it's a good thing the game convinced me that it was still as good as i had remembered

anonymous asked:

Um I don't want to offend you by asking this, but do you have any recommendations for mm cc creators? I love your work, but I want a variety in my game with cas and build mode. Also, cc creators don't only use THEIR cc. I think. Thanks!

Hmm well there are A LOT of mm creators. And ur definition of mm is probably different then mine, bc some people think recolors aren’t mm enough lmao. but ‘off the top of my head(see page 10000000)’ the mm cc creators I see a lot of stuff from is:


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surviving (and maybe even thriving) in the sherlock fandom after s4

…OR, maybe even kind of sort of learning how to enjoy oneself again while being a johnlocker.

This is a post for people who are on the fence / still turned off by s4 / still struggling with how to frame it for themselves. 

In light of the upcoming fic writers’ retreat, in anticipation of (I hope) having a conversation or two about this very topic, and in partial response to comments that my good fandom friends have dropped recently about their struggles with feeling like they don’t want to engage with the show or the fandom after s4, I’ve been thinking about how to continue on as a johnlocker, and why I feel more motivated than ever to find a way to have a relationship with the show (albeit a substantially altered one than before), and what fandom engagement means to me. 

It probably doesn’t look like it, because I’ve participated full throttle in all kinds of conversations about the show since s4, but I do get why s4 was entirely offputting for a lot of people. While I strongly suspect that mofftiss are doing something interesting and unusual with s4, that whatever-it-is came at a heavy price: a series that looks like a hot fucking mess and actively does things that one should never do (i.e., constantly throwing into question the reality status of the story one is telling) if one wants to avoid frustrating the shit out of one’s audience. 

What’s worse, the series was promoted with a promise of FINALLY answering the question of who Sherlock loves, without delivering on that promise in a way that was in any way definitive (John? Molly? Irene? Chips?) or satisfying (JOHN???). We got a scene that was really close to the kind of thing we’ve always wanted to see, at the end of The Lying Detective, an episode that also brought us an interaction between John and Sherlock that was so awful, it singlehandedly ruined the show for a lot of people. 

Even though I love the shit out of talking about the puzzle of s4, I love it because I love how smart everyone in the fandom is, and how much I’ve learned about Doyle, and the many many intertexts the show engages with. I love how stunningly great people here are with teasing complex arguments out of this hot mess. 

I don’t love that we got this weird thing to figure out instead of actual story. I don’t love that for some reason a major plot point was John and Sherlock detonating their relationship even more profoundly than they had before. I still think that the more skillful thing to do would have been to make a puzzle for viewers to figure out, but make it actually enjoyable to watch. (Personally, I did enjoy TLD, but I’m a sucker for Nick Hurran’s direction, I thought Ben and Martin performed incredibly, and I have a high tolerance for creepy shit and violence, so.)


I’ve been thinking about a few of the strategies I’ve put in place / fallen back on for approaching all of this. I don’t know if any of this is helpful but here it is, for what it’s worth.

Acknowledge that the showrunners are human people and human people make good choices and bad choices and questionable choices

Before s4 aired, I wrote about the fact that mofftiss had set up a highwire act with extraordinarily high stakes, as of the end of s3. This meant they could pull off an astounding feat of storytelling, or they could fall. Instead they sort of burned down the circus tent and re-encoded all the elephants…not what any of us were expecting. I mean, surprises in storytelling can be great, but this was like hey everyone, suddenly the show is going to be performed in Esperanto instead of English, have fun with that.

Questionable at best.

To sum up: good choices resulted in the following:

Ben and Martin in s1 and 2 creating this beautiful dynamic together, eyesex and all the subtext and a tragic love story with mistakes and denial and pining and hope. s3, which bumped up the subtext to the point of ridiculousness. And TAB, which doubled down on that subtext EVEN HARDER. The purple shirt of sex and the swishy coat of alone protects me and a stalwart and broken John who is finally strong enough to partner his Sherlock and enough sexual and romantic tension to drown the population of the earth planet and a Mary Morstan who is actually Moran and there’s always two of us and hey did I mention romance yet?

We got all that, and then we got–this s4 thing.

Let me tell you about writers (speaking as one). They shit the bed all the time. They make weird choices. They have strange ideas. They fail to stick the landing. When that happens, it’s their tragedy. It doesn’t have to be yours. 

Maybe this story isn’t done yet. I don’t think it is. I’m willing and able to reserve judgement, but this post is for those of you who aren’t, or can’t. 

You can still like the parts of the show that you liked before. You weren’t wrong for liking what worked for you before. You would not be wrong now, for still liking those bits. All the shitty choices the showrunners could make, did make, and might still make, do not make you wrong for liking the bits you liked.

You can still like the parts of the show that you liked before. 

Need permission for that? Here it is: BECAUSE MAY SHEPARD SAYS SO. I’ll make you a certificate if you want. 

Need more specific help? Here’s another idea:

Get selfish. Get really, really selfish.

Remember that you are here for you. You came here, probably, because thinking about John and Sherlock together is something you enjoyed. Back immediately after s4 aired, and I was still stuck firmly in the wtf zone, I had to have a talk with myself about this. 

I asked myself what I liked about the show. Why John and Sherlock, together, were so crunchy and beautiful to me. It came down to one thing: the fact that I read the show as a love story. 

I’m here for my own entertainment. This is my happy place. This is where I come when my regular writing is stuck or I want to try to hack out a new part of my skill set. I get a lot out of thinking about John and Sherlock, as characters.

I still read the show as a love story, and I will continue to do so.

That means, in light of s4, doing a lot more reading in to the little moments than I used to have to. It means cherry picking a lot harder. It means ignoring vast swaths of what we actually saw onscreen. (The fact that this is the current state of meta too helps a whole heck of a lot.) 

Playing the what if game a lot harder than I have previously has become the rule of the day. 

What if John and Sherlock are in love? They are. For me, they are, and they always will be. Will they be in canon? Get yourself to a place where this question doesn’t matter, where your personal happiness doesn’t hang on this. We’re several months on after s4. It’s time to give your head a shake and remember that John and Sherlock love each other and will always find their way back to each other, because we say so. 

If you don’t believe this, try because May Shepard says so. I’ll say it until you believe it, too: John and Sherlock are in love. The show is a love story.

I will read the show as a love story, regardless of whether it wants me to. Hey show, get ready for some sweet sweet interpretation. I hope you’re in the mood.

Still not convinced? Try this thought experiment:

Put Some Distance Between You and S4

So a few nights back I was chatting with @laughing-at-the-darkness​ (who is the best, go follow her immediately), and I jokingly said that what we need in this fandom is a reset, like the kind of perspective you can only get ten years after a television show has finished airing. 

Try this on for size:

The year is 2027. You’re looking for some good content to watch. You remember hearing, dimly, about the fact that, a while back, BBC made a Sherlock Holmes adaptation with some pretty famous actors. 

You read about it a bit first. Ah yes: the adaptation that everyone was raving about, but that did a weird thing in its fourth series. Bearing this in mind, you decide to watch. 

You’re charmed by series 1-3, and the one-off Victorian special. You decide to watch s4, bearing in mind what you know about it, that it seemed to go off the rails relative to everything that had come before. You watch, prepared to laugh along at Mary’s bullet tango and the way she just won’t seem to go away and Sherlock has a sister who is also an X-Man? What???? 

You watch it. You shrug. You carry on thinking that s1-3 and TAB are great, like you were prepared to do. 

We know what we know now: that s4 is a difficult part of canon, a stumbling block for a lot of us. If you can accept that, then you can move forward, liking the parts you like, and leaving the parts you don’t.

Moving On

I still personally have some questions about how to deal with s4 as a fic writer. There are so many potential interpretations–how does one go about sorting through the detritus? A lot of people don’t want to / can’t bring themselves to rewatch, so how much can I assume they do and don’t remember about the episodes? But these are mostly logistical issues, and solvable with some rational decision making. (I did start a fic a while back based on TST, but I wasn’t ready to finish it, and I don’t think people wanted that type of fix it in that particular moment.) s4 changed the stakes for a lot of people, so writing fic now is all about writing to a different emotional register, I think. I’m personally having fun with that, while sorting through the implications for the wips I started before s4 aired. I’m hoping we can talk about some of these issues, as writers, and as fans, but that’s a post for another day.

In any case, I’m here, John and Sherlock are in love, and I hope this is helpful in some way. I don’t want anyone to lose the thing that used to give them enjoyment, nor (on a more selfish note) do I want to see people still leaving the fandom if they don’t have to. 

All reasons Jon3rys will not be endgame ( Jonsa will)


Thanks for the ask! Sorry it took me so long to give you an answer! I know its been at least a week, but I did not forget you! Honestly, when I started writing this I did not expect it to end up as long as it did… I guess I just got a little too passionate about the endgame possibilities for GOT/ASOIAF.

So to actually answer your question : long story short, regardless of any romance I think Jon will betray Daenerys- Jon will be Dany’s last treason. And her death (result of the betrayal) will be fundamental in ending the long night- this is why Jon will betray her, to save everyone, including those he loves (especially Sansa) form the WW. Thus Jon will be free to end up with his love Sansa - and he will!

That was the short answer! Here is the longer answer as to why I am 100% sure why Jon/Daenerys will not be endgame, and that he will betray her during the long night. And to make it easier to follow I have divided it up into sections:

1. The Jon/Dany romance did not make any sense in the show
      a) Why Jon and Dany did not have the proper build up/execution for Jonerys to be a believable romance
      b) Comparing Jon/Dany romance to all other important romantic pairings we’ve seen develop on the show
      c) How it makes no narrative sense for Jon to “choose love over duty” and give the North to Daenerys
2.  Dany and Jon living happily ever after sitting on the Iron throne in the end makes NO NARRATIVE sense
      a) Jon/Dany “falling in love” and sitting on the iron throne together is too predictable
      b) The show (and books) have set Dany up to slowly become an antagonist by the end of the series and have slowly set up Sansa to become a queen, and Jon a king.
       c) The show (and books) have have slowly set up Sansa to become a queen, and Jon a king.
  3. And finally: JON AND DANY ARE NOT THE SONG OF ICE AND FIRE. JON is Ice AND Fire; Dany is PURE FIRE and the WW are PURE ICE

Okay! So! Let’s  Let’s start off with why the Jon/Dany romance did not make any sense:

Okay, so the first thing I am going to say, is that before being a Jonsa shipper, I am a die hard fan of Game of Thrones and the novels of ASOIAF because I believe it to be one of the most incredible, complex and intriguing series out there. And before ANYTHING else, I want the series to have an amazing well executed ending that will do the series justice, regardless if the ship I love becomes cannon or not. My true OTP is GOT/ASOIAF X Strong-Plot-Points-And-An-Ending-That-Makes-Sense.
That being said, I’m 100% sure Dany has fallen for Jon, but I’m not convinced Jon is 100% in love with Daenerys. It’s really confusing for me tbh… the only scene that Jon showed any kind of affection towards Dany IMO was in their last scene in 7x06…in the rest of their scenes they didn’t really seem to have a true connection and their chemistry was lukewarm. I’m not just saying this because I ship Jonsa, I’m open to the idea of Jonerys and I think I wouldn’t even mind seeing a romance there, just as long as it was properly executed and made sense.  Which I really don’t think it was at all! And I will explain why I don’t think the Jon/Dany romance made sense…But regardless of if Jon is in love with Dany or not, I believe the ending will be roughly the same and I will explain my thoughts on that as well in as much detail as I can without being too long lol.

a)- Why Jon and Dany did not have the proper build up/execution for Jonerys to be a believable romance

Okay, so the whole Jon3rys romance has truly failed to convince me for a number of reasons. I’m not the only one who didn’t feel the magic in their romance…  a lot of people and critics have picked up on this too. I don’t think timing or the pace of the season had anything to do with it. D&D are perfectly capable of writing a believable romance with limited amount of screen time. Just look at Robb and Tailsa, they met, fell in love and had sex in under 18 minutes of screen time and it all felt natural and convincing!

^^^ No one doubted this for a second,

The thing is, we never got to see a true bond form between Jon and Dany or honestly see any reason/justification as to why Jon would fall in love with Dany… like okay she saved his life, but that’s not a good enough reason to explain Jon suddenly falling head over heels in love with her and giving her the North!

Like in the previous episodes:
1. Dany kept refusing to help him fight the WW and save thousands of lives because of her obsession with ruling all seven kingdoms was more important to her;
2. She used her dragons to burn people alive -despite Jon stating that he is morally against this (and one of them was his best friend’s beloved brother);
3. And Jon didn’t even care to look back at her when he left dragon stone, while Jorah -the man who truly loves her-did

^^^This is what it looked like Jon was thinking

And most importantly: while Dany did open up to Jon (about her family, the dragons being her only children, etc) Jon did not open up to her about personal matters AT ALL. They do not have a basis for a true emotional connection. This is perfectly reflected in their sex scene - we never got to see them undress each other which symbolizes taking each other’s walls down and becoming physically and emotionally naked. We never even got to see their first kiss! Like their sex scene lated 20 seconds, with absolutely no buildup or first kiss but had Dany looking at Jon with heart eyes and Jon looking back at her all weird and while creepily breathing AND IT HAD A VOICEOVER THAT CREEPILY AND MONOTONELY EXPLAINED HOW THEY ARE AUNT AND NEPHEW…. This is how NOT to write a convincing romance 101. Why would the show do this to the most anticipated and arguably the most important pairing in the series?!?!! I REFUSE to believe D&D would fuck up this bad. This has to be intentional-that makes the most sense.

b)- Comparing Jon/Dany romance to all other important romantic pairings we’ve seen develop on the show

Let’s compare Jon3rys to all other loving couples on the show, shall we? In each end every one of them we got to see them open up to each other about personal matters - forming a true emotional connection- and we got to see them have their first/passionate kiss before making love. Think of all the important romances we got to see develop in GOT and how their sex scenes went down:

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Just Go With It (Bucky Edition) 3/3

Summery: Based off the plot of the movie Just Go With It, Bucky wears a fake wedding ring to pick up girls but when he meets ‘the one’ he finds it hard to explain the wedding ring. Asking for your help, you have to convince Bucky’s girlfriend that you’re his wife but you’re getting a divorce. A week in Hawaii changes things though…

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,257

Warnings: swearing and fluff

A/N: WOW! Back to back to back posts what!? Lol anyways this is the final part of my entry in @sgtbxckybxrnes movie au writing challenge. Its short but yet it still got a lot of notes so thank you for that! Enjoy that last part if my Just Go With It Bucky Edition story and happy readings!

Part 1, Part 2

Originally posted by clickyourheelsandaskforme

*gif creds to owner*

You tried your best to wear something nice to dinner that night. When you told Bucky you agreed he was more than willing to be your pretend husband in front of Tony and Pepper. You two had been doing it for a week already but this was different. Now you had to pretend to be happily married and not on the verge of divorce.

Steve offered to watch the kids and you were relieved because the next person who would ask would be Natasha and you loved your kids way too much to put them through a night of her.

Natasha did protest when Bucky said he was going out for dinner with you but Bucky simply said that after the ‘divorce’ he wasn’t going to see me much of you anymore and that worried you.

You hadn’t thought about that, what would happen after this vacation. You guys couldn’t just go back to being normal best friends. If Bucky stayed with Natasha you would lose him for good. That wasn’t something you were prepared for. 

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Option C- When in Doubt

I’m not really sure who to blame for this, @harriestyles514, anons, still @the-well-rested-one, my rich fantasy life…. Anyway, always good to keep your options open.

In the month that has passed since I last saw (sucked off) Harry Styles, I haven’t thought about him. Nope, not at all, not in the shower, not in my bed late at night or early in the morning, and definitely not in bathroom stalls at the label I work at. Never have I ever had to bite my lip to keep quiet while someone has walked into said bathroom while I had my hand down my so trendy I could barf mom jeans.

It’s been a long thirty days.

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A Tricky Coincidence

@rin96emogirl asked: Do you only acept requets for BTS or are other bands okay too? If so it would be amazing, if you could do a bad boy thing with Mark Tuan from GOT7. I leave the story to you, but Mark would be great ^^ But if you don’t do other bands, then I never asked.”


PAIRING: Mark Tuan x Reader 

Genre: Badboy! AU

Words: 1.3k


When you are stuck in an elevator with resident bad boy Mark Tuan ; who is also the man you have secretly been crushing on things don’t turn out the way you expected. 

A/N: I enjoyed writing this one. I hope it turned out well and its what you expected!! Enjoy reading 😊

Originally posted by toinfinityannnndbeyond

You fidgeted with your hands as you felt his gaze on you. His eyes pierced through you as a small smile played on his lips. You weren’t sure why the universe was playing such games with you because on a very good day you found yourself stuck in an elevator with Mark Tuan. The Mark Tuan who you had a slight crush on despite knowing how bad he was for you. You were thankful for one thing however. Being stuck with him in such a situation gave you time to think about why you couldn’t let go of your liking for him. So sitting on the floor of the elevator, with him beside you thats what you did.

Mark Tuan was not the kind of guy anyone wanted to mess with. Simply put he was scary. His presence was intimidating and he never hesitated to hurt people that crossed him. He was no gangster by any means but he wasn’t one to be messed with. He was a man that garnered the interests of many, yet no one knew who he really was. Mark was always the bad boy that was the subject of affection and desire of many, yet he never noticed you.

“Do I make you uncomfortable y/n” your head snapped in his direction and you choked on your spit. You coughed and coughed until his hand slapped your back hard enough for you to stop. You wanted to say something but you always found yourself to be dumbfounded and speechless when it came to him. You had never said a single word to him so you were shocked to find out that he knew your name.

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Ok but like honestly you’ll have to pull American All Might from my cold, dead hands.

- All Might who has always stood out in Japan as being foreign, with his blond hair, blue eyes, tall build that has him towering over most Japanese citizens. Despite living in the country most of his life, he never stops feeling out of place which probably contributes to his isolation as Toshinori.

- He loves living in Japan, he really truly does but you do not mess with his American movies and music. It’s soothing to him to listen to people in his native tongue after hearing nothing but Japanese all day. Big fan of classic country/heartland rock. He will also bring out English movie quotes when he’s in good spirits. Usually they’re out of context and no one gets them but it makes All Might happy so they play along.  

- I put him as being from smack dab in the middle of the US (Kansas specifically) and he has this obvious mid-western accent. That accent still present when he speaks Japanese, though it dulls over the years of constant use. But you bet the moment he switches to English that lazy drawl is there and his students are so confused.

- He sometimes helps teach the kids English class. He tutors some of the kids who struggle with it, he’s not good with the grammar but he’s great at practicing conversation and teaching slang bits.  It always feels weird because he sounds so different in English.

- He almost never curses in Japanese, not when it’s so much easier to curse in English. He’s almost upset that more people in Japan are learning the language because now he’s got to learn to censor himself where before no one batted an eye. He almost had a heart attack when he heard precious, lovable Izuku repeat a string on English words he’d heard his mentor say and was hoping to impress. Izuku was given ice cream if he promised to never, ever repeat those words and for the love of god don’t tell your mother you got it from me.

- Toshinori would also unironically say y'all and y'all’d’ve without a bit of shame. He actually said what in tarnation one time and Izuku almost started crying because he had no idea real people actually said these things what happens in America

- Honestly Toshinori would just troll the hell out of his students who are super intrigued about America. He just makes crazy things up or explains strange behavior as American. “Oh no most Americans are tall, the average is 9 feet, as you can see, I’m unfortunately quite short” “Yes before school starts we must pack our weapons and pay homage to the freedom eagle”

- For many, many years he stuck only to Japanese. He was teased and bullied too much when he was younger and struggling with his Japanese that he basically dropped his English once he got ahold of the language. Only now as a teacher, seeing how interested his students are in where he came from does he speak it more. English words pepper his speech, having whole conversations with the more fluent teachers/students. It makes him happy, he’d forgotten how much he’d enjoyed his native language.

- “Is that an American thing or an All Might thing?” is a legitimate game played by students and teachers alike.

- Except like ??? some of his weird habits are explained by his heritage. Like he can shoot a gun really well. It kind of scares people that the symbol of peace knows his way around weapons so well and he’s just like ‘I grew up in Kansas, I could shoot before I could walk’ also back in the day he could consistently outdrink everyone around him. He’d put away a 6 pack by himself.

- Maintains dual citizenship even though he never went back as Yagi and only visited the US a few times as All Might (and he never went back to Kansas). He always said he’d return home when he retired but now with everything going on he keeps putting it off. He made the mistake of mentioning going home one time and now class 1-A and 1-B are secretly raising money to send him over seas for the upcoming break.

- Still keeps up on the goings on and politics in the US. It’s not much and, especially when he was heroing, he didn’t have much time but he tries. Will frequently rant about how bad things are going in his home and how he's glad he got out when he did. Still, it genuinely upsets him when he sees other Americans in Japan and he realizes how out of touch he is with his country/culture. He’s always been the definitive American in his area and it’s startling to remember that, after nearly 40 years in Japan, in many ways he’s really not American anymore.  


Title: Unraveling
Summary:  Dan knew he was different from other children very early on. He never lost his ‘imaginary friends’, they only became a more integral part of his life. Living with his illness is never easy and with a secret as large as his, cracks are bound to appear. While he isn’t ashamed of his DID, he knows the consequences of telling the wrong people. 
Word Count: 21k
Warnings: Smoking, mention of drug use, drinking, mentions of past trauma, anxiety

A/N: I’m really sorry to everyone on mobile because read mores don’t work and this is long af. This fic is my actual child and I’m so happy with how it turned out. So much time and research went into this fic. I wanted it to be as medically accurate as possible. 
I got the inspiration of this fic when I stumbled upon a youtuber named Jess who posts videos about her DID. She and all of her alters are amazing and I just want everyone to know their story and learn that DID isn’t scary like the media makes it out to be. 
Also huge shout out to @phansdick and @theinsanityplays for listening to me complain about my inability to do this topic justice and for giving me ideas when I was in a rut. And I can’t forget the amazing @moonlitdan for being a lovely beta. 
If there are any inaccuracies with this fic, please let me know so I can change them! 
That was a really long author’s note. Okay. Enjoy!

Read on AO3!

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Why do I dislike Tales of Zestiria the X?

Recently I’ve been asked one question numerous times: “Why do you think the anime is shit? You only hate it because it doesn’t focus on SorMik, right?”

Now guys, I think it’s vital for me to answer this. Because let’s face it, we will never see face to face if we don’t discuss the matter. And look, here I am, typing this out because I feel this is important. So if you’re curious and want to understand why a lot of us dislike the anime then please bear with me because this will be long (6 pages in Word, 6!)

To make this a little bit easier for me, I’ll assume that you haven’t played the game or watched its walkthrough yet and that you like the anime. But of course if you did either of them it’s good, bc at least you’ll know what I am talking about.

And so, I shall do a character analysis in this post, comparing the game and anime selves to each other while I name some other issues as well. I won’t list all the inconsistency and plot holes the anime has for I’d be here even after my death.

I’m going to try to make you guys understand that while the SorMik fandom is not happy, there are more pressing issues with the anime than that.

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I wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) RICHIE X WILL

Originally posted by chertovskii

  Will Byers was used to being the afterthought to many people. He was used to being the person people go to when they have problems but is forgotten after that. He’s used to people asking if he could set them up with one of his friends. He’s used to people referring him as “˜Zombie Boy” or “Jane Hopper’s weird brother” or “Mike Wheeler’s freaky friend”. The one who still couldn’t stay in the dark too long or else he’ll start to scream. 

 And all of that was okay.

 He wasn’t used to being anything else. He was used to being the white noise machine in everybody’s life and it’s always been like that for as long as he knew. Even after the Demogorgon died or after the Mind Flayer went away and the gate was closed, Will Byers was always second priority.  

 You could argue that, that’s not true! His mom loved him! His brother too! What about Mike Wheeler and the rest of the Party?

 And that was all true as well. Just not at this point in time it wasn’t. 

 In his third year of high school, Joyce Hoppers didn’t have to worry about working extra shifts to pay for an extra ice cream pie for the supermarket. Or Will’s therapy sessions or Jonathan’s special equipment for school. In his third year of high school, Mike Wheeler spent most of his and Will’s ‘sleepovers’ in Jane’s room, while Will threw away the popcorn he prepared for the three of them to watch a movie. 

 Jonathon didn’t forget his little brother though. He and Will had a game. Will would send Jonathon a drawing and Jonathon would try to replicate the drawing with a photograph. Most of the time, it ended up in a tie which would always make the two Byers boys chuckle.

 Besides that, Will spent most of his time drawing while Max practiced tricks with her skateboard. And his life was quiet and simple. And Will tolerated it. His existence was a white noise machine…simple static in everyone’s ears…the thought that was in the back of their heads that they would push back deeper and deeper. 

 Well…that was until one Richie Tozier decided that if he could conquer Pennywise the Dancing Clown, then he could conquer the mystery that is Will Byers, Hawkins very own boy-who-came-back-to-life.

 Richie quickly gained popularity when he moved into Hawkins. Maybe it was his foul mouth, the fact that he could take a hit and hit back harder, or maybe it was the fact that he had no problem announcing he was gay at church, Richie Tozier caught the attention of most whenever he walked down the sidewalks of Hawkins, Indiana. 

 But Richie was mostly found either with Will Byers, whispering things in his ear which would either make the small boy chuckle or blush, or teasing him in front of the Party before running off. 

 Like right now for instance, it was after school hours and the Party had decided to spend a few hours in the computer lab to let Dustin tinker with a few new machines he found in the trashbin behind the electronics store. 

 “Why would anyone throw away a perfectly good Conner CP340A hard disk drive?!” Dustin exclaimed as he delicately took apart the HDD to examine its pieces. Lucas scoffed, taking a piece despite Dustin’s protests. 

“Perfectly good?” he asked, holding it up so Eleven and Max could take a closer look at it. “It has rust everywhere and its breaking apart just by me holding it.”

 Dustin grunted before snatching the piece back, and the Party could swear they heard him baby talk it. “Rusty or not, its the best one out right now! Imagine just how much this could sell a few years right now!” 

 This grabbed everyone’s attention. Maybe in a few years, computers could be thinner? Or faster? Maybe even portable? Hey, if there were other dimensional creatures, why was the idea of easy portable computers so crazy? 

“The Toshiba T3200 is already out though,” Will piped up. He remembered that Jonathon had to get one for one his college classes. 

 And for a few minutes, the attention was on him as Dustin begged that he could convince his older brother to give it to Dustin when he didn’t need it anymore. And it was gone when Jane promised him she could convince Hopper to buy him one. Hopper always babied Jane, gave her anything she wanted if she only asked. Will always wondered why that was the case with her and not with him. 

 But again, that was okay. Because he didn’t know anything else. 

“A Toshiba T3200? I already have one of those-” said a voice as its person wrapped his arms around the shoulders of Will Byers. Everyone had jumped in surprise besides Max and Will. Max because she was used to Richie clinging onto Will and Will because he could smell the cologne Richie liked to use. “Infact, I’m getting another one this weekend to give to Byers over here.”

 Cue Will’s blush and Dustin’s groans of jealousy. Mike Wheeler found himself, once again, glaring at his doppelganger. And sharpening his glare when the boy smirked at him as he rested his head on Will’s shoulder. Mike could only wonder why he got so heated whenever he saw Richie anywhere near Will. He had Jane already. So why did he feel like claws gnawed at his chest every time Will couldn’t spend time with him because “Richie and I are doing something’?

 Eventually, a janitor had told the kids they had to leave as he was about to close the school. And Mike found himself biting his lip as Will got into Richie’s car to drive over to his place. But he couldn’t say anything as Jane and him rode back to the Byers house to drop her off. 

 “You have no shame, huh?” Will laughed and jumped in his seat as Richie sped up over a bump in the road, the radio playing “I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)” by Whitney Houston

 “I was serious though!” promised Richie, laughing as well considering the fact that his boyfriend’s laughter was contagious. “I am getting you a Toshiba over the weekend. 

 Will groaned and leaned against the front seat, covering his face with his hand as a gentle blush. “God, you’re my boyfriend not…not my-”

 “Sugar daddy?” Richie winked, wiggling his eyebrows before getting punched in the arm. 

 “Shut it!” yelled a giggling Will. 

 Richie hummed innocently before making sure the road was clear before kissing Will straight on the lips. Smirking to himself as he kissed back. 

 There were a lot of clear differences between Mike Wheeler and Richie Tozier. 

 One was that Richie could understand Will’s trauma considering he had some himself. 

 And the other was the fact that he wasn’t afraid to kiss Will Byers. 

@jinhyungnim @gaywillbyers I HAVE N O R E G R E T S

That’s My Boy (Parker/Stark x reader)

Requests: I’ve been so excited for this! Ok so TonyxReader with Peter and he’s like their son, goes to them for superhero advice (or something May can’t help with), they freak out when he’s hurt, Y/n comforts him when he feels like Tony is being too much, go on missions together. Idk just surrogate superhero family fluff please and thank you 

Can you write an imagine where the reader is an avenger and gets trapped in a building and everyone works to try and get them out, lots of angst and maybe some fluff? P.S. I love your writing so much! 💕

The relationship that you had with Peter Parker was an unconventional one, as best as you could put it.  He was new to the life as a superhero, thanks in large part to Tony’s assistance, and by association, you felt a responsibility to the kid as much as he did. As an Avenger, you could help to train Peter in his skills and the ways of this life that he had yet to understand; as Tony’s wife, you could run interference when his influence felt a little reckless, or when the fatherly advice pushed a little too far.  It wasn’t that you were trying to take May’s place in any way; in fact, you were finding yourself in the position to offer your help in ways that she couldn’t, and the two of you complemented each other all too well where Peter was concerned.

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anonymous asked:

Sherlock proposes to John at a Christmas party with all of their friends. I would love this to be turned into a ficlet BTW

He could tell I was nervous. I haven’t done anything to surprise him in a while; it isn’t easy to catch him off guard. And it’s so simple to please him in other ways. He likes little things. Cold beer in the fridge when he gets home. Cheese toasties on rainy nights. He likes flowers. I hadn’t expected that. I got them, the first time, because they were beautiful, and so is he, and I wanted to. I left them on the counter in a beaker. He stopped still in the middle of the kitchen when he saw them. I was working at the table, studying the effect of heat treatment on the viscosity of wood stain. I realize that’s not an ideal experiment to perform in a small, enclosed space. Well, I had the window open, or I think I did.

Anyway, he was going for the kettle when he saw them, and he stopped dead. His hand twitched, and then he turned around to look at me. He looked almost angry: wide-eyed and silent. I said, “What?” I might have sounded defensive.

It was only when he said, “Are these for me?” that I realized he was deeply pleased. His voice had gone gruff with feeling. I got up then, quickly, because I needed to touch him.

I said, “Yes,” and I hugged him.

“Flowers,” was all he answered, into my shoulder, and sniffled; “It’s absurd, me doing this over flowers,” but then he turned his damp face into my neck and kissed it, and I knew I’d done something good. So I’ve been getting him flowers. Periodically. Which is still a surprise of sorts, but not such a surprise, after the first time. And the other things we like to do together are quite ordinary–movie nights and Angelo’s and walking around the city and raiding the morgue for useful bits. Ordinary for us, at least. Not really surprising.

So he could tell I was nervous, that night, but he thought it was about the party. Really I’d been trying to work up my nerve to talk to him for days, and I’d set the NSY party as a sort of deadline for myself, so he wasn’t wrong. I wanted to get it done before Christmas, so I’d have an answer for the questions at the family party. I knew Mummy, she’d definitely ask, and in front of him, but trying to be subtle–“Have any plans?” But he didn’t know I was thinking about all that. He’s gotten the idea that I have anxiety about public events. Well, he gets protective, so I didn’t say anything. I let him smooth my shirt over my shoulders, and tell me I looked wonderful–I do enjoy that, silly as it is, being tidied and praised. I let him tell me everyone would be so pleased we came, a blatant lie. A few people (Greg, Molly) would be deeply pleased, but most of them indifferent. He was pleased, though, which was the main thing. He held my hand in the cab. I tried not to fidget. The box in my inside jacket pocket felt bulky and obvious, even though it clearly wasn’t; he hadn’t glanced at it once in the days I’d been carrying it around. (I would have noticed it within sixty seconds.)

When we socialize I do the talking. I would think he’d like to, since he’s the one who insists on going; but he doesn’t. He likes to nurse a whisky, and hang about, and watch me talk. So I do; I find the nearest marginally intelligent looking person, pretend I’m on an investigation, and draw them out. And John is pleased, because I’m being friendly. I’m making him feel part of the group, by extension.

Or I find someone who has an interest in us, John and I, as a crime-solving team (never in us as actual people; we don’t want to engage that sort of fan–things get far too personal). And I tell them stories. John likes those conversations even better. He likes to watch me remember the things we’ve done. Occasionally, I find someone I actually like talking to (usually the odd guest out, hanging around the back wall; always a unique conversational experience, often a good one). That’s best, but I have to be sure not to leave John out entirely–turn to him occasionally and ask his opinion, or touch his elbow; some part of him is still afraid (somehow!) that I will find someone more fascinating than him.

At any rate, this time I was too preoccupied to put on a good show for him. I knew that, so I went straight for Lestrade, standing over the bar, and asked him to get us drinks. John would start talking while we waited, or Greg would draw him out. Greg squinted at me. “Really? You’re letting me choose what you have?”

“Within reason,” I said, realizing the potential dangers. “We need to be alert. In case of anything.” What I meant was in case of the box, which is in my pocket, finding its way into my hand, and the words I needed to say to him finding their way into my mouth. Which felt impossible. But I make a habit of doing impossible things, periodically. It keeps me on my toes. If I could just convince myself this was worthwhile-disrupting things.

Because it was all going so well. We were comfortable. We liked each other, and we even managed to say it aloud. Now that we’d managed to get here–to the point where kisses and quiet nights side by side on the sofa doing our own work, occasionally reaching out just to be sure of each other, and flowers, and regular hugs, was all normal, a foregone conclusion-it seemed strange to ask for more.

But I had to know that he knew I was sure. I had to make sure that the whole world knew I was sure. He deserved that, after everything. I wanted him to look down at his finger a dozen times a day and see my ring, and never wonder again if I would leave, or if I’d forget that he was the most fascinating man in the world. I suppose I needed that, too–to find out if he’d promise me. To see his ring and be sure. Sometimes I still forget he really loves me.

At some point, I realized Lestrade had handed me a drink; it was cold in my hand, and that brought me back to myself. It took me a moment to find John, but he was watching the game, perched on a bar-stool beside Greg, both of them cursing happily at the activity on-screen: as I’d hoped. He didn’t need me to talk for him, with Greg around. I took a sip and found it was gingery and sweet. Lestrade was better at choosing for me than anticipated. The fluttery feeling in my gut welcomed the sugar and burn of it as a kind of comfort. I looked round at John again, soft-edged in the low light, laughing. He is so many things for which I will find no words, but just then all I could think was lovely, and mine. Slowly I slid my hand into my pocket to finger the box.

“Do it,” said a voice at my elbow. Molly. I turned.

“How did you know?” I might have sounded indignant, but she only laughed.

“You look like you’re about to die of nerves,” she said, still half-whispering, “and you’re fidgeting about in your coat pocket. Besides, you’ve been besotted forever and so has he. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Do you think he knows?”

“Oh, no.” She came around to arrange herself on the stool beside me, finger the stem of her blue iced something-in-a-glass and eye me. “I should say, it’s obvious to a woman.”

“That’s absurd.”

“It’s just socialization.” She talks to me entirely differently now that she’s Greg’s. I had known she was intelligent, but am still startled by how quick she is when she and I are all right–now I don’t fluster her with my careful indifference. Now that she knows it’s not her fault. “We grow up on rom-coms and love stories. You all don’t.”

“God, no. I never wanted to.” If I had loved a woman, would I have been forced to watch rom-coms? Would I have wanted to? “What is it about them?”

“They’re so human,” she said, and sat back against the bar. “They’re such ordinary stories, but that’s the good of them–they make it feel all right to be human. Uncertain of yourself. It makes you think you could find a way to be happy as you are.” She smiled at me.

“I didn’t know,” I admitted, because I hadn’t. It would make John happy, that I’d listened, and learned something. The knowledge could be useful on a case–the psychological impact of rom-coms. But now I couldn’t manage to be social any longer, not with John sitting there laughing, and the box in my pocket.

“Excuse me,” I said, and I went directly over to John, and tugged on his hand.

“Hm?” He looked up at me, smiling, dark-eyed in the low light, and my heart dropped down to my toes, because how was I ever going to find words? But maybe–maybe I should just try for the impossible, anyway. I tugged on his hand again, pulled him up off the stool and into my arms, and hugged him. I needed to smell him and feel him, just for a moment. To remember he was still mine. He laughed, but he let me. And then I said, “Come outside.”

“All right.” He was growing serious; he could see something was happening. He caught hold of my hand; followed me through the crowd. I was trembling. I wasn’t sure if he could feel it. I got him out into the street, in the December night. It was dark and cold, but the crowds made me feel less conspicuous; alone with him in the middle of a London street’s magnificent indifference, the cabs rushing past, the headlights shining off the wet pavement, and the neon signs blinking above us.

“I’ll be quick,” I promised. I was finding it hard to get my breath. I unwound my scarf, stalling for time; wrapped it around his neck, and he blinked at me. I’d dragged him outside without his coat; it was a rational thing to do. But he looked at me as though I was being sweet, but puzzling; his eyebrows were being quite eloquent about it. I gave up trying to find words, then, and just pulled the little velvety box out of my coat, and laid it in my palm where he could see it. His eyes went wide.

“Should I open it?” I said, breathing deeply through the pounding of my heart.

“Is that?–Sherlock, is that–?” He sounded breathless, too.

“Yes, of course. Obviously.” I even tried a laugh, but it came out high-pitched and faint and I gave up and flipped the box open after two tries, curse my clumsy fingers, so he could see the ring and not doubt himself or me a minute more. “Would you–do you–want it? Should I ask you–”

“Yes!” Now he was starting to laugh too. “Yes, I want it, and yes, you ought to ask me, you idiot! Oh, my God.” He stared at me. He was waiting. I had to find words.

“Please marry me.” I could barely talk. “John, marry me.”


“I love you.” I was shaking.

“Yes. Oh, God.” He grabbed my shoulders. He was going to kiss me. He doesn’t do that in public, not in the middle of London, but then he was: I barely had time to see it coming before he was kissing me, urgently, and then he was in my arms, small and solid and beautiful, sniffling into my neck, again, while I savored the feeling of his hot, wet breath in my skin; and then he pulled back and said, “Put it on me, will you?”

The little silver circle inlaid with ebony slid on perfectly; settled onto his finger as though it belonged there. “Of course,” he said, staring at it, “of course you know my size, God, you didn’t ask Harry for my ring size, did you? She couldn’t have kept this a secret.”

“Harry wouldn’t know your size,” I said, staring at it too, and picked up the hand and kissed the little, rough finger with my ring on it; I couldn’t help myself. He laughed again.

“No, you’re right,” and then he took my face in his warm hands and kissed me again. I swayed a little; I was that far gone. Only he can make me forget myself in the middle of the street. Then he said, “I have slush in my shoe, and I’m cold. Can we take this inside?” And then, in a sudden whisper that told me he was still near tears, “Or just go home? I’d like to go home.”

“I’ll get your coat,” I said. I felt vaguely that I ought to steady him, but I couldn’t manage it; I was reeling. I’d done it. I had him. I had asked him to marry me, and he’d told me he would, and he’d cried. He’d kissed me in the street. I left him there; went back through the noisy heat of the main room, up to the bar, where Molly and Greg were standing, Molly tucked under his arm.

“John’s coat?” I said, to Greg, who squinted at me; pulled it off John’s abandoned seat and handed it over.

“Everything all right?”

Molly grinned, suddenly, and shoved out from under his arm.

“Everything’s fine,” she said, and came right up to me and gave me a hard hug, with her chin on my shoulder. I could feel her laugh silently. “Everything’s wonderful,” she added, letting go, and patted my shoulder. Greg was gaping at us, but she didn’t look at him, only tucked herself back in at his side, and said, “Give him our best, Sherlock, and take him home.”

He had flagged down a cab; it was waiting for us at the kerb. I helped him into his coat, and opened the door for him; went around to the other side in a daze,  and slid in, as near him as I dared. He tucked his hand into my elbow; squeezed it gently. His other hand lay in his lap. The ring shone amid the shadows, in the streetlights’ glow. We looked at it all the way home.

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Bucky Barnes x Plus size reader Fingerpainting

Word Count: 2K+

Warnings: Cursing(as usaual, ya’ll know I gots a potty mouth from hell) and teetH ROTTING COTTON CANDY FLAVORED FLUFF. Daddy! Bucky has my whole heart.

Growing up, your household had been vibrant, drenched in color, music filling every nook and cranny. Your mother had been something of a free spirit; You’d been raised on Fleetwood Mac and Jimmi Hendrix, on dancing in circles and bubbling laughter. Now, as an adult you cherished those memories, they we’re such a big part of who you are. And as a mother yourself, you made sure the tradition had continued on.

Made sure your children grew up with that same magical wonder that you had.

It’s what Bucky had noticed about you first, that sparkle in your (y/c) eyes, the curiosity and mischievousness. Cat like, as he liked to refer to them. You we’re his little cat; playful and full of life. And yeah, you had a vicious set of claws, but mostly you liked to be stroked. Both figuratively and literally.

You had this way about you, one that was like sunshine. That bubbly laughter of your contagious, your dimpled smile blinding.

Falling completely fucking in love with you had been easy, natural. He instinctively sought your light and you were more then willing to share it with him, give it to him. Light him up from the inside in a way that made him get a little awestruck because he’d never thought that he’d ever find something like you. He’d accepted the frigidness that had consumed him and here you came, like an Indian summer. All plump curves and saccharine words and butterfly kisses.

And he assumed that it couldn’t get any better; to have a woman that truly deeply loved him. Despite everything… well, what could top that?

And then you’d gotten pregnant and proceeded to set his universe into technicolor chaos once more. He hadn’t even realized he could still have children, that that was still an option for him.

You gifted him with something he hadn’t even realize he’d been craving; his first child. A daughter.

Faye Rebecca Barnes.

Who had your eyes, same spark and everything. But his pretty little up turned nose and his thick, dark hair. She was a tiny hummingbird of a girl, as soon as she could walk she was off in all directions; and he followed close behind, like he always would. Where there was Faye’s chiming laughter, Bucky was close by. The bond that those two had…was something that you couldn’t even fathom sometimes. It was beautiful, to watch them. To know that you had helped to create something so pure.

…Two somethings so pure. Your stomach had never been flat; had always been plush and jiggly, but at the moment it strained out round and firmly, stretching your skin taught. Like some had stuck a basketball under your shirt.

They say pregnancy the second time around is easier. Fucking hah, who ever said that didn’t have a three year old darting around. But still- you tried to stay positive. Tried to focus more on the beautiful parts of pregnancy…even though the ugly, irritating ones came in spades. Oh, how you desperately fucking missed not having to pee every ten minutes.

Baby Barnes number two had made it a game to tap dance on your bladder.

It’s a stormy Wednesday afternoon, nothing particularly exciting or special going on: you’re sitting on the living room floor because its the only place you can seem o get comfortable with Faye, the large glass coffee table in front of you littered with oil pastes and colored pencils. Discarded papers blotches with swirls of color dispersed all over as the two of you drew idly. Bucky was laying on the couch behind you, the one that you lean against, reading the newspaper as Dumbo played on the flat screen in the background.

“Mommy what’s your favorite animal?” Faye inquires, not looking up from her paper and the long erratic strokes she’s making with a teal colored pencil. She was only three, and she’d seemed to inherit your “artistic nature” as Buck liked to call it.

“Seahorses…Or maybe flamingos. I cant decide” You scrunch your nose, focused on your own art. Sunsets and constellations stare back at you, you use your thumb to blend the smooth pastel colors into one hypnotic shade. “What’s yours, Honeybee?”

“Mermaids” Faye shrugs as though its obvious “I like pink elephants too”

From behind the newspaper, Bucky has a large grin on his face. Shaking his head a little at the two of you.

“Is that why we’ve been watching Dumbo on repeat?” He wonders, his gruff voice amused as he reads an article on ‘Stark Industries new Holliday Season Technology.’

“It’s my favorite” Faye nods. Favorite of the week, that is. Last week had been the Aristocats, the week before that Moana.

Bucky could literally sing “Your Welcome” from start to finish. Faye insisted her father be Maui for the upcoming Halloween because he had “pretty hair” just like him. You’d laughed HARD at that, but whispered to him that you wouldn’t mind seeing him only in a grass skirt, your tone had him grabbing at your plump ass.

“Really? It used to scare me a little bit. Especially the pink elephants on parade part. Super trippy if you ask me” You laugh, looking up from your page at your daughter. Her dark hair was pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head,

“I like ‘em. I think they pretty” The three year old defends.

“It does make my head spin a little. I remember reading somethin’ about Walt Disney being all hopped up on dr-” Bucky stops himself, shooting Faye a look “-…Sugar, when he made a lot of these movies”

You laugh. It’s uncanny how similar it sounds to your daughters.

Bucky thinks that’s part of a reason the little girl has such a tight hold on his heart. Obviously, she was his child, and he would love her regardless of what she looked like. But the fact that she was a mini version of you was really what got him.

Faye laughed like sunshine too.

“Yeah I’ve heard that too! And it makes so much sense, this was a trip gone bad…or good I guess. Since you know, its a classic” You add.

“A trip to where, mommy?”

You snort and Bucky puts the paper down a little bit so that he can not only see your reaction, but your response. One of his eyebrows raise.

“Umm, to a place where only adults go. We’ll talk about it when your in college?” You test the waters. Even after years, this whole parenting thing was still touch and go to you.

You didn’t think you’d ever fully have it down.

Bucky’s little chortle from behind you makes you turn around and shoot him a glare to which his hand, the metal one, comes down and rubs your shoulder in apology; his cool fingers massaging the muscle near your neck in a way that had you leaning into him.

You still love the feeling of his hands on your skin, still makes goosebumps rise. You hope you never loose this feeing.

Faye, as usual, looses interest with what she’s doing before her movies even over.

“I’m bored” She whines dropping her pencil “I wanna go swing”

“No, Faye. It’s raining and you’ll not only get all muddy, but you’ll get sick” You try to explain to her the reason why your such a kill joy. Of course she doesn’t seem to hear any of it.


You breathe through your nose. Of course.

Bucky was what people call “the good parent”. What you said no to, she’d usually be able to convince her father into letting her do.

She really was manipulative for a three year old.

“Where do you think she gets that from?” Nat had taunted once, looking at you with laughing eyes and you’d shoved her shoulder.

“No baby, you’re moms right. You’ll get really sick and then you wont get to go play at Uncle Steves this weekend. And you’ve been so excited to see Noah” Bucky sides with you, trying to convince her with the promise of seeing her god brother, Steve and Sharon’s one year old son.

Faye huffs and pushes her paper away from her so hard that it, along with a few pastels, flies off the table. She then lets her head fall to the glass with a hard thunk, one that made Bucky wince.

“I’m so bored” She cries dramatically. You know how people talk about the terrible two’s? Yeah you we’re starting to think the troublesome threes were worse.

“Do you want to watch a different movie?”


“You could come help mama make lunch? Chicken fingers, you favorite?”


“We could go find Kit? I think she’s scared of the thunder, she’s probably under your bed-” Bucky offers, he knows how much Faye loves that cat.

“NO DADDY” Faye interrupts him with a snap.

“Faye Rebecca Barnes, you do not talk to any adults that way, much less your dad. You probably hurt his feelings” Your tone is not cutting, but authoritive . She knows better then that. She doesn’t look up but you hear her sniffle as she turns her head, facing away from you.

You purse your lips, before leaning your own head back, enough that it rests on Buckys thigh. Your eyes closed. Did you hate making her cry(even if you knew she was just faking?) Yes. But you also wanted to make sure she grew up to be a decent member of society that other people could stand. And that meant teaching her that she couldn’t snap to get her way.

Bucky knew that too…he also knew you had way more resolve then him. So instead of making it worse, he kept his mouth closed and let you handle it. Smart man, your husband.

…as the minutes ticked by, the silence a little overwhelming you realized that you too, were bored.

Making you empathize with your little one. Boredom, the death of creativity. It had always made you antsy, being idle. You feel Buck’s hand in your hair, the metal one, and you get a passing idea.

Remembering a time when your mother had let you and your siblings finger paint on her back…

“Hey, Faye” You call to her, and she mutters a small “What” without looking at you. She could pout with the best of them.

Something she’d inherited from both of you.

“Wanna do something fun?” Your voice is eager and it makes both Faye and Bucky give you almost identical looks.

“Like what?”

You just grin and manage to heft yourself off of the floor(with Bucky’s arm steadying you) and waddle out of the living room, towards your art closet.

“Where’s she goin?” Faye questions her father and he shrugs but sits up, anticipating your next move.

“I don’t know, but knowin’ your mother- it’ll be something messy” Bucky guesses as he looks down at Faye, taking a minute to bop her on her little bun. She beams up at him, grabbing at her hair.


“Sorry pumpkin” He chuckles, before bopping her again. He’s ready for her when she launches herself into his lap.

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings” Faye whispers against his scruffy cheek as he holds her.

“It’s okay” Bucky scratches her back lightly “I’m a big boy, I got over it”

“Okay, lets do this” You announce as you come back in the room and both of their heads turn to meet you. In your arms, resting on your stomach, is your plastic container full of washable paints and glitters. Body paint…

“Told you. Messy” Bucky tells Faye who squeals and makes grabby hands at you.

An hour later, you’ve managed to lay the news paper that Buck was reading out on the floor. Protecting your rugs from the splashes of paint. The three of you sit on the hardwood, Bucky has stripped off the hoodie he was wearing and now sits in just his white singlet, holding his metal arm steady and still as you Faye paint on the surface of it. Both of your fingers covered in multicolor paint as they swirl colors onto the sleek metal.

Faye draws purple clouds and orange seahorses(or at least she tries) and you work on an intricate, realistic looking array of wild flowers with a detailed sunflower in the middle of them.

He squirms a little as your fingers trace the edge where his steel shoulder meets warm flesh.

“Don’t move, daddy!” Faye barks at him and you giggle.

“Yeah, daddy” You stress the word, biting your lip and shooting him a devious little smirk that your daughter misses “Don’t move”

“It tickles!” He protests with an exasperated laugh, but stays still all the same. He cant tear his eyes off of you, so concentrated. Little specks of yellow paint smeared on your soft cheek, your belly swollen with his second baby. He reaches out with his flesh hand to rub at the bump tenderly.

You’d given him everything.

“I love you, sweets” He whispers, watching your short fingers delicately trace details into the flowers. You look up, breaking your concentration to smile at him.

“I love you too, Buck” You reach up and press a kiss to his stubbly jaw, then another to his chin. And finally laying a big one on his cheek.

When he feels another set, of smaller lips, press a quick peck to his other cheek his heart swells.

“Love you, daddy” Faye chirps, as she settles back down. “Momma do seahorses have three eyes or four?”

“Four” You answer with a smile.

-Okay I know this wasn’t smut but this was requested and I felt like I needed to write some Dad! Bucky because I love him so much and he’s such a cinnamon roll and wouldn’t he just make the best dad? I wanted their daughters name to be something old fashioned, but still interesting because this Readers an artist and I just think she’d want her children to have unique sounding names? Idk. Enjoy. Cry. Do what you must💘😂

anonymous asked:

A Supercat prompt if you're still taking them (I miss your fics!) Footage of Cat hotly kissing her female date in an elevator is leaked and goes viral. Cat is unfazed and loving her new status as a sex symbol and lesbian icon. Kara can't stop thinking about the footage and realises that her feelings run deeper than hero worship...

It leaks overnight.

Half of the evening crew is pulled to work on containing the situation, while the remaining journalists attempt to keep things as ‘business as usual’ as possible. The end of the world is no excuse for anything less than perfection at CatCo, why should this be any different? Even if it was far closer to home than some looming threat most people would never actually come face to face with, they still needed to make it seem as if CatCo were unphased by the news.

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anonymous asked:

Yuri on ice truth or dare is my new favorite thing. Do with that what you will.

bragging rights

thx to @forovnix for some of the ideas in this hot mess of a fic

Length: 2.3k; Rating: teen+;

Summary: There’s a party in Phichit’s hotel room after a Grand Prix Final event, and he knows exactly how to keep everyone entertained.

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It’s Phichit’s idea.


“Okay,” Phichit says as he tears apart a piece of paper, distributing the fragments among everyone. He had arranged all of the skaters in a neat circle a few minutes ago, including Yurio, who had scowled. Phichit’s hotel room is small, but it fits them all with ease. “Everybody write down one truth and one dare.”

“You only gave us each one piece of paper,” Leo points out. “You want us to write them both down on the same piece?”

Phichit blinks slowly, his tipsy mind trying to process the words. “No. Tear your paper in half.”

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His Human Mate - Part 4

So Frigga’s alive, and Odin’s a dick. I hope you guys like it! Send me any ideas that you have for continuing the story!


It has been almost a year since you had been abducted by HYDRA and your courting with Loki was coming to an end. As per tradition, on the anniversary of your courting you are supposed to meet Loki’s father, well adopted father, and ask for him to bless your mating. This means that you have to go to Asgard, and of course Tony refuses to let you go alone.

“I don’t need you there, Tony! It’s a meeting between four people, and you aren’t one of them!”

Tony lets out a growl, “I won’t let you go through interdimensional travel with just Loki! Several of the Avengers are going. Thor promised to give us a tour of Asgard when you’re in your meeting”

Huffing you throw your hands into the air, “Fucking wolf, fucking team”

“Fine, you can come, as long as you don’t cause any problems, and you don’t embarrass me in front of my future in-laws.”

Tony grumbles, “Still don’t understand why you had to fall for a blood-sucker. Could have had anyone else, but you gotta choose the one guy with bigger daddy issues than me”

“I love him, Tones. I love him a lot, and I love the fact that you two get along, but he’s had time to get used to your humor. Odin is already an asshole, and he hates the fact that I’m human and my brother’s a wolf. According to Thor, Odin has been pushing women onto Loki every time the two go back to Asgard, and you’ve seen Sif, they have to be gorgeous, and Odin’s pissed that he keeps rejecting them.”

Another growl leaves Tony, “You really don’t need his approval, you can just get mated with Steve’s approval, he’s the pack leader. You don’t need to go begging to Odin”

You rub your face and sigh, “I already have Steve’s approval. Loki’s still a Prince, and the prince needs the kings’ approval to mate according to Asgardian tradition.”

Tony walks over to you and pulls you into a hug, “He’ll love you once he meets you. When he see’s how much Loki and you love each other, he won’t have any choice but to bless your mating, or risk losing his son again”

You sniffle and cling to your bother, “I’m so scared, Tony. What is they hate me? What if Loki realizes that I’m not worth it? What if Odin refused to let us be together?!”

“Now you listen to me, you are a Stark, and Starks are as strong as iron, remember?”

You straighten you back and wipe away your tears, “Starks always fight for what they want”

“That’s right, Y/N. So, are you just gonna let Odin rule your life, or are you gonna fight for Reindeer Games?”

You roll your eyes and give Tony a playful shove, “You’re such an asshole!”

“But I got you to smile!”

Rolling your eyes you throw a pillow at Tony, “Go away so I can finish packing”

“Fine! Fine! But we leave in an hour, so be ready by then”

“I will!!”

When you finally walk out of Heimdall’s dome, because everyone but Thor and Loki ended up almost getting sick, you are speechless. You quickly head to the group of horses and one of the guards standing there helps you up.

“It’s beautiful here!”

Loki chuckles and gets up on his black horse, which is, conveniently, right next to yours, “I suppose Asgard has its beauty, if you like gold, that is”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, admiring how regal he looks in his armor and on his mount, “I actually prefer silver, but gold does have its beauty”

Thor’s booming laugh sounds behind you, “She truly is the perfect match for you, brother! Now come my friends, Mother and Father are awaiting our arrival”

“Don’t go too fast, Thor. Some people haven’t ridden horses as much as you have” Steve calls out.

You just smirk and lock eyes with both Loki and Tony, “Race you!”

With a final laugh, you spur your horse on. You can hear Tony and Loki take off after you. It feels like you’re flying, somehow Asgardian horses are faster than the horse you’re used to. You let out an indignant shout when Loki’s horse passes yours and he beats you to the finish line.

Loki laughs when he catches you pouting over your loss, “Come on, dove. You put up a valiant fight, however my steed is the fastest in Asgard, there was no way you were going to beat me” He brings himself closer and pulls you into a gentle kiss.

The others catch up after a few minutes and you three rejoin the group to head to the castle. “Thor said that we’ll drop you and Loki off in the throne room, and he’ll give us a tour until you get out”

“Alright, Stevie. You know that you didn’t have to come, right? I hate to pull you away from everyone else for so long”

Steve chuckles, “I’m your pack leader, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I won’t let one of my pack members go through this alone.”

“I really appreciate that”

Loki draws up beside you, “We’re here, dove. We’ll leave the horse with the stable hands. Mother and Odin are waiting for our arrival.”

You quickly dismount and hand over the reins. “Are you nervous, babe?”

“I believe that mother will love you. All she has ever wanted is mine and Thor’s happiness. It is Odin who has always wanted to arrange a marriage with one of the other worlds.”

“Well, maybe we can convince Odin that I’m good for you. We can say something about my influence on you, how I make you less crazy”

He chuckles and pulls you close, “I’d go insane without you, dove”

“I know, my prince, I know”

Walking into the great hall and up to Odin’s throne is probably one of the most terrifying thing that you have ever done.

“Don’t be afraid, love” Loki whispers

You smirk, “Don’t lose your temper “

He lets out a low chuckle and takes you hand, “I’ll do my best”

Once the two of you are finally in front of the throne, you curtsy and Loki dips his head in a slight bow. The woman stands up, gracefully descending the stairs, “My son, it is good to see you healthy”

“Hello mother” Loki’s eyes widen when she pulls him into a hug and you try to stifle your laughter, “I’d like to introduce you to my intended, Y/N. She is a warrior of Midgard and …”

“She is a human.” Odin’s voice booms out, echoing.

This time you speak up, “Yes I am “

Loki clears his throat, “I have come, as tradition dictates, to ask for you to bless our mating”

Odin sneers, “You expect me to allow one of the two princes of Asgard to become life-mates with a Midgardian female?”

“Husband …”

“No, Frigga. She is nothing but a blip on his timeline, nothing but a Midgardian whore intent on gaining access to Loki’s riches. Loki, the insane prince, there is no reason for her to want him other than to get his riches. No one would want a failure as their life mate for any other reason”

“You pompous asshole!”

Loki and Odin both snap their heads toward you, “Y/N don’t …”

“No, Loki. I will not be talked about and insulted when I am standing right here. I understand that he is concerned about my intentions toward you, I mean what parent isn’t? But seriously? A Midgardian whore? Listen Odin, Mr. All-Father, Mr. High and mighty, I don’t really care what you think about me, I don’t need your approval. I already have the approval of my pack leader and that’s all I need. I am here to satisfy your traditions. And you really think that you can just insult my mate and not have anyone say anything?” You scoff, “You really are the complete asshole that I thought you would be!”

“Y/N, dove, please …”

“Loki, darling, I don’t need his approval. I’m not from this world. I came here for you, but I won’t let him insult you. As you said, I’m a warrior, and I’ll protect you from any kind of threat, even a verbal one”

You turn defiant eyes back to Odin, whose entire face had gone red. “Throw her in the dungeon, in Loki’s cell”

Loki lets out a shout, but the guards are already dragging you away. “Locking me up won’t make you feel better!” You scream

“Odin!!” Frigga shouts, “Stop this madness, this instant! She is a warrior of Midgard, they will not stand for this! You will start another war!!”

“Put. Her. In. The. Dungeon. I am king, Frigga, and you will not challenge me” Odin snarls

You wriggle and snarl the entire way to the dungeon, getting a variety of bruises and cuts for your effort. “Let go of me! My pack will come for me!”

The guard chuckles and throws you onto a square platform, “Let them come. They will join you in your cell.”

Snarling again you lunge forward, but are stopped when a shimmering shield blocks your path. The guards laugh at your rage, and walk away. Limping to the back corner of the room you curl up in a tight ball, hoping that your friends will be able to get you out. Tony always said that your big mouth would get you locked up, it turns out he was right.


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Part 5 … ?

best friend!johnny

• the type of best friend
• who u kind of want to stab 71% of the time
• and johnny insists that’s how u kno it’s real
• “it makes the friendship real bc you want to kill me but you won’t because you’d miss me this is tru love y/n”
• always trying to pull pranks on you
• like the classics puts your hand in warm water when you fall asleep
• swapping your shampoo for hair removal cream
• you noticed right away
• but you were a little too close to maybe going bald
• you guys have something of a prank war going on

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anonymous asked:

Hi, I hear someone saying that Hunger Games isn't immersive, and I was wondering what is an immersive universe and is it something I should be writing? And if so, how do I go about doing it? Thanks!

This is a perfectly fascinating question, and I think it deserves some time unpacking it. So, what is an immersive universe?

Immersive: relating to…images that actively engage one’s senses and may create an altered mental state; relating to activity that occupies most of one’s attention, time, or energy. (x)

What this boils down to is that an immersive universe is a world that so completely captures a reader’s imagination and attention that they may begin to daydream, lose track of time, lose a sense of surrounding, gain selective hearing, and all the other symptoms that come right along with being completely absorbed in something. “Immersive” can describe anything from a task requiring intense concentration (to the point that you block out everything else to facilitate that concentration) such as data entry, all the way to things like video games that so completely suck a person in that they lose three hours of their time without noticing it. If a game is immersive, it’s considered to be so well-designed, well-written, and well-executed that it draws the player in and allows the player to imagine themselves within the game. There are no oddities or awkwardness, things that distance the player or jolt them from the game. It’s a highly desirable aspect to any piece of fiction because you’ve created a world that appears seamless.

Consider the definition for world-building which I talked about back in Part One of that series:

World building: The construction of a world, especially a convincing fictional world for literature, etc.

If a world is so completely seamless that is becomes immersive, it could also be described as convincing, could it not? If your goal is to create a convincing world, then immersive should also be one of those goals. Alright, so immersive is a good thing–so good that it makes your readers want to come back for more. But how do we get there? What makes a piece of fiction immersive?

Your world:

So you’ve got a pretty unique world set up. That’s cool. How are you going to bring it to life on the page? In order for your story to be immersive, your audience has to be able to see it, live in it, understand it. That means that your job as the author to world-build effectively is paramount. You’ll need to figure out the delicate balance between your world-building within the narrative as well as your story. Sharing details about the world will help folks be able to envision where and who your characters are.

Describing characters and settings and pertinent political/cultural/religious/social details as needed without going too overboard will be key, since you want them to be able to understand the world without overloading them with too much of the nitty-gritty. Entice them before you dump a whole heap before them. Make sure the characters feel like they belong in the world you’re creating and that the world feels like it could conceivably exist. If you have a man toting a six-shooter in a world where so far only swords and daggers have been seen, your reader is going to feel a bit uncomfortable, and that out-of-place-ness will drag them right out of whatever immersion you were able to create before that. A woman in the 1300s whipping out a cellphone, for example, would probably be jarring enough for a reader to remember they’re looking at words on a page, not directly through a screen to their imagination.

Your characters:

If your characters aren’t interesting and believable as real human beings, your audience won’t see them that way. They’ll constantly be seated a bit further back from the story, rather than directly in it, because they don’t feel like their connection with the character is genuine, or that the character itself is genuine. This does not mean that all your characters need to be sympathetic, but the more understandable they are, the more relateable they’ll be (even if your readers can’t say, “That’s me!” they will still be able to relate in a way that’s perhaps more like, “I know someone like that.”). The more understandable they are, the easier it will be for your readers to imagine that character in other situations, which will help them to feel as though they’ve connected with your world.

Your style:

Think about the style of your storytelling, as well. First person is often thought to be the easiest to evoke an immersive quality since by virtue of placing the “I” in a reader’s mind, the reader will begin to associate with that character, but it’s certainly not the only way. Creating an engaging voice to your piece by picking words that create mood and tone will help the reader to feel the settings of the piece. (I’ve read some pieces that were so thick with suspense and humidity I could literally feel the damp on my skin and my hairs raise on my arm.) Alongside picking your words and creating your style, remember that using too many words that folks have to look up will pull the reader right out of the story and right back into their living room, looking for their phone. Overly complex writing styles will cause this, too. No sentence should have to be read twice to understand, so in your editing make sure there are no moments where you have to clarify to yourself how to read a sentence. Keeping your metaphors from being too outlandish will help keep from jarring a reader, too.

Remember that reader-experience is different every time: 

Look. You asked specifically about The Hunger Games and its immersive ability. I don’t have an answer for that one. While I never had a trouble envisioning the world, I also wouldn’t have called it immersive. I didn’t feel it. What would have helped with that? I don’t know, probably style for me. But for you and those you were talking with? Who knows. Maybe they were immersive for you. Maybe your stomach twisted when Katniss and Peeta held those berries; maybe you held your ear when those supplies outside the cornucopia exploded; maybe you dreamed of the mines of District 12. I don’t know. Like with all writing things, it’s individual and there’s no tried-and-true, right-and-wrong way to do any of this. Write with feeling, write with vision, write with passion and hopefully your audience will pick up on that, too. If your beta readers tell you it feels a bit wooden and they couldn’t lose themselves in it quite as easily, go back and look at some things. Tweak your style, first off–that’s usually the biggest road block to immersion. Right now I’m reading a story that’s very heavily stylized–very interesting in terms of execution, but not easy to dissolve into because of that stylization. Is that wrong? Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on the reader and how the story hits them at the time they’re reading it. Never dismiss the criticism, but never believe it’s the end-all-be-all about your story, either. I hope this has helped a bit, Anon. Good luck! -Pear

The Genetics Game - Part  Three

Summery: After discovering an abnormality in your genes you work on finding a solution working along side Tony Stark and Bruce Banner to fix the problem. When Bucky Barnes ultimately discovers your secret he doesn’t exactly help.

Pairing: Bucky x Mutant!Reader

Word Count: 1,948

Warnings: mentions of a panic attack, talk about blood

A/N: it’s been a pretty shitty day for me to be completely honest but the video of Sam and Harry Holland has defiantly made it better. (if you know what I’m talking about.) Anyways I promised part three out on Thursday and it’s Thursday so here’s part three. Happy readings!

Part One, Part Two

Originally posted by whatwasdead

*gif creds to owner*

You were such a coward. First you stood Bucky up at the restaurant and now you couldn’t even face him. It had been almost a week and you still hadn’t seen Bucky’s face.

You no longer used the Stark library and focused solely on your research. Dr. Banner, Mr. Stark and you had almost found a breakthrough but of course Bucky’s genes compromised your moment of victory.

“There has to be something that will work globally so we don’t have to make a ‘cure’ for each individual.”

“Cure? Y/N this is re-modifying already modified genes to bring then back to ‘normal’,” Tony said rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I hope you don’t expect to release this to the world. I don’t know about you but the only people I know with modified genes are in this tower.”

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Tighter threads (s12 finale thoughts)

Well, that happened.

I’m writing this without checking anyone else’s direct thoughts, so someone may have already touched on this but I want to get this out before I forget too much.

First off, I didn’t hate them. I especially liked 12.22(with the exception of one thing). It was very tightly written, in so, so many ways. 12.23 was good(mostly), but it felt more standard. Either way, they pretty much used their last token, and decided to make their narrative so tight, we are currently inside Jupiter.

Spoilers below.

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