train zipped down the track. “Huh...” She had expected some firefight with the cause of the collapse, not getting shot by fellow Humans. It did not change anything though, she had hoped that when she found the video of her death it would unlock the memories of that past life, but nothing came from them. No insight into who she was, or any of the people they had known. It felt almost like a wasted trip; the question of how she died was answered, but there was no extra reward. “I can tell you're disappointed. If you thought that it would help your memories, I could have told you that it wouldn’t.” The Ghost replied to the look on her face. “This bit at the end though might cheer you up a little.

Nicole sighed as the video clicked and moved on. With no movement it switched to an ‘extended event monitoring’ mode. There were only subtle indications on how fast time was passing in the station; a steady drip became a flood of water down the tunnels, drowning the track. Dirt piles slowly grew across the floor from the corners, eventually enough for plants to grow and sprout under the steady station lights. Her body rapidly deteriorated on screen, becoming food for moss and other things that made the station their home.

The video would briefly slow when the occasional animal triggered the cameras, or some big event like part of the roof caved in. The system timestamp degraded into error symbols before the first lightbulb went out.

When the station was looking similar to how it was when she was revived, the camera slowed down back to real time. Movement appeared from the other side of the platform and an Eliksni scurried in looking around the space. They were small and about the size of one of the Not-Dregs.

Rykis made a sound behind her, like a squeak almost, but she continued to watch.

The Eliksni on screen cautiously poked around the ruined metro station, digging through the shelves and boxes left in the cafe. They crossed out to the station mezzanine and came across the moss-covered remains of Nicole’s former life. The Eliksni knelt and picked up the old ballistic helmet, the skull still secured by the chinstrap. However now that it was disturbed the skull slipped free and fell to the ground with a loud thunk. A dull ache spontaneously formed on the back of Nicole’s head and then faded.

Setting the helmet upside down, the Eliksni carefully returned the skull to its place on the remains. Then they pulled a backpack out from under the moss and ferns that laid beside her body. Digging through it, they pulled out a tablet and what looked like a small stack of notebooks. They put the notebooks back into the pack and threw it over their shoulder but put the tablet into another bag.

The image froze in her head as the video went on. She had seen that bag before. It was so familiar, still covered in paint brushes and other small tools. Her eyes slid over to Rykis watching from beside her. The same bag was slung over his shoulder, looking a bit smaller after all the years. If an Eliksni could look any more guilty, she doubted it.

“Rykis is that you?” Nicole asked him. “Did you take my backpack?” She would not say he stole it; she was dead at the time after all.

Slowly, Rykis nodded. “Yes. that was me. Years ago.” His fingers tapped together nervously, and he seemed to think he needed to say more. “I still have your stuff; I was going to give it back when we got to my place.”

Nicole raised her eyebrow. “Oh, really now? How’d you know it was mine before we saw this recording?”

He nodded towards the screen showing the current status of the old station. “When we went down there on your third day. You stopped over where your body had sat for so long. I recognized it right away. Yours were the only bones in the station, and the only bones I had seen down there that day.”

“Well we just saw why. I hope that guy made it somewhere safe. We’ll never know though.” Nicole sighed and waved her hand in the air. “Alright, we found what we were looking for. It didn’t help me, but let's get out of this flooded basement. Rykis, lead on to your place.” “Yes yes.” he chittered. “Follow me.”

They headed back up to the surface and into the early hours of night. The occasional streetlights continued burning brightly through the trees that grew around them. Some lights were still on in the various buildings, making the skyline an odd patchwork of light and dark. The walk only lasted a few blocks, not long at all. It was actually directly behind the Kell’s hall. Rykis had probably gone home after her last meeting there. She was mainly mentally exhausted, there was a lot that had happened today.

The building Rykis called home turned out to be the old Art Museum. She smiled at that, of course the local artist would choose to set up shop in an art museum. The windows had all been patched over with metal scrap, just like he had done over in her building, and the door was sturdy and weather-proof. He held it open for her to go in.

“Anyone else live here?” She walked in and found herself inside a small tunnel made of hanging tarps. The light was provided by the warm Eliksni tube lights that stuck up from the floor every few meters. Her question was nearly answered by voices from behind some of the curtains that broke off from the tunnel. “Yes actually. Many of Mist’s more artsy Eliksni live in the building. But there is more than enough space that I can have this for my own,” Rykis replied. He closed the door behind him and latched it shut.

Taking the lead again, he took her up the stairs and through a set of double doors, to a half sphere structure in the middle of a room. Tarps and string lights spread out from the structure which was attached to the walls and ceiling of the big room they were in. Nicole could see faded and water damaged paintings hanging from the walls which had to be old Human art. The dome structure was obviously Eliksni construction with heat and light pouring out into the cold building from behind the curtain. “Come in, this is my... uh... home.” He pulled the curtain open and gestured her inside.

"It looks very cozy." Nicole followed him through the curtain and into the space. He had probably left it to warm up while he went to meet her.

There was a mix of Eliksni and Human furniture inside. In the center of the space was a table covered in small jars and brushes; she could see a few unfinished canvasses sitting around it. It appeared that Rykis was quite good at traditional painting.

Rykis had walked over to a locker leaning up against the wall. "Take a seat, let me see if I can find it..." He motioned for her to sit at the table with his lower arms.

Nicole sat where he pointed and watched Rykis dig through the locker. From there she was able to get at a better look at the canvases he had leaning against the bench.

She recognized the scene in the painting. The looming Spiderwalker in the snowstorm. Nicole had been standing a meter to the right when this had happened. It was the battle at the Pass, when Rykis had charged the tank with a flare to alert the artillery on the ridge.

One of the other paintings was of the interior of her hotel tower, after she had done some cleanup of the swamp, and made it more like a pond. The light was captured perfectly, and the colors were wonderful. Her art viewing time was cut short as Rykis brought her attention back to him when he placed a hard-backed case on the table. It looked just like the one from the video, just a bit cleaner.

“So, this was mine? From before?” Nicole picked it up and looked it over. The case was made from a slick stretchy material, and the edges cracked when she bent it too much. The straps had rotted away at some point and their remains dangled haplessly at the side.

“Yes, it should be everything.” Rykis nodded, sitting across from her. “I was young and looking for salvage back then, I had tried to trade your tablet, but it didn’t work and wasn’t worth anything. I did like looking through your sketchbooks though.”

“Sketchbooks?” Nicole pulled open the bag and heard the rubber seal peel apart, still holding strong over the centuries. Carefully, she emptied the bag and found an old data-pad, and a few notebooks.

“Yes, there were some really old, stylized drawings that I think you did. Just take a look.”

"Well if you say so." Nicole opened one of the old notebooks and slowly paged through them. The pages were remarkably well preserved; they were filled with drawings of places and things, as well as some random animals and creatures she did not recognize. They were not as good as Rykis' drawings, but they were fairly good. If these belonged to her, Nicole wondered if she had retained those skills as well as her warfighting abilities.

While carefully flipping through the pages, a small rectangle fell out from between them.

The piece of plastic material was a photograph; it was not even faded at all. Five people were standing in a semicircle, and they were posing with bright yellow guns which looked really strange. She saw herself near the middle of the group in a Umic hat and leaning up against a man wearing a vest with Mars Tactical stitched onto the chest. On the other end of the group was the other Security guard from the recording.

She flipped the picture over and found that it was not actually a piece of paper, it was something more advanced. The back flickered and began to form words across its surface. "11th Quinquennial Intersystem Defense Technologies Convention. SimFire Combat 3rd place team. Hosted by Clovis Bray"

"Huh," Nicole muttered. "Check out me back in the day." She passed the photo to Rykis and put the sketchbooks back into the bag.

The data-pad looked to be in okay shape, but when she tried the power switch nothing happened. At the moment, it was not really worth her time. She figured she could get her Ghost to fix it, but she should probably save it for later. A lot had happened today, and her head was a little fried.

Setting the data-pad back onto the table, Nicole ran her fingers through her hair and let out a sigh. "Well... This has sure been a day. Wanna take me to bed and call it a night with the newest member of Mist?"

Rykis let out more of a purr than a chitter. "Mmm... Yes Guardian."

He dropped the photo on the table and came over to pick her up. By the time they reached the bed on the other side of the room, her armor and her Ghost had made themselves scarce. Hopefully the neighbors did not mind the noise.

#destiny #destiny the game #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #eliksni #fallen #guardian #hunter

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disworl · 4 years

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Alive, indefinitely.

So, since I’ve been dutifully informed that since this is my blog and I can post hwhatever I want, I thought I’d talk a little about my ‘fic ‘Alive, indefinitely’.

The ‘fic was birthed by me realizing the implications of Hussie’s revision that all burgundy bloods have the ability to commune with the dead. For the most part, I dislike his changes where the trolls from Homestuck proper become near stock representatives of their entire bloodcaste, but at least, this one has compelling subtext instead of just seeming lazy. And it is that the bloodcaste that has the ability to commune with the dead is also the bloodcaste that lives the shortest and is the most likely to have friends and acquaintences who die often.

And who better explore that topic than Aradia? So I wrote the ‘fic, and it did branch out to be about her, partially as her role as a rustblood on Alternia. And so it grew bigger than just exploring the subtext. I knew I wanted it in little numbered parts that made vignettes, as I’d been working on writing longer stories and was worried I was losing my edge in vignettes and short fiction. Though the resulting ‘fic ended up 1,677 words (I intended to keep it under 1,000, though I’m not disappointed!), I’m still very satisfied with it and think the vignettes work. With the numbering of the vignettes, I also wanted to do an sort of Epileptic Bicycle and start skipping around numbers, to show that there was different amounts of time passing, and that things were happening in between. And because I just thought it was neat. The idea of a story with missing numbered chapters is very compelling. And anyway, I did have a skip, with the penultimate vignette being 5, and the ultimate being 10 (which upon thought really does make the ‘a lifetime later’ after the 10 work out mathematically*), but it played nowhere near as a big role as I would want to. Maybe some other time.

*Which since all the numbers are roman numerals, 10 ends up being ‘x’, which as a symbol is associated with death. I planned none of that (or at least I don’t remember it consciously) but I will take credit, regardless.

II.

For a second I thought Tumblr was more competent than it is, so I tried to insert a line break, but Tumblr is not competent, so have a fancy second section with big roman numerals instead.

Anyway, I’m just going to note and comment on some specific parts of the passage, because I can.

The internet is wide and wonderful, and it is through there that she learns about archaeology, the wonders lying just beneath the ground and thinks, to be an archaeologist would be an awfully grand adventure.

What Aradia thinks is a fairly straightforward play on the phrase, ‘to die would be an awfully grand adventure’. It's a neat way to both tie back the theme, and it also spared me from figuring out exactly how to phrase it.

She finds especially good company with one boy, his troll tag resting at the top of her chumproll. He’s a rustblood like her, a bit reserved but passionate about the mystery book he’s writing. Occasionally he sends her snippets from it, and while it’s a bit clumsy, he is always eager to hear about her archaeological expeditions, so she never mentions it.

When I wrote this part, I suddenly realized I needed an unnamed rustblood to die. I also realized it would be a good idea to also characterize him a little bit before killing him off, so you get at least the idea of what his and Aradia’s relationship was like, so I decided to use one of my long-derelict fantrolls.

So she starts to rebel. She grows her hair out, longer than the modest shoulder-length cut she had before. She lets it become wild, a sign of her own spirit and power. She starts painting her lips and lining her eyes in burgundy, a mockery of the high bloods who wear their blue hues as a fashion statement.

This is a combination of two of my headcanons about Alternian society: that long, wild hair is seen as a sign of power and sexuality (as expressed by the Condesce and other highbloods), and that wearing hemo lipstick and eyeliner is a high blood fashion trend.

When she is five sweeps old, she makes another close friend. He’s a bit shy, but unapologetic about what he likes – his fiduspawn collection, pupa pan, FLARPing – and that, as much as she loves Sollux, is a breath of fresh air.

Tavros is often done dirty by fanfic and fan-interpretations of Homestuck, and it often intertwines with apologism for Vriska and her abuse of him. He’s treated as a perpetually and naturally weak and insignificant, when having a person who is abusive like Vriska will make anyone unsure and rattled like that. It takes some digging, as the majority of Homestuck takes after Vriska’s batted around Tavros for quite a while, but underneath her abuse (and the effects from that abuse at the hands of Alternian culture) it’s clear that he’s still that unapologetically dorky kid, and even cocky at times. In his trollhandle adiosToreador, he’s not the Toreador - he’s the bull. And hopefully I could express that well in the space that I could.

She befriends Karkat through Sollux, and Terezi through Karkat, and it’s through Terezi that she learns about Vriska.

This is one of several sentences in this ‘fic that employ a certain sense of repetition and rhythm. Part of that is because it gives a motif of time, which is tied to death and destruction in Homestuck, and the other half is because I just... really like writing ‘em.

She still talks with Tavros, however, but now he’s uncertain, hesitant and ashamed, and a fair number of times when she trolls him he doesn’t reply, and when he does more than anything he talks about the things he’s experienced in his dreams, and she knows exactly who has been trolling him even if he doesn’t say it and –

– and Aradia watches her friend become a living ghost, bit by bit.

This is place where I forwent canon the most, earning the ‘fic its ‘mild timeline fudgery’ tag. Throughout writing this ‘fic I constantly had a tab open to either a page in Homestuck or the wiki, or both, in order to make sure I stayed as accurate to Alternian culture that I could (at least, in Homestuck proper). While there were a lot of gaps that I got fill in for myself, it’s just plain canon that Aradia sends the ghosts after Vriska immediately after she knows that Tavros is likely going to be paraplegic for the rest of his life. But I had written the sentence already (one of my favourite lines, really), and it just makes for a better story, at least in this ‘fic. So I kept it like that. There’s also a sort of cut-and-paste fudge in that sentence, too. I remembered that Tavros spent most of his time dreaming on Prospit just so he didn’t have to deal with Vriska’s abuse, but as it turns out, it happens after she god-tiers. So I just turned it into regular dreaming and thereby folded into the above canon discrepancy. But it’s definitely based on that later detail.

iv.

The shock of seeing Sollux actually at her hive is quickly overtaken by the shock that courses through her veins right after she realizes what is about to happen, and far too late to do anything about it.

I knew pretty early that I wanted the vignette of her death to be one sentence long, though I certainly ended up stretching that one sentence fairly far. Either way, it’s very isolated from the rest of the ‘fic, which is fairly on-par for the ‘fic style where a particularly hard-hitting or important sentence gets its own paragraph. Anyway, everyone knows how the story ends, and it’s sudden for Aradia, so I think putting it in one sentence both works structurally and artistically.

She’s tired of temporal inevitability.

She’s free of the endless orders and voices of the dead.

She, for the first time in her life, feels truly alive.

Instead of the pale shadows that clung to her hive, the hollow ghosts that people left behind, the dream bubbles are filled with countless iterations of her friends, and numerous others.

But even then, dying and waking up in foreign surroundings is a shock.

And really, there’s no-one else who would be a better guide to greet the dead.

At this point, I feel again, that going into detail would be dragging things out. I also wanted it to feel significantly different from the rest. So, where the other parts of the story are told through a sort of rolling tone of voice, through ‘the lens of age old history’ the rather straightforward sentences here are meant to sound very present.

#Homestuck #Aradia Megido #Fanfiction #Hemospectrum #Long post-#Commentary #Andrew Hussie's Earthbound fanfiction

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leahazel · 4 years

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7KPP Identity Meta

[The subject of racism in fanfic has come up, and I’ve been contemplating how and weather to change how I tag my own fics. This disorganized piece of 7KPP meta grew from those thoughts.]

Aly of @azalynestudios has said numerous times (I can’t find exact quotes right now) that in order to allow players to see themselves in the MCs they create, she wanted to make it possible for any MC of any of the kingdoms to be a member of any race, and have any physical appearance. She has also mentioned that the kingdoms are very inter-mixed racially, and that all the characters are probably multiracial (here and here, for example). She’s also talked about having multiple historical inspirations for each of the kingdoms (too many sources to link them all).

Such is not the case for the NPCs of the different kingdoms, specifically the ones with visible sprite art. This is partly because the visual artist Bana had a huge influence in, for example, designing the fashion aesthetic of the different characters. But Aly has also stated here that the NPCs’ appearance is “closer to what the nations originally were dominated by“, compared to the more modern, diverse population. With the notable exception of post-coup Revaire. In-game, a few references are made to the “new nobility” of Revaire all having fair coloration and a similarity in appearance.

So, any player who wants to make an MC of any background have any combination of racial traits, is given solid backing both by canon text and by “word of god”. An Arland or Wellin MC who’s Black or Asian or mixed race is 100% as canon-compatible as a white one. Of course, that also means that a white Corval or Hise MC is also canon-compatible, but I think we can agree that the dynamic on that is quite different, in the same way that writing a canonically straight character into a slash relationship is very different from writing Lisle (gay) or Avalie (asexual) into a het relationship.

7KPP is a visual novel and the NPC sprites are designed for maximum visual coding. When the sprites for all the delegates from a single kingdom appear together on the screen, they are meant to look like they are obviously from the same place. With the exception of the Revaire NPCs. Clarmont is clearly designed to stand out from Gisette and Jarrod, and not just because they are siblings and he’s unrelated to them. It’s because he’s a member of Revaire’s old nobility, and they are of the new nobility. Aly explains about this, for example here.

Now, there is room to criticize this approach to portraying racial diversity, but that’s not what I’m going to do here. There has also been plenty of well-reasoned criticism on the portrayal of especially Corval and Jiyel, where despite Aly’s good intentions, harmful stereotypes had more influence on the end product than she realized. I will also not be addressing that issue in this post, but I did want to acknowledge that there are a lot of open and complex questions surrounding the issue of race in 7KPP canon.

As a player, I took all the above issues as guiding principles when creating my MCs, including the bit about not whitewashing Corval and Hise MCs, and especially the bit about Revaire. Revaire was a huge, multicultural empire like Rome, and even though the narration in the game, and Aly’s commentary, both specifically say that the Revaire widow is of the new nobility, I made my widow Allegra an Old Blood noble, like Clarmont. Specifically so that she would stand out, like him, from among the other Revaire delegates.

So Clarmont and Allegra’s relationship has a kind of racial subtext, because they are a dark-skinned couple in (eventually) open rebellion against a monarchy of extremely white, extremely blonde oppressors.

I feel increasingly that I, as a white writer, am not up to the complexities of writing this dynamic. Not with all the goodwill and compassion I can muster, not with all the studying and listening I can do. I’m not yet sure what I’m going to do with that revelation, though.

When I created my MCs I tried to be conscious both of the implications of canon, and of the complexities of real-life race relations. There are decisions that I might have done differently, if I were doing them now for the first time, especially when it comes to my Jiyel MCs. Most of my MCs, just like Aly says, come from families that are multiracial, going back generations. It’s more obvious with characters like Christabel, who has a white father on one side of the family and a Black mother and grandmother on the other. Less obvious with characters like Felicity and Jack, who could be easily taken for white.

And because of the way that race relations work in our world, the fact that they can be taken as white means that in a very real way, they are white. Because, well, that’s what whiteness is, that’s what it was created to do.

So I created Felicity, my Arland princess, and she was white. Not a golden-haired, blue-eyes princess, but still white, still with the peaches-and-cream complexion (actual canon description), and still with all the baggage thereof. But why must a princess be white? She doesn’t have to be, as Aly specifically said. When I created my second Arland princess, I gave that some thought, and out came Verity.

Verity is mixed race, like Felicity, but in a more obvious way. I try to describe her in a way that makes it obvious that she could not pass as white, without being othering or fetishizing. But that became difficult, because Verity married into Revaire, into the very “new nobility” above mentioned as being the only group in the modern seven kingdoms that actually is meaningfully racially homogeneous. This begins to come up in her story pretty early on, when she first meets and befriends Nerissa, a Revaire widow who -- unlike Allegra -- is of the new nobility. Deciding to make Nerissa and Claude (and their family) white was a decision that ended up having big implications.

Because, while I don’t want to exotify Verity as a character, others within the story definitely do other and fetishize her, and make her feel out of place. Once it started coming up in the drafts of my fanfics, I realized that I couldn’t ignore it. Verity is a multiracial girl living in the royal court of a multicultural empire, where the narrow slice of the elite has been striving to push everyone else out of the public sphere. This affects how she interacts with other people, and it means that with any supporting character I add to Decline and Fall, especially the nobles, I first have to give a good long think to their racial background.

It also meant that I have to give thought to Verity’s family and genealogy, especially when I decided that I wanted her ‘verse and Felicity’s to share a common root, and diverge. That means they have shared ancestors, and here I had the possibility of taking another look at Felicity’s uncomfortable whiteness. I could have decided to make Arland’s royal family white, going back through generations of whiteness, and only occasionally marrying in foreign brides, which could still account for Verity’s mixed heritage. I felt that it would be more interesting to do something else, and make the ancestors common to them both dark-skinned and curly-haired, like Verity, not fair and brunette like Felicity.

In “Wendel Abbey”, Verity mentions to Brielle that she has a Revairian ancestor, and Brielle remarks that she must “come by her curls honestly”, that is, suggesting that her curly hair comes from Revaire heritage. But Verity corrects her and says that all her father (the King of Arland)’s family have it. I guess this is meant to represent the way that twenty years of a racially homogeneous (and oppressive) leadership have altered Revaire’s way of relating to the demographic mix of the other six kingdoms. Brielle is Black and her whole family is Black -- excepting her stepfather, who’s not mentioned directly in any of the fics (yet). The post-coup reality has affected the way she was taught to see the world.

It feels a bit like I am trying to have it both ways, both to talk about race and not talk about it, and I don’t know if I’m doing a good job. I’m not even sure that I know where I’m going with this post, even though I started writing it with such a confident attitude. I just know that these ideas have been swirling in my head for months and years, and it’s time for me to bring them out to see the outside world.

All my MCs are multiracial in the sense of their family trees, but some of them are easily identified as being characters of color. How to say this? In a modern AU, some of them would be stopped for a random check at the airport much more often than others. Allegra, Marguerite, Christabel and Verity are all on this list. Felicity, Jack, and Nerissa are not. Brielle is. Tristan is not. And so on.

If I had thought about all these things more clearly before I created my six original MCs, maybe I would have made my Arland princess a Black girl. Or my tomboy countess. Or maybe I would have made them both Asian. Maybe I would have made my Jiyel MC Black, instead of basing her appearance on stereotypical East Asian traits, as I did with Periwinkle. I probably wouldn’t have made her white, for the reasons I outlined above -- I’m not saying that white MCs are anti-canon or wrong in any way, but it would have been too uncomfortable for me. Part of me thinks, “but then what? I would have no white MCs at all?” And another part of me replies, “Well, what if I didn’t?”

Which is kind of an empty dialogue on my part, because I went and wrote Felicity and Jack being who they are, without thinking too much about what their whiteness means, and I’m probably not gonna go back and retcon that. All the thinking that I do about it has to be retrospective.

There are other points of discomfort, like the way stats and personality interact with racist stereotype, and the way that butts up against my own personal preferences in terms of female characters. It’s no secret that Allegra is my favorite among my MCs, and also no secret that my favorite build to play is based around 75 points in manipulation. Which in a gameplay context creates a really powerful character who can broker peace treaties and fall in love and do a lot of heroic things. But nonetheless, there’s a subtext to creating a brown female character and immediately labeling her “manipulative”. Allegra’s build also took a hit to the beauty stat, as did several others of my favorite characters, and there’s a subtext there, too, like it or not.

I was especially uncomfortable with the fact that my two high-manip characters, Marguerite and Allegra, were both dark-skinned brown women. Despite the fact that they’re very different from each other, and despite the fact that I love them both, and despite that I tried to give them both deep and rich character development that makes them much more than their stats. I did create another character, Xanthine the weaver!MC, who is also based on the 75-manip build, and made her white. This... helped a little? I guess?

This is what I mean about the clash between my preferences and the racial stereotypes. The traits that create the kind of female character I’m most interested in, are ones that can easily be interpreted in a very negative light. I can’t ignore the implications of that, however much I might like to dismiss it by saying, “I just made her what I love to see.”

Of course I’m going to carry all these ideas forward, into any new game OCs I create, and especially into original fiction writing. And I want to stress that I’m just one very confused white gamer and fanfic writer, and I don’t have all the answers. I just think the questions are worth asking all the same, and to that end, I sat down and spent an hour or more writing this very confused (and confusing) spiel.

You are welcome to: reblog with comments, reblog with criticism, link to this post, post your own reflection on the race and ethnicity of your OCs, send m4e asks about any of these characters, etc. Remarks along the lines of “it’s stupid to care about racism in fandom” or “there’s nothing wrong with being white” will be roundly ignored as being beside the point. If you’ve read this far (or even skimmed it) I’m amazed and astonished. I’ve lost any gift for brevity that I ever had.

#7kpp #meta #race & racism #ocs #decline and fall #the more thought i put into this the more i realize that i know nothing #long post for ts

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