#do you understand how unhinged i am right now?? no?? let me elaborate: what if i made luke an oracle . a prophet

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

getting invested in your own au is so dangerous because sometimes you'll start wanting to make an au of your au, and you'll come to a tough split point decision where you have to decide if you do that Or if you just make your idea canon to the first au, because no one can stop you

anyways. i need to be physically restrained from touching lucky jumbo right now

[sapphire-knight]

You guys are giving me way too much power by letting me talk about acting

@minecant you wanted me to rant about Techno and Wilbur's acting? Well, you asked for it

Let's start with Techno bc I realized something this morning and I cannot get it out of my head, let's go.

Techno has a really peculiar way of acting compared to anyone else, his character is a lot more aware of the fourth wall than any other character is, and actually having to keep in check a character that, to certain acting degrees, could be almost considered self-aware is actually harder than you can imagine, and of course everything that's kinda hard in scripted acting goes to a whole new level of difficoult in improv; but on the other hand, his type of acting (more specifically: the voice acting) is on the same page of 3 other characters: Tubbo, Fundy and Niki. Follow me on this, alright? The basically only thing that these 4 characters, that narratively are so different from each other,is the way they are voiced. All four of then have a really specific way of talking and talking pattern, to the point where even if you were to put the voices in a voice-changer you could still know what character is talking just because of the way they talk. Let me elaborate: Fundy usually his voice doesn't let a lot of emotions through and his speech is usually straight to the point, keeping his tone medium and trying to keep his voice relaxed; Niki's usual tone is soft and lighter, is easy to not hear it with her low tone of voice and higher pitch that give her a kinder undertone; Tubbo's tone is also one in a softer scale and lower of volume, but where Niki is easy to miss Tubbo lets a bit more emotion in all phrases to make himself pop out, he doesn't tend to go straight to the point in conversations and his tone is pretty much constant; Techno doesn't let emotions shine through his voice, more like Fundy, but to the extreme, keeping a completly monotone type of speech in basically all the situations and isn't very talkative, a character that talks one when he feels like it's needed and goes straight to the point of the conversation, not caring how that makes him come across to the other characters.

These 4 have incredibly set in stone characters, keeping always to their own set of acting rules for them. It's not easy to set yourself acting rules for your characters in an improv, but if you manage to do it's an in incredible help. Even Wilbur's character was more unhinged under that point of view, his "standard" continuing to change slightly as his mental stage declined.

But you know where does the actual strenght of having these things set in stone for your characters? That the emotions are a lot more powerfull. Let's think about it, why most of the emotive scene shock us? You can usually feel the emotions because the tone of voice lets these emotions through, it hits you because it wasn't there before, it's a switch between the usual voice and the emotive one, it gives you whiplash, but why am I talking about this?

Because these characters are able to express their emotions with a lot more power, because they always talk in a really specific way, you get used ti their tone and speech pattern without noticing it, so you maybe not actually understand it, but your brain notices when the pattern breaks, and since it is a really set in stone one, when it gets broken the whiplash is extreme. Just like when Niki rebelled against Schlatt, the whiplash was her raising her voice and abandoning the soft tone she always used, but kept the classic amount of emotions in her voice, the same thing happens with Techno and his speech: some emotions start to get throught, he doesn't get to the point quickly as always, instead he keeps on talking with extreme confidence in every word, the same confidence he always has. Whiplash guys, whiplash.

I didn't mention Quackity as one of the set-in-stone-speaking characters, because he switches too much to set the rules enough to shock when broken. I'm not saying at all that he isn't a good actor, on the contrary, his acting just works on different bases, example, Try looking at the Quackity vs Schlatt argument compared to the Tubbo vs Tommy: when Quackity got angry it wasn't expected, it was a bit alienating, it didn't feel like the Quackity we know because it was incredibly different than how his character speaks, too different (Which still isn't bad, at all, that scene was phenomenal); when Tubbo got angry it still felt like Tubbo, you could still pinpoint it was Tubbo even without hearing his voice, because even if the voice is raised, the amount of emotions is the same and the speech pattern is the same, just to the next level. So yeah.

I don't even feel like talking about Techno's lines tho, these are amazing under every technical point of view and you guys know that, so let's go to Wilbur.

Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur, where can I begin with Wilbur? Not only he had an extraordinary arc for his own character, he also wrote an incredible story- this guy's voice acting is off the charts in every way possible, are you telling me he didn't take acting classes as a kid? i do not believe you. Like, at all. He has a perfect hang on his voice, but this could be because he's also a singer: expressing emotions during songs is harder than you think, because you cannot let emotions ruin your exibition by making your voice crack at the wrong part or making you mess up the timing, but you also need to let them shine through or the voice will seem flat and Wil knows that perfectly, just listen to Your City gave me asthma and you'll understand what I'm going on about here.

Wilbur Soot is a showman. He manovrated the stage to shine a spotlight on himself, making us see what he wants us to see: that's why it took us so much to realize that the character didn't just "go insane" out of nowhere, the seeds were always there, we had all the hints we needed, but he was able to move his character around it, around the arc, in such a way that made us overlook all of those details until they slapped us in the face. He showed us the consequences of his character through other characters, he acted and spoke in a certain way to get a reaction from the others, and the others reacted in the exact way Wilbur planned. And those things aren't scrpited, only major plotpoints are. Wheter this was intentional on his part or it was a coincidence it's not clear, but in either cases it's still pure skill and genius.

Wilbur knew how to act and interact with every character, it's impressive

He even knew how to get Dream on his act on the festival narrative, Dream isn't always top notch at improv and we know that, but if he can get in the loop he is absolutely a distructive force, it's terrifying, and Wilbur knew exactly what to do to get Dream inside the loop of events and it's incredible.

You could guess he knew how to act with Tommy, Tubbo, Ph1lza, Techno and Schlatt, of course he did, he already knew them, but right now he has an incredibly difficoult bit with someone I would have never guessed if I didn't watch the SMP, with Fundy. I have not been in the fandom for a lot of time, but it seems like the two actually met each other on the SMP. They are carrying and incredibly emotional taxing bit with each other, and the SMP lore started just this year- more or less 7/8 months I think? Correct me if I'm wrong. The story bit these two are on is a delicate one, one wrong step and the situation explodes. The fact that they are capable to carrying it even without having known each other for a long time is honestly impressive. Things like this are incredibly hard even when scripted, in improv usually only people who blindly trusted each other for a long time are able to carry it, meanwhile Wilbur and Fundy are flawlessly running with this story arc, the character interactions are perfect, ever act, every word is so incredibly in character for both of them, in scenes like this having to keep perfect track of your character is hard, you have to concentrate on the scene, you cannot stop to think about it, you have only one take and you cannot afford to slow down the act or you risk losing the atmosphere and the momentum of it, and if you do that you'e screwed, you lost an entire scene. In improv you cannot afford slipping up, but if you actually do you have to be incredibly quick to catch yourself, lose two seconds too many and the moment is broken.

Wilbur Soot is incredibly quick to adapt his acting to ever change in his character, having to jump from the power hungry, driven crazy, obsessive, unhinged, paranoid character that is Wilbur to the sad, guilty, scared, repressed, just-wanting-to-be-happy, forgetfull, ignoring character that is Ghostbur is not something easy. Like, at all. It's a cspital switch, and he did it from a day to the other like it's nothing.

Mr Soot please leave some talent to the rest of us come on-

[khaleesiofalicante]

exhausted but wanna read

7 04 am have not slept need to go somewhere at 9

fuckkkk okay let's read

one day since Magnus left?

alec love calm tf down

still mad at you for how you reacted to shinyun so like sit the fuck down I am sleep deprived and tired I will not be holding back today

sigh checking his tabs was already crossing a line

dude ffs calm down

idk I'm tired so I'm extra salty. gonna try and be nicer

stop fucking smoking or I'm taking away your lungs

I'm sure I can get a nice price for them

dude this is called obsession <3

listen, love Magnus already has a lot on his plate with his asshole father so like calm tf down and oh my god

God, Alec is fucking spiraling. He is fucking losing his mind.

yes, I can tell. get a grip lightwood

oh wow okay then. if he chooses to leave then he leaves end of conversation

yeah don't drive in the rain

this one time when I was younger we were on the highway I think going to the neighbouring city? and it was fucking pouring and I started crying because I was terrified.

He knows he is being dramatic. He knows he went a little far earlier with Shinyun.

YES BITCH

oh wow, now we're both spiralling about the divorce great!

"You need to get your shit together," she had told with a chuckle when they had parted that day.

Maia knows what she's talking about!

gasp

omg so cute the little note

MAGNUS FUCK THAT IS SO ROMANTIC

HE READ AND ANNOTATED THE BOOK FOR HIM I COULD CRY

Magnus weren't you in London-

well hello

I am sad

why is he sad

oh wait I remember why he's sad

Magnus poor baby come here lemme hug you

oof yeah been there shit hurts

omg he's kissing his fingers

FUCK OMG THEM

NO HE'S CRYING NOW IM GOING TO CRY

oh shit

I'm so sad wtf

oh that's why he didn't want rafe to paint his nails yellow

oh fuck

I don't know what to say

“What my mom did,” Magnus elaborates. “Why do people do it?”

okay ouch this hit hard

sometimes all we can do is be there for them and hold them through it and hope that's enough.

YOU? HARD TO LOVE? LIES!

“You are not hard to love,” Alec tells him. “Loving you is the easiest goddamn fucking thing in the world.”

YES SO TRUE! MAGNUS YOU BEAUTIFUL LOVEABLE IDIOT! WE LOVE YOU!

He’ll never let Magnus cry again.

This hurts because he does...

OKAY THE MIDDLE!

I genuinely didnt want the starting to end :(

Thomas hello

you don't have shared assets? any at all?

oof

I am not understanding half of the shit going on but okay

cool legal shit nice

He is a fucking weirdo.

Alec loves him so much.

Me too dude

Not after what happened.

Elaborate

“Nope,” Alec shakes his head. “It turns out he kept it. You know, it’s fine. Who doesn’t have a secret apartment you can run away to when you are mad at your husband, right?”

Uh babe-

Cool cool cool

I have no clue what those British insults mean and I almost messaged a person asking what they meant because this was our thing when I remembered she's a lying piece of shit who gave us all trauma then moved on with her life

nice

what was the cost? what did you do?

Tf is rational choice theory

sounds disgusting

aww they're so cute

“I think we just put a shirtless pic of you on Twitter and say single and ready to mingle,” Lily points out.

Bitch do it

SHIT IS MAGNUS SLEEPING IN HIS BED???

Also eat something you little bitch /affectionate

what the fuck are they doing lmao y'all're so awkward

OMG HE ASKED BEFORE COMING IN FUCK MY LIFE

y'all are so so awkward

uh Magnus I'm pretty sure alec didn't send those

sigh. shinyun

if someone sent me sunflowers I would have a panic attack no matter who sent them but that's my own trauma let's not focus on that

okay someone is fucking with them

and it's Max, isn't it?

I'm so confused

KNEW IT WAS MAX!

Rafael had explained that celebrity endorsements are a capitalist marketing technique and Max told him to go to hell.

I snorted

OOF THAT'S THE DRUNKEN RANT?

oh damn

I AM SORRY BUT I SCREAMED

THIS CHILD IS UNHINGED AND I LOVE HIM FOR IT

probably should not be laughing but I have not slept and this shit is hilarious to me for some reason

I wanna hug him

“Tell me how it stops,” Max says. “Tell me how you can just wake up one day and be like I’m done loving this person.”

I don't think you can just stop all of a sudden. It happens. You fall out of love and you don't always see it coming but I don't think it's a sudden thing. You see it happening and sometimes you try your best to make it stop and other times you don't.

ALRIGHT IM GETTING TOO WORKED UP AT 7 58AM

Sometimes love isn't enough.

where did it get you guys?

don't say ambiguous shit oh my goddd

“I’m never ever going to fall in love,” Max says like it’s a serious announcement. “Love is such fucking bullshit.”

It makes Alec smile. “Let’s not turn into a cliché.”

I know this is sad but I laughed-

END!

Okay, what plan? Don't remember how the last chapter ended so like

wait

MAX'S POV????

People are more likely to go through heartbreak than get an STD.

okay accurate

There isn't one way to love though. Everyone loves differently

No wonder this world is a giant clusterfuck.

SO TRUE BABE!

You can't control that though. You can't control falling in love

It hurts but we somehow come across on the other side. Most of the times

Who tf is hot stuff

TRU DAY!!!

"Kadir, my man," Max grins. "On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 getting grounded and 10 getting disowned, how much trouble would I get in if I try to kiss the Prime Minister?"

"Solid eight," Kadir replies without looking up. "Still going kiss the Prime Minister?"

"Mr. Safar," Max drawls. "I've dealt with worse odds than this."

Max please don't kiss the Prime Minister

“I’m sure by the end of tomorrow, we’ll be calling each other pet names,” Max winks. “What do you think about bubblebutt? I think it suits Justin.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this,”

Max NO-

GABRIELLL

Ohhh Magnus owns it? Nice

“Your parents would trade you for a ripe avocado.”

I WHEEZED

UNLESS BELLA HADID ASKS LMAO MAX

“I think so,” Max shrugs. “I mean. Is anyone okay?”

“Too deep,” Gabriel shakes their head.

No Max we are not

“The ideal outfit is nothing,” Gabriel points out. “I’d just walk in their buck naked.”

These two are made for each other

Max babe you have a type :)

SELENA??

WHAT'S WRONG??

RAFE??

DAVID???

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

aww you're in love

IMPORTED FROM FRANCE BYE-

FUCK IT'S THAT BOY??

KILL HIM DAVID

KILL HIM I'LL HELP WITH THE BODY

Kyle, I'll stab you in the eye

Max and he have a history?

Max you-

Oh god I love him

“My hand slipped and fell on his face,” Max informs.

Me likey

Do it again

oh no they're both mad at him

well fuck

oh damn David

also totally deserved

HEY NO HE DESERVES TO MEET HOT TRUDEAU

Although I don't see the appeal at all

WHAT THE FUCK IS ACTIVE OPERATION LITTLE PRINCE

I LOVE THESE TWO SO MUCH THEIR FRIENDSHIP

be careful there love. water is no joke.

DAVID JUST-

Oh my

OH MY GOD THEY'RE KISSING

max really did that huh when they were 11-

Oh my god they kissed

Oh my god them them them them them

I learned how to throw a punch when I was 11. Maybe that was fucked up but like I throw good punches.

oh my god my heart broke

Tell him you love him

SAY IT BITCH

realises my phone is in the other room and I should go get it because it's 8 30 am and I need to leave at 9:

My mother bingeing a show while also not having slept:

Me:

Her:

Me: Don't you dare tell me to not stay up late fangirling over something again

OKAY ANYWAY YOU BOTH KISS

TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIM

OH MY GOD THEY ARE KISSING AGAIN

FUCK FUCK FUCK

LOML

Yeah sure y'all should definitely fuck

wait omg David said this because Max is only interested in one-night stands and fuckkk

DAVID YOU SWEET LITTLE-

GET HERE

why is he crying omg omg omg what

DAVID YOU SEXY LITTLE SHIT WHO MADE YOU INSECURE I JUST NEED TO TALK

I would fucking die for you

Max wonders if it’s a good idea to confess that he has jerked off just to the thought of David’s fingers.

At least a dozen times.

In the last month.

No it really isn't.

what is happening dude y'all

“Yeah, that’s me,” Max rolls his eyes. “Deflowering expert.”

Y'all I love you

Which makes sense because that bitch moisturizes like thrice a day and his body lotion is probably made out of unicorn fur and his cleanser is made of tears of newborn babies.

FUCKING SNORTED

Thanks, dad! You make sex life so interesting!

LMAO I LOVE THIS

I love them so much

Oh shit he's reading the entire thing boy-

David carried an inhaler for him I-

KILL ME NOW

schools should really really teach us how to deal with grief. But isn't it the same as with love? You can't be taught some things. Some things you just gotta experience, things you can't prepare for.

MAX WAS DAVID'S FIRST KISS I COULD CRY

Max bouta break every single one of those rules with David I know it.

IM SORRY BLOOD??

Ofc Mallory

I CHOKED ON MY SPIT SIR IT IS 8 46AM I LEAVE IN ABOUT HALF AN HOUR I NEED TO START PACKING-

oh he was joking

You won't have to live without it.

He is ruined now, like one of those victorian ladies who have sex before marriage. 

This made me laugh way too much

Im sad now he's leaving

ALEC IS SAVED AS "Hitler" SAHUUHDSUHFD

oof that anticipation

AYYY THEY'RE NOW FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS

Loved this so so much <3

The unnecessary stress you put yourself through omg 😂😂

This is Max (and us)

[lokislittlesigyn]

// loki spoilers

This is basically a huge infodump on my thoughts about the first episode, because I doubt y’all want to sift through my trauma-ridden ramblings. I’ll make another post for the rest. This is just everything not related to the IW stuff/my reaction to that. It’s general thoughts, theories, musings.

1. When Loki gets first taken into the TVA. Is that Peggy Carter in the background? Others have suggested it might be. What would that mean??? Will we see the TVA fix the mess the Russos made with Steve/Peggy (not likely) or is it just a lookalike? Who knows..

2. A skrull at the main intake desk! Idk not super relevant just interesting!

3. I’m kind of glad they changed the... uncomfortable scene... with the robot burning his clothes off. He gets more time to react to seeing the machine itself, and he seems more shocked (”Now.. H-hang on just a minute.”) than angry (”Now hang on just a minute!”) i still feel.. horrible for him, i’m glad nobody Saw him and that the machine didn’t grab the clothes off, but still. Ehhh.. uncomfortable.

He is beautiful though, don’t get me wrong - I’d just prefer a shirtless Loki scene where he wants to be shirtless? let him do what he wants with his body?? he’s probably felt so out of control of his body, from being jotun to falling through space that any invasion of privacy like that hits extra deep...

That being said, I recognize the utility of the scene for the narrative - his lack of control, his literally being stripped of what he was before.

4. WHO IS THE MAN WITH THE CAT. What is his name. I love that he has a mug with his cat on it. But I want to know more. Who is he?

4.1 WHY DIDNT YOU LET LOKI PET THE CAT Please,,, I am begging you,,, let loki pet the cat and have something react kindly to him and purr all happily at his scratching behind their ears plea s e

5. The info sheet. Now this is just a little nitpicky tidbit, but in a previous promo they listed Loki’s height as 6′4 ft and weight as 525 lbs. This is taken directly from the comics if I’m not mistaken. However, in the actual show he’s listed as  6′2 (Tom’s height and Loki’s presumed height) but I don’t remember if his weight is the same. Is Loki 6′2? 6′4? please let me know i want to know how smol i am in comparison

6. His little aggressive shaking of the ticket at the guard makes me giggle each time.

7. The fact the turnstile hits so low on him reminds me,, I am short compared to him. Those things hit my stomach/waist. That one hit his legs. I am once again asking Loki to pick me up.

8. The cartoon with Miss Minutes introducing the TVA is wonderful, I love the art style especially. But it raises questions about Variants... I guess Variants can just, pop out of nowhere? Any action could be the wrong one? And then once you commit the wrong action you either get returned or pruned? Yikes??? And THIS ties into another thing later!

9. The trial scene. I have a hunch - a feeling, a suspicion. That one of three things may be true.

A. The Time-Keepers never actually existed. They’re fabricated, and now whoever runs the TVA is actually using the excuse of “The Time-Keepers decree it so!!!” to carry out whatever They think is right. The fact we haven’t seen the Time-Keepers makes me.. suspicious...

B. The Time-Keepers existed, but they have since passed on, however that may have happened. Now someone is doing the same as above, using the excuse of the Time-Keepers apparent dictations to run things.

C. The Time-Keepers do exist, and do run the timeline/TVA, but maybe they’re not infallible? Maybe the TVA info video is lying or incomplete in some way? Idk I just feel like, something about the TVA and how they run things has to be wrong. It has to? Something is off. Again, this will tie into another thought later...

I have no idea if any of these are actually true! But Loki’s questions of “Who’s in charge here? What do they do? What do you do?” punctuated by laughter leads me to believe he’s suspecting something too, or perhaps just trying to figure this mess out.

10. Seiðr/Magic. We see in this scene, Loki’s magic (”powers”) don’t work in the TVA. (and a quick side note, did he have to Flex like that? do you have to make me see Loki’s bare arms Flex like that? be still my heart. anyway please get that collar off of him and let him rest for five minutes) This makes me wonder.. Why isn’t Loki in his Jotun form? His pale skin and blue eyes are decided by magic, are they not? I suppose this is 2012, so perhaps Odin’s magic is keeping Loki looking like that. But if magic doesn’t work in the TVA, why would his spell reach so far? Clearly Loki’s magic isn’t what’s doing it. How is Loki not appearing as a Jotun? Is his Jotun form repressed - is pale skin his default now, rather than something hidden by magic? I need answers!

11. he sounds so scared about being “reset” please dont hurt him,,

12. cALLING LOKI A PUSSYCAT? (lokitty confirmed) I think Mobius was goading him (Mobius strikes me.. As extremely clever. He’s trying to push Loki’s buttons to see who he’s dealing with. At least, I hope so. Because if he really meant that “You were born to cause pain and suffering and death... All so that others can achieve the best versions of themselves.” and that line about killing Frigga??? No no no he is not guilty. He had no way of knowing what would happen. It wasn’t right to send Algrim up to Asgard (i think algrim wouldve found the way up anyway) but there was no intent to hurt Frigga. I really hope you’re trying to goad him, Mobius, because if you believe that I trust you much less. anyway i digress) but wow is he pushing Loki’s buttons a lot. I can’t... Blame him entirely, I understand he’s trying to make sure Loki’s on his side, maybe I’m just too soft for Loki idk. But some of that was very cruel to say. /:

12.1 AND ANOTHER THING ABOUT MOBIUS. That scene with the girl in the church?? Did that little girl kill the men? Is that young Sylvie? Or is she using an illusion to make herself look young and innocent? What’s going on!!!!

13. LOKI SNATCHING THE LITTLE TIME-TWISTER DEVICE AND STOWING IT IN HIS POCKET.... POCKET....... sorry sometimes i get so caught up about loki that i just say random words in between little noises and squeals,,, i am a silly thing

14. CASEY. CASEY??? That whole exchange is funny. Poor Loki, just trying to intimidate this guy so he can escape but - Casey doesn’t know what a fish is. to be fair.... thor doesn’t seem to know what a raccoon is... right?

15. That bit with the infinity stones is kind of funny until you realize

A. Natasha died for a paperweight

B. Tony died from paperweights

C. Loki was tortured for paperweights

D. Oh, and Gamora died for a paperweight too. And Vision. Need I go on?

Then it becomes less of exclusively “haha funny” and now it’s a mix of funny and pain and gosh, is that a good way to sum up being a Marvel/Loki fan sometimes...

16. Loki gazing at the timeline all “Is this the most powerful thing in the universe?” or something, i’m sorry i don’t remember exactly... made me think of a meme and i shall make it presently.

17. I love that Loki got to see examples of how his family loves him but the fact he’s all “I can’t go back.” really just breaks me. It’s like he can finally see they love him after all of this mess, and now he doesn’t have the chance. Please, please let him be happy. Give him some relief. This is the Loki that just came off finding out about being Jotun, falling from the Bifrost, encountering Thanos, attacking Earth, facing defeat, and now he’s being thrashed around in this wild place and has just found out he inadvertently caused Frigga’s death (he did not kill her: his actions, by mistake, lead to her murder, let me be very clear) AND Odin will die AND all the rest... And he wants to be with them.

18. Loki’s reaction to Thor suggesting the hug makes me soft. Please I want to hug this little mischief man so so so bad-

19. Skipping over the iw parts! That’s for another post because this one will be grossly long anyway.

20. “I don’t enjoy hurting people.” and “It's part of the illusion. It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear. A desperate play for control.” was all so, so validating. I’ve been trying to argue on Loki’s behalf for almost a solid decade. Seeing the show recognize that Loki’s not all just violence and hurting for “fun”, that he’s not unhinged and bloodthirsty.. Is so nice. It’s just so, so comforting. and it gives me hope for future episodes that they won’t go the route of “oh haha loki bullied and mistreated and stabbed thor for years!!! :)” loki cries during basically every fight with Thor and you want me to believe he stabs Thor for fun? absolutely not.

21. Theory.. Just another hunch.. So we know a fugitive variant, aka Loki, is running amok. Refer back to 8 and 9.C. What if the Time-Keepers never actually fixed the timeline into a single timeline? What if there are other timelines, and these different Loki variants have hopped over to the current one? Or, maybe the Time-Keepers did fix the timeline into a single one, and these Lokis are remnants from that huge time-war at the beginning? Time runs differently in relative spaces, they may have Just Left that war from their perspective!

I say Lokis and not Loki because we’re pretty sure there’s Female/Lady Loki, Old Man/King Loki, and possibly Young/Kid Loki. That’s at least three. From the peeks of Asgard and NYC we’ve seen from the trailers, I think we’re also getting an Asgardian King!Loki and Midgardian King/Vote!Loki. (unless our dearest variant is hopping into timelines and situating into them, but I doubt Mobius would let that happen..?) That’s five.

To further support this, keep in mind, I believe recently six (i think 6 regular and 6 rare...) different funko pops were announced for the series? I’m not sure if they’re in addition to the Loki and Mobius already released. If they are, there’s enough room for each Loki and maybe a TVA agent. One of the pops is supposed to have a buddy/companion I think? Maybe they’re making the cat guy into one, or maybe there’s something else (Throg, anyone?).

22. That is totally Lady Loki/Sylvie at the end by the way. Has to be. But why does she want the reset devices? Why did she snatch that TVA Hunter? Again, WHAT’S GOING ON

ANYWAY this was a very long post if you made it this far, I commend you.

[mycatshuman]

Wrapped Up In A Rom Com

Chapter 3: Mom?!?!?!?

🏳️‍🌈 First off, happy pride month. Second, yeah I know it's been months. And I've had this in my draft for months. I'm sorry. Honestly, I've been watching a lot of the Dreamsmp and playing games on my phone and preparing for graduation. So yeah. I'll try to get back to writing but I cant promise anything.

Warnings: some swearing, mentions of leeches used as a medical practice, let me know if I missed any

Last | Next | More

🏜

"There it is." Roman's eyes lit up as he saw the temporary house that had been set up for the group of archeologists to live in as they excavated the site. Virgil smiled slightly. Roman looked really pretty in that moment that he wasn't even going to try and deny that he was looking. He dragged his eyes away from the mummy and sighed. "Now we just have to get inside." 

The pair moved up the stairs and Virgil pulled out his key and unlocked the door. "Now, try to stay quiet. Everyone's asleep and I don't know if I'm ready to try to explain this." Virgil paused. "Hell, I don't think I'll ever be ready to explain this to anyone." Virgil and Roman quietly stepped into the house and closed the door behind them. "Sorry, it's a little dark so bear with me." 

Suddenly, with a click, a lamp flared on across from them. The two froze. Virgil looked over and pulled in a hiss through his teeth. His boss sat there in an old armchair, his arms crossed and his mouth pulled down in a frown. "Where have you been?" 

Virgil's eyes shoot down to the floor. "Uhhhhh." Roman looked back and forth between the two, confusion evident on his face. Virgil attempted to inch his way to his room only to crumble to the floor as he put pressure on his injured ankle. 

"Virgil!" Roman dropped to his knees to help catch the other as the other man surged to his feet and rushed to their aid. Roman held Virgil up as the other man kneeled before them. 

"What did you do?" The man asked. 

Virgil winced. "I fell." 

The man paused and raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

Virgil bit his lip. "Uh, no. I don't think I do care to elaborate, Logan." 

Logan rolled his eyes. "You are ridiculous." 

Virgil forced a grin that was really more of a grimace. "What happened is even more ridiculous and you wouldn't believe me so…"

Logan leaned forward and pulled off Virgil's shoe and began to unwrap his ankle to take a look at the injury. "Maybe you shouldn't assume whether or not I would believe you." 

"Alright, I went for a walk and fell through the hole of a tomb that is practically completely untouched and I found the burial chamber and then the mummy came to life and now he's here." 

Logan paused in his attendance to Virgil's ankle. "You're right, I don't believe you." 

Virgil groaned. "Come on, Logan! Look at him, he's real. He was a mummy not even five hours ago!" 

Logan huffed. "Honestly, Virgil. That is the most outrageous thing I have ever heard." 

"But it's true!" 

"He's right, I am a mummy, er, I was a mummy."

"I'm offended. Seriously, if you were going to try and fool me you could at least get a convincing actor."

Roman gasped, outraged. "Excuse you! But I am an absolutely amazing actor!" 

"It's not a prank!" 

Roman quickly pulled out a statue of himself he had grabbed from his tomb. "Look!" He shoved the statue into Logan's face, nearly knocking the others glasses off. 

Logan rolled his eyes but took the statue to look at it better. As he adjusted his glasses, he studied the statue before looking up at Roman. "You do look a little similar but that doesn't prove anything. All it proves is you look similar to him." He inspected the statue some more. He frowned. "This is in incredibly good condition." He glanced at Roman suspiciously. "Did you fake this?" 

Virgil groaned and let his head fall back into Roman's chest and whatever Roman was about to respond with just vaporized as his brain short circuited. Guy on chest. Guy on chest. Guy on chest! 

"Logan, why can't you just believe me? Why would I make this up? Why would I sit here and make a fool of myself in front of you?" Virgil sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Whatever." He attempted to drag himself up only for Logan to stop him. 

"Hey, no. I still have to check your ankle." 

The room went silent as Logan checked Virgil's ankle. Roman watched on with curiosity.  

"It's still swollen. Maybe you need to get some leeches." 

Virgil went rigid and Logan froze. "I'm sorry, What?" 

"Wait, do you not use leeches anymore?"

Virgil's nose scrunched in disgust. "No! We've long since moved past that." He shook his head. "I don't even want to begin to think of what else you might possibly suggest for medical problems." 

Logan went quiet as he quickly finished inspecting Virgil's ankle and stood up to go grab an ice pack. The archeologist student frowned. His boss was being uncharacteristically silent. Something was up. When the other came back, he kneeled once again and gently pressed the ice to the ankle. Virgil bent forward and held the pack in place as Logan sat back. 

"I-" The other began before closing their mouth again. Virgil watched Logan hesitantly as Roman poked at the ice pack. 

"It's cold!" The mummy exclaimed. 

Logan shook his head."I-" he sighed. "Virgil, I hope you understand how hard it is for me to grasp this or even entertain the possibility of this. But maybe this is real. But, we're going to have to do tests." 

"Tests?" Roman asked as his attention shot up to look at the other. 

Logan nodded. "Yes, to see if I can find any bit of evidence to support your claims." 

"Great, now can I please go to bed, I'm fucking exhausted." 

"Of course, I'll see you in the morning." 

Logan left and Roman and Virgil were alone once again. The latter huffed before pulling himself up and began limping up the stairs. "Come on, I have a second bed in my room. You can sleep there." Together, they went up to the second floor and down the hall until they reached another flight of stairs. "I'm suddenly regretting choosing the attic as my room," Virgil complained. 

Roman followed, eyes wide as he took in the walls around him. It was so different from what he was used to. And that was exciting. But the hallways were nothing compared to Virgil's room. Inside, he found a desk against one wall and two beds. On the desk there was this strange rectangular silver thing that sat flat against the desk and a small container with small tube-like objects sticking out of it. Next to it, a pad of sorts sat. Roman was so absolutely excited to find out what all of these new objects were. It would be his greatest adventure yet. He just knew it!

----------

Virgil dropped his bag by the door as he limped over to his bed and fell face first into the blankets. Roman yelped. "Don't do that! You'll hurt yourself!" 

Virgil lifted his head up, confusion spread across his face. "What?" He asked before he remembered what the ancient Egyptians used to sleep on. He let out a laugh. "Oh no! These are soft. There's a bedframe, which would be similar to what you used to sleep on but we added a mattress that's soft and it's better for our bones." The archeologist pushed himself up and patted the bed. "Come on, see for yourself." 

Roman set his basket done on the floor and walked over to the other bed curiously. Virgil watched on with amusement. Quickly, the mummy quickly poked the mattress as if it would bite him if he let his finger linger on the object for any longer. 

Virgil laughed lightly. "Don't worry, it won't bite." 

Roman stuck his tongue out at the other before turning back to the bed once more. He reached forward slowly and pushed his hand into the mattress. Sparkles sprung up in his eyes as he felt the soft blankets. Carefully, he climbed up into the bed noting the lack of pain on his skin that used to come with the bed he once slept in before he died. Tentatively, he bounced. Laughter bubbled up out of his mouth and he looked over at Virgil. 

The emo's breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of the Pharaoh's eyes. His dark eyes were overflowing with joy and wonder. He had never seen anything so beautiful. He watched in awe as Roman began bouncing gleefully on his bed, giggles bubbling out into the room. Virgil smiled softly and laid down, perfectly content with watching the greatest treasure from Roman's tomb as he experienced pure joy for the first time in thousands of years. 

-------------

If last night was anxiety inducing, it was nothing compared to this morning. While being caught by Logan was unpredictable as his reactions could range from Disappointed Mom™️ to Unhinged Scientist™️, it was nothing compared to how the resident Dad would react. The resident Dad was none other than Patton Crofters, the polar opposite to his husband Logan. He had met both of them in college. Dr. Logan Crofters had been his Archeological professor. He had often stressed his disdain for puns so when Virgil first met Patton, he nearly choked to death when the other introduced himself with a pun. That was when Virgil learned that his professor hated puns except for when his husband made them. 

The three had grown close, Patton having proclaimed he was his godfather now. It was an interesting friendship. When the two asked if he wanted to join them on their archeological dig that summer, he had jumped at the chance. He quickly learned that Home Dad Patton was different from Archeological Dig Dad Patton. 

Archeological Dig Dad Patton was stricter than at home. He popped up next to Virgil nearly every hour with sunscreen to coat him in and a bottle of water and a snack. He also made sure that Virgil was being very careful when handling anything that could result in him getting hurt if he wasn't careful. Of course Patton was always like that but when at the dig site, Patton was scarily so. And Patton didn't hold back with swear words. Virgil remembered the first time Logan had denied Patton with sunscreen saying that he was busy. Patton had huffed and responded with "Logan Crofters. Stand up right now and put on the fucking sunscreen!" He wasn't sure he had ever seen Logan move so fast. 

Virgil had seen what Patton does when upset with someone and it was harsh. He remembered Logan coming into class one day extremely sad because he had upset Patton and his husband had denied any kisses. Needless to say, Virgil was terrified to see what Patton would say after learning about last night. 

After waking up that morning, he had just laid in bed and stared at the ceiling silently contemplating whether or not hiding under the bed was a good idea as Roman continued to sleep in the bed beside him. And when Roman woke up around an hour later, he was still laying there. 

-------

Roman yawned and stretched his arms as he woke up. Sunlight streamed in through a gap in the curtain. He sat there for a few moments after waking up. The bed was absolutely unbelievable! He had never slept so good! It was so soft and supported his body in a way his old bed never could. If he had had any doubts about living in the future, they were long gone now. Then again, how could anyone have any doubts about the future if there was such a gorgeous man as Virgil to help him adjust to the new century. Speaking of Virgil….

Roman turned to look at the bed beside him to find Virgil already awake. "Virgil!" Roman exclaimed, voice bright as he smiled at the other. "Good morning!" 

Virgil did not move. Instead he continued to stare at the ceiling. "How can it be a good morning? Patton is going to kill me when he finds out about last night." 

Roman's smile twisted into a confused frown. "Patton? Who's Patton?" 

Virgil sighed. "Patton is Logan's husband and resident Dad. Once he finds out I went off on my own AND got hurt, he's probably going to look at me disappointedly and I can not deal with that right now." He pushed himself up only to hiss as pain shot up his ankle. 

Roman's eyebrows shot up into his styled bangs and he quickly hopped out of his bed, rushing to Virgil's side. 

"Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help?" 

You could carry me to the kitchen, Virgil's mind unhelpfully supplied. He shook his head. No, that is not happening. Pull yourself together, Virgil. "No, I got it." He grimaced as he pushed himself up onto his hands to slide his legs over the side of the bed. Roman watched on anxiously, his hands hovering in the air between them as if awaiting the chance to help the emo. Virgil looked down at his ankle and sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That doesn't look good." 

Roman followed the others gaze down to his ankle and winced in sympathy. Virgil's ankle had swollen up again through the night turning it a nice shade of red as a purple bruise stretched across the skin covering the ankle bone. "Are you sure you don't need any help," Roman asked once again. "That looks pretty bad." 

"No, I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks." Virgil bit his lip and stood up to prove his point...only to yelp loudly as the pressure caused a strong jolt of pain to shoot up his leg. 

"Yeah, I think you should let me help you." Virgil opened his mouth to argue only to freeze. Roman frowned as he heard thumping. "What was that?" The sound quickly became increasingly louder. 

"Oh shi-" 

"Virgil!!!!! Are you okay?!?!?" The door burst open and a man stood there in dark brown pants with an abundance of pockets, a light blue, loose, cotton shirt and round glasses framing warm hazel eyes. The man's face was scrunched up in worry  as their eyes bounced around the room for any immediate signs of danger. Then they landed on Virgil and Roman. The two men remained frozen as the man panted from his run up two flights of stairs. He glanced between the two before his eyes narrowed in on Roman. "Virgil, who is this?" Asked Patton. 

🏜

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[hopefullystillatheatrestudent]

okay so i’ve been going crazy these past few days. all about cockles/jensmish and obsessively watching their panels or reading the transcripts BECAUSE. THEY ARE LOUD. LIKE. i saw some fancams on twt and i thought people were just exaggerating but noooooooooo!!!???? so, getting to the point. you said that how do we know that jensen is performing masculinity? because jared isn’t and THAT IS A BIG BRAIN MOMENT. ON POINT. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. a particular moment from gag reel that jumps out (which you’ve talked about) when jensen goes ‘cas, you are my baby daddy’ and misha goes, ‘i know i love you too’ and jensen goes, ‘i didn’t say i love you’ and misha goes, ‘i know you wanted to’ and jensen says, ‘i love you’ WHAT THE FUCK! that was NOT a joke. yes, people took it as a joke and had a good laugh BUT I HAVE WATCHED IT TOO MANY TIMES AND IT LIVES IN MY MIND RENT FREE BECAUSE IT WAS NOT A PERFORMANCE. THAT WAS JENSEN. THAT WAS MISHA. jensen has a had trouble with the pda and being all touch feely (the breakup theory) and he gradually grew into it, accepted it and misha was right there all along, never pushed it. it was like a deancas au but tbh, 99% of destiel is because of cockles and we all know it. i just. jensen has latched onto dean as an emotional support because he tunes with it. understands it. projects on to it. yeah, i just had to say it and get it off my chest. (and what about those poetry pages on instagram? alma? what is your opinion?) btw, you have a lovely blog and your analysis are right on target.

so there is a LOT i’m going to address here(how dare you bring up [gunshot] i HAVE to talk about it now) so again!!!! under a cut it goes but i hope you appreciate my rambles anon it seems like you do :,)

1. jared vs. jensen and performing masculinity. hell yeah man. jared and jensen are both just ‘guys from texas’ but they are still so vastly different. today i actually had a revelation that i’m pretty sure has to do with me being bi. and it’s that i have a group of straight friends(that i love dearly but they care too much about hockey and pitbull imo could not be me) and i have a group of queer friends(who are also batshit[affectionate]). and it’s like whichever group i hang out with a different side of me emerges? they’re both me, it’s just that certain aspects of who i am as a person only surface depending on who i am around. however, i will say i feel like i watch what i say around my straight friends more. i see that very clearly in jensen as well. around jared during panels and on set, he’s definitely putting on an air of machismo and engages in typical guy talk. i do think an element of it is performative, because he wants validation from jared that they’re still just two dudes from texas taking on the world together despite his sexual identity. does that make any sense??? i hope so. but when he’s with misha he is an entirely different person and his sense of humour becomes wildly different. the machismo fades away, he’s way less caught up in what people think about him, lets his guard down, etc. to go back to my original point which is how j2 are different in that regard....jared does not do this. he is a constant. he does not flip a switch between ‘performing masculinity’ and ‘not’ because he isn’t performing any part of who he is. he just IS. so yeah these two are similar in many regards but there’s somewhat of a dissonance between them when it comes to how they perform masculinity because one of them is putting on a show and the other is merely being.

2. that crypt scene blooper(here just in case you need to see it again. do it. as a treat.) when i tell you i have easily seen this over thirty times??? since it first came out??? i mean it. it is such an overlooked(r*mantic) moment and it means so much more than people think it does. i’ve talked about the context behind it, and i think that’s why this blooper was so meaningful, so i’ll mention it again. jensen and misha had a LOT of trouble with this scene. the reason is that jensen couldn’t wrap his head around why dean would be saying these things, if i remember correctly, and both of them sat down and scoured over how they should play it for a while before filming(teamwork ;) teammates *ahem*). [to be honest we all know why jensen had a hard time with that scene and it is because it is blatantly romantic. rip to him but i would simply give in to it at that point but oh well] so anyway, their heads were scattered going into shooting, which is NEVER a good headspace to be in for a scene, ESPECIALLY not a pivotal one. but they had each other to help them through said weird energy on set that couldn’t possibly have invoked the best feelings, especially considering jensen STILL doesn’t think he played that correctly(but he praised misha on his performance :,) ). and with that context every single part of that video hits haRD 

-’stop pulling my face towards your crotch’ i think this is objectively hilarious because it really really looks like jensen is pulling HIMSELF towards misha’s crotch. again, you’re fooling no one, jensen. misha’s wheezing laugh and the way he wraps himself around jensen is also,,,sweet??? like i don’t know how else to describe how i see it but this moment really reads as jensen, in his weird ‘constructing elaborate rituals’ way is asking for security through a physical touch from misha and he happily obliges and gives jensen what he needs. because i mean...watch it again. jensen ‘fights back’, but not really at all, actually. pretty wimpy counterattack. he literally lets himself be smothered by misha, and i would literally describe what they end up doing as cuddling. 

-’i need you, cas. you’re my baby daddy’ i love having an actor’s perspective on things bc i think i can explain what’s going on here. jensen just delivered what was(in his own mind) a rotten take of the lines he’s most scared of delivering. so the scene was already messed up. therefore; ensuing fuckery is warranted to help him feel better. but there’s also for sure more than meets the eye for what he says here because of misha’s reaction after??? like he seemed genuinely touched. first of all, he’s saying ‘you’re my baby daddy’ as half-jensen, but not necessarily dean either(because he didn’t say the previous lines as true to his character...you get it), to misha, not cas. i think i’ve made this point before, but every single innuendo in the gag reels is to misha specifically, never once cas. therefore; logical conclusion: ‘you’re my baby daddy’ was for misha and it meant something deeper than we think because of what follows it

-this part. jensen’s giddy ass smile after he sees misha crack and then misha says ‘yeah, i know’ (can i just say his voice when he says this is so intimate???? like am i intruding guys??? sorry i’ll let myself out) also he is smiling SO BIG

- ‘i know’ ‘why are you laughing?’ ‘no i know i love you too’ this analysis is already so long but i still want to get into what THAT whole exchange means. ‘why are you laughing?’ to me sounds like jensen’s pretending to be affronted by misha laughing at something that is serious. and it’s serious because he quite literally meant ‘i love you’. he did. misha knows it. misha’s really REALLY good at cutting the bs and just getting to what people are actually trying to say. he has an innate sharpness to his sense of humour. so yes, misha is being 100% accurate when he says ‘i know, but you wanted to say it.’ misha isn’t lying here. jensen did want and mean to say ‘i love you’. and then he actually does say it(in a jokey way but not really). 

- so yeah. it is actually so romantic??? like in a weird way jensen was professing his love for misha here?????? and that’s why this clip will NEVER. ever. get old. 

3. jensen having trouble with pda and projecting onto dean: we can all call ourselves dean coded cas girls but NO one deserves that title more than jensen ackles himself. he is dean winchester but marginally less repressed because he actually did admit he was in love with his best friend and let himself be happy, and pretty early on too. one year and two months as opposed to twelve years. so. happy deancas au is correct. and yes about the pda thing: one day i want to write my own post about both of their body language when it comes to each other, but all i can tell is jensen, even in the early days, couldn’t help himself from flirting with misha, but if misha ever crossed a line, jensen would not be happy. clearly he’s come around, however. what i find sweet is that misha always follows jensen’s lead when it comes to how much affection they’re allowed to show each other onstage. it touches my soul

4. destiel is cockles fault. yeah. and the thing is everyone knows it, too. even non-cockles shippers will explain early destiel as entirely dependant on jensen and misha’s wild chemistry. and that chemistry is easily explained by the fact that misha and jensen are literally just wildly horny bisexuals who were crazily attracted to one another and were falling in love on screen before our very eyes. and when you have THAT insider info(which sounds cray doesn’t it!!!! the destiel actors are in love irl??? huh???) everything really does click into place. why destiel got SO popular when the show and actors never ever intended for it to happen.(i know some people think misha was playing cas as gay the whole time for shits and giggles, and i won’t deny that[especially considering he found out early on that destiel was why he was staying on the show], but i don’t think he really wanted it to amount to anything, nor did he care??? i mean he has the real thing with jensen, for one, so their characters aren’t really as important. for two, he loves joking about destiel because it’s a cultural phenomenon and it’s fascinating, and i’m sure he did ship it because he’s unhinged, but i don’t think it was vastly important to him either way.) destiel got popular because everyone was and is unintentionally reading into the real deal. i could pull up countless gifs that people have used as destiel proof that is actually just jensen and misha being messy. mainly jensen. if i’m being honest.  the symbiotic relationship between destiel and cockles is why i’ve stayed onboard the destielcule and shellerscape for three solid months now; because it is utterly fascinating to witness and kind of super beautiful, too. 

5. alma(and others). so. i do NOT want to really REALLY get into this in its entirety here and now so i will just give you my opinion on if i think alma is misha or not. also; i don’t want to mention the other poetry accounts here bc i feel like that’s a bigger breach in privacy, but a lot of people do know about alma now. way too many, actually. this is why we can’t have nice things. anyway-to answer your question-there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that yes, misha is running that alma poetry account. i am 100% certain. some people think it’s actually three people and they’re all connected to misha in some way but that is so needlessly complicated. as it goes in psychology; the easiest explanation is probably the right one. it’s just one person running that account, and it is misha collins. i don’t know why it’s so hard to believe KNOWN POET misha collins(who is known to spend most of his free time writing poetry anyway) would have created a secret poetry account to write about his intense secret relationship under an alias and also get legitimate feedback since no one used to know it was him. oh and the handwriting is identical??? you are blind if you do not see that i am sorry. and a million other things prove it’s misha too but yeah all you need to know is yes. it’s him. it would take a literal livestream from a random woman on that account to convince me otherwise. and honestly not even that because a random woman could technically still log in if misha asked her too. so. it would take a hell of a lot to convince me otherwise, clearly. that said DO NOTTTTTTTTTTTT GO ONTO THAT ACCOUNT WITH A SUPERNATURAL RELATED USERNAME AND COMMENT THINGS THAT ARE COCKLES RELATED. ARE YOU BRAIN DEAD WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT’S OKAY. sorry i got heated but god please just don’t be dumb so many people have already gone way too far 

6. thank you for your lovely compliment on my analyses!!! i love doing them but i don’t know if people actually like reading them so i really appreciate it

[imagine-that]

You silently pull yourself through the open window one foot after the other, just barely grazing the windowsill with your bare ankle.

Just as you think you’ve not only managed to get in but also managed to do so with grace, the cuff of your jeans snags on a screw by the window. You tug on your ankle desperately until somehow you pull with too much force and go tumbling to the floor.

“Damn it.” You curse under your breath as you quickly get back up to your feet.

You take a quick look around you, checking your surroundings. When all you see is pristine, perfect organization and no other people, you quickly make your way across the floor and grab the door handle carefully, opening it and slipping into the hall, shutting it back to its initial position as best you can.

You take a brisk walk down the hallway and open up another door and breath a sigh of relief when you see a massive wall filled with dozens of hats. You slip through the doorway and let your fingertips feel the brim of one, admiring the craftsmanship.

Too mesmerized, hypnotized even, you pick it up and place it on your head, though you aren’t fully certain what possessed you to do so.

“Well well. What have we here?” A voice says and you freeze in place, unsure what else you could do.

“Quite the collection you have here.” You comment, nodding to the numerous hats and trying to keep your cool.

He merely moves closer in response. “I believe this is what some would call breaking and entering. I should tell you, I know the local sheriff.” He warns, taking another slow and calculated step towards you.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” You scoff, still making no efforts to face the mystery man. “Everyone knows everyone in Storybrook, it’s kind of hard not to.” You add, smiling to yourself at the thought of not knowing basically everyone in town.

“Ah well I have a feeling she would particularly remember the man who tried to kidnap her.” He says with ease.

You whip around in alarm, the hat still perched on top of your mess of y/h/c hair and your smile fallen and find yourself being backed into a wall.

“I believe that belongs to me.” He says in a low, seductive voice with a lazy grin of his own. “Though it does appear to look much better on you.” He adds smoothly, looking you up and down with the same grin still on his face.

He moves in even closer and you back away, your back hitting the wall as his arm reaches out and he delicately plucks the hat off, settling it back onto his own head.

He slowly moves his hand back towards your face, pushing whisps of your hair behind your ear lightly, his fingertips gently grazing your jawline as he does so. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look right at him.

“Now, I’d like to know what kind of a person breaks into this place when I have had people who nearly died trying to get out.” He says, looking you up and down slowly with a quizzical look.

“The fact that you kidnap people doesn’t scare me psycho.” You inform him stubbornly, yanking your face away from his grasp.

He goes into a low and dark laugh, sounding even more unhinged, something you didn’t realize was possible. “I am not crazy, alright darling?” He insists, a new sharpness to his voice.

“But of course you are.” You say, crossing your arms and keeping your distance.

He jumps up in anger, grabbing a pair of scissors off the table and rushing at you, shoving you against the wall.

“I. Am not. Crazy.” He tells you, his teeth grinding together in fury.

“Alright. Maybe you’re just mad then.” You say, shrugging, you current position of extremely close proximity of no bother to you.

He looks at you in shock, taken aback. He nearly drops the shining silver scissors to the ground.

“What’d you say?” He asks quietly, a suddenly more soft expression replacing the angry one.

“I said mad. Am I right about that Hatter?” You ask with a grin of your own.

“How- what- who are you?” He demands, clearly confused.

“I’d tell you but I kind of like to introduce myself when I’m not pinned against a wall.” You respond, raising a challenging eyebrow with a smile.

He hesitantly backs away but keeps the scissors tightly in hand.

“Why thank you.” You say, taking his hat off his head and bowing with a flourish and tip of the hat before standing straight and placing it back on your own head. “Y/n’s the name.” You tell him.

“Truly a wonderful name for a wonderful person I suppose.” He says with a devilish smirk.

“Do you do that often? Change from mad to charming? It’s intriguing, truly.” You remark, leaning back against his work desk.

“Nevermind that. My name is Jefferson. Now, explain why you’re in my home?” He asks, toying with one of the unfinished hats on the table.

“Alright I suppose I could. Long story short, I’m from wonderland. I was trapped there for a long, long time. My sister wasn’t. She was off by the sea or something. Then, this curse or whatever it is happens and I end up here in Storybrook, basically knowing exactly who I am when it seems no one else does.” You explain with a tired sigh.

You’d gone over the story in your head over and over and over but you felt it seemed more crazy everytime. You feared no one but Henry would ever believe you but here you were.

“It would seem we’re in a similar situation.” He says with a small, bitter laugh. When he notices your intrigued expression, he sighs. “My daughter.... Grace... she was in the enchanted forest waiting for me to return. the evil queen fooled me and left me there for the queen of hearts to deal with.” He elaborates. You nod a bit.

“I know the queen of hearts well. She’s a certain kind of evil.” You tell him, shuddering a bit at the name.

“Don’t I know it.” He mutters. You raise an eyebrow and he pulls down the collar of his shirt without hesitation, refusing to meet your gaze. “Off with his head.” He laughs to himself as he makes his impression of the wicked queen of hearts.

You let your eyes trail the scar going all around his neck and scoff in somewhat disbelief. “She did that to you?” You ask and when he nods sullenly you feel yourself fill with all kinds of rage. “She is a cruel and heartless woman. That I definitely remember.” You growl, sneering at the mere thought of her.

“Yes true but it’s alright I lived. And besides, now I’m here and this seems much worse than having my head chopped off so at least there’s a bright side!” He says with another crazy laugh.

You feel yourself giggling a bit too, unable to help the grin spreading across your face.

“You definitely live up to the name, I’ll tell you that much.” You say with a shake of your head.

He takes a playful bow, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I’m glad. But if you’re from wonderland, who are you? In the... stories I mean.” He asks, gritting his teeth at the word stories.

“I’m surprised you can’t tell from the smile.” You quip with a smirk.

“Ah. The Cheshire Cat then, I presume?” He asks, smirking right back as you nod.

“Didn’t you say you had a sister? Is she also a cat in the fairytale world then?” He asks curiously.

“No she isn’t. Just me. I’m almost like Ruby is in that world. She can change into a wolf involuntarily but I change into a cat whenever I want. It can be quite useful.” You explain with a small shrug.

“Ruby?” He questions and you smile in disbelief.

“Do you not leave this place ever? Never met anyone else?” You ask, fully interested in learning more about the mystery of a man in front of you.

“No, I’d rather not deal with Regina or with seeing my daughter with another family.” He informs you, looking out the window thoughtfully.

“Jefferson, it’s understandable but at some point, you have to leave to be able to get your daughter back.” You inform him and you take quick notice to the smile on his face when you say his name.

“At some point, maybe. But not now. Sorry darling.” He responds with a sad smile. “Now, why exactly did you decide to come and crawl through a second story window in my house kitten?” He asks with another grin.

You feel yourself blushing heavily at the nicknames.

“I came for a hat to get home but clearly if you had it you wouldn’t be here.” You say with a sigh.

“That is correct. I have yet to find my way home, sadly, though I suppose some may call me lucky to have a prison such as this one.” He says with another smirk as he gestures around the room for emphasis.

“Regina is a cruel, cruel woman. I do hope you’re returned to your daughter soon.” You murmur as you stand up, pulling the beautifully crafted tophat off your head.

He looks at you in a mix of surprise, confusion and sadness.

He pushes himself off the wall and saunters over to you, still watching your every movement longingly.

“And where exactly are you going? Not giving up, I hope.” He asks with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m going home.” You tell him, placing the hat into his hands. “It’s been a long day.” You add with grin.

You turn to walk away but he jumps in front of you.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He says nervously. You watch him, amused. He carefully places the hat back on your head and tips it off to the side a bit. “Much better. As I said, it suits you. And as you said, I have plenty.” He remarks as he steps back slightly, admiring the view.

You let out a laugh. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. I’ll wear it as often as possible.” You promise as you stand on your toes, placing a quick, delicate kiss on his cheek.

At first, he looks absolutely stunned. Then thrilled. Then he looks hungry for more. And he is, so you learn when he leans in and pushes his lips onto yours, desperately deepening the kiss. You follow his movements, melting into him.

He’s the first to pull away, proving to you once again that he’s unpredictable and full of tricks up his sleeves.

“To think I nearly killed you thief.” He says with a small smirk.

You feel a grin bigger than you’d ever had, even as the Cheshire Cat, spreading across your face.

“That would’ve been an absolute shame. For both of us. Especially considering I didn’t technically steal anything. Except maybe your heart of course.” You respond teasingly and he chuckles a bit.

You turn on your heel, walk towards the door and stop abruptly in the doorway.

“Oh and Jefferson?” You say, looking back at him.

“Yes y/n?” He asks, clearly a little hopeful that you’ll stay, which you find absolutely adorable.

“I’ll be back.” You promise. And then you smirk. “We have a home to get back to.” You add, blowing a kiss to him.

He grins and you grin back, tip your hat to him with a dramatic flair as you know he probably would in this situation and walk out the door.

[zhansww]

I’ve been wondering how exactly the misunderstanding of my last rambling post came to be and I think it’s cuz of one of two things; cuz I didn’t make it clear what I consider the word “queer” to mean or cuz I didn’t make it clear that the post itself was my own, subjective opinion. I’m not sure how consistent I’ve been with tagging it but I kinda differentiate between (what I think are) rational opinions I have vs emotional ones. The latter ones are obviously subjective and should not be taken as me, lecturing anyone or implying that everyone should feel the same. You either share the same sentiment or you don’t, there’s nothing wrong with it either way. And if my words in those posts seem hostile/condescending, it’s cuz I don’t feel the need to censor any of my subjective views/feelings. What I do think is important and what I try to pay attention to is not to let the negative emotions that certain things evoke in me control my actions. When I see something that I disapprove of in any way, I don’t hijack that post or report it. If my emotional reaction is particular strong, I’ll vent about it in my own post, not theirs. I considered this to be the decent thing to do but I’ve been told by at least one kind, respectful and open-minded person that I am actively making people’s lives worse with those posts, that my words are violent and that my behavior is that of an “unhinged monster” (the irony here is not lost on me). So I’ve been reflecting and I think the next time I feel a particular strong, negative emotion that makes me want to vent, I’ll put a disclaimer beforehand. And now, let me just actually clarify what my point was of that post. I believe that yz is real so I obviously do not assume they are straight. If they are indeed together, then they are queer - i.e. not straight - but that’s literally it. I have no theories or thoughts about what their specific orientation might be and I won’t ever speculate about that either. I wouldn’t mind knowing but unfortunately, they can’t be openly together right now but when they someday are, they’ll hopefully also feel safe and loved enough to share something like that with us. I know for a fact that figuring out your sexuality is a confusing and intimate process which is why I am opposed to speculating about it. I consider it to be too intrusive. But again; that is my subjective opinion based on my own experiences. I do not expect everyone to share this sentiment. One person said that I should expect such speculation and that might be true, maybe I should expect it but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Seeing certain bxg get mad at solos for assuming yz are straight but then turn around and assume they are [insert any specific sexuality except het] is hypocritical and disappointing in my opinion. I think it’s perfectly fine to have such emotional opinions as long as you don’t let those emotions cloud your judgement and lead to you, reacting in a way that is unreasonable and possibly harmful. I also think that everyone should be willing to have their rational opinions questioned but when it comes to an emotional opinion, it doesn’t have to make sense and it’s probably not gonna change either. To give another example; I hk disapprove of yz r/p/f. And that’s not me, saying it is inherently wrong and that no one should do it. In fact, you could try to make a case about how I should like it and approve of it but it wouldn’t make me change my mind precisely because this opinion is not based on logic but just on emotion. And again, as long my emotional reaction to something doesn’t lead to unreasonable actions, then the emotion itself is alright to have. And like I already said, I thought it was okay to vent those emotions in my safe space but apparently, it isn’t. No one should take those posts personally or like I’m talking to them or lecturing them. I thought that this was all obvious but since I got told otherwise, I will be more concise from now on.

You know, when someone starts a “discussion” by insulting you (implicitly or not), that’s usually a clear sign that they’re not even trying to understand you. I’ve seen at least one person reblog the reblogs and seemingly take some kind of vicious pleasure in seeing someone else sh-t on me. Something like that leads me to think that they already had a negative impression of me to begin with which is why their minds gladly misunderstood me and jumped to the worst possible conclusion. They also all seemed to either ignore my explanations or seemed intent on misunderstanding me, no matter what. To be clear, I don’t blame them entirely for it because I could have expressed my point better but for them to immediately think their misunderstanding is the right one - instead of asking me to explain myself perhaps - is also wrong. Mind you, I don’t expect those people to see or care about this post. The main reason I’m trying to clarify myself is for myself. I said I’ll try to be more concise in expressing my views (regardless of whether it’s a subjective one or not) from now on and I thought I should let this be the start of that. There was one reply in particular that ... affected me a lot harder than I thought anything could. I think it’s cuz my depression already makes me feel like I’m a waste of space 24/7. One thing I take comfort in, though, is the fact that, at the very least, the only one who’s hurting because of it is me, no one else. At least I don’t hurt others. But I got told otherwise. I got called an unhinged monster. The unhinged part is true but also being a monster... it made me feel like I’m less than a waste of space. Like, let’s say if normal people always feel like a 1, I always feel like a 0. Getting insulted like that made me feel like a -1. Instead of feeling like a read newspaper, that’s just waiting to get thrown in the trash, that insult made me feel like I’m the asbestos in the house, something that is actively harmful and you need to get rid of. Does that make sense? Anyway... I engaged in “discussions” despite my better judgement and now, I have to pay the price for it so I also decided that I won’t do that again. Hopefully, there won’t even be any more misunderstandings but if there are and someone hijacks my posts and insults and/or willfully misunderstands me, I will just block them. For my own sanity. And for the record, if there’s something in this or any of my subjective/emotional posts that can be misunderstood, that I didn’t make clear enough; please feel free to ask me about it. Please don’t immediately think the worst of me. And when it comes to my more objective/rational opinions, I am always open for discussions as long as we can remain respectful throughout.

I would also like to express my gratitude to anyone who reached out. I’m not sure if the damage can be undone to be honest (it doesn’t feel like it right now) but anyone who offered words of advice, understanding, support or kindness helped soften it. I cannot express how grateful and appreciative I am for it all, any replies or private messages. You helped make me feel less shitty and I thank you so so much. I’m definitely gonna save all the mental health advice cuz I really did not know how to deal with that overwhelming desire to... stop existing in that moment and I want to keep it in mind if (or when) I get affected this badly by something again. I intend to also reply to the messages privately ofc but for now, please accept all of my love and gratitude~

I’m gonna put the rest - which is more personal - under a cut and also tw cuz I’ll elaborate on my mental health/depression. This isn’t exactly something I want to share tbh but I think I shouldn’t shy away from it either. And I feel like I need to explain myself, just for anyone who cares to know.

—

If you compare life to walking on a path, then I at some point - I don’t even remember when - stopped walking and starting digging a hole for myself. It musta been years ago. Right now, that hole is so deep that I have no idea how to get out of it on my own, much less how to move forward. I think I always knew that there must be something wrong with me mentally. This isn’t something that is being talked about in my family, though, so I never extensively thought about it. Not until earlier this year, when my sister told me that she thinks I’m sick and I should see a therapist. My immediate reaction was to reject the idea but I really couldn’t do that for long. As of right now, I have been tentatively diagnosed (not sure if that’s what you call it in English) with depression but I haven’t actually found a permanent therapist and therefore also not started therapy yet. I have no idea what exactly is wrong with me and this not-knowing makes it somehow worse. I haven’t been properly functioning for the past two days - ever since I got called unhinged monster - cuz those words are burned into my brain by now and keep repeating themselves. It feels like my mind was given another weapon to slowly k-ll me with. It keeps reminding me that that’s what I am and then I start trembling and my breathing gets weird and it’s harder than usual for me to distract myself. And this is all so overwhelming for me, I have truly no idea how to deal with any of it. I don’t even know if I named it right, if it really is called a “depressive episode”. I’m hoping I’ll get to find out what exactly is wrong with me and how I can cope with it once I find a therapist. My lack of knowledge regarding what I myself am going through makes it all very confusing and difficult. Another reason why I kind of organized my thoughts and wrote them all down here is cuz I hope it will help me somehow, make my mind stop letting those really bad thoughts in. But in that moment when I felt especially f-cked up, any words of advice or kindness helped. I hope everyone who reached out knows that. Just... thank you. So damn much.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Desperate For Your Taste

Anon asked:  Imagine vamp bloodhound forcing themselves to only drink from animals or bloodbags because they feel thats more respectful than hunting humans, so during a season of the games their supply runs low and they get to a point of desperation where they beg their reader s/o to let them drink and reader's like "uh yeah ive been offering since day 1" And bloodhound just WORSHIPPING them while drinking and telling them "you taste so good" and then maybe they thank them in a *special* way after?😳

I modified the prompt just a smidgen!!!! Love me some desperate Hound.

Reblogs > Likes. Age in your bio (18+ only) or get blocked!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Reader

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Reader has a vulva but is gender neutral, vampire Bloodhound, drinking of blood, going off an old idea where vampires had venom in their fangs to paralyze their ‘victim’ so wellp, you aren’t BOUND but ya can’t move, Bloodhound’s excessive and polite pet names but ALSO their excessive body mods, so pierced tongue + split tongue mentioned. You’re welcome.

Words: 2.5k

____________

Truly, you could have laughed when you found out Bloodhound was a vampire.  

Memories of headlines reading ‘local legend part bat?’ hitting you when they’d revealed it to you. They knew that you wouldn’t be scared, but for you to giggle at them had been something they hadn’t been expecting. Well, until you burst out giggling with, “So are you really part bat? Do you  got   wittle  pointy ears and wings?” And they’d pushed you playfully, softly and told you that you were ridiculous.  

Aliens existed, different alien beasts that you could hunt or talked like any other person- sure, why would vampires not be real? Though it did lead to you asking questions about eating. It definitely explained their like of raw meat and how they’d wait at your door for an invitation- something which you had assumed in the past was simply their polite behavior.  

~Rest under the cut~

Eating was easy enough to understand. Bloodhound explains that it varied, like humans, what they wanted one day. They could eat raw meat or very rare cooked meat, they could merely drain the blood from something but that took a lot of effort and different vein points to bite down onto to get a proper fill, and they vaguely hinted that there were other ways than that, but when you asked they didn’t elaborate. Merely brushed it off with a healthy flush to their cheeks and a, “Another time, my love.”  

But they did admit they did not ever indulge in humans. Nor would they indulge in animals or beasts they had not killed by their own hand- it seemed improper to them. You asked about blood bags, but they had made a face akin to a child being offered vegetables so you assumed that was off the table. Though when you asked why not simply chomp anyone in the arena, going so far as to suggest that Mirage would probably love a death like that, Bloodhound had softly laughed.  

“Feeding from...a person is seen as very intimate. And though Mirage is attractive, I am afraid you are the only one who holds my heart, my love.” They’d said softly to you, holding your hand that day and tracing patterns into your palm. Of course, this had started with you whining that you’d offered for them to chomp you since day one of being in a relationship, going so far as to gesture at your neck only for them to tell you that they were not hungry.   

Despite the fact their eyes had lingered on your neck a little too long before they’d politely looked away.  

Liar.  

Now though, now in the season they’ve been looking a little...unhinged. In the arena they are normally ruthless, but now their ratings are higher than ever due to their need to chase their prey down. Bloodhound’s shots are on point with killer accuracy, to the point sometimes they take the last of their opponent down with their raven hatchet in hand. You start to notice it gets worse when they do not do their signature sign off of their kills, no longer taking the time to do a brief prayer for them, but instead seeming to linger a bit too long on the blood on their hatchet before wiping it off on their thigh.  

You watch from the cameras like everyone else. You’re sure no one else would notice- their ratings were getting higher from this anyway. But you know for a fact they’re hungry. Bloodhound must not have had time to scope the island for fresh meat, or time to take a trip to the kitchen to find meat yet cooked and yet frozen. Regardless of the reason, your concern grows.  

When this week’s matches come to a pause, you’re not surprised to hear the knock on your door- they normally return to your quarters to spend the weekend anyhow. Though as you answer the door, you’re surprised to see them in their casual clothing.  

Their hair is pulled up into a ponytail, red curls sticking up here and there with a braid framing the side of their face and a raven feather braided into it. Their rounded glasses with red lenses hide their eyes, as well as the lower black face mask with white sharp teeth painted on the front hiding their lower face. A black lace bralette, their fur lined cropped leather jacket, and leather pants make your eyes near about wander and linger at the peeking  underbust  tattoo and thinking about licking the line from their--  

“My love,” Bloodhound breathes out, their voice desperate.  

“Right! Please, come inside!” You quickly reply, watching as they cross the threshold as if an invisible barrier had come down. They seem...frantic? The door being kicked shut behind them and you hardly have the time to open your mouth before you’re being scooped up from their impossible strength. You let out a laugh hooking your legs around their waist as their hands grab your ass and carry you straight to your bed.  

You’re dressed in your lounge clothing. A loose t-shirt and matching lounge pants with some cute cliché green alien design on them. Certainly nothing fancy like their own clothing. But once they lie you down on your bed, they take just a moment longer to kick off their boots before they’re climbing on top of you, fitting between your spread thighs.  

You smile up at them, plucking their glasses off their nose to set on the nightstand beside your bed and turn your head back in time to watch them unhook their mask to toss elsewhere in your room. When they lean down, you expect a kiss, but instead they nudge at the crook of your neck with a soft growl.  

Immediately you roll your head to the side, allowing their lips to press hungry, open mouthed kisses over your jugular. It’s so sudden that you whine faintly in your throat, hands coming up so one can grab their shoulder and the other resting in the bulk of their ponytail. “H-Hound not that I mind or anything, but are you a--”  

“Hungry.” They growl out against you, their split tongue sliding across your neck and making you shudder. “I have not been able to- ah- to have a moment to-” They groan lowly, as if irritated at their inability to speak. You gently shush them, pulling their ponytail lightly and watching them comply obediently to pull back and look at you.  

Their good eye’s slit pupil is thinned out dangerously, their full lips parted and double set of sharp canines exposed. Bloodhound’s eyes are half lidded, heavy, as if they can’t get enough of your scent. They looked absolutely desperate, punctuated further by their whimper and their bottom lip wobbling attractively before they manage to choke out. “Please. Please, my sweet one. I shall be  gentle,  it will not hurt--- have you eaten?” It comes spilling out all at once, their tone desperate before concerned and you choke on a laugh.  

“You don’t have to ask, you know, I’ve always been willing. And yes, I have eaten, it had sugar too so I won’t be fainting on you either.” You reply, gently tugging their hair so they’ll be guided back down to your neck. You adjust a little bit to be comfortable on your pillows, letting them shift their own body until they’re no longer on top of you. Bloodhound curled almost into your side, one arm over your chest and their face still buried into the crook of your neck. One of their  legs  slots against yours, the other tucked a bit over your thigh and hip as if they’re spooning into your side.  

You’ve tugged their hair out of its ponytail. Idly massaging their scalp as Bloodhound mouths at your neck. They seem almost nervous, or teasing  themself, their breaths coming out like soft, hushed growls instead. You give them a gentle tug to urge them, tensing yourself up when you feel the brush of their fangs.  

“Relax.” You hear cooed into your mind, immediately feeling at ease and you suspect it’s some sort of ‘vampire magick’ happening. And then you feel it, the quick stab of their teeth that you’d only ever felt nips and scrapes of. It makes you jump lightly, a sharp gasp leaving your lips, fingers curling into their hair at the same time their arm seems to anchor you into place.   

True to their word, it doesn’t hurt, merely just a quick burn before it soothed itself out. At first you expect that this feeding business was easier than you thought, easing your fingers in their hair and returning to massaging their scalp. You can feel the gentle suction on your neck, the vague feeling of their tongues lapping you up and the soft moans of contentment they let out.  

And then you feel it. No, not pain, but this sort of...warmth. It blossoms from that area in your neck, curling down your spine until your eyes are fluttering and you feel your breath quickening, your heart rate matching. “H-Hound?” You whimper out, confusion in your tone, and they moan against you in response.  

You think you’re figuring out why feeding off another person was ‘intimate’. You feel like you’ve been edged for hours. There’s a wet feeling between your thighs, but you can’t feel yourself able to even move. Even your fingers have stopped in their hair, feeling like your body was made of warm jello. Warm, horny jello.  

Bloodhound’s mouth pulls from your neck, licking the wound shut before they’re moving overtop you again. Your hand falls from their hair, falling to the bed limply and you can move it ever so slightly, but it feels like you’re trying to move it through a pool full of pudding. Bloodhound doesn’t look concerned, so you remain calm, looking up at them as they fit back between your legs. You think you like the way their eyes look dangerous, or the fact they have to wipe their mouth off with the back of their hand so their lips aren’t stained red.  

“You should be feeling arousal,” They begin, their voice thick and low as they run their fingers over your sides. The very touch makes you whimper, feeling all too hot. “Every touch should feel twice as sensitive.” They continue, dragging their nails back down to grab your t-shirt and pulling it slowly up.  

“I can feel you want this, my love, you are always so good for me. But I wish to hear it as well.” Bloodhound murmurs when they’ve pulled your shirt above your chest, tracing their fingers down to between your chest. It feels like they’re tracing both fire and ice across your skin, feeling every little thing like any touch they gave you was pure pleasure-   

“Yes. Yes- you're- fuck, Hound, is this some kinky shit all vampires have?” You manage to whine out. It makes them laugh at least, a low chuckle at your humor as they gentle grab your chest, circling your nipples with their thumbs. Your reaction is immediate, a moan sliding past your throat and your head lolling slowly to the side. Even the smallest action has you sobbing out when their nails scrape across your nipples.  

“I suppose you may see it as a type of venom,” They explain  cooly . They sound less desperate now, their tone still hungry. But their nails brush along your skin downwards to the waistband of your pants, hooking their fingers in and helping you out of them all whilst speaking. “Traditionally it was to ensure prey could not escape and that it would be pleasurable for them instead. Now?”  

Bloodhound tugs off your underwear with their last word, sighing as they spread your legs apart and begin to slide between your legs. Your face flushes red when you feel them nuzzle the mound of your sex before inhaling your scent with a low groan. “Now, it is for intimate moments such as this.” Spoken with a breathlessness to their tone.  

“W-wait, are you still hungry?” You breathe out, aware of the dull throb in your neck. You’re surprised when they lightly chuckle, their warm breath fanning across your slick cunt and making you shiver.  

“My love, I need only to feed on any life force. I have had my appetizer, now I am ready for my meal.” They speak so calmly, yet it sounds like pure filth from their mouth. Their talented, talented, cruel mouth-  

Normally you’d fist your hands into their hair and squirm, but you find yourself unable to even do that. Feeling much like a doll as they use one hand to press over your mound, two fingers pulling your labia apart and exposing your clit. Even their very breath over your slick flesh makes you want to cry, feeling your clit jerk before their mouth even touches it in an open mouthed, hungry kiss.  

Their split, pierced tongue is always such a blessing. Sliding down through your folds to lick up your slick and coming back up to your clit where their mouth gently seals over it. Suckling lightly and popping off a few times just to make you sob out. They’re always such a messy eater, nosing at your clit, messily licking you up and teasing your clit by sandwiching it between the split of their modded tongue.  

Bloodhound moans against you, their free hand pressing at your inner thigh to keep your legs apart and to feel how you twitch despite being unable to move. They moan even louder at your cries of sensitivity, unable to cover your mouth or control your vocal  chords  with every cry. They eat you like they’re starving, their mouth sealing over you just to lick over you sloppily, narrowing their mouth down soon enough to seal back over your clit and tracing mindless shapes around the length of it.  

You cum in about a minute flat. Wracking your entire frame with tremors and your cunt squeezing around nothing. Bloodhound moans against you again, the vibrations making a cracked sob roll from your lips, but they merely pull back for just a moment to kiss at your inner thighs.  

“You taste divine, ansi bráð mitt.” They growl out lowly, watching as you roll your head slowly to meet their hungry gaze. When they grin, it looks wolfish, your slick on their lips like a form of gloss. You whine at their hungry look.  

“Hound-”  

“Shh. You can give me three more, can you not?”  

You whimper out, toes already curling when they lower their head back towards your cunt when you nod.   

“Good. Now, be good, little one. I have earned this treat.”  

You suppose you finally got your answer to what else they could eat.  

You think you prefer this method.  

[ton-e]

Anthony, drunk off his ass taking his turn to say stories in team bonding night: so you know, my dad loved trains as a kid right. Well I had passion for destroying everything in my path

Friggason: Can relate

Anthony: - And he had this elaborate, mechanical train sets they made back then, you know the ones you build around the room?? It was his favorite thing on earth and my territoial little toddler ass was like....Father cares not for me? Father favors unity with the machines? Has he forsaken my existence? And WELL, I knew where the tools were so-

Joseph: God this story is burned in my brain, white boys are such drama queens

Alianova: I like how Tony's first instinct was to go terminator on his father's belongings

Anthony: I WAS 3 CUT ME A BREAK. A N Y w a y, so I like. Smashed the train into pieces right, now. I didn't wanna blame anybody for this cause dad had like, the temper of a hot teapot, so I'm like you know what. Let me just dismantle this and bury it, maybe he'll assume Jarvis just,,,,cleaned the room and bagged the train somewhere and forgot about it

Beatriz: Okay wait I gotta ask, were you the family who had servants at their back and call 24/7m

Anthony: No??? We had a housekeeper.

Grant and James: [Sip soda in Poor]

Francis: DO you hear yourself?? Like when you talk???

Rupert: I will never understand rich people period

Hogan: Amen

Anthony: And so, I thought, ok. He's gonna get another one it's gonna be fine, or just forget about it all together. At 3 am in the fucking asscrack of night, I hear a military trumpet waking me up and to this day I haven't got the slightest clue where he got it from but he DID, and he called a meeting to his room. What lays at his feet? The.fucking.train

Janet: Not even Agatha wrote this murder

Rupert: I'm having MIT flashbacks, you were so salty you got caught for that

Anthony: IM! SO terrified. Because Jarvis is watching me with that 'I know you did some shit you weren't supposed to' look because he had dad instincts like that, I'm feeling like a damn Sherlock Holmes criminal waiting to be caught, dad is ranting so fast I feel like I'm listening to Greek recordings, brings the ceiling upside down, and grandma the whole time has an avocado facemask slipping off her cheeks and I can TELL they know I did it. I must have looked so guilty because dad just. Points at me and with the most betrayed voice yells "Y O U ! ?" ... I look at my family, Jarvis, Mom , Grandma and Uncle Joseph... and they look AWAY Pepper

Vriginia: L O S I N G her shit

Joseph: YOU DONT KNOW THE WORSE OF IT-- Howie is just, take him to his room, and I think, good on you man, keeping your cool-- This fucker howls the most UNHINGED scream I've heard, jumps out THROUGH the window, and rolls on the lawn for like 2 hour. He also baught that ugly ass flamingo at that time and that bitch just watches him GO at it. Best thing I've seen in my life.

[granddaughterogg]

Azrael is a Kinkster, part 3

Azrael looked almost pained. His fingers still caressed your cheek.   „I need you to understand this: there is no point in loving me because I could never love you back. Not like…he does.” 

The whole shebang can be comfortably read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956949/chapters/42410612

Your climax came and went, crashing over like a wave. You thought that Azrael is being crassly inconsiderate. You expected him to be the classy type. Someone who stops dead in his tracks and celebrates his lover’s bliss. Instead, he went at it – went at you – like a beautiful, ruthless machine. Moving back and forth in your swollen, tender insides. It was the weirdest sensation. One part pleasure, two parts increasing annoyance.   You almost told him to cut it out. But didn't you let this epitome of class tie you up and have his way with you as he announced?  Rough treatment did not diminish your desire for Azrael. If anything, it made you want him more. You got a little moist every time those narrow lips uttered the word „fuck”. A word you’d never suspect someone as refined as the archangel even knows. What you felt towards him was...complicated. You were complicated. Then something else roused in you. You couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment, but in a few more thrusts the pain melted away. Pleasure came back with a vengeance. Suddenly you were again soft, oh, so soft, pliable and hungry for more.   A surprised, breathless yelp escaped you.   Azrael leaned even closer. That glorious mane of his now dishevelled, falling all over his face in messy, sweaty strands. His ferocious smile almost brushed your lips. „That’s it” he gasped.  "The second time is always better, little girl. Now come for me.” As dazed as you were, your mind somersaulted at those words. The gall of this dude!... „You...holy bastard!...” you gasped back, knowing well that it doesn’t sound very condemning. You were already on the verge again.   And he didn’t make you wait. It was harder this time. Longer. Sweeter. Your whole body arched into a violent spasm. The bounds that held you crackled all over. You dug your heels into the mattress and came, drawing out his name in a prolonged sob. Once, twice. The second time your breath hitched and your voice broke. Your own cry sounded as if coming from afar. There was only his pulsating presence within you. Only pleasure, like he requested. The feeling of submission. The sweetest defeat. The moment you caught your breath, Azrael covered your mouth with a violent kiss. Then he let go, threw his head back and shuddered all over. His wings stretched fervently to their whole impressive wingspan. It was so bizarre - yet so beautiful - that you couldn’t look away. It took you a second or two to understand that he, too has reached his peak. How do angels climax? Pretty much like people do. At that moment you saw him relinquish all self-control. No more Mr Smug Guy. His white eyes half-lidded, face flushed, lips parted ever so slightly. A hoarse moan escaped them.   He looked as if he was praying. You felt him throb inside you. Indwell you with hot liquid. And then his long, slender body went limp. The angel sighed softly, buried his face in your breasts - and stayed that way for a while. He was glistening from sweat. You would love nothing more than to caress his hair. But then again, your hands were tied. A minute passed. You counted his slow breaths. „Please tell me that you’re not asleep” you muttered. Azrael snorted. His laughter reverberated in your solar plexus. „I might be old, but I am not THAT old.” „Why, you’re positively ancient!” you chuckled. He lifted his head and shot you an impish smile.   „Apparently you like your lovers that way”. „Yeah!” No way in Hell (or Heaven) you were gonna feel ashamed about your preferences. „What did you just call me, by the way? A little girl?” His eyes glinted. „And what did you call me? Born out of wedlock? My mother would be so perplexed.” You felt awkward. „Sorry about that. People tend to say weird things in the heat of the moment.” He cocked an eyebrow. You decided to sweep this one under the rug. „Wait. Azrael. How come that you even remember your mother? Wasn’t that, you know, at the beginning of times?” He went serious all of a sudden. „You see,” he said in a low voice „being an angel means that I remember everything.” You looked into those ageless eyes. Registered deep, bluish circles under them for the second time. „So there’s no reprieve from any stupid thing you ever do or say. It’s gonna haunt you like forever.” „That’s exactly how it works” he gave you a weary smile. Your heart twitched. Either you were being skillfully manipulated, or he just let you at what’s actually going on under these glossy locks. Either way, you started to care for Azrael. Like, more than before.   You flexed your fingers, which apparently fell asleep. „Could you please untie me now? I really need to use the toilet.” „Of course.” He supported himself on one elbow and made a quick, elegant gesture. The elaborate ties fell off your limbs, rustling softly.   You looked at your own wrists in amazement. „That was angel magic, right?” you asked him with a grin. „If it’s so easy for you, why not tie me up magically in the first place?” Azrael’s lips curled upward. „Because that, my dear, wouldn’t be half as fun.” You tried to get up - and found out that you cannot. Your eyes widened in faint surprise. A moment later Azrael was right beside you, one long arm curled protectively around your back, another holding your hand. He gently lifted you to a sitting position. „Too much?” He asked, watching your face from up close. „Thanks, Az. Not at all, I’m just a little...light in the head...” you whispered, resting your burning cheek on his forearm. Then you giggled and added: „After all, that was one hell of a double orgasm.” Azrael brushed a damp streak of hair away from your face. „That’s an interesting way to put it, but yes.” His smile was almost cat-like. „And I savoured your cries of delight.” What the hell were you crying again? Azrael. „Uh, the pleasure is mine” you muttered, suddenly hot under the collar. If you were wearing any collar, that is. You stood up – slowly. Something wet and sticky dripped down your naked thighs. You dipped a finger in the wetness and put it in your mouth. „Hey, you’re not gonna believe this.” You shot him the widest, stupidest happy grin. „Angel cum tastes like coconut!” He stretched gracefully and lied on his back. Those glorious wings covered the bedsheets. „And why do you assume that I don’t know?..” You flushed a little. Which he noticed. „Shoo!” chuckled the angel. „Away with you for now. The bathroom” – he gestured with one long arm -  „is that way.” Sometimes you wondered if residents of Heaven have to pee. Azrael’s posh restroom threw that doubts over the window. Apparently they did. Or maybe your angelic companion conjured this room up just for you.   The place was as huge and spotless white as the bedroom. The sheer diameter of the tub made you rethink what little you knew about feathered creatures and baths. But then again, Azrael wasn’t a bird; no matter how shockingly birdlike some of his reflexes. He was… ...he was something else. You emerged from there properly refreshed. You had to strut through this whole ginormous, mostly empty room to reach the bed. Azrael lied on his stomach this time. His wings relaxed, sharp chin resting on entwined fingers, eyes glued to your exposed body while you walked. Instead of being shy, you decided to bask in his approval. Take it all in. Just like his seed. „You’re beautiful,” he said quietly. Then he rolled over – the feathers whispered – and sat up. „Hey, you’re not that hard on the eyes either” you quipped, getting on the bed and nesting yourself between his legs. Post-coital Azrael was indeed the sexier you’ve ever seen him. He seemed younger, rejuvenated. The once immaculate hair a wild mess, his fine features relaxed, a faint blush still gracing those pale, protruding cheeks. Which you were seriously transfixed with. „May I…?” Your fingers almost brushed this incredibly fine, silvery fuzz that covered his jawbone. Azrael smiled and nodded, fixing you with a calm gaze. You traced the curves of his face, holding your breath as if you’ve been allowed to touch a priceless artefact. You tipped his forehead, went along those mysterious white markings, along the sharp line of his nose - and lower. Your fingers brushed over the curve of his lips. Only now you realised how parched they were. Like a mortal’s. You wanted to fix this. You wanted to fix him. To cure him of whatever he endured by living way too long within that brilliant, perverted mind of his. Maybe to love him, even. It didn’t make much sense. You didn’t recognise your wants anymore.   „You unhinge me...” you murmured and went in for a kiss. His eyes flicked with surprise, but then he closed them – what long, silver eyelashes he had! - put one hand on the back of your neck and pulled you in. This time the way your lips met was almost solemn. Soft, sweet. Tender. He enticed you only a little, his knowing tongue fluttering around yours like a candle flame. You moaned.   One thing was certain: The Archangel of Death sure knew how to kiss. You probably weren’t neither the hundredth nor the thousandth human that he kissed. There must have been legions graced with his attention. They probably loved him, too; who could’ve resisted such overwhelming charm? They all withered and died of old age, while he remained the same. Poised, elegant. Unsullied by their fleeting humanity. In control. Always in control. It was a chilling thought. You broke contact, breathing deeply through the nose and trying not to lose your mind. „I like you unhinged” his lips brushed the skin of your neck. You got goosebumps. „But I can see what’s going on in your head right now. Please don’t do this to yourself.” You winced. „Are you reading my thoughts, Azrael?!” The angel let out a resigned sigh. „I would never do such a thing.”   „Then what do you mean?...” He cupped your face and looked you straight in the eye. His expression was part tender, part worried and a bit of something you couldn’t decipher. „I am a scholar. It is my job to know things.”   You covered those slender fingers with your own. „So you had me all figured up?...” You murmured, relishing the caress. His skin was cool and smooth. The archangel’s lips tilted upward in a strange un-smile. „More or less. I observed you with great care. I listened thoroughly. You are a kind person. And you’re prone to having that...saviour complex.” „Seriously, Azrael, what the fuck.” Your hand fell off. His remained firmly where it was. He sighed again. „Respectable as such intentions may be, they shouldn’t be applied indiscriminately. I’m sure that Death deserves all your compassion, as tormented as he is...but I don’t.” Suddenly all the words left you. You could only stare at him, wide-eyed, numb. „No, I really don’t.” Azrael looked almost pained. His fingers still caressed your cheek.   „I need you to understand this: there is no point in loving me because I could never love you back. Not like...he does.”   Was it your imagination or did his breath just hitched? „You seem awfully sure of that...” you said slowly. „You can’t save me. It wouldn’t be fair to make you waste your time and try.” You felt lightheaded again. Although it was not from bliss. „Are you’re saying that you don’t have a heart? Like Howl of the Moving Castle?” A weak-ass, desperate attempt at a joke. But hey, at this point it was either wisecracking or crying. Azrael shut his eyes for a while, inhaled deeply and opened them again. „Heaven help me,” he said with a steady voice. „For I don’t.” You went silent for a long while. Azrael looked at you with calm determination and simply waited. In a way he just subjected himself to your judgement. An all-powerful heavenly being. Waiting for a human to collect her thoughts. Being a human doesn’t mean that I’m insignificant! cried a tiny voice inside you. My feelings are important. I am important. I am my own person. Whether Azrael wants me or not doesn’t define my worth. The dense fog that clouded your head started to disperse. You just gave a little too hard into your afterglow. That’s all it was. Being railed like this will jack your mind up. And he obviously did want you – unless an angelic body can lie. He wanted you so very much. Just not as his loved one. But you didn’t even need him in such a way. You had Death. „You know what”, you said, putting a fresh smile on your face and your small hand on his, still resting on your cheek. „I appreciate your candour. Although no one has ever been so cruel to me...while being so kind.” Azrael’s relief was palpable. „That’s what I specialise in.” That impish grin of his came back as if it never left. What a player, you thought to yourself. But a decent player. A rare kind; a fuckboy with some integrity. An honest lothario. They don’t make them like that on planet Earth. „So you’re, as they put it, emotionally unavailable” you muttered. You traced his collarbone and then leaned in to plant a quick kiss there.   „Yes. But I’m very much fuck-available” he stated, a smile lacing his words. „Any time you want me.” „Good. That’s a solid base for friendship.”   „It is.” You kissed him again. Azrael gave out a small sigh of pleasure. „Real questions time. Azrael, do you even shave?” He threw his head back and laughed - again, a string of silver travelling through your ears. „And here I thought you’d let me off the hook.” „Seriously. I want to know!” „I do. Once in a millennium.” He smirked. „I mean, I call for a trusted friend. I’d probably cut my own throat from lack of practice. Last time it was actually Abaddon who shaved me.” „You let Abaddon press a blade to your face?” „Why not? He had way more experience with pointy instruments of bloodshed than I ever will.” You gave out a piercing laugh, straddled his hips, pressed both palms to his chest - and pushed. He chuckled and obediently landed on his back, on those rustling feathers. Now you had him where you wanted him. He was all taut and angular, as slender and supple as an eighteen-year-old boy. Covered with this incredibly fine, silverish fuzz, which tickled the skin on your forearms. It formed a narrow path on his flat, milky white stomach and all the way down to party town.   He was as unlike Death in the corporal department as possible. As they say: variety is the spice of life. And you savoured your spices.   Your hands wandered lower and lower, taking in every curve of this pretty body. It seemed so fragile, so delightfully human. It sure could be aroused as one.   You started innocently enough; with a kiss to his lower abdomen. And then another. And another. Azrael closed his eyes and gave out a pleased hum. Your sneaky fingers closed tightly on his half-asleep manhood and got to work. He gasped.   „What...” that’s all he was able to say before you went in with your mouth. Smiling with you face full of dick is no small feat, especially when said dick expands in a hasty manner. But you managed a grin. You looked your angel dead in the eyes – now wild and wide - and sucked on him. Slowly, pensively even. From time to time you would break the pace to caress every wet, pulsating curve of his shaft’s head with your tongue. You were very thorough with that. He tried to fight back a moan, Creator bless him. You just sucked harder. Azrael gave out a series of undignified „a-a-ahs.” It was music to your ears. Soon enough his narrow, boyish hips worked in unison with your mouth, rhythmically arching upwards so that you would take him all in by every slide. You could feel his arousal, bordering on painfully hard. He was getting close. „No.”  You were surprised how firm and level „no” it was. „Hmm? Buh whye?”   „Stop that.” Azrael reached out and caressed your ruffled hair. „Don’t get me wrong, I love what you’re doing...but that’s enough of you coddling me. It is high time I coddled you instead.” You let his stiff cock of your mouth and wiped your face. „You sure? Because we could be done here in a moment or two...” „I don’t want to be done in a moment. Or two” said Azrael with conviction. You had to admire the man’s backbone. (And his dick. Seriously, it wasn’t the most impressive you’ve seen yet, but it was shapely.) „Fine. Have it your way.” Your smile soon morphed into a surprised yelp, because he suddenly sat up, got a hold of you and flipped you on your stomach. All in one swift motion. He might’ve been thin as a toothpick, but he was anything but weak. It was your turn to give out a disoriented „What?...”   Azrael sat astride you and leaned in so closely that your upper bodies were touching all the way. His hot breath rustled those little hairs on the nape on your neck. You trembled. „I think it’s time for some whipping” he whispered into your ear. You felt as if a tiny electric shock went through your nether regions. „Yeah! I thought you’d forgot about this by now.” „Didn’t I tell you that I never forget anything?” There was a playful edge to his words. „Real questions time. How’s your pain tolerance?” „Uh...I was, um, treated with a leather belt, then a leather flogger...and with a standard horse whip? I think...” „You think?”   You gave out a breathless laugh. „At that point of the evening I seriously couldn’t say. I was dead drunk.” „Drunk shenanigans with a whip.” Azrael uttered under his breath. „How wonderful.” „Hey, we all had that one or two experiences which we are not exactly proud of. So easy there with the moral assessment, Metatron.” „First: what did you just call me? And second: I am by no means assessing you. I am assessing the whip-bearer.” You snorted into the bedsheets. „You know what, I’m just going to use my cognitive powers here. Does this – he slapped you on the buttcheek with the palm of his hand – hurt?” „It tickles.” „Oh really. How about now?” He slapped harder. You felt a pleasant sensation reverberating through your butt. And nether regions. „Still within the boundaries of Tickle Town.” „And now?” Something stiff and leathery met the skin of your backside, producing a juicy splat. The ants that apparently lived in your ladyparts really got to work. „That...almost hurt”, you murmured. „You’re good with this kind of hurting?” „No! I mean, it’s okay, but give me more!..” Azrael chuckled. His slender hand caressed your (still almost intact) ass. „Don’t feel like you have to strain yourself for me”, he said. „I can have my fun no matter how hard I'm hitting you.” „That’s so considerable” you mumbled into the bedsheets. „I am a sadist, not some depraved monster.” That laughter of his was like a sunbeam. Azrael conjured a few other toys – you thought „conjured”, because he put them out of thin air, apparently – to meet and greet your buttcheeks. Some of them were flat and rigid, while other more snake-like and resilient. You received a hit after hit, one always a bit stronger than the last one. He was a methodical man. Angel. Person.   Your ass must’ve been nicely flushed by the time he was done. In the meantime, your sinful insides went tender and moist, yearning for a more substantial treatment. You were getting aroused, but not really in pain. Which was nice. But also kinda sucked. „That’s the last one for today,” he said in a low voice, tracing your inflamed buttocks with something cool, narrow and leathery. You felt all the little hairs on your body stand up. „Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” „Yes, that’s the riding crop” said Azrael matter-of-factly and used it. You almost choked on your breath. A flash of acute pain tore through the comfortable daze which enveloped you. You couldn’t help but give a small elated groan. „Huh. I guess we’re finally getting results here” he said with the most level, scientific-like tone of voice. „More?” „Yes, please” you gasped. Another slap, another flash of red behind your firmly shut eyelids. This time you actually cried out in pain. „You’re good? Or should I do it again?” „Again!...” „Again what?” Oh, seriously, fuck this smug bastard. „Please hit me again, Azrael”, you gasped. He did.   The thing about the riding crop is how surprisingly quickly the pain accumulates. You might think: Phew, that wasn’t so bad, and get brought to ugly tears the very next minute. It’s like wasabi for the outer flesh.   That’s exactly what happened to you. The fourth slap made your eyes water and your whole body tremble. It really fucking hurt. The older marks, left by various blunt instruments got ignited by the cruel kisses of the whip. Your ass started to ache all over. Azrael’s handiwork must have left some permanent bruises. You couldn’t see much. So you imagined the archangel - what with his intelligent, sensitive face, his all-around venerable demeanour, standing over you with a horse whip in his hands. His lips upturned with a cruel twirl, those pale eyes half-lidded with pleasure… and sleek, sticky wetness covered your inner thights. „You're dripping ”, observed Azrael in a casual tone of voice. „One more for the road, or have you had enough?” You didn’t answer. „Well?” „I... don’t know...” you whimpered. „I honestly don’t know...” ‘Don’t know’ counts as ’yes, please’ informed Azrael and smacked you again. You screamed. It was an ugly sound; half a sob, half a piercing wail. You hurt so much. Your battered backside was pricking, pinching and dully aching at the same time. You couldn’t take it anymore. On the other side – you didn’t want the spell to break. Azrael had you lying here, shamelessly presenting your ass to the stars, completely helpless and despondent and yearning. And you relished every minute. „Seriously though, my dear. You can just tell me to stop and I will stop” assured your angel in a friendly manner. „But if you don’t...” he traced the curvature of your upper thighs with his tool of choice. „No, not there! Definitely not there!” you cried out in panic. What a lovely laugh this man had. „Should I stop then?” You were in a daze. Tears of pain and arousal covered your face, staining the pristine bedsheets. You ass was in hell and your insides all soft, tender and in a dire need of a dick. You had to spell it out. „Take me, Azrael” you whispered. „Just...fuck me now. Okay?” „You forgot the magic word.” Fucking brute. „Please fuck me. I need you. I beg of you.” He lied on top of you, pressed his supple body to yours. You felt his firm arousal prodding at the small of your back and gasped a little. God, he was hard.   One of his long arms closed you in a tender embrace. He leaned even closer and wiped the salty wetness from your cheek. „You are so brave and resilient and I adore you”, he whispered straight into your ear. His other hand caressed your inner folds. Two nimble fingers zeroed in on your wet entrance and started to play with it. You moaned. „There, there. It won’t be long now, I promise.” His cock slid in without much resistance. You were so ready, after all. You felt his firm length filling you to the brim. A guttural groan escaped your lips. „Sing away, love.” There was warmth in his voice. And what did he just call you? Back and forth you went, back and forth, the oldest dance move of them all. He swayed you like a ship on friendly waters, slowly, without any rush – that is, until you started to arch your hips and beg him to go harder. Then harder he went. Sweet darkness swelled over and covered your eyes until there was nothing else in the whole world - only him. He was a considerate man. Angel. Person. Azrael.

[deamstellarus]

A Touch of Ink (5)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Date Attempt #2

Word Count: 4604

Warnings: Uhm, fluff and some maybe intense-ish (not really) kissing?

A/N: I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know how I feel about this chapter. I rambled a bit and some parts aren’t really necessary but it is what it is I suppose. Next chapter will be super fluffy though!

Series Masterlist | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4

Chapter 5:

“I should probably get going soon,” you said, still straddling his lap with your head lying on his shoulder. “You probably have an early morning.”

He hugged you to him a little tighter then relaxed his hold on you. This close you could see the shades of blue that made up his eyes, the ring of navy that outline his irises, the flecks of grey with tiny specks of green. You could get lost in them. He leaned forward and kissed your cheek.

“Thank you, for going with the change of plans,” he smiled. “How about we try again next week? I mean, how quickly could Becs be sick again right?” He chuckled.

“That’s true. But really, it’s not a big deal, Buck.” You kiss him on the nose, then got off of him and the couch to stand. You adjusted your shirt while Bucky stood up. You grabbed your keys and phone off the counter before turning back to him. He stood by the door with his hands in his pockets, head down with a hint of a smile on his face. You walked back to him.

“I'll see you tomorrow, maybe?” you asked. His head popped up.

“Yeah, of course. I'll text you...or call you. Whichever you prefer.” You couldn't help but giggle at his nervousness.

“I'll see you tomorrow then.” He wrapped his arms around you for the second time that night, and pulled you into his embrace. A few moments later, he reluctantly released you and opened the door. You gave him one last smile before slipping through and heading for the stairwell, hearing the door close behind you.

As you walked down the hall, you ran into a wall of muscle. You looked up into the face of Steve, who seemed exhausted.

“Sorry, Steve. Didn't see you there. Long day?”

“Yeah, it’s been- wait, weren’t you supposed to have a date with Bucky tonight?” You couldn’t stop the smile on your face when you nodded. “Well, that’s great!”

Steve pulled you into a side hug before he yawned and practically unhinged his jaw. You laughed.

“Get some sleep Steve.” You gave him a little push toward his door. “Have a good night.”

You unlocked your own door, and once inside, leaned against it. Your mind ran through the “date” and you couldn’t help but smile. You loved everything about it. Unconventional first date, sure, but Bucky is wonderful and Noah is adorable and you honestly couldn’t wait for your next date.

You went to bed with a smile on your face.

“Y/N! I’m so sorry your date had to be cancelled the other day!” Becca caught you the moment you walked into the bookstore. “I was just so sick on Wednesday. It’s not his fault. You should give him another cha-”

“Becca, calm down,” you interrupted. “We still had our date. It was just a date for three instead of two.”

“Oh. Oh.” Becca’s eyes were wide. “Well that’s...that’s really great, Y/N. How was it?”

“It was really nice. Bucky cooked. We had lasagna, and afterward we played with Noah and watched a kids’ movie before Noah went to bed. It was all very sweet.”

“Aww! And after Noah went to bed?” Becca quirked an eyebrow at you.

“We talked. Mostly about our pasts. I learned about Dot? She seemed amazing.”

“She was.” Becca said, a distant look in her eye.

“He told me how she died… and how her family treats him and Noah.”

Since that night, you couldn't help but be heartbroken, not only for Bucky, but for Noah. He's so young, and to have a family that will not put aside differences to visit him is so sad. Luckily, he has a good family here, made up of members of this quiet little town.

“They're...something else.” Becca shook her head to clear it. “Well I'm glad you had a good time. Are you seeing each other again soon?”

“Yup! We talked about trying again next week? And meeting up when we can before that.”

“I knew you'd be perfect together!” Becca gushed.

“Slow down there. We’re not officially together or anything. I think we're taking it slow? Just dating for now.”

“But you like him?” she asked. The warmth had returned to your cheeks.

“Yeah, I like him. I really do.” Becca grinned at you.

“So are you in for coffee or books today?” You’d almost forgotten why you were at the Hideout in the first place.

“I’m actually here for a little research. I’m trying to find books about fantasy and myths?”

“Oh? What are you doing that requires that kind of research?”

“It’s for a project I’m working on. I could just as easily look up references and whatnot on the internet, but I like to find books on the topics sometimes. A bit of history to get a better understanding of the subject.”

“Huh. Whelp, the selection is kind of small, but it would be this way. Follow me.” Becca came around out from behind the counter and you followed her down one of the aisles. She stopped abruptly in the middle of a bookcase. “These top three rows are pretty much all we have on folklore and fantasy and myths, that aren’t exclusively in the children’s section.

“That’s alright. Thanks so much Becca!” She left and you browsed through the selection until you found a large book with a red spine. Fairy Tales, Folk Lores, and Myths: The Guide to Another Realm.  Huh. Pretty cheesy title, but as you flipped through the pages, there were visual references as well as elaborate stories and tales about magic, adventure, and love. You didn’t know how long you were sat on the floor thumbing through the pages until someone startled you. Becca giggled.  

“Sorry! I’m going to grab some lunch, so I’m going to close the store for a bit. Want to come with me?”

“Lunch?” You checked at your phone for the time and realized it was already past noon. “Oh wow, I didn’t think I’d been here that long. Sure, I probably should eat something before I starve.”

“Sam never said you were dramatic.”

“That’s because he’s always been the bigger drama queen and he knows it.” She held out a hand to help you off the floor, and your bones ached as you stood up. Your muscles were sore. “Wow, remind me not to do that again,” you laughed.

“Sure thing. Come on.”

The two of you went over to Tony’s, where Wanda was your waitress. She practically squealed when you came in.

“Oh! How was the date? Give me all the details! Don’t leave anything out! Please? Aren’t we friends, Y/N?” She pouted with the biggest green puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“Yes, fine, sure.” You laughed at Wanda took a seat next to Becca in the booth. “Well, it was nice. Bucky cooked dinner, and it was delicious. Then we watched a kids’ movie and played with Noah until it was his bedtime. And then we talked. About our pasts and whatnot. And then we kissed.”

“What?” both exclaimed simultaneously.

“What do you mean you played with Noah until bedtime? I thought Becca was babysitting him?” Wanda said, leaning forward and pouting in frustration.

“She was really sick, and he couldn’t find another babysitter on such short notice.”

“And you were okay with that?”

“Honestly? Yeah. I like Noah a lot and he’s not rowdy or obnoxious. He’s sweet and loves his dad. It was a nice dinner.”

“You didn’t tell me you kissed, Y/N,” Becca said, her face unreadable.

“Sorry. Is that a problem?”

“Um, not really? It’s more surprising than anything else. Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone since Dot.” Your eyes went wide at that. “He’s been on dates before but they never went very far, and certainly didn’t generate enough chemistry to kiss.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know. In the moment, it just felt right. I really like him, guys.” They had matching soft eyes and smiles on their faces.

“That’s great, Y/N. I think Bucky really likes you too,” Becca said as she reached across the tale and put a hand over yours.

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious with the way he makes heart eyes at you,” Wanda giggled. Becca checked her watch.

“Hey, let’s order something. I have to get back to the shop soon.” You both ordered and soon your food arrived. Halfway through your meal, Becca placed a to-go order. You looked at her questioningly.

“This is for Bucky. I usually bring him lunch on Fridays and he brings me lunch on Mondays. We’ve done this since he started at Black Widow, when he forgot to bring food and he was super busy one Friday afternoon, so like the perfect sister I am,” you rolled your eyes at that, “I brought him lunch. The following Monday, I was really grumpy because it was raining and I had a headache and he saw me through the window looking otherwise... pathetic, I’ll admit it. I hate Mondays and the rain just messes with my mood. Anyway, he saw me and brought me lunch and it did cheer me up, and the habit kind of just stuck.”

“That’s really sweet, Becs.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well I love him. We were really close as kids, even when he started highschool and I was still in 4th grade. He never really excluded me and let me join him and his friends when they played football and stuff in the backyard, and let me come with them when they went out to get ice cream during the summer. We’ve always been close. Me and Steve too, to be honest. They’ve been best friends since they were in diapers, and I basically grew up with him too. It’s like I have a second brother.” She rolled her eyes at the grin on your face. “Anyway, let’s get going. He’s probably starving. It’s a tad later than I usually drop off his food.”

The two of you went to the counter and paid for your food, then headed across the street to the tattoo shop. On the way there though, an older woman stopped Becca, frantic about how some book on crocheting plush toys lied to her or something and she needed a new gift for her grandson. Becca tried to calm her down, but it wasn’t an easy feat.

“Hey Y/N, will you run this in to Buck? I gotta go help Mrs. Mugillicutty before she has a heart attack,” Becca said, handing you over the bag of food. Without waiting for a response, she left you to calm down the old women.

“Sure Becs, no problem,” you muttered under your breath. You stopped in front of the shop. You couldn’t see Bucky from the window. He must be in the back or something. There didn’t appear to be anyone else was there but Bucky would be expecting Becca to bring him lunch, right? You steeled your nerves that came out of nowhere and pushed open the shop door. A little bell overhead rang out as you entered.

“I’ll be with you in a minute!” A voice from the back called out.

You took the opportunity to wander around the tattoo parlor. There was a sitting area in the front that consisted of a couch and a couple chairs, and a coffee table with magazines. The front desk had a big binder flipped open to a couple elaborate tattoo designs. As you got closer, you heard...snoring? You peaked your head behind the desk and were greeted with the sleepy face of a yellow lab. He reminded you of your family dog back home. Ahead of your were two tattoo stations with chairs that reminded you of a dentist seat. At the station you saw Bucky at that first night, there were papers with hand-drawn designs on a corkboard on the wall. You took a step closer to the drawings when one caught your eye. It was one of the few that was drawn with ink instead of graphite. It was a mandala, but it was formed out of flower petals compared to the geometric shapes you’ve seen before.

“Hey, Becs. Sorry, I wa-.” Bucky stopped mid-sentence. The grin on his face when he saw you initiated the butterflies in your stomach. “Y/N! What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you.”

“Hi. I uhm… Becca! She sent me over with this.” You handed him the bag from Tony’s and watched as his eyes lit up.

“Oh my gosh. Thanks! I’m starving. Noah was slow getting up this morning and I barely got him out the door with breakfast, but I didn’t have any time to eat something myself..”

“Oh, well I’m happy I could bring it over.”

“I’m happy to see you again.” He set the bag down on the stool at his station, then turned back to you, reaching out to hold your hand. “I had a good time the other night.”

“Me too.” You couldn’t stop the smile on your face.

“Honestly, I don’t want to wait until Wednesday to see you again. How about tomorrow night? My parents could probably watch Noah. What do you say?” You were almost distracted by the twinkle in his eye.

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

“Great!” He pulled you into him and kissed your forehead, just as you heard the bell over the door ring.

“Hey! Get a room!” Clint said, walking in with Natasha. He went over to the dog you’d seen earlier, with a small to-go bag in his hand. The dog got up and his tail wagged like crazy. Clint pulled a slice of pizza out of the bag, holding in front of the dog’s face for a moment before it was snatched out of his hand. The dog went back to the dog bed and happily chewed on the pizza.

“Is that good for him?” you asked.

“Who, Lucky? Lucky loves pizza. It’s how I found him, by the harbour, eating pizza from an abandoned box behind the pizzeria.

“Huh. He’s cute,” you said, slightly concerned for his eating habits, but he seemed happy and content so who were you to judge.

“Oh he’s the best!”

“What brings you here?” Natasha said.

“Oh! Just brought him lunch, from Becca.” Natasha hummed in response then turned and headed to the back of the store..

“I don’t think she likes me very much,” you whispered to Bucky. He laughed in response.

“She’s like that to most people. She’s actually pretty nice, and fiercely loyal. She just comes off a bit rough. If she didn’t like you, you’d know it.”

Oh. “Okay, well I’ll let you get back to lunch and work!” You went on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow!”

“So what do you think?”

“This place is beautiful in the moonlight.”

You and Bucky were walking hand in hand down the boardwalk. You’d just had dinner at a little restaurant by the harbour. The dinner was nice, but the company was better. Bucky’s hand found yours multiple times throughout the night and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed so much. He insisted on paying the bill when it came, but when he suggested getting ice cream on the boardwalk afterward, you slipped the cashier the money before he could. “Fair is Fair,” you’d told him. With ice cream in hand, the two of you strolled by the boats in the harbour, looking out at the water. The waves were smaller than when you’d seen them in the daytime and the water seemed to be glittering.

“I can’t believe you grew up with this just outside your door. Well, essentially.” Bucky chuckled.

“Yeah, it was great. Becca and I rode out on my dad’s boat practically every other weekend.” His thumb drew circles on your hand as he held it. “I could take you out on the water sometime if you’d like.”

“Really? That’d be amazing!”

You stood at the end of the dock by the lighthouse for a while until a breeze blew by, causing a shiver to run up your spine. Bucky noticed and shrugged off his leather jacket, placing it on your shoulders. You slipped your arms into the sleeves and were instantly surrounded by the smell of leather, sandalwood, and… Bucky. You burrowed yourself into the jacket as much as you could, savoring the warmth. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s get you back home. It’s pretty chilly out here.”

When you arrived back at your apartment building, you waited for the elevator to come down to the first floor.

“I’m not ready for the night to end just yet,” you said, gazing up into his eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Uhm.. do you want to come back to my place? I have some wine and beer, or coffee and tea, if you’d like.” You hoped you didn’t sound too eager.

“Yes!” He blurted. He coughed, clearing his throat. “I mean, yeah, that’d be great.” Once inside your apartment, you told him to make himself at home. “What would you like to drink?”

“You don’t have to make anything special for me, just whatever you’re having.”

When you came back into the living room, Bucky was looking at the pictures on your wall. There was a photograph of you and Sam from when you were about four and Sam was seven, posing in your Halloween costumes. You’d gone as Minnie and Mickey that year for the annual Halloween party your mom throws. You handed him the bug of tea and he thanked you.

“You were adorable!”

“Were? Am I not adorable now?” You quipped back, quirking your eyebrow at him. Bucky’s eyes went wide, and his mouth opened and closed several times like a fish.

“I’m just kidding Bucky. I’ll admit, Sammy and I were pretty cute kids,” you said, taking a seat on the couch.

“I’d say you’re pretty cute now,” he said as he sat next to you. He put his mug on the coffee table and placed his arm on the back of the couch behind you. You took a tip of your tea, then set your mug on the coffee table.

“Well aren’t you sweet.”

He glanced at your lips before looking back into your eyes. Before you knew it, you were leaning into each other and your lips connected. His lips were warm, much like the first time you’d kissed a few days earlier. Unlike the first time though, this kiss was thorough and you melted into it. You cupped his face with your hands, fingers grazing the scruff on his face. His arms went around your waist, holding you to him. His strong hands lifted you from your position beside him to seat you on his lap, legs straddling his thighs. A position you noticed he prefered. His fingers gripped your hips, not too tight to leave a mark, but enough to let him feel in control. You pulled away for a second, gasping for breath as you remembered you had to breathe. You rested your forehead to his, peeking at his closed eyes. You held onto his shoulders as he let go of you and leaned forward to take off his button up and throw it over the arm of the couch, which left him in a dark t-shirt that showed off his tattoos. His eyes finally met yours again and you could see some hesitance of what you were doing. You ran a hand through his chestnut hair.

“We can just keep doing this, we don’t have to go any further. This is plenty for now, alright?” You kissed his cheek. “Is this okay?” you whispered, hoping that you hadn’t crossed some line or pushed him too far.

He nodded, grinning back at you. “More than okay.”

You bent your head down and he reached up, his lips captured your once again.

“Have you ever thought of getting one?”

You were lying together on your couch, your head on his chest. His arm was around you, his thumb drawing circles onto your side through your shirt.

“One what?” you asked, tilting your head up to see his face.

“A tattoo. When I found you in the shop yesterday, you were looking at some of the designs I’ve done for people. Have you ever thought of getting one yourself?

“To be honest, I have, once or twice. But I’m too scared. Not of needles or anything, just the pain. My tolerance is not the highest and I bruise easy.” Bucky hummed at your response. “But I have imagined getting something that was drawn for me, you know? Like a unique piece that had a meaning behind it or connected me to someone.” You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe someday I’ll get something.”

“Well, when you do decide to get one, I’d be thrilled to do the honors.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it.” You pulled his arm around you a bit more to get a closer look at the images.

“If you wanted to see them, you could've just asked.” He laughed softly.

He turned in his spot, holding you by your arms to sit you up with him. He took off the t-shirt he was wearing and you gasped slightly at his bare skin. You reached out and lightly traced the edge of where the sleeve began at the top of his shoulder. A green and red dragon curled its way down half the length of Bucky’s arm, with its curved neck at his shoulder. The skin there was a little bumpy compared to the smoothness a couple inches underneath it.

“That's part of the scar. When I decided I wanted something to cover the scars, I told Stevie I wanted something that would cover a large majority in one go. He came back a couple days later with the dragon. He’d really gotten into art history in high school and drew in all different styles he read about on the internet. I guess the dragon was something that stuck in his mind because it ended up working perfectly and Nat did a great job.”

On the underside of his forearm, a set of three red roses bloomed on his skin, textured and made to appear real. You traced your fingertips around the green leaves filling out the empty spaces.

“Roses were Dot’s favorite. She used to say, ‘I know they’re overrated but they smell so nice.’ It seemed like a less cheesy way to remember her, you know?” You hummed in agreement.

On the inside of his bicep, just below the dragon’s head, was the phrase, “‘Till the end of the line,” written in a pretty script that contrasted with the other colorful designs on his skin.

“It's something Steve and I used to say to each other. It meant that we’d always have each others’ backs. You wouldn't believe me, looking at him now, but Steve was a tiny kid and got picked on a lot by the older kids, and stuck up for others who got bullied. They'd knock him down and he’d get right back up again with bruises already forming and a cut lip. So I'd jump in because he's my best friend and I can't let him get beat up alone. Then when we both joined the firehouse, it meant even more in the field. Steve has a matching one on his right bicep actually. It was one of the first tattoos I ever did, but it’s technically Steve’s handwriting.”

“‘Till the end of the line.’ I like that. Feels nostalgic somehow,” you said. “Can’t really imagine Steve as anything close to tiny though.”

You turned his arm over to look at the last tattoo that took up the majority of the front of his forearm. It was of ocean waves, rough and choppy with a lighthouse in the background.

“This one isn’t as sentimental as the others. I’ve always loved the water though, I grew up on it, so I like having it permanently a part of me. The lighthouse though is the same one down by the harbor. Lights the way home, my dad would say. Stevie drew something similar to this one day and I knew I wanted it on my arm.”

“Wow, it seems like Steve has drawn most of your tattoos.”

“Well he is the better artist. He’s been drawing as long as I could remember. There used to be a time where you couldn’t find him without his sketchbook nearby.”

“Well, I appreciate his artistic eye,” you said. You laid back down on the couch together, your body snuggled into his side. In the silence, with your head on his chest, you could hear his heart beating fast.

“Do they bother you? The tattoos, or even the scars?” When you glanced at him, you could tell he was nervous about your answer.

“I think they're all beautiful, James. I think anyone who thinks differently is wrong,” you whispered, not wanting to break the comfortable quiet you were in. You caressed his chest absent-mindedly.

“I haven’t really dated since the accident,” Bucky said. “Nat and Stevie have tried to set me up with people before. To “get back out there” they said, but it never worked out. I would go out on the date, usually meeting them at Tony’s but by halfway through dinner, I’d want to leave. I found myself comparing them to Dot, their personalities, how they laughed, what they looked like, what their interests were. Sometimes, they’d see the tattoos and would judge me, not openly talking about them, but they’d eye the bits of ink peeking out from my shirtsleeve and a look of disgust would flash across their face before they corrected it. And then there’s the fact that I have Noah, and what young person wants to be in a relationship with a man who already has a son? By the end of the night... I would feel awful. I would feel like I wasted their time, and mine…” He took a deep breath, but when he exhaled, it was shaky. “The worst part was that I felt like I was cheating on Dot. Like what I was doing, dating other people, was seen as trying to replace her.”

“Oh James…” You stroked the side of his neck.

“She was the love of my life, the mother of my son. I felt like I was...was disgracing her memory or something.”

His arms around your waist tensed for a moment before they loosened. You leaned back in his hold to look up at his face. His hand went to your cheek, thumb absently brushing your skin as he stared into your eyes.

“But then I met you. Well, heard about you first, briefly, from an energetic six year old.” He chuckled. “But when I first met you at the Hideout? I think I even surprised myself that day how at ease I  was and comfortable I felt around you.” He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “I don’t want to scare you, or put too much on you...I know I have a lot of baggage...but I like you. And I think you like me too.” You rolled your eyes at that but smiled at him. “I don't want to rush into things, but I’d really like to see where this goes. I guess what I’m trying to say is, will you be my girl?”

[Chapter 6]

[chiropteran-hellfire]

A Reply

Alright. I was not planning on originally doing this, simply because to respond to such pettiness I see as beneath me, but the line of tolerance no matter how far it may be to reach, still exists, and if one crosses it I will not be able to ignore such a gesture.

I have been sent ten messages of hateful provocation under a new empty blog to hide their identity, this is my answer to that person.

First thing's first, some context. I am otherkin, and I have a history within the community. About a month ago now Grey, the owner of the largest otherkin Discord chat, of which I was a moderator in for roughly two years, decided to not only abandon it; casting everyone within it into a state of confusion, but to also clearly state, "You can all go to hell." This was done while also assigning ownership to the dead account of a person whom I do not have kind memories of. I took this as not only a despicably irresponsible action to abandon a large scale community without properly assigning a new owner, but to make it as a personal final 'fuck you' to not only all of the members, but myself personally due to the choice of account she assigned it to.

Grey was not unaware of my history with that account/individual, and she was also not unaware of my BPD, something that if triggered will cause me to act irrationally and extravagantly. The result was uncontrollable on my part. My home had turned against me, so I turned against it in turn. I broke down many of the channels yet still fought myself to leave the ones that held the most important information - the otherkin and fictionkin channels. Were my actions the best thing to do? No. Were they personally unjustified? Well, that's the argument isn't it? One that's unfortunately tainted with having an Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder.

However, the result of this was that I was finally shown who would offer me understanding, listen to my side, and give me the time to not harass me at the first chance they got. My enemies and friends became clearer than ever to me. Not only this, but the resulting fall out has caused the community to break free from Grey's dying chat; a chat that was often neglected by it's owner. It has allowed the community to turn over a new page within our history books. One person described my actions as a mercy killing, for Grey locked it into a stagnant slow death, while I pushed everyone to make a move that was needed, but no one wanted to make.

I do not expect you to see it this way however, and you are free to see my actions as immoral, unjust and anything else you wish.

That all being said, no matter how much you might not agree with a person's actions, the answer is not to go and send that person continuous spite and try to prey on my mental issues to torment me with as a result. I never intentionally wanted to hurt anyone. You, on the other hand, do wish for such. This is why I am making this reply, because I know who you are Tama, and everyone needs to know just how cruel you really are.

No I'm afraid I can't take credit for such a thing, though after all you've now sent to me I rather wish I could. You are clearly in ignorance to the pain I was experiencing at the moment. What Grey did sent me so far over the edge it's honestly impossible to put into words in any way that'd give it the amount of meaning I'd wish to convey.

The amount of harassment I have received afterwards only shows I had not 'run away' in full, or I wouldn't have been able to receive these messages of abuse in the first place. Just like yours being sent to me now... weeks after the event. So here's your response, I'm not running away, lets continue.

You were doing well with your opener, but now we see your true colours don't we? One of an underhanded opponent who knows not how to make an actual argument, but resort to insults that may just rival that of a 6 year old's if I'm being generous.

I do worry for you though, are you implying there are 'real vampires' out there? Undead creatures that rise from the graves of humans possessing immortality and all manner of other abilities? I think you should see someone about such beliefs, one might start to think you're a little unhinged.

After I had received the first two messages, I informed my friends and one of them contacted you. Such a threatening action to your previously held notion of anonymity seemed to have knocked some sense into you as you start to talk more sensibly now. If only you could talk to me like this personally, maybe we could get somewhere, but you speak through the gritted teeth of hypocrisy.

You talk of owning up to one's actions while you hide behind a false identity. The irony would be laughable if not so pitiful. I am not the one hiding here, I am responding, I am wishing to speak with you properly. You however, are not.

I am honest. If you had simply come to me to ask my views I would have told you, but you decided not to do that, and to simply demean and berile me from behind a wall. Do come out when you're feeling braver.

I'm not running. My honour is that my actions are stained to my name, good or bad, I take it all as under my life's banner. What are you doing?

Many people turned on me, I have not 'gotten away with it' as you wish to phrase it. The result of my actions was cast unto me regardless. But you're quite right, people shouldn't have their actions not held to their name, which is why I'm holding yours to your name, now isn't it?

If you stoop much lower I'm afraid you will become subterranean. You also appear to be projecting.

How so? Do elaborate. If someone sees my actions as wrong I'd hope they would tell me forthright and I can help us both come to an understanding.

Letting all this bullying get to your head now are we? Yes, I will enjoy my small circle of friends, because that's honestly all I have left in life, the few people who take the time to understand me and not judge me without listening to me. I value each and every one of the people who have stuck with me thus far, because I understand I am not a usual personality, and I am at times hard to understand.

I require a level of patience that is beyond most people, and I recognise this, which is why I do not think ill of the vast majority who look at me unkindly. But those who go out of their way to make my already pathetic life even more painful, I have no remorse for. You are cruel, short sighted and disillusioned to believe you are doing a good deed through attacking another.

I have to protect myself. You prey on my paranoia to try and force me into a panicked state where I trust no one, and lose everything I have in life. You wish for my death, because I don't think you truly understand just how close I am to the edge, and how hard I try in life to cling on despite the cruelty of people like you. I have never gone out of my way to hurt anyone unless they push me to such a point I snap, which is very rare. I am mentally unwell, as you also clearly are, but I try my best to still always do the right thing amidst my turbulent mental seas. If I do something wrong, I hope people would take the time to treat me as an equal, and talk to me honestly about their emotions, as I will speak honestly of my own.

Tama, you deserve this response. Learn from it. Because even while you press knives into me I will not fall to the same level of insult that you have so easily that it has occurred weeks after the incident.

Get help, and either talk to me properly, or leave me alone.

[cryptidandwren]

OUR FETISHES ARE NO BASIS FOR A SYSTEM OF GOVERNMENT

In this essay we will discuss the media and social environment under which a dangerously unhinged President personally responsible for a quarter million of his people dying can come within ten million votes of winning the popular vote. You are seeing this because you follow my wife’s porn blog, so I'll skip over the part about minority rule’s role in American politics. There is nothing cute to be made of a Senate majority that represents 20 million fewer people systematically eroding reproductive rights, discriminatory protections, and twisting the federal judiciary into a visage of an extreme few. No, you are seeing this because of porn, so let's use porn to understand what is happening in The United States. Personally, I am very interested in dangerously unstable people with complete disregard for their actions’ effects on themselves and others. While it's personally undisputed that crazy is hot, this sexual preference was never going to factor into my dating decisions, because unfortunately I am within the subset of “others”. In this discussion we are also going to be talking about those on the right side of the political aisle, because what we are talking about is not symmetrical fresh-never-frozen-bug-fucking-insanity. The Republican Party started experimenting with putting its dick in crazy beginning with the Southern Strategy, and now its been balls deep in crazy for three decades. Part of the “go balls deep and nut in the worst angels of our being” strategy pioneered by Nixon and allies like the Koch brothers was to create a verdant media environment where you could choose your own adventure on talk radio or Fox News. Choice is where this all goes from “go balls deep and nut in the worst angels of our being” to “tied to a chair in a shady warehouse by the docks wearing nothing but a latex horse mask and being sucked off by one lady, one man, and an oddly enthusiastic aquarium fish.” In broad strokes people are selecting news that makes them feel good in the same way that they are selecting porn that makes them feel good, and people will become better able at determining what exactly they want over time.

Let’s start off by defining what makes something pornographic. For this there can only be one source of authority to begin our inquiry: The United States Supreme Court. The United States Supreme Court defined obscenity as: “1) A thing must be prurient in nature; 2) a thing must be completely devoid of scientific, political, educational, or social value; and 3) a thing must violate the local community standards.” Miller v. California 413 U.S. 15 (1973).  The Miller test is the threshold standard for obscenity. Obscenity is a classification under First Amendment law, and not all porn will pass through the Miller test threshold. At the same time Miller is the culmination of a large body of litigation over the question of how pornography, its almost always pornography, should be classified for First Amendment protections purposes. It is important to understand that this is a local standard. Which is to say that the Government’s ability to regulate pornographic or otherwise obscene speech is conditional upon local community standards. While two people fucking on the subway may be a charming part of the morning commute in NYC, or nutting to Lucky, the mascot for the Celtics, may be essential to Boston culture, both acts may be obscene in Des Moines Iowa. When discussing the internet, which we must do in this inquiry, local standards are thrown out. Additionally, Miller is a threshold standard for a certain kind of porn. For these reasons, Miller cannot be said to be controlling on what makes something pornographic. 

Fortunately The Supreme Court’s long history of litigation on the legal question of what makes pornography allows us to draw on persuasive evidence. Justice Stewart in his concurring opinion stated that he knows it [obscenity/porn] when he sees it. Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 187 (1964). This rule cures the defect created by a local standard as found in Miller. Additionally, it provides a more sex positive framework with which to approach the issue, as it better acknowledges the full breadth of human sexual expression. Still, it is too subjective to provide a tenable framework, as when everything can be porn then nothing may also be porn. A synthesis of the two rules is therefore appropriate.  

The definition of porn requires a global standard, room to embrace the full breadth of human sexual expression, and some objective elements. Drawing on both Jacovellis and Miller porn is: 1) a thing known when seen; 2) a thing completely devoid of scientific, political, educational, or social value; and 3) a thing which violates community standards. Let us now apply this new test to two fact patterns. First, HOT MILF OCTAGON DILDO WARRIOR 3 THE RESUBMITINING is a hypothetical film about mothers, although proof of their identity as such is lacking, fighting with dildos to submit or resubmit other mothers in a octagon with elaborate combat etiquette around naked dildo fights. Starting at the top, let us stipulate that this would be known to be porn when seen. Second, only the most strained and lonely freshman year Lit students could glean some scientific, political, educational, or social value out of what has been presented. Perhaps something to the effect of: “it represents the way in which an overly sexualized capitalist society pits actors against each other in abstracted combat which inevitably comes at the expense of the family unit, and the brunt of this abstract combat falls on women and or female caregivers”. Finally, this would violate community standards. Transgressiveness is hot, and you are not supposed to fight, much less with ten (10) pound dildo flails. Alternatively, there is the Venus de Milo. They would show this on PBS. It's not porn. That's not to say you can't nut to it, but any such nutting would be brought to you by viewers like you. This synthesized rule provides a practical framework to view porn broadly.  

Now that we have a definition to apply to the pornographic, let us turn our gaze towards the fetish driven hellscape that is American politics. Our politics have become run by civic pornographic tropes. These tropes exigent before the advent of social media found a newly fertile ground on Twitter and Facebook. In the same way that interest in DADDY BIGFOOT FUCKS ME IN THE ASS AND THEN TAKES ME TO CHILI’S existed before the internet, interest in a secretive government leaker trying to save children and provide life extending technology conspiracies existed before the internet. The internet simply reduces the transactional cost of finding what you are really into.   

Sex sells, but faces problems of scalability. Facebook, twitter, and all the rest sell ads. The more you are on them the more ads they can sell. Porn sells like, well, porn, but Pornhub hasn’t managed to destabilize entire governments and escalate ethnic tensions into a genocide. The problem that Pornhub has is scalability. We are closer to chimps than bonobos, so sex can only sell so far. This presented Facebook with a problem.  How do you scale up a platform designed to rank your co-workers on fuckability into something that can Grima Wormtounge everyone’s grandmother? Use algorithms to push people towards more and more specifically targeted salacious content and rely on a healthy community of amateur content creators so that there is always something available to engage anyone’s most niche interests. That the business model of Pornhub and Facebook are nearly indistinguishable are no mistake. 

To scale up one not only has to understand what porn is, but what the draw of porn is. Porn’s fundamental draw is not the sex, but the fantasy. It is fantasy without the distant mirror, or at least without an intentional one. Porn, unlike sex, creates a reality of your own choosing unconstrained by real worldly limitations and curated to facilitate the chosen fantasy. PRISON LESBIANS 4 NO ESCAPE; BUTTSTUFF FOR BAD GIRLS doesn’t have to be a dingy place standing as a monolith to a horrifying system housing those broken under the crushing wheels of a morally indefensible society of indifference, like a real prison. Instead it can be a well-lit, adequately shot, sanitized play place for beautiful people to fuck like they are in a smutty disneyworld after Disney ripped the still beating heart out of the play Chicago. Through its alchemy porn is able to transmute the real world into smutty gold. Any impurities which may have stood in the way of the fantasy drawn out and rendered golden.  

It is this same alchemy that we find at work in the so-called “new media”. GOD KING TRUMP TO KILL CHINESE DRAGON AND FREE AMERICAN WORKERS FROM THOUSAND YEARS OF DARKNESS is no more concerned with the realities of the election than PRISON LESBIANS 4 NO ESCAPE; BUTTSTUFF FOR BAD GIRLS is concerned with The United States criminal justice system. Applying our standard to GOD KING TRUMP TO KILL CHINESE DRAGON AND FREE AMERICAN WORKERS FROM THOUSAND YEARS OF DARKNESS its pornographic nature must be:1) a thing known when seen; 2) a thing completely devoid of scientific, political, educational, or social value; and 3) a thing which violates community standards. Starting with the first element, this exists because someone is into it. It is, like most porn, ridiculous with the benefit of post nut clarity. Secondly, no real value can be drawn from it. Perhaps a vague sense that the American working class has not been served by the last forty years of neoliberalism’s relentless pace which makes scabs out of entire nations, but surely nothing can be gleaned worth thinking about. Finally, Trump by his nature and actions is transgressive and violates nearly every social norm he's ever met. He even paid off several social norms to ensure their silence. This is porn under the Miller-Jacovellis synthesis rule.  

“Well that is only one example,” a scarecrow I just created to take down might say. Well scarecrow I've inserted in a petulant power fantasy, we will discuss yet another political pornographic genre.

 Let's look at one of the most persistent fetishes in American politics. The fetish that The United States is a meritocracy. First prong is satisfied, because this is a fantasy that exists because it feels good. In a meritocracy one would see social mobility both upwards and downwards. As a person of great quality is born to a low class they would naturally rise. Conversely as a person of low quality is born to a high class they would naturally fall. This is simply not the case. You will die in the same class or a little below as your parents. Men make more on average than women for the same work. Finally, reports of racism's demise after Obama’s election were greatly exaggerated. Much as the realities of American prisons have to be thrown out to allow for the fantasy within PRISON LESBIANS 4 NO ESCAPE; BUTTSTUFF FOR BAD GIRLS or the class and gender implications must be kept at arm's length for HOT MILF OCTAGON DILDO WARRIOR 3 THE RESUBMITINING, the realities of America’s class, gender, and race relations must be transmuted away for the alchemy of porn to take place on the American meritocracy. Element two is met, because this fantasy has no more value than those contained within DADDY BIGFOOT FUCKS ME IN THE ASS AND THEN TAKES ME TO CHILI’S. Any attempt to stratify and rank fantasies based on intellectual merit is more likely to tell us about the author of the list than to accurately rank the intellectual merits with any validity, so all fantasies must then stand on equal footing sexually or not. Finally, we must analyze the transgressiveness of a meritocracy to satisfy the third element. On one hand, this is a omnibus fetish like tits or ass in sexual pornography. However, a kind of transgressive nature does appear to materialize when POC or women succeed. Were Captain America to be cast as a black man it would surely be met with cries of, “that's not right, Cap is White, Libs ruin comic books”. When female characters fail to be thinly veiled fetish items or possess body fat necessary to make it through a day without getting dizzy are cast, one can expect cries of, “WOMEN CAN’T BE.” In this way it is transgressive for those who are not supposed to win based on their immutable characteristics rather than their talents to win under this meritocracy. It is therefore plausible to find meritocracy in The United States as a genre of civic pornography.

It is at this point that we must view those on the right side of the political aisle not as misguided by misinformation with infantilizing gaze and endless forgiveness, but as fetish enthusiasts who open conversations with what grocery store’s ginger makes the best buttplugs. People gravitate towards the news that makes them feel good, in the same way that they gravitate towards porn that makes them feel good. These are active choices to view and active choices to talk about their fetishes. It's fine if people want to read TRUMP ELECTED GOD KING OF AMERICA; TO LIFT US TO MOON BASE WITH MASSIVE COCK or PRESIDENT TRUMP LOCKS BABIES IN CAGES TO HARVEST LIB TEARS; TOO WINNING TOO HARD  in the privacy of their own bedroom. Much like sexually explicit pornography, the line is drawn when you start acting on or discussing the weird stuff in the real world without consent. 

Fundamentally, when Nixon first suggested to the Republican electorate that they had the freedom to go balls deep in the worst angels of our being, we saw a sort of sexual liberation take place. It started with veiled dogwhistles. Just the “tasteful” little “welfare queen” brand racism used to be enough, but it wasn't really what they wanted. I mean sure, BALL GAG BALLET SWAN TAINT LAKE has some things you like, but maybe GIMP SUIT’S A NUUTCRACKER; CHRISTMAS CUMS ONCE A YEAR is gonna really scratch that itch. 

We need to stop asking Republicans to change for us. This is their authentic selves, and it's awful. Accepting someone for who they are doesn't always mean forgiving them for the things they jerk off to in the supermarket in a bizarre attempt to undermine your nation's democratic institutions.    

[hellomissmabel]

The Red Queen (1/3)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Nat x reader, Bucky x reader

Warnings: Car crash. Someone being called a bitch.

Word count: 1.754

Summary: A small yet skilled art thief is drawn to the French Riviera to settle a score, only to be met with the surprise of a lifetime.

The prompt: The reader can erase memories, or so she thinks. In reality, she merely misplaces them. But those misplaced memories have to go somewhere, the only question is, where?

A/N: This is a mini series I’ve written while on the road. It’s not an AU (surprise surprise!) and I feel like I’m a bit rusty writing something else. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it @jurassicbarnes <3

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go down. It was supposed to be quick, an easy in and out. These past five weeks, you had meticulously studied the entire estate, including the stables, mansion and its occupants. You didn’t leave any room for mistakes or miscalculations, simply because you didn’t make any. Something else must’ve triggered the alarm, or rather, someone else.

“I am unarmed,” you state plainly, carefully turning towards to the three guards now in front of you. They are all carrying a handgun, two other knives stashed away in their monochrome uniform. Number one is already distracted, speaking into his walkie-talkie, muttering something about a young woman getting caught in the drawing room. The second guard has his eyes all set on you. He is a little overweight and therefore makes an easier target, unlike the third man who appears to be as agile as a figure skater and as strong as a body builder.

All in all, you have a 50% chance this goes sideways.

“Don’t move!,” the sturdy guard shouts, his finger ready to pull the trigger.

“It’s alright, Fred.” The third guard eyes you, his hand on the other man’s gun as he lowers it very slowly, still untrusting towards you. “Craig,” he says to the man on the walkie-talkie, “Tell Jean it’s nothing. She’s a guest, I checked her invitation upon arrival. She just got lost on her way to the bathroom, right?”

He winks shortly when his gaze lands on you again. You quickly nod, swallowing away the lump in your throat. You know for a fact he’s lying. He didn’t see you come in and he didn’t check your invitation, even though you did take the main entrance and you did have a skilfully forged invitation. But in the current situation, you don’t have the luxury to call his bluff. So you just go with it, trying not to blow your cover.

With a fake accent, you explain in perfect French that you asked one of the waitresses for directions but that you must’ve taken a wrong turn. “I simply wanted to reapply my lipstick.” You point towards your lips, painted in a deep red. “My husband... He’ll be worried, wondering why it’s taking me this long.”

You can see the shoulders of the first guard relax but the second man, Fred, still remains a stiff posture. In an attempt to make yourself sound more genuine, you add a touch of hysteria to your already high-pitched tone, nervously fidgeting with your Balenciaga.

“I didn’t know this room was under surveillance,” you say in broken English, laced with a thick, fake French accent. “Please,” you continue to plead, “I did nothing wrong.”

Fred and Craig both exchange looks with the third man who never, not even once, averted his eyes. You catch a glimpse of a smirk when he waves the men away, stating he will escort you back to the festivities. “I’m sorry for all the trouble, madame. But surely you must understand that with such an extensive art collection, the host, mister Valois, doesn’t want to take any risks.”

By now you’re sure you’re dealing with another thief, one that has wormed his way into the family’s security personnel and undoubtedly has his eye on the entire collection. Nobody goes to such great lengths for a small score. It must’ve cost him a great deal of money to get his identity together and a great deal of effort to gain the family’s trust.

He’s a professional, but so are you. “Yes,” you exhale in a long breath, still true to your act as the upset French wife. “Yes, I completely understand, monsieur.”

As he is walking you back to the garden where the party is taking place, one hand on your lower back and the other by his side, he eventually confirms your suspicions. “What piece of the collection are you after, hm?,” he hums under his breath.

When you have made sure no-one is eavesdropping on the conversation, you answer honestly. “The Monet. You?”

“My men are outside waiting for my signal. At midnight, there will be a diversion,” he nods in the direction of the ice sculpture. Behind it, people have gathered in anticipation of the fireworks. “Make sure you’re gone by then.”

“No problem. Still have enough time to secure my pay check and steal that Monet.”

He chuckles darkly, his hand on the small of your back curling around your waist in a vice-like grip. “You can forget about that, missy. The Monet belongs to my employer. And thanks to your little stunt back there, nobody will suspect me now.”

“Let go of me,” you hiss through clenched teeth. “You triggered the alarm on purpose!”

You’ve immersed the heart of the festivities and he finally lets go of you. “I’m the puppeteer,” he grins as he takes a bow. “And I believe my reputation proceeds me.”

“The puppeteer,” you mull the name around in your mouth like a bad taste.

He is one of the most wanted thieves in the art business, a well-known name on the black market. He can get you anything, from a long-lost Picasso to a highly desired Ensor from a private collection. But this kind of service also comes at a price, one only a very select clientele can afford to pay. He also likes to take his time, creating elaborate alibies as well as eliminating any competition.

He’s seen your face, so you’re as good as dead. But you’ve got a couple tricks up your sleeve, too.

Inching close enough, your lips hovering over his in a small smile, you cup his face and look into his eyes. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I believe my name must ring a bell.”

For a moment, disbelief is written all over his face. But as soon as you’ve uttered those words, they have been erased from his mind. His eyes are locked with yours as you search his mind for any traces of your encounter now and earlier.

He blinks a few times and you release him, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “This is for Monaco,” you whisper into his ear as you repeat the gesture, cradling his face in your hands and keeping his eyes on you until they turn expressionless, all memories wiped away. You’ve made him a blank slate.

“This is for ruining my life,” you tell him as you take a step back, “It was me you ran off the road while you were being chased by the police for stealing that Van Gogh. This is your judgement day.”

Taking out your cell phone from your clutch, you dial the number of the French police. Again in impeccable French, you tell them you’ve seen masked men enter the premises, followed by a description of the security guard that let them in. Immediately hanging up afterwards, you toss the phone in a nearby fountain, certain they will never trace it back to you.

At the makeshift car park, your eyes scan for an easily accessible car. Your heels click against the concrete floor as you find yourself an easily accessible car that will blend in nicely. It’s sleek and black and unlocked, one of the biggest mistakes made my rich people who think that the valet will take it all off their hands. Unfortunately for them, this valet didn’t even bother pressing that one little button. Luckily for you, you’ve got yourself a getaway car now.

Opening the door to the driver’s side, you slide into the seat and attempt to start up the ignition. Once the right wires have been crossed, the engine roars under your awakening touch, purring like a cat being caressed once your rest your hand on the steering wheel.

“Let’s see what this baby can do,” you smirk to yourself, pulling away and pushing the engine to a greater and greater speed until the houses and the city flashes by in an imperceptible way. Everything has become a blur and so has your life’s purpose. Dissolved. Erased.

Turning the radio up, another pop song blasting through the speakers, you block out the oblivion tingling your mind. But not long after you’ve put the party behind you, a charcoal grey motorcycle turns up on your left side, approaching fast. It’s impossible to discern whether the driver is male or female, the leather blending seamlessly with the darkness of night. This sets off an alarm bell, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

You decide to take an unexpected turn, spiralling down more narrow streets where the car poses a tight fit. It’s a silent drive down an unfamiliar track, with no GPS signal to guide you to the other end. But you know the French Riviera like the back of your hand and all roads eventually wind up together. You’ll find your way back in the nick of time. At least you’ve lost that fishy motorcycle.

A loud thud forebodes the screeching tyres that follow as your hands claw at the steering wheel. The motorcycle has returned and has now proceeded to push you off the road. If this were your own car, you’d always keep a gun at your disposal. But now you’re left completely defenceless, your only option the safety of this car. Nevertheless, the person on the motorcycle is already one step ahead of you, pulling out their own gun and shooting at your tyres. The car spins out of control and if not for your seatbelt, you would’ve flown out of the vehicle within seconds before the crash.

Your head feels like it’s no longer attached to your neck and your eyes are falling shut under the impact of the collision. The lead taste of blood fills your mouth as a dark figure shows up in the corner of my eye, the motorcycle parked not far away from the crash site. You’re about to pass out when the car door, already unhinged by the accident, is ripped from the vehicle by a strong and swift hand. The person controlling the motorcycle is not a man, but a woman. A woman with red hair and sharp eyes like the daggers attached to her thighs.

“Who the fuck are you?,” you whisper with the last of your strength.

She smirks and grips your hair in a fist, pulling your head back so I’m forced to look at her. “I’m Black Widow, bitch,” she snarls before slamming your face into the steering wheel, knocking you out instantly.

Part 2

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @myserium @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @4theluvofall @bovaria @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplanbuckybarnes @nenyakj @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @mellifluous-melodramas @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @jurassicbarnes @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @xbergiex

[easyfoodnetwork]

Food-Adjacent TV to Stream This Weekend, According to Eater Staff

Actor Sandra Oh, wearing a black chef beanie and a white t-shirt, talks on an iPhone outside a restaurant kitchen. | BBC America

“Killing Eve,” reality TV favorites, classic sitcoms, and more

We at Eater spend a lot of time thinking about food, so when it appears on our TV screen, we take special interest. If you’re looking to stream some non-food TV that happens to be — at least tangentially — about food this weekend, here’s what we recommend.

Terrace House: Tokyo, Episode 11 (available to stream on Netflix)

Terrace House, the Japanese version of The Real World, has had a long history of food-related misdemeanors and crimes, but the most recent one entails broccoli, pasta water, and egg. Ruka, one of the housemates of the Tokyo house, is a complete enigma of a human being and maybe the most naive person to ever grace Terrace House (or the world?). In an attempt to cook broccoli pasta carbonara, he cracks an egg into the pasta water with the pasta, then adds broccoli. It seems he read the ingredient list, skipped the instructions, and simply winged it. Nothing matters, you know?!

In Netflix’s latest batch of episodes (Netflix US runs a couple of months behind Japan), Ruka attempts broccoli pasta carbonara again. I gasped when I saw he was making pasta FROM SCRATCH and squealed when he presented something that not only looked edible, but delicious! His housemates were (understandably) pleasantly shocked and I got very emotional. It’s rare when you see such dramatic growth. I imagine this is what parents feel when they see their children walk for the first time. — Pelin Keskin, Eater associate producer

Community (available to stream on Hulu and Netflix)

In 2009, when Community first aired, I was actually taking classes at a community college. Yet, somehow I’ve made it this long without watching this series created by Dan Harmon and featuring some of the current era’s most memorable actors (See: Donald Glover, Alison Brie, Gillian Jacobs, and Ken Jeong). The first season hinges on narcissistic student Jeff Winger (Joel McHale) starting classes at a Greendale Community College, where he’s pursuing his bachelor’s degree in an attempt to reclaim his suspended law license. Winger joins a Spanish 101 study group (remember when people still gathered in groups?) to incessantly hit on Britta Perry (played by Jacobs). But as the show evolves, episodes become more unhinged, playing into pop culture tropes observed by TV and movie obsessed student Abed Nadir (Danny Pudi). After a while, it becomes easier to view this show as sort of a live-action version of Harmon’s later work Rick and Morty, but with a slightly less noxious fandom attached. This is particularly encapsulated in episodes like Season 2’s “Epidemiology,” in which the whole student body is transformed into zombies after eating expired military rations. Season 2 also features an excellent example of weird TV sponcon in “Basic Rocket Science,” where the study group gets trapped inside a Kentucky Fried Chicken-branded space flight simulator. — Brenna Houck, Eater.com reporter and Eater Detroit editor

Killing Eve (Season 3, Episode 1, available to stream on BBC America)

Killing Eve, a BBC show that for two seasons has been about feminism, fucking, and fighting, has added a fourth “f” to its roster: food. When we reunite with the show’s titular “Eve” (Sandra Oh), we watch her shopping the aisles of an Asian grocery, grabbing ramen cups and snacks from shelves that seem preposterously well-stocked to my pandemic-warped eyes. The multitudes the store holds are intoxicating. We then discover that since we last saw her — left for dead by Villanelle (Jodie Comer), an assassin with whom she is/was mutually obsessed — Eve’s fled her job at MI5 for a gig as a dumpling chef at an Asian restaurant, a perfect place, perhaps, for an Asian American woman to make herself invisible in a city like London. As audience members, we get to watch her deftly pinch pot sticker after pot sticker as she eavesdrops on her relationship-impaired colleagues (once a spy, always a spy, perhaps), a rote activity that probably has a lot more in common with tradecraft than most espionage-based thrillers would have us believe. It’s a nice job for a perfectionist like Eve, one that’ll do well enough until (one assumes) Villanelle returns to her life and again throws it into chaos. — Eve Batey, senior editor, Eater SF

Difficult People (Season 1, Episode 5, available on Hulu)

Much of this criminally short-lived sitcom starring comedians Billy Eichner (Billy on the Street) and Julie Klausner takes place in a restaurant where a struggling-artist version of Billy works to pay the bills. But this episode stands out for its art-imitating-life plot: Julie, who has “the palate of a seven-year-old” stops by Billy’s place of employment to eat, but finds the menu too fancy for her liking (“everything on [the] menu has some kind of chutney or jus on it,” Julie complains).

So, when Billy’s boss leaves town for a few days, the duo convert the restaurant into a pop-up named the Children’s Menu, serving items that would belong on a kids’ menu someplace like Applebee’s. The pair set about marking up chicken tenders and fish sticks and peddling it to food blogs. And because Difficult People is set in New York, home to many people with poor taste but lots of money, crowds lap it up. It’s a fun skewering of a side of the food world that values creatively bankrupt novelty above all else. Looking at you, “cereal bars” and Museum of Ice Cream. — Tim Forster, editor, Eater Montreal

Lodge 49 (available to purchase on Amazon Prime)

I‘m not surprised Lodge 49 was cancelled after two seasons on AMC last fall; I’m delighted it aired at all. This shaggy dog show stars Wyatt Russell (the waggish spawn of Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell) as Dud, an adrift surfer in recession-hit Long Beach, who finds connection through a fraternal lodge along the lines of the Freemasons. Meanwhile his sister Liz (Sonya Cassidy) works at a shitty Hooters knockoff called Shamroxx, run by a ghoulish regional corporate conglomerate, Omni Capital. These days, I’m reminded of Liz’s Season 2 story arc: She’s made manager of Omni’s replacement for Shamroxx, a stupid new steakhouse concept called Higher Steaks. When the restaurant struggles, the way Liz sticks up for her colleagues, who are some of the show’s best minor characters, is an inspiring rebuke of winner-takes-all capitalism — no surprise, as the whole show is basically a socialist document. Ironically it’s not streaming for free, but Lodge 49 is special and well worth buying to watch. — Caleb Pershan, Eater.com reporter

Frasier, Season 1, Episode 3 (available to stream on Hulu)

I know I’m incredibly late getting into Fraiser (most of my coworkers are obsessed with it), but it’s been about a week now and I’m already halfway through the second season. I can’t get enough of it. While Frasier’s advice to his listeners can be a little “meh,” it’s absolutely delightful to watch the main characters give each other therapy through their conversations. And watching each episode unfold feels like much needed therapy right now.

I could go on and on about all the episodes I love, but “Dinner at Eight” is my absolute favorite. Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) and his brother Niles (David Hyde Pierce) decide to take their father Martin (John Mahoney) out to dinner as a way to spend more quality time with him. When the restaurant loses their reservation, they decide to visit a steakhouse at Martin’s suggestion. His pitch: “You can get a steak this thick for $8.95.”

The Timber Mill is nothing like the trendy, pretentious restaurants Frasier and Niles frequent and the duration of the entire meal is a culinary culture clash. For example, when the beef trolley arrives and everyone at the table has to pick their cut of steak, Frasier asks, “How much extra would I have to pay to get one from the refrigerator?”

It’s absolutely heartbreaking to watch Martin get more and more aggravated as Frasier and Niles make ridiculously elaborate orders (a petite filet mignon “very lean, not so lean that it lacks flavor but not so fat that it leaves drippings on the plate”), poke fun at the restaurant, and give the servers a hard time. That’s why it’s so satisfying to watch Martin skewer Frasier and Niles for their snobbery, leaving them to eat the rest of their dinner alone under the scornful eyes of the Timber Mill’s servers as “Tossed Salads and Scrambled Eggs” plays in the background. — Esra Erol, senior social media manager, Eater

Real Housewives of New York, Season 8, Episodes 6 & 7

In times of uncertainty, we seek comfort in consistency: The sun will rise in the east, the tides will ebb and flow, and rich women will scream at each other for our enjoyment on Bravo. Recently, I’ve been rewatching old episodes of Real Housewives of New York and am currently in the midst of its landmark eighth season (“Please don’t let it be about Tom.” “It’s about Tom”). Practically every episode is a hit, but “Tipsying Point” and “Air Your Dirty Laundry” conveniently double as a lesson in the booze business. When jack of all trades/master of none Sonja Morgan announces that she’s releasing a signature prosecco called Tipsy Girl, she faces the wrath of Bethenny Frankel, founder of the Skinny Girl brand. As even the most casual Housewives watcher will tell you, Bethenny is famously protective of her business and turns vicious at any perceived attack on it. “I thought the alcohol was a great idea. I really looked up to what you did and I thought it would be a great way for me to get ahead,” Sonja blubbers to Bethenny in her Skinny Girl brand-blazoned office. It’s because of this episode, and this fight in particular, that I know what a “cheater brand” is.

By the way, I’ve tried Tipsy Girl prosecco and it’s... not the worst wine I’ve had. — Madeleine Davies, Eater.com daily editor

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3eoMvVY https://ift.tt/2xDhUn5

Actor Sandra Oh, wearing a black chef beanie and a white t-shirt, talks on an iPhone outside a restaurant kitchen. | BBC America

“Killing Eve,” reality TV favorites, classic sitcoms, and more

We at Eater spend a lot of time thinking about food, so when it appears on our TV screen, we take special interest. If you’re looking to stream some non-food TV that happens to be — at least tangentially — about food this weekend, here’s what we recommend.

Terrace House: Tokyo, Episode 11 (available to stream on Netflix)

Terrace House, the Japanese version of The Real World, has had a long history of food-related misdemeanors and crimes, but the most recent one entails broccoli, pasta water, and egg. Ruka, one of the housemates of the Tokyo house, is a complete enigma of a human being and maybe the most naive person to ever grace Terrace House (or the world?). In an attempt to cook broccoli pasta carbonara, he cracks an egg into the pasta water with the pasta, then adds broccoli. It seems he read the ingredient list, skipped the instructions, and simply winged it. Nothing matters, you know?!

In Netflix’s latest batch of episodes (Netflix US runs a couple of months behind Japan), Ruka attempts broccoli pasta carbonara again. I gasped when I saw he was making pasta FROM SCRATCH and squealed when he presented something that not only looked edible, but delicious! His housemates were (understandably) pleasantly shocked and I got very emotional. It’s rare when you see such dramatic growth. I imagine this is what parents feel when they see their children walk for the first time. — Pelin Keskin, Eater associate producer

Community (available to stream on Hulu and Netflix)

In 2009, when Community first aired, I was actually taking classes at a community college. Yet, somehow I’ve made it this long without watching this series created by Dan Harmon and featuring some of the current era’s most memorable actors (See: Donald Glover, Alison Brie, Gillian Jacobs, and Ken Jeong). The first season hinges on narcissistic student Jeff Winger (Joel McHale) starting classes at a Greendale Community College, where he’s pursuing his bachelor’s degree in an attempt to reclaim his suspended law license. Winger joins a Spanish 101 study group (remember when people still gathered in groups?) to incessantly hit on Britta Perry (played by Jacobs). But as the show evolves, episodes become more unhinged, playing into pop culture tropes observed by TV and movie obsessed student Abed Nadir (Danny Pudi). After a while, it becomes easier to view this show as sort of a live-action version of Harmon’s later work Rick and Morty, but with a slightly less noxious fandom attached. This is particularly encapsulated in episodes like Season 2’s “Epidemiology,” in which the whole student body is transformed into zombies after eating expired military rations. Season 2 also features an excellent example of weird TV sponcon in “Basic Rocket Science,” where the study group gets trapped inside a Kentucky Fried Chicken-branded space flight simulator. — Brenna Houck, Eater.com reporter and Eater Detroit editor

Killing Eve (Season 3, Episode 1, available to stream on BBC America)

Killing Eve, a BBC show that for two seasons has been about feminism, fucking, and fighting, has added a fourth “f” to its roster: food. When we reunite with the show’s titular “Eve” (Sandra Oh), we watch her shopping the aisles of an Asian grocery, grabbing ramen cups and snacks from shelves that seem preposterously well-stocked to my pandemic-warped eyes. The multitudes the store holds are intoxicating. We then discover that since we last saw her — left for dead by Villanelle (Jodie Comer), an assassin with whom she is/was mutually obsessed — Eve’s fled her job at MI5 for a gig as a dumpling chef at an Asian restaurant, a perfect place, perhaps, for an Asian American woman to make herself invisible in a city like London. As audience members, we get to watch her deftly pinch pot sticker after pot sticker as she eavesdrops on her relationship-impaired colleagues (once a spy, always a spy, perhaps), a rote activity that probably has a lot more in common with tradecraft than most espionage-based thrillers would have us believe. It’s a nice job for a perfectionist like Eve, one that’ll do well enough until (one assumes) Villanelle returns to her life and again throws it into chaos. — Eve Batey, senior editor, Eater SF

Difficult People (Season 1, Episode 5, available on Hulu)

Much of this criminally short-lived sitcom starring comedians Billy Eichner (Billy on the Street) and Julie Klausner takes place in a restaurant where a struggling-artist version of Billy works to pay the bills. But this episode stands out for its art-imitating-life plot: Julie, who has “the palate of a seven-year-old” stops by Billy’s place of employment to eat, but finds the menu too fancy for her liking (“everything on [the] menu has some kind of chutney or jus on it,” Julie complains).

So, when Billy’s boss leaves town for a few days, the duo convert the restaurant into a pop-up named the Children’s Menu, serving items that would belong on a kids’ menu someplace like Applebee’s. The pair set about marking up chicken tenders and fish sticks and peddling it to food blogs. And because Difficult People is set in New York, home to many people with poor taste but lots of money, crowds lap it up. It’s a fun skewering of a side of the food world that values creatively bankrupt novelty above all else. Looking at you, “cereal bars” and Museum of Ice Cream. — Tim Forster, editor, Eater Montreal

Lodge 49 (available to purchase on Amazon Prime)

I‘m not surprised Lodge 49 was cancelled after two seasons on AMC last fall; I’m delighted it aired at all. This shaggy dog show stars Wyatt Russell (the waggish spawn of Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell) as Dud, an adrift surfer in recession-hit Long Beach, who finds connection through a fraternal lodge along the lines of the Freemasons. Meanwhile his sister Liz (Sonya Cassidy) works at a shitty Hooters knockoff called Shamroxx, run by a ghoulish regional corporate conglomerate, Omni Capital. These days, I’m reminded of Liz’s Season 2 story arc: She’s made manager of Omni’s replacement for Shamroxx, a stupid new steakhouse concept called Higher Steaks. When the restaurant struggles, the way Liz sticks up for her colleagues, who are some of the show’s best minor characters, is an inspiring rebuke of winner-takes-all capitalism — no surprise, as the whole show is basically a socialist document. Ironically it’s not streaming for free, but Lodge 49 is special and well worth buying to watch. — Caleb Pershan, Eater.com reporter

Frasier, Season 1, Episode 3 (available to stream on Hulu)

I know I’m incredibly late getting into Fraiser (most of my coworkers are obsessed with it), but it’s been about a week now and I’m already halfway through the second season. I can’t get enough of it. While Frasier’s advice to his listeners can be a little “meh,” it’s absolutely delightful to watch the main characters give each other therapy through their conversations. And watching each episode unfold feels like much needed therapy right now.

I could go on and on about all the episodes I love, but “Dinner at Eight” is my absolute favorite. Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) and his brother Niles (David Hyde Pierce) decide to take their father Martin (John Mahoney) out to dinner as a way to spend more quality time with him. When the restaurant loses their reservation, they decide to visit a steakhouse at Martin’s suggestion. His pitch: “You can get a steak this thick for $8.95.”

The Timber Mill is nothing like the trendy, pretentious restaurants Frasier and Niles frequent and the duration of the entire meal is a culinary culture clash. For example, when the beef trolley arrives and everyone at the table has to pick their cut of steak, Frasier asks, “How much extra would I have to pay to get one from the refrigerator?”

It’s absolutely heartbreaking to watch Martin get more and more aggravated as Frasier and Niles make ridiculously elaborate orders (a petite filet mignon “very lean, not so lean that it lacks flavor but not so fat that it leaves drippings on the plate”), poke fun at the restaurant, and give the servers a hard time. That’s why it’s so satisfying to watch Martin skewer Frasier and Niles for their snobbery, leaving them to eat the rest of their dinner alone under the scornful eyes of the Timber Mill’s servers as “Tossed Salads and Scrambled Eggs” plays in the background. — Esra Erol, senior social media manager, Eater

Real Housewives of New York, Season 8, Episodes 6 & 7

In times of uncertainty, we seek comfort in consistency: The sun will rise in the east, the tides will ebb and flow, and rich women will scream at each other for our enjoyment on Bravo. Recently, I’ve been rewatching old episodes of Real Housewives of New York and am currently in the midst of its landmark eighth season (“Please don’t let it be about Tom.” “It’s about Tom”). Practically every episode is a hit, but “Tipsying Point” and “Air Your Dirty Laundry” conveniently double as a lesson in the booze business. When jack of all trades/master of none Sonja Morgan announces that she’s releasing a signature prosecco called Tipsy Girl, she faces the wrath of Bethenny Frankel, founder of the Skinny Girl brand. As even the most casual Housewives watcher will tell you, Bethenny is famously protective of her business and turns vicious at any perceived attack on it. “I thought the alcohol was a great idea. I really looked up to what you did and I thought it would be a great way for me to get ahead,” Sonja blubbers to Bethenny in her Skinny Girl brand-blazoned office. It’s because of this episode, and this fight in particular, that I know what a “cheater brand” is.

By the way, I’ve tried Tipsy Girl prosecco and it’s... not the worst wine I’ve had. — Madeleine Davies, Eater.com daily editor

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