#reblogging this cause guess the fuck what pals

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mind Games - Sickick

There's another side that you don't know, you don't know I can't wait to get you all alone, all alone Once I'm in there ain't no letting go, letting go Watch me turn your mind into my home

Ooo, Ooo, Ooo (Mind mind games until you lose control) Ooo, Ooo, Ooo

Now that I'm in there's no letting go And your emptiness begins

+ Peter Parker

Waiting On You

Warnings: virginity, gaslighting, and some possible unmentioned triggers.

Character: Peter Parker

Summary: You and Peter have your first fight.

As always, I appreciate all kinds of feedback. A like and reblog means so much to me! <3

“Hm,” Peter lets out the nearly inaudible sigh as he takes his coat from the rack.

“What wrong?” You wonder as you step into your shoes.

“Nothing,” he mutters and slips his arms up his sleeves, rolling his shoulders as the leather settles across his shoulders.

“Oh,” you pull on your own coat and scoop up your purse. The buzz of the party continues behind you, the last of the stragglers. “Okay.”

He says nothing else and you follow him into the brisk evening. He stalks down the steps, his footfalls heavy enough to signal his chagrin. The cause you can’t guess at. The night was fun! All you friends got to meet him and he was charming as ever. So you just can’t think of why his mood’s shifted so suddenly.

“Wait up,” you scurry up behind him and try to grab his hand. He marches onward, fishing out his keys and hitting the button so his car chirps and the locks clack loudly, “Peter, I don’t… did I do something?”

“No,” he opens the car door, “just get in. I’m tired.”

You clamp your lips shut and skirt around the front of the car. The engine rolls over and frightens you before you can get to the passenger side. You let yourself in and lower yourself softly into the seat. Before you can buckle your belt however, the car is moving.

“I’m pretty tired too–”

“You really don’t know?” He hisses.

You wince. He is mad. You’ve never heard him like this.

“No, I… did I miss something?”

“Ha,” he scoffs dryly, “don’t play stupid.”

“I…”

“Your pal, Mason, he’s not a big fan of mine.”

“Oh? I didn’t notice–”

“I mean, I can guess why.”

“What? Peter, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t pout at me like,” he snarls as his grips tightens on the steering wheel, the leather squeaking, “like you weren't flirting all night. Shameless.”

“What? I wasn’t flirting. He’s my friend, I was being nice–”

“Oh, is that how you behave around your friends? You wear short skirts and wiggle your ass around like a slut?”

“Peter!” You exclaim, “I– don’t say that.”

“What am I supposed to think? I thought… I thought you were a nice girl. I really did. And I really like you.”

“I like you too, Peter, but… Mason is only my friend. Promise. B-but you can’t call me that.”

“I’m just telling you how I feel. You humiliate me. Flaunting all that I’ve waited for around some other guy.’t just brush over my feelings.” He shakes his head and hits the brakes a bit too late, screeching to a stop at the light. He pushes back his wavy brown locks and lets out an exaggerated breath, “You’ve been playing with me. You tell me to wait and I wait. Three months. Three months I wait and then you F”

“No,” you babble, “Peter–”

“I– don’t you see how you're messing with me? You’re fucking with my head,” he throws his hands against the wheel, “you tell me to wait, that you’re not ready, to take it slow. But you're touching him, you’re dancing up on him…”

“We were having fun–”

“Are you really a virgin or is that just an excuse?”

“Excuse? For what?”

“So you can use me,” he wipes his eye and sniffs, shaking his head. “It worked. I’m a total cuck. For you, because I thought you liked me.” He inhales and lets it out with a shudder. He grips the wheel again and slowly leans on the gas, “I’ll take you home, I guess.”

You sit in silence. Stewing. Your mind replays every minute of the party. You hadn’t seen Mason in so long you couldn’t help but give him a hug. You chatted, laughed, maybe you had a little fun when the Spice Girls came on, but you didn’t think it was like that. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Really, Peter, I like you a lot. And I’m sorry it came off like that.”

“That’s not a real apology,” he snivels. “It’s not how it came off, it’s your behaviour.”

You stare at him. His face is hidden in shadow. You look at your lap and twiddle your fingers. Your stomach flips. You know what he meant when he said he’d take you home. You go home and it’s over. You’re not ready for that. He’s the first guy you really think you could… be with.

“I don’t want to go home, Peter,” you utter.

He hums dully.

“I don’t feel like making out,” he growls.

“I know,” you feel fluttery. You’re ready, aren’t you? It’s been three months. And you have to show him you’re serious. About him, only him.

“You know what?” He taps the brakes and his head tilts as he peeks in the mirror.

“I know… I want to do more than make out tonight, Peter,” you reach to touch his hand, “honest. Let me show you that you’re the only one I want. Please.”

He’s quiet. You hold your breath, waiting. It’s too late. You’ve blown it. He doesn’t want you.

“Alright,” he says at last and turns his hand over to squeeze yours. 

He drives on, the air thick with anticipation, his grip firm with intention. You squirm as the fluttering grows more intense the further you get. You think of changing your mind but it’s too late now. Not if you want to keep him.

[bearded-cashew]

Every time I get the urge to make a sideblog to provide any kind of content for a group (like that proship-friendly cluster b/npd blog), I remind myself that I'm absolutely terrible at keeping up with providing content for the group blog I'm a part of already and that I haven't uploaded most of the pics or reblogged much stuff for it in fucking MONTHS. It's not as urgent to upload to as, say, a confession blog or anything that takes other people's asks, but if I can't even put in the work for this group blog, what makes me think I'll be able to do something like this?

Luckily my inability to stay on top of things hasn't caused an issue yet. I was only told a few things that are required to do and anything else is up to me:

Absolutely do NOT break character there whatsoever, that includes revealing said role over there or elsewhere.

Stay within the general guidelines I was given for that but nearly anything else is up to me. I can ask if something is ok or not.

Don't crosspost my pics/videos/art from my main accounts on here/Twitter to there and vice versa. (Which I accidentally broke last year and caught just in time.)

That means that I have to be vague if I want to talk about this and I also can't really say why I'm a part of this project. On the plus side, an eagle-eyed pal correctly guessed my involvement a while back but sadly I had to deny it like a wrestler in kayfabe. Good job on discovering that so quickly! It really pains me that I can't be open about it or throw around some ideas but alas.

[stardustedangel]

Matchmaker

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pairing || steve rogers x fem!reader

word count || 2.5k

summary || ever since bucky met you at your cafe he knew you would be perfect for steve. after telling the both of you about eachother for a few weeks, he decides it’s finally time for you both to meet.

warnings || a few curse words

author’s note || hii this is my first fic so I hope you enjoy reading it :) reblogs and comments are appreciated <3 ; do not repost my work

*gif does not belong to me*

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The ring of the door’s bell alerted you that someone had entered your cafe. You set your piping bag down and tried to unfurrow the deep crease that was set between your brows from concentration. You wiped your hands off on your apron and quickly hurried to the front counter to take the customer’s order. When you saw who was at the counter as you approached, a smile graced your face seeing it was your favorite customer.

“Bucky! I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from our coffee for too long,” you teased Bucky.

“Doll, the stuff you guys make here is too addicting. And I thought you would want to hear more about Stevie.”

You laughed at this and playfully rolled your eyes. Ever since Bucky first came into your cafe he decided it would be a great time to not only start a coffee addiction, but also attempt to set you up with his friend “Steve”. Have you seen this Steve? No. Did Bucky bringing him up bother you? Of course not. Were you interested in finally meeting Steve after all Bucky has said? Definitely. A big, definite yes.

“Ah, are there any more details of the perfect “Steve” that I need to be aware of,” you said brightly as you wrote his order on a cup and passed it to another barista.

“Well, I’ve told you pretty much all that could be said by me, so I thought that he could finally tell you about him yourself.”

“So this is the second step of your master plan I suppose,” you laughed and mirrored him by moving to the side counter where he would wait for his drink, “well you know I’m game Mr. Barnes.”

“Well you’ll see him soon and that’s all I’m saying about that,” Bucky shot you a smug grin and attempted to grab his coffee before you smacked his hand away.

“Ow- what?”

“I don’t like when you speak all cryptic.”

“You act like I do it a lot,” he scoffed playfully.

“Touché Bucky, touché”

Your eyes were narrowed at him as you turned around and went to the back taking his coffee with you. You grabbed a quick sharpie and wrote something on his cup and grabbed a few of the cupcakes you previously iced, placing them into a box. You went back out, smirking at Bucky’s confused face. You handed him both his drink and the box.

Bucky looked at the cup and laughed at what you had written.

Fuck you.

He opened the box you gave him and laughed.

“How are you gonna give me this cup that says “Fuck you” but then give me these?”

“I’m giving you them so you're indebted to me, meaning you won’t do anything sneaky,” you batted your eyelashes, “and you like those the last time you had them, so there! Now leave. In a non cryptic, non-secretive manner.”

Bucky ignored what you had said and instead started to plan his next move. Getting his best pal and best girl together was going to be the greatest gift he could give either of them. And boy would the ego boost be good when you both thanked him later on. With those thoughts he gave you a boyish grin before stalking over to the front door.

“I’ll see you later Y/N.”

“Bucky! Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Can’t promise you that,” he turned back with a wink before finally going out the door.

Well fuck.

It only took Bucky 10 minutes to get back to the tower since your cafe was only a few blocks away. He went to the kitchen setting the box of cupcakes down before grabbing himself one. He couldn’t hear the sound of steps approaching him over his moaning as the delicious chocolate taste coated his mouth.

“I feel like you’re enjoying that a little too much, Buck.”

Bucky turned to his right seeing a sweaty Steve reach into the fridge pulling out an ice cold water bottle. He downed it in a few seconds and approached Bucky. He looked into the box of chocolate cupcakes before pulling one out.

“Where did you get these from?” Steve inspected the cupcake before taking a big bite out of one. His eyes widened at how good the cupcake was.

“I can see why you moaned now.”

Bucky smirked before replying, “A very, very special gal made those. I bet you can guess who.”

The thought made Steve smile. Of course he knew you made them. After hearing about not only how talented you are, but also how sweet and funny you seemed, Steve quickly became enamored. He’s been wanting Bucky to drag him to your cafe so you two could finally meet, or maybe he’d even go there by himself and try to save himself from Bucky’s “I told you so”, but he’s either been too nervous or the timing was never right. But god, the thought of you made heat rise to his face and stomach do flips. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time and he liked the feeling.

“So Y/N made these, huh? How is she by the way? Just asking cause you know, I can.”

The way that Steve was awkwardly trying to get Bucky to talk about you made Bucky smirk at Steve. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes playfully at Steve.

“What? You talk about her all the time and you expect me to just not ask about her,” Steve asked exasperated as he annoyingly grabbed another cupcake shoving it in his mouth.

“Well speaking of Y/N, we’re going to her cafe tomorrow so you should be up bright and early,” Bucky said as he clasped his hand on Steve’s shoulder slightly shaking him.

Steve’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat, “Tomorrow? As in Saturday tomorrow? Does she even know.”

“Well what she doesn’t know won’t kill her. Are you saying you don’t want to meet her,” Bucky asked though he already knew the answer.

“Of course not! I’ve been dying to meet her since you brought her up. So you can,” Steve paused for a second seeing Bucky’s smirk on his face growing wider and even more smug, “You can wipe that smug look off your face and I’ll see you later.”

“Aw you don’t want to braid each other's hair and talk all about Y/N,” Bucky teased Steve as Steve walked away from the kitchen heading towards his room.

“Bye Buck,” Steve waved over his shoulder.

Steve had more important things to do today. Such as letting Y/N consume his every thought until he got to finally see her tomorrow.

Saturday.

A day that Steve couldn’t have been more excited for, for obvious reasons, and a day that you always dreaded.

Because you didn’t know that you would be seeing Steve, you trudged your way to your cafe, saying a hello to the other workers before setting your stuff down and getting ready for a day of hell.

Saturday’s weren’t only busy customer wise, but also because you baked every hour of the day. You only took a few breaks for lunch and so your hand wouldn’t end up falling off.

With the help of a few other co-workers, you guys got started on making batter while others tended to customers at the front. You wished this day could be over as quick as possible.

Steve on the other hand was feeling nervous. A good kind of nervous. If that was a thing. Though Bucky wasn’t making him feel any less nervous with his constant pestering like a worried mother.

“Are you sure you want to wear that,” Bucky questioned leaning against Steve’s door frame.

Steve looked down at his outfit: he decided on just wearing some jeans, a white t-shirt, and a jacket over it. He held his arms out in a confused fashion as his eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you expect me to wear then?”

“I think you look great pal, I was just making sure you thought you looked great. Since this is a pretty important day.”

Important wouldn’t even begin to describe how both Steve and Bucky felt about this day. They were both happy that Steve was finally meeting someone that they both thought could be good for him. Sure everything Steve has heard has been word of mouth, but his hopes were high and he knew they wouldn’t be crushed. Bucky knew this too. Exactly why he was so excited.

Bucky came up behind Steve, clasping him on his shoulder, “You ready to go Stevie?”

He nodded his head and grabbed his phone and wallet before he left his room behind Bucky.

As ready as he’ll ever be.

You had pieces of hair falling around and framing your face as your ponytail was getting looser and looser as the morning went on. You had some flour on your cheek and apron showing how the first few hours of the day have been treating you.

You were taking a couple of cake pans out the oven and setting them on the baking rack to cool off before you can ice them. Right when you were taking off your oven mitts, a worker walked into the back addressing you.

“Hey Y/N, there’s a guy in the front who says he’s looking for you,” they gestured towards the front and went back to the counter.

You furrowed your brows in confusion and thought of who could be looking for you. You could only think of Bucky and with that you carelessly took yourself out the back, looking a mess. It was just Bucky though right?

Wrong. You were very wrong. You first noticed Bucky and because you were tired, your focus was only on him for the time.

“Bucky! You usually don’t come in on Saturdays,” you rounded the counter to come face to face with him.

“Yeah I know, but I thought it would be a great time for you to meet Stevie,” Bucky said with a shit-eating grin.

You could barely process what he said as he grabbed the tall, blonde man behind him and placed him in front of you. Your eyes widened when you realized just who was in front of you.

Steve. The Steve. The Steve that you were thinking about daily. His piercing blue eyes started back at yours. You found yourself wondering his face in the one second that seemed to feel like an hour. He had rose pink lips that looked a little swollen on the bottom. Maybe a nervous habit he had? His face and build reminded you of a Greek god statue. He had blonde hair that shined slightly with the help from the light piercing through the windows. And he was tall. Taller than any man you’ve ever met that to fully look him in the eye, you needed to tilt your head up at him. You didn’t think you could ever get tired of looking at him.

“Hello,” he said so kindly and he gave you a smile that made you weak in your knees.

You were thinking about how good he looked and how good he sounded that you didn’t even think about how you looked. That was until that one stretched out second ended.

You slapped your hands over your face attempting to hide how bad you looked. You heard Bucky snicker at your antics and Steve laughed lightly. You couldn’t believe Bucky. He just had to bring in Steve when you looked your worst. You felt so embarrassed that the first time you were meeting Steve you looked like a mess. Your voice came out muffled from beneath your hands as you spoke.

“I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. I look a mess and I really didn’t want you to see me like this. It’s just that it’s Saturday which is baking day, but everyday is baking day but it’s just so hectic and I’m just-”.

Steve cut your rambling off when he pulled your hands away from your face. You looked up at him with big doe eyes and a pout on your lips that Steve wanted to kiss away. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Here you finally were standing in front of him. In all your gorgeous glory. And frankly, you were even more gorgeous than Bucky described. Your eyes seemed to sparkle and you almost glowed. It was like he was seeing an angel for the first time.

Steve put your arms down and brought his right hand to wipe some flour off of your left cheek. He then pushed some of your flyaways out of your face so he could see even more of you. His eyes were roaming your face until he made direct eye contact.

“You’re gorgeous, Y/N. Seriously.” Steve’s hands left your face when he took a small step back to put his hand out.

“I’m Steve. You already know that though,” Steve laughed and you giggled taking his hand.

“I’m Y/N.”

You and Steve just stared at each other with stupid love sick smiles on your face while slowly shaking each other’s hands. Bucky cleared his throat loudly, gaining the attention of the both of you. You narrowed your eyes a little at him and an angry pout found its way to your lips.

“You should’ve told me yesterday you were coming in today, traitor. Look at me,” you gestured to the Saturday mess that was you.

“Sorry, doll. But this was the perfect time to see you. And now you both can thank me so c’mon. Shower me with love.”

You and Steve just looked at him blankly before Steve turned to you. When your gaze met his, your face instantly lit up like a Christmas tree.

“If you’re free for lunch, I’d love to get to know you more,” Steve asked with a charming smile on his face.

“I can take my break right now so I’ll be all yours.” You saw from the corner of your eye that Bucky was smirking at the both of you.

“And you sir, can leave,” you grabbed Bucky’s sleeve dragging him towards the door. A few customers and workers were looking at this and laughing to themselves. Bucky looked at Steve over his shoulder and winked. Steve replied with a thankful smile.

“You know you’re happy that this happened,” Bucky teased as you leaned against the door frame narrowing your eyes playfully at him.

You pushed him out, but not before giving him the bright, grateful smile. You mouthed a “thank you” to him and Bucky smiled back and you returned back inside to Steve wanting to make your thirty minute break the best one it could be. Maybe you couldn’t hate Saturday’s as much as you did before, in fact, maybe they would become your favorite day of the week.

You and Steve grabbed a table. What you both didn’t know is that Bucky watched you guys for the first few minutes from outside and what he could see was better than what he was expecting. Steve was making you double over in laughter and the first couple of seconds and the smile that was on Steve’s face was the biggest that Bucky had ever seen in a long time. He was happy that he got two of the best people that he knew together. Who knew Bucky Barnes would end up being matchmaker of the century?

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[incarnateirony]

One of the most hysterical things I've run into the last few weeks is someone banned from my server for literally planning an admin coup to delete shit coming on an alt to piss on about defending walker and claim they were doxxed because... someone vaguely associated two of their handles at some point without any personal real world info, but I guess it sounds a lot better than "They don't like how I write fanfic" which was their real sticking point. Oh and because I refused to delete every single channel they ever left a comment on, on my server, because that's a reasonable fucking point.

The sad thing is, they tried this "you're known for doxxing!" and I was like "Sup, (name)" because I have 0 history of doxxing and they're the only quackpot that started that rumor. Immediate flip to "I'm blocking you!!!"

People

just fyi

People figuring out who owns your socks isn't doxxing. People not liking your fanfic isn't doxxing. People banning you from a server because you got some wild ass idea of trying to conquer the admins, badly, and you got busted with your full chat logs revealed--isn't doxxing. Doxxing is when someone collects, then disseminates--generally for retaliatory or punishment purposes--a bunch of identifying real life information that can cause harm to a person's real life. Your Ao3 account is not your real life. And nobody was even sent at it to be shitty in their notes or anything, it was literally "Yeah they wrote this and they have zero understanding of social boundaries so it makes their characters be invasive." in a semi-private conversation that went back to them and they screamed doxxing.

Glad we straightened that up.

Seriously the fucking narcissism on this person. I never cared enough to store their real name in my brain much less like how old they are or where they live but gotta have an exaggerated claim somehow 'round these parts I guess. Doxxing. Fuck. Who are you? I know you as an icon. Shit, I know more about KELIOS than I know about this person. I think they have kids maybe? How many or how old I don't know? That's about the depth of my knowledge from whatever they chose to say in public. Holy fuck.

I want to know what kind of Karenism it requires to, after you've been banned from a server, demand that the admins hunt down and delete any comment from you ever over a year, and with that being impossible, delete every channel they ever graced with their presence. Like do they treat internet forums in general like this? Will they sue tumblr when a reblog isn't deletable? And imagining that you're so goddamn important that someone's gonna wade through literal millions of messages just to fuck over you, in particular, person they don't even really talk to. Fuckin christ on a coconut.

Doesn't really help with that "has zero understanding of social boundaries which also radiates through their characters" point, either. (The fic in question is one character finding the other character's journal "by mistake", and instead of closing it after a page or two realizing what it was, meticulously reading through every page with commentary on it. A pattern they had in my old game about intrusive behavior, like Jody trying to talk to baby jack about dean and cas' sex life, randomly, because shipper goggles. And acting both IC and OOC offended that Cas told her that was out of line.)

Like I guess with that kind of mentality I can see why they think anyone would just go out of their way to find personal info about someone no matter how out of the way it is, but honey I'm not responsible for your projection.

Worst part is that person chooses to hang out with someone that in real life talked shit about them all day every day behind their back about these same things but the second someone even just openly says something, with honesty, they're the goddamn devil. And something about doxxing. For the drama.

Funny enough, a friend and I went to that old, retired server. He was my coadmin. The server had been idle for 2 years. We promoted one person who was good at bulk logging, so we could log the RP to finish our project, and cleared out the server due to some--as evidenced--wanky lurkers. But, you know, my ex who had ignored that server for ages suddenly spots it and decides we're "trying to take over" (????) my own server???? That's idle??? conveniently within like??? 30 minutes of this person and their pals being punted??? that she hangs out with??? and talks mad shit about all day??? and bitched about any time they posted??? and wanted them cut out of everything???? and it turned into yet another projected spin-out??? Despite the ex literally being informed in the past about this project and being part of the initial phases of it??? based off of perception obviously skewed??? By people that literally tried to take over a server???? And she slammed delete on an impulse??? But luckily we had already logged it???

Y'all. Come down about 50 pegs. Nobody's out to get any of you. We just don't like you. And no, you don't get to delete literal dozens of millions of words by an array of people's input in a temper tantrum. On either server.'

You still lost. Get over it.

[pernicious-pastas]

Villain, Chapter Two

Pairings - Masky/Tim x You

Word count - 1260 words

Chapter Summary - Tim, Brian, and Y/n walk through the forest to get back to their shared cabin used after missions. Y/n and Brian chit-chat before a more serious conversation after a few rounds of adult juice. (Alternate Title: Was Tim listening to the convo in the woods?)

Warnings for chapter - Language, drinking, mutual conflict between Tim and y/n.

Notes - Pastas mentioned are Toby, Sally, clockwork (Natalie), and Jaime! Jaime is an oc of mine which you can look at here: XXX. Please note the y/n is over 21 and can legally drink. Also i’m working on starting an AO3, so look out for that linked in the next chapter :D

Previous Chapter: XXX

___

Calling the walk back through the woods a “terrible fucking idea” would be an understatement. Never understanding why those two hard-asses didn’t just steal a car or two will always be in the forefront of your mind when finishing a mission. But hey, at least you had Brian to keep you occupied during your walks.

“Can’t we just make a portal to the cabin and call it a day?” You groaned, shuddering against the freezing wind that danced around you. Brian’s footsteps walked next to yours in the almost frozen ground around you. “Unfortunately for us, we lost the ability to make portals when Jeffery started making portals from his bedroom to the communal kitchen,” he said, his voice was gruff and clear when not muffed by his voice changer. You chuckled a bit before your expression soured, remembering what Jeff’s actions cost your tiring legs. Brian noticed your slight change in demeanor and decided to change the topic to distract your mind. “Hey, I’m sure we’re close. And I've been meaning to talk to you about something, Well two things.”

Your face puzzled before you gave him a reassuring look, letting him go on. He turned back to look at Tim to gauge if he'd be able to hear the conversation in question, after a few seconds Brian turned to you again, lowering his voice. “Do you ever wish you never accepted Slender’s offer? Like, do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if you said no, or if you never got wrapped up in this in the first place?” You paused and thought for a second before giving him your answer, you never really thought about that before.

“Honestly? I’d probably still be stuck in my hometown. I think I’m glad I took this job in a way. Although the cons definitely outweigh the pros most of the time.” You chuckled, thinking back on your home life before stopping yourself, knowing the pain it would bring you.  Your life before becoming a proxy wasn’t all that glamorous, but thinking about the people you left behind and what you could've been always left an indecent taste in your mouth.

 “Cons?” Brian quizzed, hoping for an elaboration. You sighed and watched the breath turn into fog in front of you. “Well y’know, if I knew I would have interacted with some unsavory people I don’t think I’d take the job.” You joked. Hopefully, Tim didn’t hear that. You sunk into your jacket, hoping to bring a little more warmth to you. “Speaking about a certain unsavory coworker of ours,” You turned to peak at Tim for a final time before continuing. It looks like he wasn’t paying attention and was too far behind to even hear anyway, so you let yourself go on. “Has Tim always been this mean to previous co-workers? Like, that Toby guy that’s been on that year’s long mission, was Tim a dick to him?” You sighed, you didn’t know why this bothered you, But the tension continues to fuck with you nonetheless. 

Brian stops for a quick rest, and you follow suit. “I guess he's always been kinda brash to people he doesn’t know, but never this bad and for this long.” He said. Your thoughts filled up the silence that had settled between you two. You’ve been here for, what? Almost three years and Tim still couldn’t get a grasp on the fact that he had to work with you. You huffed in annoyance. Brian watched you and decided to speak up again. “Why does it even bother you if you hate him the exact same?” You spit on the forest ground and glared at Tim, even though he probably couldn’t hear a damn thing you said. “It doesn’t.”

*time skip to the later in the cabin*

“Brian… We’re friends, right?” You asked, a drunken tint flushed your cheeks as you spoke. The scenery was nice, two pals sharing drinks around a lit fire. The sun was long gone by now, the fire contrasted the harsh night air as it enveloped you in warmth- Something you could get behind in your hazy state.

He thought for a moment before taking a swig from his bottle and turning to face you. “I’d think so, We’d practically have to be if we’re working in this type of occupation. The more people to keep you sane, the better.” You nodded your head while he continued. “This kinda loops back to what I wanted to talk to you about a couple of hours ago. Well, before we started talking about Tim.” He said, you thought back about your previous conversations and eventually pinpointed it to the walk in the woods. “About our pasts and junk?” You asked. He kicked off the dirt from his boot into the blasting fire. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it a lot actually, I’ve been so focused on being the Always-in-Line, harsh, perfect proxy that I’ve almost forgotten myself.” You slowly nodded your head. Hey, you kind of felt the same in a sense. You cringed thinking back to your previous memories.

“I don’t know Brian, the Boss always enforces that we push away the past and focus on our new responsibility at hand,” You paused. “Still, I get it. The tapes bothering you again?” He nodded before you heard a loud whack of a door slamming into the cabin’s exterior walls. You slowly shifted your eyes to the cause of the noise, and they settled on Tim. You shifted in your chair in fake-annoyance. Too drunk to care if he was with you two or not. “The past is the past, Hoodie. Get over it.” Tim scowled at the two of you before lighting a cigarette.  Tim walked over to the burning fire and crouched, He sucked in while he studied the flames, His eyes almost matched the fires bellowing rage before he closes them, blowing out his smoke into the already roaring fire. What a fucking weirdo, you thought. 

“Evening, Masky.” Brian said. his boot still on the fireplace’s edge, almost directly across Tim’s face. Tim got up and took another drag and turned to you. “Now I’ve been wondering Y/n, how far you would go with a little booze in you.” Tim condescended, a smirk on his face and he eyed you. You rolled your eyes and got up, “Enough of the bullshit, Tim. You wanna be an asshole? Fine by me. I’m done with whatever game you’ve been trying to make me play.” You stormed into the house, your outburst leaving both the men in silence. 

As you less-than-gracefully wobbled to your dark room. You undressed and changed into comfy clothing before retreating under your covers. Memories hung up on the walls around you. Pictures of you and your killer friends smiled down at you, the handmade bracelets Sally had gifted you sat on your nightstand. Dirty band tees Natalie and Jaime had once fondly given you on your previous birthday laid on the floor, ready to be washed and worn again. Small trinkets of your favorite interests decorated the room. Traces of you and your life swirled around your cold room, you thought about the previous conversation you had with Brian. Maybe it was the booze, or maybe Tim decided to finally crank up the heat, but you felt warm inside when thought about the people you met through this hellish job. Forgetting about all the anger you have for certain coworkers of yours, you sunk further into bed.

You grinned to yourself in the dark and shut your eyes, ready for bed. “I’d never regret accepting Slender’s offer.” You whispered slowly, letting yourself succumb to the night’s rest that eagerly awaited you.

___

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated !! feedback through the ask box welcomed (won’t give out future chapter info though hehe)

[atmilliways]

16 Murderface & Pickles; 19 Nathan & Toki! 🖤

I’ll probably write the Nathan and Toki one too, eventually, but for now here is some Pickleface for the prompt “defending each other.” This is set during Goingdownklok and, uh, probably the porniest thing I have ever written. 

Trans Pickles, Murderface’s internalized body issues, first time blow job, Pina Colada flavored lube because Pickles was drunk when he ordered it and thought he was asking Alexa for more drinks. 

If anyone can think of other tags that should be on this, or if it should be marked Explicit rather than just Mature, please let me know. I’ll reblog with the Ao3 link in a sec. 

~

This Might Just Stick

It had been hours. Maybe everybody had forgotten by now. . . . No, no one was going to forget that he’d tried to tackle and hump Toki in front of everybody. 

But he was getting hungry. . . . But what if he ran into any of his bandmates?

Murderface lurked in his quarters until the necessity of avoiding starvation drove him out and skulking towards the mess hall. By the time he arrived and saw from the hatch that someone was already in there, the lure of dinner was stronger than his shame. Maybe Pickles wouldn’t notice him. 

“Hey,” Pickles mumbled in greeting almost immediately. The drummer was presiding over a large plate piled high with iced cinnamon buns, glumly holding a half eaten one in his hand. 

“Uh . . . hey,” Murderface replied. Maybe if he kept walking the conversation would end there.

“I got shot down by Abigail,” Pickles continued, sounding positively morose. 

Murderface slowed, curious in spite of himself. He glanced towards the counter where a hooded servant waited to take his order, but hesitated. This was his chance to let the whole embarrassing incident start getting glossed over until no one ever brought it up again or even remembered it had ever happened. “. . . Schoundsch rough, pal.”

“I mean, I got all dressed up an’ everything, and nothin’.” With a sigh, Pickles took a bite of his cinnamon bun. He continued while chewing, “I figured she must be at least as hard up as the rest of us, y’know? Nope! Turns out, she thought to bring a vibrator!”

A vibrator. Huh. Now there was a thought. Murderface automatically pictured a naked female form, legs spread wantonly, a buzzing wand sinking into—

Well, this had been a mistake. He should’ve just kept walking and taken his food back to his room. Instead, before the sudden tent in his shorts had a chance to become too obvious, Murderface drifted casually over to Pickles’ table. It was one of those picnic style set-ups, except the benches weren’t bolted down, so there was a screech as he pulled it out to sit across from him. 

“Schuper rough! Schorry to hear that, pal. Hey, uh, mind if I eat one of thesche cshinnamon rollsch?” He didn’t wait for a reply, grabbing one and shoving half of it in his mouth. Maybe sugar and something to chew on would provide enough distraction to will his libido back to manageable levels. 

“Go ahead.” Pickles gave a deep sigh. “I thought I’d feel better if I had some rock n’ roll cinnamon buns, but I guess I’m not drunk enough for that yet.”

“Schorry man,” Murderface said again. “I don’t know why Nathan wasch scho bitchy about you going for her, it’sch not like we all wouldn’t hit that if we could.” He gulped down the second half of his cinnamon bun and reached for another. 

“I know, right?!” Pickles said, nodding. “And hey, for what it’s worth, I get why you went after Toki, too. I mean, your approach did lack some zazz, but I’m pretty sure we were all thinkin’ the same thing.”

They’d all taken part in mocking him after the incident, Pickles included, but Murderface still appreciated the small token of solidarity. His fingers already had a coating of sticky white icing on them which he was trying not to notice; the sight sent reflexive twinges of pain running up from his jerking-off wrist. But the mechanical motion of chewing and the fact that he was a born stress-eater just like his grandma made the texture of the bun richer, the nuance of spices more compelling, the fresh-out-of-the-oven warmth more soothing . . . so there was that. And anyway, he’d come here in the first place because he was hungry. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of bringin’ something,” Pickles continued, drifting back to his original train of thought. “I mean, I have tons of shit at home! But did I bring any of it? No, ‘cause Charles didn’t tell us about the no ladies thing until we’d already got here. I kinda want to break into her room and just use it, who fuckin’ cares if she catches me. Maybe she’ll see something she likes!”

“You could do that,” Murderface managed to say with his mouth full. God, he was lucky that Pickles was dressed in his usual black shirt and loose jeans, nothing tight or revealing like Toki, because all this talk about vibrators was really getting him going. Just the idea of turning the toy on and moving it teasingly against a stiff dick (he didn’t know what Pickles’ looked like so naturally he pictured his own)—

He stifled a whimper with yet another cinnamon roll. The pile on the plate was shrinking at an alarming rate. 

“Hey.” Pickles looked at him with wide eyes, a strange glint in them. “You could come with me. Come on, dood, let’s do it. Let’s break into her room!”

“I. . . . I don’t know, Picklesch. . . .”

“No, in case she doesn’t catch me! We can both—there’s ways we can both use it at the same time, no waitin’!”

Heat rising to his face, Murderface shook his head and reached for the cup on the table to wash the latest mouthful of sticky, sugary bun down. He grabbed it and gulped from it—ah yes, straight vodka. The Pickles special. “I’m, uh, not going to do that with you, Picklesch.”

“Why naht?” Pickles all but whined. “Come on, we’re all in the same boat here. Literally. What’s Toki got that I ain’t got?”

Murderface’s first instinct, which he insta-repressed, was to say An ass. But on further reflection, that wasn’t exactly true, was it? While Toki’s toned rear end looked great in those shrunken pink shorts, Pickles had slightly more of a bubble butt, better for grabbing a handful and really, unf—

And now he was thinking about Pickles’ ass. Great. Super. That was totally helping with the boner that wouldn’t quit. Murderface wanted to bury his head in his hands, but they were too sticky for that so he crammed another half a cinnamon bun in his mouth instead. He was, distantly, starting to feel rather full. 

“Look, I’m juscht not doing it!” he burst out, bringing one fist down on the table so hard it rattled the now empty cup and nearly empty plate. “Chrischt, you guysch were ragging on me earlier for the whole Toki thing, and now you’re, what? Trying to jump on my dick?! Uh-uh, I don’t think scho!”

Pickles put both of his hands up. “Dood, calm down! Flag on the play, okie? I’m naht trying anything!” He paused, then grinned sheepishly. “Alright, I am. But look, I’m askin’ first, so . . . there’s that. And hey, no strings attached, I promise. It’s just, you got rejected, and, and I got rejected. . . . I jest think we can help each other out, y’know? It doesn’t have to be that big a deal.”

Murderface narrowed his eyes. “It’sch a very big deal, Picklesch.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Pickles replied, leaning forward conspiratorially and dropping into a throaty whisper. “Dood, we could do it right here, nobody’d know. We’ve got this place to ourselves, all we gotta do is have the Klokateers shut things down for a while so we don’t get interrupted. And I could get you off first—fuck, I’ve been thinkin’ about going down on somebody ever since Abigail told me how she keeps from going crazy down here! Please?” Under the table, a sneakered foot bumped and rubbed suggestively up Murderface’s shin, making him shiver. “I’ll treat ya real nice.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a chick,” Murderface grumbled. 

“‘Kay.” Pickles smirked. “I’ll suck you off and make you come so hard you’ll be cross-eyed into next week.”

Biting his lip to stifle a groan, Murderface considered. 

. . . He picked up the last cinnamon bun and crammed it into his mouth, still considering. 

There were two options here. Option one: he could say fuck you, yell at the hood at the counter to send food to his quarters, and storm out with an angry boner to go hump his bedframe or some pillows or something until his meal arrived. His stomach was pretty full (he shifted slightly on the bench and let out a soft, cinnamon-scented burp in between chewing) but he knew how his body reacted to stress and depression, and knew he could eat again in maybe an hour. He’d need at least the next pants size up by the time they got back to the surface. Story of his fucking life. 

Or, option two: take Pickles’ offer. It wasn’t like it was any less gay for Pickles to offer than it was for him to accept, so they were both implicated here. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he’d already passed desperate a few stops back. 

“Scho, it’sch come to thisch.” Murderface swallowed the last of his mouthful and sighed. He looked at the empty plate instead of his bandmate, because the longer he entertained the idea of actually doing this the more confining his shorts felt. “If you make fun of me for thisch I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Right back at ya, dood. So . . . is theat a yes?” 

“. . . . Yesch,” he whispered, and—he couldn’t help it—palmed himself through his shorts despite his sticky hand and the twinge of pain from his still-tender wrist. 

As soon as he said the word, Pickles leapt up, knocking his bench over with a clatter, and spun to yell towards the mess kitchen: “Hey, guys! Take a break for like, an hour or something! Lock it up and get outta here!!”

“Yes sire,” someone called back, and the confirmation was quickly echoed by the clangs and bangs of cookware being put in order for the coming downtime. 

An hour, Murderface thought, twitching in stunned anticipation. He fingered the button on his shorts but didn’t unbutton it until the shutter over the counter window had been pulled down and one of the hoods ran to close the mess hall hatch for them from the outside—their servants were nothing if not efficient. 

He could’ve done without his full stomach forcing the zipper all the way down as soon as he unbuttoned, but hey, pobody’s nerfect. Now that he was committed to doing this he was practically vibrating to get started, spreading his legs as wide as he could. 

“Scho, uh. . . . How are we doing thisch? Should I turn around or schomething?”

“No, stay right there.” Pickles grabbed at a random dreadlock and used it to tie the rest back.Then he winked and ducked under the table. 

“Oh fuck,” Murderface whispered, and leaned back to get a partial view of Pickles kneeling in front of him. 

With a mischievous grin, the drummer slipped his fingers up the legs of Murderface’s shorts, teasing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “It’s sexier if you don’t look, dood.”

“Right, okay. Schure.” He sat forward again hastily and his lip as he felt Pickles’ hands move to his stomach, palms warm through his t-shirt and against the sliver of exposed skin peeking out at the bottom, and then—

“Ow,” Pickles muttered. 

Murderface looked down, hoping against hope that he hadn’t somehow fucked this up already. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my wrists, dood. I can’t . . . ugh.”

“Can’t what?” Murderface pressed. He felt bitter disappointment already welling up like bile in the back of his throat, and honestly if Pickles ditched him at this point he probably would throw up out of pure disgust and disappointment with himself for fucking up such a wonderful opportunity by being so utterly repugnant. 

Pickles groaned. “Fuck. Look, there’s no good way to say this, but you gotta hold yer stomach up outta the way. My wrists won’t bend that way right now and it’s kinda . . . blockin’ stuff.”

Murderface felt his face heat up to approximately one hundred degrees, but when he didn’t immediately reply Pickles gripped at his thighs and whined impatiently. With that encouragement, he slid his hands under his belly and hefted it up. At another wordless whine, he stood slightly so Pickles could tug them down to his ankles and plopped his bare ass back down on the warm metal bench. 

“Thanks for freeballing, dood,” Pickles commented, and Murderface felt delicious chills from the drummer’s breath ghosting over his eager cock. “Saves valuable seconds in a sex emergency.”

He couldn’t see through the table, but Pickles sounded downright hungry for it. Just imagining the guy staring intently at him under there, maybe licking his lips, maybe already touching himself through his jeans in anticipation—

Then Pickles shocked him by enveloping him all at once, tongue sliding down the underside of his cock and lips closing possessively around the base as the head hit the back of Pickles’ throat and holy fucking shit. Murderface moaned so loud that he was worried the entire submarine could hear, but it wasn’t like his hands were free to stifle himself. He’d hold his fat belly out of the way for a million years without complaint if it meant being enveloped like this. Hands grabbed at his ass and tried to drag him forward greedily as Pickles began to bob expertly up and down his length with the perfect amount of suction, going from nose-buried-in-pubes to kissing-the-already-leaking-tip and back again, repeat and repeat and repeat, with an eagerness that Murderface had never once experienced before and zero hint of gag reflex. It was all Murderface could do to sit still and keep holding himself, biting his lip for dear life to keep his ragged breathing from turning into the breathy moans of the thoroughly fucked. 

Goddamn, this was going to ruin him for groupie blowjobs, wasn’t it? Fucking Pickles and his oral fixation, and his warm, wet, tight, talented mouth. 

It had been way, way too long, and Murderface was so hard up that he came embarrassingly quickly. He didn’t even have time to give a warning, but Pickles seemed to know. One hand stopped fondling his ass long enough to fondle his balls instead, massaging encouragingly as they tightened and tightened and—

Murderface couldn’t contain the wordless gush of sound that accompanied his orgasm, milked out of him without complaint as he bent over the table. 

His face was all but touching the empty, sticky plate before him when he finally managed to open his eyes again. “Fuck,” he breathed shakily. “Pickles. . . . That wasch. . . . Fuck, I don’t think I can schtand.”

“Push the bench back, then,” Pickles said urgently. Whatever he was doing down there, Murderface could hear shuffling and felt bare skin bumping against his hairy legs.”Cahm ahn, dood!”

It made him grin lazily to realize that Pickles’ accent must get stronger when he was horny, just like it did when he was super pissed or super wasted. He obliged, scooting the bench with a brief screech of metal scraping metal, and Pickles popped out from under the table like Jack out of his box. Murderface was half expecting him to sit on the table edge in front of him so he could return the favor, but instead the smaller man settled in his naked lap. 

Apparently Pickles had been shedding layers under the table, because he was equally naked from the waist down and grinding eagerly, wetly against the bassist’s middle, pushing his vest further open and his t-shirt further up. He grabbed Murderface by the hair and rammed their mouths together, eagerly licking his way in, the taste of spend on his tongue mingling quickly with the sweetness of cinnamon bun icing still on Murderface’s. 

There was something very unexpected about this that Murderface was too dazed and into it to quite pinpoint, but holy shit what Pickles was doing felt amazing. Like, fucking against his stomach? Which was kind of weird, but the force and desperation of it was blowing him away. 

Pickles whined in his mouth as though all this wasn’t enough, as though he wanted, needed more. His legs wrapped around Murderface and crossed at the ankles for leverage to grind even harder. Automatically, Murderface reached to support him—one hand splayed against the freckled back and another on his ass, where the muscles were already trembling with effort and eagerness for the building climax. 

And he was so wet. Had the guy come once already just from sucking him off? Murderface felt briefly lightheaded at the thought. Felt his spent cock twitch too, for all that he was still recovering from the number Pickles had done on him already.

Really . . . really wet. Not exactly leaking-dick wet. Not that Murderface had a lot of experience identifying that sort of thing rubbing on him, but still. 

. . . Huh. 

Pickles was still kissing and clutching at him, and Murderface was drowning in this unprecedented desire for this stupid body he’d always kind of hated. But Pickles didn’t seem to mind, did he? Really made it feel like he wouldn't have offered this to just anyone. 

A moment later Pickles shuddered, going rigid and squeezing him tight before relaxing completely, Murderface’s arms around him the only thing keeping him from falling back against the mess hall table. 

“Woo-oo,” Pickles mumbled, eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded. He patted the arm supporting his back. “That was fucking great, man. Ten outta ten, would ride again.” His tongue peeked out and wetted his kiss-redden lips. “Was it good for you?”

“Huh?” Murderface blinked, shook himself a little. He’d been staring intently at the tip of Pickles’ tongue. “Yeah! Yeah, that wasch. . . . I, we could do that again schometime. If you want.”

Pickles patted his arm again, eyes drifting shut. “Mmm, yeah, that album ain’t getting finished any time soon. . . .”

“Uh, Picklesch? Can I ashk you a perschional queschtion?”

“Heh, you just came down my throat, dood, Pretty sure personal questions are fair game.”

Murderface glanced uncertainly down between them, but with their lower halves still pressed together all he could really see was a bright red trail of hair leading downward and his own belly button. “Is there a. . . . Do you have. . . . Are you okay down there?”

Pickles laughed. “I’m more’n fine, dood, I’m great.” Then he cracked an eye open to study the other man’s face, one double-pierced eyebrow slowly rising. “What?” He followed where Murderface’s eyes were aimed. “. . . Don’t tell me ya never fucked a trans dood before.”

“I’ve never fucked any dudesch before,” Murderface retorted defensively. “And schince when are you transch?!”

“Dood, everybody knows. I thought you knew!” 

“Well I didn’t! No one tellsch me anything,” he whined, and in the strange clarity of his relaxed, post-orgasm state was entirely aware that the not being told part bothered him more than the trans part. Not that he knew much about what being trans meant, but . . . probably better to google it later than ask while they were still sitting junk to junk. He reached down to self-consciously tug his t-shirt down and felt wetness on his fingertips. After a moment’s hesitation, he brought his hand up to his nose and sniffed. “. . . Why doesch thisch schmell like pina colada?”

“It’s lube,” Pickles said with a chuckle. “I always keep it—” he absently patted at his own ass, then snorted “—in my pants, under the table. Back pocket. I don’t gaht a lahtta ‘natural lubrication’ so, y’know. Always be prepared or whatever. . . . I dunno, I was never a boy scout.” Stretching, he sat up and leaned in, resting his arms languidly over Murderface’s shoulders. Noses about an inch apart, he stared probingly into his eyes. “You weirded out?”

“Uh . . . no, I guescch not,” Murderface mumbled, going cross-eyed trying to return the stare. 

He felt . . . okay, actually. Wasn’t having sex with a bandmate supposed to feel like a mistake? Wasn’t he supposed to be having some sort of crisis right now? Because he’d definitely just had sex with a guy—he’d known Pickles for years, he was definitely a dude, trying think of him as anything else just didn’t compute. 

Pickles darted forward and gave him a wet snack on the nose, then pulled back with a pleased smirk. “Cool. ‘Cause we’ve got about, uh. . . .” He looked for a clock, finding one once he’d twisted almost all the way around—which just made Murderface think, Bendy, and then his brain fizzled a little at the possibilities. “About forty-five minutes left before anyone comes back. Whaddaya say we get some drinks and fuck some more? I’ve got a couple months of fantasies I still wanna try out.”

“Fa, fantasies?” Murderface stammered as the drummer slid off his lap (oh sweet friction) and bounded over to the counter to rustle up some bottles. His eyes were glued to that pale, freckled ass. “About me?”

“Yeah,” Pickles called. Regrettably, he and his ass had ducked out of sight for a moment. “I mean, fer pretty much everyone down here who has a face, to be honest.”

Oh, Murderface thought with a sigh.

“But hey!” Grinning, Pickles popped back into sight with a fifth of Irish whiskey held triumphantly in each upstretched hand. “Ta be honest, I’m glad this happened with you, dood. The ones with you in ‘em were my favorites.”

Murderface brightened immediately. “Really?” It almost didn’t even matter if that was true, he just appreciated Pickles going out of his way to say it. “Like  . . . like what?”

“Well, what we just did, fer one.” 

This had all happened because of curiosity (and a background level of horniness that defied physics and shit); Murderface saw now reason to change things up now. He asked, even as he drank in the sight of Pickles sauntering back towards him half naked, whatever secrets were hidden between his legs obscured by a thick forest of bright red pubes, “What elsche?” The words came out sounding breathless, and his cock was already stiffening again. 

After all, he’d come here in the first place because he was hungry. 

Smirking, Pickles came back around, moved the empty cinnamon bun plate down the table, and hopped up to take its place, legs spread. He handed Murderface one of the whiskey bottles, cracked open his own, and in between drinking and wantonly touching himself started listing every last, filthy little detail of things they could do to each other. 

It was going to be a very good rest of the hour. 

[chuckbass-love]

can I request a Steve Rogers x trans!female reader where reader is pre-op. Tony is hosting a Christmas party, Steve and reader have been dating for a while and reader is insecure about wearing a dress to the party, so Steve comforts her, takes her out shopping, and is eventually her date to the x-mas party and keeps on reassuring and supporting her? thanks!

Hi love! Thank you so much for this request. I’m a sucker for cute Steve being all in love and crazy for his girl so i was more than happy to write this! 

I’m so nervous to post this! I always get anxious when posting requests as i want the person that requested it to love it so i hope you do! 

I just want to take the time out now to say that if anyone who follows me is transphobic then please leave at the nearest exit. 

Trans men ARE men and Trans women ARE women. That is all! I hope you enjoy bc fluffy Steve is here!

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Trans!Female reader

Warnings: A whole lotta fluff and i guess some angst too

Word Count: 1,806

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @hasan-minhaj go check them out ❤️

You’re Fucking Perfect

Growing up, life has been pretty tough for you, you never managed to fit in. Life got even harder as you slowly but surely started the process of transitioning from male to female. Not everyone was accepting but you already expected it.

You hated being the odd one out, the girl that everyone automatically refused to call a girl. But no matter how much you hated that, you knew one day, things would change, someone would love you for you and you’d be accepted by not just that person but by everyone around you.

Now was that time. 

You’re happy and healthy, pre-op of course but it didn’t matter. Because you have the most amazing boyfriend who accepts every part of you, the good and the dark parts. You have friends too, friends who care for you. 

You can genuinely say that you’re happy again and happy with who you are becoming and with how your life is panning out.

You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body and proceeding to dry off and change into new clothes, ready for another day.

“Hey babe” your boyfriend calls out, you just finish off with your very particular skin care routine. A girl needs to look her best always.

You wonder into the living area, to find him stood there, brows furrowed as he squints at his phone. 

“You really need glasses baby, your squinting again”

He waves you off as he chuckles.

“Come here” you strut over, sitting down at the breakfast bar as he places the food onto your dish. 

“What is it anyways?” you shove some scrambled eggs into your mouth.

“Tony texted, he’s throwing a Christmas party this weekend, we’ve been invited”

Panic starts to rush over you like a tidal wave. 

You’ve yet to meet his Avengers pals and you’re nervous to. You know they know who you are, Steve always talks about you to everyone. He’s always gushing about how lucky he feels to have such an amazing woman in his life.

It always puts a smile on your face whenever he tells you about his day and how he got caught up speaking about you rather than focusing on the mission.

He was more than proud to have you and you felt so loved and always lucky to be loved by him.

But now you have to meet them.

What are you even going to wear? What do you say to them?

All these questions flood your already over worked brain as you pause, not touching your food.

“Baby” Steve snaps his fingers in front of your face, pulling you out of your daze.

“Yeah?” he chuckles again.

“Is everything okay? you’ve barely said two words to me after all that”

You flash him a confused expression.

“I said did you want to go and decide what to wear, i already have an outfit but i know how you love to look your best, even though no effort is needed for that”

You shove him playfully, hopping off the stool and leading him to the bedroom to decide together.

Hopefully finding a killer outfit will help calm your nerves.

“How about this?” you reference to a black playsuit. He shrugs, shaking his head.

Every outfit you choose is bad. 

“Tell you what, why don’t we just go shopping? I can buy a new one for you”

“Steve, baby. I don’t need you to buy it for me”

“I know you don’t, you’re as stubborn as anything but please. Let me treat my woman to a new outfit” 

You giggle as he pulls you flush against him. Your heart starts to race.

“Let’s not get carried away now Rogers” you slide his hand off of your ass. Moving past him to walk out the door.

He follows, like a little puppy dog chasing his treat.

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

“Ugh i don’t know, i hate this one too” you sigh, looking in the mirror as Steve sits there in the changing room stall, watching you strip down to try the next one on.

“That’s s the one, that’s it” you look at him, then back to yourself in the mirror. Turning around to check yourself out.

It’s a little black dress, this would go perfect with your red bottom heels. But you’re not sure if you want to attend a party in this. 

“Baby, you look incredible in this” he gushes, causing your cheeks to heat up.

You can’t deny his compliment, you do look amazing but the anxiety is hitting you full force. 

What will people think? Will they accept you?

You’re still just halfway into the transition and you’re about to consider wearing a dress to a party.

Steve notices your face fall.

“Look, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I love you remember, this dress looks incredible on you and you’ll knock em all dead with this. Me included”

You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck loosely. 

“Now please, let me get this for you and then we can go get some food. I’m starving”

“Okay, are you sure i should be wearing a dress, considering i-”

He doesn’t even let you finish, he already knows what you were about to say anyways.

“No, we’re not having this again. You’re not about to put yourself down and do the whole ‘considering i’m still a guy’ routine. You’re a woman, a beautiful one at that and i can’t wait for you to see yourself the way i do because to me you’re fucking perfect”

Your heart melts, his love for you is overflowing right now. You can see it in his eyes. His dreamy blue eyes.

You sigh, letting him move closer. His lips touch yours in a gentle but all consuming kiss. 

“I love you so much Y/N”

“I love you too”

You take the dress off and get back into your original clothes. Steve takes it to the register to pay before you both head out to grab a bite to eat.

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

It’s time, the day of the party is today. You feel sick as you finish your makeup. You slip your shoes on and stand up from the bed to be faced with Steve.

“Well dam” a flirty look fills his face, his eyes are clearly hungry for what’s in front of him. 

“You really are quite literally the most beautiful woman ever” you hide your face in your hands but he pulls them away.

“Now, i know you’re nervous baby, so take this. It should help a little”

He hands you a shot of tequila, you gladly accept. You both scrunch your noses up at the taste as he takes the shot glass from you. 

You head out the door to the cab waiting for the two of you.

“You’ll be fine baby, i’m with you, i’m gonna be with you all night”

You go to kiss his cheek but he turns his head so you get his lips instead. The kiss gets heated but just as things are close to taking a kinkier turn, the cabbie coughs as you arrive at your destination.

“Here goes nothing” you groan.

“They will love you and you look insane”

His constant comments of reassurance fills you with joy and happiness.

You were happy before you met him, of course you were. But he filled you with more happiness. He always tries his best to make you see how completely amazing you are. Some days you agree with a whole lotta sass and others you shake your head, not wanting to look him in the eye.

But you know every woman has this, even men too. Everyone is in a constant battle for self love.

You link your arm into his, strutting your way through the door to Tony’s place.

You’re instantly greeted by Pepper. Steve told you about her, Tony’s girlfriend and assistant. 

“Steve, you made it” she pulls him into a hug before turning to you.

“This must be Y/N it’s so lovely to finally meet you, Steve speaks about you all the time. You look gorgeous” your cheeks heat up again.

You scan over her outfit, she’s a goddess.

“Thank you so much for having me here and thank you, i love your dress it’s beautiful like you” she waves your compliment off.

“Come in, you thirsty?” she asks and you nod.

She hands you a drink, you smell the contents of the cup before taking a sip. Vodka and Coke. Not your favourite but it’s still nice.

As you and Steve laugh away at a joke he made, you see some people approach the two of you.

“Rogers” 

“Romanoff”

You smile, staring over her dress and the four guys behind her, all dressed up in smart suits.

“Y/N is it? Hi, I’m Natasha. This is Bruce, Thor, Tony and Clint” you nod, holding your hand out to shake it but she declines, bringing you into a hug instead. 

You shake the guy’s hands though and introduce yourself briefly before Natasha pulls you away from them all. 

“I just wanted to get you away from all the testosterone! Those guys can be a lot! By the way can i just say, this dress. Beautiful” you shrug and gesture to her dress as you smile and return the compliment.

“So how are things going with Steve? He never shuts up about you”

“Things are going great. He makes me so happy” you smile again and she beams at you.

“I can tell he’s happy too, the dude is an actual walking love heart. He brings you up into any conversation that he can. Always showing us cute pictures of the two of you so i’m honoured that i finally get to meet you”

“Oh god, i hope they are actually nice photos not just ones he considers nice where i look rough. And yeah i heard you tried to set him up with some girls”

She nods her head.

“Oh i tried, but failed and now he has you so i guess my failings were always meant to be. And don’t worry, they were nice photos”

You giggle, looking back at Steve who’s ogling you from head to toe.

“Put that tongue away lover boy, you have her alone tonight, for now she’s ours” Nat shouts, everyone stares at you. 

You feel so welcomed by everyone here, they are all making an effort to get to know you and you’re learning new things about Steve. Or should you say hearing embarrassing stories.

Tony makes a joke about his thing for language. 

“I remember when i first swore around him, his face dropped as he sighed” they all laugh at you’re addition to the conversation.

This is perfect. You forget all about your previous worries. Everything is going well and you don’t want to leave.

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

TAGS: @deadlymistress24 @coffeebooksandfandom @princess-evans-addict @badbo1-evans @holtzkinnon @mychemicalimagines @llamadelreyx @haus-of-bitch-talk @buckstaybucky @thewinchestergirl1208 @chrissquares @patzammit @adriannajackson @dummiesshort @cevans-fics 

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

[navegandoaciegas]

the love you deserve II

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: almost 3k, ops

Summary: “He’s Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. He was the guy at the Triskelion, they say he’s the one who killed JFK.”

It can’t be real. Your Jaime visits and plays with lonely, sickly kids in hospitals because he remembers what it was like growing up with his asthmatic, diabetic friend Steve. Whoever this Bucky guy is, he’s not your Jaime, your Jaime could never harm a fly. Your Jaime is good, he’s compassionate. Surely your friend must be wrong.

Warnings: soft!bucky, hurt!reader, angst, fluff, lying, cheating, drug use, alcohol consumption (including mentions of underage drinking), language that Steve Rogers wouldn’t approve of.

A/N: AU where Civil War and Thanos never happen, Tony forgives Bucky and he retires. This is my very first attempt at writing in English, I’m not a native speaker, so forgive me for any mistakes :)

This is part 2, please comment and reblog and let me know what you think of it :) feedback is always appreciated! I plan on writing at least another part, maybe two.

What do you think of the reader?

Part 1

The day before

Las Vegas, Nevada

Vegas is hot and dry as hell. It’s also a lot of fun, so the movies did not lie about that at least. They did exaggerate how fun the casinos would be tho.

You’re at a pool party, sipping on a drink, silently judging the moves of the sweaty people who are dancing around you.

You just got off a facetime call with Jaime, and god you miss him and Alpine too, but life is good and you’re the happiest you’ve ever been, your best friend is getting married to the man she loves and you’re having the time of your life with your girlfriends.

“So, you’re not having cold feet, are you?” you hear Hannah question Jade.

They’re basking in the sun around you.

Jade hesitates as she douses herself in sunblock.

“I gotta say I’m kind of scared but I’ve been dreaming about this for three years, so no? I guess. I don’t know. I love him.”

“That didn’t answer the question.” you observe.

“Are you sure you’re ready to commit to one dick only for the rest of your life?” Raven asks, and you all laugh and roll your eyes playfully.

Ever the commitaphobe, just like you. Well, like you used to be before you met Jaime.

You hate rush hour after work, you hate it so much in fact that you’d rather go to your work’s gym and workout even though you’re exhausted than catch a packed train.

By the time you get to the station most people are home already.

He’s here today.

You’ve seen him quite a lot in the past few weeks. The first thing you noticed about him is the way he seems to fold in on himself, his hunched shoulders and lowered head.

His bad posture aggravates you beyond reason, and you just wish you could go there and straighten his back without looking like a weirdo. But you can’t, so you just admire from afar like the good creep you are.

He’s always wearing a baseball cap over luscious but questionably greasy hair, huge winter jackets and leather gloves; still, underneath all that it’s clear he’s handsome. You always had a thing for men built like brick houses.

Today is the day, you think, today is the day I finally strike a conversation with the guy, it’s now or never.

Truth is, the loneliness he exudes breaks your heart and the way people avoid him like he’s got the plague enrages you for no particular reason. Somehow the ever indifferent New Yorkers would rather stand on a moving train than sit next to him, and that something about that that irks you way too much.

You really don’t understand why. Sure he’s intimidating, he’s a huge man, but he’s quiet and calm and he smiles softly when he spots a dog on the train. He gets off at same stop you do and no matter how isolate the station and the streets are by the time you get home, even if you two are the only ones there, you’ve never felt uneasy.

So you go and sit next to him, you smile when he looks up in surprise and you say hi.

He stutters an ‘evening ma’am’ and you’re proud of yourself because you’ve got it in you to made the big scary guy blush like a schoolgirl.

“Not to be a creep or anything but I’ve seen you around quite a lot, we commute together almost every day.” You chuckle and you introduce yourself.

“I uhm-” he’s cute when he furrows his brows “ I’m Jame- Jaime. I’m Jaime.”

You smile at the memory.

Jaime turned out to be a lot less shy than anticipated. He was a stuttering mess on the first few dates but the more you got to know him, the more he opened up to show his true sarcastic, snarky nature, whilst still being a gentle giant and an absolute sweetheart.

He’s thoughtful, cocky and sweet at the same time. He makes you melt in a puddle whenever he snuggles Alpine on the inside of his jacket, and the rumble of his voice is enough to make your brain short circuit and your panties dampen.

“There goes that look again, you’re such a love sick fool.”

“Oh God, you should see her when she’s with her precious Jaime, they literally have heart eyes, they’re so cute together it makes me sick to my stomach.”

You laugh and shake your head at Raven’s and Jade’s teasing.

“Hey, it’s not that bad, you should have seen yourself the day you met Matt, bitch, you looked like you’d never seen a man before. I ain’t forget.” you retort.

Hannah laughs and adds “When are we going to meet mystery man? It’s not fair that Jade only to got to see him. And word on the streets is that he’s real pretty.”

“When you three learn how to behave. But I can show you a picture, just please don’t be weird about it.” you finally relent after five months of avoiding the topic.

“He’s very, very hot ladies.” Jade quips.

You send her a side glance (goodnaturedly of course) and show them how pretty your sweet boy is.

Raven’s jaw goes slack as she clutches your phone and gawks at the picture.

“Lucky bastard, he’s literally the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, where did you find him and how did you convince him to be with you of all people?”

You laugh at Raven’s blunt remarks. They playful banter between the two of you has been going on since freshman year of college.

“Now I get why you have that dumb love struck face on you at all times.” Hannah adds.

Grace tho, she’s unusually quiet, and she stares at him with a scowl on her face. Her eyes travel slowly from your phone to your face, and the anticipation to know the reason why is killing you.

“Uhm, you’re dating him? And you said his name is Jaime?” she hesitates.

Whatever is going to come out of her mouth, you already know you’re not going to like it.

“Look, maybe I’m wrong and I’m mistaking him for someone else but I’m pretty positive I’m right and, ah” Another pause, you’re about to faint. “There’s no way to break it down to you in a way that won’t hurt but” she sighs “he’s lying to you.”

Ice fills your veins. You can feel dread crawling up your spine.

Is he someone else’s boyfriend? Are you the other woman or is he cheating on you? Is he a professional scammer?

“What the hell are you talking about Gracie?” Jade almost shouts, and you’re one heartbeat away from fainting.

Grace looks at you with all the pity in the world and you want nothing more than to erase that expression from her face.

“He’s Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. He was the guy at the Triskelion, they say he’s the one who killed JFK.”

The world around you stops spinning for a second as the ring in your ears get louder. You just wish the ground could open up and swallow you whole.

All of a sudden you start laughing hysterically like she’s told the funniest joke you’ve ever heard, you laugh so ugly that a few heads turn in your direction and give you funny looks, so loud that your friends are startled and even more worried.

Jaime, your sweet baby boy who adopted a three legged blind cat no one else at the shelter wanted to save him from being euthanized.

Jaime who volunteers at the VA with his pal Sam to help war vets reintegrate in society after they get back home, because he knows what it’s like to have your life turned around, to find yourself with no commands to obey all of a sudden and more trauma than you know what to do with. He knows what it is like to know no peace, to sleep a couple hours a week until you’re hallucinating so bad you’re begging the universe to just end your suffering.

It can’t be real. Your Jaime visits and plays with lonely, sickly kids in hospitals because he remembers what it was like growing up with his asthmatic, diabetic friend Steve.

Whoever this Bucky guy is, he’s not your Jaime, your Jaime could never harm a fly.

Your Jaime is good, he’s compassionate. Surely your friend must be wrong.

He goes grocery shopping for the elderly couple next door whose kids never visit, because they are too weak, too sick, too tired to leave the house.

“I’m sorry sweetie, it’s not your fault, you couldn’t have know.”

Grace hands you a phone, open on his Wikipedia page.

Jaime’s sky-blue eyes stare back at you.

You really let him play a number on you, didn’t you?

You feel a hot surge of blinding anger and you want to tear the world apart, you want to take Jaime- no, not Jaime, James and bitch slap him in the face so damn hard you convey the humiliation you’re feeling right now, knowing that the man you love and thought you knew lied to your face for five fucking months.

Did he ever consider coming clean, revealing his true identity?

Was he ever planning on telling you? Or would he move in with you, wake up and go to bed with you every day feeding you lies upon lies?

Would you end up married to a man that doesn’t exist and have kids with a ghost?

Grow old with a guy who said he was 33 but is actually 99?

Would he never get undressed in front of you? How was he planning on hiding is metal arm? Surely one day you’d be intimate and you would see it? The whole “I want to wait cause I’m old fashioned like that” would eventually need to stop.

Or maybe it wasn’t a serious relationship at all for him, not in the way it was for you. Not in the way you wanted to spend the rest of your days loving him and making him the happiest man alive. Not in the way you were ready to commit to him, body and soul, for all eternity.

Now the endearing terms he used to call you, his babydoll, his little doll, they taste bitter on your tongue.

A doll, literally. A little toy to play with and toss aside once he got bored of his little game.

Why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to find out like this?

It reminds you of that time in your junior year of college, you were dating this guy back then, and you liked him, he was fun, the sex was good, he supported you in your endless hours of cheer practice.

One day he told you he was sick and couldn’t make it to your afternoon study date. That same night you ran into him at a frat party with his friends. Wasn’t so sick after all.

You broke up on the spot, shed a few tears while your teammates held you and moved on with your life with your head held high, because that’s what you’ve been doing all your life no matter how many curveballs the universe throws your way.

You vividly recall what hurt the most: the feeling of being lied to and toyed with. The hot humiliation that burns your cheeks and makes your eyes water when you realized you have yet again misplaced your trust. The inevitable question that plague you for days on end: what else did he lie about? How could I be so damn stupid?

His name was Tommy, and sometimes in the following years your first instinct when a man told you anything was to obsess over whether they were being honest or not. Until Jaime, that is, you trusted Jaime with your life, you would never question him, and look where that got you.

You’re aware you’re overthinking and maybe overreacting at this point, and that wailing in your own misery while your girlfriends are out having fun in a club is doing you no good, nor is it changing your current predicament. But you never listen to the voice of reason, and you won’t start today.

The room feels too hot and too cold at the same time.

You’re sweating but your body is shaking. You’re breathing but the air you inhale won’t reach your lungs. You’re blinking your eyes frantically but you only see darkness. You hear your own heart beat out of your chest.

It seems like the room you’re in is closing down on you and there’s no space left, you’re being crushed by those walls around you, you’re drowning, you’re suffocating.

Is this what heartbreak feels like, or is it just a heart attack?

Turns out it’s a panic attack, you know because you typed your symptoms on Google.

You are painfully aware you’re spiralling out of control.

Get a grip.

All you can think about is how you want him to suffer, you want him to feel the same humiliation you’re feeling right now. You want him to feel his chest compress, his throat tighten, you want him to know what it’s like when your heart is breaking in a thousand pieces and you can’t even breathe.

You want his world to come tumbling down on him and crush him under the weight of his mistakes.

You don’t care why he did it. You don’t give a single fuck about his reasons.

Because the truth is, no matter who he was in his past life, no matter how many he killed or tortured, you would have loved him all the same. You would have carried the weight of the world on your shoulders if it meant he could sleep soundly at night.

But he didn’t give you a chance to.

And because you never fucking think before you act, you put your best dress on a join the girls at the club they’re at, and you hope the tequila is going to drown your sorrow and dull the pain burning you from within.

Tonight you don’t want to feel anymore.

Four months ago.

Brooklyn, New York.

Every morning, Bucky wakes up at 5.30 am and joins Steve Rogers on his jog around the neighborhood, and every morning without failure Bucky is grumpy about it. He hates the early mornings, especially in the winter, but he can’t find it in himself to refuse Steve anything.

Steve is smart and too observing for his own good and he knows that something has changed. He knows it in the way Bucky’s steps are louder and bouncier, his back is straighter, his smile is easier, his eyes shine brighter.

He knows it because underneath the sandalwood scent of Buck’s deodorant and the musky smell of his sweat, he can sometimes detect the less pungent fragrance of coconut and peaches.

“So, who is she?”

The question catches him off guard. Bucky stops dead in his track and looks at his friend like a deer caught in the headlights.

“What, you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

At that he has the decency to blush.

“She’s- she’s perfect. I met her on the ride home from the shelter. ‘member when we were kids, we used to dream about the future? I swore I’d get myself a pretty wife and love her for the rest of my days and have a bunch of kids?”

“Yeah, I used to tell you you’d have to stop dragging me in those god awful double dates, or else you wouldn’t get any of those pretty girls to stick around.”

The two share a bittersweet smile as they reminisce how their life could have been.

“She’s pretty, you know, she’s sweet, she’s a bit of an asshole but the good kind, she’s so damn smart, you know all those science things I used to like before the war? She knows them all. She’s an engineer. I know my Ma would have approved of her, and Becca would have died to have her as a sister.”

“So why’s that long face?”

Bucky snorts.

Of course, how could Captain America understand? People don’t avoid him like he’s got some infectious disease, they don’t give him dirty looks, girls don’t cross the street when they see him, mothers with kids on their hips don’t cover their children as if he was the Boogeyman. “She didn’t recognize me, and well I- I can’t tell her. She wouldn’t want me, and I like her too much to mess this up.”

“Buck.” Steve gives him his best stern look. “You have to tell her, she has a right to know who she’s seeing. If she’s the one she’s going to love you all the same, but don’t lie to her. These secrets can only backfire in the long run. It’s going to ruin your relationship.”

Bucky nods absentmindedly and continues running without uttering another word.

No one could ever love his true self, he thinks bitterly. No one could help him carry the weight of his past on his shoulders.

If only he had known back then how right Stevie would be, he would have told you everything four months ago.

[figuringouthowtobehere]

please dont reblog this

i dont have many ppl to talk to. so here i am, screaming into the void that is my tumblr again.

im mostly posting this because im alone. im really really fucking alone. and im hoping i might, idfk, make a solid, trustable connection from tumblr??? idfk. im alone in the world.

please dont reblog this

cw family issues, su*cidality, abandonment, abuse, childhood abuse, trauma, being alone in the world

i have no one to go to. my entire life since i was a baby all ive ever been able to do is survive at the skin of my teeth. and here i am, 20, breathing, trying so fucking hard to live and, idk if im succeeding. im doing my film shit which is cool but. im alone. im on my own. im alone in the world. i never had parents. like, obviously i had parents, but they were never parents, dyou know what i mean? like the people who genetically made me were around but they were abusing me or just being awful or refusing to listen to me about what i needed from them, from their parenthood. 

i had a conversation with my mom yesterday (after two days of not being able to get a hold of her and really really needing to) and i was basically just like ‘why cant you be my mom’ and she was like ‘i am your mom’ and i was like ‘well, yeah, but youre not--you cant--you dont mother me. and you dont mother me in the ways i need you to.’ and she was like ‘what does that look like to you?’ and i said ‘someone who i can turn to, always, someone who has my back no matter what, someone who respects me and what i need and who listens to me and trusts my experience and, yeah, someone who i can turn to always’ and she said ‘i mean i can talk with you on the phone, i can tell you what i think you should do, i can try to give you advice from my experience, but as far as someone having your back 24/7 always, i cant do that’ and we ended up talking about how im an adult now - and she was talking about it in the sense of ‘youre a grown man now, you dont need your mom like that anymore’ - and im like ‘ya, i am basically a grown man but i still need my mom. i still need parents.’ and i think im gonna end up cutting contact with her again because its too hard to simultaneously grieve her not being the mom i need and also talk to her. if im not talking to her then i can deal with the idea that i dont have a mother, that i dont have parents and i probably never will.

ive never really had people. i never really had friends when i was a child and i dont really have friends now. maybe its cause im trans, maybe its cause im autistic, maybe its cause im mixed, i dont know, but generally people in the world dont like me or it takes them a long time to not hate me. it doesnt matter why right now the point is i never had people (like, a support system) and i dont now. 

so yeah im pretty seriously thinking about killing myself (or, trying to anyway). i dont wanna die but ive spent my whole life trying to just. be a person. and find contentment. and everything in my life ends up going awful or causing me a lot of trouble at some point or another. ive come to expect it. whenever anything happens in my life im just like ‘when will this go wrong. how long will it take this time.’ and im alone. im just fucking on my own. and i know theres lots of people who are and have been more alone than i am/have been and i admire these people so fucking much like GO YOU!! YOUFUCKING DID IT!!! HELL YEAH! im so proud of u. for real, i have so much respect for all yall reading this who have made it through shit and made it through being alone in the world. you fucking got this. youre doing it. good fucking job!!!!! ✨ but then. idk ig it doesnt take away from this being incredibly fucking difficult for me. pretty much everything in my life was fucked from birth to age 18 and now over half of everything in my life is fucked. which is better, for sure, but its still. ive never had a chance. idk it just seems to me like it doesnt matter. i can try and try and do all the therapies and take all the psych meds a psychiatrist might give me and i can meditate all the time. it just seems like im Doomed. (WOW i sound dumb and childish) like ik logically this is probably incorrect, that im not actually just.. doomed but thats how it feels. whenever a good thing happens im just waiting for it to collapse on me. and usually it does in way or another. generally not because of anything ive done or havent done, it just ends up being shit.

and then. ive never had anyone. i dont have anyone. im alone in the world. like its not that im ignoring people i do have or choosing to omit them from my mind right now. i have a singular friend in the place where i live; my other two friends both live in the states. i live with someone who was a support for me until like last ... july or so, i think, who now makes me feel like shit (they arent being malicious its just a bunch of issues in our relationship. theres more on that in stuff ive posted before, if you feel like digging through my posts for a while go ahead and youll find more on that) and i have like 5% (out of 100%) trust for them. i have a therapist who i see once a week and ik shes invested in me, but thats her job. and i cant just call her whenever i want. i have several people for film stuff but theyre either just casual pals and then colleagues or just colleagues. i know a lot of people, who dont really show any investment in me as a person or their relationship with me and who i dont really click well with. and thats it. 

and im so. im so in love with Film. all of it. (not The Film Industry obviously.) im so fucking in love with it. the only real concrete reason that i wont end up killing myself in the next like month or two is because Film. and i just. need. people. i need parents. or something. fuck.

i think part of this is probably the long-term ramifications of ongoing childhood sexual, physical, and psychological abuse and never really having good, consistent support cause id be surprised if that didnt fuck with my brain (and, yk, untreated severe childhood brain damage from tbis beginning at less than a year old). but it doesnt really matter does it. ive been through the shit time and again and its not like anyone has appeared and been like ‘hello, i see you never had parents, this is who i am, would you like to get to know each other for a while and maybe i could be your mom?’ cause thats literally what i need. i need parents. like i know theres a thing of ‘if you didnt have parents then you cant undo that damage’ but like idk. if someone has a bunch of unhealed broken bones that got broken years ago that are now causing them a lot of pain you wouldnt just be like ‘sorry, i see youre in trouble from this shit, but because it happened years ago theres nothing we can do’ cause there is??? i forget how i was gonna say this before but like. i didnt have parents. with the ‘parents’ i had its a scientific anomaly i lived past age three. i refuse to believe that having Good Parents and a Good Support System now would do nothing for me. cause it would. 

im also facing impending homelessness due to a) welfare/disability programs not giving you enough to live off and b) not having a roommate/not having support systems/not having people. so that doesnt help.

i dont know how to do this. im on my own. im doing all i can. ive reached out to everyone i feel like i could reach out to and. im on my own.

help. i guess. idk what that means but im, once again, at an incredibly fucking AWFUL point in my life and i need help. i doubt anyone will be able to but. if youre able to then. idk. do something. ik that i sound desperate and pitiful and i literally dont care at all because i literally am desperate for support and i literally am at - ANOTHER - extremely low point in my life and its pitiful. im cringing at myself actually posting this because its like ‘you think youre actually find what you need via a tumblr post? where are you? cause thats not real life dude’ but i dont fucking have people to talk to (as you have already understood 🙃) and im tired and tired and tired and tired.

if you took the time to read this i thank you and i hope ur day is going vvv well

please dont reblog this!!

[buckyreaderrecs]

A Toast to Whiskey: Chapter 1 / 2

Summary: You work in an old bar hidden away from the modern world. It's almost charming, but not quite. That's probably why Bucky likes it.

Words: 2,325 Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader Characters: Bucky Barnes Additional tags: Bucky needs a hug, recovering Bucky, mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists), angst, she/her pronouns, more tags/characters to be added with part 2, brief mention of Nazis, mental health will be prominent part of part 2

Note: Find this fic and others on A03 - click here. And follow this Tumblr! I post lists of Bucky/Reader fic writers and reblog all my favs. I’ve just started it, so would love the support! xo Rhi

Dedicated to: @browngirlmagic for the conversation. The next chapter is the Lush one!

A Toast to Whiskey Chapter 1 / 2

There were a lot of things in the dusty, old bar that made the man's jaw clench in annoyance, distaste, or anger. You were compiling a list of these things, doing your best to minimise their occurrences. There was one you couldn't avoid though, and it was almost amusing that it bothered him at all. Each time someone ordered a drink - beer, cocktail, shot, whatever - a clean glass was given. The man didn't like it. Was it not like that in his time?

If James Buchanan Barnes thought he'd gone unnoticed in the hole-in-the-wall bar you worked at, he was mistaken. Not entirely, to be fair; the baseball cap and quiet stopped the other patrons from even giving him a second glance. 'Patrons' might have been too civilised of a word to call them. They were old, sickly, local men that had been drinking the same beer from those same taps forever. Harmless, mostly. Unobservant, entirely. Not you though. The first day Bucky walked in and taken a barstool on the very corner, closest to the door, you knew exactly who he was.

Like a lot of people that came and went from the establishment, Bucky's seeking of anonymity was granted. You pretended to not recognise him. You were kind to him, a little more gentle than you were to others, but mostly just a good bartender. And in time, you grew accustomed to the charade. He came in a couple of afternoons a week, but never during the nights when it would be busy. Eventually, he even started to speak more than a couple words to you.

"New cap?" you greeted Bucky with a grin, putting the only drink he ever ordered down in front of him.

Bucky wrapped his right hand around the glass of whiskey. He glanced at you, smiled and shrugged.

"Speaking of new, can I ask you something?" you asked.

The expression on Bucky's face was guarded, but definitely one of concern. You realised you should have just asked, rather than let his mind spiral.

"What’s your problem with clean glasses?"

He looked surprised. Surprised was an experience Bucky wasn't particularly used to or fond of. He wouldn't hold it against you though.

"How do ya know I got a problem?" he asked back, genuinely curious.

Shrugging, you looked around casually. "Guess I notice a lot of things about people,"

"Right," he said slowly, knowingly. "I don't know… Just seems wasteful… Is it the law?"

"That we have to use clean glasses?" you asked with a laugh. "I don't know… probably not. I mean, it's more hygienic. Probably makes the drink taste cleaner or whatever. Board of Health might have a problem with us if we didn't… Not that I've seen one of them in here in years."

Bucky picked up his glass and finished the whiskey. "Fill her up," he quipped. He'd made a half-joke, and you appreciated the effort.

"Yes, sir. Lemme know if you, you know, what anything else," you told him, topping him up, knocking your knuckles on the bar top, and walking away.

…

Bucky Barnes certainly wasn't the most chatty person you'd met. It was better to ask questions if you wanted to pass time with conversations. Easy conversation was one of your special skills, being a bartender and all. However, it was incredibly difficult to do this when you were purposefully avoiding topics that would put Bucky in a position to have to, you know, admit his identity and all that. So, things stayed superficial.

No, Bucky didn't watch the game.

Yes, the weather's been insane.

No, he doesn't want any nut mix.

Okay, maybe yes to pretzels.

Yes, he can see your hair has changed colour.

Yes, he likes it.

For as long as it had taken to get to the point of superficial conversation, it didn't take any time at all to run out of things to say. As it turned out, neither you nor Bucky had lived, or were living, shallow enough lives to sustain it. There were questions you were begging to ask, and if he was honest with himself, Bucky was kinda just counting down until you finally spoke up.

…

"So, I got a question,"

"Mmm. You have a lot of questions," Bucky said, smirking then taking another sip of his whisky.

"You could ask me somethin' if you want a change of pace, pal."

It was a joke. Just banter. But a dark expression flashes across Bucky's face for only a split second. You didn't catch it.

"What's your question, Y/N?"

He knew your name?

Of course he knew your name. He was The Winter fucking Soldier. He probably knew everything about everyone that worked and frequented the bar. How had you not thought of that before? Suddenly, it seemed risky to ask what you had planned to.

Bucky watched you hesitate. He sighed and looked around at the empty room. It was a Monday afternoon and it was just before the regulars showed up to knock beer bottles together and catcall you across the bar. It was just you and him.

"Ask," he said softly, taking his cap off and setting it down on the barstool next to him. You watched Bucky run his hands through his hair, tucking some of it behind his ear.

"Why do you drink whiskey?"

Bucky laughed. Like, a proper heartfelt laugh. "What?" he said, nose still scrunched up in amusement.

"What?"

"Why do I drink whiskey?" he repeated.

"Yeah… I mean… It's disgusting… and, like, you… can't get drunk, right?"

There it was. You did it. Admitted you knew him. Which he figured out. So none of what was happening was really a big deal. But it sure as fuck felt like it.

"Right. I can’t- Well, I can, but it takes a lot,"

"Asgardian mead a lot?"

Bucky grinned and tipped his glass towards you. "How do you know about Asgardian mead?"

You snorted. "Everyone does. Everyone knows everything these days,"

"That's what we want you to think," he said, not skipping a beat.

It made you laugh. It was already better talking to him without false pretences. "So, whisky?"

"Ah… Guess it's that everything's different now… An' that's mostly good. But… You know."

No. No, you didn't know. How could you even begin to understand? "Yeah," you said, your voice far more quiet than you meant it to be.

"Whiskey's still whiskey,"

"It tastes the same?" you asked.

"Almost. Not exactly. Close enough,"

"Makes sense… But why here? S'not like this bar been here since the 40s or anything."

Bucky was visibly trying not to smile. Or make eye contact. "Ah… Not sure how to answer that without… offending ya,"

"Huh? ... Oh, I don't own the joint or anything,"

"You don't?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"No? You think I did? Why?"

"You're…" but he shrugged, still guarded. "I don't know," he lied. "But, ah, I was just lookin' for somewhere…"

"Pretty much stuck in the 40s or thereabouts?"

He nodded, smiling. "But without the Nazis,"

"Mmm… I mean… Have you watched the news lately?" you very quickly said.

"I try to avoid it," he admitted solemnly.

As people started to wander in, the conversation waned. Bucky watched you serve cold beer and pour bags of crisps into bowls. He listened to the worst songs being picked on the jukebox and he sat truly shocked you weren't even at least the daughter of the owner. Despite what you may have thought, he hadn't bothered to investigate you at all and finding his assumptions to be wrong was unsettling.

See, Bucky was a little bit smitten with you. He thought you were smart and sassy and timelessly beautiful. You were the ultimate perk of randomly picking this as his hideaway from the world. But, he figured you were only here because it was a family business. Why was someone smart, sassy and beautiful working strange hours at a shitty bar?

It was hard to say which of you was more curious about the other.

…

Something about what Bucky said had stuck in your head. Whiskey, his drink of choice, was the closest thing to his own time he could find. You could do better than that though.

About a year into working at the bar, you were finally allowed to venture into the cellar to clean it up. There were boxes of shit from forever ago down there and you just wanted it sorted, gone, and the space put to better use. Most of what lived beneath the floor was trash, but every hour or so you'd find something cool. A few vintage beer signs. Empty bottles of collector edition Coke. That kind of stuff. But, there was one thing you had found that you now wanted to stumble across again.

Nobody could remember where it had got to.

It took two days of searching to find it.

The bottle of whiskey was shoved under a bunch of paperwork in the office's bottom drawer desk. Not exactly where you'd store something worth a lot of money, but hey - the barely-there owners of the bar were eccentric, to put it nicely. You didn't recognise the brewing company on the peeling label, but that wasn't the point. The date on the bottle quite clearly read 1940.

When Bucky took his usual spot that afternoon, you bounced over to him with a grin on your face. He looked up at you, keeping his cap.

"Aren't you gonna ask me why I'm so happy?" you said, elbows on the bar and head in your hands.

Bucky smiled a little. He seemed sad. Sadder than usual. Good timing.

"Why are you so happy?"

"'Cause I found something that's gonna make you real fuckin' happy. Check this out!"

You produced the bottle from where you had it stashed under the bar and handed it to Bucky.

Bucky's lips parted slightly and his eyes went all glossy. He read the label carefully, probably trying to place the brand you couldn't. He handled it so carefully, even more than you in your fear of dropping it.

"This is real," he finally said.

"Yeah. I found it in the basement ages ago and just remembered it. 1940, so I figure it's like, first or second batch after Prohibition, yeah?"

Bucky nods. "I guess…" he replied, smiling, remembering Prohibition. "And before all the distilleries had to stop again,"

"For what?" you asked.

"The war," he said so matter-of-factly that it hurt a little. He looked up then, saw your confusion. "Dunno if it was law or if they just did it, but most places stopped making drinking alcohol and started making stuff to help win the war. And ah, whiskey stopped being made because it took up too much crops. I don't know. Something like that."

Something like that. Like he hadn't lived history.

"I didn’t know that. That's…" Not 'cool.' "That makes sense… Anyway. Open it," you ordered, getting out two clean glasses.

Bucky put the bottle on the bar and looked at you seriously. "Y/N, that's gotta be worth… a lot… Can't open it for no reason,"

"Nobody here cares about it. And besides, it's not really no reason, is it?" He didn't move or say anything. "Bucky." He flinched at his name, glanced around to make sure nobody heard. They hadn't. "I think you kinda earned this one, yeah? Now do me the honours."

Why was everyone in Bucky's life so goddamn stubborn?

He sighed and opened the bottle silently. You nodded in encouragement, letting him pour.

"A toast," you posed, holding your glass up. Bucky mimicked your action. "A toast to…" Everything in your head sounded either very cliché or very sad.

"Whiskey," Bucky finished.

"Whiskey," you agreed.

Drinking at the same time, Bucky swallowed in two gulps while you struggled with a sip.

"Jesus fucking Christ it tastes like cat piss now and it did then," you whined, pouring the liquid left in your glass into Bucky's. He laughed at you.

After drinking that down quickly, Bucky reached across the bar and took your hand in his. "Thank you, Y/N. Really."

A toast to finding things that make us less homesick.

…

After the 1940 whiskey, Bucky came in more regularly. He stayed longer, despite the place filling with people. He even began to talk to the other regulars when they sat at the bar and argued with you about politics, the news, and kids these days. You watched him play devil's advocate, siding with the old men, sarcastically poking fun at you with a quick comment every now and then.

You weren't sure when it happened, but you realised Bucky had grown to be comfortable in the space. And there was something about that that made you ridiculously happy. Like, sunbeams bouncing around on the inside of you making you all hot and tingly and full of joy whenever he was there kind of happy. It was gross.

Bucky would walk in, sit, place his cap down and grin at you with his cute little teeth and sparkly blue eyes. It made your day without exception, and you started to notice more little things about him and how they made you feel. When he hooked his hand behind his ear it would make your stomach flip.

One time, when he was telling you a story about carnival rides and baby Steve throwing up, a loose strand of hair fell across his face and you immediately and unconsciously leant across the bar and folded it gently behind his ear for him. Bucky froze, and you went to apologise, but he spoke first. "Thanks," he said softly, with more meaning than the situation called for, then continued on with his story.

It was like that for just over a month. Then he stopped coming in. There was nothing in his final visit to indicate he wasn't coming back. Bucky just disappeared.

CLICK TO READ PART 2/2

[xqueerneurosisx]

not to be That Person but if you're an anti-anti can you put it somewhere the rest of us can see it cause that last post was a nasty surprise

No. Because I’m not. I just agreed with a fucking post. If you think it’s nasty, then that’s a you problem.

Edit:

just to be clear here mostly because I wrote the beginning of this answer fucking sleep deprived so I left some shit out by “that’s a you problem,” I mean it’s your responsibility to ask me- civilly, if you want a post like that tagged with something, if you need it blocked. Not to try to shove me into your fucking little box based on how YOU view one fuckin’ post. Sorry pal, you are that person rn.

Also, you might want to check why you’re being so fucking visceral over these weirdass labels before you assume something about someone else, because I will tell you: I didn’t even think there was supposed to be anything “anti-anti,” about that post until you sent this, and even then, the only connection I could see was: that “anti,” word was in op’s I guess former url?

I reblogged in agreement with the post in a different way- which I’m not going to elaborate on, because clearly, you don’t care about that, but I’m allowed to do that, and if you confirm to me you need to block it because you can only see whatever the hell “anti-anti,” is in it, then sure send in something saying so, and I’ll tag it that, but what you’re not gonna do is: demand me what to call myself, on my own fucking blog, m’kay? Cool.

[takemealivelh]

One Night Stand - M.C.

PART 1

Part 2 || 1.2k | | Georgia works in the same hotel 5SOS is staying in. || Mentions of alcohol and sex || FEEDBACK IS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED

They exchanged silent smiles for the next ten minutes. The music from the nearby pubs changed from Top 40 pop to rockier music and Michael started moving his leg, causing the water to splash around his ankles. The little detail made Georgia smile. Even after all this time, it was such a pleasure to be around him. 

“You wanna see something crazy?”

Her voice had lowered enough to encapsulate both the nervousness and excitement she was feeling. 

Michael turned his head towards the girl who was now sitting in a cross-legged position next to him. He thought she had grown even more beautiful in the past two years. She was a woman now. Her hair up in a neat ponytail gave her a sophisticated air, the chipped matte red toenails gave her an edge he so vividly remembered.

“What?” Georgia had smirked against the clean shave of his jaw. She was topless, practically on top of him, both hands on each side of his squirming body. “You’re suddenly shy now?” She’d slurred her word, each vibration had sent a shiver down Michael’s spine. He had felt the desperate droplets of sweat gliding down the side of his neck.

“I’m- I’ll-” 

He’d stuttered but his mind had gone blank when Georgia’s hands started to play with the hem of his shirt. It had felt like a short-circuit. Every single nerve-ending jolting him into life. 

“Always.” Michael’s eyes beamed through the hotel lights in the dark.

Georgia cleared her throat. She scanned the empty poolside area quickly before undoing the first two buttons of her shirt.

“Ah, this takes me back.” He mocked her with a smirk, which she returned.

The morning sun had been hot and the room air, stiff. Michael had opened an eye when the familiar ringtone of his phone went off. A new kind of groan left Georgia’s lips.

“Hello?” Michael had sat on the bed and rubbed the sleep off with a sweaty hand, the other held the phone to his ear. His bandmates were wondering where he was. “A’ight, a’ight. ‘Kay. Yes. Gimme ten, twenty minutes. I’ll be right there.”

After he’d hung up, he’d turned his head to see Georgia’s naked back splayed on the mattress. He’d smiled at the not-so-distant memory of having her on top of him, riding him into heaven. The way her eyes had rolled the very back when he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, hitting a particularly sensitive spot inside her. The girl beside him deserved all the robes in the world. She was a true MVP.

Georgia had rolled her head to meet Michael’s eyes. Her hair fell on her own and she’d huffed to get it out of the way -failing miserably- causing them both to laugh.

“No fucking way!” Michael’s voice suddenly went up in volume a ridiculous amount. Georgia couldn’t help but laugh at his genuine shock. “Wow.” He smiled and narrowed his eyes at her collarbone. “I’m sorry if this sounds creepy but... can I touch it?”

“It sounds so creepy.” She held the shirt open enough to reveal the whole tattoo. Her facial expression didn’t match her words, Georgia was smiling so big it was starting to hurt. “You can touch it. Try not to get too into it.” She teased, chuckling.

Michael traced a single finger from the base of the grey-blue feather that grew from Georgia’s sternum, it soared through her right collarbone and landed in a hazy splash of blues and blacks. His eyes were so concentrated on the marvellous work that was inked in Georgia’s skin that he barely registered when it bristled.

“It’s breathtaking.” He murmured softly. Michael thought that it made sense, that someone as breathtaking as Georgia -someone as naturally fascinating as her- would get such tattoo.

“D’ya wanna meet the band? They’re all horrible but I guess they won’t bite.” Michael had told Georgia while they walked up to the tour bus. They had taken a taxi after paying for the room and jokingly writing down bathrobes on the suggestions book. “I mean, they’re cool, but you can’t say they’re cooler than me. You’ll break my heart.” 

Michael’s eyes had been glassy from the drinks and the sex of the night before, but he had also grown fond of the girl he’d spent the night with. He’d clutched her hand to his chest and placed a kiss on it.

Georgia had thought he was the cutest thing in the world. She really wanted to continue to hang out with him and get to know him better but she also knew that was impossible. It was better to say goodbye soon. 

Before it started to hurt.

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” She had smiled up at him and kissed the corner of his lips. “Last night was great. My wrecked body agrees.” She’d laughed and placed another kiss on the other corner of his lips. 

Michael’s hands had reached to cup her face and he then kissed her properly. 

“I’ll miss you.” He had whispered.

“Same here.”

By 7am, Georgia was ready to clock out of her shift. She had changed into her street clothes and thrown her gym bag over her shoulder. Dreaming of her usual blueberry muffin was not the case. She couldn’t stop thinking about Michael. 

Last night had been better than any kind of scenario she could’ve made up in her mind. After he complimented her tattoo, they talked and flirted like they had done on their date back in the pub, two years ago. He had told her he was gonna do a bunch of interviews tomorrow, but he hoped they could hang out when that was over, maybe she could come up to his room.

“Michael...”

“Georgia...”

“You know that could get me fired, right?”

“...no, but okay.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

Georgia signed off from her shift and started to make her way to the parking lot-since the main entrance was still blocked with all the reporters, fans and security guards. 

“G! Wait up!”

She stopped on her tracks when she heard the voice of her co-worker, Felix -the bellboy who had given her Michael’s message the night before-. When she turned around, she saw the guitarist, too.

“What...?” She couldn’t hide her smile.

“Told you I’d get in the band.” 

Michael looked so good in ripped jeans and a black hoodie. He looked cuddly and somewhere she wanted to fall asleep in, to be honest. “He’s surprisingly good at harmonies.” Michael laughed. Then Georgia laughed. But she was so tired that anything was funny to her at this point.

“Hey.” Michael walked up to her and Georgia saw Felix wink at her and leave the other way.

“Hey.” She murmured.

“Did you know that motel is still in business?”

Georgia dropped her head and laughed. “Did you know you have a dirty mind?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” They stood in silence for a few seconds, the lobby was empty except for them. “Listen, I’m free at around five. Maybe we could grab a bite or a drink and go there, or not. We can do whatever.”

“It’s my day off today. I don’t come back until 8pm tomorrow.” Georgia looked up at the tired yet sparkly green eyes. He smelled like soap and toothpaste. “I live on my own now.”

“Look at you, such a grownup.”

“We both are, to be fair.”

“I guess, yeah.”

-

Part 3 will be the last part.

Things have been CRAZY around here, that’s why I haven’t been active, but I thought maybe I need a distraction so I wrote this and I hope you like it. I’ll try to write the final part 3 soon and also rewrite Battle of the Bands part 3 soon. I wanna start another Luke fic and maybe if you wanna send me requests that would be cool as well. Thank you for reading. (Also I went through the reblogs of part 1 and added those beautiful blogs to the tag list, hope you don’t mind.)

TAG LIST

@brown-eyedshell @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @myloverboyash @hopeless-renassianceluke @angelbabylu @5sosnsfw @cal-puddies @cal-pal-cuddles @singt0mecalum @sublimehood @irwinkitten @bloodmoonashton @dweebluke @sugarcoated-pain @rosecoloredash @lashtoncurls @sweetcherrymike @calumspeachy @ashtoniwir @dammitbands @fullmoonclifford @wonderland-irwin @damselindistressanu @ashtonandcalslefthand @mycollectionofnuts​ @calteahood​ @rainingcalum​ @cals-eyebrows​ @calsjackets​ @blackbluemichael @mooseclifford @ghostofmashton @lockthisheartinchains @bumblebet-20 @h0tsos @allthelightswecannotsee @flannelpunkcalum

[thaliatimsh]

if its alright! wrt the 'directors commentary' asks, honestly anything /Anything/ for 'imperfect life', oof :0

ONE DVD COMMENTARY TRACK COMING UP BECAUSE HELL YES you may ask me about this one. GOD I HOPE THIS READ MORE WORKS OR I’M GONNA DIE OF SHAME. For those of you who’ve missed my pleas: imperfect life is on AO3 here. read it or i cry.

Okay I reblogged that post with not much of an idea about what I’d actually have to say but imperfect life is at least at the forefront of my mind lol

First things first I’d had an idea for a fic about Hodgson At Mutineer Camp that i wanted to write floating around my head for a while that was. I suppose centred on the sheer Betrayal of GIBSON YOU CHANGED MY SHEETS FOR THREE YEARS? WHAT THE FUCK? And as I did more research abt both of them and found that they’d been on ships together & that it was likely that either Hodgson or Peglar got Gibson his job? Fuckin wrote itself, especially seeing as in show-canon Bridgens is the Peglar Papers Steward.

Anyway I’ve said this before to everyone who’ll listen but I will say it again: I think Hodgson is misinterpreted & underappreciated by a lot of the fandom &  it makes me SAD and also ANGRY.

Like: I once saw someone say that he was “mad about Jopson’s promotion, so fuck that guy”? NO. He MISSED Jopson’s promotion! He would have gotten a KICK out of Jopson’s promotion! You BASTARDS! Hickey picks on him SPECIFICALLY because he’s out of the loop! I’ll kill you!

Ham jokes? I’m coming to your HOUSE. man’s as ‘obsessed with ham’ as any self-respecting naval officer starving to death in the arctic

Then there’s the “Who is this?” being taken as some kind of a-okay for cannibalism instead of a guy who saw someone shot dead just last night and then spent the morning burying said dead'un being literally scared out of his mind by a greasy lil rat with a knife and Tozer blocking the tent flap with a fuckign RIFLE. DAMN YOU ALL.

Do I think he’s a complete FOOL? YES. Do I think he ever had any kind of malicious intent? NO. Okay anyway I’m gonna talk a bit more abt that later so let me go back to the next part lmao

So Part 2 of the George Henry Hodgson Saga was then to figure out why he had to go stay with his aunts - this ALSO came pretty straight to me, for whatever reason. I think it might have started off as just his parents pleasure jaunt, but as I was thinking about later scenes with Jimmy Fitzjas I came up with a thing abt - Im not gonna find the reference now but in the battersby book there’s a bit abt William Coningham going to take the waters at bath or whatever for Weak Lungs which OBVIOUSLY made me think of my favourite comsumptive Of All Time Fryderyk Franciszek Chopin & the countryside retreats he & his sister Emilia took for their symptoms as teenagers (and unforch Emilia died of tuberculosis aged just 14… rip)

ANYWAY I had some VAGUE idea that George n Fitz could have some kind of Passing Discussion abt Brothers With Shite Lungs that obviously never came to fruition but. Lol whatever, it gave me a reason for why My Parents Sent Me To Stay With Two Aunts.

UH. Right, so then like the third leg for this to stand on was that Fitzjames and Hodgson had ALSO served together & Fitzjames had: 1. recommended Hodgson to the expedition 2: mentioned him TWICE in his Voyage of the Cornwallis 3. Mentioned him in his letters to the Coninghams from disko bay (one of the only Terrors mentioned - there’s a passage abt Fitzjames going to look at the icebergs with Fairholme and Hodgson. ANYWAY; show-canon Hodgson has a sense of humour and I really think he tried to make the men see him as approachable, at least compared to the other Terror officers and that reminds me a lot of how the historical Fitzjames seemed from mystery man! Seeing as they KNew each other I think it’s not unfair to suggest that he’s trying to emulate an older and more successful officer! He wants to succeed! He wants to have fun and to be loved by The Men!

My friend said something very Prescient abt this to me recently which was that THere are a lot of similarities between Hodgson & Fitzjames and it’s kinda like. Fitzjames is the Ideal, and Hodgson just misses the mark. He’s the average man’s James Fitzjames and because he doesn’t know about Fitzjames’ surplus of political luck that only makes him feel more of a failure. Fitzjames gets a bullet that gets him compared to Lord Nelson, Hodgson gets in the gazette as ‘slightly wounded’. Even their monologues! Fitzjames gives a soul-baring confessional he’s never talked about before to someone he respects and he gets! Affirmation! Gets told that he’s a good man and brave and loved! Hodgson gives a soul-baring confessional he’s never talked about before to someone he respects and gets! FUCK ALL! A MAN SITS IN SILENCE! He has to fucking! Walk out alone after all of that! FUCK!!!

Okay so this whole fic just sat in my brain for probably like six months until I literally sat up in bed because I worked out the last piece of the puzzle

(Drac has an epiphany, July 4th 2019, colourised)

Which was, of course, 'Hodgson went to boarding school’ - which is what all of this ends up hanging off of! Boarding school culture! The younger years are servants for the upper years, who in turn are responsible for the younger students!  including discipline etc so like… if a younger year brought something up to their “fag-master” it’d be sorted by them and maybe prefects, without getting schoolmasters etc involved.

WHICH is why George doesn’t tell the captains about what happens to Neptune, because he’s out here trying to be a good fag master and get it sorted himself! His own fag master fucked him over by getting the schoolmasters involved when they oughtn’t have been! He’s not about to be Archibald Harrington-Thurlowe! He’s not okaying the mutiny! He’s trying to minimise the damage *on his own* like a fuckin idiot!

IF YOU CALL HODGSON A MUTINEER I’LL COME TO YOUR HOUSE N MAKE YOU GET LOST AND ABANDONED AND END UP EATING YOUR BOOT BEFORE GETTING 'RESCUED’ BY THE SAME GREASY RAT WHO LITERALLY MURDERED YOUR PAL AND TRICKED YOU INTO SLAUGHTERING CIVILIANS! I’LL. I’M NOT HAPPY.

I’m just basically so upset about 'one perfect moment in a whole imperfect life’ being a childhood memory that he was taught to see as so shameful to compare it to cannibalism under duress? FUCK.

A whole imperfect life in GENERAL has me fucked up! He just kept trying and kept just missing what he was aiming for! I mean. That’s relateable. Not one part of a life turning out as you expected or planned? ME!!!! Your achievements add up to nothing and no matter how hard you try you end up a footnote! FUCK offfff

I had some difficulty with the religious angle for a while because. hm. okay. To start with the religious angle IN-CANON is just.... not correct. Catholics don't let you drink the blood. The church of england DOES... and that's what most of these men ARE. The Papist Speech as a whole was cobbled together from one of Crozier's ~Visions~ in the book - and it's important in that case that Crozier is IRISH... Poor analogy, writers! Putting aside that he was also... SEVEN... maybe he was an unusually tall seven-year old, people assumed he'd had first communion/been baptised & no one wanted to cause a fuss... I mean the guy has lead poisoning so it's fair to mis-remember but... YEAH. Messy, which is a shame because it's a powerful monologue very well-delivered, shame it's complete fucking nonsense 😂 (not to be like... SMH Americans but... smh Americans...)

Anyway, as I wrote it? that’s me. I wasn’t raised religious - my dad’s an old-school small-town Continental Catholic, my mum’s agnostic but raised CofE (but *her* dad was raised Jewish (also continental) during WW2), I think they couldn’t be fucked with the drama, I never went to church or anything and as a kid when we had prayers at school assembly I didn’t know what I was doing!!!! I felt bad because I couldn’t fathom God as a concept!!! I still can’t! But as a kid it’s like. I don’t understand and on account of that I’m afraid I’m going to Hell. tfw you write what you know.

ALSO there were definitely a couple of times where I wrote G H Hodgson as played by B W Wooster and I will not be taking constructive criticism on that.

ANYWAY My brain has kindof turned itself off now but I guess this is just. My own personal backstory to this jhsgfjhs. I actually probably have about 400x more to say but it’s fully evaporated. thank you SO MUCH for asking me though. i die.

[torque-x]

Character Sheet

Repost don’t reblog!

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

FULL NAME.   Unknown.

NICKNAME.    Torque. 

HEIGHT.     Generally over six feet, but very, very tall at full height.

AGE.   Approximately 20. 

ZODIAC.    Who fucking cares???

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English, ADVENT Common, Serpentine (Viper/Cobra/Adder language)

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR COLOR.    Do I look like I have hair???

EYE COLOR.    Yellow/Green depending on how you look. 

SKIN TONE.    Don’t have skin, pal, but my scales are White/light pink. 

BODY TYPE.    Fucking JACKED. You seen these muscles?

VOICE.   Generally feminine, incredibly sarcastic 99.9% of the time. 

DOMINANT HAND.   I’m ambidextrous. I know, I’m cool. 

POSTURE.   Upright, constantly in motion. Gotta balance since I don’t have legs. 

SCARS.    None, HAH! Do I look like I’d get shot? 

TATTOOS.    Ew, no. 

BIRTHMARKS.   Fuck if I know, I don’t spend that much time looking at myself.

 MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S).    I’m a snake. I don’t have legs. I hiss very loudly. I paint my nails? I don’t know, take your pick.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH.    What used to be Siberia. 

HOMETOWN.   Whatever breeding facility I came out of. 

SIBLINGS.   Probably tens of hundreds, dead or alive. XCOM got good at killing us.  

PARENTS.    No clue, if I even have any. Saying ‘a factory’ is kinda sad, isn’t it?

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION.   Ex-ADVENT soldier, now I guess Ex-Chimera Squad Agent. Haven’t found a job here yet. 

CURRENT RESIDENCE.   This city, dipshit, where else? 

CLOSE FRIENDS.    Director Kelly. Jane always took care of me. Have yet to meet anyone here that doesn’t piss me off.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS.    Single, not interested. 

FINANCIAL STATUS.   Unemployed. Nuff said.  

DRIVER’S LICENSE.    I don’t have legs. I can’t drive anyway. 

CRIMINAL RECORD.   Hahahahahahahaha oh MAN is this a question I can finally answer! Murder doesn’t count during a time of war, unless it does, then more than I can count. Fighting XCOM. Killing XCOM. Hunting XCOM. Yackin’ venom at things doesn’t count as bioterrorism, does it? Makes me wonder why XCOM even agreed to hire me anyway.

 VICES.   Wrath. Pride.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.   God I hate answering these. No preference, I guess. Bisexual.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.   Like I said, bisexual.

PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE.    The voice of reason, though nobody else sees it like that.

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.    If you expect me to bottom, you’ll have to fight me for it. Spoiler alert, you won’t win. 

LIBIDO.   Fuck if I know. Normal?? 

WHAT ATTRACTS.    People who can take a punch, physically and emotionally. People who don’t give up. People who care. 

WHAT REPULSES.   Carelessness, people who are willing to sacrifice their friends. 

LOVE LANGUAGE.    If you take time outta your day to talk to me, I guess. 

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.    Haven’t had one that’s stuck for more than a month, so probably nothing good on my part. Gotta click with them to start caring about them, else I start to stop caring. God forbid I do care else I might start to be a little overbearing.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. (She doesn’t have one, but this is one of three that feature her on the cover.) The Progeny

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME.    I work out cause I gotta keep up whatever strength these assholes didn’t take from me, and I paint my nails because a lady’s gotta treat herself. Also sunbathing because man who doesn’t like the sun?

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.   High, since I’ve never met something I couldn’t kill by myself. 

VULNERABILITIES.   I guess my friends. That and bringing up what I did before XCOM. Reminds me of...tougher days.

TAGGED BY: I yoinked it

TAGGING: this is yoinkable

[synthsizedproductions]

Wildcard Wednesday # 5: Locked in Blood Chapter One

Hey, hey, guys, gals, and in between pals! I can't believe we're already at number five in this series. I know it's only been a month, but I'm super proud of myself for continuing forward even with some small setbacks.

This is a side story that I'm working on based on a Tumblr post that I've seen several times. This isn't part of the Synth Universe and will be found in the Side Stories section of the website. A link to the post will be at the bottom.

Hope you enjoy the show!

~Chance

CW: Blood

Chapter One

Vladimir looked through the mint condition cards he'd held sacred for so long. He hadn't kept them for over a century because he thought they would have more value later. He held hundreds of ducats in his hands, but money meant nothing in the face of immortality.

At least, it hadn't meant anything before even Vladimir Dracula fell on hard times in the 21st century. A plague ravaging the world was something he was familiar with, but it hadn't been on this kind of scale in a long time. Walking the night looking for easily convinced blood donors had become near impossible with the curfews and stay at home orders. Social distancing was a plague all its own on Vampire kind.

He spread the cards on the table with the utmost care. These cards were the most precious thing he had from a life long gone. His eyes rose to the ancient sepia toned photograph he had tended to with the same care as the cards. A sad smile crossed his lips as his gaze rested on the pair of men embracing in  the image. He began reaching for the photo, but pulled his hand back when there was a knock on his door.

"One moment." Vladimir dug his facemask from his pocket and looked into the mirror near his door to be sure it was sitting properly. It wasn't like he was going to contract the virus, but appearances needed to kept up.

Vladimir swung the door open and was surprised by not having to look down at the other man. Though he was not as tall as the fanfictions claimed, being almost two meters tall had him actually head and shoulders above most people he met. The second thing that struck him was the familiar brown eyes that met his.

"As much as I do not mind staring at your emerald eyes, are you going to invite me in to look at those cards?" The man's voice was like a ghost from the past.

If Vladimir's heart still beat, it would be pounding. It took him a moment to compose himself. "Yes, my apologies. You just remind me of an old...friend."

Vladimir stepped aside to allow the other man into his rather unassuming apartment. The long legged man strode into the main room and Vladimir could see him immediately start scanning his surroundings. Even this man's movements brought Vladimir back to that fateful day in Japan.

The man turned to face Vladimir again. The plain black mask obscured half of his visitor's face, but Vladimir could see the man's smile in his eyes. "Thank you for inviting me to see the cards. I was pleasantly shocked when you agreed to meet so late. Normally, people suspect foul play when I suggest meeting at midnight."

If Vladimir still breathed, he would be short of breath from the shock of seeing a shadow from his past. He had to compose himself again before he could reply. "Of course. I live a fairly nocturnal life, so this worked perfectly for me."

"Ah, another third shifter. Not enough of us around these days. Who will watch the walls while others sleep, Vladimir?" The man's laugh resonated within Vladimir as though he were a tuning fork.

Vladimir laughed as well to cover the sudden burst of nervousness. "Who, indeed. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage as I've forgotten your name from our exchanges. All I can recall is your username. Home_Sweet_Holmes. I found it quite clever."

The visitor sat on the edge of the couch. "Thank you. You can just call me Holmes. All my friends do."

"Are we friends?"

Holmes chuckled. "I hope to be once we complete our exchange. So, where are the first run cards you told me about?"

Vladimir led Holmes to the table. "These are my most valuable cards from the collection. I have many more I can show you if you are interested."

Holmes squatted down so he was closer to the cards. He looked them over like a jeweler, his brown eyes flicking about at a near inhuman speed. "May I pick them up?" Vladimir nodded, trying to pretend he wasn't studying Holmes like he was studying the cards. Holmes stood to his full height again and picked the cards up, examining them one by one. Vladimir could hear the young man mumbling about details in the cards, some of which Vladimir hadn't even noticed before.

Holmes replaced all but one of the cards in their original position. He turned the card that remained in his hand over with a curious frown. "I hate to devalue your cards, Vladimir, but this one is not valuable as the others you have presented. What makes this one so special?"

Vladimir took the card from Holmes and stared down at the collector's piece. He laugh and shook his head. "My apologies, Holmes. I forget this card is not as valuable to other collectors. This one was actually given to me by the friend you remind me of."

"Your friend had good taste and a good eye for detail. I am guessing you are unaware of its true value?"

Vlad furrowed his brow and shook his head before placing the card in Holmes' outstretched hand. "No. He didn't tell me anything was special about the card."

Holmes held the card up and  pointed to a mark in the corner. "This marking was only on a small batch of cards as a misprint. There are only fifty of these in the entire world. Beyond that, this is part of that batch which was personalized by the original artist from Nintendo. This is one of ten cards with completely unique borders and backing." Holmes turned the card over and picked up a second card to show Vladimir the differences. "What you have is a unicorn, Vladimir. I could not ask you to part with something this valuable on a monetary and personal level. Your friend probably wanted you to keep this one."

Vladimir took the card back, his fingers brushing Holmes' as they went by. If Vladimir's blood still ran through his veins, his face would be flushed. He pulled the card close to his chest and couldn't help but to glance at the picture of him and Sherlock.

Holmes took immediate notice and squatted down so was level with the picture. "This photograph is ancient. I am impressed by its condition." He tilted his head as he examined the picture. "Is this your great grandfather? The resemblance is striking."

Vladimir nodded with another nervous laugh. "Um, not quite. That's my great granduncle who I was named after."

Holmes picked up the frame with the lightest touch, holding it in both hands as he gave it a closer look. "Was this your uncle's...friend?"

Vladimir shook his head. "You don't have to play heteronormative with me. My uncle was a bisexual man in the late 1800s."

Holmes looked shocked by Vladimir's frank response. "It was very brave of them to get this picture taken. It looks a bit different than most of the pictures I've seen from this era."

Holmes handed the photograph to Vladimir who lightly touched the glass that separated him from the past. "My uncle's partner was brilliant and devised a way to take a picture without the use of silver. A silver allergy runs in my family and even being around the stuff they used back then could cause great discomfort."

Holmes tilted his head and squinted his eyes. "I see. What a curious allergy." The young man turned his attention to the cards again. "I'd like to take some time to consider my offer. Would it be alright if we met at my coffee shop in a few days? If you don't mind bringing some of those other cards, I'll gladly take a few off your hands."

Vladimir put the picture on the table and collected his cards. "I didn't know you owned a coffee shop."

Holmes pulled out a business card from an inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to Vladimir. "Locke and Watts Café. A 24/7 internet café that I and a friend opened a year ago. We are not well known yet, but we are attracting the local college scene. Or, we were before this virus struck."

"Have you thought of doing curbside pickup or deliveries?"

Holmes sighed. "Yes, but neither of us have a car and my bicycle is not suitable for carrying anything except me. I think it belonged to my grandfather and potentially his father before him. It is  something of a 'welcome to adulthood' gift. A busted up bicycle that the recipient is expected to fix with no outside help. I think my father actually made that part up to fuck with me."

"Your father sounds like a prick."

Holmes burst into laughter, doubling over for a moment before gathering himself again. "My apologies, Vladimir. It is just that those are the exact words my grandfather said to me when I told him what my father had said. He told me my father had always been a prick and always would be."

Vladimir laughed as well. "It sounds like your grandfather had good taste and an eye for detail." Vladimir tucked the business card in his shirt pocket. "Give me a call when you want to meet again, Holmes." Vladimir extended his hand but pulled back when he remembered the social distancing rule.

Holmes held up his elbow. "Elbow bump?" Vladimir raised his elbow with a clueless look. Holmes bumped his elbow against Vladimir's elbow. "This is what my friends and I replaced handshakes with. Way less worry about transmission."

Vladimir followed his guest to the door, holding it open for the young man. Holmes gave Vladimir a parting wave before disappearing in the dimly lit hall. Vladimir moved over to his window and watched as Holmes unlocked a familiar bicycle before riding off into the night.

Vladimir laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling long after the sun had risen. All he could think of was the specter of his lost lover that had visited the night before. He turned to look at his cellphone. "Please call soon..."

Queer Bookworm reblog 

[gemevieve]

Just to clear stuff up

(tw: for mentions of rape, transphobia, and pedophilia. Not depictions of it but mentions of it. With the exception of transphobia since a group is being transphobic to my friend)

Now, most may not know this but there has been a callout post going around about my friend Rosemary by the tumblr blog called sonicsafetysquad which contains a lot of false information which I would like to address. This post is going to be long by the way.

Rosemary is not into rape/non con, I’ve known them for a long time and they are not into that. They don’t draw it, reblog, or retweet rape/non con porn at all. I am not sure where they got this from. If they were into any of this I would’ve known way before they would. 

They are also not into f*ta, Rosemary is trans and it would be weird for a trans person to be into that. They have drawn trans headcannons on characters but that is not the same as trans fetishization. 

Lastly is the claim that they are a pedophile, a claim that should not be thrown around lightly. They are not a pedophile in anyway. They do not groom minors, they tag their nsfw stuff accordingly, their nsfw twitter is locked, and I know they are not attracted to children. They have not drawn or like porn of child characters as for example in the sonic fanbase Tails, Cream, etc. Characters that look, act, sound, and are agreed that are children. Now the characters they showed/brought up were Sonic, Knuckles, Rouge, and shadow. Now Sega has stated that these characters are 15/16, 15, 19, and 50+ respectively. Now two of those characters are legal adults (even thought Rouge should be in her mid to late 20s basing how she acts, sounds, and looks). Lets talk about Sonic and Knuckles’ ages. This is where stuff gets kind of weird. 

In Sega’s early days the characters ages were vague, especially sonic’s, for sonic it was because he was similar to characters like Mickey Mouse and Felix the cat where their ages look vague but one can argue are adults. When I was a kid I thought sonic and most of his pals were young adults basing on what was going on with them. Sonic adopting tails acting like a big brother but technically Tail’s adopted father. They made sonic 15 which if any other character who is a teen adopted a 8 year old would be seen as cute but kind of sad that a teen has to raise a kid in any story. I know Tails is a child genius but he is still an 8 year old with no parents. Knuckles who is a guardian of the giant emerald and coping with the fact that he is the last of his kind surpassingly very well. I always thought knuckles was an adult, like a somewhat naive adult (naive because he lives on a floating island alone most of the time), not just that he sounds like an adult as well. Sega made him 15/16 as well even though if a teen found out they were the last of their kind they would NOT be handling it like knuckles handled it. 

Before most ask, a lot of the sonic characters are teens like Sally is and that one I have never gotten over. Ever since I was 5 and watch Sonic SATAM I thought she was an adult. Her old design (and her new design), voice, and behavior screamed adult but Sega decided to make her 16. But why? To ship her with Sonic. That’s it. As far as I know that is the only reason Sega did that because shipping an adult with a teen would be creepy but that didn’t stop Sega with Rouge flirting with Knuckles (I guess a 19 year old can flirt with a 15 year old according to Sega which is creepy). Sega as of now has gone back with making the ages vague which I think is better for characters like Sonic, Knuckles, Sally, ect for many reasons. Now some might wonder why make a lot of these characters teens when they don’t live with their parents or go to school or have jobs? Why make them act older than they are? Well, my best guess is that the reason why Sega made a lot of these characters into teens is because they most likely thought kids/teens couldn’t like or relate to characters who are adults so they have to be the target demographic’s ages and that adults aren’t hip. Sonic (especially as a character) was made to be as cool as possible no matter what. Everything sonic does is hip and cool. What is the opposite to most kids and teens? Adults. When Sega did this what they did with various characters later on did not realize the implications this would cause. From what I’ve seen in the sonic community, the majority accept that characters that are obviously children/underage like Tails and Cream for example are in fact children and it is gross to draw porn of (I also agree with that as well). While characters that act/sound/look like adults the majority of the community agree it is okay. 

I wanted to explain that with sonic characters to give most an idea about the age stuff because a lot of people I’ve talked to about sonic and when I mention characters ages like Sally Acorn and Knuckles they would be surprised and could not believe that they are teens because like me, as a very casual sonic fan, would assume those characters are adults. Which one can blame Sega for and I don’t see the sonicsafetysquad blaming them for it when it is Sega’s fault for doing certain stuff like that. But again what should I expect from a group where one of the mods is friends with someone who ships South Park characters (I don’t know if it is the kid characters but most South Park fans ship the kids so I am assuming here), has a mod that is underage which concerns me because I know the other two mods are adults and I’m worried that they are showing porn to a minor when they claim to be against that stuff, and is friends with or supports lesbianamyrose (as far as I know) who made fun of a disabled person’s appearance.

This group has been stalking and harassing my friend for awhile and I am sick of it. To the point where they have tried picking apart every little thing about them. To the point where someone either connected to them or supports them lied about being an adult so they could get access to my friend’s nsfw twitter. I am disgusted by this group’s behavior and the fact that they don’t accept the criticism they are given. I fucking hate it when people claim someone is a pedophile when they are not. I’ve had one of my friends who is a VICTIM of pedophilia be called a pedophile which was just plain disgusting. If my friend, Rosemary, was a pedophile I would’ve known because one of my ex friends is a pedophile. After one of my ex friends as outed as a pedophile (a for real pedophile who groomed teens, was friends with an open pedophile, etc) I pushed my self to be more careful and observant of others. Rosemary was there for me when that happened. I was so angry, hurt, and betrayed by him. I know this post is so long and I am sorry it is but this stuff has to be said. Sorry to be talking about this stuff which could be considered drama but I’m tried of this. Overall the sonicsafteysquad is not helping protecting minors since they have harassed many people including minors, Sega is really weird with sonic ages which makes so many things confusing to both fans and non-fans of the franchise, and have attacked my friend on a weak basis (they talked more about the piss fetish more than anything else even though my friend was keeping that stuff private but they decided to make it public) which has made people not look into this deeper and just believe what they say blindly. 

Hopefully I explained things well as best as I can about what is going on.