#no one is fucking thinking of the war of independance

[richkidcityfriends]

the next time i see americans blindly supporting the fucking ira i am going to kill someone 

[fellhellion]

90s run PAD has this rlly annoying trend where he very often write a female character being in love w miguel and suddenly her entire character shrinks down to the scope of what drama this provokes and it's near continually in service to the narratives of men (Gabriel and Miguel interpersonal drama for example). even when there are actually interesting things to be mined from this angle like w lyla its like. this is a pattern w you dude.

[joycrispy]

Awhile ago @ouidamforeman made this post:

This shot through my brain like a chain of firecrackers, so, without derailing the original post, I have some THOUGHTS to add about why this concept is not only hilarious (because it is), but also...

It. It kind of fucks. Severely.

And in a delightfully Pratchett-y way, I'd dare to suggest.

I'll explain:

As inferred above, both Crowley AND Aziraphale have canonical Biblical counterparts. Not by name, no, but by function.

Crowley, of course, is the serpent of Eden.

(note on the serpent of Eden: In Genesis 3:1-15, at least, the serpent is not identified as anything other than a serpent, albeit one that can talk. Later, it will be variously interpreted as a traitorous agent of Hell, as a demon, as a guise of Satan himself, etc. In Good Omens --as a slinky ginger who walks funny)

Lesser known, at least so far as I can tell, is the flaming sword. It, too, appears in Genesis 3, in the very last line:

"So he drove out the man; and placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life." --Genesis 3:24, KJV

Thanks to translation ambiguity, there is some debate concerning the nature of the flaming sword --is it a divine weapon given unto one of the Cherubim (if so, why only one)? Or is it an independent entity, which takes the form of a sword (as other angelic beings take the form of wheels and such)? For our purposes, I don't think the distinction matters. The guard at the gate of Eden, whether an angel wielding the sword or an angel who IS the sword, is Aziraphale.

(note on the flaming sword: in some traditions --Eastern Orthodox, for example-- it is held that upon Christ's death and resurrection, the flaming sword gave up it's post and vanished from Eden for good. By these sensibilities, the removal of the sword signifies the redemption and salvation of man.

...Put a pin in that. We're coming back to it.)

So, we have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword, introduced at the beginning and the end (ha) of the very same chapter of Genesis.

But here's the important bit, the bit that's not immediately obvious, the bit that nonetheless encapsulates one of the central themes, if not THE central theme, of Good Omens:

The Sword was never intended to guard Eden while Adam and Eve were still in it.

Do you understand?

The Sword's function was never to protect them. It doesn't even appear until after they've already fallen. No... it was to usher Adam and Eve from the garden, and then keep them out. It was a threat. It was a punishment.

The flaming sword was given to be used against them.

So. Again. We have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword: the inception and the consequence of original sin, personified. They are the one-two punch that launches mankind from paradise, after Hell lures it to destruction and Heaven condemns it for being destroyed. Which is to say that despite being, supposedly, hereditary enemies on two different sides of a celestial cold war, they are actually unified by one purpose, one pivotal role to play in the Divine Plan: completely fucking humanity over.

That's how it's supposed to go. It is written.

...But, in Good Omens, they're not just the Serpent and the Sword.

They're Crowley and Aziraphale.

(author begins to go insane from emotion under the cut)

In Good Omens, humanity is handed it's salvation (pin!) scarcely half an hour after losing it. Instead of looming over God's empty garden, the sword protects a very sad, very scared and very pregnant girl. And no, not because a blameless martyr suffered and died for the privilege, either.

It was just that she'd had such a bad day. And there were vicious animals out there. And Aziraphale worried she would be cold.

...I need to impress upon you how much this is NOT just a matter of being careless with company property. With this one act of kindness, Aziraphale is undermining the whole entire POINT of the expulsion from Eden. God Herself confronts him about it, and he lies. To God.

And the Serpent--

(Crowley, that is, who wonders what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway; who thinks that maybe he did a GOOD thing when he tempted Eve with the apple; who objects that God is over-reacting to a first offense; who knows what it is to fall but not what it is to be comforted after the fact...)

--just goes ahead and falls in love with him about it.

As for Crowley --I barely need to explain him, right? People have been making the 'didn't the serpent actually do us a solid?' argument for centuries. But if I'm going to quote one of them, it may as well be the one Neil Gaiman wrote ficlet about:

"If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition, the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of progress and of civilization." --Robert G. Ingersoll

The first to ask questions.

Even beyond flattering literary interpretation, we know that Crowley is, so often, discreetly running damage control on the machinations of Heaven and Hell. When he can get away with it. Occasionally, when he can't (1827).

And Aziraphale loves him for it, too. Loves him back.

And so this romance plays out over millennia, where they fall in love with each other but also the world, because of each other and because of the world. But it begins in Eden. Where, instead of acting as the first Earthly example of Divine/Diabolical collusion and callousness--

(other examples --the flood; the bet with Satan; the back channels; the exchange of Holy Water and Hellfire; and on and on...)

--they refuse. Without even necessarily knowing they're doing it, they just refuse. Refuse to trivialize human life, and refuse to hate each other.

To write a story about the Serpent and the Sword falling in love is to write a story about transgression.

Not just in the sense that they are a demon and an angel, and it's ~forbidden. That's part of it, yeah, but the greater part of it is that they are THIS demon and angel, in particular. From The Real Bible's Book of Genesis, in the chapter where man falls.

It's the sort of thing you write and laugh. And then you look at it. And you think. And then you frown, and you sit up a little straighter. And you think.

And then you keep writing.

And what emerges hits you like a goddamn truck.

(...A lot of Pratchett reads that way. I believe Gaiman when he says Pratchett would have been happy with the romance, by the way. I really really do).

It's a story about transgression, about love as transgression. They break the rules by loving each other, by loving creation, and by rejecting the hatred and hypocrisy that would have triangulated them as a unified blow against humanity, before humanity had even really got started. And yeah, hell, it's a queer romance too, just to really drive the point home (oh, that!!! THAT!!!)

...I could spend a long time wildly gesturing at this and never be satisfied. Instead of watching me do that (I'll spare you), please look at this gif:

I love this shot so much.

Look at Eve and Crowley moving, at the same time in the same direction, towards their respective wielders of the flaming sword. Adam reaches out and takes her hand; Aziraphale reaches out and covers him with a wing.

You know what a shot like that establishes? Likeness. Commonality. Kinship.

"Our side" was never just Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley says as much at the end of season 1 ("--all of us against all of them."). From the beginning, "our side" was Crowley, Aziraphale, and every single human being. Lately that's around 8 billion, but once upon a time it was just two other people. Another couple. The primeval mother and father.

But Adam and Eve die, eventually. Humanity grows without them. It's Crowley and Aziraphale who remain, and who protect it. Who...oversee it's upbringing.

Godfathers. Sort of.

[greatshell-rider]

THIS SLANDER AGAINST IVANDRED IM WEEPING

[umnitsa]

Dirty old man

Summary: Joel is on his seventies, but he still has needs.

A/N: Ok, so. One pic made the rounds in one of the discord servers I frequent and it made me wild, I won't lie (it was a pic/meme with aged Pedro Pascal). Highly inspired by @toxicanonymity's GILF!Joel (mine is a bit of a perv, but this isn't really a dark fic). It was also inspired by @atticrissfinch's MMITB (I wish I had a fraction of her talent for dirty talk, but I'm not even a native speaker of English, so I do what I can). Now you go read them both, I ASSURE YOU it'll be a good time. Huge thanks for all the people that cheered me on with this: Toxi, @romanarose, @beefrobeefcal, @gwendibleywrites, I love you all. (I must admit that I don't know if I'll ever continue this, honestly, although part of me wants to get to the sex scene. xD)

Pairing: No outbreak old man!Joel x Reader

CW: Joel being bold, dirty talk. That's it <3

No beta, we die like lonely writers xD

It wasn’t a bad job.

Sarah wanted to hire you to take care of her father, Joel. He wasn’t that old, but years of hard work in construction gave him some mobility issues. Sarah worried he spent too time alone, and that he could fall, get hurt and trapped without help because of his pride (which seemed to be a real possibility, considering Joel didn’t want to lose his independence in any way).

You were supposed to get the night shift, which was nice. The night shift was calm, except when it wasn’t. Sarah assured you she talked to her father, she wanted to introduce you to him, before you started working.

You prepared for war, if the man was as stubborn and grumpy as his daughter described.

Sarah introduced you and the old man looked at you over his glasses.

“You sure this pretty thing can lift me off the floor?” He asked, a crooked smirk stretching his lips. You considered answering him, but he raised his face defiantly and winked.

He was teasing his daughter.

You chuckled, to Joel’s delight. Sarah hired you on the spot.

***

Joel was grumpy most of the time. You could understand. Getting older was specially hard on some people. Losing their independence seemed to be a horrifying blow.

You admired the family pictures displayed on the walls and the bookshelves. They showed a younger Joel, large and proud, wearing tight tshirts that showed his big arms.

He didn’t change much, to be honest. His hair now was completely silver, as his beard. The wrinkles didn’t spoil his roguish smile. He was on his seventies, but looked younger, somehow. You blamed his brown eyes.

***

“You know what I miss most about my youth?” He said softly one day, entering the living room. You were looking at his pictures. He slowly moved by your side and placed a hand over your back, rubbing gentle circles. “All the pussy.”

You turned to him, astonished at his boldness. He smirked, then shrugged. You felt your face getting warm and a different, slick, syrupy warmth pooling on your lower belly. He licked his lips and sighed.

“It was easy to get pussy with those looks.” He pointed at one picture of himself and smiled proudly. “Didn’t fuck as much as I wanted, or as much as I could. Tried to be a good dad. Don’t regret anything, but... Oh boy, I miss it.” He looked you up and down, his smile turning appreciative.

“Thought old pervs like you liked tiny thin teenagers.” You scoffed.

“Only dumbasses want those.” Joel chuckled, his hand sliding lower on your back. “I like them older. Like you. With those eyes, like you know and did everything under the sun.” Joel hums, closing his eyes. “Get them cockdumb and they cry so sweetly… Mmmm, the surprise in their wide eyes...” He licks his lips, watching your reaction. You laugh, trying to hide your own arousal.

“Well, Joel, I think the preference is because they are supposed to be tight.” You said firmly, standing your ground. You refused to look shocked, and you saw no reason to scold him, at least not yet. Maybe it was your pussy talking.

Joel leaned over you slowly; you stayed very still. His warm breath tickled your ear.

“After a certain size, honey, everything feels tight.” He said softly, grabbing his half hard cock through his pants. You looked down and gasped, noticing the girth of his bulge inside his huge hand. Joel stepped back, smiling proudly, and moved into the house, dragging his feet. “Lemme know if you want a ride, sweetheart. Them blue pills are easy to get.” He turned and winked at you.

[aphroditesmoon]

'cause I love this curse on our house

clarisse la rue x fem!demigod!reader

summary: !THIS WAS A REQUEST THAT I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED! the requester wanted a fic about clarisse and reader breaking up after an argument, and after months apart from eachother, reader appears at the ares cabin at 3am because she couldn't sleep without clarisse.

warnings: sparring violence, angst, hurt/comfort, arguing, fluff at the end.

a/n: im sooo sorry I accidentally deleted ur request😭🙏 but I hope this is to your liking, and thank you for your kind words🩷🎀

wc: 3.1k

"I never learned to lose a fight, I never learned to grow upright. this is who we are."

-back to you, flowerface

----

Clarisse wondered to herself, on whether or not you'd come running to her if she were to stake this spear through her chest.

Surely, you would? Sensible, independant and stubborn you.

She knew it'd take more than some flowers and half assed apology to get you to speak to her again, and with that knowledge in her head, she isn't sure what that would mean for your relationship.

Clarisse La Rue would rather die than be caught begging for your forgiveness. She would also consider maiming herself as a last resort for any problem she's ever had.

But it has been 3 months, and everyone knows about the 3 months rule.

3 months into dating, 3 months after a breakup. And yet so far, neither of you have tried to "happy new years" your way into eachother's life again.

It is a painful observation for the girl to make. And it's more painful for her to admit that she is at least 40% in the wrong.

That is the thing about the two of you, you become abrasive everytime you're upset, and Clarisse becomes confrontational everytime she is upset. On a normal day, those traits are opposite.

The truth was, Clarisse knew deep down how flawed she is as a person, and as a lover. She is a fighter at heart.

And though she'll admit, she's one of the best out there, being the daughter of a literal war god, but sometimes it feels like that's all she's good for. Does she want to love? Yes. Does she know how to? Not really.

She loves the early hours with you before everybody wakes up, trying to convince you to stay longer in her bed before you sneak out to avoid being noticed.

She loves the intimacy of your hands instinctively intertwining in a cabin party where the music is too loud and people are brushing against you in almost every corner as they try to dance or make their way out, and no one is paying attention to how her thumb caresses your knuckles.

She loves your lips, and how they feel around her neck as you bury your head in the crook of it from behind.

And at one point in the past, she loved how easy it was to be with you. Not the deep connection or understanding, but the way you wouldn't hold it against her if she were to pretend she didn't hear say hi as you walked past her. And how you didn't mind sneaking into her bed after midnight and the darkness becomes the only witness of your loving glances and tight embraces.

But Clarisse was quick to realize later on. that she might want more than that with you. It all felt impossible. Her reputation, her need to always look the toughest and never having a visible weakspot that might be used against her in the future.

And exposing you as her Achilles' heel, would mean that everything she's worked so hard for would break down into pieces the moment the news is out.

Her father already views her as a mistake. Something that could never be his. And for that she's had to work twice as hard as any of her siblings, and still be the least worthy in his eyes.

Were you worth risking all of that? She doesn't know. She doesn't think she ever will, now that it's all over.

And what about you?

What part did you play in cutting down the fragile line of rope the two of you had stood on?

Well, you were strong, opiniated, and rational. So fucking rational that it pissed her off. While she was losing her mind watching you laughing and giggling in the corner by a tree with some random dude that looked like he was birthed by a rat hybrid during the end of year party being held in camp. You were completely fine with not being with her.

Of course she knew that whatever going on between you two was a secret, but why were you so fine with it? Are you not affected by her the way she is with you?

"I'm playing the game by your rules, this is what you wanted." You had snapped at her after she dragged you away from your boring date into a secluded part into the forest. "This isn't a game." She had blurted out in frustration.

"Isn't it? Whenever you want me, I'm there. Whenever you don't, it's like I've never existed." And you were right. This was what she wanted. Despite herself and her feelings, this was how she treated you.

"We know we're together, why does anyone else needs to know that?" Clarisse asked instead of telling you what she really wanted to.

"Are you ashamed of me, Clarisse?" She could not answer your question. I'm ashamed of myself. She thought.

Can't you see? You are the only person who's been patient enough to wait for me, to stay with me. But then I'm looking for you in every crowd just to see that you don't even notice my absence.

Oh fuck it, in the end of the day, it would've never worked. Her thoughts countered againts one another.

Clarisse La Rue was born angry, all she ever knew to be, is angry. Her shortcomings is her inability to be gentle with those she loves the most, her need to break and rip every sensitive soul that has ever pitied her enough to try and pull out that ancient rage holed up in her chest.

"You were nothing without me. I found you, I gave you something to care about, something to anchor yourself to. Cause gods, you act like you don't give a shit, but you care so much that you make yourself believe that you don't care about being tossed aside, like it doesn't hurt you when I don't look twice on your way in front of other people."

The way she looked at you as she spat each and every word onto your face, was worse than the things she had actually said.

You scoffed at her, even with tears in your eyes, you glared at her and laughed out bitterly, refusing to sob or break under her stare.

"You know what your problem is, Clarisse?" You asked, even with the cracks in your voice, her spine shivered. "Indulge me." She forced out.

"You are so miserable, that you can't stand to see anyone else that isn't. You just need me to be pissed and devestated so you could feel better about yourself. Cause Gods forbid if you don't view your self worth on how less everyone else is." Clarisse says nothing, she knew you weren't finished.

"But I don't need to fuck over anyone else's life to know that I'm good. I'm perfectly fucking fine. I was fine before you, and I'll- I'll be fine after you." And there it was. That was where it all came crashing down.

Clarisse bad one second to say fuck all, to cut down all the bullshit. To admit that for once in her life, she was tired of fighting, and she had no clue what she's doing.

But as she opened her mouth to say it all, something in the shadow of her ego had restrained her tongue from speaking at all.

And so you watched her close her lips tight, and grieved then apology she never gave, the girl she couldn’t be for you. And then you left.

Everyone steered clear from Clarisse's way, unsure of what was getting on her nerves, and not caring enough to want to know.

And that night became the last time the two of you have ever spoke to eachother.

"Clarisse." Her brother's voice snaps her out of her thoughts. He was in position with his spear.

"Aim for my chest, remember to move your feet like taught you." She instruced him, fixing her own stance. "Go."

The boy moves quickly, and just like she envisioned in her head for ten thousand times in the just a few minutes ago, her feet drags.and her hand slows down for a second- because all it took is a second for the spear to slash her chest, and slams her down on her back.

---

Growing up, you had always earned the title of the "easy" one. Compared to your step-siblings, you had caused the least problem, required the least attention, asked the least questions.

You always knew what to do. You took care of your siblings when your parent couldn't, you knew how to take care of them the way your parent would. You knew when to get things done before you were told to, you knew where the pills were whenever you weren't feeling where. And you knew which secrets were better kept to yourself.

That one doesn't need watching over, they'd say about you. Even as you're being sent over to camp quick enough before the monsters acended, you were still not worth being worried over.

Someone who takes care of others so well, sure knows how to take care of themselves, right? Right.

Of course you're self sufficient, of course even know, you know where to find medication before your sickness gets worse. Or course even now, you know just the right things to tell people so you'd be left alone.

That was the bright side of raising yourself and growing up in an environment that made you feel so alone, you get used to the silence as the company gets smaller and smaller.

But no one ever said that loneliness felt good, even as a person who's found comfort in it. Because the truth of it, is that it's the sinking feeling in your stomach that you get addicted to. It is the repetitive cycle of breaking down that feels like home, because that's the only constant thing that have prevailed in your life.

What Clarisse had given you, with her presence, her rare tenderness and welcoming touches, was something new that had altered your entire defense system. Hope. She had given you hope.

And as you stood in the house that fell all over you, surviving the damage just like you always do. You realised just how stupid you were to even think that this time it would be different.

The news of Clarisse's injury spread like wildfire. And after repressing your emotions for the longest time, you felt your chest tightening from a familiar feeling.

Clarisse have taken blows before, but never this bad, never this serious. You know that she'd heal in time, but it doesn't stop you from worrying.

How could she be so stupid and careless? Being slammed down by a younger sibling nonetheless. Even if she has no regard for her physical safety, she must have one for her pride.

She's never so easily distracted or foolish, this injury and including her little spear incident has been looked upon by others as a moment of weakness for her. They are starting to wonder if Clarisse was ever that competent in the first place, or if she has just been making it look like she is.

You tossed and turned on your bed. The sheets don't feel right against your skin. It must be the heat, you tell yourself. It must be the heat because it cannot be the deprivation of Clarisse's cold skin from yours.

Demigods do not medicate the same way mortals do, and yet without anyone knowing, you've been swallowing down melatonin almost every night to be able to fall asleep.

It's not easy to get, the last hidden stock of it from the medical room finished 3 nights ago. And if no one had noticed your sleeping problems before, they do now because of your visible under eye bags.

Your hands have been shaking, a side effect of mortal drugs. It has also been making you more jumpy, anxious.

The worst of it all is how all those symptoms only worsens your sleeping problems now. As if seasonal depression itself isn't bad enough, now you're capable of staying up all night revisiting old haunting memories.

It's easy to distract yourself in the day with all the training and learning to do.

But no one survives the cruel coldness that the night presents itself with. When your only friend is the empty ceiling staring back down at you, and the only kind of blanket you want are the ones that feels like her arms.

It was ironic, you still wanted her the way a kicked dog would still roll over if asked to.

You had left her with your head held up high. But only the gods know how low to the ground you'd kneel down to for her to look at you again the way she used to.

If she had wanted you more lenient, then she could've just asked. If she had needed you to need her more then you would've begged for her if she would've just told you.

Pushing aside the soft material of your blanket off of you, your feet barely makes a sound as you tiptoed to the door to exit your cabin.

You told yourself you don't really know where you're going. But you moved in the same way you had 3 months ago, the road is memorized, the pace is as similar, and the yearning is twice as strong.

The moom followed you from above, lightimg the way as you walked on the ground from the pavements to patches of grass.

When you found yourself in front of the Ares cabin, you truly asked yourself if you have even an ounce of shame or sense left in your head. The answer was none, all that lived inside of you was dread, ever growing. The last straw before the breaking.

The last chance that looks a little too late to be taking for.

And yet as you pull open the door ever so slightly the way you used to, you feel it being held static before a creaking noise could be made. And like memories you've seen flashing in your mind multiple times before, your eyes meet Clarisse's.

"What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing up?"

You spoke at the same time as her. Both of you looked as surprised as the other.

As you took in eachother's appearance, Clarisse looks at you expectedly, considering that you are the one who isn't at your cabin. "I...wanted to see you."

Her expression changes slightly, as if she wasn't expecting that answer.

"Weird hour to visit." She noted. "Weird hour to be up by the door after you're slashed on the chest by a spear."

The two of you stared at eachother in silence before you notice Clarisse's chest heaving as she breathed out a low sigh. "Do you want to come in?" She whispered out to you. You nod your head once and waited for her to move aside so you could be let in.

Naturally, your hand found hers. She clasped her fingers over yours without a question as the two of you walked towards her bed.

Sitting dowm side by side, you eye the outline of her face closely in the dark, some sort of relief is released in your chest. "How bad is the damage?" You asked slowly. You almost reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her face, but caught yourself.

"Could've been worse." Was her response.

"Does it hurt right now?" You inquired again. You hear her inhale sharply and wondered if breathing was hard for her. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry." You weren't sure what else to tell her. To know that she was in pain had hurt you as well, but a larger part of you did not really care for her injury. Only now do you realise how much being away from her have affected you.

Now, in much closer proximity, your breathing fans her skin, the back of her hand touching yours, and her eyes unmoving from yours, do you realise just how much you needed Clarisse La Rue.

"It doesn't hurt as much as having to watch you leave." She spoke those words in a hushed whisper, meant only for your ears. If only dhe has been a little louder. You would've been able to hear the halt in the back of her throat. "No?" You whispered back to her. "No."

"I wouldn't have left, if you would've just asked me to stay."

"I know. I know you would." She mutters it affectionately, the cold shoulder already gone. "I know you would...you've always been good to me."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and held your tears in. "Then why didn't you?"

Clarisse shrugged. "I'm never good to you."

You frowned at her reply, feeling a jolt of anger striking through you. "But you could be. Why won't you be good to me, Clarisse?" Water gathered in your eyes, your primise yo refrain from crying broken.

"I would give you anything. I would give you my life. Could you just be good to me, Clarisse?" You told yourself that you wouldn't ask this question again, no matter how much of a dog you feel like, you won't force her to give you a bone.

And so with a tear running down your cheek, you looked up at her pleadingly and thought, please, see me, want me, love me. Need me the way I need you.

Her forehead softly rests againts yours, and you hear her then, mumbling."I could be good. I could be good to you."

Her thumb finds the wet streak on your face and wipes it off. "I want to be good to you."

"Then do that. It's that easy." She shakes her head lightly, making your frown deepens. "I've had to be this person that everyone expects me to be, because of my father, and my siblings. Sometimes giving in, feels like it could be death itself. Sweet dreams before you wake up in hell. That's what it feels like trying to be the person you want me to be. Punishment worthy."

"But it isn't death, Clarisse. Not just because someone else thinks it should be.

- Not just because your father thinks so."

"I know." She answers with a more reassuring tone.

"I haven't been able to sleep without you." You tell her out of obligation. "I can tell." She joked, the both of you chuckled lightly.

Clarisse then crawled over her bed to lie down and tugged you by your sleeve to find your place in her embrace again.

Laying your head above the area her chest was struck on, her beating heart becomes your lullaby. You fell asleep soon after, with your legs tangled together under the covers. Whatever was to happen tomorrow, it wouldn't matter. Because the worst was over.

[jinchaeji]

I don't think people realize how much learning Edwin had to do after escaping Hell

the whole ass 2nd World War and Vietnam War

lots of fucking countries gained independence or lost it during that time

UK decolonialisation (I know this is basically the same as the last one but I need to make it very clear. Colonies were a thing during his alive-time. Britain had lots of colonies)

He got out in the middle of the fucking COLD WAR

every discovery made during that time (including a motherfucking nuclear weapon)

Stonewall riots!!!

The classic Doctor Who was released

Hobbit and Lord Of The Rings were published

(if I forgot something please let me know)

Like, this diva escaped from Hell and probably got his whole knowledge debunked and he had to relearn everything

And then the disintergration USSR and he has another 15 countries to learn

[victoriadallonfan]

Let's Talk About the Alien vs Predator Films

Talk about wasted potential, am I right?

I'm struggling to format this in an interesting way, since so much has been covered over the past 20 years since the first film was released. You can read my thoughts on Aliens Franchise and the Predator Franchise as well.

Note that it doesn't include Alien: Romulus, but suffice to say it was a good movie!

I think the best place to start is with covering the themes of Alien and Predator, and the history before these films were created (and the failure of Fox).

My fellow AvP enjoyer @agendergorgon has already posted some thoughts on the topic, giving me a lot to think about, so check out their blog too!

For the purposes of this review, I am not going to include Alien 3, Alien: Resurrection, Prometheus, nor Alien: Covenant.... mostly. The AvP films really don't take much of anything beyond the first two films, though I will touch on Prometheus when it comes to religion.

Ditto for the Predator films, but that's because Predator wouldn't get a third film until 2010, 3 years after the AvP duo.

The themes of Alien Franchise:

I'm sure the first thing to come to mind is that the Alien series is about sexual assault, and you'd be correct. The xenomorph is designed to be extremely phallic, the facehuggers quite literally rape their victims, Burke locks his victims (including a child) in a room to be raped, Ash tries to murder Ripley by thrusting a rolled up porn magazine down her throat etc etc.

Some of you might also remember how Aliens was noted by James Cameron to be a criticism of the Vietnam War, Corporate Greed, and the callous arrogance of the US Military. The xenomorphs represented the innumerable "faceless" soldiers that could overwhelm more advanced enemies with ambush tactics and numbers, Burke thinks only in "goddamn percentages" and how this could benefit himself and the company, and the Colonial Marines are not only woefully mismanaged a newly brought on commander but also completely delusional with their own sense of invulnerability, only to break and panic under pressure once they meet a foe who is determined to fight to the death.

(I will NOT be tackling the fucked-upness of comparing people fighting for their independence vs a fucking Xenomorph, because holy fucking shit, it is literally the opposite AND worse counterpart to having the Predators be colonizers)

But, in the broader scope of the series, Alien - and the xenomorph - represent the uncontrollable, unfathomable, unknown. What are they? Why were they there? What are their motives? How did they end up in that ship? Were they built? How do they 'see'? Why did the xenomorph spare Jonesy the Cat? Are they intelligent life? How on earth do they function with their bizarre biology?

We don't get any real answers to these questions in the original films. The whole point of these movies is that there are things that mankind does not understand, and the horrors of space are vast. And equally terrifying is the arrogance of man (and synth kind) to think they can harness this horror for profit at the expense of human lives.

The themes of the Predator Franchise:

There's been tons of articles on how Predator is either a reconstruction or deconstruction (depending on who you ask) of the 80's action hero flick. A team of muscle laden, big gun toting, sweaty men spouting off one-liners as they mow down their enemies in a secret CIA led operation during the Cold War, interrupted by the presence of an intergalactic hunter than treats these badasses like mere toys. The massive Arnold Schwarzenegger is smacked out like a mouse facing off against a particularly cruel cat, needing to rely on tricks - not his brawns or guns - to stay alive and eventually defeat the Predator.

Others might point to its related take down of machismo. The opening scene is rife with characters testing each other's physical strength against each other such as with Dillon and Dutch, Ventura and Dutch have a small face-off in the helicopter as they try to make a pecking order, Ventura makes a whole speech about being a "sexual tyrannosaurus" and then mocked about sticking a gun up his "sore-ass", Hawkins repeatedly tries to make pussy and sex jokes, and they end up with a single woman in the group who is treated more like an object and baggage than a person for much of the movie. All of these men are emasculated by the Predator, some of them not even lasting a single second to its predations (both in tech and physicality), all of them losing any sense of quips and confidence, and the sole woman of the group survives because she didn't fit the movie's (and Predator's) mold of "tough as nails". When Arnold/Dutch is rescued by helicopter, it's not a cheerful one; he's haunted by what he endured and remains silent as the film pans into his thousand-yard stare.

All of this applies to Predator 2 as well, amping up the violence, dick measuring, and rules of the Predator targeting anyone who thinks they are tough shit for carrying a gun or knife. Even Danny Glover's victory is bittersweet, because he is now left in the middle of dozens of officer deaths, and entire subway car filled with corpses, and an antique flintlock pistol that promises the return of the Predators to Earth.

In a much broader sense, the Predator films are about the oversaturation of violence and lack of care for human life. Predator 1's main plot before he arrives is the CIA using Green Berets and then Dutch's special ops team to clean up their dirty work, giving them false information and not even reporting the Berets being MIA in furtherance of their Cold War goals (slaughtering guerrillas who were working with Soviet Russia). In Predator 2, the police are seen as being ineffective because they trample on each other's jurisdiction, with the Federal task force being willing to kill their own cops to keep the Predator existence a secret and letting it hunt people down for a better chance at capture and experimentation.

The Predator creatures are the epitome of such greed and arrogance. They are the General Zaroffs of The Most Dangerous Game, taken to a new height by showing that human lives literally mean nothing to them beyond a trophy hunt. They care nothing about our social lives, our politics, our loved ones, because for them this is nothing more than the equivalent of posh British Elite going on a Fox Hunt: cruel and sadistic, just to placate their egos. They will violate the corpses of the dead and taunt those in mourning, for the thrill of the game. And in that sense, the Predators are very human antagonists: they are not unfathomable nor are their goals beyond our understanding. The horror of the Predators is that they are creatures we can understand, communicate with, and even see similarities in their culture to ours... and that culture is putting us on a trophy rack alongside other skulls of creatures they felt a thrill to hunt.

So, did the Alien vs Predator films cover even half of these topics?

Well... kinda? Just... not well.

Not well at all.

The Build Up

Alien and Predator have a connected history dating back to the creation of the Predator itself. Stan Winston was on a flight with James Cameron some time after the famous director had finished with Aliens, and the director made a comment about wanting to see a monster with mandibles, which eventually led to the creature we know and love today.

Predator's debut on screen was also often compared to Aliens due to the superficially similar premise of a team of commandos going on a mission and fighting an unknown alien threat.

Despite what some people think, the AvP series wasn't started by the films.

Yes, there was a particularly memorable scene in Predator 2, where the City Hunter is admiring his trophy room and a xenomorph skull can be seen mounted on the wall (though, fun fact, it's actually an inaccurate depiction as xenomorph skulls look more humanoid facing), but that wasn't the first time the duo met in media.

And I'm not referring to the 1993 Arcade Game either (since that only came out a year after Predator 2).

The Alien vs Predator comic first appeared in 1989. And there were publications continuing ever since.

Think about that going forward. There was 25 years of content to choose from, storylines they could adapt, interesting forays into the cosmology and interactions between Yaujta, Xenomorphs, and Humanity.

The movies used exactly none of it (barring 1 thing: the Predalien).

Alien vs Predator (2004)

The plot of this movie is that Weyland-Yutani corporation detects a heat bloom under the ice in Antartica that reveals an underground pyramid, and in a race against his competitors, Weyland rounds up a team of elite experts led by Lex Woods to investigate the ruins (and find that the Predators have left them a convenient tunnel to enter the deep ice). Only to find out that this was a trap, as the pyramid comes to life activates a Xenomorph Queen, unleashing a brood of facehuggers on the helpless crew, all the while the Predators hunt them down. After a spectacular shitshow and release of the Xenomorph Queen, Lex and the last Predator (Scar) have to reluctantly team up to escape the pyramid and blow up the xenomorphs, ending in a final battle with the Xenomorph Queen. Scar perishes in the fight, but Lex manages to send the Queen into the depth of the artic ocean, and is rewarded by the watching Eldar Predator with a spear for her troubles. A post-credit scene reveals that Scar had a chest-burster inside of him, birthing the Predalien!

Rewatching this movie, I'm surprised at how good it looks. The opening scene of the satellite in space, several shots of the ship (and spaceship), the frozen tundra, the set pieces like the Xenomorph Queen Prison, and the CGI!

The CGI! Of 2004! I was shocked that they looked so good for something that is 20 years old now, but they did really well for themselves.

But it was the practical effects that blew me away the most. The shifting Pyramid is absolutely iconic and the abandoned whaling station is suitably creepy. The face-huggers look amazing and the xenomorphs are just *chefs kiss*. It's so funny seeing these Xenomorph effects compared to that of Alien:Covenant, and seeing how much work bodysuit and puppetry can do to make a monster look so much more terrifying than a CGI creature.

I know a lot of people didn't like the Predator's bulky appearance in this movie, but honestly... I dig it? It makes sense that not all Predators are literally built the same, and that the ones who would choose to go hunting in the artic would be the bigger ones who could hold more body heat. And the movie does a really great fucking job of making these Predators look badass and distinct from each other, with Celtic having the coolest mask of the whole group.

And the way the movie is shot is really fantastic! There are a lot of wide and tracking shots where the movie lets the atmosphere do the work instead of badgering us with words, taking its time to build up tension and soak up the visuals. One of my favorites shots they did was slow roam through the Predator ship as the systems come to life and we get to see holograms come on-line, feeding information directly into their masks. Equally good was when the Xenomorph Queen is awakened to cackling electricity and ominous lighting, showing us how vast this chamber is and how huge this Queen is in comparison to the one Ripley faces.

The same goes for most of the actions scenes, with a decent amount of cool slow-mo shots for things like Face-huggles launching themselves, Predators leaping across chasms, and showing Scar's impressive athleticism when he leaps 10 meters into the air and stabs a spear through the Queens skull.

And I can always rewatch the first time Alien Meets Predator Fight. God, that score! The music is just so damn good!!! You really feel like you are watching two massive horrors from space finally finding themselves sharing a space together.

Honestly, the Predators using the Xenomorphs as some kind of fucked up exotic pet for hunting trials and training fits the lore PERFECTLY. It’s actually a literal fox hunt not just metaphorical (and of course, in typical Alien fashion, it all went to shit).

Aliens vs Predator: Requiem (2007)

"Wait, Ridtom/VictoriaDallonFan, are you about to say something nice about AvP:R?!"

Well, after turning up the brightness and hanging blankets over my windows and then watching the movie underneath more blankets... yes!

For one thing, the Alien and Predator effects are spectacular! Some of the best work I've seen in the franchises! The fight scenes are creative and use really cool set-pieces like the sewer and power plant, where we get to see Wolf (the name of the Predator of this movie) absolutely kick ass and slaughter his way through hordes of Xenomorphs. Not that the xenos are left in the dust, as they get plenty of murders on screen and even outsmart Wolf on occasion.

I actually like the Predalien design and the idea that it’s more intelligent than the average Xeno, including holding personal grudges and understanding Predator behavior.

And the Predator tech is really cool too! We got laser grids, land mines, power fists, converting the plasma caster into a plasma pistol And I love the moment where Wolf kidnaps one of the human protags to use as live bait. Such a dick thing to do but so in-character.

Even the bits we get of Wolf mourning his fellow dead hunters was a neat addition.

And to be honest, I didn’t mind the idea of seeing an actual xenomorph infestation in real time, in a small town. I think that sort of setting would be really fun for a one-shot story.

And… that’s it. That’s all the good stuff.

What Went Wrong?

I compiled a list of sources where I got a lot of information on the AvP production: Source 1, Source 2, Source 3, Source 4

Note that a lot of these are 20 years old so I apologize for the outdated and honestly abhorrent word use that some articles and videos may use. And another apology for using the Xenopedia wiki, it was just a good shorthand for other information.

In short: Fox fucking sucks. They will absolutely self-sabotage themselves in order to make a (perceived) profit. Tom Rothman is the most well known (and he’s gone to Sony as of now), but Fox has had a looong history of being stingy and terrified of any risks for their films.

The sheer amount of drama involving Alien 3 and Alien Resurrection is an insane rollercoaster.

AvP removed pretty much any sense of horror and purposely had the design of the Predators to be more “human” and “heroic” (hence the weird human eyes and bulky physique), with a PG-13 rating for more audience numbers. While the human characters aren’t bad, they are not unique or even memorable (barring the fandom romantic tension between Lexi and the final Predator). Also, it was very weird that the Predators couldn’t kill a single Xenomorph, meanwhile the Colonial Marines couldn’t trip without blasting apart swarms of them. It felt like they really wanted to save money on the film in that regard.

AvP:R was even worse, with it being filmed with such a lack of lighting that people could not actually see any of the movie, and even modern advancements in color grading make it a strain. The human characters are awful, just absolutely boring and unremarkable beyond being veiled callbacks to characters from Alien, and we get a bunch of stupid Dawson’s Creek drama involving teenagers who look like they are 30 years old fighting over a girl who has no personality because she was written to just be “hot girl”.

If the story had focused entirely on the wife coming home from the war and dealing with the fact that her own daughter doesn’t feel close or comfortable with her after years of being gone, there could have been focus and themes and yadda yadda yadda.

Also, while this movie at least has horror aspects, did we REALLY need to see the Xenomorphs eating the fetuses and belly bursting out of still screaming mothers? Like, there is horror and then there is just being gross.

Final Thoughts

I often wonder if AvP took the wind out of the sails of Prometheus. Both play with the idea of humans worshiping aliens as gods, because Ancient Aliens is fucking everywhere, but it’s really hard to take Prometheus seriously when you remember AvP did basically the same setup (with arguably smarter characters).

And these movies have really soiled the idea of the AvP franchise barring the video games and comics. There’s apparently an AvP anime locked up in Disney Vaults and so far, both franchises have kept their respectful distances from each other.

However, with the recent successes of Alien: Romulus and Prey, there’s been a bit of a stir with some comments hinting at a potential AvP future.

Who knows. It’s been 17 years, perhaps 3rd time is the charm.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Take Care of You [9]

Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Overall Warnings: slow burn, angst/comfort, power imbalance, age gap, possessive tendencies, eventual smut, #daddyissues, independent reader learns to let go and relax, emotionally constipated Joel Miller learns to be vulnerable; (more specific warnings to be added to individual chapters if necessary)

Chapter Word Count: 9,950

Mood board and borders by @saradika

Summary: You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It’s why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn’t look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?

[a/n: we back, baby. and we also barely edited so if you catch a typo don't hate me. also this was supposed to end in a different spot but then i got carried away in the middle so i had to split it 🥴]

Chapter Specific Warnings: angst, heartbreak, binge drinking to ease emotional turmoil, mild violence, mentions of blood and injury

09: LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU

"i still haven't figured out how to sit across from you, and not be madly in love with everything you do." ⏤ william c. hannon

Three years ago, Nima tried to convince you to go skydiving with her. She begged and she pleaded, but you told her ‘no’ on account of thinking she was a crazy person for wanting to jump out of a perfectly good plane. Which was hilarious now considering you were sitting beside Joel wanting to pull open the door and dive out. The irony was not lost on you.

The only reason you hadn’t gone scrambling for the door was because Joel was forced to take a work call a few minutes into the flight. He hadn’t moved away. Joel stayed right next to you with his arm behind you as he spoke, and every few moments he’d glance at you with a silent apology and shake his head. You’d reply with a tight lipped smile and go back to mindlessly scrolling through instagram. 

Unfortunately the mindlessly scrolling was not so mindless. Since leaving Vegas, you had a high pitch ringing in the back of your mind like an endless, echoing siren. Married. A married man. Joel was⏤ Your teeth were clenched together so hard you wondered if Joel could hear them grinding against one another. Yesterday had been filled with so much anxiety, and you had managed to work through it by the end of the night. Mostly. But this was worse. This was so much worse. 

Married?

Your throat suddenly felt tight, eyes stinging with unshed tears, and you hastily undid your seatbelt and stood. Joel glanced your way and you pointed to the back of the plane and mouthed the word ‘bathroom’ to him. He nodded with a soft smile, and you spun on your heel and practically sprinted to the tiny plane bathroom. You struggled to get the folding door shut and the stewardess who sat not far away stared at you in confusion. You gave her an awkward wave and finally got it latched. 

“Fuck.” You shoved your face in your hands, leaning against the wall, and held back your tears. You were confused and frustrated, and you couldn’t even find relief in a good cry because Joel would spot it in a heartbeat no matter how much you tried to put yourself back together. The thought of confronting him about this right now was your worst nightmare. You hadn’t had the time to process any of the wild thoughts pinging around your head yet.

Your mind was at war with itself. On one hand, maybe you were being stupid and naive. For the last month and a half you’ve spent nearly every day with Joel and on the days you weren’t actively seeing him the two of you would talk either over a call or through text. You knew Yo-yo for 24 hours. Sure, she seemed nice and sincere, but what if Rosalind sent her to screw with you? For all you knew, Yo-yo had cruel intentions and was trying to drive a wedge between you and Joel. By taking her word you’d be playing right into that trap. What she said about the other sugar baby and about Joel being married? Maybe it was all fake and you’ve been stressing for no reason.

On the other hand, Joel didn’t kiss you. He didn’t kiss you because he wanted to ‘do right by you’. Joel asked for time. Was it because he needed to get a divorce? Worse. Was he married with absolutely no plans to get divorced and just buying time for something else? 

God, if you kept up this line of thought you were gonna vomit. Quickly, you turned to the sink to splash a little cold water on your face in hopes it would help you get your shit together for the next thirty minutes. Half an hour and you’d be on the ground. But then what? It would be a miracle if you kept it together for thirty minutes let alone any longer. 

You took in a long, slow breath and tried to clear your mind. When you felt steady enough, you stepped out of the bathroom. As tempting as it was to hide in there for the rest of the flight, it would probably be a red flag for Joel that something was wrong. You wandered back over to Joel and at your approach, and at the sight of you, he covered the bottom of his phone and whispered, “You alright?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded quickly and sat back down.

“I’m sorry. Jus’ another minute.” 

You waved your hands at him as nonchalantly as you could and he went back to his call. You leaned back in the seat, phone in hand, and Joel readjusted his arm on the back of the seat so he could settle his hand on your shoulder. As he always did, his thumb was tracing circles on your shoulder. An action you always loved, but now an intrusive thought slammed into you⏤ does he do this with his wife? The question was so startling, so sickening, that you couldn’t bite back the nausea that rolled through your body. You jumped up so fast you nearly stumbled over your feet, and you scrambled for the bathroom. 

Vaguely, you heard your name behind you, but you didn’t stop until you reached the toilet. You fell to your knees and threw up. The taste of acid in your mouth made you wince, but getting it all up did bring some relief. That relief was short lived though as you felt a large, warm hand settle on your back.

“Jesus, sugar.” He said in a soothing voice as he rubbed your back. “What’s goin’ on? Have you felt sick all mornin’?”

You spat into the toilet bowl, trying to get the taste of bile out of your mouth, before reaching out and flushing the toilet. You tried to stand, and Joel hooked his arm around you to help you up. He called out of the bathroom and a second later the stewardess brought in a cup of water and a ginger ale. Joel handed you the water and kept his hand rubbing up and down on your back.

“I’m⏤ I’m fine.” You shook your head and took a sip of water to swish and spit into the sink. “Really.”

“Obviously not.” Joel replied. “C’mon, let’s sit you down.”

“Joel…” You tried to argue, but he wasn’t hearing it. He kept an arm around you as he carefully led you back to the seat. He brought the bottle of ginger ale with you and the moment you finished the water he took the cup out of your hand to replace it with the soda. “I feel better now. It’s fine.”

“You’ve been off this mornin'. I was worried.” Joel lifted a hand to feel your forehead. It made sense that Joel picked up on your distress. He had always been so good at reading you. “You seemed fine when we first woke up. When exactly did you start feelin' sick?”

You took a sip of the ginger ale, “I…I don’t know. After breakfast maybe.” You lied. The sincerity in his eyes, the concern in his voice, it was both bringing you comfort and making you sick again all at once. You felt so stupid. Either you were freaking out over a lie a woman you barely knew told you or you were being tricked into feelings by a married man. Either way, you felt pathetic. “Your, um, your work call, Joel.”

Joel shook his head in response and didn’t even bother addressing the work call he stopped. He set a hand on the back of your neck and his thumb was lightly ghosting over your skin. You closed your eyes and took a slow breath in and out through your nose. “Tell me what I can do, sugar.”

“I⏤” You swallowed the lump in your throat. You forced your eyes open, finding Joel’s furrowed brow and worried gaze already on you, and it made you want to cry. You shook your head, “I, um, I think I just wanna lay down for a while. If that’s okay.”

“Course it’s okay.” He replied. 

The seat the two of you were sharing wasn’t long enough for you to lay down without laying your head on Joel’s lap. You planned on moving to the other couch seats to lay down, but Joel’s hand was still on the back of your neck and he lightly began to guide you down. Too tired to even try and move, you settled your head on his thigh and curled your body up onto the rest of the seat. 

In any other situation, this would be one of the most comfortable spots on Earth. Your head rested on his thick, firm thigh, and Joel’s hand traced where he could reach. Up and down your jawline and neck⏤ his thumb and forefinger would occasionally massage your earlobe. You tried to calm your racing thoughts. The truth was, you didn’t know the truth yet. It was a fact you kept repeating in your head in hopes it would numb the sharp pain of your worst fears, but those intrusive thoughts continued to pummel you.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl.” Joel murmured while his fingers dragged across your skin. “What a shitty way to end this weekend.” You hummed in agreement. This really was a shitty way to close out what started as one of the best weekends of your life.

Avoiding Joel made you realize how involved in your life he was. After landing in LA, Joel tried to drag you to a doctor and only conceded when you told him it was probably a 24 hour bug and you just wanted to sleep. He called you later that night to check in on you, and you managed to talk to him for a few minutes before lying about wanting to go to bed early. Come Monday morning, you went to work despite Joel texting you that you should stay home. Trying to focus at work was physically painful. Enough so that after the nightmare Monday had been, you left midway through the day today claiming to Henry that you didn’t feel well. It wasn’t even a full blown lie. You felt like shit.

Nima threw the folder of papers onto her desk and set her hands on her hips, “I’m gonna hit him with my car.”

“Please don’t.” You mumbled with your chin resting in your palm as you leaned on the other side of her desk. After leaving work, you came directly to Nima’s office. Going home and sitting on your couch, alone with your thoughts, would only make you ten times more miserable.

“No, actually, my car isn’t big enough. I’m gonna commandeer a bus and hit him with that.”

“I haven’t confirmed anything yet. For all I know, I’m being this pathetic over nothing.”

Nima snapped her hand up and pointed at you with a glare, “No. I will not have you shit talking yourself when the only person we should be shit talking is Joel Miller and his wife.”

You groaned and let your head fall to the desk. The words ‘Joel Miller and his wife’ made you viscerally ill. The time you spent not talking to Joel Monday night you spent stalking people on social media. You reached dead ends very quickly though since Joel didn’t have any social media whatsoever. The easiest solution was to just look Joel in the eyes and ask him for the truth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You wanted to know the truth, but you were scared to actually seek it out. 

If you asked Joel for the truth, if you confronted him, then he’d give it to you.

What if the truth was something you didn’t want to hear?

“Alrighty, babe, real talk.” Nima said and you lifted your head, keeping your chin resting on the wood, and saw she had dropped down into her office chair. To meet your eye line, she held her chin on the desk across from you to mirror your position. “I can threaten and plot his demise all I want, but I know I’m not allowed to kill him until this is confirmed or denied.” She twisted her lips. “You deserve the truth.”

You pouted, “How am I supposed to ask him about this, Nima??”

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, “If you did ask… How sure are you that he’d answer truthfully?”

You pushed up and leaned back in the chair. That was a good question, and with anyone else it would probably be a real concern. However, you weren’t worried about that. You truly, deep down, believed that if you confronted Joel about this he would give you the truth. 

“I really think he would.” You answered. “Is that naive of me?”

“You know him better than I do.”

This entire situation made you question that. Did you know him? You knew he grew up in Austin. He had a younger brother, Tommy, and it was just them and his mom for most of his childhood. You knew he attended one year in college when his mom passed away⏤ cancer. Joel dropped out of college to take care of his brother and picked up a job in construction. That’s where he got his start. His first boss saw he had a knack for more than just the manual labor and trusted him with more and more until Joel was running sites for the man. At 27, Joel’s girlfriend of three months got pregnant. They planned to make it work, but she left when Sarah was two weeks old. You knew he adopted Ellie three years later. That he earned his bachelor’s degree in business at home through online classes while raising two young girls and working a full time job. That he started Miller Construction shortly after earning that degree, and it blew up from there.

You knew despite being a tough guy, he didn’t like horror movies.

You knew his favorite whiskey was Lagavulin⏤ neat.

The one thing you didn’t know was if he was married or not.

“I am going to suggest something,” Nima began, “And I want you to listen before you call me crazy.” You shot her confused look and she continued on. “I have this cousin.” You groaned and Nima chastised you to listen. It seemed like she had a cousin available for every situation that arose, and half the people she called cousin weren’t even technically related to her by blood. Anytime you asked her about it all she’d say was ‘Korean moms’ love to talk’, as if that clarified anything for you. “Seriously. He’s dating a private eye. With one text, we can get some answers.”

You shook your head, “Nima, that’s insane.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, hiring a private investigator is insane.” 

“Look, it’ll get us reliable answers.” Nima argued. “The truth.”

You rolled the idea around in your head. It was literally the epitome of paranoid absurdity, but you were wondering if that’s the point you were at. Would it be better to find out this way? That way when you finally did confront Joel you wouldn’t be blind sided by the answer. Hell, if the answer turned out to be ‘no, he isn’t married’ then you can chalk up the last few days as time wasted and move on with your life. That being said, it did seem like an invasion of Joel’s privacy. 

“That feels…” You paused, “Illegal?”

“It’s not illegal to hire a PI.” Nima countered then tilted her head. “I think. I’m not a lawyer, but people do it on TV all the time, right?”

“Well, that logic is foolproof.” 

“I’m not gonna do it if you tell me you don’t want to do it.” Nima said firmly. She crossed her arms and gave a small little shrug. “But you have to do something. Either this or just call him right now and tell him the two of you need to talk.” There was a protective sincerity in her eyes that felt like a security blanket being settled on your shoulders. “I don’t want to see you get more attached to this guy just to be hurt. I don’t want him to lie to you.”

You knew Nima only had your best interests in mind. Technically, Joel had given you no reason not to trust him. Half the time you thought on this topic you convinced yourself you were overreacting and being a pathetic, paranoid mess. Yo-yo, as nice and fun as she had been, was a virtual stranger to you. Her word shouldn’t trump Joel’s. You knew all of that, and you wanted to trust him. However, it felt like some broken part of you was looking for something to be wrong. Joel Miller was too good to be true. Why would someone like him be interested in someone like you? There had to be something else going on. According to your ex, you hadn’t even been worthy of him and Joel Miller was ten times the man he was. 

“Okay, do it.” You blurted and hated yourself for doing so.

Nima held your gaze for a second, but you pushed to stand and crossed her office to her private bathroom. You took one of the paper towels, dampening it, and set it on the back of your neck in a poor attempt to ground yourself. For a while longer, you just stood there in front of the sink. Not staring at yourself, but staring forward at a singular spot as your thoughts raced. You needed a positive thought. Just one would do, and you were prepared to drag it out of your thick skull kicking and screaming if necessary. 

“Everything is going to be okay.” You mumbled to yourself softly. 

The whispered words did nothing for your anxiety. However, the memory of him did. You found comfort looking back at the soft moments spent with Joel and let yourself fall down that rabbit hole. The temporary peace was nice, but it didn't last. Finding strength you didn’t know you had today, you splashed your face one more time and then left the bathroom.

Your eyes immediately landed on Nima who stared back with wide eyes. Nima spoke first, “What?”

“What?” You repeated. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, I thought you said something.” Nima flipped her phone over and settled her hand on top of it. You glanced from her face to her phone and back again. A look of misery flickered across her features. You tilted your head in question. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

“Nima.” You crossed the room quickly. “Did they already text back??”

“No. Yes. Maybe?” Nima shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“Nima.”

She twisted her lips and drummed her nails against the plastic case of her phone. You shot her another look and she blew out a sigh. “He sent me a response, but it’s like half an answer. Half a report. We should wait until he can⏤”

“What did he say?”

“Apparently, he’s working on a case for someone else right now and had a database right in front of him so all he had to do was type in⏤”

“Nima, please.” You blurted. It felt like your heart was caught in your throat. You couldn’t breathe and you didn't feel coherent enough to string together a thought. Her hesitance was an answer in and of itself. You rubbed your throat, your other arm wrapping around your torso in a poor attempt to hold yourself together, and gasped. “Just say it.”

“He’s married, babe.” Nima mumbled. You knew the words had been coming, but they still overwhelmed you. The air left your lungs as if someone had gut punched you and you fell back into the seat in front of her desk. “He said he’d send me the certificate when he could, but he has to finish this job first. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I⏤”

Nima stopped herself from speaking as she came around her desk and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. You sat in her embrace for as long as your shattering mind could endure and then shook your head, “I need a drink. Drinks. Plural.”

“It’s three in the afternoon, babe.” Nima mumbled in concern. You shot her a dry look and she offered you a tight lipped smile. “Drinks it is! Let’s go. We can go back to my place and⏤”

“No.” You pushed to stand. “I wanna go out.”

“Oh… kay. Where?”

“Anywhere.” You turned and began to leave.

Nima was scrambling to gather her belongings into her strawberry shaped purse before rushing out after you. “Just one drink though. I hate being the voice of reason, but we should limit ourselves to one drink.”

One drink turned into two which turned into three which turned into twelve.

By 6 PM, you were borderline wasted. It was by no means the best decision you’ve ever made, but you couldn’t classify it as your worst considering that, for the first time since leaving Vegas, you didn’t feel sad or defeated. No, those blue emotions had turned into a burning shade of red. You had finally found your anger and all it took was copious amounts of alcohol. 

“I mean, married?” You scoffed as you stood at the bar with Nima at your side. “That’s⏤ That’s illegal.” Nima nodded in agreement as she blindly tried to find the straw in her drink with her tongue. You reached out and pushed it toward her lips. “And worse than illegal! It’s fucking rude.”

“So rude.” Nima slurped at the last of her drink and all you could hear was the rattling of ice in her glass. She pulled away to slam the cup down and pointed at you⏤ her pink hair had been let down from the braid to messily rest around her shoulders. “You should get a new sugar daddy!” You stuck your tongue out in disgust and shook your head. “No! This is such a good idea.” Nima began to look around the bar. “Let’s find you a super hot, super not married sugar daddy.”

“I don’t want a new sugar daddy. I want another drink.” You leaned on the bar and waited for the bartender to look your way. Nima and you had bounced to a few bars. The two of you, back when you were sober, decided to start drinking in an area that had multiple bars all within walking distance. The one you were in now wasn’t familiar to you⏤ it wasn’t a place you and Nima had been to before. It was a bit too upscale for your liking. Sober you would not have been a fan. Drunk you? Loving it.

Nima was tapping on your shoulder rapidly and when you looked her way she was pointing across the bar to God knows who. “He looks like he wouldn’t marry someone without your permission.”

“That’s,” You shook your head, “not my situation.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head and looked back toward the bartender who was busy with a group of women further down the bar. The sound of vibrating vaguely filled the air and you leaned closer to Nima who immediately wrapped her arms around you in a hug. “You’re vibrating.”

“You’re vibrating.”

You found her purse and opened it so you could rifle through it. It dawned on you then that somewhere around bar two and drink five you had shoved your phone in her purse for safe keeping. When you finally managed to pull it out, Joel’s face was flashing on the screen and you yelped in surprise. You tossed the phone onto the bar and held your face between your hands.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no.” You shook your head and the vibration stopped. Joel’s picture disappeared and was replaced with a notification of a missed call that joined the notification telling you that you had unread messages. Your eyes snapped to Nima who was trying to drink out of her empty cup again. “Joel.”

“Bastard man.” Nima edited.

“Dinner.” You grimaced. “At 7. I’m supposed to get dinner with Joel at 7. It’s 6:35.”

Nima shook her head and crunched the ice she had shoveled into her mouth, “Bastard man can go to dinner with his wife tonight.”

 You grimaced, “I hate all the words you just used.”

The bartender began to wander over and Nima turned to order more drinks. You picked up your phone and leaned against the bartop with your elbow. With a frown and furrowed brow, you opened your text messages. Every unread text was from Joel unsurprisingly. The first came in at 4:29 and it was a simple, ‘Hey sugar, I’m excited to see you tonight’. The next was almost exactly an hour later and it said, ‘Hope your day’s been alright. We still on for tonight?’. Finally, the most recent at 6:15, was just your name with a question mark.

You set the phone back down before the temptation to reply could overcome you. It only sat on the bartop for a second before it began to vibrate violently as another call came in. Joel’s face filled the screen and you felt a wave of sadness drag you under. The fact that you were mourning the lack of his presence to this degree was probably a sign you were doing this ‘sugar baby’ thing very wrong.

“Maybe I should answer it.” You voiced the thought aloud.

Nima caught it and gasped before slapping her hand on top of the still buzzing phone, “No, ma’am! You will not be doing that.” The bartender set two new drinks between the two of you. Nima pushed one in front of you and moved the straw to point directly at you. “Drink.”

You took a sip then spoke, “I don’t even know the whole story⏤” Nima pushed your face back to the straw so you took another long sip. “Maybe it’s a misunderstanding…” This time your lips found their way to the straw on their own accord and you took a sip that could be argued as dangerously long. “I need to talk to him. Confront him. Demand answers.”

“Yes. To all of that. Eventually.” Nima replied with a nod. She reached forward and bopped you on the nose with her finger. “But not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know one thing in life,” Nima held up the one finger she used to bop your nose, “You do not have serious conversations while drunk.”

You shook your head with a pout, “I thought you said you don’t like being the voice of reason.”

“If it means helping you, I’ll always lean toward reason, babe.” 

The two of you went back to drinking. Your vibrating phone stopped and a few seconds passed before a notification for a voicemail popped up. You turned to Nima, “Can I listen to it? That’s not talking. That’s listening.”

Nima chewed on her straw slowly before bobbing her head in an affirmative nod, “I shall allow it.”

You picked up the phone to listen to the message he left you.

‘Hey, sugar.’ Joel’s voice rumbled over the line and you felt your chest physically ache at the sound. You closed your eyes in annoyance with yourself. If you hadn’t fallen so hard, so fast for this man you wouldn’t be in this scenario to begin with. ‘Gotta say I’m a little worried. Haven’t heard from ya all day. Gimme a call when ya get this.’

You groaned and set your head down on the bar. Guilt gnawed at you. It felt childish of you to be ghosting him like this, and that wasn’t your typical go to move. You had enough respect for the people in your life to address them when needed rather than hide behind voicemail. With the guilt was a swirling vortex of anger. You were angry at Joel for not being up front with you. You were angry at Yo-Yo for being the one to plant the initial doubt that started all this. You were angry at yourself most of all. Angry that you felt guilt at all, angry that you had foolishly placed so much trust in a man you barely knew, angry that despite everything there was still a part of you that craved his presence. You missed his touch and his voice. You missed those burning brown eyes and the way his very glance could melt you into a puddle.

“You okay, babe?” Nima’s voice asked softly. You shook your head without lifting it. “I’m sorry. I can break his knee caps if you want?”

“What?” You lifted your gaze.

“What?” She replied innocently. 

The phone began to vibrate again startling you. He had just called so you didn’t expect him to call again, but then again you were supposed to be in your apartment waiting for him to pick you up for dinner. You pictured him standing at your door dressed up and holding a bouquet of flowers. Nausea rolled over you in waves, and you grabbed your mixed drink thinking it could cure your troubles.

A few minutes passed before another voicemail was left. You snatched your phone up and shoved it back into Nima’s purse so it would be out of your line of sight⏤ not even bothering to listen to the second voicemail. Tomorrow, you decided. Tomorrow you would confront Joel and have this difficult conversation. You both finished the drinks in front of you as the lively bar continued to thrive around you.

“Why is he married?” You asked suddenly. Nima must have known it wasn’t a question you expected an actual answer to as she stayed silent. You rested your face in your hands and sighed. With your eyes closed against your hands like this you began to feel dizzy. A sure sign that you should stop drinking. Nima rubbed your back soothingly and you dropped your hands to shoot her an appreciative glance. “You’re the best best friend a girl could ask for.”

“I know, babe. And you know what else I know?” Nima squished your cheeks together with a wide grin, “You deserve the universe in a gold hand basket, and any man who can’t see that or who would play games with your big, loving heart doesn’t deserve you.”

You laughed and Nima chuckled herself before letting go of your face to pick up her empty glass. Her tongue struggled to find the straw but once it did she tried to take a big gulp only to get drops and air. Nima pulled away from her straw and furrowed her brow, “Who finished my drink?”

With another laugh, you raised your hand to order two more drinks. At this point you’ve already had so much to drink, what would one more hurt? You knew the hangover tomorrow was going to be a bad one, but a part of you was looking forward to it. There would be no mourning Joel tomorrow if your head hurt too much to even think his name. 

Nima successfully managed to distract you again as she drunkenly delved into a story you weren’t quite following, but you enjoyed the way she told it. A low whistle interrupted the moment of peace the two of you had found. You glanced past Nima to see two men in business suits wandering over. Nothing about them stood out to you. One was brunet and the other blond, but they both looked like they never grew out of the frat lifestyle on a college campus.

“We saw you two pretty ladies from over there and wanted to come and offer you our company.” The blond greeted smugly.

Nima turned in her seat to face him and waved her hand at him while taking a long sip of her drink until the ice rattled in the glass. Then she pulled the straw out of her mouth to finally speak with a shake of her head, “Sorry, we don’t speak english.”

“You just said that in English.” The blond chuckled.

“Sorry, sorry.” Nima waved her hand once more. “I don’t understand your accent.”

You snickered under your breath while chewing on your straw. The brunet stepped forward to stand side by side with the other and shook his head, “No need to be a bitch. We just wanted to talk.”

“Oh, you haven’t even begun to see bitchy yet.” Nima pointed her glass in their direction⏤ a bit of ice sloshing out with the exaggerated movement. “I can show you bitchy.” She reached back to swat at your arm. “Tell them, babe.”

“She can.” You nodded in agreement.

The blond set a hand on his friend’s shoulder and tugged him back, “Let’s just go, man.”

The brunet reluctantly let himself get dragged away, but he continued to stare at you and Nima the entire time. Nima spun in her seat and scoffed, “Where was I before I was interrupted by douchebag one and douchebag two?”

“I’m not gonna lie,” You shrugged, “I have no idea.”

“I’ll pick a place then.” Nima said and jumped into the middle of her story. “So, there I was covered head to toe in honey.”

Same as before, you really couldn’t keep track of her tale but it amused you all the same. The two of you chatted for another minute or two before a new face came across the two of you again. Nima had bounced in her seat, excited, and it knocked her strawberry shaped purse to the floor. Your phone clattered out. Before you could climb off the bar stool to grab it, a man passing knelt down and scooped it up. In one tanned hand he grabbed the purse and in the other your phone. The phone’s screen lit up and you swallowed at the sight of the multiple missed messages all from the same person. 

“Oh.” The man cleared his throat and straightened his stance. He was handsome with a kind face. Dark hair, a bit on the longer side, was messily pushed back and it matched the scruff on his upper lip and chin. The man wore a pink button up shirt, all the buttons undone, over a white t-shirt. “I suppose this is yours, miss?”

You begun to reach out, “Thanks⏤”

“Hold it!” Nima pointed at the man making his dark, brown eyes widen. “State your intentions, sir!”

“To…return your purse?” He lifted up the strawberry bag.

Nima narrowed her eyes at him and snatched it away, “Likely story.”

“Thank you.” You reached out and he handed the phone over to you. A glance down revealed four missed calls, two unheard voicemails, and five texts. You winced at the sight and set your phone face down on the bar. You were surprised to see the man still standing by your stools. “You…” You narrowed your eyes at him. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Afraid not, ma’am.”

It was sitting on the tip of your tongue, but your foggy brain just couldn’t quite grasp it. Nima snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “I got it. He’s that guy.” You lifted an eyebrow at her words and she nodded frantically. “Yeah, he’s that actor! You play in that one show with, like, the zombies or whatever, right?”

“Not at all.” He laughed with a shake of his head. “I ain’t no actor.”

“Well then, I’m out of guesses.” Nima grumbled. She tilted her head, looking him up and down once more, “You seem nice enough. Got a pretty face. You rich? You wanna be a sugar daddy? She’s in the market.”

You rolled your eyes, “Nima.”

“You’re in the market for a sugar daddy?” The man asked in shock. You could hardly blame the man for his confusion and disbelief. This was hardly a normal bar conversation. “Really?”

“No. She’s just drunk.”

“Irrelevant.” Nima argued.

You chuckled then introduced yourself and Nima. The man paused for a beat before nodding and offering you his hand. “Nice to meet you both. My name is Tommy.” It took a second to click, but once the name finally wormed its way through your mind your eyes widened. Tommy chuckled and answered your unspoken question, “Yeah. I am.”

Nima glanced between you two with a frown, “Hold on, I’m not following. You are what? You’ll be her new sugar daddy?”

“No way in hell.” Tommy grinned. “If I even thought 'bout it, my brother’d skin me alive.”

The look on Nima’s face stayed confused until you swallowed the lump in your throat and finally spoke, “It’s… Nima, this is Joel’s brother.”

Her face remained frozen before morphing into one of shock. She gasped, almost comically, and pointed at him. “Oh, fuck.” Her eyebrows furrowed into a glare. “You son of a bitch, your brother is a son of a bitch!”

Tommy didn’t pay her outburst any mind, but his eyes darted back to you. “I asked my brother to come out drinkin' with me tonight, but he said ‘no’ cause he had a date with you.” Tommy stuck his hands into his pockets. “Funny I’m findin' you here without him.”

“That’s because your brother is too busy with his wife to be with my girl!”

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise and he glanced back to you, “He already told you about her?”

It was quite possibly the worst string of words you could have heard all day. Only in competition with Nima’s ‘He’s married, babe’. You felt nauseous and dizzy⏤ the breath stolen from you again. Nima was arguing with Tommy, you could hear her voice, but you couldn’t concretely understand a single word that was said. When you finally managed to get a handle on reality, you looked back to see things had fallen apart and more time than you realized had passed in your mental breakdown. 

The blond and brunet from earlier, in the suits, had come back and were somehow arguing with Tommy and Nima now. You suddenly began to regret the last two drinks you had. Maybe if you had gone with a couple glasses of water instead you’d be able to puzzle out exactly what was going on right now.

“Get the hell outta here. They ain’t interested.” Tommy snapped.

“Just curious as to why we weren’t good enough for these bitches and you were.” The brunet slurred his words. Tommy stood a step in front of Nima who had slid off her bar stool to stand in front of you with her hands on her hips. “What’s so special about you, bub?”

“Ugh. How about the two of you run off to the bathroom and jack each other off, huh? Then leave us the fuck alone.” Nima sneered.

“Shut your damn mouth!” 

The blond tried to push past Tommy toward Nima, but Tommy shoved him back immediately. He grabbed the guy by the collar. “You gonna charge at a woman like that? Fuckin' coward.” Tommy’s voice came out in a gravelly growl that reminded you so much of Joel that it was staggering. “You got a problem, you take it up with me.”

The next moment happened fast. The blond tried to swing out at Tommy so Tommy blocked it with his elbow before tackling the man to the ground. The brunet grabbed Nima and wrapped his arms around her. She howled in anger and squirmed in his arms trying to find purchase to hit him. The brunet spun so his back was to you and you slid off the stool. Without pause, without thought, you picked up your empty glass and smashed it to the back of the man’s head. He released Nima, crumpling to the ground with a groan, and any shred of a fight stopped⏤as did the entire bar.

Tommy was kneeling on the ground pinning the blond while Nima stood off to the side.

“Oh my God.” Nima squealed, amused.

“Oh my God.” Tommy blurted, impressed.

“Oh my God.” You gasped, shocked at your own action.

You were panting, damn near hyperventilating, as the brunet began to rise on shaky limbs. Other patrons nearby converged on the scene to help out and before you knew it you were being ushered off to the side where a few couches and seats sat in a lounge area. 

“You’re such a badass.” Nima gushed from beside you. "How’s your hand??”

“Hurts.” You mumbled and stared down at the white cloth wrapped around your hand. Bright red was beginning to seep through. The consequences of smashing glass against the back of someone’s skull. Police had shown up and you knew Tommy was across the room talking to them. But still, your eyes stayed glued on your hand. The cuts weren’t terrible but they stung something awful.

“Babe?” You finally looked up and met Nima’s concerned eyes. She nodded, “You alright?”

You shot her a small smile, “Yeah. Are you okay? I can’t believe he grabbed you.”

“I’m fine.” Nima peeked at your hand then stood. “I’m gonna see if this bar has a real first aid kit we can use. Be right back.”

She jumped up and jogged over to the bar. You sunk in your seat with a sigh and leaned your head against the back of the couch. There had been something very sobering about smashing the glass against that guy’s head. The adrenaline and pain cleared any lingering fog from your previous drinks right out of your head. It left room for you to think about Joel. Meeting his brother certainly didn’t help. Tommy clapped one of the officer’s on the shoulder with a smile and they went separate ways. You lifted your head when you heard his footsteps draw near.

“Well, I spoke to the police.” Tommy stuck his hands into his pockets. “You’re not gonna get in trouble for the, you know, the glass. Won’t have to go downtown with ‘em.” You breathed a sigh of relief. Tommy held your gaze for a few more seconds before scrunching his nose and bobbing his head toward you. “And Joel is, uh, on his way.”

You covered your face with your good hand and groaned, “Can I please just be arrested instead?”

“Sorry, no can do.” Tommy sat down beside you. “You know, I didn’t say it earlier, but it’s nice to finally meet you. Joel never shuts up about you.”

“Please. Don’t.” You blurted. “I can’t… I can’t talk about him right now.”

Tommy nodded, “Right. I, uh, when I called him we didn’t talk much.” He laced his fingers together and rested his arms on his knees. “I mentioned you were hurt and things kind of spiraled from there. That’s probably for the best though. I don’t wanna get in between a lover’s quarrel⏤”

“I’m not his lover.” You snapped, and you hated the way your voice cracked. You shook your head, “Not if he’s married. Not…” The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and you were exhausted to your very bones. “This is so fucked up. I never should've agreed to…

Tommy didn’t immediately reply. He sighed, “I don’t know you, and I don’t got the exact details of what’s going on right now, but… I’m glad you agreed.” He turned and met your gaze with a tight smile. “Joel’s been… He’s been better. Joel was in a rut for a long time. So long that I kind of forgot he was in one. For a while, that was just Joel.” Tommy’s smile grew as he chuckled. “But ever since the two of you met, it’s like this weight has been lifted from his shoulders. We’ve all noticed it, and we’re all thankful.”

  “He’s married.” You whispered. “And he didn’t tell me.”

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, “I know, but it’s⏤ it’s not that simple.” He nervously chewed on his lower lip. “Can you just give him a chance to explain?” You flexed your hand and sucked in a sharp breath as pain lanced up your arm. “Consider it a favor for me.”

“A favor for you?” You snorted.

“Yeah. I kept you out of prison, remember?” Tommy joked.

You cracked a smile and Tommy’s smile widened in victory. Nima skipped back over and dropped into the seat on your other side. She pulled your hand into her lap and carefully unpeeled the cloth away. As Nima rewrapped your hand while Tommy criticized her technique and the two bickered over you. You couldn’t help but flex your hand when she finished.

“Come on, pinkie.” Tommy stood. “I’ll take you home.”

“Uh, I am not leaving my girl here alone.”

“Joel will be here soon.”

“Then I’m definitely not leaving her alone!”

You reached out to squeeze her wrist and gave her a reassuring nod, “I’ll be okay. Gotta talk to him eventually, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t have to be right now.” Nima argued. You pulled her into a hug to reassure her once again. Maybe this was a bad idea, but you had just smashed a glass against a guy’s head so the degree of your bad ideas couldn't possibly get worse. Nima sighed and stood up too. “Okay. You’re sure you’re fine?”

Tommy clapped his hands. “Joel’s a few minutes away. But we can stay until he gets here if you want.”

“No.” You shook your head. The thought of being alone for a minute was kind of nice. “You guys go.” Your eyes locked onto Nima. “If you’re okay with him driving you.” You glanced at Tommy. “No offense.”

He held his hands up in surrender and shrugged nonchalantly. Nima nodded, “We survived a bar brawl together. We’re bonded.” She grinned and pulled her strawberry purse around her shoulders. “Plus, worse comes to worse, I can stab him.”

“You can what now?” Tommy questioned.

“You’ve already offered me a ride. It’s too late to back out now.”

“Fine, pinkie.” Tommy waved her to follow. 

You watched them go and sunk in your seat. The sounds of the bar was decent background noise, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the noise in your head. You picked at the edges of the gauze wrapped around your hand. Your eyes felt heavy and if you weren’t careful you were going to pass out on this bar couch surrounded by strangers. It was the sound of a crash that startled you back into the moment, and when you looked up from your hand you realized the door had been thrown open hard enough to hit the wall. Joel stood in the doorway panicked and wild eyed. He wore a suit without the tie and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top.

You stayed silent, sinking further into your seat, and watched as Joel’s wide eyes scanned the room. His gaze finally landed on you, doing a double take, and when he realized where you were you saw his shoulders slump in relief. Joel jogged across the room until he was able to kneel down in front of you. Joel’s warm hands found your face, cupping it softly, as he sighed, “Sugar, what the hell is goin' on? Are you okay?” Joel’s eyes studied your face then glanced down at your hand. “Jesus, your hand. Tommy called me. Sugar, I⏤”

“I’m okay.” You whispered, throat growing tight, “I just wanna go home, Joel.”

Joel tensed and he nodded, “Yeah. Alright. Let’s get you home.”

The ride in the truck beside Joel may have been the most awkward and tense ride of your entire life. It was silent. The only sound coming from the road outside. Joel’s hands were white knuckled around the steering wheel. You assumed his tension had something to do with you ghosting him this evening. His truck pulled up outside your apartment complex and your alcohol soaked brain realized not only did you not have your keys but you also no longer had your phone. Both were sitting in Nima’s purse right now.

You opened the door fully prepared to sleep outside your apartment on the welcome mat like a lost dog, but Joel grasped you by the arm cautiously to hold you in place. “You got your key?” You twisted your lips knowing he wasn’t going to fall for a lie. “Where is your key?”

“With Nima.” You mumbled. “She has my phone too.”

Joel sighed and let go of you to instead grab the truck door and shut it. He buckled you back into the seat and began to drive once more. You wanted to ask where he was taking you, but none of the words would come out. You drowned in your indecision while picking at the bandage on your hand. Joel suddenly reached over and lightly pushed your hand away from the injury.

“Stop pickin' at it, sugar.”

“Where are we going?” You blurted.

Joel shifted in his seat, “My place.”

“I don’t wanna go to your place.” You mumbled.

“Don’t care.” Joel replied gruffly and you lifted your head to glare at his side profile. 

The tone of his voice stirred something inside you, and you felt the dormant anger start to reawaken. It had gotten buried under everything that happened, but now it was back full fledged. You sat up, “Take me back. I want to go home.”

“You don’t have your key.”

“I don’t care.” You snapped. “Take me home, Joel!”

“You’re comin' to my place where I know you can safely sleep it off, 'nd then tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get ya back into your apartment. Understood?”

You scoffed, “Don’t talk down to me. I’m not a child, Joel.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Joel scoffed. His tone was angry and frustrated. “Cause you’re sure as hell actin' like one.” He shot a glare in your direction before focusing back on the road. “Are you outta your goddamn mind?! Do you know how worried I was?” You crossed your arms and stared out the passenger window. “I don’ hear from you all day long. You disappear on me with no explanation 'nd then I get a call from my baby brother that you’ve been in a bar fight? And that you’re hurt?!” You stayed silent and Joel scoffed. “And now I get the silent treatment? Very mature.”

“You don’t want to argue with me on what’s mature, Joel.” You said, head whipping back to glare at him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean??”

“You’re a hypocrite!”

“Excuse me?”

You scoffed, “It’s not very mature for a married man to pay a sugar baby for attention.” Joel hit the brakes and the seat belt caught you as the truck screeched to a stop. You glanced out the window to see his truck had reached a neighborhood and the streets were mostly void of other vehicles. When you turned back to Joel, you found him staring at you in a mix of shock and horror. You shook your head, “What was I, Joel? Some kind of midlife crisis?”

Pain could be seen through the horror, and he reached out to grab your wrist again. “No. No, that’s not…” Joel’s voice was hoarse and broken. He whispered your name. “Please. That’s not what this is.”

You tugged your arm away from his grip. “I don’t wanna talk about this right now, Joel. Either start driving again or I’m gonna get out.”

Joel kept his hands to himself as he slowly went back to driving. As if the awkward silence hadn’t been painful before it was downright agonizing now. You were pressing your thumb into the wounds of your palm just to try and keep from crying. Joel pulled into the driveway a few minutes later, and you couldn’t even get your brain to collect a single feature of the house in front of you. Joel jumped out of the truck and you stayed frozen. The passenger door opened but Joel didn’t move to pull you out. He held the top of the door frame and a foot rested on the running board so he could lean in just marginally.

“Sugar…”

“Don’t, Joel.” You said firmly. “Don’t.”

“Please just let me⏤”

“Are you married?”

Joel’s face crumpled in agony and he hung his head, “It’s… It’s not that simple. Just let me⏤”

“It’s a yes or no question.” You shrugged and tried to ignore the tears welling up in your eyes.

Joel looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he still refused to answer. You whispered his name. Finally, he lifted his gaze back to you and opened his mouth. His jaw hung open silently for a second before he could speak. “...Yes.”

You felt the tears lingering at the waterline drip down your cheeks and hastily began to wipe them away with your hands. Joel gasped and began to reach out but when you flinched he held back. He shook his head, “You’re bleedin'.”

The bandage around your hand was soaked with blood, probably from digging your thumb into the wounds, and when you felt your cheek with your fingertips they came back tinted red. You must have smeared it across your face. 

“Sugar, let me… let me take you inside.” Joel murmured. “Please. I know you’re… upset, 'nd you have every reason to hate me right now, but… just let me get you inside.” His hand reached out for you once more, but he stopped himself. “You can leave in the mornin', but for tonight just⏤ just let me take care of you. Please.”

You gave a small nod. It felt weak of you, but you reassured yourself that you had little to no other option. Your hand hurt, your head ached, you were exhausted to your very being, and deep down you were torn between wanting to yell and scream or curl into a ball and cry. Joel took a few steps back to allow you to climb down yourself, but when you wavered his arms shot out to try and steady you. Joel herded you toward the front door without actually touching you. 

Your eyebrows furrowed when you studied his front porch. The entire front of his house didn’t look like the typical rich LA style you were accustomed to seeing. In fact, his porch and front door reminded you of a quaint farmhouse. Joel unlocked his front door and held it open for you to walk in. Right inside the house, the foyer had an open style with a set of stairs pressed against the wall just up ahead. It opened straight into a large living room that evolved into a dining room with a matching open kitchen to the side. The entire back wall by the kitchen and dining area was made of glass but the back porch lights were off so you couldn’t see the view. 

Joel tossed his keys into a bowl sitting on an accent table against the wall right by the door. You glanced over to a little bench built into the wall on the other side beneath a set of bay windows. The rest of his furniture from what you could see was modern and plain. You were drunk off alcohol and misery, but your brain was still able to take the time to note that Joel’s furniture didn’t match what you imagined him to have.

“C’mon.” Joel motioned you up the stairs. He followed after you and when you reached the top of the stairs he pointed to the left. You stepped into the master bedroom and Joel slid in past you moving straight toward the master bath. While he rooted around for something, you glanced around his room. There was a king sized bed sitting in the middle of the room covered in dark green sheets. A window sat on either side of the bed. The wall to the right was where the bathroom door and the closet door sat, but on the left was a single loveseat pushed against the wall. All the furniture was dark brown including the large dresser against the wall by the door and the smaller bedside drawers on either side of the bed under the windows. You drifted toward one of the bedside drawers where a photo was propped up. It was of Joel and two young girls. Joel had shown you enough pictures of Sarah and Ellie for you to recognize them, but in this photo all three of them were significantly younger. 

The sound of a throat clearing made you look up to see Joel standing there with a first aid kit in hand. “Sit down for me?” You sat on the side of the bed and Joel sat beside you. He opened the kit then carefully unwrapped your hand. When he saw the three lines haphazardly cut into your palm he let out a soft hiss. “You hurtin' much?”

“It stings some.” You mumbled. He hummed in response and used an alcohol swab to clean up the cuts. Joel did so with soft touches and his eyes flickered to your features every second or so to check in on your status. You locked your jaw to bite back any sounds of pain that tried to slip out. 

“They look bad, but I don’ think they’ll need stitches.” Joel thought out loud. 

“Good.” You said. Joel grabbed some fresh gauze and began to wrap it around your hand. You studied his features as he focused so intently on the task at hand. His warm gaze was burned into your skin as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You had the urge to trace your fingers through the scruff along his jawline. When he finished, he lifted his gaze and his eyes locked with yours. The two of you stared at one another in tense silence. Pain and longing filled his brown eyes, and you wondered if it could somehow just be a reflection of your own. It made no sense for you to both be so miserable right now. “Where is she?”

Joel tensed, “What?”

“Where is your wife?” You asked more firmly. 

“Are you sure you wanna get into this tonight?”

“I just want answers, Joel.” You sighed. “I need something. My mind has been a mess since we left Vegas.” Joel’s face crumpled as he closed his eyes with a sigh. “Yo-yo told me I wasn’t your first sugar baby and then she said you were married to your first sugar baby.” The words were falling out like pouring water now. “And then Nima has a cousin who has a cousin who has a friend or something that was able to find your marriage certificate⏤”

Joel murmured your name in reverence and opened his eyes. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you from the start. That way there’d be no miscommunication or confusion. I meant to. But… I kept puttin' it off 'nd it got to the point where too much time had passed…” Joel hesitantly reached out for you and when you didn’t shy away he settled his hand on your arm. “I did have a sugar baby before you. It’s a… long story, but I am not married to her.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, “You didn’t marry her?”

“No. Absolutely not. She was… Like I said, it’s a long story.” Joel squeezed your arm. “One that I promise to tell you. In the mornin', when you’re not half drunk 'nd half hungover all at once.”

“Then who the hell are you married to, Joel?”

“I… I am technically still married to Celina.” Joel finally spat the words out. You shook your head in confusion. The name was foreign to you, but Joel heaved another sigh and added, “Sarah’s mom.”

taglist (closed):

@weddingfairy @bfences @jasminedragon @biwitchy @huffle-punk @shelbyteller @anoverwhelmingdin @aheadfullofsteverogers @stagerightlauren @basicoccult @boofy1998 @farintonorth @thepascalofus @amatis-gray @casa-boiardi @northernbluess @jettia @sapphicsoie @spidey-3 @hrtsforpascal @gingersince97 @sentients17 @bigboiseason123 @lunxramour @ktheunready @heyheyheygaypay @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @adoringanakin @come-hell-or-eldren-fire @cherriebat @whitewolfstar01 @alyssa121611 @asreadbyaj @painfullyandprettypoetic @cantobightcafe @str84pedro

[previous][next]

✨J.M. Masterlist✨

[radfemverity]

All day on Twitter, pro Palestine westerners of both sexes have been attempting to justify the scenes in the viral video of the deceased, bloodied, half naked woman, being paraded through the streets in a pick up truck by men with machine guns chanting Allah Akbar.

It's come in 3 forms:

1. saying "where were you when the IDF did [X crime] to [Y woman]?" to people they've literally never met and do not know the politics of. They're just assuming that anyone distressed at the footage is a Jewish/Israeli supremacist who doesn't care for innocent slaughtered Palestinian people.

These whataboutery addicts are disingenuous as all fuck, and completely desensitised to acts of violence, so much so that they project their own inability to extend compassion for murder victims on "the other side", onto those whose tweets they're replying to. Victims are just gotchas to them.

But they're cupcakes compared to the next 2 categories.

2. saying that these men's murders of women, abduction of elderly ladies (separate viral incident) and other crimes against civilians is a justified reaction against apartheid and/or settler colonialism, and that Israeli people have had it coming.

I cannot believe I have to say this, but regardless of your opinion on the conflict, whether you’re a Zionist or believe Israel is an apartheid state, if you believe random women, young and old, and their children, being abducted, bombed, raped, murdered and paraded through the streets by men, is a justified response to oppression, then you are dead inside. That’s not brave rebellion. It’s plain old male savagery.

There is, sadly, an academic case which could be made that such brutalities assist the war effort of a nation to gain independence – this being a reference to the fact that the most savage empires, the ones willing to commit the most gruelling acts, tend to be the ones to come out on top during wars. History shows us - think of Rome, Japan, etc.

But this type of speculation almost always crosses the line into justifying such crimes, because it was never about speculation for speculation’s sake. It was about wanting the other side - including women and children - slaughtered. Pro-Palestine Twitter have demonstrated this perfectly today.

Please let me make this excruciatingly clear, this political behaviour is exhibited by practically every male-dominated movement and ideology there is, which is… everything other than radical feminism. Zionists do this too. As do conservatives, liberals, marxists, fascists, progressives, pacifists, nationalists of all stripes – supremacist and anti-colonial, theocrats, Islamists, etc. It’s just that the issue of today is the Israel Palestine conflict, so this is the obvious example to reference.

And the 3rd form of response, much like the 2nd, is to justify these crimes against civilians as an act of rebellion, but go one step further and laugh about it. Saying things like "play stupid games, win stupid prizes 🤣🤣", "Imfao at Israelis suddenly pretending to be victims", making wojak memes and spamming them to the people expressing distress over seeing that video of the dead woman, etc. See this example from a trans-identified man:

Notice how at no point have I said my opinion on the Israel Palestine conflict? Because I have one. And it's probably not what either side would expect. And that’s exactly the problem. My disgust at Palestinian men parading a dead Israeli woman through the streets and spitting on her is automatically interpreted to be me supporting the Israeli state.

But your political view on the conflict should have a 0% impact on this fundamental principle: as a feminist, you do not EVER, FUCKING EVER, think that a woman on "the other side" of a mens war deserves to die.

To accuse someone of not caring about dead Palestinian women, as pro-Palestine Twitter have been doing all day, to random stranger who simply said "this is horrific" re: the dead woman in the truck, is:

a) to project your own heartlessness toward women on "the other side" onto them.

b) to further normalise the glorification of violent men, under this false veneer of their crimes being a necessary and justified revolt against whatever type of oppression they have in their society. As if stripping a woman bare and parading her through the streets has ever been a practically useful or ethical war tactic.

And c) to imply that those on "the other side" deserve whatever cruel fate meets them, simply because the male class of their society committed unjustifiable crimes.

I cannot think of anything less pro-woman, anything less feminist, than that.

[museandwords]

Warnings: female!reader, 1940’s setting, dubious consent, mentions of war, age difference (hinted), innocent!reader, insecure!reader, bucky is a bit of a fuck boy, i feel like i should mention they do have sex with reader’s parents being in the house so i’ll throw that out there, bucharest!bucky (my beloved come home the kids miss you), reincarnation (kind of?)

Author’s Note: It's finally here! I don’t know what the end goal of this was but I listened to illicit affairs by taylor swift and this was born? To be honest this has just morphed into something and it’s moreso just me rambling but anyway enjoy.  Feedback is always welcome!

MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY

----

The first time you meet James Buchanan Barnes and his best friend Steve Rogers, you're the new waitress at a diner on a corner in Brooklyn. It’s your first shift, and you're  wearing a satin bow in your hair. You wore lipstick to look more mature, and you gave a dazzling, sweet smile at all those who walked in.

You wanted to look pretty.

You were eager to get a job, loved the idea of some independence and wanted to do your best. 

“Hi, what can I get you?” You ask as you grip your pocket-sized notepad in your right hand, a blue pen in your left. 

When you look up from your pad, your hand stills and your heart skips a beat. It’s almost like the wind gets sucked out of you, and you can feel your cheeks heat up, you've never been so enamored by a man at first sight before. 

He isn’t looking back at you, not right away. His eyes were downcast, focused on the menu in front of him as he contemplated what to get.

From this angle, You can see how pink his lips are, how devastating the cut of his jaw is, and how utterly soft his cropped brown hair looks. 

It's almost as if it’s in slow motion, the way his eyes move over the menu, and how he licks his lips in thought. 

You think he must be older, you don't recognize him or his friend.

He’s gorgeous, and he doesn’t even seem to take notice. 

You only have milliseconds to recover, and your deflated smile returns with vigor. 

“Get whatever you want Stevie, I’m gonna take another minute.” He says as he finally glances over to his friend – Stevie. 

Stevie is a tiny little thing, all slumped shoulders and pale skin, and probably the same size as you, but you like how large his eyes are, how gold his blonde hair is, despite the clear indicators that he isn’t well. 

“Uh, yes…Can I just get a chocolate milkshake and fries?” Stevie asks you, looking up with those crystal eyes and you begin to write his order down. You nod, warm and polite the whole time. 

“Of course.” You tell him gently, finishing your writing before your eyes dart over to his companion, who is now looking up at you.

And you're met with the breathtaking blue eyes you have ever seen.

You try your best not to outwardly react to him, after all that wouldn’t be very professional of you. 

But how can you not feel weak in the knees when he looks up at you like that, how can you not get butterflies when he’s the most gorgeous boy – man – to ever exist?

“And you?” You ask softly, not even realizing you're nervously biting your lip before his gaze glances towards your mouth, and he smiles – amused!

“Well, Princess, can I please get a chocolate milkshake as well and…a burger?” He asks. You swallow, before nodding your head, writing down his order. 

“Just a regular burger or would you like cheese on it?” You ask – rather dumbly.

And he just keeps on smiling, eyes sparkling with delight as you nervously press your pen to your paper. 

“What would you recommend?” He asks, leaning forward and batting those perfectly long, curled lashes.

You flush…

“I-I normally like it with cheese…” You reply, bringing your pad closer to your face in hopes of hiding behind it. 

“Alright, princess, I trust you on this.” He says with a wink. 

You barely recover. 

—-------

You are quite proud to say you have successfully survived any and all encounters with one James Buchanan Barnes after that. 

He frequents the diner on a weekly basis, normally with Steve, or his sister or – and the most disappointing of them all – his dates. 

And, you learn against your own will, that Bucky indeed goes on lots of dates. Which, you suppose you should’ve known.

You never serve him when he comes in with a girl because when he comes in you're either on a break or you haven't clocked in yet or you're just ending your shift, and you're thankful for it. 

You know that you wouldn’t be able to be the friendliest you could be when he brings girl after girl through those double doors and orders milkshake after milkshake. 

It doesn’t take you long to come to the conclusion that the tiny little crush you harbored for him turned into a not-so-tiny-and-little crush. 

It was big, bigger than anything you've ever felt for a man, for sure. Which is pathetic considering you only ever spoke to him when he came in to order some food. 

So every time Bucky Barnes came in with a new girl under his arm, you could feel yourself deflate just a little more. 

They’re never the same girl. 

Every few weeks Bucky comes in with a new one tucked into him. 

Every time it’s the same thing, he’s got that stupidly boyish charming smile on his mouth, those intense, breath-taking blue eyes focused on nothing but his date, and he’s always so well-dressed, even in the simplest of clothes. 

Every time, you see each of them fall under his spell.

You can’t really blame them.

One thing you do notice is that it seems Bucky just likes women, they have no particular similarities; blondes, brunettes, girls with hair as black night. Wide brown doe eyes, siren-like blue eyes, and everything in between.

Bucky just really seems to appreciate women. 

But the thing is…they’re always older than you.

—--

You remember the first time the two of you had a moment. 

It’s later in the evening, and he looks exhausted, smelling of salt water and sweat and sun. His usually pale skin has a soft glow to it, and he’s sitting on one of the stools rather than a booth. You had just come back from your break and was surprised to see him.

“Hi, have you been helped?” You ask as you slip back on your apron.

Bucky looks up at you, those startling blue eyes shining with mild recognition, and then there it is, that easy, disarming smile that never fails to make your stomach swoop.

“Oh, not yet princess,” He says and your heart skips a beat at the pet name, an echo from the first time you unofficially met.

You blush, nodding your head as you pull out a notepad and the pen that had been nestled in the bun of your hair. “What can I get you?” You ask.

He glances at the menu. You know what he’s going to get, he orders it every time.

“Milkshake and a cheeseburger, please.”

—--

It becomes a thing after that. After that first night when he sat on the stools. Something changes. 

Bucky comes in every week, sometimes twice. 

He always comes in during your shift. Always the exact same time;  right after working from the docks, and he sits in the same spot. And he always orders a milkshake with a cheeseburger. 

He chats you up in between tables, waits for your break so he can follow you and take you for a little walk down the street, waits until your shift is done so he can walk you home. 

He talks about anything and everything with you, his childhood, his passions, his dreams, his mother and sister and his dear friend Steve Rogers. 

And in turn you tell him about your own ambitions, what you strive for in life once you get a little older and more sure of yourself.

Not once does he laugh or belittle your dreams. 

“Hey, princess?” He asks, one evening when it’s late and the sun has gone to bed and it’s pouring rain outside.

“Yes, Bucky?” You answer as you go about your closing duties, you only spare a glance at him with a small, pointed smile.

“When are you gonna let me take you out?” He asks, leaning forward on the bar as his eyes are zeroed in on just you. 

You know that look, you’ve seen him use it countless times – girl after girl – and you know, instinctively, that maybe you shouldn’t. You’ve seen how this plays out. Bucky gets interested, gets what he wants, then he’s off to the shiny new toy. 

So, the odds aren’t in your favor, you know this.

But who are you to say no?

—

It's your first date. The very first one. 

Your parents never allowed you to date and well — you had never been asked out before.

So of course, it is both an exhilarating and anxious affair, you had worn your best dress, washed your hair and applied your mother’s lipstick.

Bucky shows up with flowers, he impresses your mother and even manages to successfully charm your father. 

It’s a simple date, ice cream and a stroll in the neighborhood.

He eats chocolate ice cream, you have strawberry.

The thing is Bucky is a great conversationalist. You can see why girls swoon and sigh when he talks to them. 

He asks questions, genuinely listens and responds with a meaningful response. He is also insanely funny, his quick wit is impressive. 

He tells you he wanted to be a writer, but university just wasn’t in the cards to pursue this dream, so he settled for the docks. He tells you he wanted to write science fiction stories and dreams about a futuristic society where there is magic, flying cars and talking animals.

“And what about you, princess?” He asked as he held your hand. 

Your brain is so overcome with the sensation of how big and warm and calloused his hand was that you barely processed the question.

“Hmm, what?” You ask, taking a lick of your strawberry ice cream to focus on something – anything. The cool sensation against your tongue is enough to alert your senses. Bucky laughs softly.

“What do you wanna be when you’re all grown up?” He asks in that endearing way.

“Oh,” You say as you think. It wasn’t like you had some big ambition, girls like you – life was pretty much about survival in this day and age.

“I always wanted to have my own little shop, like with food or coffee maybe, somewhere people can come and just be.” You tell him.

“Yeah?” He asks, genuinely interested. You nod.

“Tell you what, when you get your little shop, I’ll come and do my writing there.” He says as he beams at you, his eyes full of sparkles and wonder and hope.

You laugh.

“Only if I get to read the rough drafts.”

“Deal.”

—--

As much as you like the little dates, the walks in the parks, the little rendezvous, you also long for the more serious ones, the dinners, the dancing. 

But you notice Bucky never takes you, and he always insists on you two meeting up on your own, he says he likes the intimacy of just the two of you. 

But you also think about how when Bucky would date other women, he was very, very into showing them off.

You try not to read too much into that.

But it seeps into your soul, crawls into your brain when you’re alone and the thoughts just won’t stop. So, one day, while you’re walking by the water and he’s rambling on about some fight with Steve, you interrupt him.

“Bucky?” You ask, your voice so small, so unsure. He immediately notices your tone and his attention is on you in full.

“Yes, princess?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“How come you don’t…” You take a breath, figuring that isn’t the best choice of language. “How come we don’t ever go dancing?” You ask. 

Bucky looks surprised by the question, though his gaze softens as he brings his hand up to cup your cheek tenderly. You know by his touch, by the way he’s looking at you, that he knows.

“I’d love to go dancing with you, princess, it’s just…I know you’re always on your feet at work and I didn’t wanna make you feel obligated or forced…” He admits as he leans closer, his lips ghosting yours as he looks earnestly in your eyes. 

And, you hadn’t been considering that, automatically you had assumed maybe he was ashamed to be seen with you. And your heart melts faster than an ice cream on a hot summer’s day.

“I’ll take you dancing, girl.” 

—--

So, the two of you become a thing.  An unofficial, official thing where Bucky is unofficially your boyfriend. And it’s been longer than a few weeks, his usual dating pattern. 

It’s been a thing that’s been sitting in the depth of your body, somewhere where your stomach meets your abdomen and it’s warm. 

It happens every time Bucky holds your hand, or when he brings a straw or spoon to his mouth and sucks, or when he gets that hyper focused intense look in his eye while he’s deep in thought or doing something. 

You feel it in the depth of your core, and every time your heart skips several beats and you lose your breath. 

It happens the most when he kisses you. 

And he kisses you a lot. 

In the beginning it was small pecks goodbye, gentle kisses on your mouth that felt like soft summer rain and tasted like chocolate and salt.

Lately he’s been more zealous in his kisses. More aggressive and handsy. He’ll grab you by the waist, his hand finding the small of your back as he tilts your chin up to him so he can place a hot, open mouth kiss on yours. 

It’s always during your break, or when right before he goes home, or when you’re on one of your little dates and he just can’t seem to relax. 

You like kissing Bucky. You love it. 

He’s all-consuming, he wants everything you can possibly give him. Your mouth, your sounds, your soul. 

And you give it all to him. 

Which is how you find yourself in your current predicament. 

You weren’t being the greatest daughter when Bucky Barnes snuck in through your window.

“What are you doing?” You whisper scream at him, exhilarated as he moves to close the window, that boyish mischievous grin you’ve come to know beaming on his face. 

“I missed you, princess. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, had to come see you.” He whispers back as he stands to his full height and turns. 

He’s looking around your room. It’s a little messy, some clothes were resting on your vanity desk chair, and flush from the fact that he’s seeing this intimate part of you. Bucky doesn’t say anything, if anything you can’t help but notice the way his eyes soften, especially when he sees the posters on your wall, and the records you have on a shelf.

Or the family portrait of you and your parents that hangs above your bed.

Then, suddenly he’s sitting on your bed, and he’s pulling you into his lap.

“Bucky–!” You say before his lips sufficiently cut you off from whatever you were about to say. 

It’s one of the more urgent kisses, the one where his mouth is licking into yours, his hands are moving up and down the expanse of your back, his fingers feel dry against the cotton fabric of your white nightgown. And then they’re tangling in your hair. His fingertips playfully tease the straps that rest on your shoulders. 

It’s like he can’t get enough.

You’ve made out in the past, but he’s never had the urgency that he is currently encompassing. It makes your body flush, your heart rate picks up. And you’re completely still in his lap, especially once you start feeling your pussy begin to throb in response to the way he’s touching you. 

This isn’t the first time he’s had this effect on you, far from it. There were a few times in the past where he’s made you so wet you had to squeeze your thighs shut and let out a strangled “Bucky–wait…” And he always respected your limits. 

But now, he can’t stop. Not when he has you right where he wants you, all breathy and soft and all he could think about on the way over was how plump your lips looked after he kissed you, or how soft the curves of your body were when you wore those summer dresses he loved so much.

And you can’t help but whimper in his mouth as his hand comes up to massage your right breast over your nightgown. 

“Shit,” He whispers as he finally breaks the kiss and looks where his hand is on your breast. He realizes then, that the flimsy fabric is the only thing between him and your breast. He squeezes once, twice. It’s almost like he’s entranced as he palms your breast, rubbing the fabric against your nipple.

“You’re so beautiful, baby girl.” He tells you as he finally breaks his gaze from where he’s touching you and he looks up into your half-lidded, hazy eyes. 

He did that. He made you look so hazy and besotted, just from his mouth, his hand. 

He feels his cock twitch in his pants just from the sight of you.

He didn’t mean for it to get this far, not really. He just wanted to come and kiss you goodnight, to hold you for a little, but once he crawled in through that window, saw you in your nightgown, and was engulfed in the scent of just you from being in your bedroom, something inside of him snapped. 

“Am I?” You ask back, and you look so vulnerable, so precious as you look down at him, all swollen lips and glassy eyes. He nods.

“Most beautiful girl in the world, my beautiful girl,” He murmurs. His hands come back up, and his fingers find the straps again. His beautiful eyes meet yours, and you notice how dilated his pupils are, how heavy with lust he looks. And there's a question in his eyes, and you nod your head. 

You suppose, in a way, you should’ve known it was going to come to this. 

What other way was it going to go? Especially when the feelings you have for him grew, bloomed into something so beautiful and intense that you’d give your soul to him.

Bucky swallows, before he slips the straps off your shoulders, and you both move to push the fabric down and off your torso, and it pools at your waist. 

Your chest is flushed, and your eyes are wider as you suck in a breath as his eyes fall to the exposed skin of your breasts. He lets out a low, soft, groan, before his hands come up to rest on your back again, and he leans forward to capture your left nipple into his mouth. 

You let out a muted whine once his hot, wet mouth latches on, and his tongue comes to flick and swirl around the sensitive bud with just the right amount of pressure.

Before you think against it, your hips begin to grind down against his, back and forth, gently, just enough to tease his bulge against your clothed pussy. The only thing between you and the fabric of his pants is your panties.

Bucky groans, the vibration reverberating around your nipple which causes your hips to stutter. 

“Shit…I don’t want to stop.” Bucky murmurs as his mouth finally unlatches from your nipple with a soft pop and he moves to kiss and nibble the expanse of your breasts. 

Then he takes a deep inhale of air and rests his forehead on your collar bone, willing himself to calm down.

Except.

“I don’t want you to either.” You whisper, your heart pounding in your chest as your skin flushes the most beautiful scarlet.

And it’s like something snaps, in both of you.

—

You hadn't seen him in a while, not since that night. 

You try to move forward, try not to dwell too much on it, but your brain continues to throw images of that night in your mind's eye. 

Bucky's body, naked and pressed against yours. Bucky on top of you, his hot breath against the expanse of your neck, over your breasts.

Bucky's forehead pressed to yours as he looked down between the two of you, watching his cock move in and out of your tight heat with each thrust. You can hear the way he groans, echoing in the recesses of your mind as he —

You always snap back to reality just as you feel your stomach drop. 

And you feel so, so stupid when you remember what you told him. 

Why did I tell him I loved him?

So, imagine your surprise, when the man of all your dreams and nightmares walks through the diner’s door, dressed in army green, standing tall with his chin confidentiality tilted back. 

But  you can't help but think that the uniform is wearing him. 

And your heart sinks. 

No.

You're helping another customer when you spot him, and his eyes are on you in an instant, moving toward the bar stool as he waits for you to finish.

Your lips purse together as his gaze lowers. And he never looked more like a kicked puppy than he did in that moment. 

“Shelly? Can you cover me for a minute?” You ask your co-worker, who is pouring one of the regulars another cup of coffee. 

“Sure thing!” She calls back. And you take off your apron before you move to walk to the back door of the diner. You don’t say anything to Bucky, but he knows to follow just the same. 

You feel a whirlwind of emotions swirl inside of you, anger, relief, confusion, fear. And it bubbles up and sits heavily in your chest as your mind races a mile a minute. 

When the two of you are in the back alley, you turn to him, resting your hands on both of your hips as your gaze burns a hole through his face. Bucky looks downward for a moment, avoiding you. 

How the hell does he think that any of this was okay? 

You want to rip his head off, chew him a new one, tell him to stay away from you. And you're gonna tell him! You're gonna —

“Please tell me you're not going.” You're surprised by how soft, how vulnerable and hopeless you sound. 

Bucky's breath comes out fast, and he stands a little straighter. 

“I ship out tomorrow.” He tells you, and he tries to look so brave, but you can't help but notice the fear in his eyes. 

This is the first time you don't see Bucky as this great, impressive man, he looks more like a little boy.

Your eyes begin to water. Tomorrow. 

That’s too soon. He can't.

“...What am I supposed to do?” You ask as you begin to really cry now, your voice cracks and you can feel your face become hot. 

Bucky is quick to cross the space between you, quick to scoop you into his arms and begin shushing you as his hand comes to rest gently against the back of your head. 

He holds you so tenderly. 

“Wait for me.” Bucky whispers. “Wait for me sweet girl, I know I messed up…I got scared. You didn't do anything wrong, I swear it. I just got scared.” Bucky whispers into your hair. 

“But after I got my papers I just. It made me realize that I love you too. God, I love you.” He says, and his own voice is swelling with emotion as he holds onto you tighter. 

This is it…

“When we win, I want you to be here when I land.” He tells you so softly, his blue eyes are almost watering too as he searches your depths. 

And it's all you've ever wanted, it's all there in his eyes, in his words. 

“You have to come back.” You whisper, bringing your hand up to his cheek as your eyes are watery and bleary. “You have to come back this time…” You beg him. 

Bucky brings his lips to your forehead, pressing his mouth so gently as he places a long, tender kiss there.  “I'm gonna come back, I'm gonna come right back home to you and make you a wife, sweet girl.” He whispers. 

You close your eyes, and you smile but it's so heartbroken and sad. Your hand comes over his, where it's placed on your hair. You can't help the feeling that is crawling in your throat, pooling in the depth of your belly. 

It doesn't feel right. 

“You’d better, James Buchanan Barnes, or I’m going to tell your mother.” You threaten, and he laughs. 

—---

So, Bucky ships out. 

The two of you agree to write, Bucky's letter comes first. He tells you of the travel, the living conditions, some of the friends he's making, and how much he misses milkshakes and cheese burgers and your kisses.

You tell him you love him, over and over and over again. Because you feel like you can't tell him enough. And you feel that there is nothing you could tell him about back home that would make him feel any better. 

The clock keeps ticking…

He tells you about his capture, but nothing too graphic, you notice the change of tone in his writing and how he seems to be more unsure of this whole Howling Commandos thing with Steve. He seems more urgent, more desperate in his wording, and how he tells you he can’t wait to come home and help you open that little shop you always wanted. 

Your heart breaks when you notice the smudged letters, the way the pen seems to drag and move more often than not, and that he crosses things out, and there are tear stains. 

And then one day, they just stop coming, and you know something happened. 

You can't explain it, but you know it was bad. 

And then you get the official notice, the letter signed by Colonel Phillips. 

And your whole world shatters. 

—- 

2016…

 Bucky is in Bucharest, he just got off of a long shift at the construction site.. 

More days than not, he's been haunted by non-linear memories, and anything triggers them. 

Sights, smells, sounds. They all bring back 80 years worth of memories, but they're so miniscule, so quick to pass by in his mind that he has to write them down before he forgets. To try and tether himself to who he used to be all the while trying to figure out who he is now. 

He remembers the smell of his mother’s laundry, the pigtails his sister wore, he remembers hot summer days in a tiny little home. He remembers the taste of something chocolate and frozen and the smell of grease and salt.

Just glimpses of the man he was before a lifetime ago. And all he wants to do is grab them and hold onto them tight.

Tonight, he's tired, genuinely has no energy to cook. 

So he decides to go down to the little restaurant on the corner of his street, a local favourite, or so he’s been told by the sweet little old ladies of his apartment building. 

Bucky takes a seat in one of the corner booths and he keeps his eyes down, making sure not to draw too much attention to himself as he brings his baseball cap lower. 

He nearly has a heart attack when he feels the presence of someone beside him. Though he relaxes once he realizes it’s a waitress. 

“Hi, what can I get you?” 

And Bucky freezes. That phrase echoes in his mind, over and over before it morphs into something that smells like caramel, and he thinks of moonlight, neon signs and I love you.

He knows, undoubtedly, that he knows that voice too. He looks up, startled and shocked because he knows. He knows it’s you.

Or it looks like you…

He doesn’t even know who you are, but he knows by the way his heart stops beating, and he feels a rush of blood through his body, and the way he feels like he’s been punched in the gut that he knows you, he knows you from when he was James Buchanan Barnes, boy from Brooklyn.

But how can it be you?

“Um…” Bucky doesn't even look down at the menu. He's too scared to look away because what if you disappear? 

“Oh um…do you have milkshakes and cheeseburgers?”

[stinalotte]

Happy 19th Birthday, Stargate Atlantis!

On July 16th, 2004, the pilot aired. Here's a handy little primer for anyone who doesn't know what the heckity heck this show is about. Everything is totally accurate, 100% true and very, very serious.

So.

This is the lost city of the Ancients, Atlantis, in the Pegasus galaxy, about 3 million light years from Earth. (The Ancients can go fuck themselves. Long story.) Atlantis is a city/spaceship approximately the size of Manhattan. She's semi-sentient, but not really, except actually yes, maybe, sometimes, totally. The whole city can go underwater or into hyperspace. Loves her humans. Home. Declaration of independence imminent.

The Atlantis expedition consists of civilians and military from at least 34 countries (in later seasons, the original expedition was just over a dozen). In no particular order:

Dr. Elizabeth Weir. The first leader of the expedition. The only adult. Sometimes. Okay, not very often. Is not above a little war crime for the good of the galaxy—or at least, for the good of Atlantis. Left a boyfriend and a dog on Earth, but we all miss the dog more than the boyfriend. Eats UN representatives for breakfast. Is terribly awkward on dates and really good at solitaire. Loves her chaos children. Which are:

Lt. Colonel Suicide Mission John Sheppard. Walked through the Gate and Atlantis said, "dibs". Thinks people who don't want to fly are crazy. Not good with emotional stuff. (He's getting better.) Loves his found space family and would die for them, often literally. Stop that. Also loves Ferris wheels, things that go fast, and Rodney McKay. And no, we don't know how he gets his hair to go like that.

Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay. Four degrees, two of which are PhDs, none of which are in social skills. Smartest man in two galaxies. Used to be an asshole, but got himself some friends who loved him such a stupid amount that he had no choice but to change. Still a work in progress. We love to see it. Blew up three quarters five sixths of a solar system. (It was uninhabited.) (Mostly.) Deathly allergic to citrus. Loves fully charged ZPMs, arguing with Dr. Zelenka, MREs, and John Sheppard.

Lieutenant Aiden Ford. Went ass first through the Gate with a grin and a whoop on his very first trip. One of the youngest members of the expedition. Is not allowed to name anything, ever. Mild case of hero worship when it comes to his commanding officer, which is totally understandable. A cautionary tale of how addiction messes up not only you, but the people around you.

Ronon Dex. Used to be hunted by the Wraith, lost his people in a terrible war, and is now a member of Sheppard's team where he gets to shoot things and beat up bad guys. Doesn't talk much, but when he does, he has something to say. Good friend. Excellent hugs, but have Carson check you out for any cracked ribs after. Is one bottle of Athosian wine away from staging an intervention regarding the Sheppard/McKay situation.

Teyla Emmagan. In possession of the team's one brain cell. Leader of the Athosian people. Will rock a baby to sleep and then go outside where a Wraith is dangling from the highest tower of the city and stomp on his hands until he falls 800 feet. Can either beat you up in the gym or force you to meditate on your problem, your choice. Has the aforementioned bottle of wine ready and loaded.

Dr. Radek Zelenka. Keeps the science team sane because Rodney sure as hell doesn't. Loves pigeons, cursing in Czech, and overseeing the thriving black market underground economy that has developed in the city. (Thanks @shaddyr for that lovely headcanon). Zachránil všechny naše zadky víc než jednou.

Chuck the Technician. Aggressively Canadian. Doesn't have a last name, doesn't need one. Is ALWAYS in the control room, seriously man, when do you sleep? Reads trashy sci fi novels on night shifts and organized a betting pool in 5 different currencies when Ronon was fighting Teal'c. Needs to share his eyelash routine because we're jealous.

Dr. Carson Beckett. The most Scottish Scot to ever Scot. Brilliant medical doctor who is not above the occasional unethical unorthodox treatment method. Sweet cinnamon roll of a man. Beloved by all. Loves his mom and wee baby turtles. Someone should take him fishing soon. 🥹

Colonel Samantha Carter. Member of SG-1. Legend. Awesome. Boss. Absolute BAMF. Punched a Goa'uld system lord in the face once. We all have a crush on her.

Dr. Jennifer Keller. Is very doctor-y, for better and for worse. Was all of us when she freaked out being on an alien planet for the first time, like a normal person would. Should totally have gone on a date with Captain Vega in that one deleted scene. [WE COULD HAVE HAD IT AAAAALL]

Jeannie Miller. Rodney's sister. Gave up a career in science to be a mom. Solved Rodney's math problem in her spare time, with finger paints. Loves her brother even when he's being an idiot. Fanfic canon says: her house is always open for him and certain Air Force Colonels to crash in. Don't you dare get a hotel room. Yes, the guest room has Only One Bed, Mer, what's your point?

Major Evan Lorne. If you are a moron and get yourself captured and imprisoned off world, he will swing by real quick with a couple Marines and bust you out. Co-parents Atlantis with Dr. Weir. Is actually a really talented painter. Needs a raise, a holiday, and a drink.

Colonel Steven Caldwell. Grumpy. Has to deal with Elizabeth's chaos children on a regular basis. Will make the enemy ship go away with a big boom and save your sorry ass in space. AGAIN.

Richard Woolsey. Used to be a New York City lawyer, one of the most ruthless creatures in the universe. His wife got the Yorkie in the divorce. Broke his heart. Is actually pretty cool if you let him do his thing (like get you out of an intergalactic war crimes trial by bribing the judges).

I know some characters and all the villains are missing, but this post is already longer than a trip on the Daedalus, so there you have it.

Stargate Atlantis. A show about wormholes, life-sucking aliens, ancient civilisations, space battles—and family, friendship, allowing yourself to love and be loved, and what it means to be home.

Happy birthday, fam.

[lubrumalis]

I know you've already glossed over how simon would be with a partner and what kind of person he would need. but would you be able to go more in depth about what type of person you think he'd be interested in? what kind of person do you think would suit him best?

ghosts ideal type

who would this man be interested in?

first of all, i think ghost isn’t blinded by physical attraction. of course everyone has their preferences when it comes to height, weight, etcetc but i really dont think ghost cares. at least for 2009 ghost, hes a gentleman who doesn’t judge others. tall? short? fat? skinny? ugly? pretty? he doesn’t give a fuck. i think 2009 ghost is very attracted to kindness and compassion for others, leading him to have a soft spot. in the end i think he’d be very interested in someone who constantly is on the lookout for others and is very independent. in the comic hes always the one saving others and taking that responsibility, so he finds it nice when theres someone out there thats similar. hes the typa guy to fall for the girl next door whos constantly smiling, but knows how to playfully banter with him.

i highly doubt ghost would ever be attracted to someone in tf141 or working with him in the military… since to him work is work. there are also no females in the SAS (its true!) with only 2 passing pre selection in 2021, meaning ghost would have little exposure to working with female teammates. even if there is, it would be a huge slow burn romance imo.

also on the enemies to lovers thing—i dont see that happening. reboot ghost gives the vibes of a man who’d lowkey do that at first, but itd never happen. ghost is a simple man when it comes to relationships: i like you + you like me = mutual feelings. he wouldn’t get the whole ‘i kind of hate you because im pissed at you but also find you attractive’ trope. in fact he’d find it really annoying. he was already betrayed by his soldier teammates once, hes not gonna take it well if someone on his team suddenly gets aggressive towards him in the name of 'attraction'.

ghost isn’t shallow. but he would want his partner to be clean of drugs, have basic hygiene, and dress cutely from time to time. stuff like big ass and big boobs with an hourglass isn’t of his concern at all. in the comic he was in this bar full of prostitutes with his team, every soldier was enjoying their time with a girl—except ghost. he even told a prostitute to go fuck off when she got too touchy. so this can prove hes really not that hypersexual.

traits s/o needs

someone independent. they can cook, clean, live on their own for long periods of time. ghost is a soldier, meaning his schedule is different from most men. hes deployed for sometimes 6 months at a time, so his s/o needs to be content with living alone for long periods of time. the fact ghost is also deployed in active war zones and literal deserts while surviving on 5 hours of sleep, means he cant text or call daily either. this person can’t think that ghost is being distant or not loving them enough, its simply the life of a top tier SAS soldier. ghost doesn’t want this to happen either, but the person must be able to feel secure and independent without him… this also means knowing the possibility ghost could die at any point during his deployment.

someone who values acts of service. first of all, ghost has had a lot of people disappoint him in his life. general shepherd, his american teammates during the mission to destroy roba, and his dad. id argue his brother tommy too (used to be an addict), though its not disappointment its moreso “im not happy you’re on drugs”. ghost needs someone who does things for him that proves trustworthiness and loyalty. small things, like taking care of him when hes sick and preparing a warm meal when he comes back from the freezing outside. id imagine ghost does the same for his partner.

someone with good and strict morales. ghost is a good guy, and we know it. he prevented a girl from getting sexually assaulted, spent years guiding his drug addict brother into rehab, and will just punch about anyone who he thinks is pure evil. even after months of brainwashing and torture done by roba, when every american special forces soldier gave in, ghost didnt. he needs someone similar—morales they will never break … ever. even when tortured.

[dontforgetukraine]

"In response to attacks and accusations being directed at our film, 'Russains at War,' and myiself, I want to be clear that this Canada-France co-production is an anti-war film made atg great risk to all involved, myself especially. I unequivocally believe that Russia's invasion of Ukraine is unjustified, illegal and acknowledge the validity of the International Criminal Court investigation of war crimes in Ukraine. The suggestion that our film is propaganda is ludicrous given that I'm now at risk of criminal prosecution in Russia. I also understand and empathize with the pain and anger that the subject matter may provoke in those who have suffered from this conflict. My mother emigrated to Canada, from Russia, so that we could live in a country that is devoted to freedom of expression and human rights. My hope is that our film can be assessed and discussed based on its scope and not agendas and assumptions beyond its frame, and that ultimately such discussions contribute to the war's end." —Anastasia Trofimova, Director/Producer, Russians at War (Source)

Bullshit. She's a director and producer for RT with most if not all of her films funded by RT. I guess she apparently wasn't vetted by the Canada-France co-producers.

Even if promoting Russian propaganda wasn't her intention, it can't be separated from the content. The damn trailer has soldiers saying propaganda narratives in it. (Kyiv Independent)

"Russia and Ukraine have always been inseparable. I miss the brotherly Union" reinforces the false narrative that Ukraine cannot exist as an independent state, that Russia and Ukrainian history are inseparable. Even Putin has said similar things.

“I came (to war) today so that my kids don’t go tomorrow,” conveying the belief that their military aggression in Ukraine is somehow just.

"An order was given. We went." Ah, yes, I was just following orders. Where have we heard that one before, I wonder. Not only that, it reinforces the narrative that ordinary Russians are powerless and blameless in this conflict. This isn't their war, but Putin's war. Fuck that. We know many sign up willingly such as for the money or a clean slate if they are a convict.

You can't separate the propaganda ordinary russians have been stewing in for decades and don't fight back against from this film, sweetheart. It's part of the damned context and you don't get to ignore that. Either she actually realizes that but doesn't want to say it, or she's a useful idiot. It doesn't matter which, because the result is the same.

"The fog of war is so thick that you can't see the human stories its made of."

Yes we can! This isn't the era of WW2. We can see it on Telegram! All the war crimes that are willingly committed and recorded and posted pridefully! All the ethnic slurs said to Ukrainians! All the interviews between journalists and POWs. The translations by volunteer translators showing what "ordinary Russians" on the street actually think about Ukrainians and the war. Even what the families of russian soldiers think. Never before have these stories been more accessible. That's not agendas or assumptions.

We. Can. See. It.

Just because you don't like what's in the information space doesn't mean it's not supremely relevant to the topic you're trying to shape into a narrative.

[kataraslove]

how do you feel about people saying Katara post the show was just a “house wife” and a “baby maker”? I personally think it’s super stupid and fucked up…while I do understand the criticisms for the comics ESPECIALLY the promise. TLOK criticisms for her character are pretty damn dumb to me…honestly the only thing I can get is the critical for her not being at Jinoras ceremony.

something that the original show does really well is present the dichotomy of katara; she's hot-headed, stubborn, determined, argumentative, protective, a fighter and a warrior. at the same time, however, she's presented as compassionate, kind, caring, nurturing, a healer. atla does an incredible job to avoid caging katara into one facet, unlike other media that tend to restrict their female characters who present feminine personalities into the group's resident healer/mother teresa figure. fighting and healing are core tenets of her identity. she uses both of these aspects of her identity to win the war, to save the lives of her friends and family, and most importantly, connect to and honour her decimated culture.

i don't think tlok makes an attempt to capture the fighter aspect of her identify, hence where the argument that "she was reduced to a healer" comes from. yes, she's incredibly old. yes, she deserves to rest after a lifetime of fighting. however, you could make the argument that toph and zuko are still in active combat mode during their old years. it's an all or nothing scenario; either everyone in the remaining gaang deserves a fight scene or no one gets one. so i can see where that criticism stems from. however, much of the criticism also stems from the fandom's refusal to correlate power with healing; to see how being a healer is an honour in it's own right, especially in the atla world where it's the equivalent to being a doctor (and katara would be the most renowned doctor there is).

katara does not deserve a shoe-horned fight scene where she's going to be tossed down in the snow five seconds later (like zuko) or where she's going to complain about her back problems (like toph). i can go on and on about how toph’s depiction in tlok is another form of sexist writing, but i think this post highlights it perfectly well and captures everything that i wanted to say.

if it were up to me to write tlok katara, i would:

have spent more time exploring her role in the white lotus. how much input did she have on korra’s training during the south, because i doubt caging her up until she’s 17 and delaying her spiritual journey is something that katara necessarily would have agreed with. i imagine that she would have (should have, at least) a lot of sway in the decisions surrounding korra as a world leader and legendary hero [per avatar legends]. if not that, even as korra’s waterbending master, the companion and spouse of the previous avatar, and the mother of the only airbending master in the world, would be enough to earn her decision-making title.

actually have her take part in the council of elders, especially during the civil war in book 2. no bryan konientzko, a tumblr post explaining that you can see her on the council of elders while your show is airing isn’t enough. we should have gotten katara’s perspective on the independence war currently happening with her tribe. particularly, it would have been an excellent opportunity showcasing her leadership abilities that we saw in imprisoned and the painted lady, encouraging her tribe to fight for their justice and independence.

expand upon her relationships with her children and grandchildren. yes, the legend of korra isn’t about katara or any of the former gaang members. but jinora, tenzin, kya, and bumi are all important characters that should be defined by their respective relationships with katara, much like how they’re defined by their relationships with aang. bryan and mike shy away from featuring former members of the gaang to avoid nostalgia bait, but there comes a point when deliberately avoiding the presence that your original characters play on their successors ends up hindering the success of your show. i think katara should be a critical character in the subplot between her and aang’s children, providing her perspectives on her husband’s parenting and relationships with their children.

have her actually leave the southern water tribe. if toph can leave the swamp to stop kuvira, and zuko can leave the fire nation to stop the red lotus, then why was katara constantly portrayed in the southern water tribe? there was an excellent opportunity to have her attend her granddaughter’s air mastering ceremony. i actually disagree with claims that the writers were avoiding having katara and zuko in the same scene specifically because of zutara; i think they didn’t want any of the former gaang in the same place. hence why we don’t ever have zuko and toph meet, or katara and toph (i know toph mentions katara by name, but i truly believe that that was a throwaway line serving as a substitute to appease the audience’s thirst for old gaang interaction. kind of like a, “here you go!! toph mentions her. now shut the fuck up.”)

give her a statue representing her bravery, courage, and determination. this one’s self-explanatory.

she didn’t need to be present at the bloodbending trial if the focus was for the avatar to take away yakone’s bending (and her being a bloodbender, i mean.. there’s NO WAY for anyone else to suspend yakone if she’s there). but i do believe the show should have mentioned something about katara not being able to there last-minute, due to tensions in the south or whatever, and how they cannot delay yakone’s trial even by one week.

i disagree with criticisms that katara became a “baby-making machine” for the air nomads. there’s no substantial support that katara and aang had children solely to repopulate the air nomads. there’s contrary evidence, in fact:

tenzin was the only airbender. if katara’s purpose was to serve simply as a baby maker, aang would have tried to have more children. from a writing standpoint, i think the narrative would have gone out of its way to portray kataang’s family as only having airbenders, or having more airbenders than non-benders or waterbenders.

we would have seen a lot more children in a relatively short time period. bumi, kya, and tenzin have sporadic age gaps, indicating that their conception wasn’t really at an urgent pace, but something that katara and aang took their time with, due to life events and circumstances.

as for whether the show turned katara into a “baby-maker,” by highlighting her family relations over her career prospects, i disagree. i don’t think we’re shown anything about katara in the legend of korra; i think we’re presented with limited information about her on all aspects. from a family perspective, all we know is that she had three children with aang. the narrative goes one step further to even separate her from the family conflict, such that the cloudbabies do not pull her into their grievances with their father and childhoods. kya and bumi’s overall arcs are about embracing their father’s legacy, while tenzin’s arc is about moving away from his shadow. from a career perspective, we know that katara at some point banned bloodbending, became one of the best waterbenders and the greatest healer in the world, then trained korra. in fact, katara’s relationship that is given the most narrative weight is her relationship with korra. i can understand if people’s criticisms are her being reduced to korra’s mentor and a healer, but i will not be able to understand the baby-maker or housewife claims simply because there is no proof.

if we’re examining tlok katara, i think there are many criticisms to be held, many missed opportunities and abandoned threads, but i do not agree with fandom extremes that she was ever presented as a “baby-making housewife turned healer.” i disagree with claims that tlok emphasized katara’s legacy as only having children (particularly her one airbender child). especially because tlok goes out of its way to separate her role in her children’s life, instead emphasizing her role in korra’s life. narratively, we get more exploration of toph’s storyline with her children than we get with katara.

as for the shitty gene yang comics that mischaracterizes just about every member, even momo and appa, i’ve got much to say on that. i think the only comic worth exploring is north and south, and katara’s portrayal in that. rather, there’s a particular criticism of katara’s portrayal in north and south that i want to rebut.

[im-a-wh0r3]

fuck it, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands and write a fic about James Logan ‘Wolverine’ Howlett x reader. I intend to make this a long-ass series, lmk if you’d like that. I’m gonna do it anyway but would like to know if anyone would read it.

I haven’t written anything in like 4 years so it might start a little shitty so bear with me 🙏

Second Chance

Pairing: James Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Mutant!Magneto’s sister!Reader

friends to lovers to strangers to enemies to frenemies to friends to lovers (not all in 1 chapter dw)

Warnings: Historical inaccuracy (I’m not a historian pls 😩), afab!fem!reader, use of y/n, I’m shit at summaries so it’s gonna feel a bit bullet pointy (lmk if there’s more)

Added notes: considering the reader is Magneto’s sister, that would make her Jewish, you obviously don’t have to be Jewish to read this. I myself am not Jewish, however, I put myself very much into this character and I feel Magneto and myself are very similar personality-wise so making him the brother of the character that I have created made sense to me, their mutations are also kinda similar. What Erik went through during the Second World War isn’t mentioned in this because I felt that was incredibly insensitive of me considering I in no way relate to it, but if I do state anything that causes issue please inform me and I will change it. (tbh I tried not to mention the happenings of the war at all because I know very little about it but still, let me know)

Summary: You were only young when the war began. As a young woman in 1939 you could do very little to assist, so you became a nurse. What you didn’t realise was how much tragedy, heartbreak and indescribable desire this choice was going to bring you.

Word Count: 1.4K

Hope you enjoy <3

Nuremberg 1924, Jakob and Edie Eisenhardt had just given birth to a beautiful baby girl, y/n. You were an independent, strong-willed child, never ill, and learning to walk and talk long before others your age. So, when you were four, and your mother gave birth to your little sister Ruth, a sickly child, your mother’s attention was ripped from you, far more concerned with your sister's wellbeing, with her constantly slipping in and out of illness. Your father was also away a lot with work, leaving you to entertain yourself. You were never fazed much, preferring the company of your family dog, Otto, your playful 2-year-old border collie.

Your strange connection to the earth began to show not long after your little sister was born. Not thinking much at the young age of four, of the strange habit animals had of following you, the way the flames in the fireplace would dance whenever you were near, and how the wind would bend around you. Then, two years later, Max was born. He was just like you, strong-willed and stubborn. You adored your little brother, taking him everywhere with you. Walking with his pram with Otto through the fields that surrounded your home.

As you grew, you began to slowly notice not only your oddities but also your brothers. The way he would drop his knife or fork whilst eating dinner, and then command it straight back to his hand, the voice you thought was in your head, speaking to you as if it was- Otto?! Yes, very odd. You brushed it off, knowing that if you were to tell your parents, they would treat you as if you were a silly little child begging for attention. By the time you were fourteen, however, it was far too noticeable to just push aside. The flames began to roar in the fireplace, the voice which you refused to believe was Otto began becoming far too clear, and even the spiders you would remove from your house began to sound as if they were shouting at you. At least your brother had calmed down, with him being eight you supposed his childlike lack of care had faded away. One less problem to deal with.

A year later, the war began. Your father had insisted upon you taking your brother and sister to England with you, where you would be staying with your uncle in the countryside. Ruth came along easily, Max on the other hand refused to leave your mother and father, too afraid to be apart from them. After days of arguments, your parents gave in, allowing just you and your sister to travel to England, ensuring that Max would be safe with them. The following day, your bags were packed and you were ready to part from the only home you had ever known. You said your goodbyes and reluctantly waved your home farewell.

“Promise me they’ll be okay” Ruth pleaded, snapping you away from your train of thought.

“They’ll be alright Ruthie” you gave her a half smile, only half believing your own words. “Mother and father promised, remember?” you continued.

She gave a curt nod, continuing the silence.

Your life in England was different, to say the least. Your uncle Erich was a stoic man, never caring much for children, though you and your sister tried to do your best by him as thanks. At the age of 16, you left high school and began a nursing training program, in hopes of aiding those fighting in the war.

The three years were gruelling. The war had disrupted your schooling, having to break during your travels, leaving you behind the other trainees. You refused to let that hinder your progress, you feared for your family every day, the least you could do was help those who could be helped. As awful as the past three years had been, you made it through your training, and eventually, on the 10th of June 1944, you arrived in Normandy, to assist your wounded troops.

The medical tents are awful, to say the least. They’re cramped, sweaty and reek of... men. You make your way to the end of the tent and are greeted by a tall, tanned, gorgeous man. He seems unscathed, lying comfortably in one of the beds.

“Hey there soldier” you greet him. His deep brown eyes meeting yours. “Anything I can do for you?” you continue, eyeing him over once more.

“You tell me bub” his Canadian accent catches you off guard. “They sent me in here, told ‘em I was fine” There’s a slight humorous tone to his voice.

“I’ve seen all the bloodshed out there” you counter. “You trying to tell me you went through all that with not even a scratch to show for it?” he grins.

“Guess I’m just indestructible” he shrugs.

“Or just very lucky” you argue. “Well, if you’re completely fine I’d appreciate it if you could leave the space for someone who needs it” you give him a tight smile, not exactly wanting the beautiful stranger to leave, but needing to put your job first.

“I don’t see anyone out there waiting” he retorts. “James Howlett” offering you his hand.

“Y/n” you ignore his outstretched arm, staring quizzically at him.

“Well, Miss y/n” he stands. “It was a pleasure. I hope to be seeing you again” he grins at you once more and begins making his exit.

“I hope not” you shout to him, in hopes he can hear you, smiling quietly to yourself.

You continued your work for the next few days, aiding men with injuries far worse than you had seen before. Then, after the few days that followed, the stranger that you now knew as James, was back in your care once again, and just like the last time, you discharged him. It became routine, every few days, you would find James lying in one of your beds, completely unharmed. You would discharge him after a quick checkup, and then a few days later you’d find him lying there yet again, like clockwork. You began to form a friendship with the impenetrable soldier, dismissing his flirtatious remarks with witty underhand comments. The banter between the two of you came easily, taking jabs at one another constantly, and having conversations that came with no struggle. This continued for weeks, his visits becoming more frequent, your conversations once full of banter, now riddled with flirtation.

“Oh c’mon bub” his deep Canadian voice implored you. “You not even gonna check me over? I could be dying” he smirked.

you raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Oh yeah? Where are you wounded sweetheart?” you encouraged. “Here?” you placed a flat hand over his bare chest, slowly dragging it down.

“No.” he stopped you, your heart began to race, redness adorning your cheeks. Had you taken it a step too far, had you read his signals wrong, was he just- the clearing of his throat willed you back from your thoughts.

“Right here” he pointed his finger to his lips. “Heard kissing it better helps” that cocky smirk meeting you once again. He offered you his hand, this time not ignoring it, you outstretched yours. His fingers barely grazed yours, hand slowly rising to your wrist. He grabbed it lightly, giving you time to pull away, when you didn’t, he gave a sharp tug, causing you to topple into him. His eyes locked with yours, a feeling so familiar, and yet in this instance, so foreign. His hand, now placed on your lower back, moving slowly to cup the back of your head, the other grasping your waist. Your hands were firmly placed on either side of his head, unable to move in fear of falling. He slowly pulled himself up, your faces much closer than before. He waited, giving you one last chance to pull away, you didn’t, holding his gaze unwavering. You could feel his breath fanning your face, his stubble tickling your skin.

The kiss was soft. Far from rushed.

He held you gently, as if you were fragile, ready to break at any moment. The kiss didn’t last long, the sounds of the other patients snapping you both back to reality.

“You should go” you whisper into his lips, unable to now meet his gaze.

“I suppose I should” he agrees, grabbing your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. You stare once again into his brown eyes, the closeness allowing you to see the green specs that litter his irises. “Till next time, yeah sweetheart?” he gives me one last kiss before making his exit.

“Next time.”