if i was doing her over again i'd do everything a lot differently

3

Who’s birthday is it?!! It’s KEITH’S!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY KEEF, I LOVE YOU

I also wrote a suuuuper sappy fic about that ring ^ down below!!

Bonus:

And now for the fluff :’)


Keith wakes to see a star outside of his window.

It’s a brilliant blue, dazzling and bright, and he’s immediately reminded of the mesmerizing color of Lance’s eyes, like the deep sea.

He rolls over and flings an arm out, expecting to come into contact with an entanglement of limbs and exposed wires, but all he grasps is air. Confused and still half asleep, he cracks open a dark violet eye and releases a wounded huff when he realizes that the other half of the bed is empty, its occupant long gone.

His heart makes a strange leap up into his throat but he shakes it off, pushing the paranoid thoughts away before they can nag at him. Lance probably left to get a system checkup. He does that, sometimes, in the early morning before all the hustle and bustle of the day’s plans crowd in.

Rest is under the cut!!

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anonymous asked:

Hi! Everything you write is just absolutely amazing and I've had this concept in my head for so long now and I'd appreciate it so much if you could write something about it if it's not a burden? I was just wondering what would happen between Nishinoya and his s/o when she keeps seeing him praise and fawn over Kiyoko and she starts to feel like he likes her more and just started dating s/o as a second choice..? Like how he would react when (and if) he'd find out and how he'd make it up to them.

Ooooh, Anon, I had wondered this with both Noya and Tanaka since forever! Though I think both boy’s would handle these things differently, but this was very fun to think about and write! I actually rewrote this about three times trying to figure out how I wanted to approach it.

Also, I was supposed to have this up a lot earlier and I’m very sorry for that!

Enjoy!


“As if you care!”

The words had thrown Nishinoya for a spin. He didn’t understand them or where they stemmed from. Because, of course he cared. Whatever it was, he cared. “What does that even–” he stopped himself, hands rising to dig into his hair momentarily “–yes, I do. I’m your boyfriend!” He affirmed desperately. She had been distant, avoiding him even, and he was starting to get concerned. Was something going on that he didn’t know about at home? With her friends? Had he done something wrong that he wasn’t aware of?

She had stopped showing up to his practices, something that he had begun to expect on a daily basis, but it was fine. He couldn’t expect her to revolve her entire life around him. But then she didn’t show up to his games and she had stopped replying to his texts and then she wasn’t answering of his phone calls. It was when he tried approaching her in the halls that he absolutely knew something was wrong and he needed to find out what.

“Only because you can’t be Kiyoko’s!”

Wait. His entire being seemed to stop working at the statement - no assumption - that was thrown at him. With furrowing brows his lips parted to speak, but nothing came forward. How was he supposed to react when the love of his life was putting such an accusation on him? How was he supposed to answer immediately when his chest was squeezing so tightly around his heart that the one he cared about most thought that he was using her as a replacement? How could he stop her from turning away from him as she was now?

His body was moving instinctively, hand reaching for her wrist with a panic swelling in his stomach. Suddenly his heart was beating too hard and his breath was coming too fast and he didn’t know what he was supposed to so to fix this. Because this obviously a mess he created, there was no doubt about that. He had allowed himself to overstep boundaries he shouldn’t have been anywhere near. He had assumed that she would always feel loved despite his actions. He had been ignorant to her feelings in every way.

“Please,” he choked on his own voice, “let’s talk.”

“About what?” the words escaped her throat harshly, something he was sure he deserved, “It’s obvious what’s happening.”

“No! No, it’s not!”

If he sounded it angry, it was towards himself. This was the girl he’s crushed on since first year. The girl that he never dreamed he would actually be able to hold and cherish the way he had been able to. The girl who had made his heart race and his breath catch and fireworks to explode inside his brain. He wasn’t going to let this insanely beautiful person that brought such joy to his life walk out of it because of some misunderstanding.

“I messed up, okay, I–” what could he possibly say to make this better? “–you didn’t deserve to feel the way you did - the way you do. I shouldn’t have behaved that way, at all. Sure, Kiyoko’s pretty, but–” He felt her try and pull from his grasp, his grip tightening on her in his panic, but quickly released her. He couldn’t trap her with him, but he could follow her. “But I love you! Always have and always will, nothing is going to change that, ever. And–” desperation pressed him forward, pushing his way in front of her, his arms spread wide “–I’m sorry, okay, I never, ever, meant to hurt you… And I’ll do anything - anything - to make this right again…” The words warbled out past his lips, tears striking at his eyes as he looked at her desperately, hands trembling with the desire to take her in his arms but daring not to without her permission.

The next call was her’s.

Shoulders hunched forward as her head dipped towards the floor, her hands rising to press hard into her damp eyes. “Damn it, Yuu,” her voice shook as her body leaned towards his, which he instantly took up, one hand digging into her hair and the other gripping her tightly. His arms trembled as he pressed kiss after kiss against her temple, mind racing with the prospect of almost losing her.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his face pressing into her hair, “I’m sorry. God, I love you.”

anonymous asked:

Hello! ^^ This is my first time asking for a prompt, but I'd really like to see one for romione with the "Wanna go out sometime?" one? Please? Thank you in advance! Really been loving reading all the fanfics! <3

Thank you so much, you’re so sweet! Hope you like what I came up with 💕

Warning: Lots of Ron and Harry friendship.

***

Wanna Go Out Sometime?

“So I couldn’t help but notice,” said Harry, tugging a gnome out of the earth by its ankles, “that you’re not actually with Hermione right now.”

Ron, kneeling in the dirt, sat back on his heels and glared at Harry. “Right, because I’m with you. Degnoming the garden.”

“I meant in a more general sense,” Harry said. Rising to his feet, he hurled the gnome a good fifty feet out into the orchard. “I figured since what happened-“

“A lot’s happened since what happened,” Ron reminded him.

In the past five days, he’d watched his own brother die, seen the fall of Lord Voldemort, returned to his childhood home to evict a pajama-clad ghoul from his bedroom, and buried said brother… but he hadn’t yet managed to kiss Hermione again, and the longer he waited, the more anxious it made him.

“All the more reason.”

“The thing is…” Ron plucked a curious little gnome out of the grass with one large, scarred hand. “I don’t really know how to go from, y’know, whatever we are now, to - to a relationship, I mean, do I ask her on a date? What do I even say, ‘wanna go out sometime?’” He jokingly rolled his eyes.

“You know you actually have more relationship experience than I do,” Harry laughed as he knelt again, “so I don’t know why you’re asking me.”

“That’s completely different, just because I’ve had a girlfriend before doesn’t mean I’ve had a girlfriend that I’m actually-“ He paused; finishing with ‘that I’m actually in love with’ seemed a bit premature to voice aloud, even if just to Harry, and even if he knew it was true. “It’s Hermione. I can’t mess it up.”

He stood and lobbed the gnome in his hand over the garden wall, knowing it would be back in minutes.

“You’re overthinking it,” Harry said. “Don’t think about it so much. Like with me and Ginny-“

“Oh, come on, really?”

“No, seriously, listen,” Harry continued, “that whole time I was with Cho, whatever that was, I was constantly trying to figure out what to say and what to do and it stressed me out and it was miserable. But with Ginny, I didn’t have to do any of that, I kind of just went for it, so…” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “So go with your gut, I reckon is what I’m saying.”

It wasn’t the worst advice in the world, but it was a lot easier said than done. Every time Ron saw Hermione lately, his stomach flipped and his mind became this horrible jumble and even though all he had wanted to do for the past three years was kiss her, there was some sort of disconnect between his heart and his ability to actually act on its desires.

And Ron had never exactly been a wordsmith, so how was he supposed to convey the magnitude of it all? That she was everything to him, that she always had been, that when he thought of the future, she was all he saw? He would either make a fool of himself or she’d think he had gone mad, and he didn’t fancy either option.

“Just because you died and came back to life doesn’t make you wise, you know,” Ron snapped, half-joking.

“Fine, have it your way. Wait another seven years, see if I care.”

“And you obviously do care, or you wouldn’t-“

Ron stopped, his breath catching in his throat. Hermione was crossing the garden in bare feet, her ponytail swinging as she levitated a large pitcher of ice water and two glasses alongside her.

“Hi,” she said, her eyes only on Ron, borrowed wand held aloft. “I thought you might be thirsty, it’s so hot out today.”

“Thanks,” said Harry gratefully, rising to his feet and brushing off his dirty knees.

Hermione, with highlights reflecting off of her hair and freckles on her shoulders, was impossible to look away from, and Ron felt his throat go dry. Why was he so nervous around his best friend? They had already kissed once, for Merlin’s sake, and she had been the one to initiate that, so surely she didn’t find him completely unappealing…

Don’t think. Just do.

In just two long strides, Ron stood before her, dipping his face down so it was mere millimeters from hers. He had said it was now or never back during the battle at Hogwarts, but that was even more true now. The longer he waited, the closer he came to that kiss being written off as a fluke, as a we-might-die-tonight impulse, and he couldn’t live with that.

So he kissed her, soft and slow, even though Harry was laughing in the background, even though his mum was probably watching from the kitchen window, even though the floating pitcher and glasses came crashing down to the grass. Hermione stood on her toes to bring herself closer, her free hand grabbing his seemingly on impulse. This… this felt like a shift between them, a change, the obvious next step, and Ron found himself grinning like an idiot when she pulled away to take a breath.

“Well,” Harry chuckled, “that’s one approach.”

***

you can find more four word prompts here!

Re-watching Supergirl with my Girlfriend

Things that she’s saying

“Supergirl is just an old-fashioned sort of girl”

“Did Alex just throw away the smoke detector? That’s not safe”

In reference to ‘Yeah because I can fly’ “Ohhhhhhhhhhh.”

“He took pizza with him.”

“From now on I’m taking the stairs.”

“Lena Luthor has a good heart.”

“How does she know how to work on earth, she hasn’t been on earth yet.” Talking about Rhea

“Oh snap” In reference to the kidnapper saying he knows Kara is Supergirl.

“I’m with Kara on this, doing it the hard way, there is a chance of people dying. She needs to fly in and knock people out. We need to stop catering to pasies. In the old days we would have just cut off his hand and been done with it. I would cut cut off his hand…”

“IN A WORLD OF HURT. Because she will get out.”

“The difference between Kara and I is, I would have forgotten that dudes name by now.” (The kidnapper’s dad’s name)

“How does Maggie keep just walking into the DEO, isn’t it a secret government agency?”

“Do you know why it’s fun that she’s in this shoe?” (talking about Rhea again) *Whispers* “Because she was Lois in Lois and Clark.”

“Careful she killed her husband”

“Oh no she didn’t, that is Lena’s best friend.”

“She is totall not going to share everything.” Air quotes and funny voice “I’m and alien”

“Noooo she’s a back stabber, oh wait she stabbed him in the front, she’s a tummy stabber.”

“He is sooo not FBI”

“She smashed the table, do you think it’s made of rubber? Like to make it look real?”

“Oh, he had relations.”

“Yeahhhh” Under her voice when Kara throws Rick across the room. “Oh she’s going to kick your butr, you might as well bend over right now.”

“DO IT, give him a new haircut” When Kara’s eyes went red.

“You have x-ray vision Kara, go fly over the city with your x-ray vision.”

“You know what that reminded me of ‘We toys can see everything’.”

“No you didn’t, nobody was there, she did it in private. All you saw was the burning car.”

“The always say put two and two together, but obviously if it took that long, the equation was a little harder than that.”

“Heaven FORBID tHEY THROW A MURDERER IN JAIL.”

“Yeah, because they’re doing this sort of stuff in Jr High.”

“Kara needs to accidentally step on his toes, because they’ll flatten.” Then she slapped her hands together and madesquishing noise.

“She is far more intelligent than I anticipated, not like book smarts because that’s obvious, but like now she has street cred.” After Lena uses the Alien detection device on Rhea.

Under her breath, “Getmos is Gwatameno Bay….that’s totally J’onn.”

“She’s going to MCGyver the crap out of that thing. WHAT IS SHE DOING? AHHHHH WHY IS SHE DOING THAT? “When Alex cuts her tracker out with the credit card. “You can’t plant the chip in there. THat does suck. Yeah and those wires connect perfectly into that thing.”

“That look…disdain.” IN reference to the look Maggie gives Rick when she’s going to leave the room.

“I hope you can swim…she’s a secret agent of course she can swim”

“She’s got to be there right?…don’t answer me.”

“Use your credit card it worked last time.” I asked for what. She said, “it doesn’t matter it worked.”

“Kara has very big arms, she looks like a girl I played basketball against once.”

“Literally, she is a little bit bigger than her.”

“haha she’s going to a closet….hey pun not intended.”

“Would you call her by her first name once in her life? You are not on a softball team.” 

“Name her gertrude? What is she russian?”

“Oh Snap, her comes Mon-El’s mama, mama El.”
“That’s right, get out of Lena’s office.”

“But really how does she know all this stuff about Earth, she’s only been around for like a week?”

“Lena, I don’t have time for you.” Pretending to be Kara when Lena is calling.

“No everything is not okay. My sister has been kidnapped. I need you to come hug me”

“Like I said fly over and Xray it… a fly by shooting if you will.”

“I’d have blamed myself too.”

“Break your father free? What is she, superman. You’re confused sir, Supergirl is the blonde one.”

“CREEEEEP!”

“you’re missing the point pal.” Sing song voice. “Murdereer.

“I Like that she’s taken off her shoes and her socks, I mean if you’re going to take off your shoes, may as well take off your socks too.

“Now she’s taking her pants off, WOAH!!!! She’s making a floaty with her pants. She wears boxers like you. That’s definately where she wears her guns.”

“Maggie’s gone rogue.”

“Maggie letting the bad guy out is not a good idea.”

“Oh my.” (The tech) “She totes got that from the aliens.”

“Maybeeee not the best thing to have done with your life, you know, raising a bad guy.”

“Oh snap, have you been a good father today?” When Kara was giving her speech.

“That was a quick 4 hours.”

“Hello, go punch it.” Before Kara goes and punches the glass

“Give her the kiss of life.”

“Oh nevermind, she’s breathing.”

“Just hold her.”

“How did she get there as fast as Kara” I told her Kara flew her. “Kisses, sisters before misters, thanks for the ride, dueces.”

“Awww that so cute. Finally you used her first name.”

“Punch him Punch him in the face. Kick him kick him in the little boys.”

“YESSS!!!!!!!” little kid voice “oh my nose.”

“No you guys need to talk about it. DON”T JUST MAKE BRUNCH PLANS LENA.”

anonymous asked:

hey, with the scenes el and will have had together so far i have this hc that they'll be so good friends once they get to /actually meet/. can you write your version of when they do?

“Mike, this is starting to freak me out. Where are we going?”

“Just follow me!”

“We’re in the middle of the woods!”

“And?”

“Would you maybe like to consider the reason I don’t want to be back here?”

“… we’re almost there, Will.”

Mike continued to tug Will through the trees, ducking under low-hanging branches and swinging him around cut tree stumps. Mike was nearly in a sprint while Will was struggling to remain standing as he was yanked forward. “Here we are!” Mike released Will’s hand quickly and the boy stumbled forward to a stop, the hood of his jacket flopping over his eyes. With an exaggerated sigh, he lifted it to see the Chief standing on the porch, stomping out a cigarette.

“Why are there police here?” Will asked, following Mike with less enthusiasm–or trust for that matter. Mike stepped up onto the porch with steady feet, lifting a hand to wave at Hopper. “Mike?”

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anonymous asked:

Another anon asked before about how to write believable battles and you told him/her to ask about it again on Friday. Since he/she may've forgotten it, I'm asking you now because I'd like to read the answer!

Thanks to this question and some prodding from @hiddenhistoryofwesteros, I’ve been crafting this. Much thanks also to @goodqueenaly for fixing my atrocious grammar.

Battle can be an important conflict piece for any piece of media, but too often, battle is either turned into a series of duels or is used merely as a setpiece for character drama. The battle itself can be a moment of action and tension, and as such, a poorly-written battle detracts from the experience of the novel, and that I don’t like. I after all, have a vested interest in explaining how battles were waged and the vicarious experience of the soldiers that were in them. So that being said, let’s see what we can do to understand how battles work and how you can incorporate them into your writing.

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celescole  asked:

Hello! OMG. Thank you for the fashion career mod! You were exactly who I needed! :D I also want to make career mods but the only tutorial I find is a dated one. Of course, I can't ask for an extensive tutorial but I'm curious if you still used that tutorial, if you did, which parts were different? Or if you could just give me some pointers, I'd be really happy. :D

Hey there!  Thanks for the kind words! :) I know a lot of people are curious about the same thing, so I’m going to answer this publicly- hope you don’t mind! :)
 
I didn’t follow that tutorial at all, except for the part about creating the script file (that was mostly correct, but I had to do some things on my own to make it work).  I’ve actually thought about what could’ve been wrong with her tutorial.  The main thing that differed in my process is that I didn’t use the Mod Constructor program she does; instead, I just used Sims 4 Studio.  Mod Constructor may or may not be outdated, so that could be why the mod was broken.

If you already know about XML files or doing other mods, a custom career isn’t too hard to do- just very time consuming, and can become complicated depending on what all you add to it (the fashion career became VERY COMPLICATED- never doing anything like that again, LOL).  

Here is a very brief mini-tutorial on how to get started (please note that I’m writing this assuming you already know how to use Sims4Studio, and how to create XML files and make your own instance IDs, etc):

  • The first step is to open up Sims4Studio.   Go to Tools>Create Empty Package and name the package file.  Once that opens up, go to Tools > Extract Tuning. When you’re in that box, you need to type in the name of the career you want to clone.  The business career is the one I used and is a good one to start with because it has chance cards and everything attached.  So type in “career_adult_business” and select “Add to Current Package.”  Leave the Extract Tuning box open- you’ll need it again.
  • After that, you’ll need to go through and edit all the instances which link to the business career and make them for your own career.  You do this by copying the instance number or name, and then extracting the file to your package.  For example, the first thing you’ll see in the business career is “CareerSuperInteraction: si_Career_Business.”  So copy that, paste it into the Extract Tuning box, and then add that file to your .package.  
  • Then go through and change all the things in there and so on.  Replace the Strings (the text shown in game) with your own text (which you do by creating a String table in S4S and then use the hash generator to create a unique hexadecimal FNV32 hash to link your text with).  You can edit XML files directly using Sims4Studio, but the easiest way editing them is to use a program like Notepad ++, copy the XML file there, edit it from there, then paste them back into S4S when you’re done.
  • Make sure you create your own instance ID for all the files, again using the Hash Generator (for custom careers, make sure you use FNV32 Decimal, HIGH BIT) and replace the EA ones with your own.  
  • If there’s data files associated with the XML file, they’ll automatically be extracted as well- make sure all the data inside matches with your XML file (usually it’ll be stuff like the instance ID for aspirations, or the hash name for strings) and that the data file has the same instance ID as your XML file.
  • You’ll have to know how to do Python scripts for custom careers (at the very least so that your Sims can take paid time off work).  There’s tutorials for Python over at ModTheSims in their modding forum.

Sorry if that doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s the simplest way I can describe it.  Writing a mini-tutorial just reinforces how hard it would be to write a full-fledged one and that’s why I’ve decided not to, lol.

Anyway, I hope that makes sense and gets you started.  Careers are not for beginners, so I wouldn’t recommend doing them unless you’ve already dabbled in creating mods from scratch before.  If you are familiar with XML tuning for the Sims, if you’ve created your own buffs or traits or something similar, you’ll probably do well, otherwise, try with something easier and smaller first (keep in mind that even a bare-bones custom career would use between 50-60 XML and .data files.  Just to give you an idea of the fashion career: it took nearly 300 xml files to make, LOL…no wonder I’m exhausted from doing it), then work your way up :)

anonymous asked:

Hey so I know you probably don't do this but I thought I'd ask - I've seen your moodboards for the 2nd generation (they are awesome btw) - and was wondering if you could sort your 2nd generation into houses and give justification. I've seen many different versions of their sorting and was wondering if you could do yours, if you don't want to you don't have to but thanks anyway 😘

A/N: thank you so much for your ask anon, and no I don’t usually get asks that aren’t for ships or imagines but I am so happy to give you my opinion on the next generation Hogwarts sortings and btw if anyone wants to ask random questions for my opinion on things please feel free to :) 

MASTERLIST


SORTINGS

James Sirius Potter: Gryffindor

James Potter would be so much like his father and grandfather, a little cocky, such a mischief maker, charismatic, adventurous, spontaneous, valiant, let’s be real he would be so sarcastic, but I also feel that you could have no better friend than James, he’d be loyal to a fault, intelligent but would hate to show it, also witty and secure with the person he was 


Albus Severus Potter: Slytherin 

Alright so before you hate on me for sorting Al into Slytherin hear me out; so he’d be a softer Slytherin so not all that bold and assertive but growing up with Mr. Perfect James Potter as an older brother he learned pretty quickly how to use his intelligence to his advantage, he’d became quite self-reliant and independent from an early age and would be able to hold a grudge for weeks, and even though he may not be the most ambitious person he would be adaptable and realistic about the goals he would set himself so he had the best chance possible to achieve them 


Lily Luna Potter: Gryffindor

Lily I see as having a mixture of all her grandparents best traits, like Arthur she would be inquisitive but wouldn’t take things at face value (which I think is a very Ravenclaw trait), but the reason for being in Gryffindor is that she can be fiery and short tempered but all that comes from being extremely passionate, like James she’s adventurous and tries not to take herself too seriously. Like her grandmother of the same name she is vivacious, genial and is strong-willed like her other grandmother. 


Rose Granger-Weasley: Gryffindor

I know a lot of people would have sorted Rose into Ravenclaw, and as much as I believe she would share a lot of the Ravenclaw qualities Hermione had, I do believe she would be a Gryffindor. Like Hermione I think that being in a house that valued intelligence wouldn’t have been the best for Rose, Gryffindor would get the best out of her, show her the brave, outgoing, generous, fun-loving, sociable interior that was sometimes hidden behind her focused, curious and wise exterior. 


Hugo Granger-Weasley: Hufflepuff

I think Hugo would be a lot like Ron, and not that he wasn’t necessarily brave, but I think Hugo would like to be in a different house than the rest of his family and make a path for himself rather than just following everyone else into Gryffindor (which is in itself brave as he is choosing to stand alone). He is very loyal, open-minded, amiable, has a fantastic sense of humour and would be enthusiastic, but can bring out his forthright and insightful traits (he got from Hermione) when required. 


Victoire Weasley: Ravenclaw

Victoire would be the most poised, considerate and forgiving person you could know, but that doesn’t mean she’s a pushover. Remember he father was a Gryffindor and her mother competed in the Triwizard Tournament so she would share an element of fearlessness and perseverance, but I think Fleur and Bill would have raised her to value using her brilliant mind and mental strength over her physical strength, but also to see the world through unbiased eyes and to question everything. 


Dominique Weasley: Gryffindor 

Dominique in my mind is that very carefree, ‘doesn’t care what people think cause I’m going to do it anyway’ kind of person, one that can sometimes get caught up in trying to be as bold and daring as she can and forget to be gracious and understanding, and although she might come off as being a little presumptuous or rude, she does have a warm and benevolent heart. She doesn’t value using her mind and wit like her siblings do, she’s always the more outgoing of the three and would prefer to venture into the unknown rather than play it safe. 


Louis Weasley: Ravenclaw

Louis was the probably the shyest of the Wotters, internalised most of his feelings and preferred to be alone. However, he’s extremely creative, loves art, especially painting. In my opinion, Ravenclaws don’t always have to be focussed on academic success but instead aspire to learn and perfect something they are extremely passionate about which is why I think Louis would be a Ravenclaw. He’s very passionate, patient and accepting which are very Hufflepuff qualities but his dedication to his art and his strive to master the skill is what I think found him being sorted into Ravenclaw. 


Molly Weasley II: Gryffindor

Ok so Molly, I picture her to be a lot like Ginny actually, very ‘stand up for what you believe in’, lively, independent, resourceful, maybe not as popular as book Ginny was but not caring about how others view her. I think in a lot of ways she was a lot like an older version of Lily Luna but a little less lively and impulsive. She is also idealistic and decisive, tbh I feel like Molly’s would have been a pretty easy sorting, she fits Gryffindor perfectly in my opinion. 


Lucy Weasley: Slytherin

Alright so people are probably gonna give me shit for sorting Lucy into Slytherin but I just totally see her being really ambitious, driven, assertive, and determined - which are all traits I believe Percy had, I also see her being a little stubborn (again like Percy), and a little blunt and brutally honest sometimes. I think she has a kind heart and is very dependable which are more Hufflepuff traits, but her drive and her extreme want to be the best in everything that she tries is why she would end up in Slytherin. 


Fred Weasley II: Gryffindor 

Fred, like Molly II, I think fit perfectly into Gryffindor. I also like to believe he knew even from a young age that he was a true Gryffindor through and through. He didn’t really like school but like his dad and uncles that didn’t mean he wasn’t intelligent or intuitive. He was very proud to carry on his uncle’s name and always wanted to make sure his mother and father could be proud of him. His procrastination levels were beyond anyone else’s, and I think he would have loved to be inventive and create new things for his dad’s joke shop. 


Roxanne Weasley: Gryffindor 

Roxie I think would have basically been exactly like her mother, Miss Angelina ‘take no bullshit from anyone’ Johnson. Her and Fred would have had a similar sense of humour but unlike her brother I think she would question whether she belonged in Gryfindor, having the love for learning she associated with Ravenclaw, the ambition she associated with Slytherin and the loyalty of a Hufflepuff. The deciding factor for Roxie I think would have been that she was brave enough to let the sorting hat decide which house she would belong best in even though all her family that had come before her had been sorted into Gryffindor. 


Teddy Lupin: Hufflepuff

J.K got this one bang on when she sorted Teddy into Hufflepuff in my opinion. He is the definition of how Hufflepuff’s aren’t always push overs, boring or naive. He is the softest little puff ever but if you cross him my god does his strong, fiery, and ‘can hold a grudge for ten years’ side come out. But if you give him reason to trust you he would literally go to the ends of the earth to make you happy. I believe he inherited his mothers and fathers selflessness, noble and debonair manner, and had a great sense of right and wrong. 


Lorcan Scamander: Ravenclaw

I feel like Lorcan would be very much like Luna, believing that anything is possible and not letting the negativity or disbelief of others get in the way of his opinions. He would have a great interest in how magic works and what makes the world the way it is. I also believe that he would have some Gryffindor qualities, he would be gallant and chivalrous, wear his heart on his sleeve but would also sometimes get a little too confident in his abilities. 


Lysander Scamander: Hufflepuff

Even though he and Lorcan are twins and they have much in common, I believe they would be sorted into different houses. Lysander would have the same interest in learning about the world as Lorcan but I believe he wouldn’t place as much importance on it. He would be very dependable, ardent and generous, and being the younger of the two would sometimes be seen as naive and too trusting. He had a tendency to keep his emotions close to his chest, unlike his brother, which lead to people thinking he was closed off. 


Scorpius Malfoy: Slytherin 

I think people don’t like to think of Scorp as a Slytherin and instead maybe a Hufflepuff because of his kind nature or even a Ravenclaw because of his love for learning, and as much as I agree with those aspects of his personality I really do think he belongs in Slytherin. The Scorpius that’s in my mind is driven by wanting to please his family and wanting to do them proud, he is organised and always comes prepared, over thinks about all the different scenarios to make sure his goals are realistic and like his father he would be charming (and also slightly awkward at the same time), dedicated and wouldn’t mind a little attention sometimes. 

The perfect timing (Part IV)

This is based on a prompt I got:
Soulmate AU: In which you turn 18 and see everything through your soulmate’s eyes when you’re not sleeping anymore but are not fully awake yet.

Part I , Part II , Part III


‘Why did I see less than a minute of my soulmate’s room?’

‘Reasons for only seeing blurry through your soulmate’s eyes’

'Usual amount of time seeing your soulmate’s room’

Sana has been sitting on her bed, googling these types of question the whole afternoon.

She didn’t want to care. She tried to ignore the thoughts regarding her soulmate since her birthday. It’s been a week now.

It didn’t work. Obviously.

She’s interested, though. Why would she only see so little and then only blurry things?

The average amount of time for people to see through their soulmates eyes is two and a half minutes. Still, there can be exceptions. Some people have been reporting to have seen what their soulmate saw for more than three minutes.

Sana frowns. They’re talking about two and a half minutes. Or even more. Her stomach drops and she hopes to find something else, an answer to satisfy her.

Simple answer for seeing things blurry in that phase is that you were simply too tired.

Sana shakes her head. That’s not right. None of her friends or family told her about seeing things blurry. Not even random people at school. Yes, in the beginning but not throughout the whole thing. 

The common held belief that the blurriness is caused by your soulmate falling back asleep, has been proven wrong.

Sana furrows her eyebrows at this article. People really do research about this? Well, if they didn’t Sana couldn’t be reading about it now.

Is there something wrong with her? Why does it seem like there is no answer to her question.

Right when Sana is about to give up to find a satisfying answer, because she needs to leave the house soon, her eye catches something promising.

Before clicking on it all she can read is: This is how my soulmate made me hate him before I even met him!

Sana doesn’t hate her soulmate, whoever that is. But she’s frustrated about how things happened and if she needs to blame someone other than herself… they would be on the receiving end.

So she clicks on the post.

As the title says, my soulmate made me hate him before I even met him! Why? Because that dumbass, who's now my husband and whom I love very much, knew that I was his soulmate because he had seen my room on his birthday weeks before mine. He woke up early and just sat on his bed, hoping I'd wake up and see his room. See that he's my soulmate. He knew I would recognize that room immediately. We've been friends forever. 
He was the reason why I only saw his room for less than a minute and he was the reason why anything I saw was blurry. 
Well, speaking to many people about this, including some experts I may have contacted before I knew why my experience on my 18th birthday was so different from my friends’ and family’s, I'm pretty sure about my answer.

When your soulmate suspects you of being their soulmate and they think about you while you're in that hazy phase, then it’s very likely for you to have a blurry vision and for that to last less than a minute.

Sana leans back, resting her head on the wall. She stares at the ceiling and thinks about it. Has this been fact checked or did someone just make this up? 
It’s scary to her, though. Everything this guy has explained fits perfectly to what Sana has experienced.

She doesn’t have time to think about it too much because she gets a text from Chris saying they’re outside, waiting for her.

Somehow, none of her friends wanted to go to a big party on this year’s New Year’s Eve. Instead they choose to go to Noora’s flat and watch movies and eat their way into the New Year.

That was fine by Sana; she didn’t feel like doing much else anyway.

Grabbing her bag and checking if she has her keys and phone she leaves her room.

Even though Chris, Vilde and Eva are all together in the Van outside of Sana’s house those three are texting in the group chat.

Reading those while walking is not the best idea, not when the other person in the hallway is doing something similar.

Sana crashes into someone. Since her brother’s friends are here once again, there are a few possibilities of who it is but looking up from her phone, mumbling a sorry, Sana sees Yousef standing in front of her.

She’s surprised. She hasn’t seen him in a week. Since her birthday. The other guys were here as per usual but Yousef wasn’t. Well, that’s what Sana thought until her mother had asked Elias at the breakfast table why Yousef left so much earlier than the rest of the guys the day before.

He wasn’t there when Sana left the house and he wasn’t there when Sana came back.

She’s not that self-centred that she thinks it’s because of her. But he also didn’t text her in the past week. Not once. He did not even answer to a stupid meme Sana sent him, thinking he’d enjoy it.

So seeing him now, after a week, feels like seeing him the first time in ages.

“I.. sorry. Didn’t know you were home.”, Yousef says, taking a step back.

He smiles at Sana weakly, not convincingly. His eyes wander over Sana’s face and she smiles just as not convincingly as him.

She can’t bite her tongue and quietly mumbles: “You wouldn’t be here if you knew.”

Well, Yousef still hears it and she’s glad that he did. He alternates between looking at her for a few seconds and then not being able to look her in the eyes for the next seconds.

Sana sighs. What did she do wrong?

Awkwardly standing there is not what her plans were for today, not even if it’s with Yousef. Looking down on her phone and seeing the girls text her non-stop to come downstairs she sighs and looks right at Yousef.

He’s been looking at Sana with a look that she can’t interpret.

“Look, Yousef.”, she says which makes him look at her with wide eyes. “I made my life a lot harder by not talking about things straight out so whatever I did that makes you so distant or if you just don’t want to talk to me anymore, you need tell me and not avoid me.”

She walks past him and closes her eyes for a moment. Talking about problems helps solve those, she learned that the hard way but she’s really not going to suffer more than this one week because they didn’t talk to each other. Still, she can barely breathe while putting on her shoes.

She likes Yousef, a lot. She thought he might like him too. But now he didn’t talk to her for a week and apparently he avoided seeing her at all costs. She doesn’t dare to check if he’s still standing there or if he’s already gone when she opens the front door.

-

“You know what I need?”, Sana asks over the phone, a day later.

She’s sitting in the kitchen, eating some of the dessert her mom had made the previous day and talking to Chris over the phone.

“What? Tell me!”, Chris answers.

Sana takes another forkful of the chocolaty heaven in front of her and starts talking. She gestures with the fork while doing that.

“I need for people to speak up. If they have a problem with someone, just go talk to them. It’s not that hard. I learned to do that. It’s a whole lot better than ignoring people and avoiding them. Tell them how it is and it’s done.”

Sana can’t stop talking once she starts. Chris left the movie marathon early last night because her family went to a cabin. Otherwise they would have talked in person.

Now she doesn’t even get to hear Chris’ answer because she has to hang up when as usual five boys storm into the kitchen after each other. Are they ever alone? And didn’t they sleep over at Yousef’s? Elias had texted Sana yesterday evening to tell her that after Sana left the boys decided to go to Yousef’s for a change and that they all would sleep over there. Just so Sana doesn’t worry about Elias’ whereabouts.
If they would end up in the Bakkoush house the next noon why would they even bother taking all their stuff to Yousef’s?

Not that those boys make any sense, anyway.

“Sana!”, Elias says very enthusiastically.

Sana raises her eyebrows in a questioning manner. Why is he so overly happy?

“Elias!”, she answers in the same tone. 
Mikael looks between the siblings and decides to say something.

“Okay, sorry to interrupt but..”, his eyes are drawn to the chocolate cake in front of Sana, “… that looks way too good. Can I have some?”

Sana nods: “Sure, help yourself.”

Usually it would be anyone but him that would ask that question.

Sana lets her eyes wander over the boys standing in her kitchen. 
Elias and Mutta are just smiling a lot at Sana, actually grinning, and swaying back and forth on their feet.

She narrows her eyes at them. What’s up?

Then she sees Adam who stands at the window and has his lips pressed together. He keeps looking at Sana, to the kitchen door and back at her.

She follows his gaze and of course Yousef is standing at the door. She catches him looking at her. With a smile. Not a forced one. The complete opposite of the day before.

Sana feels herself get happier instantly but she forces herself to stay controlled, to not quickly fall back to how things were before her birthday. She still had to talk to Yousef or rather let him explain.

When she doesn’t smile back, Yousef’s smile falters but a small smile still plays on his lips.

This is very weird. None of them talk, all of them look at Sana. Mikael is stuffing his face with the cake but doesn’t even look like he’s enjoying it too much.

“What’s up with you all today?”

“Nothing!”, Adam is the first one to blurt out. After that he presses his lips together again. His eyes going to Yousef and grinning at him.

“How are you?”, Mikael asks her with his mouth full. Mikael talking with his mouth full is probably the weirdest thing about all of this. He’s the one to scold Mutta anytime he eats too loudly or speaks with food in his mouth.

“Good.”, Sana answers sceptically, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sure you all are okay?”

Elias is the one to answer his little sister, walking over to her and standing behind her chair. He leans down and hugs her closely and answers when he lets her go.

“We’re great. Really. Amazing. And you?”

“Like I said.. good but why are you..”, she stops talking when they all hear a loud noise.

It’s coming from Adam and everyone turns to him. “Dropped my phone.”, he says sheepishly and leans down to pick it up.

It’s only then that Sana notices something.

Adam’s wearing a dark blue shirt. A dark blue shirt with dark grey and white splatters over one side.

Sana’s eyes widen and she blinks a few times to make sure she sees it correctly.

It’s the same shirt as the one that was draped over a chair in her soulmate’s room. It’s similar, at least. Very similar.

Sana suddenly finds it hard to breathe. Her chest rises and falls way too quickly. Her heart aches.

Is it really the same shirt? It’s awfully similar. And it’s definitely not a shirt she has seen on anyone else so far and men’s fashion is very limited.

When Adam stands back up and sees Sana staring at him, rather at his side, with her eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown on her face, he gets worried.

Did they say something to upset her?

Sana notices him looking back at her and now finally looks at him, not just at his shirt.

“Adam, your shirt… it’s nice.”

He looks down on himself and looks back up with smile. He looks at his friends standing somewhere in the room with a knowing look before he answers Sana.

“Yeah, that happened when we painted the walls but it looks good and I somehow ended up wearing it today.”

When they painted the walls.

One dark grey wall and three white walls.

This doesn’t make sense to Sana. She always thought that Adam and Mikael… that Yousef and her maybe…

She gulps and just slowly nods, forcing herself to smile a little.

Suddenly she feels like she’s being suffocated. She lowers her gaze to the table and closes her eyes for a second. 
Then she just stands up and has to leave. She likes Adam but only as a friend. A good friend, but a friend. In her hurry to get out of the room she doesn’t look at any of the boys.

She doesn’t look at Yousef while passing him to get out of the kitchen.

anonymous asked:

I know it's a slightly contentious point but given all this talk about Robert needing redemption - do you think Aaron has redeemed himself now? I know that the narrative doesn't really suggest he needs to, but he's got a pretty violent temper and has no difficulty throwing wrenches and beating the crap out of Robert because he's angry. I'd quite like them to acknowledge that and apologise, but it's unlikely as the show doesn't really recognise male on male violence as problematic.

hello this is an essay i’m sure we’re all shocked

Keep reading

White Rose: It could just be you

Part 1 of ???

Coffee dates were sacred for Ruby. Weiss had money, lots of it, but this was one of the things that she allowed her to pay for. For the past year since they had been together she had tried to keep herself from getting spoiled by her girlfriend’s money and spending habits. So these little dates at the cafe, where it was affordable with whatever stipend she received from their missions as huntresses-in-training, were invaluable.

Weiss didn’t seem to mind that it was not the quality that she was used to. In fact, Ruby was sure that the coffee from her own machine used better ingredients than she would ever find at this local cafe. And yeah, sure, she often complained that the cost at this particular cafe was high for the quality of coffee the two were getting. But she never let it get in the way of her own enjoyment - she was more than happy to spend the time with Ruby, and that in itself was its own reward.

Seated side-by-side in the corner table with the extra tall chairs and away from the rest of the cafe, it was just the two girls by themselves. The picturesque coffee date. Sweet, sweet coffee, a nice batch of cookies, and Weiss all to herself on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

“You know, if I hadn’t met you don’t think I would have started drinking coffee.”

Ruby watched as her lips curled in a small smirk after giving a tiny scoff. “Considering all the cream and sugar you put in, I hesitate to call it coffee at this point.” It was worded as a pointed barb, but with how she delivered the line it was hardly of any concern to her.

Taking a sip of her drink, she felt Weiss’ legs edge against hers and she responded in kind, tucking her ankle behind her white boots. That way it would help prevent smudges, something that the girl was very particular about. Just like anyone else - no one liked getting their clothes dirty, after all. But she seemed to internalize it at another level. She had once seen the girl wash her skirt a total of-

“Ruby.”

She looked up from her second cookie to see her ice blue eyes fixed on the lid of her cup. “Hmm?”

Her knee bent back, picking her boot off the ground and taking hers with her. “Do you remember the first time we kissed?”

She hastily swallowed her cookie. “Weiss, of course! How could I for-”

Weiss’ leg rocked again. “Careful not to raise your voice.”

“We just finished our first team mission - well, first official mission - at the middle of our second year and we were at that bar where Yang got really drunk and-”

Her leg rocked again, and this time Ruby paused in her speech. Weiss licked her lips, mashing them against each other as whatever thoughts formulated behind them. She felt her own eyes tracing their contour as they stretched. “Do you remember what you said after that?”

Her eyelids fell down, thinking back to that night. She recalled the butterflies in her stomach, making her flip and turn as she stared at her plate of food, pushing the items aside in idle thought. She recalled the hardening of her will and turning to Weiss, leaning in, and placing the softest kiss she could muster onto her lips. She felt that embarrassed heat in her cheeks grow until they matched the red of her cape.

But for the life of her she wasn’t sure of what she- oh wait. That.

Fuck.

Weiss’ voice was controlled but uncertain. It was unusual for someone who had always been so confident. “You said that you wanted to do that for some time, but you believed you weren’t gay. Do you… Does that still hold true?” After finishing, she took a sip of her coffee again, and her knuckles looked tense as she held the cup.

“I mean-” Ruby tried to start, but each time she opened her mouth only wordless air came out. She wasn’t sure if she honestly didn’t know or was just putting the question off after so much time, but she didn’t have an answer. At least not a yes or a no. Her left hand snaked under the table, seeking out hers. When they found their target, Weiss remained still before giving a squeeze back.

“I… I like this. I do. Really.” It was a lame reply, and she knew and hated it.

There was a terse sigh from Weiss, almost a huff if anything. “Have you considered what lies beyond all the handholding and coffee?”

In truth, she had. It was a scary thought most of the time. They’ve hugged and kissed and cuddled here and there and they weren’t above sharing a bed for missions. But at the same time she knew she had a crush on Jaune when she first started attending Beacon, bolstered by the numerous times she watched him get turned down by the very girl she was now dating. But she pushed it aside once she saw how hopeless it was for Pyrrha. She was done with it by the time the dance had happened.

And that was when she saw Weiss in that dress.

“I’m not here to trick you into thinking you like me. That would be unethical.” Weiss took another sip of her coffee, her voice tingling in the air. “I’ve always enjoyed our time together, even outside of our dates. But… I would like at least some clarity about us.”

Ruby tried to start up again, her body shrinking down, hand gripping tightly against Weiss’. “It’s weird. I mean,” she felt her cheeks heat up, feeling embarrassed as she thought more and more about the topic on hand. “I know how things work at the end of the day and-” her voice died down to a mumble.

From the side of her vision, Weiss’ chest rose and fell with a breath. “You’ll have to repeat yourself. You’re mumbling.”

Oh, great, now she had to say it all over again.

“I like guys.” There, she said it. As she worked up the courage to continue, Weiss’ hand squeezed hers, giving a small kick with her leg again. But she stayed silent, patient. She knew there would be more, and Ruby continued. “I mean, I know I’m attracted to guys, and in the past I would get off to guys. I like it when a dick goes into the girl.”

Her cheeks burned and she could feel her lips pursing and shifting, struggling to speak and ignoring how bad it must have sounded. “But when it comes to you, it’s like- I mean, after that moment when I knew there was something else I went and… researched, if you catch-”

“I understand what you mean, yes.”

“I found that looking at girls just don’t do it for me. Only if I tried really hard then okay, it happened. Otherwise no, it didn’t interest me. But you, you’re just…” She let her head thunk against the table in defeat, surrounding her face with her other arm. Her throat softly whined in frustration, trying to remind herself that she was still in one piece.“You’re just you.”She was not expecting to be put on trial today. It was supposed to just be a thing with coffee and cookies and maybe a few stolen kisses here and there. But it was all out now. And any moment this was going to end. Weiss would throw off her hand and-

“So if I understand,” Weiss spoke slowly, Ruby’s hammering heart being spurned even faster, “when you viewed pornography and watched women engaging in lesbian sex, it didn’t, for lack of a proper word for our current setting, do it for you.”

“Yep.”

“In any way?”

“Yeeep.”

“… But you mean to imply that I do it for you.” A pause. “Is that correct?”

Ruby had no real response. In hindsight it was obvious that she had revealed her hand. She had mentioned that Weiss was different, that there was this strange separation, that Weiss was somehow neither male nor female but was Weiss. And then once she started talking about sexual attraction, it just all snowballed into this, and-

“It was this one dream, okay?” she dared to peek her eyes over Weiss and instantly regretted it, feeling herself bake under the ice blue eyes. She turned her head back down into the fortress that was her arms, but that scrutinizing feeling never left her. “I mean, it was as weird as any dream starts out. Beacon was made of cookies and I was eating the walls. But then I got to the showers and you were naked. I made one glance at you and then I was naked too.”

She would have killed to have been able to lie to Weiss. But that was impossible. The girl had a way of somehow dredging up everything out of her without even trying. Please don’t ask what happened. Pleasedon’tpleasedon’tpleasedon’tpleasedon’t-

“And then what happened?”

Ruby bit her lip and a small whimper escaped her throat. She did her best to become small, hoping to become one with the table and chairs and disappear forever.

“…I’m sorry, Ruby. I should be-”

“We kissed. A lot.”

There was a sharp intake of breath again from Weiss. There was another small pause, but she knew that curiosity would get the best of her. “Please continue, if you’re able to.”

“You fingered me. You fingered me really hard and good.”

“So it… did it for you then, correct?”

“Y-Yeah,” she whimpered out. There was a pause, and once again Ruby ventured out to look at Weiss. Her eyes opened just in time to see the cup to be tilted up, chugged in an un-Weiss manner before being firmly set down onto the table. There was one final gulp, a gentle bobbing of the skin at her throat before she turned to gaze back.

Her gaze fell away for only the briefest of moments, but came back to her again. “Would you… Would you be open to sex in our relationship?”

If it was any other girl, Ruby was sure she would have said no. But Weiss was no ordinary girl. Porn and her own attempts at proving otherwise said so.

“… Okay.”

It wasn’t really a yes or a no, but Weiss’ hand softly squeezed hers, and Ruby had never felt so relieved and yet anxious at the same time.

“We’ll see if we can discuss this more, then.”

anonymous asked:

Do the post you linked I wouldnt say Cas fits that definition of a true neutral "i just want myself and the people i care about to be happy". Cas doesnt priortise his personal happiness as at all (reminds me more of Mary actually) I'd say Cas is a chaotic good. "i’m willing to do whatever it takes as long as it’s to do the right thing" Thats one of Cas' major stories for me, the "willing to whatever it takes" (I did what I had to do) his struggle if ends justify the means, what IS right etc

Yeah, but - is what Cas wants the right thing, though? Okay, apparently he still doesn’t care (much) if he himself lives or dies, but everything he does is directed at making sure Dean (and Sam, and now apparently Mary) are okay. And, I mean, I like them an awful lot, but putting them first whatever the cost isn’t ‘doing the right thing’. It’s ‘I want the people I care about to be happy’. Look at what happened in S11 - if Cas hadn’t helped Sam, Dean would have died (or Death would have put him on the Moon or whatever) and the world would have been okay. Look at how many people died because of Amara. Look at the destruction she caused. Look at how close she came to obliterating the whole world. And this thing with Billie, that’s exactly the same thing. ‘What lives, dies’ - that’s not unreasonable. And when he needed to get out of that prison, Dean did make a deal with her with full knowledge of the facts - and I say ‘her’, but Billie is actually a thing, isn’t she, a creature we know almost nothing about, other than she seems even more powerful than the angels, if not God himself - and Cas broke that deal, by killing Billie, even if he’d been warned there would be ‘cosmic’ consequences. 

So, you know - I adore Cas, and I think it’s fascinating to see him learn about love, but I can’t help but thinking this is why relationships between humans and angels are forbidden - because angels are black and white creature, and they’re incredibly powerful. Most of the shit that happened after S5 happened because Cas didn’t want to hurt Dean (because by then, he’d started to care too much about him). Cas went to Crowley, who’s insane and pitched him that insane Purgatory plan, because he didn’t want to bother Dean and put him in danger again. That’s what caused everything else - Cas absorbing the souls, losing his mind, ‘dying’, the Leviathans taking over. After that, he sacrificed his own sanity for Sam’s - something that, again, rationally made zero sense. Cas is more powerful than Sam, and arguably, he would have been more useful against the Leviathans. But he couldn’t bear the fact Sam was suffering because of him, and he needed needed needed Dean to forgive him (“I will find a way to redeem myself to you”). He was thinking with his heart, not his brain, and that’s why he ended up in a psych ward and was kept out of the fight as the Leviathans turned half of North America into a pig farm. And, sure, he came back and went to war because Dean asked him to, so this affection thing can work in the world’s favour from time to time, but the whole ‘trusting Metatron and making the angels Fall’ thing - that, again, was Cas trying to mimic Dean and doing what Dean would have done - what Dean was doing, actually, in sacrificing his own brother so the Gates of Hell would be closed forever. Of course, it’s not all there is - Metatron also gave Cas a sense of purpose, of direction, that Cas had lacked ever since he gave in to Dean and started to ignore destiny and prophecy, but you see my point? Crowley may love Dean, but he’s still too much of a self-involved demon to actually give everything for Dean, which makes him less dangerous for the world at large, but Cas - Cas is a different matter. When he killed Billie - sure, it was a sweet gesture and all, but to me, he also looked deranged. The Winchesters are good people, but, despite what Chuck said, they’re not the ones who keep the world going. A lot of the times, they’re actually cleaning up their own messes, and, in any case, they’re not the only talented hunters out there. I’m not saying I don’t love them or let them die or whatever, but man, if I were the mom of one of those people Amara exploded in a public park, it’d be hard not to blame TFW for their death. So if we look at that post again, I’d say Cas went from lawful good to neutral good - and is now operating under what he thinks are the parameters of a chaotic good, but are really true neutral territory. Or, at least, that’s how I see it.

wiseinnerwhispers  asked:

Okay, so you know your series with Bucky/Steve where Bucky is recovering and you write the fics set during different holidays? I'm really curious how Bucky would deal with Steve getting food poisoning... Like maybe a bit further on in his recovery? I'd love to see a fic for this if you're willing and up for it!!

This is quite long, so brace yourself… And it’s fairly plotless too. :)

We are in Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure.

_____________________________

Steve leans back into the couch, hands behind his head, and watches the Minnesota Vikings make a touchdown.

“Yes!”  Clint practically jumps out of his seat, pumping his fist in the air.  His son Cooper, who’s sitting on the couch between Clint and Steve, glances at his father and follows suit.

“Why are they your team, again?” Bucky asks, peering around Steve and Cooper to address Clint.

“I don’t know.  Thor likes them, so I figured I’d adopt them as my team too.”

“For not being that into them, you’re really into them,” Steve observes with a hint of friendly judgmental incoherence.

“Yeah, well, what can I say.  Sunday is football day.  And just to throw it back at ya, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two dudes less into a game,” Clint throws back.

“It would be different if the Giants were playing,” Bucky provides with a bit of a yawn.

Steve reaches over to pat Bucky’s knee.  “Tired already?” He asks quietly.  Bucky’s been doing better lately, but that doesn’t mean the nightmares are completely gone.  The jumbled sleepy groaning had turned to shouting around 4, and they’ve both been awake since then.

“I don’t know.  I’m ok,” Bucky replies.

“This game’s almost over, if you’re ready to split,” Steve suggests.

Bucky shrugs.  “I’m ok,” he repeats.

Laura swoops in from the kitchen, picking up bowls of snacks from the coffee table and carting them away.

“You could at least wait until a commercial break,” Clint playfully snipes at his wife as she momentarily stands between him and the TV.

“Yeah, yeah, suck it up,” she teases back, rolling her eyes and dancing in place as she loads a bowl of potato chip crumbs under her arm.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Steve offers.  He jumps up and grabs the bowl of onion dip and a plate of baby carrots and celery.

“I got it,” Laura tries to say.

“No, really, you’ve been waiting on us all day,” Steve says.

“Now you’re really blocking the view,” Clint complains.  He sticks out his foot to trip Steve as he carries the dishes into the kitchen, but Steve easily sidesteps the obstacle.

“I’ll get dinner served in a few minutes, here,” Laura says, gesturing to the potatoes in the oven and crock pot of chili on the counter.

“Thanks for the offer,” Steve replies, “But we should be getting home.  You’ve fed us enough already, and we’ve got a long drive home.  Gotta be up for work tomorrow.  You know the drill.”

“Yeah, sure do.  He doing ok?”  She glances at Bucky, still watching the TV in the living room.

“Oh, yeah, he’s doing great,” Steve explains.  “You’ve seen how far he’s come getting back to his old self.” Steve paws in the bowl of chips for a couple sizeable crumbs, swipes them in the onion dip, and throws them into his mouth.  “We just had kind of a long night, if you know what I mean.  The nightmares still bug him sometimes.”

“I bet they still bug you, too,” Laura says with a sympathetic eyebrow raise.

Steve half-shrugs and dips another chip.

“You know, that’s been sitting out for over 6 hours.  I’m not sure you want to eat it now.”  Laura snags the bowl of dip from under Steve’s hand and dumps it into the sink.

Steve swallows the chip anyway.  “I’ll be fine.”  He tries to help stack up a few more dishes.  “I think I amgonna drag Bucky home now.  Thanks for everything.  All the hospitality.”

“Sure.  You know you’re welcome anytime.”  Laura dries her hands on the seat of her jeans and hurries to find their coats.

Steve meanders up to the back of the couch and starts massaging Bucky’s shoulders from behind.  “Ready to run?” He asks.  “I gotta be up early tomorrow.”  He doesn’t really, but it’s an easy out.

“Yeah, sure.”  Bucky stands up and claps Clint and Cooper on the shoulder before donning his jacket and following Steve out to the car.

They’re on the highway before either of them speak.

“How’s it going?”  Steve’s used to Bucky’s long silences; he just sometimes feels the need to check in to ensure they’re contented stretches of quiet instead of depressed ones.

“Fine.  Good.  I’m good,” Bucky says.  “I’m just, I just wonder… I think I like the Giants, since they’re a New York team, but I don’t really remember seeing a lot of football before the war…”

Steve shifts slightly in his seat and replies, “Yeah, I don’t think we paid a lot of attention to football…  If you decide you don’t like the Giants, you can always go for the Jets…”  Steve stifles a belch behind his hand.

“You drink too much coke or something?”

“I’m fine,” Steve automatically replies.  He’s sure he is.  He can’t remember the last time he was sick with anything, not even a sniffle.  The slight grumble in his stomach has to be from an afternoon of munching junk food and ignoring the need for physical activity.  Though even as he commits to the thought, the unsettledness takes a dip toward pain.

Dusk is falling.  Steve can see the edges of orange sunset peeking in the corners of his rear view mirror as they sail from the beautiful stuck-in-time Virginia countryside back toward the concrete bustle of the DC suburbs.  He wishes they were travelling west so the beautiful sight could be in front, like a paradise to travel toward.

“Maybe we should move to the country,” Steve dreamily suggests.  “Get a farm house like Clint.”

“Could,” Bucky says in a doubtful tone.  “But I think we’re city kids.  We could go back to Brooklyn…”

They dissolve into a stretch of silence again.  The sun continues to plummet, and the harvest gold glow glints off the car mirrors in a harsher manner, making Steve squint against the assault on his eyeballs.  It’s beginning to make his head hurt, which isn’t coupling well with the tumult in his stomach.  Wave motion is creating white-capped froth against the sides of his abdomen, and it feels as though it’s splashing up into his chest.  Steve tries to stealthily let out another burp, and he tastes the sourness of acid reflux.

Then Bucky’s saying something, and Steve’s completely missed it.

“Huh?”

“Are you ok?”  It’s definitely not what Bucky said the first time.

“Sure.  Yeah,” Steve replies.

“I think, maybe, you’re not,” Bucky says, his eyes trained on Steve’s face.  “Your stomach hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Buck, really, I’m ok,” Steve says.  But internally, he admits to himself that he’s definitely uncomfortable. The first flecks of nausea are starting to materialize under his tongue.

“No, you’re not feeling good,” Bucky insists.  “It’s been a long time, but I used to take care of you.  I remember how you’d look when you felt sick.”

“That attractive, huh?” Steve asks, attempting to chuckle and swallow at the same time.

“If you feel bad, pull over,” Bucky says.

“It’s not that bad.”  Steve realizes what he’s let slip as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“But you do feel kinda bad.”

“Eh.  Kinda.”  It’s not worth disagreeing, now that there’s something like an invisible boa constrictor simultaneously squeezing his stomach and esophagus.

“You want me to drive?” Bucky suggests.

“You can’t,” Steve says, swallowing a mouthful of bitter saliva.

“I can drive,” Bucky says, somewhat defensively.

“Yeah, but you don’t have a license,” Steve reminds him.  “I’m gonna be fine.  Let’s just…get home.”

The sensation stretching from his stomach to the back of his throat has reached the point of definite illness.  It’s been such a long time since he’s felt sick like this; it brings back flashes of being a weaker version of himself, laid up in bed before the war.  But with Bucky still by his side.

He pushes on for five rough minutes.  When the flips of his stomach bring sleepy heaviness to his jaw and vertigo to his forehead, Steve knows he’s screwed.  Sickness is imminent.  A disgustingly wet belch works its way up his throat, and it’s all Steve can do to swallow down what’s quickly becoming the urge to gag.

“You should pull over.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a second…” Steve mutters in a choked whisper.  He takes the next exit without knowing exactly where it leads.  He gulps against a surge of bile and speeds through a yellow light to quickly merge from the off ramp to the main road.  There’s a gas station about a hundred yards down, and Steve pulls into the parking lot.  He sloppily stops the car across two parking spaces and throws the door open just in time to heave onto the dirty cracked asphalt.

“Hey, alright,” Bucky murmurs from behind him.  There’s a click as Bucky releases his seatbelt, then a shuffle as he clambers to his knees to balance his stump arm against Steve’s seat.

Steve feels the warm pressure of Bucky’s hand on the back of his neck.  It has the essence of comfort, but also the sensation of pushing him forward into the choking sling of his seatbelt as his stomach continues to evacuate.

He retches hard again, and a torrent of undigested food and soft drinks erupts, splashing over Steve’s knee and the edge of the door frame.  The seatbelt has him bound too far into the vehicle, and he fumbles his trembling fingers over the mechanism to unbuckle himself.

“I’m coming around to your side, ok?”  Bucky pats Steve’s shoulder and scrambles up.  He produces a dizzying ricochet when he slams the passenger side door.

In barely a second, he’s around the front end of the car and hovering face to face with Steve.  He quickly leaps backward a step as Steve lets out another flood of vomit onto the toes of Bucky’s boots.

“God.  Sorry,” Steve croaks, dabbing his mouth with the back of his hand.  “You’re tired; we should be home…”

“It’s ok, you’re just all messed up,” Bucky says, squatting by Steve’s left shoulder.

Steve nods absently in agreement as he tries and fails to suppress another gag that ends up delivering a thin stream of liquid.

“You want to go inside?”  Bucky jerks his head in the direction of the gas station’s convenience store.  “Try to get in a bathroom?”

“Nah, I’m…I don’t want to move.”  Steve’s hands shake visibly as he rests his face in his palms.

“But you’re, I mean, everything else is doing ok?”

“I’m not shitting myself, if that’s what you’re asking,” Steve embarrassment coming out in an edge in his voice.

“Hey, whatever’s going on, no problem.  I’m just here to help.”  Bucky says.  He uses a Kleenex from his pocket to swipe a few chunks of sick from Steve’s knee, then keeps his hand comfortingly on his thigh.

“Yeah…”  He retches agonizingly, then spits onto the ground as his body continues to force out air and fluid in painful belches.  “Jesus fucking Christ…”

Bucky’s inexplicable lover’s radar seems to inform him that the filthier the curses, the more excruciating Steve’s condition.  His hand finds Steve’s, and he squeezes as tightly as he can.  “Do you think you’ll be ok for a minute?  I’ll grab you some water.  Maybe some antacids.  Or some ginger ale?  I don’t know what’sgonna help the most…”

“I’m ok,” Steve gasps through a cough.  He means in general, though he also knows he’s blatantly mistaken.

“Ok.  Breathe, alright?  I’ll be right back.”  Bucky forces the Kleenex into Steve’s hand and lovingly strokes the back of his knuckles with his thumb.

Bucky’s gone for all of five minutes, but Steve can’t stop his body from contracting forward again.  Twice he heaves, and twice white-tinged stomach acid falls into what’s becoming an ocean of puke running across the concrete and under the car.

In his peripheral vision, Steve sees Bucky’s strapping one-armed form exiting the store’s glass doors.  He has a plastic shopping bag in the crook of his elbow and his phone pressed between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Yeah…” Steve hears Bucky muttering as he approaches the car.  “Ok, I’ll let you know if anything changes.  Ok.  Thanks.  Bye.”  He slaps the shopping bag around his hips as he fumbles the phone back into his pocket, then he bends over Steve’s back again.

“Alright, how’s it going,” Bucky asks.

“Oh, god,” Steve groans, fighting a hiccup.  “Just…so nauseous.”  He takes a stabilizing breath.  “Who were you talking to?”

“Just Laura,” Bucky says.  “I wanted to let her know, in case someone else was getting sick.”

Steve gives a thick swallow.  “’S nice of you…”

“And I, well, you know I’m kind of rusty on this,” Bucky admits quietly.  “I mean, you’ve been doing so much for me, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done this.  I want to make sure I’m, you know, doing it right.”

“I don’t think there’s a lot you can do,” Steve murmurs, bringing a fist to his mouth.  “What did Laura say?”

“To push fluids.  Get you home.  Go to the ER or call Sam to start an IV if it gets too bad.”  Bucky sets the shopping bag on top of the car and starts rummaging in it.  “And to remind you to not eat something if she tells you not to eat it.”

Steve glances up and sees Bucky’s smile.

“Yeah.  Point taken,” Steve says.

Bucky squats down to face him again, squeezing a bottle of water between his knees as he screws off the cap.  “How long’s it been since you brought anything up?”

“I don’t know.  A few minutes,” Steve gauges.  “But feels like I could go again any second.”

“Here.”  Bucky offers the water bottle.

Steve eyes him doubtfully and gives a small shake of his head.

“Better to puke up water than just acid.”

Steve has the slightly nostalgic feeling that he’d told Bucky the same thing not many months ago.  The full scope of the role-reversed scenario suddenly hits him, and Steve’s struck with the desire to be cooperative, though his body still seems to have other ideas.  He accepts the water bottle from Bucky and loosely grips it in his sweaty, shaky hand.

“Yeah.  Ok,” he sighs.  “Just…not really appealing.”

“Take a couple sips and I’ll drive you home,” Bucky encourages.

“You still can’t drive.”  Steve brings the bottle to his lips, the condensation beading on its surface making it slick in his hand and against his mouth.  The water is refreshing, but swallowing gives him the distinct impression he’s forcing his system to work in the opposite direction of its current preference.

“I can drive.  It’s a medical emergency, and I won’t get pulled over,” Bucky insists.

The water immediately hits Steve’s stomach, and the bubbling reaction it seems to set off is less than pleasant feeling.  He burps under his breath.

“Ok?”

“Maybe,” Steve says.  “It’s not setting that great.”

“Well, you seem ok for now.  You think maybe you’re ready to get going?”  Bucky rescues the plastic bag from the top of the car and stoops to offer Steve his stump shoulder as support.  With difficulty, Steve accepts the handhold and pulls himself to standing, remaining slightly bent at the waist with one arm protectively draped around his middle.

They sidle around the large splash of vomit on the ground and somehow maneuver to the passenger side.  Steve can barely concentrate on moving his feet as he trembles around the front of the car.  He sinks into the plush seat as soon as Bucky guides him to bend his knees.  He swallows hard as the water he swallowed threatens to come back up.

“Here,” Bucky says, reading Steve’s panicked expression.  He reaches over Steve to place a container of Tums in the cup holder, then hands over the empty plastic bag.

Steve imagines the car’s tires streaking through the lake of sick as Bucky reverses out of Steve’s awful parking job.  He doesn’t look to confirm his prediction.  With his palm pressed firmly into the steering wheel’s 12 o’clock position, Bucky steers them easily back onto the highway.

It’s only 25 minutes or so before they reach the exit for Falls Church, but Steve still can’t handle the smooth motion of the car on the road.  He leans his head into the window for as long as he can, but ends up hanging over his own lap as saliva trails from his lower lip into the crinkly plastic bag.

“You’re good,” Bucky says, shooting Steve a sympathetic glance.  Steve nods and belches out a mouthful of acidic water.  Hardly anything more comes up, but he stays hunched, not trusting himself to move.  At the first stoplight they get to, Bucky takes his hand off the wheel to stroke his fingers down Steve’s back.

Once they’re safely parked in the garage, Bucky unlocks the front door and Steve immediately slips past him to set up camp in the downstairs bathroom.  He kneels in front of the toilet and buries his face in the bowl, folding his arms over his aching head.

“What do you need?” Bucky asks from the doorway.

“Nothing, I don’t know,” Steve says around the threat of a gag.  “If you just want to come sit…”

“Yeah.  Of course.  With ya till the end of the line, remember?”

anonymous asked:

Hi! Can you please write about a party where all the IN**-types meets for the first time? :3

Hello, hello! Absolutely I can. I’ve been really excited about this one for a bit, actually. Ou^

INFJ makes his way down a narrow hallway of the party host’s house. As he passes a slightly ajar door, he hears a soft sobbing. Looking through the crack of this door, he spots INFP sitting against the wall of the bathroom, crying into her hands. INFJ knocks softly and lets himself in before she can answer.

INFP: I’m– I’m sorry, do you need the bathroom?

INFJ: No, I–

INFP: I’ll just leave, here you can have it. *Heads toward the door*

INFJ: Are you okay?

INFP: *Turns around in confusion, rubbing her eyes*

INFP: What?

INFJ: Are you okay?

INFP: Yeah… I’m fine.

INFJ: Are you sure?

INFJ: I mean… you’re not very happy.

INFP:

INFJ: I can listen if you want. I know it’s hard if you don’t have anyone to talk to.

INFP: …R-really?

INFJ: *Sits down against the wall and taps the floor next to him*

INFJ: I don’t mind.

INFP: *Glances at the door*

INFP: What if… someone, you know, has to go?

INFJ: There’s a bathroom upstairs, too.

INFP: *Sits down next to INFJ*

INFP: I helped start a little club with some of my friends.

INFP: We all like to write. So, we centered it around there… and for the past few days, we’ve been writing poetry. Then, we all share our poems in this little circle.

INFJ: Mhmm.

INFP: And when I was done reading my poem to them, everything seemed fine.

INFP: Well, what they said seemed fine. But the way the said it… didn’t sound real. Like they were trying to pacify me. But I went against my better judgment and brushed it off because they were my friends.

INFP: And later… I was about to catch up with them to hang out and I heard them talking about how awful I was at writing!

INFP brakes down into tears again and covers her face again. INFJ reaches over and softly rubs her back.

INFP: And it’s like– I work so hard on the things I create! It was my idea to bring us all together and share our writing and, I just–

INFP: Why would they go along with all of it just to laugh at me behind my back?! I thought we were getting along great; I thought we were learning a lot about each others’ way of expression and…

INFP: I thought we were friends.

INFJ: You know… you’re going to meet a lot of people like that.

INFJ: People who put you down and laugh about you because they don’t have anything better to do. And it’s awful, you’re right.

INFJ: But there’s two things that I want you to know.

INFP: *Looks up with tears still running down her face*

INFJ: 1.) You’ll learn to grow stronger with this over time. You’ll learn to build your confidence and understand that just because someone laughs at what you write, or just because they make fun of it, doesn’t mean they’re right. You have to. If you don’t, you’ll always be hurting because of those things they say. You can use it as motivation to continue writing. To show them that you don’t care what they say because you don’t write for them. You write for yourself. For creation. For inspiration.

INFJ: 2.) You’ll learn to spot these kinds of toxic people sooner. And then you’ll know to avoid them because you don’t need that kind of negativity. Trust me, not everyone is that antagonistic. You’ll meet people who will be by your side every step of the way; who will encourage you and constructively criticize you because they care about your growth.

INFJ: But you’ll need to experience things, and be sad, and toughen up for that to happen. It’ll be worth it, though. I can tell you that much.

INFJ: You’ve got to realize that while these things are unfortunate, not learning to grow and adapt with them is even less so. You can’t control others’ actions, but you can control your own and your perceptions and interpretations. That’s not to say that people, or even I, won’t be there for you for emotional support; but there’s always something you can do to better the situation for yourself.

INFP:

INFP: Thank you…

INFP: I think I’m going to get some fresh air, though. I’d like to get away from all of the… loudness of the party out there.

INFJ: Would you like me to come with you?

INFP: That… that would be really nice.

INFJ: Okay. You find your way out into the backyard and I’ll get us something cold to drink. Help you calm down a little bit.

INFP: Yes… yes, okay.

INTP is the only person in the backyard. He is looking up toward the night sky, examining the stars and the clouds, while speaking out loud.

INTP: Honestly, how did they ever come up with the constellations? Looking at most of them, they consist of only a few stars; how they managed to turn them into scorpions and centaurs is beyond me.

INTP: Although, I have to give them credit. Nobody was lacking creativity back then.

INTP: Well, I shouldn’t say that. People don’t change. I’m sure there were plenty of unoriginal flops back then just like the ones that are here. Maybe creativity was appreciated more back then. But then again, maybe I’m just in the wrong place.

INTP: I shouldn’t get condescending about this. The world needs all kinds of people, even if we don’t all get along or understand each other. Maybe the people I dislike are serving some other kind of purpose that I’ll never know.

INTP: But what kind of purpose? Using that language sounds like it’s inherently religious, for some reason. But it doesn’t have to be, of course.

The sliding door to the backyard opens and INFP walks in on INTP’s monologue.

INFP: Oh!

INTP: *Sits up in shock* Oh!

INFP: I didn’t realize anyone was out here.

INFP: Sorry, sorry, go back to your talk, you guys!

INTP:

INFP: Wait a minute…

INTP: Err.

INFP: Is it just you?

INTP: How much of that did you hear?

INFP: I first remember “creativity was appreciated more back then”.

INFP: Were you… you know.

INTP: Sometimes I just like to think out loud.

INFP:

INTP: Is that a problem?

INFP: No, no, of course not!

INTP: …It’s not?

INFP: No, no.

INFP: Sometimes I do it, too.

INFP: It’s just easier to let your thoughts are come out at once, sometimes, you know? Like, your thoughts move so fast that you just jump from one thing to the next, that you kind of need to vocalize them, or something.

INTP: I think it helps keep the thoughts on track, too. Even though I jump around a lot from one to the next, it makes them more… real, in a way. It helps me develop the important ones and set aside the more irrelevant ones.

INFP: Err. Well…

INFP: I mean, I don’t think there’s a such thing as an irrelevant thought. Do you?

INTP:

INTP: *Looks around the yard, confused*

INTP: What are you doing out here, anyway?

INFP: I left the actual party because it was getting too hectic. A friend… or, well, someone I met is coming out in a minute with some drinks for me and him.

INFP: Unless we’re bothering you.

INTP: It’s not like I’ve monopolized the backyard.

INTP: You’re interesting, though. Care to sit down over here until he gets back?

INFP: Um. Sure.

INTP: I mean, you’re not going back in there, are you? Might as well finish this conversation while we wait.

INTJ is sitting near the sink in the kitchen. She sits on a stool with her elbows resting on the counter, looking out at the main activity in the living room. She is completely motionless, with a neutral expression on her face. INFJ reaches the sink with two yet to be filled cups. He stares at her as he fills up the first cup.

INTJ: Do you need something?

INFJ: You look like you’re in deep thought.

INTJ: Not as deep as you’d think.

INFJ: What are you doing?

INTJ: Examining.

INFJ: Oh? What, exactly?

INTJ: Everyone.

INTJ: The way they interact. The way so many people miscommunicate in these distracting parties and still manage to exist contently with one another.

INFJ: *Begins filling the second cup*

INFJ: You’re interested in social situations, too?

INTJ: You could say that. It’s a system that is vastly misinterpreted by everyone inside of it. Yet, to an outsider like myself, I see everything that happens.

INFJ: *Leans on the counter near INTJ after filling the second cup*

INFJ: It’s interesting to think that after everyone goes home today, they will each have their own memories of tonight. Some of them will be almost unrecognizably different from another’s.

INTJ: Because of their individual interactions and miscommunications.

INFJ: Well, yes, those too.

INTJ: *Look at INFJ*

INFJ: But also because of their value systems.

INFJ: Some people may have very similar stories in terms of events because they were together most of the time, but the time spent on each part may be contrasting because of what the moments mean to them.

INTJ: That’s an interesting perspective. I hadn’t thought of it that way.

INFJ: The same applies to me.

INFJ: *Picks up cups and begins walking away*

INTJ: Where are you going?

INFJ: Backyard; it’s quiet out there and someone is waiting for me.

INTJ:

INFJ: I don’t mind if you come along. She might, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

INTJ: Okay.

The four of them become acquainted in the backyard and end up discussing multiple topics, ranging from deep and serious to hyperbolic and silly.

INTP: The way I see it, there are certainly some thoughts that are more important than others.

INFP: Of course there are! I mean, what I think about my future is definitely more important than what I think about–

INTJ: INTP’s future.

INTP: I did nothing to you.

INFJ: Hehe, INTJ, that was harsh.

INTP: It’s okay. The joke is on INTJ because little does she know that in the future, I’ll have built my own time machine to come back and exact revenge on her for that.

INTJ: I’m waiting.

INFP: INTP, can I come back with you on your time machine trip?

INTP: Maybe. I can’t promise you anything yet.

INTJ: You’ll have to build it first.

INFJ: Would building a time machine just to spite INTJ be the best reason to do so?

INTJ: It’s a reason.

INTJ: And I’m flattered.

INFP: If you guys had one time to go to through a time machine, where would you go?

INFP: I wouldn’t want to go too far and find out a ton of stuff because I wouldn’t want to spoil everything, but I’d at least like to know if I’m okay.

INFJ: What do you mean by “okay”?

INFP: Just, you know, to make sure that I end up happy with whatever happens. I don’t really care what my future is like as long as I’m content with it.

INTJ: That sounds hedonistic.

INFJ: It sounds humanistic. It’s only human to want to be content.

INTP: It’s logical.

INTP: If you’re not okay with yourself then… what are you doing?

INTJ: But to be happy at all costs doesn’t sound healthy.

INFJ: I think it’s safe to say that if INFP were to gain at the extreme expense of another person, she wouldn’t be happy.

INFP: I mean, I wasn’t really thinking that far into it, INTJ! I just want a nice future and adulthood.

INTP: Analysis is all INTJ knows.

INTJ: I see we have shifted to picking on me, then.

INTP: I’ll make you a deal.

INTJ: No.

INFP: INTJ, here INTP out!

INTJ:

INTP: If you agree to travel back in time with me from the future and humor me on something, there will be no more nitpicking.

INTJ: And if I refuse?

INTP: Then I’ll come back by myself, and me and my future self will double team you.

INFP: O~O

INFJ: INTJ, INTP isn’t messing around. You might want to agree.

INFJ: For the peace and harmony of us all.

INTJ: Okay.

INTJ: What am I humoring you on?

INTP: We’ll come back to this point in time, speak to the four of us for a moment, then I’m going to ask you a question right before we leave.

INTJ: And the question is?

INTP: “INTJ, where are we going, now?”

INFP: Uhh…?

INTJ: *Smirks*

INFJ: Oh god.

INTJ: “Back to the Future.”

INFJ: NO GOD WHY.

INTP: You are the best person.

INFP: (─‿‿─)

INFJ: That was horrendous.

INFJ: You know, if we’re going to answer this question seriously, I would go back to a time where I was surrounded like the people at the party in there.

INFJ: That way, I could watch myself interact and see how many misconceptions there are that I and everyone else missed all because we were immersed in the action!

INFP: Would you try to change anything?

INTJ: Changing things never works out in anyone’s favor. I’d avoid it.

INTP: To answer seriously myself, I would go to a few different points of my life, very briefly, to watch myself to see if my demeanor changes. To watch how my interactions change with any specific person.

INTJ: I would predict my own future, then go to a certain point to see if it came true.

INTJ: Of course, nothing major like who my friends will be – it’s not the most predictable aspect. But say, where I’ll be living by a certain age. If I’m determined enough to be at a certain place at a certain time, then I can make it happen.

INTP: If you predict that you’ll be at a certain place at a certain time, then actively try to fulfill it, you’re not really predicting the future. You’re creating a stable time loop.

INTJ: Not to everyone else’s perspective.

INTP: Except your own. And now our’s, too.

INFJ: Something tells me you guys are going to be the ones to build this time machine.

INFP: Of course they are! They plan on coming back to tell us! Remember?

INTP: We’re actually coming back to make that awesome joke, but we can verify that we’ve also built it, as well.

Not far from the small circle of INXXs, something rustles the leaves of a nearby bush. Nothing can be found because it has gotten too dark to see much further than each person’s face.

INFP: What was that sound?

INTJ: It’s probably just a squirrel.

INTP: Oh, no. I know what it is.

INFJ: No, INTP.

INTP: It’s a who.

INFJ: Stop.

INTP: *Looks INTJ sternly in the eye*

INTP: It’s us.

This got waaaaaaaay longer than I expected. This is probably the longest one I’ve ever done. I enjoyed it a lot though. Can’t you tell?

I'd Buy That For A Dollar

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I"M GONNA REQUEST SOME SMUT THEN :D Frank owns (or works at) this clothing store (You can decide what type of clothing c: ). Y/N comes in on a slow day to browse so he helps her look thru the racks and there’s lots of subtle flirting from Frank. Y/N goes & tries things on and models them for him (and more flirting but this time Y/N flirts back omg), and then he gives her extra help in the dressing room ;) (and it gets a bit kinky). Hopefully this makes sense omg I’m sorry if it doesn’t. ___________________________________

You’re walking down the street on a calm Sunday. You hadn’t had any significant plans for today so you decided to get a little shopping done, something you’d been wanting to do. You’re on your way to your favorite clothing store, when your walking stops as you pause in front of a store sign. “Stage 4 Clothing” it reads. While you had passed the store multiple times in the past, your interest was suddenly peaked; there was a decent sale going on. You give a little mental cheer before pushing the door open to step inside.

As you walk in, you immediately notice the fact that the store seems to be empty. You frown the slightest bit. Shit, maybe this store is closed and I didn’t even notice. Before you can make a decision on whether to leave or not, a friendly toned voice rings out and startles you.

“Hi there! Welcome to Stage 4!” You turn to where the voice came from, and you see a guy covered in of tattoos, sitting behind the counter reading a Kerrang! He’s smiling and you look at him for a second, seeing how attractive he is before answering.

“Hi.” You greet back, stepping into the store more.

“Almost everything is on sale. We’re having a really slow day so don’t hesitate to ask if you need any help.” His name tag at the end of his lanyard says “Frank” and he smiles at you in a way that seems a bit more than polite.

“Alright, thank you.”

“No problem.” He continues smiling at you and you notice his eyes slowing looking at you from top to bottom. He meets your eyes and then smiles again before going back to his magazine.

You continue on and walk deeper into the store. The clothes are actually very appealing to you, and the prices are good. You choose a couple of items and as you scan the racks, a scarf catches your eye. It’s bright orange with little tassels at each end, and it’s made of a super soft fuzzy material. You laugh internally just a bit as you pick up the scarf and have a proper look at it.

“Nice scarf.” A sly voice comes out from behind you. You turn your head to see the worker guy from before, Frank, walking over to you. You chuckle a bit.

“Thanks. It’s a little different than what I’d usually choose, but there’s just something about it. I like it for some reason, but I’m not sure it’ll look good with anything I own.” You tell him your qualms about the scarf; he works here for a reason, anyways.

“I think it’s really unique. It would probably look cute on you.” He says with a smile that pulls more at one end of his lips than the other. “I’m Frank by the way. What’s your name honey?”

“My name is (Y/N). And thanks, but I don’t know, sometimes I have a little trouble figuring whether or not something will suit me.” You confess.

“Well as you can see, it’s a really slow day, so I could maybe help you out with that? I can totally shop with you, if you’d like.” Frank smiles kindly at you, his hazel green eyes shining. You think for just a second before answering.

“Sure, Frank. That’d be much appreciated.”

His smile immediately grows. “Great! My keen fashionista eye won’t let you down, beautiful!” His tone is joking and he winks at you. You giggle and begin to scan the racks once more, taking the scarf with you.

As you look around at all the clothes, Frank occasionally points out things he thinks “would look cute on you” or “look at this, you’d look bangin’ in this (Y/N)!” You only thank him and take the clothes he suggests, which you actually really do like.

You finally reach a section of clothing that you hadn’t yet looked at. It’s chock full of short shorts and sets of skirts that pair with crop tops. You pick up a frilly black skirt that is actually really to your liking. Although, the length of the skirt immediately puts you off a bit and you hesitantly begin to put it back.

“What’re you doing (Y/N)? Oh, that’s a nice skirt.” Frank sidles up next to you.

“Eh, it is, but I don’t think the length will flatter me all that much.” You confess to him.

“Whoa whoa whoa now!” Frank begins, gently moving your hand with the skirt away from the rack. “I, personally, think it’d look amazing on you (Y/N). And if you don’t believe me, we do have dressing rooms here.” You smile a little at Frank, but he looks just a tad nervous and hesitates before continuing. “If… If you’d want, I could even… lend a critical eye.” He suggests slowly. A critical eye, hm? You don’t respond right away, not sure if what you’re thinking is correct. “I mean you could just go try them on if you want, but I could yknow share my opinion when you try something on. Only if you want of course.” Frank clarifies a bit more, sounding nervous at your lack of answer.

“I try something on and you tell me what you think of it? Hm. Sounds like a little fashion show.” You chuckle a bit and Frank eases up. “Sure Frank, I’d appreciate the help.”

Frank gives you a toothy smile. “Alright then, let’s go hun!” He begins to walk to the back end of the store, and you follow after quickly picking out some more stuff off the rack.

The dressing rooms are tidy and you choose the big one in the back. Walking into the dressing room, Frank settles himself to wait. He gives you a thumbs up as you enter the stall and close the door. Looking through the clothes you brought in, you pick out a pair of shorts to try on first. You replace your jeans with said shorts and take a quick look in the mirror before opening the door to step out in front of Frank. As soon as you present yourself, Frank’s eyes shine and he gives you a smile.

“What do you think?” You ask him.

“I think they look really good on you! They match your style and… they really flatter your… shape.” Frank gives you a slow look from bottom to top before meeting your eyes and smiling. You face warms a tiny bit.

“Thanks, handsome.” You grin at him before twirling on your feet and re entering the stall.

Next, you decide to try on a skirt and a crop top. The skirt is the black and frilly one, and the crop top is dark purple and a bit lacy. You take an unsure look at yourself in the mirror. Fuck it. You walk out a bit more shyly and stand in front of Frank nervously.

“What do you think?” You ask him quietly. You look down at the floor for a second and there’s only silence. When you finally look up, Frank’s eyes are wide and his mouth is in a little “o”.

“Wow.” Is all he says, looking you up and down.

“What? Wow good or wow bad?” You question.

“Good. Definitely wow good. Damn (Y/N). You look… fuckin stunning.” Frank continues to look you up and down once more, and he shifts in his seat a bit.

“You think so Frankie?” You regain confidence and your tone goes from shy to soft and maybe a bit flirty. Frank’s eyes immediately darken at your words.

“Yeah (Y/N). It looks great on you.” Frank bites his lip before continuing. “You’re a really beautiful girl (Y/N).” You blush a bit.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Frank.” You wink at him, playing along. He grins cheekily.

“Why thank you, sexy lady.” Frank says in a bit of an outlandish tone, but you detect the suggestiveness that lies beneath that.

“Well I guess I’ll go ahead and try something else on for you.” Quickly, you turn back into the stall and walk back in, but not before seeing Frank’s smile drop a bit. Patience, Frankie.

Stepping into the stall, you remove the articles of clothing down to your underclothes. You shuffle through the clothes you’d brought in with you, and choose a corset top. It zips in the back, and it is also slightly a crop top. Without putting on anything else, you slip into the top and zip it up about halfway. Just as you expected, it’d be a struggle to zip it all the way on your own.

“Hey Frank!” You call out.

“Yeah?” He answers from outside the stall.

“You think you could come in here and help me out a bit?” You don’t move at all as a silence hangs in the air. You hear shuffling.

“Sure thing. Open it up and I’ll help you however I can.” Frank sounds borderline nervous, not knowing what to expect.

You open the stall door to let him in, and he enters. His eyes widen significantly as he enters and sees you. Frank clears his throat.

“How can I help you, babe?” Frank regains his cool demeanor and doesn’t even try to hide his lowered, lingering gaze.

“Zip me up?” You ask him innocently as you turn around, pushing your bottom out just a little bit. Frank inhales a deep breath before moving closer. A lot closer. He places a hand on your side, to hold the fabric in place as he slowly zips it up. You can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck.

“Thanks, Frank.” You whisper, not yet turning around. His hand still lays on your side and you can still hear him breathing. “Do you like it?” There’s a mirror in front of the both of you and you look up to see Frank looking intently at you, an animalistic look in his eyes. The words seem to break Frank out of his silence.

“You’re so fucking hot, (Y/N).” Frank almost growls, and he slides his hand down your side. Before he can do more, you surprise him by pressing your ass back onto his crotch. You feel something pressing against your ass, and Frank lets out a groan. “Fuckin’ finally get to play with you baby.” Frank brings his hands down and grabs at the sides of your ass, gripping at you through your panties as he grinds his erection into you at the same time. You let out a small moan as you feel his hard length rutting against you harshly.

“You wanna get dirty right here don’t you, fuckin’ slut? You’re gonna be my slut right here in my store. Give me your hands.” He growls. You have to bend forward a bit in order to present your hands to him behind your back. Frank obviously doesn’t mind, as he pushes you forward even more. You almost lose your balance but Frank keeps a firm grip on your hands. You glance at the mirror in front of you, your face much closer to it than you were before, and you see Frank going through the pile of clothes you’d brought in with one of his hands. He seems to finally have found what he was looking for, and you die a little on the inside as you see him pull out the fuzzy orange scarf from the pile. He meets your eyes in the mirror’s reflection and grins devilishly at you as he ties your hands securely behind your back with the scarf.

“Frank.” You whine out unintentionally as he tightens the binding around your wrists.

“What is it baby? You want me? You want me right here right now?” Frank teases in a husky voice, and you hear him rummaging with his pants and hear his zipper go down. You look up into the mirror and you see Frank standing behind you looking disheveled and oh so fucking sexy. His hair is in front of his eyes, and his pants are down. His erection stands stiffly as he spits in his hand and rubs it on his tip haphazardly, shuddering a bit at the brief contact.

Then, Frank grabs at your panties and roughly pulls them down. He moves in closer and he rubs his dick along your wet slit.

“Fuck, so wet for me baby. You’re such a dirty girl.” Frank groans before suddenly giving your ass a hard slap. You cry out in surprise, and before you can do anything more, Frank presses his dick against your opening and shoves himself inside.

“Fuck!” He whispers roughly, and you see him roll his head back through the mirror’s reflection at the initial contact. He starts to thrust into you and you can’t hold back your moans.

“Frank! Fuck!” You let out, now bent over fully with your face almost touching the mirror.

“That’s it baby, moan my name with that pretty mouth of yours.” Frank’s voice is low and he grabs at your bound fists with one hand to hold you steady, and with his other hand he gives you another hard slap on the ass. “You’re so bad (Y/N). So fucking bad, fucking on my dick in my store.” You cry out and moan as he continuously slaps your ass and you can feel the angry red marks forming already.

Soon, Frank’s thrusts are speeding up and becoming frantic. “Fuck babe, you’re gonna make me come all over your hot ass.” Frank lets out breathlessly. His small whimpers amplify into loud moans, and they intermingle with your own as the feeling of Frank fucking you engulfs you in absolute pleasure. With one last deep moan, Frank pulls out and shoots all over your reddened ass. You watch his face in the mirror, his mouth agape, his eyes closed tight, and his brow furrowed in pleasure. For a few seconds it’s silent as you both catch your breaths.

“Frank…” You mumble out almost incoherently. With that, Frank goes to untie your wrists then proceeds to clean you off with the scarf. You straighten up and rub your sore wrists a bit. You both get dressed in a comfortable silence, and once you’re both done you speak.

“And I really liked that scarf.” You tell him in mock disappointment. Frank gently takes hold of your chin and directs your face up to his, then plants a chaste but sweet kiss on your lips.

“I’ll find you another one honey. But wasn’t that worth it?” He asks with a wide grin.

“Sure was, mister store clerk.” You smile back and he chuckles.

“Come on, let me ring you up babe.”

itstousledbird  asked:

heya lovely, are you still doing the cuddle-drabbles? if yes, I'd love you if you write Bucky x Reader with *can hear the other’s tummy gurgle* <3

Warnings: Mentions of past injuries and tummy noises

Word Count: 659 (watch as these slowly get longer and longer lol. Brevity is not my strong suit)

Tags (If you want on a list, go here. If you want off, send me a message!)

A/N: Somehow this turned into fluffy kind-of confessions too lmao.


Originally posted by fandomediiits

Bucky volunteered to stay behind on this mission with you this time around. You were benched for a bit while you worked through your physical therapy after a stray bullet sliced through your thigh pretty good. It had healed over and you were left a pretty gnarly scar at this point but the muscle underneath was still healing. You didn’t really need someone to stay behind with you but you were glad for the company of one of your best friends.

The two of you had gotten along almost instantly when he showed up at the Compound with Steve one night. He was understandably quiet and standoffish at first but you (and Steve, of course) helped bring him out of his shell. He was still a quiet man but he was lovably grumpy and sarcastic and his deep, rumbly laugh made your heart do flips. 

…Not that you’d tell anyone that last part.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

1. The fifth time they meet, it is because she seeks him out at the Royal castle. It is several weeks after he allowed her to escape from the Dark One’s dungeon, and she has recovered fully from her wounds. She tries to tell herself to let that be their final interaction – he had the opportunity to end her life, but chose not to, which means he’s moving on from thoughts of vengeance. She should lie low and permit him to walk that path without having to deal with her - the person he blames.

2. She should also be making the most of her second chance, moving on from her old life and family. And yet, if there is one thing she can’t do, it is to let go of her son completely. Facing an existence without seeing him is even harder when another version is so close. So, against her better judgement, she finds herself one evening pushing her dinner to one side, taking a deep breath and allowing her magic to transport her away.

3. She reappears next to a bench set amongst some rose bushes. It is a small, private side-garden, accessible only to those who know both where the door is hidden and also have the key. The bushes look cared for, so she can tell at least someone tends the plants inside. Her instincts told her to come her, so she settles on the bench and waits. A long time passes, her fingers becoming cold from the breeze. Her wounds may be healed but her body is still more tired and sensitive than before.

4. Finally, when the last of the daylight has vanished and the stars have made their appearance, she hears the sound of a key in the lock. Someone enters, closing the door behind them, and then footsteps near. She waits patiently as the person approaches, letting herself smirk slightly when the feet come to an abrupt halt. ‘We’ve spoken before without guards,’ she pushes, when the silence lingers. Henry – King Henry, as she always has to tell herself – moves into view.

5. ‘How do you even know about this place?’ he asks, a curious expression on his face instead of exhibiting fear or hatred. She supposes that is definitely a step in the right direction. ‘I gather you read that book back to front several times?’ she replies, already knowing the answer. He nods, choosing to lean against a statue rather than join her on the bench. He’s dressed in typical night robes for this land – not something her Henry would be seen dead in. She smiles at the thought.

6. ‘Well, when we had that year where we were all sent from Storybrooke back to the Enchanted Forest, and I was separated from my Henry-’ she breaks off, pain in her heart at the similar situations. And yet this time, there is no Snow or David or even Belle around her. ‘We stayed in our version of this castle – the entire pathetic group of people. I would come here every night, just to have some peace, and think about Henry without Snow asking me every five minutes if I was alright.’ 

7. She almost bites her tongue when she realizes she’s mentioned Snow’s name. The death of his grandparents and disappearance of his mother is of course all on her head in his eyes – even if she wasn’t the version to actually perform those acts. Henry crosses his arms, but appears to contemplate what she says. ‘If what is written in the book is true,’ he begins slowly, ‘And I’m not saying that I believe it - it could just be your way of trying to trick me.’

8. He glances sideways at this, and she knows he’s lying – he does believe the book, at least somewhat. ‘If it were true though, you two ended up being close then? You and Grandma?’ She smiles sadly at him, and nods. ‘We forgave each other, and became family. She was always giving me ridiculous hope speeches. Emma became a dear friend too. I miss them.’ He bites his lip, clearly turning something over in his mind. ‘If it was so difficult during that year, why did you leave again? Leave Henry?’ 

9. ‘It’s all there in the book, Henry,’ she says gently. ‘I didn’t have a choice about leaving. And I miss him, every single day.’ Silence falls for a moment. Her hands are getting colder, and she rubs them together slightly. ‘I’m not him,’ Henry blurts out suddenly. ‘I’m not your son. I have no memories of growing up with you, or living in that world.’ She remembers then – remembers mistaking him for her Henry when she lay dying. Maybe that is what made him believe in the book. 

10. ‘I know you aren’t my son,’ she admits, twisting her fingers together. ‘That doesn’t mean you aren’t like my Henry in many ways though. You’re him if he had had a very different upbringing, is all.’ He snorts at this, rubbing a toe into the dirt. He looks very much like a teenager in this moment, and nothing like a King. ‘I’m not trying to replace my son,’ she continues, watching his face closely. ‘And if you want, I can leave and you’ll never have to see me or think about me ever again.’ 

11. He becomes quiet again at this offer, and the silence stretches on so long that she makes a move to stand up and transport herself away. If that is his choice, then she will respect it. But as soon as she’s standing, he holds out a hand. ‘I have to welcome all the nobles in the Kingdom to the castle next week,’ he tells her, in an odd shift in topic. ‘I’m slightly terrified that they won’t take me seriously, considering the fact that they’re all at least two decades older than me.’

12. ‘Overwhelm them with polite steeliness,’ she advises him with a twitch of her lips. ‘I became Queen at a rather young age myself, and found if you’re polite but don’t let them get away with anything, the old curmudgeons learn to respect you quite quickly.’ He nods, and at last smiles back. ‘I know, I read the books,’ he tells her. At her confused expression, he elaborates. ‘Our history books, about your reign. When you weren’t trying to track Grandma down, you were a pretty good ruler.’ 

13. She laughs slightly, and shrugs her shoulders. ‘Helped that a lot of them were scared of me,’ she admits, pursing her lips. ‘Not a prudent route for you to take.’ He drops his chin in agreement. ‘Most of my advisors are terrible,’ he confides with a wince. ‘Half of them don’t know what they’re talking about, and the other half want to run the kingdom themselves.’ She knows that feeling well, and extends a hand out, letting it hang in the air between them for a moment in a gesture of peace. 

14. ‘I understand that, I do,’ she tells him seriously. ‘If you ever need another person’s opinion, I’m always available.’ She feels stupid at the offer, but there is a flicker of relief in his eyes, or so she chooses to see. ‘I come to this garden every night myself,’ he informs her. ‘None of my guards are allowed to disturb me here.’ They stare at each other for a moment, with new-found understanding. ‘Good night, Henry,’ she says, and she sees him smile before she transports herself away.

anonymous asked:

Heya, dfab anon here- I'd like to thank you for your advice, it was well thought out and I think I can figure out a way to make it work- but I feel that if I explicitly make her nonbinary, it would also give some negative representation because she has a mental disorder and high intelligence as well, and I feel that if I made her nonbinary it would make her a Mary-Sue. (Mattie Skye?) I'm still working it out but your input was great, and if you have any advice, feel free to answer me again!

I’m glad you found my answer useful!! Though here comes a little extra bit of advice based on this response, because there might be a few problems here.

First of all, making a character nonbinary should in no way contribute to any interpretation of suedom. The only way it could possibly fit within the standard idea of a mary sue is if we assume that “nonbinary” somehow means “special”, which it really shouldn’t. The idea that female and male are the default and nonbinary genders are somehow something “new” or “extra” is an extremely harmful notion that only further feeds into the damaging (and hugely incorrect) narrative of nonbinary people just being “special snowflakes” who want attention. Do not avoid creating characters from massively underrepresented social groups because of archaic notions of what’s “normal.” That is what would potentially be offensive.

Secondly, in my private writer opinion, what makes a character a “mary sue” in the first place has been greatly muddled over the years. Personally, I find the whole concept far more damaging than helpful, for three reasons:

  • In reality, a so-called “mary sue” is annoying not because she’s overpowered or a special snowflake or whatever, but because she hogs the attention of the narrative without giving anything back. Telling stories is about communicating a lesson or theme to your audience - the issue that may crop up around an overpowered character is that they solve the plot without going through the necessary character development that communicates the story’s message to your reader. People want to hear about unemployed single mother Betty McBadluck struggle through hardship after hardship until she finally lands a job that gives her both enough money and spare time to care for her child because they might be able to find inspiration and courage in the lessons that Betty learns along the way about staying strong and never giving up hope. Mary Sue spinning around in her CEO chair and buying jet planes for each of her 12 smart, successful children for 200k pages is grating because it doesn’t teach the reader anything. They have no reason to read about a person who doesn’t need to develop at all, because the majority of readers like stories because they have something important to teach them. This is why flawed characters are so great - they already come pre-packaged with issues they have to face. The idea that certain features like superpowers, high intelligence, wild hair or eye colors, or having six different love interests automatically makes a character repulsive makes zero sense. You can totally have a winged genius main character breathing fire out of her rainbow eyes and still have her be likable - just make sure that the story is about her overcoming all the little bumps in the road as she moves in with her six boyfriends and everything she learns about being a good person and partner, and not about how she effortlessly saves the world every week with her all-destroying unlimited lightning farts. 
  • These days, the concept of mary sues is primarily used to kill creativity in young/beginning writers and scare them into trying to fit a mold of “not too much.” In my experience, this results in stale characters that the writer won’t allow to be too much of anything out of fear that someone will call suedom on them, either for being too cool or too sympathy-demanding. Not only does this totally suck the fun out of casual writing that people do for fun, it also drives a lot of writers into giving their characters flaws that don’t gel with the narrative at all. Personally, I’m sick to death of female characters in mainstream media having to have goofy/awkward/”clumsy” sides to them in a transparent attempt to mark them as “clearly not mary sues.” Flaws exist to humanize characters and give them that internal struggle that should ideally drive the plot, not as something you quickly staple on to a character in a last-ditch effort to calm a potential angry audience.

  • There’s a reason you hear “mary sue” used way more often than “gary stu.” Female characters are criticized far more harshly for being powerful and unique than male characters are. This absolutely has its roots in the fact that we’re used to seeing male wish-fulfillment characters (think Tony Stark, The Doctor, James Bond, etc.), while female characters usually exist only in relation to male characters and not as wish-fulfillment of their own. I dislike referring to characters as “mary sues” - even ones that might fit the bill for bullet point 1 - because of its sexist connotations. On the subject of nonbinary characters, remember that nonbinary people have even less representation of wish-fulfillment than women do.

I’m not saying you absolutely have to make your character nonbinary if you don’t want to. I’m just saying to really thoroughly ask yourself why you won’t so you don’t make the decision based on bigotry and misinformation.

Garrett and Marian Banters - Mark of the Assassin
  • Fenris: Manservant...
  • Isabela: Aw, Fenris got his feelings hurt
  • Tallis: It's just a cover
  • Fenris: I'd like to cover him with six feet
  • Marian: Seems a bit excessive. Where are you planning on getting all these extra feet? I'm not donating mine to the cause. Or are you hiding more on you, aside from the two attached to your legs?
  • Fenris: It seems that the last six years have not dulled your absurdity, Marian
  • ---
  • Marian: Remind me why we're /looking/ for the big scaly things that can kill us?
  • Garrett: You wanted to impress a cute elf
  • Tallis: You think I'm cute?
  • Fenris: *smugly* Unless you have suddenly taken to referring to yourself as 'he' and 'him', then I am afraid you are out of luck on that front
  • Garrett: They were /her/ words, not mine
  • Marian: What, she /is/ cute!
  • ---
  • Tallis: I told her not to touch it! What part of that didn't she understand?!
  • Garrett: You clearly don't know my sister. With her 'don't touch anything' means 'touch everything'
  • Tallis: But that makes no sense!
  • Garrett: You didn't grow up with her
  • ---
  • Tallis: So are you married?
  • Marian: Are you talking to me? Really?
  • Tallis: Well, it's just- You're the Champion of Kirkwall, or one of them anyway. Big. Important. I don't know... just wondering if there was a wife behind the throne?
  • Marian: *laughs uncontrollably* As if I'd be able to stand through the ceremony long enough!
  • Tallis: So the stories are true
  • Marian: Come on, I thought everyone and their grandma knew I have the attention span of a nug!
  • Tallis: I meant that you snort when you giggle
  • Isabela: Ooh, you got caught out Birdie!
  • Marian: Blast, my darkest secret revealed!
  • Garrett: That's nothing. When we were children, she used to- Hmph!
  • Marian: And that's enough out of you, little brother
  • ---
  • Tallis: So... you and Marian are together?
  • Isabela: Yep
  • Tallis: But you have no interest in marrying her?
  • Isabela: Why would I? I don't need a piece of paper to prove anything, and I hate being tied down
  • Tallis: And her flirting with me doesn't bother you? At all?
  • Isabela: So long as you ask nicely and promise not to steal her away, I'll share. There's a lot of Birdie to go around
  • Marian: Love ya Queenie
  • Isabela: *laughs* I love you too Birdie
  • ---
  • Marian and Garrett: What?
  • Tallis: You really are twins, aren't you?
  • Garrett: Is that why you were staring?
  • Marian: But we're identical in every way!
  • Isabela: Might want to look down Birdie, I think you've lost your beard
  • Marian: Blast, not again
  • Garrett: You can borrow mine if you like
  • Marian: What, and get Fenris cooties all over my face? No thanks
  • ---
  • Isabela: I heard something interesting the other night. About Castillion
  • Marian: You have pretty eyes
  • Isabela: Don't even try that on me Birdie. What did you and Fenris do?
  • Fenris: We did nothing. It was a complete accident
  • Marian: He ran into my knife
  • Isabela: Birdie, you didn't!
  • Fenris: *smugly* He ran into her knife ten times
  • ---
  • Marian: You've done something with your hair. It looks... different
  • Isabela: What? My hair always looks like this
  • Marian: No, it's usually sleeker... Straighter... Is that how it naturally looks?
  • Isabela: Ugh, Andraste's granny pants...
  • Marian: It looks gorgeous. You should leave it like that more often
  • Isabela: ...You think so?
  • Marian: Absolutely Queenie. I mean it
  • Isabela: Oh stop you, before I feel grateful enough to drag you into the bushes for some private time
  • ---
  • Tallis: So are /you/ married?
  • Garrett: Are you trying to see if I snort when I laugh too?
  • Tallis: *laughs* Damn he saw right through me. But... in all seriousness you /are/ one of the most important people in Kirkwall. Just curious
  • Garrett: Well, I'm not. Though I might have someone in mind
  • Tallis: So why are you not-?
  • Garrett: The situation in Kirkwall is precarious. There'll be time enough for that later, just... not now
  • ---
  • Tallis: So, you and Garrett?
  • Fenris: Must you poke your nose where it does not belong?
  • Tallis: I'm just curious
  • Fenris: Take your curiosity elsewhere. Our affairs are not yours
  • ---
  • Garrett: How do you stand it?
  • Marian: By putting it on its legs
  • Garrett: *groans* Not the table, I meant these parties. I just- ugh, how could you possibly enjoy it?
  • Marian: How could I enjoy fine clothes, free food and all the gossip in Thedas? How could you not?
  • Garrett: The free food is nice, I suppose
  • ---
  • Marian: Don't turn around
  • Garrett: Fifi De Launcet?
  • Marian: Dulci actually. She looks like she's itching to come here and complain about something. Maybe because you didn't shave?
  • Garrett: Ugh
  • ---
  • Marian: Ah wine, excellent. I need to be even more plastered than I thought before this is over
  • Garrett: Is there a reason you're taking /my/ wine glass?
  • Marian: Mine had an unfortunate encounter with Lady Thrennhold's dress. Took a mind of its own when she implied that someone needed to fix your 'unkempt appearance'
  • Garrett: What's unkempt about it?
  • Marian: Your hair mostly. Particularly the hair on your face
  • Garrett: We can't all compete with Duke Prosper over who has the most impressive facial hair
  • ---
  • Garrett: Avoid that Comte if you can; the old one sitting on that bench over there. He was saying some... rather unpleasant things earlier
  • Marian: Like what?
  • Garrett: Nothing too awful, but...
  • Marian: Gary...
  • Garrett: He was complaining about your... sense of humour
  • Marian: What's wrong with it?
  • Garrett: You really need to ask? Don't worry. I took care of it
  • Marian: What did you-?
  • Garrett: You'll see when he tries standing up
  • ---
  • Marian: I can't believe you
  • Garrett: Hm?
  • Marian: All these years, and I thought you had no sense of humour
  • Garrett: Ah, the Comte is having a little trouble with his breeches is he?
  • Marian: *laughs* The guards had to hold candles under the bench for a good ten minutes until the ice thawed. And the whole time he complained about the state of his privates. Seriously Gary, that was downright diabolical
  • Garrett: Anything for my big sister
  • ---
  • Marian: *sniggers* Knickers
  • Garrett: Making friends?
  • Marian: I already know most of the people here, but I only just wormed the knickers story out of Fifi de Launcet. Meanwhile, you seem to be acquainting yourself with the buffet
  • Garrett: It's one of the most interesting guests here that doesn't question our choices in lovers. But I did see someone interesting. Do you remember Sister Leliana?
  • Marian: From the Lothering Chantry, the one Carver fancied? Why are you...? /No/
  • Garrett: Just over there, in the pink dress. I almost didn't recognise her, but I'm sure it's the same Leliana
  • Marian: I didn't realise Chantry sisters attended high society parties
  • Garrett: What's more is that Tallis seemed to know her
  • Marian: I get the feeling that this is something we should keep our noses out of for once
  • Garrett: Agreed
  • ---
  • Marian: Leopold is going to be a wyvern with a very unhappy tummy
  • Garrett: Once you're done messing with the wyvern's lunch, can we move on before the cook realises you lied to her?
  • ---
  • Tallis: You know what you're doing. Who trained you?
  • Marian: My mother, believe it or not. Apparently you learn a few things about stealth when you sneak out to meet your apostate lover on a regular basis
  • Garrett: Wait, /mother/ taught you how to do this? Since when?
  • Marian: You had your training, I had mine
  • ---
  • Marian: *sigh* Why is it always the cute ones?
  • Isabela: Didn't you know? It's in the job description for being the backstabbing rogue
  • Marian: Well that explains a few things
  • ---
  • Garrett: More of these things?
  • Marian: You be careful brother dearest, else I'll think you're missing the Orlesians
  • Garrett: I think I'll take the nasty little gremlins thanks
  • Fenris: Is there a difference?
  • Isabela: *giggles* Ghast-hole
  • ---
  • Garrett: I get the feeling you wanting to help Tallis has less to do with protecting innocents and more to do with getting in her pants
  • Marian: *indignant gasp* How could you say such a thing? Do you really think I would be so selfish as to-?
  • Garrett: Yes
  • Isabela: Yes
  • Fenris: Yes
  • Marian: ...well okay maybe a little
  • Garrett: And you're okay with this Isabela?
  • Isabela: What? It's not like she didn't ask me first. Birdie might be a horny little shit, but she always makes sure I'm okay with it before she goes chasing after anyone
  • Marian: We do this thing called 'communicating.' You know, the thing you and Fenris recently learned how to do
  • Isabela: Only took you three years of blue balls to manage it
  • Garrett: Bela!
  • ---
  • Fenris: When you were speaking with Tallis about marriage... You said you had someone in mind
  • Garrett: I did
  • Fenris: And might I ask...?
  • Garrett: *sigh* Of course I meant you Fenris, why would I ever even entertain the idea of anyone else?
  • Fenris: ...Do you mean that? You would wish for us to marry?
  • Garrett: Yes, but only if that's what you want
  • Fenris: I ah... I merely thought that-
  • Garrett: Fenris, if I wasn't completely serious about us, about being with you, do you think I would have waited for three years?
  • Fenris: You make an excellent point. Perhaps we shall discuss it further later... Away from present company
  • Marian: Oh please don't stop on our account
  • Isabela: Keep going, I need to write this down. Varric will be green with envy that he missed /this/
  • Tallis: As romantic as this is, and as nice as the warm fuzzy feelings are, we do have to stop Salit. Like, right now