#reading this over and feeling so ashamed of the fact that as a grown adult my opinions r still centred around one man smh

[padfootastic]

Ok sorry i have to ask another one now. Thought on regulus, canon vs the current widespread fanon version?

hehehe u don’t need to apologize at all!! these r super fun 🙈

hmmm i think it would be disingenuous to say anything other than i don’t actually have a lot of thoughts about him. in canon, i never really focused on him beyond the little screen time he occupied. there was nothing about him that made me particularly like/dislike him. he’s a blank slate, pretty much. i remember being v amused at harry thinking he’s a less attractive version of sirius lol

fanon, though…..that one’s a landmine that’s completely ruined my impression bc of how he’s characterised. it’s not that he has a personality manufactured from scratch (that’s a necessity) but that so much of it is just sirius’ traits given to him while undermining s at the same time? and also idk where/how it evolved but being sympathetic towards regulus while completely shitting on sirius??? so much talk about him ‘abandoning’ regulus or being a bad brother or being an asshole to him and it’s touted as fact and i’m just like,,,,how,,,,where did it come from,,, (or saying reg was in an abusive family situation but not giving the same grace to sirius?)

i also don’t like how his agency is completely minimised by acting like he didn’t happily become a death eater. just. idk. he has the capacity to be an interesting character right? but i’ve rarely seen him that way. i think a couple time travel fics, maybe? but it’s really hard to find a reg-sirius dynamic that works for me along with a characterisation of him that isn’t like,,,grating ykno?

i think my ideal regulus characterisation would be like—a snobby elitist dude who genuinely thinks he’s above everyone (similar to sirius but more biologically essentialist than him); he’s actually super close w sirius and idt it’s realistic but i like to imagine they kept meeting in secret and didn’t let their bond falter at all during hogwarts; super jealous of james but ultimately tries to atleast tolerate him bc he knows how important he is to sirius; happily drinks the pureblood propaganda kool aid even when sirius tries to refute it; bratty youngest sibling energy max.

these are just like,,,little things here and there and i don’t think i have a solid hold on him but yeah, this is a good starting point. fanon regulus just irritates the shit out of me ngl. gives me ‘nice guy 🥺’ vibes

Send me an ask with ‘thoughts on___’

[weepingpussywillowtree]

Adult life is hard. Especially as an autistic person. Apartment hunting and moving prep is so overwhelming. I hate change, and after living in this apartment for four years, even if it's shitty, it's familiar. The nearby locations, restaurants, roads, and routines are familiar too. Feeling like you have to sell yourself to potential landlords sucks also...

I no longer have the energy to engage in things I enjoy anymore. I barely knit, write, play video games, or do yoga anymore. I'm excelling at my new job, and juggling stuff for the move and everything but one little extra thing or the idea of it throws me completely over the edge... And I'm in an extremely privileged position. I make good money, work from home, and my lease isn't actually up till mid-august so I have time to look for places... I'm just overwhelmingly stressed all the time at the idea of this big change and the slightly more expensive rent (even if I can easily afford it). I'm terrified that my life circumstances will lead me in the future towards having to work in an office and I don't know if I could handle that at all. I think it would make my already grim situation with regards to leisure time even worse. In college Im realizing I relied on my slower days/periods of the semester. Even though I was in school full time and working part time, I would have like, a Wednesday where I just attended an 11am class and nothing else.

People in my life also keep encouraging me to start doing more things on my own now. Like, go and be social or travel alone and it makes me so ashamed that I don't actually want to do that, (not the least because I'm kind of stockpiling money anticipating that at some point in my adult life I will go into full autistic burnout) and even if I did I wouldn't be successful at it. I've been stress eating lately too or only eating unhealthy safe foods like boxed Mac and cheese and have gained some weight, which I don't really have a problem with except I've grown too big for some of my safe clothes, and I can't replace them with the same ones but a size up because they don't make the same ones anymore. This is all very whiny I realize but people IRL see me as this super successful, bouncy but a little high strung, high-powered career woman but the reality is that I am only successful because of my incredibly lucky circumstances and the fact that I happen to be decent at writing code and wrangling shitty old code.

Functionally, I am a shut in who struggles with independence and dislikes change intensely. I've been trying to push myself more .. I've been going out by myself more and it's honestly fine... It's just so overwhelming from a sensory perspective and I don't really have a desire to do it more often.

As my parents get older I worry about what will happen to me when they die, because even if we don't have an amazing relationship, they still support me during life emergencies if I need them, but after they die I think I will have no one. And I'm so afraid. I make a lot of money but feel like all my jobs have taken so much from me. I would prefer if I was allowed to do repetitive, non-interactive, detail-intensive work all day. Or if I could somehow engage in a special interest all day, like be one of those people at reproduction colonial villages who dresses up in period clothing and knits all day while info dumping to visitors. Or if I could write all day, my few friends and even strangers keep telling me that I'm a good storyteller and should write a book. Or even do something that involves people but is very repetitive. I do extremely well with repetitive, scripted interactions as long as I can reuse the same set of scripts.

Idk. These are all pretty disjointed thoughts. I'm just stressed, trying to figure out how I can enjoy life while honoring my disability. Or if it's even possible. I read a book about autistic adult women before graduating college and I remember a lot of the interviewees for the book talking about how they worked short term contract jobs and took regular sabbaticals to recover even if it financially hurt their situation and I'm starting to think that might be something I'll have to consider in the future.

[whiskeyeyedfool]

Alright, listen up y'all because I got some facts to share and I'm dragging you along. This will probably be a ramble without structure so I apologise if it's difficult to read or makes little sense, I'm sure I'll reach a moderately alright point somewhere along the line.

(CW: mentions of abuse, mentions of SA, mentions of death, cussing— proceed with caution tbh)

I was a bad kid, okay? It doesn't matter that I was abused and became a statistic (I'm AFAB so you can assume which statistic) — I was a dick. I was aggressive, standoffish, distant, manipulative and rude. I would shout at my mother, write horrible letters for her to find and became insufferable to my immediate family, oftentimes unbearable. My coping mechanisms sparked concern, controversy and distrust. I was deceitful, stingy and unreliable. I neglected my academics, and put myself in a bad position for it. Did I do all this because of the circumstances I was under during the time? I want to justify my actions by saying that, but it's not true. On one hand, I was a child, and hadn't the tools in my toolbox to perform the job at hand, and on the other hand, I knew the difference between right and wrong and I ignored it in pursuit of rebellion and feeling something other than nothing.

There is truth in saying growing up is traumatic. As a child, you tend to deify adults. You stare in wide eyed wonder at the people towering above you speaking so clearly and without stumbling over words. You watch them perform complex tasks and you marvel at their ability to do - what you think is - everything. Entering teenhood brings a sort of coherency that, aside from being distressing, is extremely sobering. One moment you're a child and the next, you're staring down the abyssal tunnel that is your inevitable future and no one can tell you how to navigate it. They'll tell you that hair grows everywhere now and you'll have certain urges and thoughts and not to be ashamed of any of those things because it's natural. The ascent into adulthood is just as natural as the copious volumes of hair on one's body — which means it's indescribable. You sit across from a grown person and ask them how it was for them and they shrug and they murmur that they were troublesome or something similar. But they don't tell you that you'll wake up wishing you didn't have to be alive. They don't tell you that fear now is so much more visceral than when you were a child. They don't explain that your ideals, morals, and sense of self become a sea that you navigate with nothing but a plank to stay adrift. They don't tell you that life become an unending cycle of "what can you throw at me now?" They don't tell you that in 10 years later, you could fill a museum with your guilt.

Everyone has guilt. Everyone regrets doing something, or not doing something. I have guilt for being a dick, for hurting my mother with my words, for pushing my siblings away, for not giving myself a better future. I have guilt for the things I never managed to do. So much mourning and there's nowhere to go with it. No gravesite, no mortuary, no obituary. Nothing to mark the end of your teenhood, your childhood. You put all your guilt and your regret and your mourning in bags and now you carry them with you and they become tripping hazards and no one still can tell you how to navigate that. The people who gave you the bags will scorn you for having them, for dragging them with you. How else am I supposed to remember not to be so scared? So weak? So gullible? The bags hold lessons, too. Every guilt has a purpose. Every regret is something to learn from. Even the mourning reminds you that sometimes, missing something is better for you than still living with it.

I've been banging my head against a wall for months and crucifying myself for having been a dick. Truth is, I'm always gonna be a dick in some way to someone. Yeah, I was a bad kid. So was my mother, and my father, and my grandparents, and their parents before them. I don't condone to shouting at your guardians or doing anything I did, but there is place for that in this world just as there is place for good. I would have never been who I am today had I not experienced that growing up. In some ways, I have the circumstances I was in to thank for who I have become. I would do it again if it meant I got to be who I am now. Growing up is difficult. It's traumatic to a degree. It's never been easy, and it never will be, and you'll spend your whole life growing up. Don't be too hard on yourself for what you did when you didn't know what else to do. Don't carry the corpse of your teenhood in a briefcase everywhere you go; let sleeping dogs lie. Maybe you didn't turn out how you expected yourself to be, and frankly, the concept of expectations is rather silly when you think about it. Whatever happened in your childhood, in your teenhood, if you're here, reading this, it means you survived, and you're still surviving, and you're gonna have bad days, weeks, months or even years, but that doesn't mean you didn't survive. Sometimes, making it out alive is what counts the most.

So I confess my sins to you, Tumblr, and I hope that within the sea of troubles, this message finds someone. Anyone. I hope you understand that regardless of what you were conditioned to believe — you are not something to be fixed, and your enduring struggle is not invalid.

[emptymanuscript]

One of the things my therapists keep telling me and which I am finding increasingly useful is that life is not a line, you don’t go point A to point B.

[ID: A line from Point A to Point B]

Instead it is a spiral that we THINK is a line from our limited perspective because our eyes on the prize rather than on the process.

[ID: a black spiral with a straight path across it highlighted in red]

We think we should follow that red line, that’s where we want to go, they seem like the obvious steps and then get eternally discouraged when we notice that somehow we’re FARTHER away from the goal than we were last month.

This isn’t us screwing up in our intentions, it’s us failing to realize the true direction of travel. We move in spirals, not straight lines. So we come around to where we’ve been before. We find that our layers still encompass what we once were that no longer quite mean the same thing. We orbit them but we are moving, we are changing, the challenge is to embrace BOTH the movement and the orbit, the change and the sameness. Because as much as we would like it to, the straight line doesn’t happen. Holding ourselves to the standard of the straight line is setting ourselves up for failure.

Instead, it is better to challenge ourselves to accept that what was meaningful to us once will be meaningful to us again AND feel differently than last time. This cycle will repeat. And repeat. AND REPEAT.

My personal therapist likes the metaphor of a spiral staircase. On one side of the spiral things feel good. On the other side of the spiral things feel bad. But what she keeps trying to press on me is that I need to look up. That the good and the bad are just feelings and not an accurate representation of the whole. I need instead to look at how far up I’ve climbed rather than obsessing over the fact that I’m on the wrong side of the spiral.

I am not losing. I am not regressing. I’m simply spiraling as we all spiral, orbiting my central issues and learning new ways to cope with those issues. If I look at the axis that is, the vertical, rather than the axis I’m obsessed with, the horizontal, I can encompass more of my journey and understand myself better.

The quote that meshes with this for me is by C.S. Lewis:

Critics who treat 'adult' as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.

All that we were, including our childish loves - including our childish fears, is still a part of us. And we orbit it. We spiral around what we once were. Sometimes in opposition. Sometimes in embrace. Sometimes at the equinox of indifference because it has simply nothing to do with us RIGHT NOW.

There’s no shame in this because it will be meaningful again. That it had meaning was enough. That it was important is enough. That you are moving AND in orbit is enough. It’s a fine thing if it comes round again because it is inevitable that it will come round again. The battle against childish wants and needs is a battle that cannot be won any more than the battle against the need to breathe. It’s merely a waste of energy. And if you feel the need to take on those impossible battles... well... you belong in therapy with me ;)

[leagueoflegendsimagines]

Hello, love your work! May I request SFW + NSFW headcannons for Zed?

As a disclaimer, the difference in age between Zed and the reader isn't too great. Around 7 or 8 years - and by the time their relationship starts, the reader is a young adult. Around 20 years old.

Second disclaimer: this is a very long post. I apologize to anon for that.

SFW:

- You met Zed in a very unexpected way and, truth to be told, you never imagined that you two might ever become lovers.

- You became a honorific member of the Order of Shadows because Zed was indebted to your parents. As strong political figures in the world of Ionia, they had helped him and his Order many times - standing by his side from the dark, misty shadows of the councils. Supporting his cause.

- When they died - assassinated, nonetheless - you were heartbroken. But, as their only child, you were sent to the safest place in Ionia: Zed's sanctuary.

- Zed silently mourned the tragic death of your parents. And while he could hardly swallow the fact that such a young girl - barely a woman - would live in his order, it was the least he could do for your deceased mother and father.

- The first time he saw you... he felt a pang of shock and nostalgia. As a child, you looked identical to your mother. But now... now you looked like neither of your parents.

- No, you looked like your grandmother. A woman full of prestige and respect in the whole land. A woman Zed had always respected with his whole devotion. Willing to fight for Ionia until her very last drop of blood - a dignified and incredibly strong woman, both in body and soul.

- Physically, you did look like her. But... ah, yes. The determination and steel in your eyes. Yes, you shared the same spirit as her.

- Maybe that's why Zed took such a high interest in you. Maybe that's why he started, little by little, to care for you more than he should've ever allowed himself to.

- As time passed, you started opening yourself more to him - and to the members of the order.

- You had vowed to avenge your parents, no matter what. You had a strong character - but, at the same time, you were as gentle as the first rays of dawn and as brilliant as the sun of a bright July afternoon.

- You exhaled spring and summer. You were a breath of pure, refreshing air in the dark, hallowed hallways of Zed's home.

- For the order, you were a direct example of the things they were fighting for. In you, they saw every young girl or woman of Ionia, wishing for a brighter and better future - innocent as the melting snow of a late spring.

- Zed didn't keep you under a lock in the order. He would take you to the vast hills, forests and waterfalls to be found outside of the grim labyrinth he dedicated his life to.

- He spent so many hours watching you harvest the bounty of summer and autumn. With a white summer dress and that wide straw hat you would wear you looked like an innocent, sinful delight.

- Zed realized too late that his platonic desire to watch you slowly turned into brewing lust.

- It came to his mind one August evening as he watched you from underneath an old tree. He kept a close eye on you, admiring your sun kissed skin in contrast to the yellow dress you were wearing. It only made everything else brighter. Your eyes, your smile. The rainbow of gentle, soft colors in your hair, shining like precious stones under the sun.

- When he caught the shiver of lust wrecking his body, he recoiled in repulsion.

- Repulsion directed to his own person.

- You were his friends' daughter.

- How could he even think of you as a woman?

- Of course, he was well aware of your beauty. You ravished the heart of one too many disciples. They wouldn't even dare to make a move - you were Zed's most prized protege.

- Not even Kayn dared say anything about you - in his absence or presence.

- After all, Zed had eyes and ears everywhere.

- From then on, Zed became distant. Cold.

- You figured it out fairly quickly. As innocent as you were, you knew the power of your own charms. The power of your youth.

- You didn't have to be a beauty or an incredibly attractive woman - you only had to be yourself. And that was enough.

- Your smile, your youthful energy... it ravished him.

- Oh, how he longed to bask in your light - to enjoy the gentle sun of youth in your presence. You were a sun to him, warming up his calloused heart.

- For your young age, you were incredibly intuitive and sensitive to the energy of those around you. And, of course, you easily felt the effect you had on him.

- After all, it was quite similar to the effect you had on his students. But... it left you confused. Vulnerable. So similar, yet so different.

- Things were different with him. While you wouldn't have minded the shameless flirt with one disciple or another, only to burst into a childish smile full of radiance and leave them yearning for more as you ran outside to play or dance your worries away - with Zed things were so tense and...

- You couldn't really describe it. You didn't know what Zed would do, after all. What would happen if you flirted with him?

- Would he scold you the way he did when you trained with him? Would he accept it? Would he give in?

- You shivered at the thought of how he might react. When he allowed you to go to visit the few female friends you had in nearby villages - always followed in the shadows by him or the guards he assigned you, of course - you would hear so many stories. You had a vague idea of what love meant for a woman. Or... what to expect. But you were too innocent to know the full extent of it.

- Yet, you felt lust. Zed was a dominant and strong man. It was hard not to, as you grew older and older until you reached your ripest moment of youth. It was hard to not observe or admire him with the eyes of a woman.

- One of your friends once called him delicious.

- You couldn't help but agree.

- Your slow dance around each other came to an end one late October evening.

- It had been a cold, rainy day. As such, you spent it inside the Order's headquarters, reading and lazing around with your novels. As you got bored, you moved in silence to Zed's study.

- He knew you were sneaking in - but he never said anything to scold or push you away.

- You were his one guilty weakness, after all. The only one he could afford.

- Zed did it only because he knew you would be safer with him than with anyone else in this world.

- As you sneaked in, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders the way you always did. But this time... this time, things would be different. For a moment, you briefly wondered if he could feel your erratic heartbeat.

- But as no objection came from him, you leaned to look over his shoulder with a hum. "You're working too much." He only answered to you with a soft tap on the paper - a warning.

- With a bold move, you slipped into his lap with an apologetic smile. "You should work less now - and pay more attention to me instead."

- You felt him grow stiff under your soft weight. Surprised. Shocked. Caught unaware. You knew how much Zed hated it - but you couldn't sit around doing nothing. Not anymore.

- "You have grown very spoiled, little sun." You heard him grit his teeth, a low growl in his voice. A very obvious and threatening warning. You were pushing him too far.

- Still, what would happen if he were to break?

- So you did it.

- You shifted your position to a more daring one, your warm thighs enveloping his lap in a bold statement. Maybe this shocked him too much into stillness. Maybe this is why he didn't move in the slightest as you took off his mask - and pressed a soft kiss on his pale, cold lips.

NSFW:

- Unsurprisingly, your action killed Zed inside. He wasn't a person to chase physical pleasure. When he reached a point of frustration, he would find one or two willing women to quench his lust - no emotions, no second meetings.

- But you were different. You were something to be loved and cherished. You were... innocent. Pure.

- Maybe not so innocent - that was his impression as he looked down on you with angry, dilated pupils. As much as you tried to cower under his unnerving glance, as much as you tried to look innocent... you knew it wouldn't work on him.

- You also knew that, no matter what might happen next, you wouldn't regret it.

- You only hoped it would help settle the fire between your thighs, so closely and intimately pressed to his.

- What you didn't expect was the tight grip on your shoulders, pushing you back against his desk until he was above you - a whimper escaping your lips as his hot, throbbing pelvis pressed between your quivering thighs. Your rumpled dress left your legs exposed, vulnerable. It almost made you feel ashamed.

- "I believe someone is feeling their age a bit too much." His heated words, right next to your ear, made your breath hitch. It sent almost painful shivers down your body, warming your flesh down to your toes.

- Even for his solitary life, Zed was still a very experienced man. He was a perfectionist. He would always be an expert in everything he did - combat, reading people or pleasing his partners.

- As such, he knew how to read you like an open book.

- He also knew how to drive you crazy.

- If you wanted him, so be it.

- But he would make you earn it. And he would make you pay for being a little brat with him.

- "Do you think I'm one of my students, little sun? Do you think I'll accept your teasing and let you run away?" He watched you shake your head with a teary daze in your bright eyes. Yes, the lust was getting to you. And as he rolled his hips against you with a strength and force only he possessed, he realized it was getting to his head as well - more rapidly so as he heard your stifled, confused little moan.

- "Or do you want something more? Is that why you've been looking with those hungry eyes at me these past months? Is that why you're more focused on staring at my body than learning proper combat?" Another roll - another moan from your innocent, untouched rosy lips. It sent such delicious ripples of pleasure down his spine.

- "Do you truly want to know how a man feels? Do you think you're prepared for that?" Your spine arched painfully against him - and Zed didn't waste the opportunity to wrap his strong arm around your body, biting down almost painfully on your shoulder.

- You were a shivering mess in his arms, almost crazy with lust and desire.

- And nothing had ever felt more like home than the moment when he filled you so deeply with his cock, driving into you like a man dying of thirst - or the moment you rested your head on his shoulder, wrapped in his warmth and security. Safe. Home.

- He was your home.

- At that point, Zed knew he couldn't let you go. Not until you would push him away mercilessly.

- Until then, he would always be by your side.

- In lovemaking, Zed is a very dominant man. He enjoys your innocence and youth. He enjoys how small you are or how well you fit in his arms. There's nothing he adores more than holding your hands above your head or behind your back, fucking you roughly into the soft and almost luxurious covers of his bed.

- There's nothing he enjoys more than hearing your almost pained moans, feeling you quiver in intense, almost overwhelming pleasure.

- He is quite a large man - but by the time he gives in to your desire, you would be more than ready for him. He always takes his time with foreplay, prolonging it and frustrating you to no end.

- He adores edging you. Bringing you to the brink of orgasm time after time after time - only to offer you, with his cock, the satisfaction you desire.

- You will never feel lacking when it comes to your sex life. And while you do have your own problems, like every couple, Zed has enough wisdom and experience to deal with them in a mature and calm manner - and to show you the way to do so as well.

[sincerelystranger]

read on AO3

---

Nie Huaisang fans his face nervously as Xichen watches quietly from across the room.

He’s not quite turned away from Xichen, but he doesn’t seem to be able to look at Xichen either. His eyes keep flickering back and forth from the wall behind Xichen to the floor.

Every single one of Huaisang’s actions seems to scream discomfort, maybe even fear. It occurs to Xichen that it’s strange behavior for someone who invited themselves over. It also occurs to him that at one point in his life, he wouldn’t even have noticed the behavior as strange.

At one point in Xichen’s life, he would have readily believed Huaisang’s act.

He doesn’t now.

He doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

And he thinks maybe that’s what hurts the most.

He thinks that maybe that inability to trust his own judgement is what keeps him locked in seclusion, torturing himself over the things he missed and the things he once believed.

Maybe.

He sits in silence, just watching Nie Huaisang. He’s not sure if he’s surprised by Nie Huaisang’s visit, or if a part of him expected him all this time. The only thing he knows is this:

Nie Huaisang somehow looks altogether too much and not enough like da-ge and Xichen can’t tell whether he hates him for that or not.

Nie Huaisang clears his throat suddenly, the sound is almost deafening in the heavy silence of Xichen’s room.

“Ah… You look… well, er-ge,” he says weakly, still not meeting Xichen’s eyes, “Wei-Xiong made it seem as if… well…” He trails off, briefly making eye contact with Xichen before dropping his gaze back to the floor.

Xichen isn’t surprised by the mention of Wei Wuxian.  

Of course Wei Wuxian would have something to do with this. Of course.

“Wei-Xiong said that you weren’t well – that you didn’t want visitors… I mean… of course… you’re still in seclusion…” Nie Huaisang stumbles over his words. Xichen can see his hand shaking slightly as he continues to fan his face.

That does surprise him though – the fact that Wei Wuxian advised against Nie Huaisang visiting Xichen.

With how nosy Wei Wuxian has been throughout Xichen’s time in seclusion, he would have thought that Wei Wuxian had had a hand in Nie Huaisang’s visit.

“Wei Wuxian advised against your visit?” Xichen asks, curiosity opening his mouth.

Nie Huaisang seems surprised by Xichen’s voice. The fan goes still in his hands. “He… did,” he nods, “Wei-Xiong… He… Well I don’t think he trusts me… anymore.” There’s a small self-deprecating smile on his face as he admits this. He looks to the ground again before slowly bringing his gaze up to meet Xichen’s eyes. He gives Xichen a weak smile. “I guess you don’t either, do you, er-ge?”

Xichen guesses he should have expected it, but it still catches him off-guard to be confronted so openly.

Somehow it seems… out of character for Huaisang.

But then…

What does Xichen know of Huaisang’s character anyway?

“I… I just don’t know why you did what you did,” Xichen admits. And it’s the closest thing to the truth that he can stomach to say. Because… because even after everything. Even after the manipulation and betrayal and years of being lied to. He still…

Well he’s still Nie Huaisang’s er-ge, isn’t he?

It’s one of the only things he’s been able to come to terms with in his time in seclusion: The people Xichen loves may do monstrous things, but Xichen will love them anyway. He can’t help himself. Once he loves, he doesn’t know how to stop.

Nie Huaisang is quiet for a while. He slowly lowers his fan to his lap. He looks more vulnerable, sat there without the fan covering part of his face.

Even after everything, it makes Xichen’s heart ache for him. Even after everything, Xichen wants to call him close, ask him how he can help wipe that sadness from his face.

He doesn’t though.

He stays quiet.

“It’s already been eight years since da-ge died,” Huaisang says slowly, “Next year, I’ll be older than he ever got to be.”

Logically it’s something Xichen has known for a while. He’s been older than da-ge for years now. But it still churns his stomach to hear those words come out of Huaisang’s lips. To be hit with the realization that da-ge has truly been dead for so long. It seems… so impossible. Da-ge is still so fresh in Xichen’s memory.

“It’s strange,” Huaisang continues quietly, “In my memory da-ge is always so much older than me. Always such an… adult. When father died and da-ge became the sect leader, I remember thinking, ‘of course.’ Because da-ge already seemed so grown up at the time. So sure of himself.” Huaisang wipes absently at the floor and huffs a small laugh. “Now I wonder how the elders could have been so cruel as to put all that responsibility onto such a young boy.”

A lump forms in Xichen’s throat.

“Da-ge was always… good,” Xichen says stupidly, “He never shied from responsibility… he always gave everything his… best.”

Nie Huaisang huffs another small laugh. “Da-ge was always good,” he agrees. “If the world could have been as good as he was – if I could have been as good as he was – everything might be different now.”

The room goes quiet again at Huaisang’s small confession.

Xichen can’t find it in himself to disagree or to comfort, because he thinks the same. Maybe if he could have been as good as da-ge, everything might’ve ended differently. Maybe if Xichen hadn’t questioned da-ge’s judgement… Maybe if Xichen had just trusted da-ge…

Maybe…

“He… loved you er-ge. Did you know?”

“Of course,” Xichen answers, a little taken aback by Huaisang’s question.

“No,” Huaisang says with a shake of his head. “He loved you… as a man. Did you know?”

The center of gravity seems to have changed in the room. Xichen feels… tilted. Unmoored.

“He – da-ge… he didn’t,” Xichen tries to explain slowly, a slow panic crawling up his spine. Da-ge didn’t – he couldn’t. Da-ge never saw Xichen like that…

Never…

“He did,” Huaisang says, something stubborn bleeding into his voice.

Xichen shakes his head. He doesn’t know where Huaisang got this idea but…

“He didn’t, Huaisang,” Xichen says, “I… I…” It’s humiliating to have to own to it. How does Huaisang always manage to put him into this situations? Situations where he has to cut his heart open with his own hand. “I confessed to him when we were… younger.”

Da-ge had been kind when he refused Xichen.

His hand had been gentle and warm on Xichen’s shoulder and his eyes had been deep and kind. “I can’t be that for you. I’m sorry.”

But he still stayed Xichen’s friend.

Still stayed Xichen’s… da-ge.

“He refused you because he thought….” Huaisang stammers, “He… he said…”

Xichen’s heart drops to his stomach. Something cold makes its way towards his chest. He said? Da-ge had… He had talked about Xichen’s confession to Huaisang?

“What,” Xichen asks, a nervous hunger gnawing at his throat. “What did da-ge say?”

“He said you deserved better than a man destined for madness,” Huaisang says finally.

It feels like a cruel joke.

Another manufactured cruelty from Huaisang. Another upturned grave that Xichen will have to cover with his hands.

“You… Don’t lie to me, Huaisang,” Xichen says, and he’s ashamed by the way his voice trembles. “Da-ge… He never…”

“He was always doing these foolish things,” Huaisang says, his voice cracking, as tears spill from his eyes. “Always giving up parts of his happiness for the people he loved.”

A sob escapes from Xichen’s lips. He hurries to cover his mouth so more don’t shamefully spill out but it’s no use. Da-ge couldn’t… He…

But of course he would.

“He did it for me too,” Huaisang continues, his lips trembling, his whole body taut as he tries to control his sobs. “And I didn’t know either, er-ge. I never realized until it was too late. All the things—“ Huaisang folds in on himself, his hand coming up to cover his eyes as he cries. “—All the things he gave up for me. All the things he turned a blind eye to because he knew I loved them.”

The room dissolves into quiet sobs.

And it’s a little funny, Xichen thinks, even though Huaisang is tearing out the seams in Xichen’s heart that Xichen just barely put in. Even though Huaisang has brought with him so much hurt and anger and confusion. It’s still… comforting to cry with someone who Xichen knows misses da-ge as much as Xichen does. There’s still a twisted sense of camaraderie there.

When the wave passes and the sobs quiet, Huaisang straightens back up. He wipes gingerly at his face with his sleeve. Xichen is reminded of all the times he watched Huaisang do the same action when he was just a child. Da-ge would have reprimanded him, Xichen thinks. Da-ge would have tossed Huaisang his handkerchief.

Because as wild and brutish as da-ge was reputed to be… he was… proper like that. Gentler than anyone imagined he could ever be.

That was one of the things Xichen had loved about him.

Huaisang lets out a shaky exhale. He’s twisting his sleeves between his fingers nervously. Even now, it seems impossible to Xichen that Huaisang – sweet and spoiled Huaisang – could have lied to him for so long. It seems impossible that the Huaisang he knows – the Huaisang sitting in front of him – could have orchestrated the downfall of Mengyao.

It seems impossible, and yet…

“You say that you don’t know why I did the things I did,” Huaisang says, his voice soft and scratchy from his tears, “And if I’m honest, I didn’t understand myself either.” He looks up and Xichen then and gives a helpless shrug. “It’s so unlike me. Right, er-ge? All this planning and scheming and… and just all this work to destroy someone I love. It was torturous for me – it really was, er-ge. But...”

Xichen doesn’t move. He doesn’t make a sound. It feels like he’s at the edge of a cliff. What Huaisang says next will most certainly push him over but he’s still waiting… He doesn’t know how to do anything else.

“I think… I think I was punishing myself,” Huaisang says, “I think I was punishing myself for loving san-ge – for letting my love blind me to his evil deeds.”

Xichen’s heart drops to the bottom of his stomach. He feels slightly nauseous.

Huaisang drops his gaze from Xichen’s eyes to the ground just in front of Xichen. “And for what I did to you at Guanyin Temple… I… I think in a way… I wanted to punish you too.”

He’s falling. He’s been pushed off the cliff and he’s falling.

It’s a lot more freeing than he thought it would be. It almost feels like flying.

Punishment.

Was that all it was?

All this confusion and loss and pain and confusion and loss and loss and pain…

Just punishment?

A strange laughter bubbles from Xichen’s lips before he can even control it.

“Sorry,” he says, quickly bringing his hand to cover his mouth. Shamefully enough, the laughter spills over again. “Sorry.” But it’s not enough. The laughter forces itself out of his body. He can’t help himself. He feels insane, but he’s laughing and it won’t stop. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so—”

Xichen can almost feel Huaisang’s surprise but he can’t help himself. The laughter won’t stop. And strangely, after a few moments of his unhinged laughter, he hears…

He looks up, his vision clouded slightly by the strange tears his strange laughter has created and to his surprise… Huaisang is laughing too.

Seeing Huaisang laugh plants more seeds of laughter in Xichen. He can’t stop now – even if he tried. The laughter bubbles over. Huaisang’s laughter waters Xichen’s laughter and it grows and grows and…

Punishment.

That was all it was.

All this pain and loss and confusion and it was just… punishment.

How ridiculous.

---

The night of Huaisang’s visit, Xichen steps outside for the first time since he started his seclusion.

In the dark of night, the world seems all at once strange and inviting.

Cloud Recesses, of course, is quiet. All the disciples having gone to sleep long ago.

Xichen feels safer, with that knowledge that he’s alone. That he won’t run into anyone who—

“Xichen-ge!” a voice surprises him from his thoughts. He turns towards the voice and sees Wei Wuxian and…. Wangji.

Wei Wuxian visits him often enough that it shouldn’t be such a surprise to see him, but it feels different seeing him outside the confines of his room. Xichen feels self-conscious suddenly. Like his arms are too long and maybe his hair is untidy.

“Wei… gongzi,” he nods after a shocked moment, “Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian waves him over as Wangji nods back. “We’re taking a walk,” Wei Wuxian exclaims, “The night is cool and the stars are bright. Come join us, Xichen-ge!”

It’s all so ridiculous, Xichen thinks as he takes a heavy step forward, out of the gate and towards the path.

How ridiculously easy it is to leave the jail he created for himself. How ridiculously normal it feels for Wei Wuxian to ask him to join him on a night walk – as if Xichen hasn’t trapped himself between four walls for years.

Wei Wuxian and Wangji separate to make room for him. It’s a small act of kindness, Xichen realizes, and he takes it because it does feel a little safer to walk between them.

Such a childishness, he thinks, still too bare to the world to feel any embarrassment from it. But he does feel safe. Wangji feels… taller… and sturdier than Xichen remembers him being. And Wei Wuxian… Well is there anyone more reliable to walk the dark night with than Wei Wuxian?  

“Look!” Wei Wuxian says, pointing up at the sky. “Isn’t the moon beautiful tonight?”

Xichen follows Wei Wuxian’s finger up.

The moon is round and heavy. It looks so close that it feels like Xichen might be able to touch it if he just reaches up.

“It’s beautiful,” he agrees softly.

“It’s like it knew you would come out to see it today, Xichen-ge,” Wei Wuxian nods happily. “Don’t you think so, Lan Zhan?”

Wangji hums his agreement as they keep walking.

Happiness sits hot and heavy in Xichen’s chest. He feels safe and free and…

“I think we’ve had enough punishment,” Huaisang had said before he left. “You and… me too, er-ge.” He had looked at Xichen then and had given him a smile – a real smile. No hint of sadness in his face at all. “Da-ge always wanted the people he loved to be happy… so I think it’s time to do that. Don’t you think so, er-ge?”

He hadn’t answered Huaisang as he left but he agrees quietly in his heart now.

He’s lost and lost and lost and he’s sat in that loss for years. Yearning and searching and looking for an answer that wasn’t there – ignoring the world outside his room for years and choosing punishment day after day because… because maybe he thought he deserved it.

And still…

The moon is beautiful.

And still, his family welcomes him back.

[lovelybucky1]

Strawberry Kisses- Chapter 3

warnings: none, 18+ minors dni

series masterlist

We stop in front of a small cafe and I smile up at Spencer. The sign was written in fancy cursive with a cute coffee cup. He steps in front of me and opens the red door for me. He shuts the door behind us and offers to take my jacket and hangs it next to his. I followed him to a table for two in the back of the cafe that was placed in front of a large window that had a good view of the garden outside.

I wasn’t sure what I expected from Spencer, but this definitely wasn’t it.

A waitress comes to our table and hands us menus before returning to her other customers. I look over the menu, trying to decide what I want. I could spend an hour looking through their entire menu, but it seems that Spencer read the entire thing before I even reached the extensive dessert selection.

Sensing my confusion, Spencer says, “I read fast.”

Just as I was about to reply, the waitress returned with two glasses of water.

“What looks good to you?”, she asks.

Maybe I was imagining it, but I could have sworn I saw Spencer’s eyes on me when she said that. I look up at her and tell her my order, hoping she can’t tell how Spencer is affecting me.

“And for you?”, she asks Spencer.

“I’ll have the grilled chicken sandwich with no tomatoes and a lemonade, thank you”, he smiled.

That smile.

The waitress collected our menus and left to the kitchen, leaving Spencer and I alone again. I fiddle with my napkin, shredding it absentmindedly in my lap.

Spencer reaches across the table and takes my forearms in his hands.

“Why are you suddenly so nervous? We walked all the way here and you were fine, but now you’re making a mess out of your napkin”, he smiles.

“I-I don’t know”, I shrug. I notice how close together our faces are and I jump back. I free my arms from his grip and instead of being offended like I expected, he just smiled back at me with stars in his eyes.

The waitress returns with our food and as we eat, the awkward tension between us turns into a comfortable energy.

“Did you know that the chicken was domesticated in 2000 B.C. in Southwest Asia?”, he asks, looking down at his sandwich. I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, and birds are descendants from dinosaurs, in fact, chickens and ostriches are the closest related to the T-Rex out of every living animal.”

I lean my chin against my hand and sip my drink.

“Tell me something else.”

“Um… Oh! Did you know that one-third of adults still sleep with some kind of comfort object?”

“I didn’t but I believe that. I sleep with a squishy pillow every night”, I grin.

“What about you?” Spencer shrugs in response.

“Sometimes when I’m home I like to sleep with this teddy bear I got at a carnival a while ago. It helps when the nightmares get bad, I guess.

“Does it have a name?”

“Not really. I’ve never talked about it before so I never felt the need to give it a name” I gasped with mock-offence.

“Just because you’re ashamed of your friend doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have a name”

“I am not ashamed!”, he laughs. “I’m just saying, you don’t see many grown men walking around bragging about their stuffed animals.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s cute that you sleep with a teddy bear.”

There it is, that gorgeous blush.

“I don’t think anyone has ever called me cute before.” I take his wrists in my hands like he did to me earlier.

“Then all of your friends must be blind because you’re adorable.” If it was possible, his face flushed redder.

“D-do you want dessert?”, he asks. I nod.

“Surprise me, Doc. I trust you won’t poison me.”

He walks up to the counter and orders. He leans against the glass case as he waits and he makes silly faces at me. We end up playing a couple rounds of rock-paper-scissors by the time he receives the desserts.

He returns to the table and places my plate down in front of me. It’s a pink, fluffy mousse topped with fresh berries.

“I hope you like strawberry”, he says as he sits.

“I do, thank you.” He grins around a forkful of chocolate cake.

“I figured. You seem like the strawberry type.” I give him a confused look. “You’re sweet. You have an innocence that made me think you prefer fresh, light things. Your phone’s wallpaper is the beach, so I assume you like Summer and the lip-gloss that you’ve been applying is strawberry flavored.”

“Pretty spot on. Is this what you profilers like to do for fun; to get inside people’s heads?”, I tease.

“It’s just basic data collection, I’m not inside of you.” Spencer’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed as he realized what he said. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that!”, he said hurriedly. I stop him with a hand to his forearm.

“I’m flattered, but that’s more of a third date kind of thing.”

“Fifty-six percent of women admit to having sex on the first date, and thirty-six percent say that it lead to a long term relationship”, Spencer said. I give him a slight teasing smirk.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to be another number in the statistics.”

“I-”, he stuttered.

“I’m just messing with you, Doc. Let’s get going, my lunch break is almost over.” I reach to take my wallet from my bag but before I could get it out, Spencer is already up at the counter paying the bill. I walk quickly over to him.

“Let me get half”, I say.

“I asked you to lunch. This one’s on me”, he says, smiling down at me. I roll my eyes playfully.

“Fine, but I get the next one.”

“Fair’s fair”, he says. The person behind the counter hands him the receipt which he folds up and tucks into his pocket. He retrieves our coats and he holds mine up so I can put it on easier. Once we’re dressed, he opens the door for me and I step out.

“You’re such a gentleman, Dr. Reid”, I say with a smile. He returns the smile but doesn’t respond.

We walk in comfortable silence on the way back to headquarters, the journey seeming shorter than before. We reach the lobby and I have to practically drag Spencer up the stairs by his hand.

We get to my floor and I let go of his hand reluctantly, finding comfort in the warm hold he had on me.

“I had a really nice time today”, I say.

“I did too”, he says softly.

“If I were to schedule a follow-up, would you be available?”, I ask hesitantly.

“Of course”, he replies with seriousness.

“You better start on those stairs. Without me to encourage you, you may never reach the top”, I laugh.

Spencer groans and walks out the door. Before he disappears behind the wall, he gives me a small wave and I can’t help but feel warmth in my chest.

[mrwinterr]

So Happy

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: After a night with your favorite artist, you’re left wondering where you both really stand. 

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual, but unprotected sex, oral [male & female receiving], vaginal penetration and fingering, size kink and dirty talk). Language. Light mentions of substance abuse. Lying asses. Internet toxicity (I hate it here sometimes). Angst, I guess...TIME SKIP...and absolute horrendous fluff (that’s not my brand, alright).

Disclaimer: You can read part 1 here! It would make some sense. 

A/N: This follow-up is still based on some true events. Can’t hate the players, hate the game. For the most part it’s made up because some of us deserve the ending we think we deserve. I’m dedicating this to @shawnie--jo​ for all the love, enthusiasm and the patience because this took me a while. It’s a doozy! & with that note, enjoy!

“You owe me,” is the first thing you hear your friend say the moment you stepped foot back into the hotel you had booked for the night before. It was in a much different tone than of the one she had in line for the concert.

Frozen in place, you turn your attention to her sitting figure on one of the single couches of the lobby. She wasn’t happy that much you could tell judging by the expression on her face and the way she sat impatiently, one leg over the other and her arms crossed against her chest.

The bag next to hers on the ground adjacent to her feet were your belongings. The way it was misshapen suggested she had hastily shoved your things back in it for you. She must’ve been in a rush to leave before checking out or…

“You owe me $50 for the late check out fee,” she clarifies, ceasing all thoughts of why she was currently pissed at you.

Now begins the walk of shame. It wasn’t something you were used to. Could you even call this that? You had no reason to feel ashamed because you were completely aware of last night’s events. You defended your decision as so! Then why did you feel this way?

Perhaps it had to do with you just now returning to the hotel you were supposed to have been checked out of hours ago, but instead you’re greeted to your more than displeased best friend staring daggers at you for a different reason.

Sheepishly bringing a hand to rub the back of your neck, when you’re close enough to her, you open your mouth to begin apologizing, but she wasn’t done as she got up on her feet to level with you.

“You said you would be back before check out,” she said voice slowly rising in volume, no matter the distance between you two was close or not, you could tell this was just the start of a catalyst, “and it’s...oh,” she stops to look down at her phone, which shined bright revealing her lock screen and more importantly the time, “...only three hours past check out!” Yup, not happy with you at all.  

“I know you’re upset,” you start with the obvious, “and you have the right to be. I said I would be back in time, but I wasn’t,” maybe admitting you were wrong would allow her to see you were indeed aware of your mistakes, soften the blow to come a little bit.

“Upset? I’m disappointed!” she says, her arms falling to her sides and with a look of disbelief but is quickly washed over with indisposition. “Some sell-out rockstar invites you over to see him and you lose your sense of mind?”

“Look, I’ll pay you back. It’s no big deal.” At least on your end, you’re trying to remain calm even when her tone and choice of words get under your skin. You didn’t need this weekend to end on a bad note.

“This isn’t about the money!” She proclaimed.

“Then why are you bitching at me? I’m a grown adult! I know what I did-” Yeah, at least you were trying to stay composed, right?

“Do you?” She challenges. It’s one of those rhetorical questions, in which she didn’t need an answer to, but you were still going to give her one.

“Yes, ok. I slept with Bucky and I don’t regret it.”

The defense you put up so quickly around you weren’t something your friend was used to witnessing...maybe to your parents, yeah, but not at her. Sure, you’ve both had the occasional quarrels, but your relationship and sexual life was different because she really cared for your wellbeing and would be damned if someone hurt you.

“I’m just worried,” she admits for her initial brute front, “what you did was totally unlike you and I…”

“What?” You interrupt her, growing more tired of this conversation by the second.

“I don’t trust Bucky.” She blurts out.

You scoff at that reasoning, “you don’t know him-”

“And you do?” This time she interrupts and catches you off guard on that one. “You’re right. I don’t know him, but you said it yourself. Bucky meets tons of people every day. He’s on the road a lot. It’s easy for him to get lonely.”

There it was again. The self-conscious thoughts questioning everything about last night’s events. In a pathetic display of defense, you start counter-questioning her with some of the statements Bucky said to you. Why would he tell you all those sweet things and pretty promises if he knew he could have you so easily? Why would he think you weren’t like the other women out there who exposed their escapades for their 15 minutes of fame? What made him think anything of you? There were other girls in the crowd.

“He’s going to tell you things he wants you to hear to get what he wants.” She really believed that. She knew what some men were capable of. She had more experience than you and you often turned to her for things like this.

Her last sentence was something to let sink in. The way last night played out and the last few hours you spent with Bucky; you were blinded by a rose tint world.

Earlier that morning...

“You know,” Bucky starts with his gaze first set on your face, slowly starting to drift down your body trying to catch a glimpse of uncovered skin that the blanket was doing a horrible job in concealing. You watch with bubbling desire the way he bit his bottom lip and eyes growing darker, ”...if you ever need anything. I’m here to help. I can get you out of that town and you can stay with me in Brooklyn. We’ll find you a place to work in that’ll appreciate you more.”

He was a dream. He was so sweet, but you weren’t going to deny it. As much as you adored what little you knew about the real Bucky, a part of you that was always so careful was also skeptical. That voice in the back of your mind, whether it was your parents, teachers in the past, PSA spokespersons or your best friend, was still trying to tell you Bucky wasn’t an exception.

Then on the other hand, you were finally getting what you wanted. You weren’t a little girl anymore. You could take care of your own heart. Why couldn’t you have some fun? Indulge a little. Life is too short to sit around and wait. If he was serious about any of the things he said, then great! If not, oh well, you’ll live. What’s life without experience, right?

You just never imagined any of the harmless mentions or replies through social media were going to get you in bed with him and so smitten.

When Bucky pulls his lips away from you, he repositions himself on the bed to lie on his back and bask in the comfortable silence. You’re still on your side, but your eyes suddenly widen as you curiously take a peek over his frame and notice the red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. The curtains were drawn shut, so you had no trace of the actual time of day.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, but was no use. It was just you and Bucky in the room and he’d definitely wonder why you’d grown frantic.

“Whoa. What’s the rush?” He says slowly sitting up, still exhausted, and watching you throw the hotel comforter over your body to get out of bed. You didn’t even care that you were naked in front of him. He’d have a souvenir to remember you by.

The sex tape was the least of your worries though. You fucking missed check out! You can only imagine the look on your friend’s face when you reunite.

“I missed check out,” you respond while momentarily being thrown off course in search of your underwear, but then instantly remembering how Bucky tore it off of you, and you did your best to push aside last night’s activities.

“What?” He asks, rubbing his face trying to rid himself of sleep. He had to get going too. The band was off to play in the next city in some hours. Unfortunately, you didn’t have enough time to take off from work to follow him.

“The hotel I’m staying at. I missed check out and my friend is going to be so pissed at me,” you explained beaten. You can’t for the life of you see where your clothes were in the dark room.

Drawing the curtains open or switching the light on without warning wouldn’t be ideal to the both of you and not only that, the effects of the substances your body was coursed through, the physicality of you and Bucky’s actions last night, the consequence of it all topped with the lone fact that you’re now standing naked in front of Bucky starts to seep in.

You try not to stand there awkwardly and do the only thing you can do. Inhibition creeping back in, you cover your face with your hands and breath in and out, hoping the floor would swallow you whole so you could escape this embarrassment and your friend’s pending wrath.

“Look,” Bucky says now in front of you, pulling your hands away from your face, he’s naked too, washing away some traces of vulnerability away, “you’re already late. You can’t change that. We can only keep moving forward,” he says, his arms slipping around your body to pull you close to his.

The sudden jolt from the skin-to-skin contact quickly subsides with the warmth of his body transferring onto yours. You hold onto his biceps and nod in acceptance. Any attempt to rush back to your hotel wasn’t going to do you any favors now.

“So then, what do you say we get cleaned up and try to enjoy our time together?” The way his head tilted to the side, a not-so-subtle hint in the direction of the shower in the bathroom, his smooth voice and his eyes half-lidded, ready to get lost in you one more time.

You said it yourself, life was short, so if you already knew your friend was going to chew you out, why deny yourself of its pleasures right now, especially if it’s coming from Bucky. 

“Can we just get going? We’ll catch traffic on the way back to the city if we just stand here and keep putting each other down,” you ask, slightly shaking your head of the early morning activities and straightening yourself up, bending forward to pick up your bag and sling it over your shoulder.

This little spat would eventually pass. None of the arguments you two had were ever threatening to your friendship with each other. You’ve both fought over things much more critical that it’d be a shame to let it be over someone like Bucky.

Before you could turn back around to exit, your friend grabs a hold of your arm and stops you. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I could be wrong. Bucky could be the one, but I want you to be smart about doing whatever you end up doing with him. I just want you to ultimately be happy,” she says wholeheartedly.

You knew she was only coming from a good place. She only ever encouraged you to do your best and the right thing. She was the one you sought out advice from and she never led you astray. In the end, you knew you couldn’t ever truly be mad at her. You owed her more than $50 alone.

“Thanks. I’m sorry for snapping at you. I know your intentions are in the right place and I really appreciate you for everything. You even agreed to come to this show with me! But I’m only human and I’m going to make mistakes along the way,” you say and notice the fallen look on her face, but you don’t give her long enough to feel sorry for you with your follow up statement, “...if I get hurt, it’s going to suck, but I’ll get back up, learn from it and move on. Plus, I’ll have you there by my side to tell you I told you so...again, and we both know how much you enjoy that!” You end it on a joking note.  

A look of hope creeps back in on your friend and she’s pleased to see your resilient attitude again. You give her your best steadfast smile and it seemingly proved to be successful enough for her to accept your answer as she pulls you in for a warm hug.

You wonder, what Bucky’s motive was? He was Bucky Barnes. He could have anyone. Why did he trust you enough to be intimate with? What was his game? You just had to keep telling yourself for your sanity and wellbeing, with or without Bucky, in the end you’d still be happy.

The months to follow after that tour, you and Bucky had continued to stay in touch. You genuinely felt happy. He was giving you attention! From daily texts and long phone conversations or video calls, some rather suggestive than most, you were able to really learn a lot about each other. While you minded his glamorous lifestyle, each interaction erased all notions of it and he was just another normal human being.

If you were being truthful, a part of you was hoping whatever the two of you had was exclusive. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were in a way reserving yourself for Bucky because you felt there was something between you two and maybe he was just like you and too shy to be the one to bring it up first.

At times you’d find yourself being the one to initiate conversation...especially when the communication started becoming less frequent. They then reduced to just Holiday texts and suddenly they’d become unresponsive and you’d even be left on read. He never flew you to Brooklyn. He never followed you back on social media. You’d accepted he was most likely busy and the excuse of not wanting to attract unwanted attention to you, but the reality of it was he had seemed to move on.  

It’d been close to a year and things were really quiet. The Avengers hadn’t released anything new nor did they have an upcoming tour to rehearse for. You’re trying to not let Bucky’s silence bug you and do what you’ve always told yourself - keep living your life. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were angry at first for letting him get to you like that and realize that boys will be boys. They would never grow a real pair and be straight with women. They always had to go and sugarcoat everything. You had to accept it. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. You were just a one-night stand and the worst part of it was that you consented to it, so you couldn’t hold anything against him.

Things picked back up in your life, work demanded more of your time and you were dating again, taking it very slow and casual. You knew nothing more would come out of it, but it was enough to distract you from Bucky. Life was slowly returning back to normal, even though it never truly could be, until you notice Bucky is posting regularly on his social media accounts again.

It’s not so much that but is one of the comments from another user that is a constant in each sporadic post. You recognize the user as an international model from another country. Curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to check out her profile, noting all the photos of them together and realizing that while you thought Bucky went M.I.A., he was spending his free time getting cozy with her in exotic places.

Her comments start out harmless in the beginning, but quickly become more and more persistent until one sets the record straight. It read, “that’s MY man” followed by a number of heart eye emojis.

You didn’t even know Bucky and the model knew of each other, but why wouldn’t they? He was exposed to extraordinary people, so finding someone in the business was a better bet than settling with you. They lived in a totally different world than yours.

There’s a plethora of thoughts that run through your mind. This is why he isn't responding to you. He had a girlfriend, who was in a much different league than of your own, and he didn’t really go public with it on his end. It made you sad, that much you could admit to yourself because you held back for him, but you weren’t going to admit this feeling to him or your friend or the world. You were going to prove to them you’d do the same thing - move on. 

It’s a rather slow day at work and you’ve resulted in mindlessly scrolling through your Facebook newsfeed, but growing tired of lame memes and life updates from people you haven’t spoken to since high school, you switch over to Twitter for a more different kind of news and also a bit of some entertainment.

You’re not expecting the particular topic to be trending - #BuckyBarnesIsCancelled. You’d manage to move on from whatever it was between you and Bucky and returned back to your daily routine. You tried to remain a fan of The Avengers, but it wasn’t the same. The fling, if you could call it, with Bucky wouldn’t let you. You’d always be grateful for how their music impacted your life, but you’d have to keep living your life despite what transpired.  

Sitting up from your slumped position in your office chair, you ponder for maybe two seconds before clicking on the hashtag. Things were still pretty quiet with The Avengers, with the exception of paparazzi photos here and there, but this seemingly came out of nowhere. What stupid thing did he get himself into?

“No way,” you mock at the headline. Claims of Bucky being mentally abusive, and an addict were being made left and right.

You scrolled through the timeline and threads of replies to find the source of it all and you were shocked that it came from none other than his own girlfriend...well now ex-girlfriend you assumed. The vindictive side of you only allowed a small part in finding some humor in this, but if Bucky was any bit of the Bucky you spent the night with and got to know for those few short months then this was sad for him.

There wasn’t much you could do though. What were you to do? Send him a message of condolences of some sort? He’d probably just leave you on read. Whatever you two had was long over.

Bucky’s agency did well to defend him and save his reputation. They released one statement to clear things up. There’d been images before of him partying and no doubt high on some substance, but that didn’t prove he was an addict. Then again, did you ever really know him? You’d been exposed to that stuff around and because of him. Some people just had more access to certain things than others did.

In some time, when things leveled out once more, he seemed to be back in the clear, but at a rate where people have already decided whose story they believed over the other, whose side they were on, the damage had been done. If there was a recurring theme here, Bucky had one thing to do after the scandal - move on with his life.

It felt a little strange being here again. If you take into consideration some of the things that had already happened, a lot has really changed since you were last in a line to see The Avengers live.

The band had taken a short hiatus to let the fire die out from Bucky’s scandal. It was probably a smart move - to let people cool their jets and forget. It was last reported Bucky had turned a new leaf...something about getting help. Steve took time off to focus on other projects...something about humanitarian work. Sam released some solo stuff...something with a different sound, but still as successful. The time off was probably the best for the guys.

There weren’t as many people it seemed, but enough for them to play in one of the city’s largest venues. You suppose that’s what a span of three years could do to an artist. When the tour was announced you weren’t sure if you should buy a ticket or not, but it’d been some time since you had a night where you could forget about the stresses of the world for a few hours. Never mind the short stint between you and Bucky, you were still a fan of their music and the joyous feeling you got from it was timeless.

This time you were alone. You didn’t even tell your friend they were touring again. Bucky was almost a nonexistent topic for a good while now. Plus, she had her own life to live and couldn’t always be there next to you. You were the bigger fan after all. On top of that, she would’ve most likely have advised against you attending.

Your attire was not to impress, electing on something casual and comfortable with a simple pair of jeans, a leather jacket over a nice top that did a better job at controlling your cleavage than the last one, and cute boots. Yeah, a lot had changed, but the scene didn’t as there were still a mix of fans, old and new, over and under dressed.

The guys still had it. They looked great! They definitely belonged on the stage for the world to see. They even played a 3-song encore. You could tell they loved doing what they did and anyone who was a fan could feel the passion and energy they poured out in the performance.

You’re currently sitting in the seat of your car, head resting against the headrest as you try to unwind a little from standing for a few hours and from the walk back to the parking garage when your phone vibrates and chimes loudly.  

You glance over at the device you placed next to the driving console and your eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the name that appeared. Bucky Barnes. You’d never deleted his number and his text message thread had remained at the very bottom of your messaging app all this time. A sense of apprehension flows through you as you wonder what he could possibly want. How do you just text someone after ghosting them for over a year? Not to mention to someone you did something so intimate with and made all those promises to in the past. How does one do that?

Not wanting to dwell on it any longer or slip into restless thoughts about Bucky again because it wasn’t a walk in the park to forget about him, you open the text. It asks if you were in attendance because he claimed to have seen you in the crowd. This time around you’re not overthinking about what to respond with, you simply say yes. He’d been quick with his next message asking if you were still in the area to meet up.

The wise thing would probably be to reject the invite, but you find yourself once again staring at a hotel door waiting for him to open it. Initially, you’d suggested he tell you what he wanted to say via text, but he said it was something that had to be told in person. So, having been through what you had as a result of meeting up with him in the past, you had some sense of mind this time, you’d just have to make another mental note to not jump into bed with him again. If you were being truthful to yourself, the sex tape left you feeling a little cheap. He didn’t even send it to you as some form of fucked up courtesy or assure you that it wasn’t ever going to get leaked and luckily it hasn’t. You hoped he’d deleted it.

It was almost like Deja vu. You might as well have been reliving the night the first time Bucky invited you over to his hotel room. In the beginning it was kind of awkward and quiet, and it was exactly that years later, just with added history of course.

You’d chosen to sit on the end of one of the beds while Bucky moved slowly around the room trying to gather his thoughts and where to start. He notices the change in you. You were more confident and as you should be. Bucky Barnes couldn’t intimidate you this time. He had more to be embarrassed about than you did now.

Even though you had nowhere to be in the morning, it was getting late and you really would just like to get this meeting over with and Bucky was stalling.

“Bucky, why did you invite me here?” You say, the one to break the ice. He finally stops fidgeting around and focuses on you.

“I...I wanted to apologize,” he starts off, and you’re unmoving silence allows him to continue, “I realize how much of a complete dick I was to you…”

“What do you mean?” You ask. It’s not like he spread any dirty rumors about you or anything. He didn’t need to apologize for anything that you’re aware of. Maybe for leading you on, but you came to terms some time ago that maybe he didn’t owe you an explanation or perhaps you’d never get one. Yet here you both are.

“I used you,” he explains, now you’re confused, and he can see you’re not getting it entirely, which pains him. You didn’t think anything he did with you was wrong because you consented to it. It took two to tango, right?

Except it wasn’t like that at all and he wanted you to know how he strung you along all just for a quick fuck in the beginning and to cover his tracks he acted like he cared in getting to know you afterwards not realizing something purely good could come out of it for him. The confession wasn’t meant to hurt you again, but for you to realize your worth. He messed up with someone so special.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I remembered you from years before when you tripped in front of me,” there’s a small trace of happiness in the fond memory, “...and when I saw you in the crowd that night, fuck you looked so good and you still do…” he ended up a flustered mess after that small admission.

“Where is this going?” You ask hoping he’d get back on track and reveal the rest, trying to keep the fact he admitted an attraction to you in the back of your mind.

“Right...I’ll admit my ego got the best of me. The band was doing so well, everyone noticed us! I was getting attention from all kinds of people! I got hooked to different things,” suppose those articles were true then about him getting clean, you thought to yourself, “...it does get lonely on the road and I was so desperate for anyone,” oh you hoped and prayed he wouldn’t say what he was going to say next, but he does, “...and I knew there wouldn’t be that much effort on my part to get you to sleep with me.”

Great. Your friend was right then, and he was just like any other house name artist.

“Um...okay, that’s not something I was wanting to hear about myself,” you said after letting that sink in. Did you still appear to look easy?

“No, I’m sure it’s not, but when we were alone together everything was just easy-”

“Yeah, I got that. I’m easy!” You interrupt, and now you’re angry. As he’s trying to explain his actions, you started thinking about how mad and hurt you were when he started ghosting you. You couldn’t be upset about him getting a girlfriend, but the fact that he didn’t think he could continue even being your friend and instead just chose to ignore you was the better option was hella annoying.

“That’s not what I meant!” He says trying to justify his choice of words.

“Then how did you mean it?” You demand, and Bucky is a bit stunned with your new attitude. He foresaw that he would have a difficult time in explaining himself, but he didn’t think it’d be this hard dealing with how much his actions affected you.

“Everything was easy with you because you made it easy to feel,”

“I don’t know if I understand,” you say and attempt to get up, “...maybe this was a bad idea.”

“No, please. Let me finish,” Bucky is quick to get in front of you as he pleads for you to stay. You give him a slight nod and sit back down.

“Things with you were easy in a sense that being around you I was able to just be myself. I’ve never said those things to girls before you! I didn’t have to impress you with anything flashy. I even forgot I was some rockstar! You’re an incredible person, really-”

“I’m sorry, Bucky, but I just can’t,” you say, hating to interrupt him again, but you’re not ready to hear any of this, “...none of this still doesn’t sound right. It was just one night and then how do you explain just ghosting me the moment you get a supermodel girlfriend?” that last part came out unintentionally feisty but might as well let him know how you’d felt, “You couldn’t even be my friend when you were with her! I guess it was easy to just forget me too…”

Bucky lowers his head ashamed of how he handled that and just nods in acknowledgement of his actions, “you’re right. It doesn’t make sense, but what I feel is even harder to explain...”

“None of this accounts for her,” you demand. A part of you just wanted to know where she came from. How did it happen? Who asked who out? It wasn’t important information to know about, but the urge of human curiosity was large.

“She wasn’t even my idea,” he muttered, not really wanting to talk about her.

“What?” You ask.

“Getting with her was the label’s idea,” he admits, hating he was coerced into the idea of an on-screen relationship.

You scoff at the stupidity of fake relationships in the Entertainment industry. Why did people get their rocks off over it? Were OTPs really that a big deal? Are people so bored with their own lives that they have to push corporate into bringing two people who don't have feelings for each other together? However, Bucky thinks you don’t believe him and given how little you developed in trusting him with things, he’s not entirely wrong.

“I know it was a dumb thing to agree to and it’s one of the horrors working in this business, but I know now I should’ve just been forward with you,” Bucky says, voice still riddled begging for forgiveness.

“Why couldn’t you then?” You interrogate and notice the creases of distress on his face soften. “If I made it so easy to feel, then why wasn’t it just that to tell me the truth?”

“I-I don’t know,” he replies.

“Yes, you do,” you retort, and pretend you’re going to leave, but by doing so you know it’ll only get him to spill the beans quicker.

“I was scared!” He admits, stepping in front of you and keeping you still in your place on the end of the bed.

“Scared? Of what? Me?” You ask incredulously looking up at him.

“Yes!” He says and kneels down in front of you. “You’re so perfect! You’re real! You don’t treat me like I’m some celebrity. You didn’t even participate when people started cancelling me or whatever! You could’ve and you had every right to expose me, but you didn’t!” Your act did the trick, because the words just kept coming out of Bucky.

“I’m so sorry for ignoring you, for not telling you I was with her, but the more I got to know you, a part of me got really scared that I couldn’t keep being the kind of man you deserved because of my problems,” by this point, Bucky has placed both his hands on either side of you, his arms trapping you, “...trust me, I had a lot of time to think about everything I did wrong and what harm my reckless lifestyle has on others…I just feared it was already too late, but the one thing that I always thought about that helped me get through it was the lone night I had with you. I was so happy! I wanted that again...I had to get back to that, so I invited you back to try,” you didn’t even realize how close his face was to yours. He looked so torn and you hated seeing him like that, but there was nothing you could say that could fix things right now.

Bucky now felt vulnerable and almost pathetic. Just because he wanted another shot of happiness, and with you of all people, what made it okay for him to think you wanted to try again? You weren’t so certain of what you wanted with him anymore.

“Wow,” is all you give. You’re not sure what more you could add. After all that, he actually liked you? Were you still sure you weren’t living in some fanfic world? You needed some time to think about that and much to Bucky’s expectations, you weren’t going to come to a conclusion before you left this room tonight.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” You offer him the floor, and he gets it. You’re not going to say anything particular to his confession, at least not now. He’s not upset at all. It was a lot to take in. He had time to think, and he had to respect the time you’d need now.

He nods and backs away, realizing the close proximity, “just one question,” you nod this time and let him ask, “do you regret it?”

You know what he’s referring to, sleeping with him, the sex tape, the countless conversations, meeting with him right now - everything.

“No,” you answer honestly.

He lets out a weak smile, looking down sheepishly and adds, “I’ve never done anything like this with anyone before, I promise.”

He could promise and swear up and down all he’d like, but how could you be really sure? The only response you could give him is a small, neutral hum in acknowledgement.

Bucky knew this conversation wasn’t going to go as he had hoped. He really didn’t have a plan, he just really wanted to see you again. He goes silent and you know at this point, everything was all laid out. Time would tell the rest if this was worth saving.

“I can forgive you. I know I can because in a way part of moving on allows one to do so but completing a session or doing time in rehab doesn’t really prove anything,” you said brutally honest with him, he looks up at you almost defeated and just waiting for the final blow.

“You said a lot of promising things back then and you said a lot more tonight,” you add on, and gently begin to remove his hands from the spots either side of you to let you free, and get up to head out, however not with one more thing he could reflect on, also giving him hope, “...you need to show you’ve really changed,” then the conversation was over.

In some ways, these events needed to happen. He had to hit rock bottom to learn from his mistakes and kick out the bad habit. He knew now that he had to work hard to give you a reason to trust him and maybe even in the long run be with him.

On the other hand, you had to go through this whole thing in order to not base your happiness on someone else. You could be happy on your own and open enough to be with someone that wasn’t Bucky. 

For the next few months, to your surprise, Bucky had actually made an effort to keep in touch with you. It wasn’t overbearing and he minded your space as well as he could from a distance, given that he was still busy with the band and other duties that came with his status.

While at times he could be flirty, you learned it was part of his charm. Your friend wasn’t entirely thrilled when you’d admitted to her that you visited Bucky that night. You might’ve not shown it, but she knew how much his past actions affected you. Granted it did its job in teaching you a lesson and in return allowed you to be more confident and to not take anyone’s bullshit, she’d be damned if Bucky tried to pull another act like that around you again.

By now, you were comfortable enough with him to even tell him about random dates you’d gone on; none proving to be long-term, but it was nice to confide in someone else other than your best friend and get an opinion from a male perspective.

You weren’t going to lie, there was a part of you that still liked Bucky more than a friend, but you weren’t sure when it was okay to willingly go all in again with him. Sure, you’d given him another chance, but just how low could people really go to get what they wanted? Some people could just be really manipulative, and you weren’t wanting to ruin what you’ve both rebuilt for yourselves. Either way, you’d be happy with him in your life even as a friend, which is how it could’ve gone if he’d been honest from the get-go.

The year was coming to a close and you’re at your job’s annual Christmas party. You’d managed to convince your friend to be your plus one, but she claimed she didn’t need bribery because your company always ordered outstanding catering and who in their right mind would turn down free food anyways?

Aside from pretending you were having a great time talking to your co-workers, most of which whom you barely spoke to at the office and as faux-friendly as they were tonight, you felt stupid for glancing at your phone every now and then hoping to get a message from Bucky. He’d been keeping you entertained the first half of the party until he just stopped responding.

Your friend had ditched you to take advantage of the open bar several minutes ago, so you were sitting at a table alone trying not to look pathetic. You started thinking of when an appropriate time would be to leave when the Market Manager of your job took the mic. Too late, you thought to yourself and decided to get comfortable in your seat and listened to what cheesy Holiday speech they had to give, but what you hadn’t expected was a surprise guest.  

“What the hell?” You said to yourself as you watched Bucky, Steve and Sam shake hands with one of your bosses before settling into what would appear as an acoustic performance.

How’d they manage to get in contact with your job? Who gave them the in? Bucky knew what you did for a living, but you never stayed on that subject long enough to think much about it. Then your friend slides into the empty seat next to you, a drink in one hand and a knowingly smirk on her lips, one that suggests she was definitely in on this act. You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring at her with a stupid look of disbelief all over your face until your name is echoed throughout the speakers.

It snaps you out of your trance and you focus your attention to Bucky on stage, a huge smile on his face. All formalities set aside, he highlights you and your friendship before jumping into their new single, which was widely popular right now. Normally, you weren’t one to take compliments easily, not used to so much attention, but the whole world disappeared with Bucky.

Once their little set was over, the majority of your colleagues enjoyed the performance and asked for photos, to which the guys were more than happy to appease to. Your friend had managed to escape your clutches once more, this time abandoning you for the dessert table. You’re not alone for long as Bucky occupies the seat left open next to you. You look around your surroundings, hoping there aren’t any more surprises in store, and practically attack him with a big hug.

Bucky’s chuckle is muffled, his face buried in your hair, as he wraps his arms around you to return the gesture. When you pull away, you’re almost left speechless, but you’re dying to know how he managed to get here. He was technically still on tour and this was not one of the passing by cities.

“How?” You ask.

“Hi to you too,” he said with a cheeky grin, to which you playfully slap his arm, and he responds with your friend’s name. He explained how he’d wanted to see you and how much he had to grovel for your friend to trust him. She’d helped him arrange a meeting with your boss, who turned out to be a huge fan of The Avengers, and even sneak them inside the building all under your nose. She wasn’t easy to persuade, but if she was convinced enough to work with Bucky on anything then you knew this meant something more.  

The initial notion of wanting to leave the party immediately vanished and you wanted nothing more than to just sit there in Bucky’s company all night. Steve and Sam greeted you and you never realized that this was actually the first time meeting them formally and not outside of a venue. They weren’t rockstars to you any more than you were just a fan to them. They were Bucky’s friends, of course he’d confined to them on his end as much as you did with yours.

At some point they had excused themselves to catch the last flight headed back to Brooklyn, but Bucky had decided to stay longer. When it was time to leave, you found out Bucky hadn’t planned long enough to where he would stay the night in your city. The original plan was to fly back home with the guys and pick up on the remainder of the tour. They had a few days off, but it was just a few days shy of ending, and he couldn’t wait that long to see you.

It’s funny how life works because this time you’re the one inviting him to your place. You weren’t going to blame it on the open bar or how late it was or the underlying tension that was surrounding you two, but one thing was certain, it was mutual, and you both weren’t going to deny the attraction any longer.

You’d missed the weight of Bucky’s body on yours more than you’d realized as your hands held his face, keeping his lips attached to yours. You could taste the remnants of the unfinished drink he’d abandoned at the coffee table on his tongue. Bucky’s hands hiked your leg over his waist to get you to lie flat on your couch.

You’re the first to attempt to remove clothing by popping open the buttons of his button-up shirt before completely ridding of the item leaving him in his thin undershirt. You feel his hands slide up from your hips along your back as they dig into the minimal space the arch of your back had created for him to slowly unzip the back of your dress. With your lips both still attached, you manage to sit up, your dress falling down and bunching at the waist in the process, exposing your breasts. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect time to see you in an outfit that would not work with a bra.

Bucky curses breathlessly when he pulls his lips away from yours for a quick breather, but in the process, he takes a peek at your half naked body. You can tell he’s just itching to touch you and you take the commanding lead and place his hands on you. The atmosphere grows thicker, him kneading your breasts, you smash your lips on his in a sloppy lock.

You push Bucky down on his end of the couch and manage to kick your loose dress all the way down your legs and off your body. Bucky’s hands travel down to the curve of your ass before he grabs a handful of flesh, causing you to moan into the kiss. Your hands rake through his styled hair, the product he used unstiffening and his hair falls limp in your grasps.

Bucky’s hands started to aid your hips in moving roughly against his clothed member, desperate to relieve some friction, and you internally blushed remembering how thick he was, how full it felt to have his cock stuffed inside of you. You didn’t remain celibate during the hiatus of your relationship, you both had urges, but Bucky had really ruined others that came after him.

Your lips drifted down Bucky’s body, kissing at the skin of his chest in the pattern following the swoop-line seam of the undershirt that he was still wearing. You skipped the expanse of his toned stomach, until you’re met with the small amount of skin that peeked between his bottoms and hem of his undershirt. You slightly lift the material up and place small pecks at his lower abdomen, which causes a low groan to rumble in Bucky’s throat.

Your fingers deftly unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, with the zipper pulled apart, you’re marveling at the imprint of his hard cock, already twitching and staining his boxers. You manage to break your gaze and look up at Bucky, who is desperately pleading with you to proceed. Your eyes never leave his as you lower your head closer to his member, tongue darting out to the dark spot of his boxers, tasting the precum.

The contact causes him to squirm and lips form in a tight line. You pull down his pants and agonizingly peel off his boxers slowly, dragging it down to his thighs, just enough to expose him enough for you to work with before you wrap a hand around his length. Bucky’s upper body is supported by his bent elbows so he could watch you.

You kiss the tip of his leaking cock, a small string of his precum sticking to your lips when you pull back, to which you run your tongue over. Bucky’s head falls back just in time when your lips enclose the head, tongue twirling around the ridge and teasingly at the slit and loving the sound of his breath getting caught in his throat. You inch your mouth down his length and your vacant hand gets quick to work on what you’re not able to intake while the other runs up his exposed abdomen, your fingers curling in and lightly scratching down as it runs down to massage one of his thighs. You can feel the muscle in his thigh flex at your touch the more your head bobs up and down on him.  

A plethora of curses spew from his mouth, but the rush of sucking his cock, the gurgling of your spit mixed with his precum and occasional choking noise when your throat contracts around him, is all you can hear from your perspective. When you part from his member, you’re breathing intensifies, desperate for more air to enter your system, eyes slightly watering, lips swollen, your hand lazily slathering the wetness all over him.

“You’re so good at that,” Bucky comments and he finally manages to pick his head back up to look at you. He reaches forward to swipe at the mess on the corner of your chin, but you’re hungry for more, and you move your head to the side to suck on his thumb, eyes closed as you hum at the taste of his skin and essence.

Your soft tongue running against the pad of his somewhat calloused thumb, it pops lightly when you release the digit, a small, devious smile on your lips as you scoot away to lie on the other end of the couch. He’s almost at aghast by this, but even back then you were just always full of surprises around him and he wasn’t going to deny the appeal of your sexual allure.

Bucky is quick to get to your side, completely riding himself off the rest of his clothes - the undershirt, pants and boxers - he had dressed to impress but right now nothing more than but overdressed. He gently parts your legs, kissing up your calves and thighs, until settles between them, you can feel his warm breath fanning against your scantily covered core.

Unlike last time, you’re not afraid to watch him and he sends you a knowingly wink, quickly ascending up to give you a sweet kiss, while his fingers slip inside your panties and between your lips. Your hips eagerly thrust upwards hoping his fingers slip in.

“Baby, we got all night,” he says cradling your face in his other hand. You let out a small whine, but regardless attempt to be patient. Bucky studies your face, mesmerized by every structure and unique feature, then what felt like an eternity, but in reality, was only a few seconds, he sinks a finger inside your wet pussy.

As soon as the gasp leaves your lips, his lips swoop in and tongue instantly dipping in search of yours. The heated kiss only heightens the sensation in the pit of your stomach, your hips losing control and every buck up into his hand, your clit rubs up against his palm, invigorating it. The curl of his finger, lightly probs at the right spot inside you, you uncontrollably squeal against his lips, with a hand against his chest you gently push his body away from yours.

“Oh my God! Fuck, Bucky…” you say with your head tilting back to the curve of the couch’s arm. You feel Bucky’s lips kiss and suck at your exposed neck as his fingers continue their handy work, the lewd noises causing your eyes to roll back.

His lips find their way next to your ear, gently nipping at it, and you could just drown at the sound of his husky breathing and filthy words. “Can I taste you?” He asks. You’re not sure why he was asking, you’d want nothing less. You nod almost instantaneously before allowing him to remove your panties.  

Bucky’s hungry eyes remain fixated on your glistening core, “oh, I missed this pussy,” he comments before his tongue fondles the lips. He has a hand lying flat against one of your legs, pressed on the couch to keep them spread apart, the other blocked by his body. His routine contrasts his old with how his tongue moves in slow and calculated laps. His mouth was very talented, given whatever style he chose to play.

You’re tethering on an orgasm and Bucky wanted nothing more than to watch you come undone for him. Bucky’s fingers and tongue work in tandem and fast to help you reach a climax.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Bucky manages to ask in between, eyes peering up at you. You don’t actually answer because you can’t concentrate from the pleasure he’s bestowing and the impending release. “Good. I want you to cum. I want all this pussy has to give,” his voice hitting a different low, even his fucking voice was so sexy. Your hands clutch on fistfuls of the couch cushions when you feel the first wave of pleasure wash over your body, your hips stilled in place as Bucky laps up at your arousal.

“The sweetest thing ever,” Bucky mutters mostly to himself, but hearing that comment only feeds your ego, which never is a bad thing in an intimate setting. Your chest heaves up and down from the impact. Just as Bucky is about to crawl back up to parallel, you stop him with a foot at his chest. He grabs your small foot in his hand and blinks at your resistance.

“Sit back,” you command. He drops your foot and watches as your body maneuvers around to climb over his. He didn’t even realize his body had complied to your demand, absolutely hypnotized by you.

You lean in for a deep kiss, one that leaves his brain a mush, yours too almost that you have to steady yourself with one hand on the couch armrest. You reach a hand down between your bodies and grab a hold of his hard cock. Your fingers tracing along the vein before you start rubbing his head through your sensitive, wet folds. Bucky’s hands lay lightly on your hips, trying with all his might to not force you to take him all the way in. A large part of him liked this dominant side of you. There was so much about you he was dying to unearth.

“Baby, please…” he begins pleading as you barely press the tip of his cock just at your entrance before you slowly lower your body down to engulf his entire length. You sit still once you’re sure you’ve bottomed out, not noticing Bucky’s fingers digging into your hips, sure enough to leave crescent marks and tiny bruises.

Bucky’s face is buried in your neck, your cheek pressed against the top of his head, lost in the mop of dark hair. You feel his cock twitch inside of you causing your hips to ground on his. He was in so deep, you weren’t sure how long you were going to last in this position, but you’d be damned if you denied it.

You start with slow swivels before sliding back and forth on his cock. Bucky’s hands released their death grip from your hips, one travelled to the front to grope at your breasts while the other supported your body settling itself on the small of your back. Your hands set themselves on the back of the couch on either side of his head, using it as leverage to ground down harder on him.

“Mm, I missed fucking this big cock,” you lean down to whisper right in his ear, “you’re so deep, Bucky.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he spits out curse after curse at your dirty words. “You gonna cum on this big cock, hmm?” He asks. The question comes as a challenge and you weren’t ready to give up the ropes to him.

“Yeah, is this big cock gonna cum inside this tight pussy?” You counter the question, speeding up your gyrations until you start to feel the burn in your thighs and stomach begin to twist. He lets out a low, long growl, his eyes lulling shut and head falling back against the couch, ready to succumb to euphoria.

“No,” you say, suddenly ceasing all movements to pull at his hair. The sharp pain in his scalp causes his eyes to snap open and look up at you. “Keep your eyes on me,” you command much like how he did with you the first time. You watch him swallow the knot in his throat and give him a wicked smile before picking back up where you left off.

Your hands are sprawled on his sweaty chest as you bounce up and down his length. Bucky’s senses are on overdrive, the way your pussy naturally hugs his cock, walls squeezing occasionally, your breasts swaying right in front of him, your skin shining from the layer of sweat coating your body, and the look of immense pleasure written all over your face because of him.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he says over and over as some form of warning, hoping you’re not far behind.

The way his face contorted in ecstasy, lips parted, sweat building up on his forehead, the tip of his cock stabbing at your sweet spot, you were about to cum too. His words become a muffled mess when you attempt to silence him with a bruising kiss just as you reach your high, pussy clenching tight around his cock milking him of everything he’s got. Each spurt of his hot cum that shoots inside you causes your hips to stutter in response. Bucky attempts to keep them at bay with a hand pressed against your back, keeping your body close to him and in the process also instilling his seed is rooted deep inside of you.

“God...damn,” Bucky says short of breath when your body lies limp against his. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, you haven’t attempted to move just yet as you both sat there with his cock still buried in. When you manage to sit up, you stare back at Bucky with tired eyes, but there’s a smile on both your faces. It only slightly falters at his next words.

“I love you,” he says earnestly. Thankfully your silence doesn’t bother him, “...you don’t have to say it back,” he adds, “I just wanted you to know. You’re so special,” he proclaims and your heart leaps at the very admission. You only nod for now but give him another reassuring smile because in time you knew you could allow yourself to love Bucky and be loved by him in return. It wasn’t a conventional meeting, but this was your life, not everyone else's.

When you finally manage to pull yourself off his cock, it slips out fluidly with a trail of his cum following in suit. You knew you’d curse yourself later on, but you’re both too tired to clean the mess right now. The pair of you settle into a lying position, facing one another, encased in each other’s arms. It’s a moment of bliss as you both just lie there, his eyes closed and a smile seemingly permanently etched on his face, only around you.  

“Hey Bucky,” you pipe up breaking the silence. He hums in response, “I want to know something...” you start out with.

“Anything,” he says, eyes still closed, his hand running up and down your arm, an indicator that he’s present and listening.

“What happened between you two?” Curiosity getting the best of you once more, you’re hoping this doesn’t ruin the moment, but you had to know. What went wrong? Besides, if this was going to work, he was going to have to be honest.

“Uh, she saw something on my phone…” he said cautiously, “...that involved you.” Your eyes widen at that. It couldn’t have been the sex tape you hoped.

“Bucky, no!” You gasp, sitting up and just hoping he doesn’t confirm it.

“Relax!” He says pulling you back down with him, “She was psycho. She went through my texts and saw some of the photos we used to send to each other. She must’ve thought they were recent.” He explains like it was no big deal.

Your heart stops racing slightly, you’re a bit relieved that she didn’t go as far as posting any of the photos on the Internet. You knew you were risking it by sexting with Bucky, but what was that saying? Hell hath no fury…and in a blind rage, she lashed out only on Bucky, but if she was a psycho, who knows what else she might’ve found on Bucky’s phone.

“Bucky?” you figure you might as well know now.

“Yeah…”

“What did you do with that sex tape?” You’d been dying to know if it was safely stored away or if maybe he even still watched it or just deleted it.

A big toothy grin spreads across his lips, his pearly whites on full display as he laughs at the question before he reaches over to the table next to the couch, where his cell phone rested on.

“Want to make a sequel?” He asks suggestively with a smirk on his lips and waving his phone at you, to which you playfully attempt to snatch from his grasp. He’s too quick, but nonetheless he replaces the phone in its original spot before focusing his attention on you alone.

“You don’t think this is all weird?” He questions almost hesitantly while tracing the outline of your jaw delicately. You’re not thinking that at all. You’d both been through a lot during the last few years that the only thing that was normal now was what you both had.

You shake your head in response, too tired for words, and drowning in the blissful moment. Bucky nods before declaring, “good because you make so happy,” then ending the night with sweet kisses. 

“Hey, it’s me. I know you’re busy at the studio today...” you start, cell phone pressed against your ear. You’re attempting to leave a voicemail to your boyfriend, who was expecting your arrival later that day, “...but I just wanted to assure you that this isn’t weird, and I can’t wait to see you...I love you, Bucky,” you finish up the message and stuff the device into your bag just in time to hear the voice of the airline staff making the pre-boarding announcements booming loudly from the speakers.  

Now boarding Group B for flight #107 to JFK Airport...final destination Brooklyn, New York.

A/N: We’ve been in quarantine for so long, I don’t remember how airport announcements are like anymore and I was only in Brooklyn last Spring…RIP to the good times.

A happy ending was weird to write in the end and I actually don’t like this particular Bucky so it could’ve gone really bad, but I said to myself, no, not this time, I can do what the title says and let them be just that - happy. I too can be happy if you give this a like, reblog or comment! Thanks for reading!  

[thegeminisage]

my secret galaxy brain reading of spn s11 is better than yours

or: why season 11 is good actually. this is a long-ass meta, so it's going behind the cut

some disclaimers before we get going

absolutely all of this is accidental. nobody does this shit on purpose. this is ~my interpretation~ or whatever. i'm not actually trying to argue the writers meant to do this lol. what i'm saying is that this is the way to make season 11 make sense in your brain because it makes sense in mine and it's one of my FAVORITES. it could be one of your favorites too if you stop limiting yourself

there is heavy discussion of sexual violence in this meta so read safely etc also spoilers for all of s11 obviously

unless you watched the anime, i've seen more supernatural than you have, so i'm right >:)

for the uninitiated, the basic plot of season 11 is that eons and eons ago, before there was heaven or hell or earth or humans or angels, there was only god (chuck) and the darkness (amara). amara kept destroying what god made, so he and the archangels locked her away in a cage, which removing the mark of cain from dean's arm opened. amara escaped and dean was the first thing she saw, so she spends the season using some kind of thrall over him to make him feel drawn to her and unable to hurt her, and also looking for chuck so she can give him a little payback.

ALRIGHT HERE WE GO

season 11 & sexual violence

you don't need to look very far to find examples of sexualized violence and outright sexual violence on supernatural, but s11 is lousy with it. just to name a few examples:

amara's "thrall" on dean, which we will absolutely get into more later

crowley's jokes about altar boys and the tastes of catholic priests

ALLLLL the pedophile jokes made when crowley was raising baby amara

angels torturing cas and threatening to cut his genitals off, only to send in hannah (an angel who formerly had unrequited romantic/sexual feelings for him) to play good cop(/honeypot??) in hopes of making him talk

the return of lucifer, who possessed sam (spn has a history of equating possession and sexual violence) and is heavily implied to have raped sam in hell, and the MULTIPLE times he menaces sam throughout this season, including forcibly touching his soul

lucifer possessing castiel and using him to enact violence on the winchesters, his loved ones

i absolutely REFUSE to acknowledge the lucifer/crowley stuff but if you know you know

the episode with the kissing curse, using "love" as a means to deliver death

dean's possession in the soul eater episode

the "chitters" monsters involving mating, orgies, and forcible impregnation

you get the idea

i could write a whole essay on almost all of these but for this post we'll be sticking mostly to dean & amara

@marcusantonius pointed out while we were watching season 11 that what amara does to dean is basically speedrun his two major attachments - sam and castiel. she starts out as a baby, someone in need of protection, and quickly grows into an adult who attempts to romance/seduce him. the feelings dean has around amara aren't feelings FOR HER, they're feelings he has for SAM AND CAS that are being TRANSFERRED onto her through means of her power. (this is important for later.)

what amara does to dean is sexualized violence bordering on outright sexual assault. compelling him to feel drawn towards her and to protect her, frequently getting in his personal space and touching his face, and even kissing more than once when he is quite literally unable to resist (it's stated many times that he is unable to kill or even harm her, so he is completely helpless in the presence of someone who makes no secret of her intentions for him, sexual or otherwise). 

dean says many times that what he feels for amara is not love or desire or attraction. he can't put a name to it at all - not once in the entire series is he able to properly define this thrall she has over him, which leaves us the audience a little confused (amara asking "what IS happening between us?" in 11.06 as a teenager making sexual advances on a grown man does give me a good laugh, because it was written SO WEIRDLY)... BUT we know that it is definitely sexual in nature, and not at all something dean wants to be happening.

this is addressed kind of strangely in 11.13. the villain of the week is a witch moonlighting as a hairdresser, who puts a kissing curse on her clients. the curse must be passed along like a hot potato - if you kiss someone else, it's passed along to them. if they kiss someone else, it's passed along to them. but eventually, a monster called a qareen will show up in the form of "your deepest desire" and kill you, and work its way backwards to the original curse-ee. in the episode, dean kisses the vic (i'll point out this was also technically done w/o her consent, though it was a very businesslike kiss) to put the curse on himself and protect her. the qareen takes the form of amara, and she gives Dean this little speech:

Qareen!Amara: You're a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel. Except it's cloaked in shame. When it comes to this, you can’t help yourself, so why fight it? Just give in.

then, at the end of the episode, after dean reveals who the qareen was for him, we get this conversation between sam and dean: 

Dean: You seriously think the sister of God is my deepest darkest desire? Sam: She isn't? Dean: No! She can’t be! Sam: Why not? Dean: Why? Because if she is that means that I'm… Sam: Means you're what? Complicit? Weak? Evil? Dean: For starters, yeah. Sam: Dean. Do you honestly think you ever had a choice in the matter? She's the sister of God, and for some reason she picked you and that sucks, but if you think I’m gonna blame you or judge you…I'm not.

the "shame" part of both of these is really what stuck out to me - the word itself isn't in the second passage, but dean's vibes are absolutely filled with shame. to me, this always read as being shame about the sexual violence and about the complicity/weakness that "allowed" that violence to happen. 

and as a reminder, sam is just a few episodes past the confrontation with his own rapist (he returns to the cage to speak with lucifer in 11.09 & 11.10, and canonically struggles with what happened there even after the confrontation ends). sam made a point earlier in this episode of making sure the victim of the curse knew it wasn't her fault her husband died, but the fault of the witch who cast the curse. sam is VERY emotionally intelligent, and i honestly believe that he was speaking as one survivor of sexual violence to another here. what he's telling dean is something victims often need to be reminded of: it's not your fault. you weren't complicit, or weak. you didn't have a choice. you don't deserve blame or judgment.

we've had bad guys make sexual threats at both dean and sam many times before this and a few more times after, but as far as i can recall, this is the only conversation in the entire series that even attempts to address the impact of that particular kind of violence on dean. it's short, and strangely written, but nonetheless: there it is.

season 11 & the dean in the closet

for the purposes of this post, i'm not going to go through the entire series and find examples to try and prove dean is bi and has feelings for cas. if you don't believe that then what are you doing here? we're skipping to the goods.

actually, i always got annoyed at people who read the fake-amara's speech in 11.13 (or any of the other times people spoke about dean's shame regarding amara) as being about dean's sexuality, because in my mind it was ABSOLUTELY about his being a victim of sexual violence, which was far more important to me, as it is discussed far less often.

BUT, knowing what we know now (that cas was always canonically in love with dean, and it's all but canon that dean really was bisexual), i'm willing to entertain another notion:

Sam: ...you're what? Complicit? Weak? Evil? Dean: For starters, yeah.

the "evil" bit never really sat right with me as part of the narrative of sexual violence, aside from touching on dean's general self-loathing, but it fits the narrative of being closeted MUCH better. dean, a self-hating homophobic bisexual, would probably use a similar word, if not something heavy as "evil," to describe the way he feels about other men. it's a malevolent feeling. (if you're like me and ascribe to the jackles headcanon that dean resorted to turning tricks to make food money when he was underage, we could also consider the extremely fucked up fact that almost every queer man dean's ever met is someone who hurt him.) 

dean is ashamed of who and what he is, and the way he feels about cas. living like that, that's violence. he lives violently day in and day out with that feeling. (and amara knows it. it's worth nothing that she uses cas to communicate with dean MULTIPLE times in this season, both by carving messages on his body and psychically, through his own connection to dean - and when dean "betrays" her to rescue casifer, she's horrified at whatever she sees in his head.)

equating sexual violence to the violence of being closeted

but what's amazing about this weird badly-written little 11.13 conversation (and indeed, the season-long plotline of dean and his shame) is that we don't HAVE to assign it to the purposes of being about sexual violence OR about being closeted. it can be and IS both. 

my favorite reading of this is that BEING IN THE CLOSET IS INHERENTLY A VIOLENT AND TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE. many of the same feelings are involved: shame, guilt, self-loathing. sam's comforting words to dean - that he will not be blamed or judged - are equally applicable in both cases. dean is a victim of sexual violence, and he is also in the closet, and both of these experiences are traumatic ones, and they are intermingled with each other in a big way (again, if you're into dean-turned-tricks headcanon, they are intermingled INSEPERABLY - the sexual violence being one of the direct causes of dean not wanting to accept or address his own sexuality).

the bait-and-switch

the real galaxy brain moment of this whole thing begins at the end of 11.22 (an otherwise lackluster episode that played sam's lucifer trauma for laughs how dare they ugh god whatever that's off-topic but i HATE IT) when amara and chuck finally have the confrontation she's been fighting all season for. she is attacked by witches, demons, angels, and then stabbed by lucifer himself, before she's finally on her knees before chuck, and then we get this little exchange:

Chuck: I'm sorry. For this, for everything. Amara: An apology at last. What's sorry to me? I spent millions of years crammed into that cage alone and afraid...

maybe you already know where i'm going with this. a cage isn't so different from a closet when we're working with metaphors, right? 

amara talks about her grievances with chuck many times throughout season 11 - that he was spoiled, that he created the earth to stroke his ego, that he couldn't handle her as she was. and once he finally makes his appearance he tells it his own way - that he had no choice but to lock amara away, that she couldn't stand the things and people he made, that he did it to protect people. but something about THIS conversation in particular - even though it's not written into the dialogue - gives me a particular kind of vibe. 

there is something innately, unspeakably WRONG with amara. i don't mean unspeakable as in very bad, i mean unspeakable as in LITERALLY undefinable. it's just like dean being unable to put a name to the pull she has over him. no one talks directly at it or about it, they go in circles around it, but facts are facts: amara simply couldn't be allowed to exist as she was because there was just something innately wrong with her. and it's this conversation in particular, the first one they have together onscreen, that really slams that feeling home for me.

the entire time chuck and amara are talking, the camera repeatedly cuts to dean - he is so visibly upset that the first time i watched this, i was certain he was about to jump into the middle of things and put himself between the two of them. we're meant to believe that dean has trouble hearing this because he "cares" about amara, but i have a different take.

i think it's empathy. real, actual empathy - not the kind of feeling that amara had to force out.

stay with me here. eventually, after chuck tries to lock amara away again, she gets her second wind, attacks him, and leaves him for dead - and as he dies, the sun dies with him, and so too does all life on earth. 

in the following episode, the finale, amara finds her way to a park, where she takes in god's creation, visibly upset as she realizes that his flowers die at her touch (again, hammering home the point that there is something innately wrong with her that means she cannot live in this world), and eventually speaks with an old lady feeding the birds. 

Woman: Do you want to feed them? Amara: I shouldn't. Woman: I've been feeding these birds going on 20 years now. They're practically family. And I know that makes me sound like a crazy old bat, but...heck. My husband died a couple of years ago, and my son keeps slipping me these brochures for retirement communities - a.k.a. where they send old folks to die, but not to make a fuss about it. Amara: So you hate him. Woman: Well, a little bit. Sometimes. But you know family. Even when you hate them, you still love them.

this speech brings tears to amara's eyes. what's more, she spends this entire section with her hands in her lap. after a season of killing her way through humanity to get god's attention, she is afraid to touch these birds for fear of killing them. she feels empathy for them. she and dean are connected, after all - so as soon as he began to feel true, genuine empathy - so did she.

when dean shows up to kill amara (via a bomb made out of souls hidden in his chest), she immediately clocks his plan. she practically dares him to do it, and - he can't. he is, as always, helpless against her. 

what dean does instead is talk to her. more importantly, he listens to her. when she says her brother sent dean here to execute her, he tells her chuck actually didn't want this - that it was actually his very last resort. he asks her if this, the death of everything, is what she wanted, and she tells him all she really wanted was payback. again, dean EMPATHIZES:

Dean: Yeah, that's revenge. It'll get you out of bed in the morning, and when you get it, it feels great... for about five minutes. I've been there. Me and Sam, we have had our fair share of fights—more than our share. But no matter how bad it got, we always made it right because we're family. I need him. He needs me. And when everything goes to crap, that's all you've got—family. Now you might be a—an all-powerful being...but I think you're human where it counts. You simply need your brother. 

what's really neat about this section, and the scene before it where amara confronts her brother, is that they mark the first times dean felt any sort of genuine emotion for amara at all - one that she didn't force out of him or one that he felt for someone else that she just took for herself. dean genuinely EMPATHIZES with her - after everything she's done to him and his loved ones, and to the people on earth, dean sees the humanity in her. that's kind of his and sam's M.O., loving monsters into men - the number of non-human adversaries who eventually became allies because of the winchesters’ empathy or liking for them or even just their influence is staggering. cas, gabriel, meg, benny, crowley, rowena, metatron, to name a few off the top of my head - and now amara. 

and then we get THIS:

Dean: You don't want to be alone. Not really. I mean, hell. Maybe that's why you wanted me. But deep down, you didn't really want me... 'cause I'm not him.

(emphasis mine)

and here's my galaxy brain take: dean empathizes with amara - TRULY empathizes with her - because they're both queer (or queer-coded). 

I KNOW THIS SOUNDS NUTS BUT LISTEN. this weird creepy stalkery hetero "romance" was fake on both sides all along. dean and amara are the same. that unspeakable and innate wrongness lives in both of them. they're self-loathing and furious at god for his failures and callousness, outcasts in a world that isn't for them, a world that has HURT them simply on account of them being what they are. the violence done to amara was done to her BECAUSE of this unspeakable wrongness about her - her queerness, or her queer-codedness - and we already decided this was, for the purposes of this season, functionally the same violating and traumatic experience as sexual violence.

amara's been using dean to try and replace chuck this entire season. it's some weird comphet bullshit tied in with the fact that dean was the first part of chuck's creation she ever saw. it stands to reason then that she was trying to force dean to be with her and love her the way she wanted to force CHUCK to be with her. that's part of why she started life as a baby - as someone he'd protect as he did his own sibling. 

so in some weird, warped, very roundabout way, amara was enacting on dean the violence that chuck enacted on her - making him feel the same shame and weakness that chuck made HER feel when he locked her away eons ago. if amara unknowingly replaced chuck with dean, then she also unknowingly took part of her revenge on him. the only way she knew how to love someone was to force them to do it, because the only ways she had ever been loved until now involved violence - until dean and his moment of genuine empathy.

consider this final speech:

Dean: Maybe I can kill you. Or maybe I can't. Maybe if I pull this trigger, we all live happily ever after, or maybe we die bloody, or maybe it doesn't matter, because maybe there's a different way. So I'm gonna ask you again. Put aside the rage. Put aside the hate. And you tell me...what do you want?

dean is the only person in BILLIONS of years to ask her this! one queer to another! and it turns out that and all she wanted - the ONLY thing she needed - was to be understood and accepted by her family. immediately after this, amara summons chuck to their park, and the two of them talk it out in what is genuinely a very moving scene. amara - perhaps because of her connection with dean, perhaps because she's finally admitted to herself that she does still love her brother - sees the beauty in the world now, and feels love for it, and she doesn't want to destroy it anymore. 

and at the end, after she's made her peace with god, and the sun has been turned back on, amara says:

Amara: Dean, you gave me what I needed most. I want to do the same for you.

and what do we get at the end of this episode? mary winchester, risen from her grave. dean's family. and - SPOILERS FOR SEASON 12 - though at first mary rejects dean (and sam) as being the same children she remembers from 1983, after a long and rocky road, at the end of the season, they eventually come to a reconciliation where she sees them for who they truly are. it's never ABOUT being queer because this show uses the fucking hays code when it comes to dean's sexuality, but it's still about being queer!! 

dean gave amara what she needed - acceptance from her family - and she gave him that back in turn. all it took, the entire time, was one SHRED of empathy from one queer to another. all dean had to do was recognize her - REALLY recognize her - not as a replacement for sam or cas but as who she really was. and he saw himself in her, and the empathy that followed was genuine because it was the most natural thing in the world. in the end neither dean nor amara needed the "romance" they thought they did/were forced to want. they never did. they only needed acceptance and understanding.

supernatural is always about family and the power of love, and this season is no exception.

other great parts of season 11

if you're still not convinced, season 11 is full of other things that make it amazing:

GOD'S RETURN. after SIX YEARS he's back, this is canon, we finally get to hear what he has to say. they did more with him in a handful of episodes in this season than all of season 15

also, something else returns after six years. i'll give you a hint: it glows hot in god's presence. it was last seen being dropped into a motel trash can.

and of course the big one: lucifer and sam. what great callbacks to seasons 4-6 when lucifer and what he did to sam in hell was actually scary and mattered a lot! lucifer returns to being scary in this and i can't get enough of it.

this is also inseparable from sam's arc involving his faith - he begins praying again, having visions again, and is GUTTED when those prayers and visions lead him back to the place of his worst trauma. he gets to MEET GOD this season. it's fucking insane

the inherent melodrama of castiel, someone loved and trusted by the winchesters, being possessed by someone who they hate and who has hurt them. you get all of the sam drama with him accidentally trusting lucifer with his soul and his brother's life, and all the dean drama where he watches the devil run around in his boyfriend. also, misha collins does an uncanny impression of mark pellegrino. it's actually really creepy

somehow, they managed to make metatron, a deeply hated villain by all, ACTUALLY LIKEABLE. for TWO whole episodes. it was NUTS

this season starts off rowena's long arc with lucifer and her lucifer trauma that eventually becomes the catalyst of her bonding so profoundly with sam <3 best friends forever <333

sam and dean bond with a pair of canonically gay hunters who DON'T DIE

billie is introduced in this season and she's super hot and cool and awesome

eileen is also introduced in this season. her arc mirrors sam's so well, it's SO good. i never though i'd care about sam and a girl who wasn't jess, but i care about them SO MUCH it makes me insane. if you don't love eileen you're wrong!

anyway, watch season 11. it's weird but it's really fucking good. THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK

[spn masterpost]

[danniburgh]

Questionable Literature

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (sorry, we need a v)

Summary: It’s your day off and you just want to relax and read a book, but to be honest your choice is rather questionable, because it just edges you and you can't avoid imagine Javier doing the things the protagonist of the shitty book you chose is doing to his woman to you.

Word count: 2.2k+

Warnings: SMUT, FILTHY DIRTY THINGS, PLEASE DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNDER 18, THIS IS NOT A WARNING IS A THREAT, also teasing and cursing and everything that Javier Peña entails.

A/N: more at the end

so, i basically took a shower about an hour before starting this and i think the hot water put hot thoughts into my head, anyway here's some smutty smut, also, please forgive me if this is repetitive or seems off, english is not my native language and i forget the existence of some words

Masterlist // Read in ao3 // ko-fi

You were a grown ass adult, why the fuck were you blushing?

It was a pretty steamy thing to read but it was not the first time you read something like this, it wasn’t even like you were ashamed of it, it was just that after everything that had happened with a certain DEA agent for the last couple of months, you couldn’t help but put his face in the head of the vigorous, strong, tenacious, sexy protagonist of the book you were reading. Making you way hornier than normal.

You couldn’t help but hear his voice when you read the dialogue, and the fact that you were alone in your apartment while he was trapped in the embassy working his ass off was definitely not helping the situation.

For a moment you questioned your decision of choosing that very book out of the dozens that were carefully put inside your bookshelves, it was true that you wanted some light reading for the end of your day off but considering how wet you were under your sweatpants while finishing only the fourth chapter, you slapped yourself mentally for not choosing maybe a book of tales or some sappy romantic fast-reading novel instead of a very poorly written, housewife-y erotica novelette that you had somehow managed to bring down to Colombia.

“Shit” you sighed when at the beginning of the fifth chapter the protagonists were making out again. You lifted your eyes out of the pages and tried to rub your legs together for some kind of relief and sighed again, it was definitely not helping and your pussy was starting to hurt, you needed something else and you needed it quick. 

You threw the book on the coffee table without even bothering to mark the page where you stopped reading and stood up the couch, walked as fast as your shaky legs and wetness inside your panties let you to your room and opened the last drawer of your commode, under all of your old t-shirts that you used as pajamas there was the little cotton bag that guarded your oldest and bestest of friends. You grabbed it, took it out of the bag and considered for a brief second to just lay down on the bed and go at it, but you were as sweaty as your pussy was soaked and you just wanted to end your own suffering as quickly as you could and then take a nap, so you walked straight to the bathroom and undressed on the way, walked into the shower and turned on the hot water.

You actually took the time to wash your hair and your body before starting, once you felt a little bit more relaxed you turned the vibrator on and leaned your back on the wall, you made the small thing go over your nipples first, making them pop out and you felt a shiver down your spine, you felt even more wet and in the back of your mind you were actually surprised you could exude even more juices out of your pussy.

Forgetting all sense of foreplay you put the vibrator directly on your clit, whimpering on expectation, your hips rolled on themselves, waiting eagerly for more contact, your mouth started making noises without your permission and your eyes were shut as you felt both the vibrations on your clit and the hot water making its way down your body.

You were so exasperatedly entangled in your own body, with your hand holding the vibrator and the other hand stuck to the shower’s transparent and already fogged wall for some balance, with your loud moans mixing themselves with the sound of the running water hitting the tiles, creating a chaotic song with little to no rhythm and with one of your legs almost lifted in the air and the other sinking in the floor tiles trying to reach your orgasm that you didn’t hear the front door of your apartment opening, neither you heard a rough voice calling out your name.

The hand between your legs started moving rather faster than you would’ve wanted and your moans got even louder, for a millisecond you tried to control the noises you were making because for christ sake you had neighbours but the sensation inside your belly and inside your pussy and the shaking of your legs were starting to get unbearable.

“Mierda” you heard outside the shower, even thought it was a voice that you knew way to well, the sound of the door opening and the sudden interruption made your orgasm fly away from you and wave goodbye when you were the closest to reach it.

“Fuck!” you screamed, opening your eyes that were irritated from the hot water and the pressure you had put on them while chasing your climax, you turned to the door and watched Javier smirking through the transparent wall, he was just standing under the threshold watching you, he was holding the book you were reading before getting in the shower and you just knew what was about to happen. You hated the moment you had given him the spare key.

You just stared at him not being capable to move, only to turn the vibrator off, because your body felt so slimy that you were sure that if you moved more you would go down the drain.

“What?” you sighed, the water still running, still making a not so deafening noise as it was making five minutes or five seconds earlier.

Javier looked at you and his eyes wandered all over your body, he then lifted the book he was holding and smiled at you.

“Forty nights in paradise?” he asked, you knew he was trying his best not to laugh and he was failing “is this really the kind of stuff you read?” 

“Shut up” you said between teeth, just noticing how hard your chest was going up and down with your breathing. He ran the thumb of his free hand through his lower lip and narrowed his eyes “what are you looking at?” you barked, his smile grew wider and he threw the book on the floor, looking at your bloodshot eyes.

“Nothing” he shrugged casually and then slowly took his jacket off without breaking eye contact with you “I might just wait until you finish” he threw the jacket to the same place the book landed on and you rolled your eyes and started to move to stand up straight.

“Fuck off, Javier” you spat, looking down at your still shaky body.

“I rather fuck you” he stated, still looking at your movements. You stopped suddenly and looked at him, he was taking off his clothes, you looked at his eyes and he gave you a hungry look in return, you felt your core throb and you knew he wouldn’t let you get out of the shower without at least making you come once. And you couldn’t wait.

You opened the shower’s door when he was taking off his boxers and he walked in, the water was still hot, the bathroom was still steamy, and your hand was still holding the vibrator when he closed the door and grabbed you by the nape to eat your lips, you let out a moan and opened your mouth for him to lick inside, you were incredibly soaked between your legs and the fluids where already roaming through your thighs when he held the small of your back to put you closer to him, making you feel his erection on your belly.

Your free hand wandered almost lazily over his dampened chest and when you were about to put both hands around his neck he broke the contact, grasped your hips with both hands and turned you around to face the tiled wall, you let out a surprised squeal because of the sudden movement, he pulled your back against his chest and started kissing and nibbling your neck, his mustache brushed your wet skin, making you moan.

He took the vibrator out of your hand with his left hand and you closed your eyes, knowing exactly what was next. You heard the click of the thing being turned on again and you felt his right hand kneading softly the skin inside your thigh, he grabbed it and lifted your leg slowly.

“Javi” you let out, he moaned inside your neck in response, he caressed your lower abdomen with the vibrator and then you felt him push his hips against your ass, making you feel his hard cock and putting the small device directly on your clit at the same time “Javi, fuck-” your legs were suddenly made of clay, you grasped to his left arm that he had you wrapped with and leaned down, trying to find balance.

“I got you, baby” he whispered, letting your leg go down as he helped you lean down a little further so he could have access to your pussy from behind, you felt the hot water on the skin of your back and the sensation of warmness combined with the waves of pleasure the vibrator was still sending through your clit made you moan louder “that’s it” he said when you separated your legs and arched your back down to make your ass go upwards “good girl” he sighed. The embraced he had you in became stronger as you felt him position the tip of his cock just outside your entrance, you moved your ass backwards and he moved back as well. 

It became immediately clear to your fogged mind what he wanted.

“Javier” you murmured between hisses, opening your eyes and looked back at him.

“Yes, dear” he said, quietly, looking at you with a small grin. You groaned when he circled your clit with the vibrator.

“Fuck me” you said, gasping when he pushed himself inside of you, your nails clawed the skin of his arm, he grasped your hip and moaned under his breath when he was sunk completely into you, “more” you asked, he whimpered at the sound of your eager request, he pulled out almost completely and then thrusted into you again strongly, taking the air out of your lungs.

“Mierda, preciosa, mírate” (shit, gorgeous, look at you) he growled at the sight of your body, leaned down, entangled in his arms while he thrusted into you vigorously, losing himself to your loud moans, to the water hitting both of your skins, making them warmer, to the obscene, rugged sounds of his cock going in and out of your soaked pussy and the small tremble of the vibrator that was attacking your clit like it was being paid for it.

“Más” (more) you demanded, he adored when you spoke spanish even when your thick accent still came out, he started moving the vibrator up and down your clit with a slow turn on his left wrist, your right hand let go of Javier’s arm to hold some of your weight on the wall.

“You want more?” he said, tightened the grasp he had on your hip, you nodded enthusiastically. He let out another groan and started moving you with him, making himself go deeper into you while still rubbing your clit “like that?” he whispered.

All sense of language left your mind and you only nodded, your legs started feeling even weaker and you felt your whole body shake under Javier’s grasp.

“That’s it, baby, come for me” he sighed, leaning into your back to bite at your shoulder “let go, come around my cock” he whispered into your ear. A heavy wave of different sensations surrounded your body as your orgasm hit you, suddenly the water felt warmer, your skin felt softer, your legs felt heavier, your mouth felt dryer, your hands felt weaker, your throat felt sorer and the man holding you felt stronger “what a good girl” he said, still pounding into you, he turned off the vibrator with the same movement he made to turn it on, just to avoid overstimulation, dropped it to the shower floor, and you leaned down even more so he could chase his release as his hand went from your abdomen to your shoulder, anchoring himself to you, or you to him, you didn’t know.

“Javi” you said under your breath, feeling the speech coming back at you “come inside me, please” you asked, he let out a moan “fill me up” you let out a beg, feeling him coming undone behind you. You felt a well known warmness inside of you as he let out his orgasm hit and came into your pussy.

“Fuck” he said in shaken breaths, he caressed your body as you stood up straight with him still inside you, you raised your hand to the back of his neck and turned your head to him to kiss him, this time it was softer, his lips only brushed yours and you passed your tongue over his lower lip lazily.

“I’m exhausted” you said, giggling, he kissed your neck softly and made a small groan in agreement.

“Can you stand by yourself?” he asked against the skin of your neck, no teasing in his voice this time, you shook your head no.

“I just need five minutes” you said in a giggle, making him smile.

“I can give you forty nights” he said, pressing his grin into the union of your neck and your jaw.

“Oh fuck off!” you laughed.

**

A/N: this is my first time writing smut in english please be kind to me, also i know javier peña just would laugh at you reading erotica novelettes lmao IM NOT SORRY I WROTE THIS, lemme know if you liked it tho

[bored-storyteller]

Oh my, thank you!  Thanks for bringing this to me, I love Sally Face! It's one of my favorite indie games ever! I really hope it meets your expectations.

NOTES: I imagined the more adult Sal, but beyond that there are no other references to the timeline of the original story, except some canonical episodes mentioned.

34- Sally Face - Sal Fisher x Reader

"You can see me"

With a last glance at the clock, you quickly close the water bottle, at the same time grabbing the full glass in the same hand that you also hold the medicine box.

You're pretty sure you find Sal in his room, probably bent over his guitar. Surely it is for that reason that he has not paid attention to his therapy.

It doesn't happen often, in fact, it rarely happens that you have to rush to his rescue, nor do you really like doing it. You don't know how he really feels about it.

Knowing where he keeps his medicines and knowing when he has to take them doesn't make you two a couple. Not even living under the same roof makes you a couple - especially if you are not alone - nor does sharing the same room often and willingly.

In fact, even though someone often mistakes you for two young lovers, you don't really know what Sal thinks of you. As close as you feel him, you are not sure that he feels as close to you; on the other hand, he doesn't seem to share the same kind of intimacy with you that he shares with Larry or Ashley, or at least that's what you think.

Besides, you've never seen his face.

Yours is a purely selfish thought, and you are ashamed of it, but you cannot command feelings.

You know that the first time Larry saw his best friend's face was an accident, with Ash instead, she was the one who took the initiative. In neither case was Sal's will to make him show himself. Yet, despite this deep down, inside you, something stung excruciatingly.

When your friend had lifted his mask, Sal that time was not angry at the intrusiveness - as perhaps you would have done -, nor had he tried to escape later. It is logically normal that he now has less trouble showing himself around them. Sweet Sal, always so loving, so perfect.

You shouldn't feel offended. You know well that for Sal the prosthesis he wears is in effect his face, so it's not that he wants to hide from you, you are simply already seeing him.

Yet you know that under that face another is hidden, however much it may be disfigured. You can't pretend it isn't.

That slight annoyance you have repeatedly tried to ignore has slowly grown, but only now have you dared to call it by name. Because you like Sal. You really like him. And when you have understood this, when you have found the strength to admit it to yourself, everything is put in the right place; the joys, the jealousies you felt and feel… and also that desire to see him, to see beyond, to really see him.

But you'll never force on him for it. As simple as it would be to lift that mask to him with an excuse, you will never force him to show himself to you, even if you die with the regret of never having seen him. It's not the same, it's not the face you want to see, it's the trust you want him to give you. But you can't expect it, and you know it.

You could live with this obsession that has become so present in recent weeks that you can hardly forget it. Maybe it's just your mind that doesn't want to focus on your duties, and then it always wanders to him, aimlessly.

"What is Sal's face like?"

You asked Larry one day without realizing it. You didn't really know what you were doing with him, you just know that for a moment your brain was shut down, and when you woke up you whispered that question.

The astonished look of your friend had poured into you a flood of emotions so sudden that they almost made you cry for no reason: you felt guilty, selfish, reckless, stupid, meddlesome and terribly fragile.

You immediately lowered your gaze to protect yourself, muttering an "sorry, forget it" but never would have canceled that damn question. You thought Larry might misjudge you for that, but instead his big hand pulled you to him, ruffling your hair affectionately, saying nothing.

He seemed to have understood more than you hoped for, yet ...

You shake your head and your hand tightens on the glass of water. You knock on the door and softly call Sal's name.

"Yes?"

His answer comes a few seconds later and you feel safe in opening the door slowly.

It's not exactly what you imagined; he is sitting on the bed, his legs stretched out on the mattress and his back resting against the headboard. The guitar is stored in the case, but in his hands he holds a book with a dark cover.

His kind gaze meets you beyond that face that is always the same. It's amazing how expressive that guy can be under that stiff mask. That damn mask. That lovely mask.

"You didn't take them, did you?"

You ask softly as you lift the medicines to show them. Your voice is cracked against your will, and you're praying he didn't notice.

"Oh ..." his eyes snap to the clock hanging on the wall "thanks, I was completely forgetting about it."

His voice is soft, almost cheerful. He is not bothered by your gesture, or he is very good at hiding it.

You watch him get up to go to the bedside table where you put what he needed. You don't pay much attention to it, you just sit on the bed, picking up the book he was reading, making sure you keep your thumb between the pages, so as not to lose the mark he left.

You read the title and a few lines of the presentation absently. You're just trying to buy time with him, and you know it.

You hear it as he handles the pill box and plastic, and hear the rattle of the straps as they unfasten to release his mouth.

You don't watch it, you're used to the process and now, despite you insisting on staying there, you don't really want to watch it.

You don't understand much about the book, you just know it's about music.

"Do you like it?"

You ask, trying to give a semblance of normality.

"Enough ... actually I'm just at the beginning."

You just nod, not really being able to continue the conversation. Your head feels too full confused, but extremely empty at the same time, and you don't know why.

"Hey ... is everything okay?"

His voice makes you jump, as if he has stung you with a needle. Such a simple question, but you suddenly feel discovered, as if he has just proved he can read your mind. As if you were obliged to tell him the truth.

"Yup!"

You exclaim immediately, and without realizing your head jerks towards him, as if you wanted to assure him of the truthfulness of your words.

You don't notice it right away. You see only his blue eyes for a moment, he is looking at you with concern, more than he should.

At first you wonder if your attitude really is that troubling, but then you start to focus.

His hand trembles slightly around the glass of water, and out of the corner of your eye you can see his mask lying on his pillow.

He swallows the medicine by throwing his head back slightly, perhaps to take a break from your gaze, or to escape a little from the agitation, the fear he is having.

Sal, Sal's face. You are seeing him, free from his hiding place, while he drinks.

Surely he is disfigured, excruciatingly deformed. It's not just a few scratches, it's more, it's a real pain, yet you don't notice it.

Again, this is Sal. You're really seeing Sal's face, the face you've always loved, beyond the mask, like his mask.

He sits next to you, he's trying to act naturally, you see him, but you still see his fingers shaking against the cardboard as he puts the tablet away in the box. He did it for you.

Emotions explode in your chest and you don't bother holding them back. There is no time for any misunderstandings. You are free with him, you always have been, you don't know how you forgot this.

"Sal ..."

You call him softly, and he turns to you despite the hesitation. A light "tell me" sweet and helpful pronounced by the spoiled and shy lips.

Silently, you curl up against him, your arms glide smoothly around his chest, expressing your need to feel him close.

He welcomes you - he always does.

"Hey ..." is a faint call of him, as you hide against his neck to prevent your happiness from going out too violently.

"Thanks..." This is all you can say in your voice damp with emotion. Long last. You are like a child in front of the much desired Christmas present. You are so happy that you could carry the whole world on your shoulders.

"Thank you!" You repeat him with more conviction, and finally your eyes return to his sky-colored gaze. So beautiful, always so loving even in his placid surprise.

He looks at your wet eyes, so wet with affection for him. Your smile is so warm and true, and his lungs slowly empty of all the accumulated tension.

He didn't think anyone could look at him that way, not without his mask. He did not think that a look could be so full of love in front of his disfigured face, yet it seems that you are seeing an angel.

You look at him with your eyes shining with all the admiration you feel, and not because you can lie by saying that you are seeing a beautiful face, but because Sal is the most beautiful person you know.

"I-" His voice tries to say something, but it is cut off; this time it's up to him to be overwhelmed by emotion.

You approach slowly, and the tip of your nose touches his, practically non-existent, but you don't care. You cannot resist the desire to cuddle him, to touch him, to perceive him in every possible aspect of that intimacy that he has decided to give you.

At first he has a little jerk back, of surprise rather than fear, and soon after he is there again, looking for that touch. He is extremely uncertain, but he still responds to your unspoken requests, slowly letting his forehead rest on yours.

He exhales, as if he is releasing a great weight, but he immediately stiffens when you, without realizing it, are approaching his lips.

You wake up immediately from your numbness, before making a probable mistake, and try to get away, at least as long as his arms allow you.

"Please…"

That prayer from him is so feeble yet so meaningful. His gaze asks you to do it, to continue, because he wants it but he is still afraid of taking the initiative. He is putting the responsibility on you, and rightly so.

He is tense, you see it from his swallow and feel it from his tense muscles around you, but it's okay.

You approach again, slowly, gradually lowering your eyelids, a little by instinct and a little in the hope of putting him more at ease.

Kissing him is a special experience, and you like it - you wanted it so much -.

You are not intrusive, it is just a delicate touch, but it persists, leaving him time for him.

When he reciprocates, he does it slowly, unsure of how to proceed, probably troubled by the feelings he can give you or maybe just agitated by the situation. Yet, slowly, you feel it melt against you.

Slightly open your eyes to see that he too has closed them, and then you allow yourself to return to enjoy that moment, more peaceful and serene.

You huddle more, between yourselves, and let the desire flow through you, without going too far, simply enjoying the presence of each other, in your breaths that merge.

When you separate you do it only with your lips, but your gaze remains affectionate and aware.

In the end, that is nothing more than the confirmation of everything: of your knowing what time he should take his medicines and of his letting you know, of his knowing your favorite drink and which shower gel you always use, of cooking one by one. other, of looking so much like a couple for a long time already - and some of it is also the result of Larry's long tongue letting out a few too many words with his best friend.

You watch him as he puts his mask back on, and now you don't care anymore, because you know what's under it, and if that's his face then you've seen his soul.

Suddenly all your happiness is back. You are so happy that not even the bickering between Larry and Todd coming from the kitchen can upset you.

It must be something about the finished milk.

"I'm going to get it!"

You hum loud enough for the two to hear it, as you jump three steps at the same time, happily landing down the stairs.

Sal's laughter reaches you, and you turn to look at him. You like to see him happy, whatever the nature of that happiness.

"I come with you."

He tells you coming to you, reaching out his hand so that you can take it.

You're pretty sure you won't be able to stop smiling all night long.

*The image above is an old drawing of mine

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

Tharn and Type discussing in detail financial issues like paying for bills and the division of household chores - some of the most mundane and unromantic but also the most important and complex aspects of every relationship, which are rarely touched upon in dramas for that very reason, makes the OTP acutely authentic and relatable. Because it’s precisely these realities of everyday life which are often the most poignant. Most dramas don’t touch upon them for the very same reasons: most viewers want their OTPs’ relatinships to be “healthy, fluffy, sweet and unproblematic” therefore arguments, the mention of money and who is paying for the happily ever after make them uncomfortable and offend their sensibilities. 

One of the reasons why arguments are so messy is not only because both parties believe they are right, but because each parties often is at least partially legit as with TharnType’s argument about the laundry which comes from a very real and relatable place. 

To understand what leads to it one needs to look at their respective professional lives. That’s why the writer spends so much time on exposition in episode 1. After graduating with his Bachelor degree, Tharn found a job and have been working for over 2 years now. He has a friendly working environment and he’s well-settled in it. On the other hand, Type went on to study a Master degree programme so he could stay with Tharn in Bangkok (his father had wanted him to come back home after finishing his Bachelor studies). Studying medical school is always hard, making it difficult to have a part-time job, so this is Type’s first working experience. The transition between school and work is always demanding: physically, mentally, socially, but also financially because fresh employees get a much lower pay. It’s already difficult enought, but Type has to deal with the added stress of a superior who makes his life a hell. Type is strong, smart, hard-working and very good at what he does and he knows it which makes it so much more frustrating for him that no matter how hard he works, his boss keeps bullying him and demeaning him. The worst thing for Type is that he can’t defend himself and punch his boss in the face like his former self woufl have done. He needs to last and keep the job a whole year to get the necessary working experience for his CV and find a better job with better pay and boss. Therefore Tharn and Type are in a very different place in their careers and it translates into their private lives, as well. As a result, Tharn bears most of the costs and has been doing it for several years, now. 

He knows Type’s been struggling and doing his best so they can be together, that’s why he supports Type in any way he can, including comforting him, driving him to work and paying for the bills, to help him overcome this challenging period. Tharn does it gladly because Type needs him. And that’s also one of the reason why their relationship feels like real marriage - they are married in every sense of the word, with the exception of a marriage certificate and a wedding ceremony.

Type sees all of it and loves Tharn even more for it, happy that he isn’t in this alone and has someone to depend on. He’s mature enough to rely on Tharn and realize that right now, there isn’t much he can do and help. He needs to survive another 6 months with his hellish boss. And he really does it all for Tharn, so they can spend their lives together as they’ve promised each other. That’s the reason why he’s been controlling his temper, putting up with the bullying and why he haven’t told his boss to go fuck himself - he wants to be a worthy partner for Tharn, his equal, help him pay the bills, not a useless person who beats other people and Tharn has to be ashamed of. Type accepts this reality but wants to express gratitude and appreciation to Tharn in his own unique way because with Type, actions always speak louder than words. 

So when Type says that everything he does, he does it for Tharn, he means it in every sense of the word -  controlling his temper, putting up with the exhausting job and terrible boss, studying a Masters degree programme,... - just like he did 7 years ago with Lhong, curbing his temper in front of Jeed, introducing Tharn to his family and friends,...

Type decides to iron Tharn’s clothes to repay him for always being there for him and to show him how much he cares. He actually feels happy doing it, giddy to do something for Tharn, so when Tharn tells him he shouldn’t have, it feels like Tharn just stabbed him into the heart, leaving Type literally struck dumb for a moment, eyes filled with sheer pain which immediately turns into irritation and anger as Tharn digs his grave even deeper. Tharn’s words sting even more because when Type told Tharn that he’s ironing the clothes, seemingly annoyed, he’s actually expecting Tharn to praise him, in his adorably cheesy way that Type secretly loves so much, that Type’s such a good wifey who always takes care of him but none of it comes.

It’s not only Type’s heart that is hurt, but also his pride. Type always felt confident in his studies and abilities, but he struggles now in his first job, while Tharn is successful, satisfied and well-adjusted in his. This disparity drives a certain wedge between them. 

Type misunderstands Tharn’s attempt to ease his workload as a rejection of himself and his love for Tharn. Type knows that right now, he can’t do much for Tharn so Tharn’s words break his heart. It makes him feel that he is not good enough, useless. Back in episodes 8 and 9, Type learned that if he only kept receiving from Tharn without giving anything back in return, it would make their relationship eventually break and he’s been trying ever since to become a good boyfriend to Tharn, someone who would make Tharn happy and not hurt him. 

And at this moment, due to his issues at work, he must feel like he doesn’t give Tharn as much as he should in certain aspects of their relationship. 

So when he thinks Tharn is rejecting even the little he can give, Type feels useless, disregarded and rejected. So he lashes out because that’s his defense mechanism and no amount of growing up is going to change that because that’s simply who Type is, lashing out his claws like a feral kitten when he feels threatened and hurt.

Tharn is usually so good at understanding and interpreting Type’s actions, but his mindreading ability can only do so much. More importantly, he is very drunk, which is a very important factor, and that is muddling his brain and, after 7 years, Type’s become much better at communicating his emotions with words so Tharn doesn’t need to read all of Type’s hidden intention because he’s grown used to the fact that Type tells him and shows his love more openly. He also feels secure in the relationship so he is much more unfiltered, not minding his words so much, no longer fearing that Type might get angry if he told him about his dislikes. Ironically, the argument occurs because they both mean well and are being considerate of each other, trying to show their love and care, but it backfires on them because they have different personalities and use different methods to show them so they clash. Therefore the argument comes from a very common and real place.

When Type throws the clothes at him and leaves, Tharn is compeletely baffled what has just happened. However, after he sobers up a little, it dawns at him that he must have hurt Type and hurries to apologize, desperate to make amends and clear the misunderstanding before it grows into something serious. 

He is nervously fidgeting with his fingers the whole time, so insecure and vulnerable, and with his sad puppy eyes and the way he nuzzles against Type’s body he looks so miserable and needy, Type has a hard time not to forgive him right away.

It’s such a joy to watch two adults having an honest, unfiltered conversation about the realities and demands of everyday life. There is nothing romantic about it but it makes TharnType’s love story feel palpably real and authentic. It means so much when Type actually voices and openly communicates his insecurites about their relationship being unequal because Tharn has been the main breadwinner.

It’s undeniable how much Tharn understands his boyfriend. When he gently begs him not to think too much, you can tell that Tharn can feel that Type's struggles at work are weighting down on him, making him to overthink things. And Tharn assures him that none of those things matter to him. It reminds me of the time when Tharn told Type that he doesn’t have to push himself into accepting that he’s dating a man because Tharn would wait for him no matter how much time it would take. And now it’s similar. It doesn’t matter how long it takes Type to settle in his work or how much he struggles because Tharn will always be there for him.

Finally, it makes so much sense that Tharnk seeks reassurance that he’s been forgiven with cuddles because intimacy and physical closeness has always been such an important and integral part of their relationship. In the very beginning, they used to be the only reciprocation he got from Type since even when Type denied his feelings for him, Type’s body never lied to him and always wanted Tharn.

[tomhollandnet]

Vanity Fair: How have you been doing this past year? I mean, what has life been like in these COVID times for you?

Tom Holland: I got to say, Richard, I’ve been very fortunate during these difficult times. For me, my career hasn’t really halted. I’ve been lucky enough that I’ve been able to continue working. I made a film called Uncharted with Mark Wahlberg last year. I’m currently shooting Spider-Man 3 at the moment. So I’ve been very lucky.

It put a pause for a while, and I went home and we locked down in London, and I had a few months where I was sort of kicking about the house. But all in all, I’ve had a great time. And I’ve really enjoyed the jobs I’ve been working on. And I definitely recognize how lucky I am to be working, when so few people are at the moment [and are] really, really having a hard time. So I’ve been very lucky, and I’ve been enjoying myself.

And now you have this whole different kind of work, promoting Cherry and kind of getting the word out about that movie. I have a bunch of questions about this big epic. But I’m curious in terms of, what’s the origin story? Obviously you’ve worked with the Russo brothers pretty intensely for the past few years. Was it just kind of an automatic collaboration?

Yeah, basically as simple as that, really. I mean, I was working with Joe and Anthony on Avengers: Endgame. And Joe took me aside and said, “We’re making this film. We want you to be the lead. It’s a small, independent film.” He didn’t tell me what it was about. He just sort of told me that he wants me to be in it. And I was honestly just touched that they wanted to work with me. Of all the people in the business they could work with, I just felt really honored that they’d chosen me. And then when I finally got the chance to read the script, I was even more blown away, because I finally recognized the opportunity that had been handed to me.

As a young actor, you’re always looking for ways to challenge yourself. You’re looking for ways to push yourself you haven’t been in the past. And I think we could probably agree that this film achieves both of those goals. So as soon as I read the script and I knew that it was the Russos making it, it was a no-brainer, and it was a very definite yes.

It definitely does feel, I mean, in terms of its content and its style, even, like a big change for you. Do you at all view this as your first grown-up role, or your first adult role? I mean, is that how you kind of look at a project, or is it more just, this specific thing interests you?

That’s an interesting question. It depends what you mean by an adult role, but my agents and I are very strategic in choosing our moments, and trying to be really clever with when we decide to take that next step into becoming an adult and making films about real people and about real problems and getting messages across. And we did that a little bit with Devil All the Time, the Antonio Campos movie. That was kind of the first step, but Cherry is the big step. And that was why it was so daunting, because I haven’t done a film like this before. And I was nervous to see how the world would see me in that light and as that character. Obviously, the film hasn’t come out yet, but I am very apprehensive as to see how people respond to my work in this film.

There’s a lot of intense stuff in Cherry. What was, to your mind, when you read the script, the most daunting thing? What were you most scared to shoot?

I think it was probably the emotional aspect of the film. Physically, I knew I could do it. I knew I’d be able to do that. But emotionally, I’m very lucky and lived a very charmed life, and I’ve been an actor since I was 11. So I haven’t really had to deal with much trauma, or sorrow, or grief, or things like that. So I was worried that I wasn’t going to be able to maintain that level of emotion for a four-month period. That is where the Russos became so valuable, because they were my safety net. That’s where Ciara Bravo was so valuable. She was my partner in crime, and she’s absolutely astonishing in the film and a great friend. And I can’t tell you how lucky I am to have had her to help me throughout this process. So I think for me, yeah, the thing I was most daunted about was maintaining that level of emotion.

What kind of prep did you do? I think actors who are very good actors, they can fall into the trap of when they’re supposed to be acting high or on drugs or something, there can be a sort of showiness to that, as sort of theater. And something that’s really, I think, immersive and bracing about Cherry is that there’s none of that. It feels entirely credible when these characters are in these lows of their lives. Did you talk to soldiers, addicts, anything like that, in prepping to shoot?

Yes, absolutely. We did loads and loads of research. I mean, I must’ve sat down with 30 different people who are all veterans, who are all medics, all suffering from PTSD and substance abuse. And for me, the more information I could get about a problem that I knew so little about to begin with, the better. I worked with nurses. We worked with someone who was running a rehab clinic in Cleveland, and he became our consultant and would be there on set with us every day and would show us how to shoot someone up and show us how to cook heroin, or explain to us the feeling of what would it be like if you mixed a bit of crack with heroin.

There’s a scene in the film where I go to rob a bank, and I shoot up in the car just before. And he said to us that day, “You would never do that before you go into rob a bank.” But if you put a bit of crack in there, it would totally change your attitude and your physical prowess, I guess. So having people on set like that to kind of guide us through the process was so valuable.

I think I’m a bit older than you, and these characters are about my age. I was in college in the early 2000s, and 9/11 was my first week of college. And people in my hometown, well, my neighborhood in Boston, a lot of them were lost to opioids, either killed, or went to prison. And you’re younger, but did you see any parallels between this kind of half-generation removed and your age, the Generation Z? Do you think that a lot of these things are still kind of ongoing?

Yeah. I mean, arguably the opioid epidemic is worse now. And it’s affecting far more people. I think one of my favorite things that Joe said, Joe Russo, is the opening of the film is these swooping shots over Cleveland. We fly over Cleveland, and we see thousands and thousands of houses. And that is to convey to the audience that, yes, we’re telling the story of two people, but really, we’re telling the story of millions of people. This is one story amongst millions. And I really hope that this film can shed the light on a problem that’s invisible, and a problem that is mostly fought in the shadows. People are very ashamed to talk about their addictions and that sort of thing. So I hope that this will shed light on that problem, and people will change their attitude towards people who are suffering from addiction.

It almost feels surprising that there hasn’t been something about this very epic subject matter. What were the conversations like on set about the film’s style? I mean, it is pretty stylized. Did you feel that in the shooting, or is that kind of all added after the fact?

Absolutely. I mean, the Russos changed their way of shooting time and time again while we’re making this film, from different lenses they were using, from different styles of lighting, from different performance techniques. They would frame us sometimes very differently throughout the film. So we were very much aware of the different type of chapters we were trying to make.

Was that a real head-shaving moment in the film?

Yes. Well, we’d already shaved my head, because we were shooting prior. But what we did is we had about a week’s worth of work where we just allowed it to grow, and then he shaved it down to a one. But I actually loved having a shaved head. It was so nice. It was so refreshing to wake up, get out of bed and realize that your hair was already done. It was one of the only luxuries of playing this character.

Yeah. I let my hair get too long during quarantine, and then said, “Screw it. I’ll get the shortest haircut I’ve gotten in years.” And it is liberating. You just wake up, and you’re done.

Totally.

You’re on set, filming something else now, in very changed times from when I think Cherry was filmed. What is it like being back on a set? I mean, I’m not asking for spoilers or anything, don’t worry, but just in terms of the actual day-to-day of filming a movie with all these new restrictions, how has that experience been?

I mean, I love being on set. It’s where I feel most at home. It’s obviously limiting, with COVID, and we’re having to be very careful and very responsible in the way that we behave. There’s certain protocols that we have to follow, to make sure that we maintain this level of safety for the cast and crew. It can be a little tedious at times, but it’s so necessary. And we all recognize how lucky we are to be working right now. So it’s a necessity that we don’t mind taking on because, as I said, we’re also lucky to be here.

[littlesystems]

For the people who are out there “fighting the good fight” and “trying to make fandom a better place,” I have two important questions for you:

1. Is the author dead? x

2. Is your baby in the bathwater? x

What do I mean by those things? Let’s start with #1. The Death of the Author is a type of literary criticism, the extreme cliff notes version of which is that art exists outside of the creator’s life, personal background, and even intentions. I’m using it slightly differently than Barthes intended, but that’s okay, because the author is dead and I’m interpreting his work through my own lens.

In fandom, the author is dead. In fact, the author was never alive in the first place, not really. The author has only ever been the idea of a person, because unlike published fiction, the only thing we know about a fanfic author is that which they choose to tell us about themselves.

Why is that important?

Because it might not be true. Hell, that happens in real life with published authors, who have SSN’s on file with their publishers, who pay taxes on the works they create and have researchable pasts. If the author of A Million Little Pieces could fake everything, why can’t I? Why can’t you? Why can’t the writer of your favorite fic in the whole wide world?

Stop me if you’ve heard this before: “you can only write about [sensitive subject] if [sensitive subject] has happened to you personally, otherwise you’re a disgusting monster that deserves to die!!” Or maybe “you can only write [x racial or ethnic group] characters if you’re [x racial or ethnic group] otherwise you’re racist/fetishizing/colonizing!”

You can play this game with any sensitive subject you can come up with. I’ve seen them all before, on a sliding scale of slightly chastising to literal death threats.

Now, I could tell you that I’m a white-passing Latina whose grandmother was an anchor baby. I could tell you that I speak only English because my family never taught me to speak Spanish, something which I’ve been told is common in the Cuban community, though I only know my own lived experience. I could tell you that I’m mostly neurotypical. I could tell you that I’m covered in surgical scars. I could tell you lots of things.

Are any of these true? Maybe! I could tell you that my brother has severe mental development problems, so uncommon that they’ve never been properly diagnosed, and that he will live the rest of his life in a group home with 24-hour care. Is that true? Am I allowed to write about families struggling with America’s piss-poor services for the handicapped now?

Am I allowed to write about being Cuban? After all, I did just say that I’m Cuban. But is it true? Can I instead write a character that’s Panamanian? Maybe I really am Panamanian, not Cuban. Maybe I’m both. Maybe I’m neither. Maybe I’m really French Canadian. Should we require people to post regular selfies? I can’t count the number of times I’ve had someone come up to me speaking Arabic, and I’ve been told that I look Syrian. What’s stopping me from making a blog that claims that I am Syrian? Can you even really tell someone’s race and ethnicity from a photo?

Am I allowed to write about being a teenager? Am I allowed to write about being a college student? Am I allowed to write about being an “adulty” adult? Can I write a character who’s 40? 50? 60? How old am I?

All of this is to say: you can’t base what someone is or is not “allowed” to write about on a background that may or may not be real. No matter how good your intentions. And I get it - this usually comes from a place of well-meaning. You’re trying to protect marginalized groups by stopping privileged people from trampling all over experiences that they haven’t suffered. I get that. It’s a very noble thought. But you can’t require a background check for every fic that you don’t like.

If you say “you can only write about rape if you’re a rape victim,” then one of three things will happen:

Real survivors will have to supply intimate details of their own violations to prevent harassment

Real survivors will refuse to engage and will then have to deal with death threats and people telling them to kill themselves for daring to write about their own experiences

People who aren’t survivors will say “yeah sure this happened to me” just to get people to shut up

Has that helped anyone? I mean really - anyone??

So now let’s get to point #2: is your baby in the bathwater?

If your intention is to protect marginalized people from being trampled upon, stop and assess if your boot is the one that’s now stamping on their face. Find your baby! Is your baby in the bathwater? Which is to say: find the goal that you’re advocating for. Now assess. Are you making the problem worse for the people you’re trying to protect? Does that rape victim really feel better, now that you’ve harassed and stalked them in the name of making rape victims feel safe?

Let’s say you read a fic that contains explicit sex between a 16 year old and a 17 year old. Is this okay? Would it be okay if the writer was 15? 16? 17? Should teenagers be barred from writing about their own lives, and should teenagers be banned from exploring sexuality in a fictional bubble, instead of hookup culture? Is it okay for a 20 year old to write about their experiences as a teenager? Is it okay for a 20 year old to write about being raped at a party as a teenager? Is it okay for a 30 year old? How about a 40 year old? Is it okay so long as it isn’t titillating? Is it okay if taking control of the narrative allows the writer to re-conceptualize their trauma as something they have control over? Is it okay if their therapist told them that writing is a safe creative outlet?

Is your author dead?

Is your baby in the bathwater?

Now let’s take a hardline approach: no fanfiction with characters who are under 18 years old. None. Is the 16 year old who really loves Harry Potter and wants to read/write about characters their own age better off? Should they be banned from writing? Should they be forced to exclusively read and write (adult) experiences that they haven’t lived? Will they write about teens anyway? Should they have to share it in secret? Should 16 year olds be ashamed of themselves? Should we just throw in with the evangelicals and say that the only answer is abstinence, both real and fictional?

Let’s say that no rape is allowed in fiction, at all. None. What happens to all the hurt/comfort fics where a character is raped and then receives the support and love that they deserve, slowly heal, and by the end have found themselves again? Are you helping rape victims by banning these stories? Are you helping rape victims by stripping their agency away, by telling them that their wants and their consent doesn’t matter?

Is your baby in the bathwater?

Fandom is currently being split in two: on one side, the people who want to make fandom a “safer” place by any means necessary, even if that means throwing out all of the marginalized groups they say they want to protect - and on the other, people who are saying “if you throw out that bathwater, you’re throwing the baby out too.”

The whole point of fandom is to be able to explore all kinds of ideas from the safety and comfort of a computer screen. You can read/write things that fascinate you, disgust you, titillate you, or make your heart feel warm. This is true of all fiction. People who want to read about rape and incest and extreme violence and torture can go pick up a copy of Game of Thrones from the bookstore whenever they want. Sanitizing fandom just means holding a community of people who are primarily not male, not straight, not cis, or some combination of those three, to higher and stricter standards than straight white cis male authors and creators all over the world.

There is nothing you can find on AO3 that you can’t find in a bookstore. Any teenager can go check out Lolita, or ASOIAF, or Flowers in the Attic, or Stephen King's It, or Speak, or hundreds of other books that have adult themes or gratuitous violence or graphic sex. The difference is that AO3 has warnings and tags and allows people to interact only with the types of work that they want to, and allows people to curate their experiences.

Are these themes eligible to be explored, but only in the setting of something produced/published? Books, movies, television, studio art, music - all of these fields have huge barriers to entry, and they’re largely controlled by wealthy cishet white men. Is it better to say that only those who have the right connections to “make it” in these industries should be allowed to explore violence or sexuality or any other so-called “adult” theme?

Does banning women from writing MLM erotica make fan culture a better place?

Does banning queer people from writing about queer experiences make fan culture a better place?

Is M/M fic okay, but only if the author is male? What if he’s a trans man? What if they’re NB? Who should get to draw those lines? Should TERFs get a vote? What if the author is a woman who feels more comfortable writing from a male character’s perspective because she’s grown up with male stories her whole life, or because she identifies more with male characters? What about all the trans men who discovered themselves, in part, by writing fanfiction, and realized that their desires to write male characters stemmed from something they hadn’t yet realized about themselves?

How can we ever be sure that the author is who they say they are?

Who is allowed to write these stories? How do we enforce it?

Is it better for none of these stories to ever exist at all?

Have you killed your author?

Have you thrown out your baby with the bathwater?

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 276: Our Turn to Save You

Previously on BnHA: In a refreshing change of pace from the usual “the adults refuse to tell the kids anything” shtick, Deku and Kacchan flew around trying to get Tomura’s attention while refusing to explain jack shit to Endeavor! Deku eventually thought to ask Kacchan why he was getting in on this, and Kacchan launched into a two-page Denial Speech which seemed expressly designed to prime him for losing his quirk any fucking second now! Tomura then showed up and the two of them were all “KJSDLFK” but thankfully Gran dove in to rescue them from dying INSTANTANEOUS HORRIBLE DEATHS, and reminded them that there are practically SIX WHOLE GROWN-UPS left who can definitely still fight Tomura and won’t die at all!! And one of those grown-ups is Aizawa! Who’s getting ready to fight Tomura now! Listen Horikoshi you fucker, when I asked for more Aizawa angst and badassery this ISN’T WHAT I –

Today on BnHA: Tomura is all “THIS QUIRK WON’T STOP ME BECAUSE I CAN’T READ” and sort of shrugs it off and continues to kick ass even though his Decay and AFO powers aren’t working. The pros all try to stop him with Endeavor taking the lead, and because THEY ALL SUCK, APPARENTLY, nothing they do is effective in any way whatsoever! Meanwhile Gran dumps Deku and Kacchan off and is all “YOU’LL BE FINE HERE” which is the most ridiculous thing anyone in this manga has ever said, and then pretty much as soon as he says it at least nine more High Ends (excuse me, NEARLY High Ends) just POP UP OUT OF NOWHERE and are all “RARR” and the heroes are all “oh shit” and Tomura is all “lol yeah I actually had more High Ends this whole time” and Ujiko is all “it’s true!” and, fuck. The chapter ends with Tomura charging in to kill Aizawa only to be intercepted by MY TWO PRECIOUS BABIES, MY DARLING LITTLE HERO HATCHLINGS, and...!! I blame Gran for this.

gotta say, my sense of time is distorted enough as it is these days without chapter leaks coming out A WHOLE ENTIRE DAY EARLY out of nowhere. not that I’m complaining, because I want to see Aizawa kick some ass & immediately lose his fucking quirk as much as anyone, but it is disorienting

anyway time to dive into this chapter which I predict will be titled “everything instantly goes horribly wrong.” I’ve had a lot of time these past two weeks to think about what is going to happen next, and I’m pretty sure I nailed it you guys

so we’re opening with a familiar sight

I like that Horikoshi thinks that helicopters go “chop chop.” well, close enough

anyway, so yet again we have a scene in BnHA of a town in the process of being destroyed by villains while a helicopter whirs (WHIRS, Horikoshi) and chuffs (SOMETIMES THEY CHUFF TOO) anxiously nearby. I wonder if this helicopter is going to fucking disintegrate. that’d be something new

ARE YOU GOING TO DIE, MISTER LIVE REPORTER SIR. OH MAN. OH GOD I’M ANXIOUS

dozens, you guys! there are dozens of them left! not to worry then. the good guys definitely still got this

oh hey it’s that news anchor with the cutely fucked-up backstory of chopping off his own horn so as to more handsomely report the news

oh god don’t tell me this whole thing is going to be broadcast live. that’s all we fucking need right now. I wonder what’s going to throw society into chaos more, the reveal of just how powerful Tomura is now, or the exposure of what the government-mandated child soldiers get to do during their super-educational practical on-the-job training! no coffee-fetching for these kiddos! we’ve got ‘em rolling up their sleeves and getting their hands good and dirty!

oh hey and it looks like this means that All Might will get to watch protege #2 lose his quirk live on TV -- HEY WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS

BAD BABYSITTER!! MY GOD MAN, I KNOW YOU’RE THE INDULGENT GRANDFATHER TYPE, BUT MAYBE CONSIDER CHANGING THE CHANNEL TO DOC MCSTUFFINS FOR THE TIME BEING??!

also I know this is just a perspective thing probably but lmao his hand on her shoulder is fucking huge. All Might you been working out again

but seriously this is not good for either of them to witness. they don’t need more trauma in their lives! All Might doesn’t need yet another thing to blame himself over! and he has conflicted feelings about Tomura still on top of that which I’m sure isn’t going to make this any easier. ANGST ALL AROUND. EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK, EVERYWHERE YOU GOOOO

MOTHERFUCKER I --

is Mitsuki looking at fucking baby pictures of Kacchan. reliving the memories of the good old days, thinking about how far her baby boy has come and how proud she is. that’s just great you guys. that’s just fucking great. these aren’t even red flags at this point these are red fucking tapestries

(ETA: and this basically goes without saying, but I’m sure the fact that not one but THREE Todorokis are represented in this little montage means that Endeavor and Shouto are also going to be just fine.)

:)

HE’S SO HAPPY just fucking try and tell me he doesn’t have a mental fucking link to Tomura and Deku you guys. this bitch knows exactly what is going down right now and he is LIVING FOR IT. that does it. someone please save my spot in the chapter for me I am going to go take a quick walk to calm down

and of COURSE that’s a fucking lie though, god -- [frantically clicks to next page]

LOL HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS

FUCKING MANUAL IS HERE TO SAVE THE DAY LMAO. YOU CAN ALL FUCKING RELAX NOW. and fuck me, I’m so fucking happy RockLockRock is still alive as well but WHY ARE YOU STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO AIZAWA IN WHAT I LIKE TO CALL THE “CAUTION: YOU WILL GET SHOT” ZONE. swear to god Horikoshi THAT MAN HAS A FAMILY don’t you even think about -- !!

sigh, anyway so then the rest of the page is panels of Gran & The Boys, Endeavor, and Tomura, along with the text “WHICH SIDE IS THE VICTOR”, which is not helping matters any! also the title of the chapter is “Cheating” which I assume is a reference to both the erasure of Tomura’s quirk, and the soon-to-happen permanent removal of Aizawa’s. I’m just an optimist like that

oh hey and Tomura’s sending out some quick orders to his squad as well

and to think this homicidal maniac is in my top ten favorite characters. sob. I do love you kiddo so please don’t take it personally that I have to unequivocally root against you here. maybe if you listened to me once in a while and would even just consider my radical alternate plan of not killing anyone in sight

anyway lol but here everyone including myself thought he was going straight for the bullets and instead he was pulling out his phone. shows what we know. [braces myself for the follow-up panel of him putting the phone away again and THEN reaching for the bullets!!]

meanwhile we’re being introduced to some new sidekick of Endeavor’s who’s probably going to set the record for shortest time in between being introduced and dying horribly. sorry Kido. I’m just jaded

don’t mind me I’m just putting up emotional walls in between myself and any new lovable characters as a means of self-preservation. mmhmm. he can manipulate the trajectory of things. that’s nice. he seems nice. wouldn’t that be a nice quirk for Tomura to steal and then trajector a bullet straight towards Aizawa ffffff

(ETA: watch this space, everyone. Endeavor’s Sidekick Kido. gonna fuck everything up for everyone, mark my words.)

so I can’t help but notice that now that Tomura can’t use his quirk anymore and is helpless, they have all decided to just sit around doing nothing again?

like. far be it from me to openly wonder why they are not immediately knocking him out or setting him on fire again or whatnot. I am just a lowly civilian. it’s not my job to question these things

(ETA: I must learn to be patient.)

also lmao at Manual saying Aizawa’s ankle is “twisted”, similar to how Deku is constantly “twisting” all of his arms and legs all the time. or did he mean “twisted” in the sense that his leg was pretty much literally wrung out like a fucking towel

anyway so Manual is waterbending liquid into Aizawa’s eyes like that’s supposed to help him NOT close them

has Horikoshi ever had water splashed into his fucking eyes. he and I have had very different experiences as to the effects of this apparently

there we go!!

at least someone out here is fucking trying. for a second there I was honestly worried we were going to see a repeat of “oh well he seems dead enough, let’s just leave, see you at the victory party this weekend, X-Less”

LMAO WHAT KIND OF NONSENSE

[GRABS THESE PANELS AND WAVES THEM IN FRONT OF THE UNCONSCIOUS HAWKS] DID YOU HEAR THAT. DO YOU SEE THAT, BOYO. FACTS. BEING WEAK TO FIRE IS, IN FACT, 100 PERCENT A CHOICE. IF YOU HAD JUST DONE MORE PUSH-UPS AND TRAINED HARDER YOU WOULDN’T BE IN THIS SITUATION RIGHT NOW. SMDH. YOU FUCKING WIMP. YOU RECREANT. YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED

hooooh man. hokay. whew. has anyone seen my suspension of disbelief. I’m so used to having it on me at all times when I read this manga that I must have let my guard down and now it seems I’ve spaced it out. well we’ll just keep a lookout for it

so now we’re cutting to Ujiko who is gleefully bragging that Tomura’s strength is on par with All Might Prime’s, which is just great. and now he’s also starting this sentence and then just... not... finishing it

that’s fine. you just trail off, then. hang those implications. whatever dude

meanwhile RLR and Manny are helping Aizawa limp away while he awkwardly has to twist his neck around to be able to still keep Tomura in his line of sight. I feel like there was probably a better way for them to do this but whatever

anyway thanks for confirming that Ujiko did make Tomura into a Noumu in addition to giving him AFO, though, Horikoshi! that’s very nice of you to unsink one of my theories like that. appreciate it

and hold up, so it occurs to me that “Being Fireproof” could still be a quirk, but just a mutant-type quirk rather than an activation type, meaning that Erasure would have no effect on it! aha! oh, there’s my suspension of disbelief lol it was in my pocket the whole time!!

anyway so Endeavor and Tomura are tussling but I really wish they’d be more careful because if Tomura is still capable of super strength and super speed then he could propel himself out of Aizawa’s line of sight really easily and I feel like this isn’t really helping

is it just me or do they look like they’re TRYING to jump in between Aizawa and Tomura, like?!?! GUYS

LMAO now Gran is just

SHUP. toss. dusts off hands. well that takes care of that

and apparently he’s under the genuine impression that a mere “now stay put you dumdums” is going to have any effect on these two whatsoever. lol okay. we’ll see

anyways YESSSSS, KACCHAN MEET GRAN, GRAN, KACCHAN

meanwhile Kacchan falls silent as he mentally tries to work out who tf “Toshinori” is lmao. I’M SO CHUFFED ABOUT THIS. YES THAT’S ANOTHER USE OF THE WORD “CHUFFED.” VERY VERSATILE AND REMINISCENT OF HELICOPTER BLADES WHIRLING

and now here’s a convenient map showing how far away Deku and Kacchan are from safety!

thanks for that. that’s so reassuring to have this nifty little visual

OH MY GOD GRAN

DO YOU WANT TO FUCKING DIE?? DOES EVERYONE IN THIS FUCKING ARC HAVE A DEATH WISH. MY GOD

“BUT FAR BE IT FROM ME TO LEAVE WITHOUT ANY OMINOUS FORESHADOWING!!” NO INDEED WE CAN’T HAVE THAT!!!

rather than focus anymore on how goddamn foreboding that is, I would instead like to take this moment to call attention to the fact that Gran apparently knows Bakugou’s name but not Present Mic’s. that’s amazing

sob

what good indeed. imagine if they couldn’t even do that. I imagine that would have some far-reaching consequences which might even be interesting to explore as part of a story

:O

I made the same face as them just now fyi

fucking Schrodinger’s High Ends. they only exist when the plot says it’s convenient for them to exist. maybe they’re like fairies and if you say you don’t believe in them they drop dead. where the fuck did these things actually come from?!

WAY TO DROP THE BOYS OFF IN THE MIDDLE OF NOUMU FUCKING CENTRAL MY GOOD MAN. MAYBE WE SHOULD SCROLL BACK UP AND UPDATE THAT MAP. GOOD JOB LMAO

WHAT THE FUCK

welp. they deleted Tomura’s quirk and then sent the strongest guy they had after him, annnnnnnd he went and beat him anyway in like two fucking seconds. so that’s. ... wowee. ...so do we have a plan b, or...

like, holy shit though?? and can you imagine the kind of psychological impact this is having on everyone watching this live on TV right now?? this is literally the anti-Kamino. holy fucking shit. also did Tomura lose an arm or am I just not understanding this image right?? NOT THAT IT SEEMS TO BE BOTHERING HIM IN THE SLIGHTEST??

(ETA: somehow I missed the fact that he is even calling attention to it lol. “I’ll raise [the other hand] when it’s back.” fucking look at Mr. Transcendent here who’s so powerful that when you tear his arms off all it does is make him more sassy. is he secretly related to Mirko.)

idk guys I really think my original chapter title was better

at least Endeavor isn’t fucking dead just yet. four more pages and you might actually make it out of this chapter alive my good man

blah blah blah flashback to Ujiko explaining that the Noumu could be activated by an electric current flowing through them, and that they’re programmed to move only on Tomura’s orders. you know. just more good news

oh hey but at least these ones are mindless so I guess it’s okay for the kids to kick their asses without feeling too conflicted. it’s just too bad “their strength is higher quality than the others” but you win some, you lose some

OH GOOD, THEY’RE GOING STRAIGHT FOR AIZAWA

I’M SURE THAT MIDORIYA “MY BODY MOVED BEFORE I COULD THINK” IZUKU AND BAKUGOU “I’M THE ONE WHO’LL GET PAYBACK FOR THAT DAY” KATSUKI WILL TAKE THEIR GRANDPA’S SAGE ADVICE AND GO AND HIDE WHILE THEIR TEACHER IS IN DANGER. IT’S NOT LIKE THEY’VE LITERALLY GONE TO SCHOOL FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR EXPLICITLY MAJORING IN NOT DOING THAT. YES THIS IS FINE THIS IS FUCKING FINE AND GREAT

NOW WHAT’S HAPPENING THERE’S LOTS OF RUBBLE FALLING AROUND AND STUFF MOVING AND SOMEONE IS TALKING

OH IT’S HIM

excuse me. EXCUSE ME. no, you are NOT. going to fucking die, Aizawa Shouta. HORIKOSHI KOUHEI!!! YOU’RE UNDER ARREST FOR THE CRIME OF DRAWING THIS FUCKING PANEL. THIS ONE, RIGHT HERE. YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING. HOW DARE YOU. how FUCKING dare you sir

and if anything happens to RLR I SWEAR TO GOD!! you know what?! you know what?!?

STOP IT

[sitting curled up into a little ball with my knees drawn up to my chest, drawing little finger circles on the floor] I see. so he’s not even concerned about himself at all. it’s his two tiny little hero eggs, his problem children, and the fact that if he dies here there won’t be anything preventing Tomura from finding and killing them. ahh. okay. it’s okay. that’s fine

and goddammit what is he pulling out from his belt. everyone is on the same page here, right? Aizawa’s Not Allowed To Die. that was the deal. WHAT HAS THIS ALL BEEN FOR OTHERWISE

(ETA: yeah but he seriously did just pull a knife out of fucking nowhere though like the kid in that fucking vine lmao. APPARENTLY HE’S HAD IT THIS ENTIRE TIME?? “what if I just stabbed him” lulz. based on the way things were trending, I’m willing to bet it would have literally bounced off of Tomura’s chest at this point, but I’ll give him credit for making the effort.)

NOPE NOPE NOPE NO

(ETA: Shinsou being in the bottom corner... ;_; )

is anyone listening to me!??! I’m over here screaming myself fucking hoarse??! AIZAWA ISN’T FUCKING ALLOWED TO DIE??!! HELLO!?!?!

lol well at least RLR didn’t get steamrolled over

well everyone. we’ve reached page 18. one more to go. what are the odds we end with the boys arriving in the ta-da nick of time to defend their teacher. just who is watching over whom

THERE IT IS!!!

OH NO OH GOD AM I CRYING??! YOU HAD TO GO AND PUT THOSE FLASHBACK PANELS IN?? HIM SAVING DEKU AND CO. AT USJ, PLUS THAT ONE TIME HE DEFENDED BAKUGOU DURING HIS MOST VULNERABLE MOMENT IN FRONT OF A NATIONAL AUDIENCE??? “IT’S OUR TURN TO SAVE YOU”???

and they look so determined and desperate?? and the “Aizawa-sensei!” echoing in both their minds?? and meanwhile Aizawa looks fucking horrified though, because of all the... [gestures] you know? the Terrible Danger?? sob??

anyway. I really let this manga do this to me every damn week. let it just have its fucking way with me. at least Horikoshi didn’t end up breaking the law after all. I don’t know if I could continue to support a mangaka who is willing to commit an actual war crime. no touching Aizawa. OKAY?? OKAY

[cordeliaflyte]

Would love to know your thoughts on the rutger bregman book when you finish it!!!

dearest merle! it took me months to answer this ask - something i'm ashamed of - but i finally got around to finishing the book today.

the below is a condensed version of the ten pages of notes i took while reading it, which are rather chaotic and repetitive at points - but in my defence, bregman repeated his own arguments too.

one of the main arguments that bregman makes is that "evil" or "immorality" - which we'll define as causing unnecessary harm - are rarely caused by the individual, but rather the society they live in. i agree - nothing exists in a vacuum. however, society, as a nebulous concept, isn't imposed on us by some imperceptible power - it is crafted by people. people in society have different levels of power, and the harm they can cause to others is directly proportional to said power - but be it on a micro or macro scale, our actions have an impact on others and while they are influenced by the society we live in, we must nonetheless strive to minimise the harm we cause - and few of us do.

bregman illustrates many of his arguments with heartwarming stories about people coming together in times of crisis - take, for example, natural disasters - and overcoming adversity, selflessly looking out for their neighbours. but crisis very often leads to the creation of divisions, an us vs them mentality, and a complete disregard for the safety of others. the current pandemic is a prime example - see the widening of class differences, the rise in racist hate crimes, and people refusing to take safety precautions because they are inconvenient to them.

another argument repeated quite often throughout the book is the fact that media cherry-picks the most sensationalistic and senseless acts of death and despair, because human suffering is simply more interesting that the mundane - people talking to friends, creating art, laughing and learning. again, i agree with him - many of the more tabloid-adjacent news outlets would have you believe that the everyday norm is dismembered heiresses being found on riverbeds and charming, precocious children being held for ransom in tiny basements. the news doesn't often focus on the mundane - but the mundane isn't just love and work and friendship and boredom and chores, it is also, for billions of people around the world, sexual violence, familial abuse, workplace and housing discrimination, etc. these things aren't sensationalistic either - they're frightfully common, frightfully boring, and thus, they're rarely reported on.

throughout his book, bregman mentions that when he told people what he was working on, they approached the idea that humans are good with a large dose of cynicism, simply because we are raised to believe humans are selfish (which isn't the case worldwide, not all cultures are individualistic). they pick the easier choice - accepting the image of the world and their fellow humans that they are presented with at face value. i'd argue that it is the tendency of humans to pick the easier choice, to obey, to avoid challenging their worldview that leads to - for a lack of better term - immorality (see definition in point 1).

often, when bregman presents his feel good stories about people cooperating in adversity, he also mentions troubling details that, again, show undue harm being done. one of the examples he used were six boys from tonga, aged 13 to 16, who were shipwrecked on an island, and instead of descending into a "lord of the flies" style madness, they built their small community on the basis of communication and cooperation, never resorting to violence, and acting mature beyond their years. after a year spent on the island, they were rescued - and promptly arrested, an event which was probably racially motivated. and the reason they were shipwrecked in the first place was attempting to flee their school, where, according to their reports, they were neglected.

bregman contrasted the example of the boys forming a peaceful society on a small island with the chaos that always ensues when adults in reality shows are put in similar situations. the contestants are pitted against each other by the show runners, who seek to frustrate them and make them lose control for the amusement of the audience. whenever contestants try to cooperate, form a mutually beneficial society for a short while - a radical idea - they are punished. "goodness" - i.e. harm reduction - and radical thought being punished just don't seem like particularly helpful examples for the "humans are inherently good" thesis

bregman seems to be a big fan of primitivism, constantly citing civilisation as a source of harm - a position i'm always sceptical about, because personally i love vaccines and dental care, but i know this is a knee-jerk reaction and bregman isn't plotting a return to a land without dentists. but what i do take ire at is the idea that humans are somehow "corrupt" versions of their natural selves and that our lives have grown too complicated, and only a return to "primitive" society can return us to the aforementioned natural selves.

tied to the previous point - his arguments remind me of the "noble savage"'... archetype? he seems to paint a picture of "primitive" indigenous people as role models for those "corrupted" by civilisation, who in turn must be saved by a return to their "purer" selves, instead of individuals with flaws and agency.

speaking on indigenous populations - bregman also invokes the inhabitants of the easter islands. for a long time, the world at large believed that a hundred years or so before colonization, the islanders effectively perpetrated a genocide, killing off a large proportion of their population - a claim which was later disproven. yay! humans can live in peaceful societies without committing genocide, and thus, are not inherently evil! disregarding the fact that european colonists later massacred a large part of the islands population, and sold most of the survivors into slavery?

i was very excited for one of the chapters, entitled "after auchschwitz". i was interested how bregman would reconcile his argument with the tragedies of the twentieth century - the holocaust, but also genocide, and to a lesser extent war in general.

(this chapter, i might add, was preceded by a quote by anne frank - you know the one, about the inherent goodness of people. i was hoping that bregman would comment on the fact that anne wrote the quote before she and her family were sent to a concentration camp)

so you can imagine my surprise when the chapter was not, in fact, about concentration camps or genocide. but rather about. unethical 70s sociological experiments.

no really! a chapter titled "after auchschwitz" was, in fact, primarily about the stanford prison experiment. an experiment that was, granted, inspired by concentration camps, but still. it's misleading to invoke "real", large scale violence, and focus instead on "simulated", small scale violence.

we all know that the stanford prison experiment was, as far as experiments go, rubbish to legendary degrees. it doesn't prove anything - but it does, perhaps, show that people under large psychological duress are capable of evil, even when they themselves are not "evil".

it is, i'd argue, the human tendency to obey authority and especially to conform to societies standards that poses the largest danger. disobedience is man's original virtue and whatnot.

and when he does briefly refer to concentration camps, bregman treats them like a very 1940s phenomenon, disregarding the fact that they have been around for much longer and still exist today.

in cases like that one experiment with electric shocks. you know the one. do not, perhaps, show an innate tendency to violence, but rather people succumbing to pressure. but history is full of unprovoked instances of violence, of pogroms and lynchings. there is usually an instigator, yes, but judging from reports, people in the right mindset don't need much persuading to butcher other people.

also re: electric shock experiment - those who thought they gave the assistant lethal shocks showed extreme guilt and some even cried but like... so what? what use is a conscience if it doesn't stop you from, to your knowledge, killing someone? are your feelings really more important than your actions?

he doesn't say this, but a lot of the arguments he presents do seem to boil down to "people aren't evil, they're just stupid!" which doesn't sound more encouraging, i'm afraid.

an alternative takeaway would be "people are good, unless they have power" - which isn't exactly a radical, revolutionary idea. most people have heard the maxim "power corrupts". but the thing is that almost everyone holds some amount power over others - the oppressed factory worker in a poor nation who works 12 hours a day for pittance might still execute power over his wife, who relies on him for money, and she in turn might hold power over her children, and so forth. and that power is often used to cause undue harm and exercise control.

he criticises machiavellianism, saying it doesn't reflect how society works, and one of his proofs is that his philosophies were espoused by bismarck, churchill, and stalin - hardly admirable figures in terms of (you guessed it!) causing harm. but i don't see how that discredits machiavelli? like all of the above were very succesful

and he keeps repeating the primitivism argument throughout the book which gets tiring. like i'm truly sorry you were born in the last 5% of human existence thus far when, in your opinion, humanity started going to the shits, but it's getting a bit tiring

he cites money and nations as concepts as harbingers of the current (negative) state of humanity, saying they're very recent concepts and have no basis in reality. they're artificial concepts, sure, but their effect is very much real, and while achieving a nation-less, money-less society is possible on a small scale, i think that at this point they are such large aspects of life that reigning them in seems impossible.

and invokes the noble savage again and again, showing himself in favour of tribal societies, depicting them as egalitarian - i'm sure many of them are, but many also have a strict hierarchy or like. practice fgm. once more he seems to treat tribal people as a monolith of goodness as opposed to... people.

he also cites prehistoric people, their egalitarianism and low rates of violence but. forgive me for my ignorance because i did not research this. how do people know. doesn't the definition of prehistory include a lack of records??

he also mentions that in small, tribal societies, conformism can be a good thing, as it makes people act for the communal good. this is another knee-jerk reaction of mine but i think of conformism as society's most significant vice, so this strikes very much against my beliefs

later on, he also says reproduction is another proof of humanities goodness. perhaps it's a controversial opinion, but i disagree. i find it hard to find reasons for reproduction that aren't egoistic. it's survival instinct, sure, but it's not an "inherently noble pursuit".

later yet, he brings up schools which grant large degrees of freedom to students and shows how they're good for developing their minds. this might be a me thing but i know from experience that when i'm granted freedom without structure, i do nothing - though perhaps that speaks ill of me, and not humanity.

there have, in fact, been many studies on schools like this being helpful to student development and i certainly won't argue with them - but let me nit-pick. bregman says that fewer students have adhd in these schools, as it is a condition caused by being locked inside a room all day which is not only offensive, but also just plain wrong

and also while showing how granting children freedom lets them develop (which i naturally agree with) he brings up that "dangerous playground" study. you know the one. this isn't a coherent argument, this is just my bias speaking , but as a child, i promise i had no desire to play with rusty nails in abandoned warehouses. i liked my boring playgrounds with wooden swings.

then there is a chapter on communism and how it could be a remedy to societies ailments. but bregman and i seem to operate on very different definitions of communism. he naturally starts with saying maoist china and stalinist russia and cambodia under pol pot weren't really communist which... sure, if you want to argue semantics, i'm all for it, but it's an old and essentially useless argument. if "real communism" has never been tried (as the author claims) - why?

and then we pass to perhaps the most bizarre fragment of the book. paraphrasing only slightly: "but why are we now so opposed to the word communism? when we pass each other salt at the dinner table, is that not communism? when we selflessly hold a door open for someone, is that not communism?" i.... no?? no it's not. that's not what communism is girl stop

he then also says facebook is actually communist in many ways since a lot of its value comes from photos people willingly share for free. i could not make this up if i tried.

i think that in most terms i agree with bregman on policy - direct democracy, school and prison systems, changes to the criminal justice system - and our reasoning is partially similar, but i don't think the information we both have access to proves that humans are inherently good.

and then come perhaps my least favourite arguments because i for one am a spiteful bitch but yes. it is time for christian ethics 101 and turning the other cheek.

he cites ghandi and mlk as examples of turning the other cheek working. i think ghandi went too far with his policy, what with saying "jews ought to have marched silently to their deaths or committed mass suicide to make nazis feel ashamed" and like. we do remember they killed mlk, right?

as an example of turning the other cheek, he cites humane prisons in norway, where prisoners are granted much larger freedoms than usual and are on equal footing with the guards, who aren't armed and act more as councillors. i don't really see how this is an example of turning the other cheek, though - the guards are not the victims of the inmates (it was a prison for violent offenders - many of them murderers). i agree with him that prisons, if they must exist, should treat inmates humanely and with respect, but i don't see how this relates to the turning of the cheek. statistically, many of these men probably murdered their mates in a drunken dispute, or killed their wives - and i don't think turning the other cheek would have helped their victims.

he also cites south africa in the sixties as an example of turning the other cheek, when anti-apartheid activists would meet up with pro-apartheid activists and talk - this included nelson mandela who had frequent talks with the leader of a white supremacist paramilitary organisation of afrikaners staunchly opposed to black south africans getting the vote. and it worked - the man, whose aim was starting a civil war, relented. but racism isn't a simple matter that can simply be solved by talking. and it is often a pragmatic policy which i don't disparage, but turning the other cheek and having to treat someone who refuses to acknowledge your humanity with an exorbitantly disproportionate amount of respect is inherently degrading.

skipping ahead, in the epilogue bregman lists ten rules he tries to live by, and one of them is, i shit you not, "don't punch nazis". and punching nazis doesn't stop them from being nazis, but turning the other cheek gets people killed

the rise of fascism is perhaps one the largest threats we are dealing with and fascists are not just isolated and misinformed (and in this day and age, ignorance is a choice). they are dangerous.

this is by no means an essay or an exhaustive list, just a slightly chaotic and much overdue collection of opinions which i don't know how to put under a read more. take care <3