#the point is this subject makes me feel some sort of way.

[buddie911abc]

Here I go again.

Buck asks Eddie if his son is the real reason he doesn't date. Eddie responds with, "That and, they weren't my type."

This has been a flag for everyone who reads the subtext, but let's take a moment to look at the last GIF.

Eddie says they weren't his type. Buck turns around to look at them and probably assesses what makes them, 'not' Eddie's type because the girls were all subjectively pretty. There were also a variety of types of women there.

But look closely at the GIF. Eddie said they weren't his type. While Buck is glancing back, Eddie gives Buck a quick look that really screams, "You are it. You are the type." When I noticed this from the GIF edit, I thought it might be the creator slowing it down, but nope. If I look at the episode, it is the same or nearly the same. This is early season two, and I have always thought, in the early episodes, there was no intent to pair Eddie with Buck as anything but a friend. However, this scene makes me wonder at what point Tim M or whoever was writing changed their minds about adding in a subtextual narrative.

I find it very difficult to see this scene as a heteronormative exchange. In fact, it even feels like Eddie is pushing back a little to test where Buck stands. Buck as a character who lacks self-awareness gives a mixed signal answer. (which tracks with his character at this point and matches his coming-out arc.) **edited to clarify** Buck's mixed signal response to Eddie saying they aren't my type is, "Not mine either, at least not anymore."**

A few seconds later, Buck says Eddie has a weak excuse. My lovely and wonderfully sassy Eddie says, "You live in your invisible girlfriend's house, and you're telling me about weak excuses." He essentially points at Buck's closet door, but of course, this is something that Buck couldn't see or pick up on at the time. These moments are small in the grand scheme of the show as a whole so I'm afraid it will be forgotten. It would be nice to have some sort of throwback acknowledgment that this scene hasn't been retconned.

To backtrack a little bit here, I would also like to point out something else about the early timing or the writing of these characters as potentially queer. They are outside. (True I don't understand the ins and outs of filmmaking so there may very well be a reason for this.) But the shot itself is making them walk close together. Not just close, their shoulders are literally bumping against each other, hitting and knocking at each other in a way that might appear "unintentionally" intimate--until you remember they are outside. It seems to me like there are dozens of ways to shoot this thing that don't require them to be so casually physical with each other. For the scene to be shot like this and then consider the canon conversation that took place, it feels quite intentional that the writers wanted viewers to look closely for something else.

Whenever certain people call Buddie shippers delusional, I think about this. Subtextual language aside, the scenes are shot in such a way as to plant the idea of "More." There is attraction here. There is flirting.

Someone, somewhere wanted to tell this story from the start; and I'm not mad about it. I'm 100% here for it, and I'm ready for it to go down as the most epic love story I've ever watched or read about, but I also admit that I want it to be canon, not so I can throw it in anyone's face that their ship is wrong, but so I can prove I'm not some weirdo putting two hot guys together. I'm seeing a real romance being built. I want that validation as much as I want everyone under the LGBTQ umbrella to see representation for themselves on screen.

If you want to see the scene, go to about 3:05.

[buckgasms]

I got my nails done today and it got me thinking about Daddy and Princess because obviously he would pay for her to get her nails done etc...

But being me (a whore) I was like, how can I make it kinky??

So I imagined like a fancy spa, but it's all open to kinky couples who like doing things a little out of the ordinary right?

(Also this way we aren't subjecting innocent nail techs and masseurs to stuff they don't wanna see right??)

Anyway....

So I'm imagining the kind of thing where Princess is having a massage and the soft hands on your back change suddenly to bigger, firmer ones that you know are Bucky.

And he's squeezing your ass and spreading your cheeks to take a good look at you. He helps you roll over but covers your eyes with a soft lavender scented mask. His hands roam freely over your lotioned up skin. Squeezing at your breasts, tickling your tummy, squeezing and spreading your thighs and rubbing at your soaking heat as you moan and whine.

And at some point he guides his fat cock into your hungry, whimpering mouth, hanging your head off the table as he massages your breasts.

Or!!

Maybe it's the other way around, and you are the one waiting on the other side of the door and you slip into the quiet room and take over, massaging daddy until he's totally relaxed.

"Damn princess, you're good at that..." He groans as you run your hands up and down his thick thighs and you giggle. He rolls over on the bed and lets the towel slip dangerously low on his hips. You are already salivating at the sight.

"Think you can help me out with this Princess?"

You climb up on top of him, guiding his cock into your heat and slowly rock as your hands massage his broad, hairy chest. You run your hands down his arms and work out all the aches as you keep him nice and warm between your thighs.

The air changes when he grips your hips and starts bouncing you up and down and you are left clinging onto his arms for dear life as he takes the lead.

It's a bit slippy, but by the time he's finished you are laying on his chest, his thick fingers rubbing up and down your spine, leaving you feeling very relaxed indeed.

🕯️

Or maybe you are getting your nails done, so your hands are kinda occupied, which means Daddy can slip into the seat behind you, pull you into his lap and run his hands all over you. Squeezing your breasts and dipping his hands into your underwear. He gently scolds you when you move because he doesn't want your nails to be ruined, so you do your best to stay still.

But he won't make it easy on you.

🕯️

Facials kinda speak for themselves right? That's something you can sort out all by yourselves in a private little booth somewhere.

Maybe he wants to see your pretty nails and what they look like wrapped round his cock? And your reward is a facial from Daddy to "make your pretty face even prettier".

🕯️

There's more vanilla things available, like actual couples massages but you can sit more cosily together than you normally might.

And sitting on his lap as your face masks do their work, his hand gently rubbing your thigh under the fluffy bathrobe you have been provided with.

There's plenty of other couples around, some that like watching, others who only have eyes for each other.

You are very much the latter, only interested in Bucky and how lucky you feel to be somewhere like this with him. The fact that there's some couple going at it poolside isn't that interesting to you. You'd already done that with daddy...

But I love the idea of some couple approaching and offering you both an invitation to join them in a booth or for a massage? They can't keep their eyes off how beautiful you are together, and how much they'd love to see you come apart...

Bucky politely declines on your behalf, but takes enormous pleasure in finding out it turned you on, so he's gonna tease you if course.

"You want someone to watch huh? Want them to see how pretty you look when I take you apart?"

You just bury your face in his neck and tell him to quit it. Eventually the only way to shut him up in to climb onto his lap and start kissing him.

So that's my thotty thoughts on that.....

[seventeendeer]

if you feel up to infodumping about it, i would love to hear your opinions on the Weird Writing for sonic the hedgehog's female characters. i've always had a massive soft spot for elise she's such a strange person when you look past the Generic Love Interest framing of her story and i really wish she'd gotten her own game

Ahhh thank you for enabling me, I have SO MANY THOUGHTS on this subject!! I've been super fascinated with the weird gender dynamics emerging in the franchise ... nearly since female characters were added at all. I think I've only really been able to put my thoughts into words recently, but it's a subject I've been interested in since I first got into the series as a kid.

(Also, I feel you on the subject of Elise - super interesting character more or less accidentally emerging from a very bland role)

Note: As usual, I’m mostly talking about the mainline games and Sonic X. While Sonic has a lot of spinoffs, I think Sonic X is so close to the spirit of the games that it is not a stretch to count it as an entry in the series’ core installments, particularly the second series/season 3. Especially because it originated in the same era as most of the lore currently defining the games, and there was a lot of migration back and forth between the two continuities regarding both characters and worldbuilding.

Anyway! On the subject of gendered writing in Sonic stories!

IMO, the biggest paradox in the Sonic games' and anime’s approach to female characters is that sexist writing is all over the place ... and yet the female cast is overwhelmingly the most layered and thematically interesting! Which they're then generally tortured and killed for. Whoops.

In order to understand why, I think it's important to remember that at its core, Sonic is very heavily inspired by shonen anime. If anyone's interested, look into the games' weird copycat relationship with Dragonball Z, for one. Sonic games wish they were Dragonball games so bad, it has negatively affected much of their history (Shadow's repeated Vegeta-ification is a good example).

Like shonen anime (it's right there in the name!), Sonic assumes a male player, a male audience. For this reason, you'll have a wealth of "cool" male characters to play as. Cool designs, cool powers, more diverse roles. Playable female characters are extremely limited, with only Amy and Rouge being sincere attempts to diversify the central cast just a tiny bit (Cream and Blaze used to qualify as well, but I'd argue they eventually graduated to the second category I'm about to talk about; more on them later). The main downside of this role is that characters the player is expected to project onto become limited in the kinds of stories and arcs they're 'allowed' by the writers to participate in. They're intentionally kept static so they can neatly slot into multiple narratives without being disruptive. Many of the male characters have vestigial emotional arcs - Tails' insecurities, Knuckles' complicated feelings toward his ancestors, etc. - but they're never allowed to go anywhere, directly influence the narrative or conclude in a meaningful way. They’re here to observe, then save the day, and that’s it. Anything beyond that would complicate continuity between games - or worse, jeopardize Baby Boy’s First Power Fantasy.

On the flipside, many of the story-heavy games employ one-off supporting characters as the emotional core of their respective narratives. And what kinds of characters make great foils to cool, powerful, emotionally repressed dudes primarily existing independently of their own stories? Less action-oriented, highly emotional girls absolutely fucking drowning in that narrative sauce.

Let me be clear: it’s sexist. Defining male characters by their cool powers and ability to save the day, while female characters are defined by their suffering and need for help, is deeply sexist.

Let me be clear, part two: characters who are closely tied to their narratives, who embody the themes of their own stories, who are allowed to struggle, who are allowed to express emotions and for those emotions to directly influence the narrative, are largely much more interesting characters.

Characters who come to some form of resolution are more interesting.

Unfortunately, Sonic games are largely a strange exercise in placing cute, simple cartoon animal characters into weirdly brutal, tonally inconsistent stories that circle themes of sacrifice like sharks smelling blood.

And so the girls die. Or they’re emotionally broken. Or they’re separated from their friends - and thus the spotlight - forever.

A rundown of major female Sonic characters, their narrative purpose, and the price they had to pay for it:

- Tikal: A peace-loving ghost girl serving as a spirit guide in her sole game appearance. Revealed to have been betrayed by her power-hungry family, forcing her to seal her soul away for thousands of years in order to prevent the end of the world. When the threat passed, it seems her spirit did too.

- Maria: A deathly ill 12-year-old who lived in a sterile care facility on a space station, but retained hope that one day she would be well enough to return to Earth. She stood up to armed military forces to save her brother figure/best friend, and got fridged for the trouble.

- Cream: Introduced as a playable character, but largely discarded by the franchise after her sole moment of real character focus in the anime. A character introduced as a pacifist who hates violence, eventually forced to beat a close friend to death in order to protect her other friends.

- Blaze: Also initially a playable character who had one Big Moment(tm), then vanished from the plot after only starring in a single followup game. Once best friends with Silver, she chose to absorb a rampaging god into her soul in order to save him and the rest of the world. Time and space were rewritten, and she resurfaced in a parallel universe where she grew up alone and horribly bullied. Though she and Silver have met again, they never have officially reconnected and don’t remember their past life together.

- Elise: A vessel for a powerful evil who grew up emotionally distant from all other people in order to keep the evil contained. When she finally made a friend, she was forced to rewrite time so they would never meet in an attempt to save the world. There’s a chance she’s faring better in the new timeline, but how would we know? She vanished from the plot as soon as she’d made that sacrifice.

- Cosmo: The last of her kind, save for the small group of villains who murdered the rest of their people. Went through hell in the one season of the anime she was featured in, then promptly died in order to gain revenge on her enemies and save her friends.

- Shade: We don’t know if there were more plans for her character after her debut game, but as it stands, she showed up, was first brainwashed, then betrayed by her own people, and chose to leave behind everything she knew in order to protect the world from her family and former friends.

Note that these are all the major female characters who show up in the games and anime, save for Amy and Rouge. And that’s not even counting the female leads of the storybook spinoff games, Merlina (a hero turned villain who did everything in her power to save her world from future ruin, defeated and left to grieve over her inability to change a thing) and Shahra (another girl who died to save a friend; revived at the end of her story but never seen again), or Molly from the anime who did some kinda sick speedrun strat, showing up in ONE episode where she had her heart broken and committed murder/suicide after she was betrayed by people she trusted.

By contrast, we have exactly one male character who follows the same pattern - Shadow, who went through similar emotional troubles and was intended to die at the end of his debut game. However, due to popular fan demand, he was brought back to life and added to the roster of recurring male characters. He even had much of his depth culled from newer games to match the rest.

Much spin-off media does better in certain ways, but I don’t know ... there’s something about that extremely consistent pattern in the main games and anime. It’s such an interesting paradox, having the female cast be simultaneously the most layered and well-written, but also the ones at highest risk of being emotionally tortured and discarded.

It’s definitely not a pattern unique to Sonic either, but by virtue of being such mindless feel-good stories where a good attitude and good friends can literally work miracles, I think it just stands out all the more. This loyalty to the concept of altruism and respect for soft emotions, paired with insistence on tragedy.

But only if you’re a girl. If you’re a girl, you are at once special and expendable.

You’re the only one who’s allowed to really embody the emotional truth of whatever absurd plotline the writers have cooked up this afternoon, you’re the only one who’s allowed to really express what this story is about at its core, but also you have to die for it. Or be sent away. You can’t be here anymore, at least.

I have no idea who writes these games. I could not tell you if there really is an emotional core, if anyone is actually putting in effort. I don’t know if it matters, either. Death of the author, etc.

What I do know is that there’s a meta-narrative here.

Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, Silver, Omega, Vector, Espio, Charmy, Big, and sometimes even Mighty and Ray, go out on fun adventures to save the day. Amy and Rouge are here for flavor. We’ve decided Shadow can come, too, if he stops talking about his dead family all the time.

Tikal, Maria, Cream, Blaze, Elise, Cosmo and Shade (etc) show up for just a moment in time, go through trauma and heartbreak, and then disappear. Maybe they’ll have an unvoiced cameo later. If they’re lucky. If people like them enough.

There’s no real point to this, aside from explaining why I’m weirdly invested in just ... the concept of female existence in a children’s franchise mostly aimed at boys. Where everything will be okay, except when it won’t. Except when we need that bit of salt in the wound, so the victory will feel important, earned.

The price of getting real for just a moment being narrative death, if not straight up literal death.

Above all, Sonic games are cute. They’re appealing because they’re stupid and wholesome and weird. I love the male characters too, I’m not here for attempts at complexity, I’m here to have fun.

I’ve just also been feeling incredibly tempted as of late to write an ‘escape the narrative’ type deconstruction of these exact tropes, heavily inspired by Sonic and other children’s media in the same genre.

“Boys do stuff but have no feelings, girls have feelings but should endure all manner of suffering in order to protect others” is ... not an irrelevant theme to explore in our current media landscape, if you ask me.

even if I never get around to writing that, at least I made a sick Sonic AMV about all those poor girls going through hell for the sake of The Narrative, I should upload that sometime lol

also hey I haven’t finished Sonic Frontiers yet - sure hope nothing bad happens to our new melancholy girl character closely tied to her debut game’s story and themes ..!

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[weirdwonderfulworld]

one more thought. watcher isn't entirely comparable to netflix or other streaming services. unlike netflix, watcher tv exclusively hosts content that they've made. watcher isn't limiting any access to content that isn't their own. the closest thing to what watcher is doing is when streaming services have content exclusive to their platform, like netflix originals, tubi original movies, disney+ aninated shorts... it can be frustrating to not be able to access content because it only exists on one paywalled platform, but when it's literally created, owned, and funded by the platform itself, it doesn't really make sense to expect that content in any other way. you can want the content to be free or hosted on another platform. but the creator has the final say.

(and yeah at that point, maybe it's expected for things to get pirated. but unlike other media where sometimes the creators don't exactly discourage piracy bc their hands are tied and otherwise there's no way to access their work except through this larger entity, watcher is both creating the content and providing the means to access it. they have control over their own work. they can choose to do with it as they please.)

again i think it's normal to feel shocked, overwhelmed, upset, sad, disappointed, frustrated, etc. but if you specifically view this move as a betrayal against you, i'm personally inclined to think that you thought you were entitled to watcher's creations all along. you weren't. you aren't. you're not entitled to anybody's art, creations, or passions. and if you want to combat all of that by saying watcher doesn't make art in your opinion and thus shouldn't be allowed to treat it as such.... you and i have drastically different viewpoints and i don't think we can have productive conversation here lmao

[mollyrealized]

How Michael Met Neil

original direct link [MP3]

(Neil, if you see this, please feel free to grab the transcript and store on your site; I had no easy way of contacting you.)

DAVID TENNANT: Tell me about @neil-gaiman then, because he's in that category [previously: “such a profound effect on my life”] as well.

MICHAEL SHEEN: So this is what has brought us together.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: To the new love story for the 21st century.

DAVID: Exactly.

MICHAEL: So when I went to drama school, there was a guy called Gary Turner in my year. And within the first few weeks, we were doing something, having a drink or whatever. And he said to me, “Do you read comic books?”

And I said, “No.”  I mean, this is … what … '88?  '88, '89.  So it was … now I know that it was a period of time that was a big change, transformation going through comic books.  Rather than it being thought of as just superheroes and Batman and Superman, there was this whole new era of a generation of writers like Grant Morrison.

DAVID: The kids who'd grown up reading comic books were now making comic books

MICHAEL: Yeah, yeah, and starting to address different kinds of subjects through the comic book medium. So it wasn't about just superheroes, it was all kinds of stuff going on – really fascinating stuff. And I was totally unaware of this.

And so this guy Gary said to me, "Do you read them?" And I said, "No."  And he went, "Right, okay, here's The Watchman [sic] by Alan Moore. Here's Swamp Thing. Here's Hellblazer. And here's Sandman.”

And Sandman was Neil Gaiman's big series that put his name on the map. And I read all those, and, just – I was blown away by all of them, but particularly the Sandman stories, because he was drawing on mythology, which was something I was really interested in, and fairy tales, folklore, and philosophy, and Shakespeare, and all kinds of stuff were being mixed up in this story.  And I absolutely loved it.

So I became a big fan of Neil's, and started reading everything by him. And then fairly shortly after that, within six months to a year, Good Omens the book came out, which Neil wrote with Terry Pratchett. And so I got the book – because I was obviously a big fan of Neil's by this point – read it, loved it, then started reading Terry Pratchett’s stuff as well, because I didn't know his stuff before then – and then spent years and years and years just being a huge fan of both of them.

And then eventually when – I'd done films like the Underworld films and doing Twilight films. And I think it was one of the Twilight films, there was a lot of very snooty interviews that happened where people who considered themselves well above talking about things like Twilight were having to interview me … and, weirdly, coming at it from the attitude of 'clearly this is below you as well' … weirdly thinking I'm gonna go, 'Yeah, fucking Twilight.”

And I just used to go, "You know what? Some of the greatest writing of the last 50-100 years has happened in science fiction or fantasy."  Philip K Dick is one of my favorite writers of all time. In fact, the production of Hamlet I did was mainly influenced by Philip K Dick.  Ursula K. Le Guin and Asimov, and all these amazing people. And I talked about Neil as well. And so I went off on a bit of a rant in this interview.

Anyway, the interview came out about six months later, maybe.  Knock on the door, open the door, delivery of a big box. That’s interesting. Open the box, there's a card at the top of the box. I open the card.

It says, From one fan to another, Neil Gaiman.  And inside the box are first editions of Neil's stuff, and all kinds of interesting things by Neil. And he just sent this stuff.

DAVID: You'd never met him?

MICHAEL: Never met him. He'd read the interview, or someone had let him know about this interview where I'd sung his praises and stood up for him and the people who work within that sort of genre as being like …

And he just got in touch. We met up for the first time when he came to – I was in Los Angeles at the time, and he came to LA.  And he said, "I'll take you for a meal."

I said, “All right.”

He said, "Do you want to go somewhere posh, or somewhere interesting?”

I said, "Let's go somewhere interesting."

He said, "Right, I'm going to take you to this restaurant called The Hump." And it's at Santa Monica Airport. And it's a sushi restaurant.

I was like, “Right, okay.” So I had a Mini at the time. And we get in my Mini and we drive off to Santa Monica Airport. And this restaurant was right on the tarmac, like, you could sit in the restaurant (there's nobody else there when we got there, we got there quite early) and you're watching the planes landing on Santa Monica Airport. It's extraordinary. 

And the chef comes out and Neil says, "Just bring us whatever you want. Chef's choice."

So, I'd never really eaten sushi before. So we sit there; we had this incredible meal where they keep bringing these dishes out and they say, “This is [blah, blah, blah]. Just use a little bit of soy sauce or whatever.”  You know, “This is eel.  This is [blah].”

And then there was this one dish where they brought out and they didn't say what it was. It was like “mystery dish”, we had it ... delicious. Anyway, a few more people started coming into the restaurant as time went on.

And we're sort of getting near the end, and I said, "Neil, I can't eat anymore. I'm gonna have to stop now. This is great, but I can't eat–"

"Right, okay. We'll ask for the bill in a minute."

And then the door opens and some very official people come in. And it was the Feds. And the Feds came in, and we knew they were because they had jackets on that said they were part of the Federal Bureau of Whatever. And about six of them come in. Two of them go … one goes behind the counter, two go into the kitchen, one goes to the back. They've all got like guns on and stuff.

And me and Neil are like, "What on Earth is going on?"

And then eventually one guy goes, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you haven't ordered already, please leave. If you're still eating your meal, please finish up, pay your bill, leave."*

[* - delivered in a perfect American ‘serious law agent’ accent/impression]

And we were like, "Oh my God, are we poisoned? Is there some terrible thing that's happened?"  

We'd finished, so we pay our bill.  And then all the kitchen staff are brought out. And the head chef is there. The guy who's been bringing us this food. And he's in tears. And he says to Neil, "I'm so sorry." He apologizes to Neil.  And we leave. We have no idea what happened.

DAVID: But you're assuming it's the mystery dish.

MICHAEL: Well, we're assuming that we can't be going to – we can't be –  it can't be poisonous. You know what I mean? It can't be that there's terrible, terrible things.

So the next day was the Oscars, which is why Neil was in town. Because Coraline had been nominated for an Oscar. Best documentary that year was won by The Cove, which was by a team of people who had come across dolphins being killed, I think.

Turns out, what was happening at this restaurant was that they were having illegal endangered species flown in to the airport, and then being brought around the back of the restaurant into the kitchen.

We had eaten whale – endangered species whale. That was the mystery dish that they didn't say what it was.

And the team behind The Cove were behind this sting, and they took them down that night whilst we were there.

DAVID: That’s extraordinary.

MICHAEL: And we didn't find this out for months.  So for months, me and Neil were like, "Have you worked anything out yet? Have you heard anything?"

"No, I haven't heard anything."

And then we heard that it was something to do with The Cove, and then we eventually found out that that restaurant, they were all arrested. The restaurant was shut down. And it was because of that. And we'd eaten whale that night.

DAVID: And that was your first meeting with Neil Gaiman.

MICHAEL: That was my first meeting. And also in the drive home that night from that restaurant, he said, and we were in my Mini, he said, "Have you found the secret compartment?"

I said, "What are you talking about?" It's such a Neil Gaiman thing to say.

DAVID: Isn't it?

MICHAEL: The secret compartment? Yeah. Each Mini has got a secret compartment. I said, "I had no idea." It's secret. And he pressed a little button and a thing opened up. And it was a secret compartment in my own car that Neil Gaiman showed me.

DAVID: Was there anything inside it?

MICHAEL: Yeah, there was a little man. And he jumped out and went, "Hello!" No, there was nothing in there. There was afterwards because I started putting...

DAVID: Sure. That's a very Neil Gaiman story. All of that is such a Neil Gaiman story.

MICHAEL: That's how it began. Yeah.

DAVID: And then he came to offer you the part in Good Omens.

MICHAEL: Yeah. Well, we became friends and we would whenever he was in town, we would meet up and yeah, and then eventually he started, he said, "You know, I'm working on an adaptation of Good Omens." And I can remember at one point Terry Gilliam was going to maybe make a film of it. And I remember being there with Neil and Terry when they were talking about it. And...

DAVID: Were you involved at that point?

MICHAEL: No, no, I wasn't involved. I just happened to have met up with Neil that day.

DAVID: Right.

MICHAEL: And then Terry Gilliam came along and they were chatting, that was the day they were talking about that or whatever.

And then eventually he sent me one of the scripts for an early draft of like the first episode of Good Omens. And he said – and we started talking about me being involved in it, doing it – he said, “Would you be interested?” I was like, "Yeah, of course."  I went, "Oh my God." And he said, "Well, I'll send you the scripts when they come," and I would read them, and we'd talk about them a little bit. And so I was involved.

But it was always at that point with the idea, because he'd always said about playing Crowley in it. And so, as time went on, as I was reading the scripts, I was thinking, "I don't think I can play Crowley. I don't think I'm going to be able to do it." And I started to get a bit nervous because I thought, “I don't want to tell Neil that I don't think I can do this.”  But I just felt like I don't think I can play Crowley.

DAVID: Of course you can [play Crowley?].

MICHAEL: Well, I just on a sort of, on a gut level, sometimes you have it on a gut level.

DAVID: Sure, sure.

MICHAEL: I can do this.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: Or I can't do this. And I just thought, “You know what, this is not the part for me. The other part is better for me, I think. I think I can do that, I don't think I could do that.”

But I was scared to tell Neil because I thought, "Well, he wants me to play Crowley" – and then it turned out he had been feeling the same way as well.  And he hadn't wanted to mention it to me, but he was like, "I think Michael should really play Aziraphale."

And neither of us would bring it up.  And then eventually we did. And it was one of those things where you go, "Oh, thank God you said that. I feel exactly the same way." And then I think within a fairly short space of time, he said, “I think we've got … David Tennant … for Crowley.” And we both got very excited about that.

And then all these extraordinary people started to join in. And then, and then off we went.

DAVID: That's the other thing about Neil, he collects people, doesn't he? So he'll just go, “Oh, yeah, I've phoned up Frances McDormand, she's up for it.” Yeah. You're, what?

MICHAEL: “I emailed Jon Hamm.”

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And yeah, and you realize how beloved he is and how beloved his work is. And I think we would both recognise that Good Omens is one of the most beloved of all of Neil's stuff.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: And had never been turned into anything.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And so the kind of responsibility of that, I mean, for me, for someone who has been a fan of him and a fan of the book for so long, I can empathize with all the fans out there who are like, “Oh, they better not fuck this up.”

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: “And this had better be good.” And I have that part of me. But then, of course, the other part of me is like, “But I'm the one who might be fucking it up.”

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: So I feel that responsibility as well.

DAVID: But we have Neil on site.

MICHAEL: Yes. Well, Neil being the showrunner …

DAVID: Yeah. I think it takes the curse off.

MICHAEL: … I think it made a massive difference, didn't it? Yeah. You feel like you're in safe hands.

DAVID: Well, we think. Not that the world has seen it yet.

MICHAEL (grimly): No, I know.

DAVID: But it was a -- it's been a -- it's been a joy to work with you on it. I can't wait for the world to see it.

MICHAEL: Oh my God.  Oh, well, I mean, it's the only, I've done a few things where there are two people, it's a bit of a double act, like Frost-Nixon and The Queen, I suppose, in some ways. But, and I've done it, Amadeus or whatever.

This is the only thing I've done where I really don't think of it as “my character” or “my performance as that character”.  I think of it totally as us.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: The two of us.

DAVID: Yes.

MICHAEL: Like they, what I do is defined by what you do.

DAVID: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And that was such a joy to have that experience. And it made it so much easier in a way as well, I found, because you don't feel like you're on your own in it. Like it's totally us together doing this and the two characters totally complement each other. And the experience of doing it was just a real joy.

DAVID: Yeah.  Well, I hope the world is as excited to see it as we are to talk about it, frankly.

MICHAEL: You know, there's, having talked about T.S. Eliot earlier, there's another bit from The Wasteland where there's a line which goes, These fragments I have shored against my ruin.

And this is how I think about life now. There is so much in life, no matter what your circumstances, no matter what, where you've got, what you've done, how much money you got, all that. Life's hard.  I mean, you can, it can take you down at any point.

You have to find this stuff. You have to like find things that will, these fragments that you hold to yourself, they become like a liferaft, and especially as time goes on, I think, as I've got older, I've realized it is a thin line between surviving this life and going under.

And the things that keep you afloat are these fragments, these things that are meaningful to you and what's meaningful to you will be not-meaningful to someone else, you know. But whatever it is that matters to you, it doesn't matter what it was you were into when you were a teenager, a kid, it doesn't matter what it is. Go and find them, and find some way to hold them close to you. 

Make it, go and get it. Because those are the things that keep you afloat. They really are. Like doing that with him or whatever it is, these are the fragments that have shored against my ruin. Absolutely.

DAVID: That's lovely. Michael, thank you so much.

MICHAEL: Thank you.

DAVID: For talking today and for being here.

MICHAEL: Oh, it's a pleasure. Thank you.

[navybrat817]

Just Like That

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky suggests staying in a hotel together before an undercover mission, which would be fine if you didn't have a massive crush on the super soldier. Word Count: Almost 5k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, pining, flirting, slight possessive behavior, talk of undercover mission, "only one bed" trope, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: A combination of @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge and my Bucky Barnes Smut Menu, courtesy of @ellemj. "Only One Bed" Trope and the dialogue prompt in bold italics. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The engagement ring on your finger suited you. Not large or overly flashy, the single diamond radiated a subtle sparkle. It was beautiful and a perfect fit, a representation of the unifying love of marriage. When you looked at it under the light, it was almost as if you could feel the love that Bucky had for you.

If only that were the case.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” You asked, taking a seat at the table across from Bucky.

“So we can practice and make sure we’re a convincing couple,” he replied.

You sighed as you glanced around the hotel room for the umpteenth time. A small sitting area, a dining and kitchen combination, a single bathroom, and a bedroom. When you pointed out that there was only one bed, Bucky reminded you of the expectation that the two of you had to sleep together while on assignment since you were going on a couple's retreat. Which wouldn't be an issue if you didn't have a crush on him, right?

Right.

You were completely enamored with Bucky Barnes, the handsome former assassin turned agent for the revamped SHIELD. Instacrush wasn't something you experienced often, so he took you by surprise. It was pathetic to fall for him so hard and quickly. It had to be some sort of karma or divine intervention that you were with him in a hotel room.

Just the two of you.

“You know,” he began, wetting his lips as he leaned back in his chair. You blinked, only because you didn't want him to call you out on staring. “You don't have to look so miserable to be here. Is my company that terrible?”

“What? No. Bucky, you aren't terrible company,” you promised, slumping a bit in your chair. The last thing you wanted to do was upset him. “Just been a bit since I've been in a relationship and I’m kind of rusty.”

“You're talking to a guy who hasn't been on a real date since the 40s,” he deadpanned.

He had a point. Plus, from what you understood, Bucky wasn't exactly interested in dating anyone. Every time Steve or Natasha suggested he go on a date, he found a way to brush it off or change the subject.

Even if he was interested in dating, did he think of you as anything beyond a colleague?

Taking this assignment may have been a mistake.

“I’m just not sure I’m the right one for this job,” you said.

“You’re perfect for this job. Why would you think otherwise?”

You froze like a deer in headlights, even as his compliment warmed your heart. It meant a lot that he thought you would do the job well. But how were you supposed to answer that question? That you adored him and it would be torture to pretend to be with him for a week just to back to being coworkers after?

“We should practice,” you suggested instead of giving him an answer. The backstory wasn't overly elaborate, but you had to get it right.

He leaned forward, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Did someone say something to make you think you wouldn't be good for this assignment?” He asked in a low voice. “Because I'll straighten them out.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from whimpering. The thought of him putting someone in their place to make you feel better was swoon-worthy. “No, Bucky. No one said anything. You're right. I’m good for this,” you said before you added, “We’re good together.”

You couldn't read the look he gave you and it became more difficult not to squirm under his gaze. “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning back and clearing his throat. “So. We’re engaged. Going to a resort for a much needed vacation. We’ll have to mingle with some of the guests in between investigating the owner. One of the first questions will be how we met.”

With an exhale, you recited, “We met at a coffee shop. We both ordered the same drink.”

“An iced caramel macchiato,” he said.

“And we reached for the drink at the same time,” you smiled, making a show out of reaching for the glass on the table. “Our fingers touched first. Our eyes met second.”

“And I immediately asked you out,” he smiled.

Your heart swelled. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world when he smiled like that. “You did,” you said, trying to blink the longing from your eyes. “We went to dinner and talked a bit about ourselves. You told me you're a mechanic and I told you I’m a teacher. And once dinner was over, we went back to that same coffee shop and we shared an iced caramel macchiato.”

“Even proposed to you at the same shop,” he said, gesturing to your left hand. “But I actually got the ring after our first date because I knew I wanted you to be my girl,” he said with such conviction that you found it hard to breathe.

The way his eyes softened as he gazed at you, you found yourself believing him for a moment. You had to stay rooted in realism though. The point of the mission besides the actual mission was to act as if you two were crazy about each other.

Not that you had to do any acting on your part.

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand back from the glass. “If only that were true,” you said, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger. You weren't cynical about love, but this whole thing was a reminder that you were single and alone.

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Heat crept up your neck. You shouldn't have said anything. “I mean, it just would've been nice if we met at a coffee shop,” you replied to avoid saying you wanted to be his girl.

“What’s wrong with how we met?” He asked, crossing his arms.

The metal arm gleamed under the light. You noticed that he had a tendency to wear long sleeves and gloves whenever he was in the building, but seeing him with his sleeve pushed up and missing glove? You would almost say he was comfortable around you.

Again, he had to play the part right.

You pulled yourself from your thoughts when he said your name, which sounded like it melted on his tongue. It made you press your thighs together. You needed to stay professional. “Do you not remember what happened or are you just being nice?” You asked.

Months ago, the day you met Bucky, Steve informed you that he planned to introduce you to him after he came back from a long assignment. Not only were you excited to meet one of his best friends and a great soldier, but you had wanted to make a good impression on him. What you did was make an ass out of yourself when you turned the corner only to smack right into the former Winter Soldier.

And splattered your beverage on both of you in the process.

Instacrush and a horrible impression on your part.

Bucky’s lips curled in a smile as your eyes widened. “You do remember,” you said, wadding up a nearby napkin and tossing it at his face, which he easily caught. “Oh, my God! That’s why you chose ‘coffee shop' for this, didn't you?”

You concentrated so much on getting the backstory right that it didn't occur to you that he was maybe poking fun at you. He wasn't the kind of guy that liked making others feel bad though. Tease you, sure. Outright make fun of you at the risk of hurting your feelings? He would never.

“Hey, I didn't choose how we met, but I also didn't object,” he said, raising his hands in surrender when you went to throw another napkin at him. “And I wouldn't forget meeting you, doll. You make a lasting impression.”

You wished you had done something to make him remember you besides spilling a drink on him. “I guess making an idiot out of myself is a lasting impression,” you teased.

Something dark flashed in his eyes, making your breath hitch. “That’s not what I meant. You didn't make an idiot out of yourself and I don't like you thinking that or talking down about yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, not used to someone getting so defensive at your self-depreciation. There was something sexy and heartwarming about it. “You were very nice about the whole incident.”

“You were nice, too,” he said, gesturing to his torso. “I mean, you offered to buy me a new shirt.”

“Because I spilled my drink on it! I felt bad,” you said.

“And when I said you didn't have to buy me a new shirt, you said, ‘Are you sure I can't pay for the dry cleaning at least, Sergeant Barnes?’” he said in a falsetto voice.

He chuckled when you rolled your eyes. “I don't sound like that, first of all, and I was being considerate,” you said. You couldn't believe he remembered your exact words. “And you just gave me that half confused smile of yours before I grabbed napkins for both of us to clean up.”

“You mean this?” He asked, his lips stretching in that familiar awkward grin.

“Yeah, that,” you giggled, your heart doing that funny flip that happened far too often around him.

In the beginning, whenever you smiled at him, he gave you that very look in return. Somewhere along the way, the uncomfortable glances on his end became genuine fondness. It didn't mean anything though.

Just an agent being kind to another agent.

Bucky stared at you as you continued to giggle at the memory. “I’m sorry. I just-”

“I love your laugh,” he said, almost making you choke on your own breath. Nothing like forgetting how to be a human and breathe. “And your smile.”

Maybe he had switched back into practice mode. “You do?” You asked, playing along as you smiled directly at him.

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I do,” he replied, his voice thick as he unfolded his arms. “You know, you're one of the people that actually smiles at me. And you look me in the eye when you talk to me.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because some people are still afraid of me,” he whispered.

Your heart sank. He was a good man. A hero wrongly painted as a villain. It wasn't fair what he went through and you had no reason to fear him.

Why couldn't everyone else see the good in him?

“I’m not afraid of you, Bucky,” you promised. And after what he went through, frightening people was the last thing he would do. “Never have been. Never will be.”

“Maybe you should be,” he muttered, some of the light leaving his eyes.

Your eyes narrowed as you tempered the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Seeing this vulnerable side of him also brought out your protective instinct. “Listen to me. You’re amazing and a good man, okay? And if I don't get to call myself an idiot for spilling a drink on you, then you don't get to say I should be scared of you, Sergeant Barnes,” you said with an air of finality.

He gave you an impressed smile. “Just like that? Because those are totally different things you're comparing.”

“Just like that,” you said, putting your hand on the table for him to take if he wished. “Do you trust that I'll have your back on this mission? Because I trust that you'll have mine no matter what.”

He stared at your upturned hand for a moment before he took it. “You're one of the only people I do trust,” he admitted.

His eyes bore into yours as you tried to find the words to respond. He wasn’t feeding you a line to make you feel good about yourself. Bucky Barnes trusted you.

“Then trust me when I say we got this,” you promised. You would look out for him and let him know that he hadn’t misplaced his trust in you.

“Why don't you have a boyfriend?” He asked suddenly.

The switch in topic jarred you, but he didn’t let go of your hand. “That’s. I’m. What? How is that relevant?”

It wasn't smooth, but it was better than blurting out that your hopeless crush on him was one of the major factors.

“I’m curious,” he shrugged.

“Oh. Well. My last boyfriend dumped me for being an agent. Seriously, he didn't like the fact that I could kick his ass if I wanted to,” you told him, squeezing his hand without meaning to. He didn’t object. “Which I wouldn't.”

“You could kick my ass if you wanted to,” he winked. Physically, Bucky was broad and strong. You weren’t sure you could take him in a real fight, but you could take him another way if he ever offered. “And your ex sounds like an asshole if he can’t stand beside and support an amazing woman.”

You smiled humorlessly. “Thanks, Bucky, but I’m not-”

“I swear to fuck if you talk down about yourself again, I will put you over my knee,” he threatened, his eyes darker than they were seconds ago.

You didn’t laugh as he stared at you. Neither did he. Your clothes suddenly felt too heavy, your body too warm. Licking your lips, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “Is that a promise?”

Bucky pushed his chair back and pointed at his thigh, his eyes still on you. “Get over here and find out.”

Oh, fuck.

The sound of Bucky’s phone ringing snapped you both out of whatever spell you two were under. “Shit,” he muttered, taking his hand from yours. “It’s Steve. I better-”

“Yeah, you should answer that,” you said, almost knocking the chair over as you stood. “I think I'm going to call it a night.”

“Wait, what?” He asked, answering the phone. “Hold on, punk,” he said, covering the screen as he looked at you. “You’re going to bed now?”

Guilt settled in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. “Just going to lay down. I may not go to sleep right away. And we can practice more in the morning,” you replied. You just needed to step out of the room and take a breath.

He waited a beat before he nodded, the tension still lingering. “I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded, leaving him alone so he could talk to Steve.

You splashed a bit of water on your face when you went to the bathroom to change. The assignment hadn’t started and you couldn’t keep your cool. With squinted eyes, you pointed at your reflection and mentally scolded yourself. Yes, you wanted Bucky Barnes and maybe, just maybe, some part of him wanted you. At least, he wanted you enough to put you over his knee.

You couldn't have him though. Could you? Mixing business with pleasure could lead to complications if you crossed that line, but it wasn’t like you’d break some major bylaw by being his girl.

Now wasn’t the time to think about that.

“Get your shit together,” you hissed, rushing through your nighttime routine and changing into your comfortable yet sexy nightgown.

Your eyes went to the bed when you left the bathroom. Just a regular hotel bed. Inviting, but not overly frilly. Large enough for the both of you, but small enough that you might end up in each other’s arms.

“It’s going to be a long night,” you muttered.

Sighing, you left a light on for Bucky to see and crawled into bed, shutting your eyes as he wrapped up his call with Steve. You tried to block out the sound of his footsteps as he made his way to the bathroom. Maybe his nighttime routine would take a bit longer than you thought and you could drift off and wake up to the sight of his beautiful eyes and-

The bed dipped as Bucky curled up behind you, your eyes opening when he placed his arm around your waist and pulled you back against him. You were conscious of every shift in his body, every breath he took. How you could smell his lingering cologne as he pressed himself closer. How he ran warmer than you and you wanted him to heat you up even though you weren’t cold.

And that he wasn’t wearing a fucking shirt.

“I know you aren’t sleeping,” he whispered, his fingers brushing along the fabric that covered your skin. “Your heart’s beating too fast.”

He was right. It was about ready to burst through your chest. “Can’t sleep.”

“Why not?” He asked, helping you roll over so you were on your back. He didn’t remove his hand though. “Did my ‘threat’ make you uncomfortable?”

“No, it didn't,” you assured him, heat pooling between your legs that you couldn't prevent. “I wouldn't have continued with the banter if I was uncomfortable.”

“Just making sure,” he said. “I was only teasing.”

You huffed out a laugh in an effort to cover up the crushing feeling in your chest, your arousal fading to a dull ache. “Of course, you were,” you uttered. Teasing. Nothing more. “Good night, Bucky,” you said, turning your head away.

He brought a hand to your cheek and brought your face back toward him. How did his eyes look so blue in the faint light? “Don’t go to sleep yet, please.”

“Why not?”

“You rushed to bed and now you're shutting down. I clearly said or did something wrong,” he sighed, which made you feel bad. He hadn't done anything wrong in your eyes since it wasn’t his fault you wanted his teasing to mean something. “I need to fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix because you didn't break anything,” you said, the ring heavy on the finger. “But can I ask for a favor?”

“Of course,” he whispered.

You didn’t dare search out his gaze when you said, “I may need reminders this week that you don't actually have feelings for me.”

A few seconds went by before he asked in a small voice, “What?”

You took a breath to compose yourself. The last thing you needed to do was get upset for no good reason. “We’re going to hold hands and cuddle and share a bed and be a couple, but you may need to give me a reality check now and again that you only see me as an agent. Okay?”

Maybe he’d ask Steve for a new partner in the morning.

“You think I only see you as an agent?” He asked, sighing when you nodded. “I used to be good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Teasing. Flirting,” he answered, leaning in close. He stopped just before his lips touched yours. “Kissing.”

“Wait. You were flirting with me?” you said, not moving forward or back as you put a hand on his chest. His heart raced as fast as yours. And your brain couldn’t compute that implication that he wanted to kiss you. “You weren’t just practicing for the assignment?”

He huffed out a laugh this time. “You’re killing me, doll,” he whispered, closing the distance.

You imagined Bucky kissing you before, but didn’t think it would ever be so soft. His lips barely brushed against yours, but it felt like the beginning of something more. It tempted you like nothing else ever had. He must’ve felt it, too, since he deepened it. You melted. You surrendered.

You never stood a chance.

“So, you like me?” You asked when he pulled back a little to gaze at you. “I’m sorry. I just need to hear you say it because I really like you and have for months. Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said that because we have a whole week together for this assignment and now you know and I don't want it to be weird.”

Your mind almost shut down when he gave you a full-blown smile and said, “Yeah, I like you. I thought it was obvious. I tried dropping little hints, talking about your smile and trusting you.” He chuckled almost shyly as his words sank in. “I took this assignment because of you.”

A moment passed before you giggled, happiness blooming in your chest. Bucky Barnes liked you. Wanted you. “Thank fuck,” you breathed, pulling him back down for another kiss.

He groaned, ravaging your mouth as he moved on top of you. His knee pushed your legs apart so he could settle between them, swallowing down your whimpers when he pressed his growing hardness against your pussy. He ground his hips, your panties soaked as his tongue tangled with yours. The man kissed you like he had something to prove.

Like he wanted to own you.

His muscles rippled as he leaned up and grasped the bottom of your nightie. The vision of him above you like this was now engraved in your mind. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

Sleeping with him was moving fast considering you just confessed your feelings for each other, but you didn't care. “Don't stop,” you whispered, quivering as he tugged the fabric over your head.

Your hands moved up to cover your chest before he gripped your wrists. “Are you trying to hide from me?” He questioned, his smirk playful in comparison to the uncertainty in his gaze.

You didn't want him doubting himself or your want for him for a second.

“Maybe? I mean, look at you and look at…”

You wouldn't knock on your looks since you were generally confident in your appearance, but the super soldier was an entirely different level of gorgeous. He towered over even the largest of agents, with the exception of Steve, and his dark lashes framing his steel eyes were enough to pull you under.

And who were you compared to him? Just another agent. Average.

“Don't,” he whispered, releasing a wrist so he could cup your breast. You arched your back and any uncertainty in his eyes before faded when a moan escaped your lips. “You're so fucking beautiful.”

The praise almost made your eyes water as he brought his head down, losing focus when he swept his tongue across your nipple. Your eyes fluttered shut as he did it again, a wave from a sea of ecstasy crashing over you. Your heart thudded faster, addicted to the feel of his sinful mouth.

“You’re the reason I don't have a boyfriend,” you whined, your fingers twisting in his hair. Why did you say that?

He smirked against your skin before he reached down and tore your panties away. “I haven't gone on a date because of you.”

Your body throbbed with need as you met his gaze. “You're just saying that to get in my pants,” you joked.

His eyes raked down your body, stopping between your trembling thighs as he pushed his pants and underwear down. “If I had my way, I would've taken you out first,” he said, drawing a moan from you when he wrapped a hand around his thick cock. “But all I can think about right now is how loud you’ll say my name when I make you come.”

“Bucky,” you moaned, tempted to reach down and touch yourself to the sight of him.

“Louder than that,” he said smugly, rubbing the tip of his cock along your slick folds. “Fuck, I wanna take my time and explore you. Make you feel like a goddess. Treat you the way you deserve.”

It warmed your heart and sent another wave of desire through you knowing he wanted to take care of you. “I know you'll treat me well,” you smiled, opening your legs wider. “But for now, please, fuck me.”

He didn't ask about birth control, which you were on. You didn't ask about condoms. It didn't matter. You wanted to feel all of him.

You glanced down as he lined himself up, watching as he slowly eased into you. It was overwhelming as you took every inch, your mouth falling open with a moan. You floated in a cloud of lust, the sound of his groan reaching your ears.

“Look at me,” he ordered as he bottomed out.

Your eyes flew to his as he gripped your chin. The feel of him inside you, his eyes staring so intently into yours that he practically touched your soul. It was almost too much. And that was when he began to move, the weight of his body on top of yours as he fucked you in slow and deep thrusts. It was the kind of lovemaking that would make you crave more.

Crave him.

“Knew you'd take me well,” he grunted. You whined, the praise going straight to your core as you tightened around his thick cock. Your walls couldn't stop gripping him as he slid in and out. “Knew your pussy would be greedy for me. Won’t let me go.”

Your head fell back against the pillow, dizzy as he trapped your body under his. As he rolled his hips, you wondered if he’d let you ride him at some point. Maybe he’d fuck up into you as he brought your hips down. Or maybe he’d lay back and cup your breasts, let the weight bounce in his hands as you took all of him.

You’d take whatever he gave you.

The growing pleasure within you was like you were burning from the inside out, each movement from him stoking the flames. His low groans mixed with your whines, his thrusts increasing in speed when he brought his thumb to your clit. Your hand worked its way back into his hair as you cried out his name, your control slipping further and further away as he took over.

“Just like that,” he moaned. “Don’t hold back on me. Wanna hear every pretty sound you make.”

“Bucky, I'm gonna…” you trailed off, your orgasm building fast in your core and ready to burst.

“Come,” he finished for you, a filthy smirk on his face as he laced his fingers with yours.

One more thrust and you were gone, his name falling from your lips as you came. Your mouth stayed open as you spasmed, pleasure rushing from head to toe. You panted and didn't care if you'd ever properly breathe again. That was how good it felt.

“I’m close, doll,” he gritted, resembling a growl as he continued to fuck you and chase his release. “Gonna come inside you. Gonna own you.”

“Come inside me, Bucky,” you begged, watching through half-lidded eyes as his face contorted in ecstasy. It was such an erotic sight. “Please.”

He buried himself deep with a long moan as he filled you in hot, thick spurts, nuzzling his face in your neck when he finished. He said your name as he heavily breathed against your neck and it was the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. You wrapped your arms around him when he stayed inside you, not at all bothered as your mixed release slowly trickled out.

You didn't want him to let you go.

“Well,” you huffed, a dopey smile on your face as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I don't think we’ll have a problem convincing people we care about each other.”

He chuckled, kissing your warm skin. “And we won't have a problem sharing a bed,” he said, keeping you close as you yawned. “Sleep, doll. I’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you, too,” you said, feeling him smile against you as you drifted off.

The delicious ache between your thighs was the second thing you noticed when you woke up. The first, of course, was Bucky’s arm and leg draped over you: warm, protective, perfect. He was still fast asleep, the blanket pooled around his waist, completely at ease with the world. You could get used to waking up like this.

You hesitated before you touched his cheek, not wanting to wake him as you kissed his forehead. You wished you had time to kiss every scar on his body and worship him the way he said he wanted to worship you. The two of you would have to leave the bed sooner or later. There was work to do.

“Mmm. Morning,” he said, his voice laced with sleep as he cracked an eye open.

“Morning,” you whispered, cuddling closer as he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed over the ring. The motion made you brush against his crotch and you were close enough to hear the hitch in his breath. You did it again, keeping your gaze innocent as he opened his eyes more and groaned.

Yes, there was work to do, but it was still early.

“You’re still horny? Didn’t I fuck you hard enough last night?” He teased.

“Yeah, I’m still horny,” you replied. Waking up next to him would arouse anyone. “Need you to fuck me again.”

“You won’t be able to walk if I fuck you again,” he smirked, rolling on top of you and digging his fingers into your waist.

“Should’ve known you’d be a cocky boyfriend,” you teased back, your heart thundering in your chest as he leaned down and skimmed kisses along your jaw. “Sorry, we didn’t put a label on this and there’s still stuff to figure out and the mission and-”

“Hey. Boyfriend, your man, whatever you want to call me, I’m yours,” he cut you off, his mouth drifting to your neck. “And I still owe you a date, got it? You’re my girl. You’re mine.”

“I'm yours,” you gasped when he nipped your skin hard enough to sting, his tongue soothing it after. You were his and he was yours. “So, we're a couple now? Just like that?” You smiled as he worked his way back to your lips.

Bucky answered you with a kiss. “Just like that.”

I struggled a bit with this one after having to scrap almost 2k and go in another direction, but I ended up falling in love with it. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[birdantlers]

A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

•

Muting notifs

[fair-lead]

auug i cant seem to think at all today.

[batsycline69]

Full

Summary: You find out Bruce keeps closer track of your menstrual cycle than you thought. You also find out why.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader

Words: 4.8k

Content/warnings: description of scars, baby fever, established relationship, thigh riding, strength kink if you squint, mentions of having children/getting pregnant, breeding kink, p in v sex

“Are you kidding me?”

The sounds of wings rustle above head as your voice carries through the Batcave. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest as you glare at Bruce. On the monitor of the bat computer, over a year’s worth of your menstrual cycle is displayed, carefully cataloged by your husband.

When Bruce came back from patrol, you gave him some time to clean up, hoping to pull him away from work. You’d mentioned seeing the cutest baby while you were out for coffee this morning, to which he replied, “is this because you’re ovulating?” To which you replied, “excuse me?”

Bruce took only a few seconds to pull up his records; little black boxes around the days you’ve had foul moods all courtesy of your luteal phase, little red boxes around your period weeks. He has little ciphers on certain days, and you suspect he’s logged the days you’ve had sex.

His expression hasn’t changed a bit despite your reaction. He’s still just as serious and unreadable as ever.

“We have sex. It’s smart to track.”

“It’s invasive! You could have at least told me you were doing this.”

“Do you keep track?” he asks pointedly.

You scowl at him. “What does that have to do with this?”

“How soon would you know if you missed a period?” He sounds smug without changing his tone; it’s one of his many astounding abilities. You hate that he’s made a good point, even if it doesn’t fully justify his prying. Then again, you were fully aware of Bruce’s endeavors as Batman when you got married. Prying came with the territory.

“I don’t know. A week or two. It’s not always that exact. But it’s not like I wouldn’t notice.” You bristle at the minuscule movement of Bruce’s eyebrow as it quirks up. To think you’d come down here to fuck him. “Point being, I don’t need you to keep track of my body. I’m perfectly capable.”

He stands up from his chair, taking a step towards you. Silence. You hate how well Bruce does silence, hate the way he weaponizes it against you. But you’re not backing down. Not until he expresses some sort of awareness that he went too far.

The look in his eyes tells you not to hold your breath. He still looks just as serious as ever, yet a slight change of the glimmer in his eyes suggests he’s arriving at his point. He steps within arms’ reach. You have a feeling leaving just enough space is part of his plan. He’s upping the anticipation. But he’s going to have to try harder than that.

“If I came in you tonight, you could end up carrying my baby.” His voice rumbles in his chest, eyes unwavering.

Fuck.

You feel your face get hot, still trying to keep your composure. He wants a reaction—manipulative asshole—but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction. He’s not going to change the subject just like that.

“Thanks, Batman, but I know how ovulation works,” you snap, turning over your shoulder. You’re not making any progress, and even if Bruce’s proposal has you feeling that familiar ache inside of you again, you can’t let him win now. You only stop when he catches your arm with his sturdy hand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks. You’ve never been out with him while he’s doing his Batman business—that’s his world, not yours—but you imagine this is how he treats his prey when he knows they don’t stand a chance. A cocky air without being showy. He doesn’t need to prove he could take you down in an instant; you already know it’s true.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Back upstairs.”

“I thought you came down here for something,” he replies, voice smooth. He tugs you so you’re at his side. He’s not gentle about it, but the movement is controlled.

“Yeah, well that was before I found out about your little project.”

His hand slides down your arm before running up your shirt, stopping at your waist. You shiver from the cold cave air that brushes your skin. “It’s practical,” Bruce says.

“Practical.” You scoff.

But then again, Alfred does always make your favorite cookies around the time the boxes are shaded in gray. There are also those days when Bruce is a little more willing to follow you when you entice him out of the cave.

Even if you weren’t expecting this turn of events, the more you mull it over, the more it begins to click. Dick’s been out west for months now, leaving Wayne Manor feeling emptier than ever. Bruce has been burying himself in work to make up for the loss, not that he’s admitted that to you. He probably hasn’t even admitted it to himself.

You narrow your eyes a little more at him. “Is this a thing for you or something?”

He smirks. You hate it when he smirks like that. Except you don’t, not really, because he looks so good when hes smug. That’s the worst part. As you stare back at him, unwavering, you curse his stupidly handsome face. A guy that gets beat up every night shouldn’t look that good. It’s just not fair.

“What if it is?” he asks, pompous attitude lingering.

His voice is low, using his ability to have all the control in a conversation all while hardly speaking above a whisper. He knows he has your attention. Knows his words are having an effect on you. Warmth pools back into your core, familiar ache between your legs. You remember why you came down here to begin with. His gaze is bright. Hungry. Fixed on you.

God, are you and Bruce going to have to talk about kids? It’s not like you’ve never noticed the way his eyes soften whenever there’s a baby around. He loves kids. But he doesn’t have a night life conducive to having a child.

But he’s keeping track of your cycle, so I guess how surprised can you be, really? Alfred’s cookies are a nice perk, but he’s three steps ahead of you. He’s thinking about the future like always. And apparently that future has babies.

“Then...that’s a conversation we could have,” you reply, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

“Some other time,” Bruce murmurs, his breath brushing against your lips. In other words, hes already thought about it and has a plan.

He wraps his arm around your waist beneath your shirt, drawing you close. His chest presses up against your crossed arms, unconcerned with your attitude towards him. He isn’t actually smirking, but his eyes give it away, which means he wants them to give it away.

Water rushes from the falls across the cave, dropping down to the pool of water at the bottom. The air is cool and smells like wet rock. Your familiarity of the space hasn’t made it any less dark or cold, but the foreboding nature had dwindled. You grew to associate it with a young boy’s laughter, listening to it mature over time. You think of how many nights you’ve sat up, huddled beneath a blanket, waiting for Bruce to come back home among the stalactites. You think of messy arguments and fights and of family.

The glow of Bruce’s monitor lights up only half his face. He looks tired, though you couldn’t be able to say so without him shutting down the conversation entirely. But the exhaustion he won’t admit to doesn’t change the fact that he’s probably picturing you with his cock buried all the way inside you.

He doesn’t say a word as his head dips to meet your lips softly. His hands, calloused by the years of his mission, hold you like an ever-present reminder of why he does what he does. His touch is reverent, large hands splayed out across your sides.

Despite the hunger in his gaze, he takes his time with you. Lips capturing yours with expert precision, as he approaches all things. It isn’t long before Bruce whisks you off to the bedroom. Expensive, luxurious cotton surrounds you, contrasting with Bruce’s rough hands as they run up the length of your bare skin. His lips trail the length of your neck, hands devouring the surfaces of your curves. It’s not often you manage to capture his attention so completely, but god, do you revel in it when you do.

Like so much about him, Bruce’s undivided attention is intense. He’s told you once you tether him to the light; he’s bound to you because without you, he’d be lost. You’re used the dramatics. As much as you could tease him for that, you never did because he believes it. He thinks, on some level, you’ve saved him just as much as Dick has. You’ve never seen yourself as something so extraordinary, but when Bruce puts aside the masks, you become something else entirely new in your own eyes.

It’s late now, and your body squirms against Bruce. He’s taking his time with you, depriving you both of what you’re after now. His lips pay service to their admiration of you, tasting every inch of your skin. Bruce is firm with his movements. He’s controlled, but gentle. You wanted him up here, and he wants to prove to you he’s here.

“Bruce…” you whine, his kisses peppering over your chest, stomach. He shifts down to the waistband of your sleep shorts, the only thing that remains on your body. Thin cotton is now all that prevents Bruce from full access to you.

He pays you no mind, focused on the task at hand, regardless of whether it’s what you want of him. You asked for this. You asked for him. “Don’t be too eager,” he mutters, voice muffled against you.

Cocky bastard. Don’t be too eager comes out easy when he’s the one drawing things out. You’re sure that’s his plan, too. He wants to see how far he can take this, how long he can make you wait before you’re fully coming undone beneath his fingertips. It’s one of his favorite games.

You think of Bruce’s words in the cave, wondering what the sounds of little laughter would sound like echoing in these vast halls. Wondering how far a baby’s cry would be heard.

Bruce senses your mind beginning to wander. You’re not sure how, but you’ve learned better than to question these sorts of things. He has his ways, has his years of training, has his ever-focused mind. His fingertips dip beneath the waistband of your shorts, brushing over the sensitive skin of your lower belly.

Your hand rakes through his thick dark hair, tangling into the curls. He showered after patrol. His hair is free of its usual product to keep it slicked back. He looks more undone than most in Gotham would be accustomed to, but this is your favorite way to see Bruce. Wild. Less burdened by the masks he wears. He’s not trying to be Bruce Wayne, nor is he trying to be Batman.

He’s in nothing but his sweatpants, the outline of his hard-on clear in the faint moonlight.

“You can’t put a baby inside me from out there,” you say, your voice needy. You already know your half-baked attempt at getting what you want isn’t going to work, but you can try.

You do get a reaction out of him, but it’s far from what you’d hoped. The weight of the bed shifts as Bruce sits up onto his elbow. His steely eyes fall to your lusty expression from beneath his heavy brows. Your eyes are glossed over with the weight of your want. “I’m the one doing the teasing here,” he says sternly, his Batman side showing a little more. But you can tell you’ve definitely struck something.

“I’m not teasing,” you whine.

A possessiveness intensity grows on Bruce’s face. You’ve spoken the magic words, and there’s something feral within him that crawls up to the surface. It’s a side of him you’re perfectly aware exists, but not one you often see first hand. This is Batman; this is the predator that stalks to get what he’s after.

You gasp as you’re pinned down before you even blink. Bruce has your wrists above your head. His hips cage you in, bulge pressing where you want him most. But he doesn’t move. You try to roll your hips, try to give yourself more of what you seek, but you’re stuck beneath Bruce’s weight, his erection pressing up against you with little you can do.

He smirks down at you, and if he hadn’t gotten you so worked up, you’d be able to think about how insufferable he really is. But right now, you’re too wound up, hips just barely grinding against him in search of friction that just isn’t enough.

Bruce’s lips brush up against your neck. Shivers run down your spine. His teeth bite down, not quite hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to show he’s not messing around. Hard enough for your breath to hitch, your hips bucking up to meet him to no avail. You’re not moving unless he wants you to.

“Bruce…” you pout.

“Be patient. I’ll take care of you.” His muttered assurances do little to ease the aching inside you, however. The soft grumble into your ear only makes it worse. The sound of his voice after a long patrol, body fighting sleep he’s been putting off for far too long. But he won’t let that stop him; you’ve called for him, and he’s here in your time of need.

He nibbles on your jaw as his hand slides up, calloused fingertips softly circling your sensitive nipple. You let out a needy whimper, mind dizzy with desire and deprivation. Your fingers curl into the sheets, back arching for more contact.

“We would make a beautiful baby,” he mutters. Your eyes are closed, brows pressed up, but you can hear lingering amusement in his voice. Your body lurches with longing, its biological drive being stroked by Bruce’s words. “I’d fill this manor with our children if it meant getting to see your face in all of them.”

Your husband isn’t one to mince words, but when he wants to pull out the stops, you fall victim to him just as much as anyone else he’s ever charmed. You hate to admit it, but he knows just the right words to turn you to putty.

Bruce’s fingers finally dip beneath the waistband of your shorts, softly trailing down to run over the seam of your pussy.

Your breath hitches. Even the softest brush causes your hips to jerk, and this time, Bruce obliges.

His fingers dip between your folds, collecting your slick to trace agonizingly slow circles around your clit. Your eyes are closed, but you know he’s studying you, cataloging every minor movement of your expression, looking for all the best spots. These are the skills that’s earned him his playboy reputation in Gotham. The people who give rave reviews about fucking Bruce Wayne aren’t lying.

But Bruce so often sees his body as only a tool. A means to fight crime or gain information. A body may be a tool for creating children, but this is more than just that. Bruce uses his skills, longing to make something good of them. Desperate for more than blood on his hands, more than violence and fear.

It’s not long until he has you at the precipice of your climax. One of many, if this encounter is to be like any of your others. When your moans get needier, louder, indicating you’re close to your tipping point, Bruce stops. His fingers pull away, tracing up your stomach, splaying out over the skin. He’s perfectly aware of how badly you need this; that’s exactly why he’s putting it off.

“I told you to be patient,” he warns. He’s not going to rush through this. He plans to take his time with you. He pushes himself up, and from this new angle, you see the bulge in his sweatpants, half-hard cock pressed up enough to see a very clear outline.

Longing pools in the pit of your stomach, eyes skimming the scarred surface of his skin. Scar tissue puckers, each one even lighter than the rest of Bruce’s sun-deprived complexion. Deep bruises scatter across his body, some faint and green, fading away to nothingness, while others are dark; blue and purple, splotchy and angry.

He pulls down the sweatpants. His cock springs out, illuminated beautifully by the moonlight pouring through his window. You watch the muscles on his perfectly sculpted ass move as he tosses the sweatpants to the floor. He looks like a warrior carved out of marble, even in the darkness of his bedroom. The thick muscles tense as he moves.

You spread your legs, eagerly awaiting for him to slot himself inside, but he doesn’t. His thick fingers wrap around his length, grasping tight, slowly stroking himself. A soft grunt comes from the back of his throat, and you sigh just from hearing it. He slips a thigh between your legs, pressing up against you, a breathy groan following after as you begin to follow Bruce’s wordless command.

Your hips grind against the muscles of his thigh, watching as he works himself harder and harder. His free hand comes up, working through the hair that’s fallen in his face. Yet again, he looks like artwork. Muscles clear against his skin from a long night of patrol. Scarred flesh across his rippling torso, across his arms and legs.

You’ve never adjusted seeing Bruce so scarred; each time, you think of how much is at stake when he goes out at night. The scars are a testament to Bruce’s loyalty, but not to you. To his city, whenever she needs him.

She is the woman he’s given his heart to, no matter the ring on your finger. You could bare his child, fill up Wayne Manor with adorable giggles, and he would still turn to her each and every night. As difficult as that is to accept, it’s one of the things that had driven you to Bruce in the first place.

His eyes don’t stray from the sight of you before him, grinding against his leg, smearing your slick over him. Ever observant, but telling nothing. You used to worry when he stared at you like that during sex; the ferocity was unnerving. Were you doing something wrong? Making an awkward face? But you’ve since learned the honor of capturing Bruce’s attention. Such a fleeting thing, so often preoccupied with his mission, so seldom letting dedication give way to pleasure.

But then there are these times when the call of your body outshines his endless duty. When he isn’t thinking of the future, but thinking of right now. Thinking of you. And, apparently, fucking a baby into you.

Bruce coats the tip of his swollen cock with precum as he works himself. He drops, catching himself against the mattress with one hand, still pumping his cock in the other. “Do you want it?” he asks, voice low. Eyes wild. You feel him brush up against your entrance.

You nod, mouth agape in a raunchy display of how badly you want him.

His tip pushes inside and you gasp. He holds himself up on an elbow as he half-thrusts into you. You squirm beneath him trying to satiate the urgent need to be full. His head ducks down into your neck; his breath is hot against your skin as he lets out a sigh. Bruce will never ask for safety, nor will he admit he needs it. But even when he dons the batsuit, there is still some part of him that’s a terrified child, alone in an alley.

You are safety he won’t ask for. Shelter he’s never known to seek. Security he is terrified to lose.

He eases himself in slowly, making sure you feel every vein as he sinks deeper into you.

Your hands land on his back, nails digging into the skin. Breath catches in your throat and your back arches against Bruce.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, already perfectly aware of the answer.

You let out a breathy affirmation, eyes fluttering shut as he hits something blindingly sweet inside of you. All day, you’d been wanting this, aching to feel him. Daydreaming of being split open on his dick. Now you have it, and it’s even better than you were thinking.

He holds himself in you for a minute, and your walls flutter around him. Lips brush over skin, quickened breaths hold space in the silence as you both grasp onto one another until eventually he starts rutting against you, nudging at the already aching spot deep within you.

Bruce’s resolve never crumbles, fucking you with the same level of intention as he does anything else in his life. He keeps his pace steady, his face concentrated. His eyes slip shut, brows pinched together.

“Feels so good,” you whimper against his shoulder.

“I know it does,” Bruce coos, hand gripping the back of your neck. “I want it to feel good when I put my baby in you.”

And god, does that do something to you. His movements feel even more blissful, your biological urges getting stroked just as much as your pussy. Whether this is a wise decision or not remains to be seen, but you’re too fucked out to think straight, and it’s not like your baby fever brain is going to tell you anything contrary.

He holds onto your hips, practically folding you to thrust in deeper. You cry out, pleasure causing something syrupy to build within you yet again.

“Take it slow, darling,” he says. “I want us to cum together. You can wait, can’t you?”

His dirty talk is the one thing that didn’t seem to change once you knew he was Batman, the one thing that hadn’t dissipated from the persona. As usually non-verbal as Bruce was, he loved to dirty talk.

“Not like this…” you reply breathlessly. Not when he’s hitting just the right spot, not when the warmth inside of you feels absolutely molten and you can feel yourself squeezing around him.

Bruce grunts, a characteristic sign of his disapproval. “Do you need a break?” He doesn’t mean to sound patronizing; it just comes naturally to him. Like it’s your fault he fucks you like a man deprived. But before you can call him out on it, he takes a hand away from your hips, lowering himself onto an elbow yet again. “Do you need to cool down?” His teeth graze your earlobe gently, his voice growing just slightly sweeter.

He dips his head down back into your neck, nipping at the skin, a hand trails up your side, cupping a breast in his palm. “I don’t want to rush.”

“Of course not,” you scoff, still working to catch your breath. Your hips jerk towards him again, trying replicate his thrusts somehow, but he doesn’t allow you what you seek. You squeeze around him, trying to persuade him to fuck into you again, but Bruce’s iron will doesn’t give.

“Breathe,” he whispers. His fingers brush up against your pulse point, shivers running down your spine from the gentle gesture. “I’ll let you cum soon. I promise.”

You’ve learned a long time ago that Bruce’s promises only go so far. He promises to show up for the dinner reservations he booked, only for Alfred to tell you he stepped out as soon as you’re ready. He promises for a day without Batman, only for him to sneak down to the cave as soon as he thinks you aren’t paying attention.

For all you know, he means to draw this out until the sun rises. It’s not like it’d be the first time.

He leans in until he’s just a breath away. He nips at your bottom lip, capturing it between his teeth. You hear his deep chuckle as he tugs on the lip, his cock twitching inside of you. Once again, you try to grind down, try to seek more of his length. He frees your lip from its arrest before diving back in. He kisses you, passionate yet soft. Back to that devout touch.

You respond greedily, legs still bent at his hips. Your fingers curl into his hair, holding him against you.

He pulls back. He raises his hand, cupping your jaw in his palm. Eyes fixed on you.

“I love you, you know.”

Bruce doesn’t say it often; he’s admitted so himself. You’ve known for a long time now to expect the unconventional with your husband. Love confessions while he’s buried to the hilt inside of you is the closest the two of you get to normal.

“If you love me, you’d let me cum,” you pout.

He chuckles softly. “I thought you liked it when I’m sweet.” Taunting you again. He’s lucky you do love him otherwise you would never put up with all his bullshit. Coming home bleeding. Leaving you to worry about him while he runs around Gotham. Putting off your orgasm when he knows how badly you need it.

He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours. You feel his heart pounding against your chest. His cock jerks against your walls.

Without warning, he sinks back into you. You gasp, nails digging back into his skin at the sudden movement. His movements are deep and sure, hitting that same spot inside of you. “Oh fuck!” you cry, head thrown back against the pillows. “Fuck, Bruce, just like that.”

“I told you I’d take care of you,” he growls into the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t leave you so desperate.”

Bruce thrusts into you, pushing deep, hitting the spots he knows will leave you too fucked out to move once he’s finished with you. Warmth pools back in your core as your pleasure builds back up from where Bruce left you. You clutch him against you, demanding your release. And this time, he shows you mercy.

Bruce moans against you. Even for his expert precision, you feel his thrusts getting sloppier, more frantic. He’s close.

You bite down on his shoulder. Bruce’s groans louder.

“Do you want me to come inside you, darling? Do you want me to give you a baby?” His voice is rough, a sign that his composure is cracking.

“Uh-huh…” You nod, gripping onto him like a vice so he doesn’t even consider pulling away from you.

“I will,” he murmurs.

Your sighs and pants join together, both of you wrapped so tightly around the other where you truly do feel like one. Being deprived of your orgasm has you frenzied, chasing after your high. And this time, Bruce follows through.

Your climax hits you like a train. For a few seconds, your ears are ringing, and you stare up at Bruce blankly, too blissed out to see.

He slams into you, hips stuttering. His hand cups your neck, eyes pinched shut. As he tosses his head back, you think of the rareness of this moment. Expression pinched with pleasure, Bruce makes good on his promise, spilling into you. You feel his cock pulsing, softly grinding against you, making sure every drop fills your pussy.

He falls on top of you, cock still buried inside of you. His weight is comforting, if just a little suffocating. But your body thrums with the electricity of your orgasm. Fingertips tingling, sweat beading up on your skin. Your walls throb around him, his seed warm inside in hopes of taking root.

The two of you are silent as you catch your breath, coming down from your bliss. The room is dark, and yet you feel absolutely bathed in light, warm and heavy.

You let out a soft whimper when Bruce finally pulls out, feeling cold and empty in his absence. He rises to his knees and observes his work, eyes sparkling as he watches his cum leak out of you. He swipes his thumb along your clit. You squirm, still sensitive from your peak.

“You’re irresistible, do you know that?” he asks you, still kneeling above you. Cum drips from his tip, sliding down his still-hard shaft.

Had you any energy left to speak, you’d remind him how he’s usually quite able to resist you, but you don’t want to ruin the afterglow of all of that. Not when you can watch Bruce’s scarred belly rising and falling from his exertion. Not after feeling his heart beating in time with yours as he pumps you full of his cum.

You hum contentedly, too spent for words, laying in the afterglow of the sex. The sounds of Bruce moving about the room only partially register in your mind until the bed shifts with his weight again. You jolt slightly, shaken from your stupor as Bruce gently cleans up the cum leaking from you.

“I meant what I said.” Bruce doesn’t look up as he speaks. “We’d have beautiful children.”

A tired smile crawls on your face as you look back at him. “We will,” you reply.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider giving this a reblog 💛

[cherrydbear]

Since y'all seemed to like this I'll keep rambling on the subject, I can do this all day. Here are some of those examples where I think their friendship really shines through:

From Sanji's perspective, this guy just showed up outside his restaurant one day, dueled the legendary swordsman who slashed Don Krieg's fleet to pieces, willingly got cut almost in two, nearly bled to death, was tied up by his own crew and then captured by the Arlong pirates, still singlehandedly escaped and came back to join the fight and defeated one of Arlong's best fighters, then nearly bled to death again and woke up just in time to drink himself silly at the afterparty. I've heard people say they "match each other's freak" and that's the truth. Sanji watches this absolute wackadoodle of a man and knows he's found someone who matches his freak. From Zoro's point of view, some cook at a floating restaurant just fed all of their enemies out of principle before kicking their butts. How could he not respect that sort of unconditional adherence to a sense of honor and justice? Especially considering he himself experienced starvation not too long ago in Shells Town. Now this cook, the newest stray in Luffy's collection, immediately proves himself to be immensely capable both in the kitchen and on the battlefield, incurs injury to himself without complaint to protect these people he barely knows, and still is the only person to come sit by Zoro and check up on him. So Zoro knows that Sanji has a heart of pure gold, and I think that's a big part of why he gets frustrated when Sanji tries to cover it up with bravado and perviness.

This scene was really interesting to me because usually when someone demands that Zoro does something, he grouches and grumbles about it, so in this case it seems he just spontaneously started helping out himself. And if there was ever a man whose love language is acts of service, it's Roronoa Zoro. He seems to be more of a "companionable silence" kind of guy, while Sanji's a talker and will say anything to keep feeling connected. Now, I don't know if this is just a me thing, but I like to say my friends' names a lot, even just because the association with them brings me joy, but I rarely use the names of people I'm not close with except to refer to them in third person or to get their attention. In this scene, it seems to me that Sanji keeps repeating Zoro's name as a way to show he's thinking about him and appreciates him being there, though I might just be projecting.

Now, I know shippers go crazy over this one, but I think it's honestly really solid platonic evidence and I'll tell you why (not to dissuade shipping, I think you have to be friends before you can be more than friends so all of this can be fuel for the ship too if you want it to be). Firstly, they're comfortable enough to sleep this close together. Sanji's resting his sleepy head right on Zoro's shoulder (it should have been me, not him) and Zoro just lets him. Also note real quick, only a short distance away Luffy is using Usopp as a pillow, so they're all a cuddly cozy little family. When Zoro notices Sanji mistakenly trying to kiss him, he doesn't even move away, he just makes a face and waits for Sanji to wake up so he can make fun of him. Sanji, for his part, doesn't act embarrassed or disgusted that it turned out to be Zoro there, only playfully mad about his expression. They squabble for a few moments before Luffy pushes past them and they turn their attention to the next thing, argument forgotten, proving that neither was actually angry about anything and they were merely enjoying the opportunity to bicker.

This is from the hunting competition in Little Garden that I mentioned before. I just wanted to point out that both of them are grinning and clearly having a grand time.

(I love how Sanji's hands are just massive sometimes.) They have the entire forest clearing, and Sanji chooses to sit his little booty down right next to Zoro and toss his food at him. They're just like those kids in elementary who had beef over who has a more impressive Pokémon collection and would always sit next to each other at lunch to compare cards and play together at recess but claim they're archnemeses. And for as much as Sanji implied to Usopp (though oblivious) that the heart shaped vegetables were just for the ladies, he did choose to make it and serve it to the whole crew. Speaking of the ladies, Sanji is always adamant about protecting them, but he was perfectly fine with leaving Nami and Robin in Zoro's care, just as Zoro trusted Sanji to take care of Luffy and Usopp.

I also loved how Sanji packed Zoro a cute little lunchbox for exploring and he was NOT going to let no stupid south bird take it from him.

Alright that's all for today folks I gotta wake up in like 5 hours for work lol

Continuation from this post

[pshenyasstuff]

Headcanons for relationships with Billy Kid

This is my purely subjective opinion, you may disagree with me. I don't have enough content on this guy (i obsessed with him), so I decided to make it myself.

He's definitely the type of guy who is always ready to support his girlfriend like some kind of cheerleader like "THIS IS MY GIRLFRIEND!! TEAR THEM ALL UP, BEAUTY!"

Expect a lot of talk about his favorite show, he will show you absolutely every poster and figurine, tell you how he acquired it and the like

And of course he will call himself your Starlight Knight

His gifts are often like this.. random. You never expect what he can give. One time it's some kind of cute trinket, and the next time it's a weapon 😨 (of course so that his beloved can stand up for herself)

But he doesn't really mind if you're a pacifist or just don't want to hurt someone. He is always happy to protect you, while of course showing off in all sorts of ways. "Babe, are you watching? I did a great job on them, didn't I??"

He's as clingy as possible, I'm serious. He loves hugging so much that hugging at every meeting with him will be something ordinary for you. It's just one of his ways of expressing sympathy

I'm 100% sure he's styling his hair. Or they are always like that. In any case, they are as soft as possible.

I'm not sure if he feels the touch. Let's assume that he feels it quite a bit

Despite this, he always tries to count the power to touch you

Oh yes, he definitely likes to carry his beloved on his arms, back and shoulders. He especially likes to walk around the city like this or run away from enemies with you, because he is an cyborg, much faster than your human legs, just let him treat you like his lady :D

The poor guy is sometimes so upset because he doesn't have lips. I mean, how can he then give his beloved more love?? In any case, he finds a way out of the situation and just rests his faceplate on the place where he wants to kiss you. Too cute

He definitely giggles stupidly when you initiate all this romantic stuff. Did you kiss him yourself? I swear, he lifts one leg like a girl and can't stop giggling in love

His nicknames are so sweet to you, sometimes banal, but it's cute. (Lady, sweetheart, princess, love of my life, beloved)

Each of your mornings together will begin with his speech. He will absolutely always wake up earlier, if he is sleeping at all, of course. Let's say it goes into sleep mode for a set time. "Yo, yo, yo, wake up, sleepyhead!"

Cooking? No, and again no, bro does not know how to cook, he buys you ready-made food, because he does not need it himself

He always likes to make you laugh, he is infinitely glad to see you happy :)

He definitely likes the idea of paired things. Even the bracelet you gave him will always be worn (until he loses it)

You rarely quarrel, I think, but if it happens, he always apologizes first

Don't give him a plant or a pet, they'll just die 😭

He likes to sing for you, even if it's not quite perfect and the ears of others wither from his singing

He will immediately ask to exchange numbers or social networks. What for? To send you his photos and silly messages if you are not around, of course. He definitely uses a lot of emojis

He likes to arrange a movie night with you. Of course, you'll be watching mostly his favorite show. He watches it so often that at one point he will just say lines along with the characters

He likes to lie on your lap at such moments or just hold hands, because it's romantic in his understanding

Thanks for reading <3

[psi-hate]

alright, this really, really sucks but i have an unfortunate update that occurred regarding my recent living situation.

not to get into too much detail for the sake of my friend's privacy, but she and her fiance offered to take me in after i was suddenly on the verge of homelessness this february. i accepted their offer and moved in thanks to everyone's support, and for the last few months, i felt comfortable and capable in getting myself together for the first time in years.

however, despite what i assumed were all positive developments, things started getting a lot more complicated. i become exposed to the treatment and stress my friend has been suffering from her fiance over many years, from being spied on via tracking apps, in-house cameras, a ridiculous jealousy complex and all sorts of other personal issues.

her friends and i have been supporting her over the years, but i didn't realize how bad it was until i started to be subjected to it as well.

my friend decided to break up with her fiance last week, finally standing up for herself but still wanting to remain friends and live as normally as they could, they still had the house and their cats and such. her now ex-fiance hasn't taken kindly to this and has been pretty passively hostile towards us, and has started to take it out on me.

she started stalking my tumblr to find things to get mad at, and checking the cameras when i leave my room. i've not felt comfortable to leave my room in well over a week other than to get some food or use the bathroom in the middle of the night, the tension has been a nightmare.

my friend and i decided we needed to move out, especially me since i'm technically not a tenant and we suspect she's going to call the police on me to get me out of here. my friend will be going to her parents at a later point, but i unfortunately need to leave within a couple weeks as i've already been "indirectly" threatened.

this is sort of a nightmare, and i feel so horrible things turned out this way for my friend. i tried my best, but this feels out of my control. trying to keep the peace has only made things worse, and we think it's best for me to book it before i get blind-sighted.

i suspect if her ex-fiance sees this, she'll retaliate, but at this point i've already made my peace with that.

unfortunately, i won't be able to bring much of my stuff with me, i only have enough money for a ticket to move in with another close friend as an emergency.

i don't have enough to buy any checked bags for most my belongings, especially my desktop pc, so once i move i'm very likely going to not be able to do my art or anything until i can afford a laptop eventually. i'm really sorry to those waiting on any commissions, i'll try my best to get them done before i move. i feel so horrible about this.

if anyone is able to help, i'd really appreciate it. even just a reblog is more than i can really ask. i hesitate to make this request because i feel like i just asked for it only for it to all be wasted once this exploded in my face. but i've been encouraged to reach out, and i apologize if this is too much. my ko-fi:

thank you so much for supporting me so far. i don't want to disappoint anyone anymore. i am so scared but i still want to keep trying.

[valtsv]

so i’m curious about your enjoyment of pain as someone who also enjoys it. do you like all types of pain? what’s the like. intensity cut off? do you have favorite and least favorite pain sensations? for me personally i sort of like getting zapped, and also getting lightly burned, but not enough to actually leave a burn if that makes sense? like the sensation of having something slightly too warm pressed against my skin for too long is nice but i can’t stand actually healing from a burn wound (there was one time i literally couldn’t sleep due to a burn on my thumb). also bruises are nice. like pressing on them. but i absolutely can’t do cramps of any kind. anywayyyyy i curious about your opinions <3

JAMES CEMETERYTHING PAIN ASSESSMENT (or: i am asking you to get weird with it):

DISCLAIMER: this is a subjective account of my personal experiences with pain, and not intended in any way to dismiss other people's perfectly valid personal experiences, or to promote self-harm or violence towards oneself or others. obviously your body is yours to do with as you wish, but i accept no responsibility for those choices you make. please be kind to yourselves and each other.

- bruises: friendly short-term companions that occasionally stiffen, ache and throb in response to movement and touch. they have pretty privilege but fortunately i like that in a wound.

- scratches: zingy, sharp, and refreshing. like biting into a ripe but still sour berry. sometimes they swell up a little while they're healing. these are the best kind of scratches because they have tenderness and texture that's fun to touch.

- cuts (ie: anything deeper than a scratch, but not puncture/impaling wounds): the pain has a more intoxicating, overwhelming effect than scratches, which can be a good or bad thing. temptingly slippery and reactive to touch, but the risk of infection is a looming threat that takes some of the fun out of the act. cleaning them out can be an enjoyable compromise.

- incisions, stitches, and other consensually inflicted forms of wound (eg: tattoos): the choice and intention you have in the matter makes them more satisfying to experience, and your body's reactions (tensing, gritting your teeth, and breathing sharply through the waves of pain running through your body from the focal point of entry) can be exciting to bear witness to if you allow yourself. please engage in this one responsibly and safely.

- broken bones: immediately nauseating, but the dull ache of a healing bone after it's fractured has an almost comfortingly omnipresent quality to it that i find myself nostalgic for when it's gone. the occasional shooting pains you get when you move wrong, however, are too fleeting and sharp to really enjoy.

- muscle/joint injuries and pains: sickening and hateful. they burrow too deep to easily root out, but remain close enough to the surface to make you feel clumsy and unwelcome in your own body; a throbbing tumour ejecting waves of pain into the world. demanding and ungrateful, relieving them is the only thing they're good for. a notable exception is muscle aches from pleasurable/satisfying experiences, which carry that muscle memory and can redeem themselves in the process.

- headaches: really depends on where and how intense they are. i kind of enjoy the headaches that build behind my eyes, and will roll them and blink exaggeratedly to send little starbursts of pressure-release shooting through my skull. headaches that gather around my temples or build at the bridge of my nose, on the other hand, are unwelcome intrusions.

- impaling/puncturing wounds: perhaps a controversial opinion, but the penetrative aspect is probably the least interesting part to me. the aftermath - having a foreign object lodged inside you, surrounded by shrieking nerves declaring their resentment at the intruder, or a vacant hole of emptiness and strange new sensation where once was untouched flesh - is when things really start to get exciting.

- burns/debridement: generally considered the worst kind of pain, and i'm somewhat inclined to agree. it's hard to find much of a silver lining in having your skin flayed from your body layer by agonising layer. i think it's down to a similar issue to the one muscle cramps present - you're too trapped in the mundane misery of having a body, with no adequate distraction or fascination to make up for it. i do find the way that they heal to be interesting, though. the itching and oozing and peeling is by no means pleasant, but it is a disgustingly welcome relief from what came before. and the shiny new or scarred skin left behind feels like a kind of victory medal. a badge of endurance.

[xamag-draws]

BBR thoughts 2024

Since I mentioned that I finally dusted off an old project of mine and was ruminating on how I'd remake it, I thought I'd elaborate a little, now that I've solidified some concepts. For funsies

This is gonna be a bit of a long and unfocused one, but I don't share my personal thoughts here often, especially the stuff about my projects I always marinate in. And for once it's something that people have existing context for, so hey why not

So for anyone who hasn't been following me for a gajillion years, The Black Brick Road of OZ was a webcomic that I posted around 2013-2015, back when I was in highschool going on college (which is kinda crazy to think about). It was sort of a darker twist on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, although I definitely leaned a lot more into dark humor more than anything in those first few chapters

I don't think it's available to read anywhere anymore, and I know people have been asking me about it. So here's the full proper archive of BBR, as full as it can be with deceased Flash

I totally used it as an excuse to shamelessly and self-indulgently experiment. It had interactive pages and GIFs and was wayyy too overproduced for what I could handle or what was necessary, but I did have great fun making it while it lasted

Unfortunately, that excess and the fact that I've changed too much as a person by the time I was in college is what ultimately killed it. The direction I wanted to go in was practically unrecognizable from the original idea started back in 2011, so there were many old hold-ups that I felt ruined it

At the time I kinda wished I could start/rewrite it all over, but considering that I pretty much had the entire script done at that point, it felt like a pointless sisyphean task. So I just put it on a shelf and didn't look back for about 8 years, because I didn't know what else to do

Now to be fair, the nature of my art has always been iterative and cyclical; when I feel like my creative juices have run dry I prefer to leave a project to marinate and move on to something else; cycle through other old things and bring in new skills and perspectives into the mix when I'm ready again. Not very productive, but it is what makes me happy to work on my OCs; I'm doomed to hit a wall with them eventually and I need some time to be able to find a new direction

So that said, I'm glad that BBR was left to marinate for that long. I don't think I was prepared, emotionally or intellectually, to tackle it again until now. The Wizard of Oz book (and the entire series of them, really) has always been near and dear to my heart, but there's a lot of context around it that I'm only unpacking now that I'm older

I think I always inherently feel negatively about the stuff I've made in the past, like its faults always jump out to me more than the positives, especially the more time passes. I've never liked that, and I do really appreciate the kind things people have to say about BBR to this day. The fact that it still can be recognized and remembered is very sweet

When I left it, I already found it "kinda cringe", and that feeling only deepened with years. When I took my first look back at it, asking the question "how would I rewrite it now?", at first I took a very cynical approach, as in "everything would have to be torn down"

But the more I sat on it, the more I found that I still see some merit and charm in the ideas I was putting out; I just didn't know how to execute them at the time (not to pretend that I know what I'm doing now, but I certainly know more at least). Turns out a lot of my old concepts could be changed substantially with just a few small tweaks. So I'd say that's a nicer way to think about my previous work

If you haven't seen yet, I posted a first draft of my new designs for some of the characters (the main group, the Goods and the Wickeds). Definitely subject to change, but more or less how I see them now

I'm just playing with these concepts; by no means would I attempt to remake BBR right this moment. Call it a pipe dream among my other ones. But just for fun, this is the direction I'd like to take:

Nowadays I'd probably make it a visual novel, with more emphasis on the visual part than the novel because I'm no English prose writer by any means. It'd still let me play a little with the interactivity while helping cut some corners on the drawing part (only some, I imagine I'd go hog wild anyway)

I've always intended for some events inspired by the sequel books to take place in BBR's past. Stuff like Jinjur's revolt or Ozma's rule preceeds the main events here. So I think it would be fun to follow the past of a few key characters alongside the main story. One chapter focusing on the present quest to see the Wizard, then one focusing on the past events (that are maybe reflective thematically); rinse and repeat

I'm also sticking a little closer to the original text in some regards. Not everything that I enjoy from the books would be translated here, it's still just a very loose fantasy on the material; but I'd like to be closer in spirit at least

I like mature, wise and powerful Glinda, I like kind and vulnerable Tin Man, I like the Wizard being a pathetic yet loveable liar, so I'm sprinkling in more of that for example

I'd like to keep some whimsy, but make it more grounded and a bit more serious to be coherent in tone. I think the original TWWOOZ book was a more realistic fantasy in some ways, even for the standards of the time; I like its simple but vivid tactile descriptions and details like bringing attention that Dorothy needed to eat and sleep

I find it funny that Baum specifically was averse to making his books scary or unpleasant, finding that unnecessary for telling a compelling kids story, but they still can get pretty dark and disturbing, at least for our modern sensibilities. Let's just say that I intend to use the Evoldo and Chopfyt storylines for my purposes. In that way, I feel like a "darker" Wizard of Oz retelling can still mostly be tonally in line with the original and balance it with enough heart and occasional humor

I slowly grew to appreciate the quaint old-timey quality of the original series, as well. The first book is both timeless and very much a product of the 1900s. Originally I tried to give it a little modern or at least anachronistic spin, but it was moreso because it's what I knew best, so these days I'd rather intentionally lean into the time period. Still not fully historically accurate by any means, but at least directly acknowledging the influence

The events of the story span across 40 years of these characters' lives, so I'm drawing inspiration from the entire so-called La Belle Epoque: the time period around 1880s-1920s. Basically I'm cooking, and my soup is old Victorian fashion morphing into Edwardian fashion and slowly inching towards flappers

Some new Dolly outfits

Lots of crazy things, political changes and innovations were happening at the turn of the century, which I think is noted and reflected by Baum in the books as well; the character of Tik-Tok might not blow any minds now, but he was one of the first robot characters in literature at that point; and don't even get me started on Jinjur, etc. Plenty of really interesting stuff one could lightly ponder in an Oz adaptation these days

Aesthetically, art nouveau has always been a big artistic influence for me, and it'd definitely be its time to shine here. John R. Neill's illustrations of the Oz books often keep me company as well. Nouveau architecture in particular fits that fairytale whimsy extremely well imo

I'd allow myself a little bit of art deco here and there, but ultimately its intimidating geometrical splendor is an antithetical to the flowery nature of nouveau and I associate it with a completely different era. Definitely fitting some characters like my Wicked Witch of the West, but shouldn't be overused

One of my main problems with the original BBR was that eventually I lost track of what it was even about; and the original ending felt too mean and unfulfilling to be worth it. Now I'd like to stick to the theme of home and family as my main theme, but in a different, more bittersweet way than in the book

An interesting connection I made is that a lot of my aforementioned older key characters (the Witches, Jinjur, the Nome King, etc) all came from the same reformatory as kids, that's how they know each other. In my recent research I learned that in those reformatories it was usually frowned upon to release the children back to the families, which were seen as the original corrupting influence regardless of the circumstance. The reformatory did everything in its power to cut that connection and make itself the only family those wayward kids were supposed to know and love. That's an unexpected tie into the theme of home that I'd like to explore as well

So yeah that's the current state of it. I have a bunch of outfit concepts I'm slowly cooking, although I'm now sure whether I'd post them... But I do miss these funny guys, and I'm glad some people still do as well :)

[sunshineandspencer]

Cowboy hat rule, Part 4 (Tyler Owens, Twisters)

A/N: Let’s put it this way, I don’t remember writing this. But it certainly exists so you may have it, I want to rewatch this movie completely legally🏴‍☠️, but I’m not at home and I can’t. Physically weeping as I type this.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader.

Summary: In between butting heads with Javi’s team and running a successful YouTube channel based entirely around tornadoes, Tyler Owens is introduced to the most interesting woman he’s seen in a good while - and her sister.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: kind of suggestive (honestly not sure, it’s pretty late and my brain doesn’t work), minor swearing, I’m beginning to forget the movie so forgive me, very limited knowledge of America (I’m English).

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

I have redone the form for the taglist now that I’m apparently expanding from Criminal Minds

A rodeo, he brought her to a rodeo. 

And not just any rodeo, but one in the middle of tornado valley. For the amount of tornadoes this place gets, there are a lot of people here. It makes her nervous. 

Thankfully, there are idiots on horses to keep her entertained, and reminiscing about her childhood. 

At some point, Tyler leaned over. Pressing his shoulder to hers and ducking his head so she could hear him. His breath just ghosting her ear. 

“Not your first rodeo?”

“Not even close.”

Her eyes flicked to his, grinning up at him. He’s certain the sight of her smiling at him is going to be seared in his brain forever. 

Especially when she shuffled closer, so that she could be heard. Their thighs pressed together nearly as close as their shoulders. He could smell the faint traces of her perfume, he wishes she’d put some on before they’d left.

“Daddy used to compete in rodeos, up until we were eleven. He had an accident, and mom told him that if he ever did it again it wouldn’t be the bulls he had to worry about.”

He loves her mom, right now she’s the greatest woman in the world. Besides the pretty woman that she created, sat pressed against him. 

Her eyes went back to the rodeo, but his didn’t, watching her profile and wondering how he got so.. smitten.

Nudging her with his shoulder, he gave that bright grin - a real, happy grin that people are accustomed to. 

“I’m learning all sorts about you Alpine.”

“That you are, and yet you remain an enigma.”

“Aww, you don’t have to go about using all kinds of fancy words, you can just call me pretty.”

They both laughed at that, hushed and slightly giggled. Like a pair of schoolchildren mucking about in assembly and didn’t want to get caught. 

Leaning into each other, wondering why everything feels so much funnier when they’re together. 

But then she nudged him, telling him to actually tell her something about himself.

“I used to compete too, got stomped in the head a little too much and figured college would do me a little better.” He fidgeted with his watch, fitting it properly to his wrist. “I don’t mean to pry, but since we’re in a sharing mood, what’s up with Kate and Javi?”

She gave a long suffering sigh, and he realised he might’ve just hit a sensitive subject. But before he can tell her not to worry about it, she’s smiling at him. 

She’d leant away now, and he doesn’t like it, leaning with her arms on the back of the seats, her legs crossed and no longer against his. 

Is it selfish? To want her close again? Because he can be selfish if that’s what it takes. 

“He’s always had a thing for her. We used to work together, a group of us. Me and Javi were dating, Kate had her boyfriend, but I knew he loved her. I looked a lot more like her then.. I was a replacement but that was fine because at least I could pretend I was loved.”

Giving Tyler a soft smile, she realised that was probably a little more than he bargained for. 

Not knowing that he was currently cycling through all the ways he could murder the guy and shove him into a tornado to make it look like an accident. 

He could do it, it’s not hard to shove a dead body into a tornado when you drive into them for a living.

“Maybe he’ll finally get his head out his ass and ask her out. I doubt it though, he’s terrified of rejection.”

Tyler nodded, eyebrows furrowed, and then leant back with her. Arms going around the back of the chairs, fingers dusting her shoulder. 

Somehow, even that small touch was enough for her body to become instantly aware of the lingering heat from when they’d been pressed together. 

Then he gave her another one of those smiles, and she could’ve melted straight through the plastic. 

“If you want, I could run him over and send him up into a tornado. Let God and the weather do their things.”

She laughed - thank God she laughed - and he’s certain that he’s found something more beautiful than any tornado he’d ever chased in his entire life. 

And when she calmed down to look at him, smile still playing at those pretty kissable lips, her hands swatted out against his chest. 

“Don’t make it sound like you murder people so often, I have to get back in the truck with you.”

“Ahh, don’t worry about that Alpine. You’re too pretty to murder, can’t have the world bereft of that face now can we?”

Before she can answer, a swirl of leaves assault the audience, including them. Leaves that, really, were too violent to have just been caught up in a gust of wind. 

Picking one up, she crumpled the leaves and then opened her palm. The way they spread out left her nervous. 

“Were you tracking out this way?”

Looking to him nervously, she didn’t like that look on his face. Because they had been, but from the data, even Kate said the one out this way shouldn’t form anything too bad. 

Maybe the conditions for the tornado improved, because it definitely seems like something had touched down. By the way the bleachers are rattling. 

He didn’t answer either, just looking around at all the people here, calculating the tragedies if something did set down. 

But it hadn’t, or else they would’ve gotten—

All at the same time the tornado warnings sounded on their phones, and everyone began to panic, including her. 

Snapped out of it by Tyler taking her hand and getting her up. Pulling her through the crowd. 

“Come on, we need to find shelter!”

It’s hard to hear over the wind, and when she heard shit start flying off behind them, her blood felt sharp in her veins and she kept up the pace next to him. 

Glad he’s got her hand in his or she’s not sure how fast she could run. 

“I don’t- I don’t go into tornadoes, I do the data. I don’t go into the fucking things! I’m not you, I’m not used to this.”

He pulled her to a stop just inside a motel parking area, thankfully covered for now. Grabbing her shoulders and looking at her sincerely, realising that she really was scared. 

He knew she stayed back, he didn’t know why, but the genuine terror on her face said enough. 

“You’ll be alright, I promise. I won’t let you get hurt by this thing. But we need to get to shelter, okay?”

As he started pulling her along, all the noise rushed back to her and made her feel sick. Aware of the crashes and the screams, and the drag of metal on metal as the motel threatened to break apart. 

A woman was trying to get her daughter into the car, and she dragged Tyler to a stop. 

“No! No, don’t get in your car!! Get out, come here!”

They did, thank God, and joined them in the motel. Shoving past the idiot at the desk who clearly doesn’t know what’s going on. 

Everyone talking all over each other about basements or shelters. 

She was going a little haywire, and caught onto the crash of a metal gate swinging back and forth. The pool. It’s emptied and the wall would’ve been opened for maintenance. 

There’d be an alcove for them to huddle in and hopefully things to hold onto. 

Grabbing Tyler’s arm and shouting over everyone else. 

“Come on! We haven’t got time to argue, follow me!”

Shouldering open the door, she knew the woman and her child were close behind. As well as the clerk, while Tyler was trying to convince the two idiots that there was actually a tornado. 

Helping the woman into the pool, both her and her daughter were sobbing, not that she blamed them. It’s a miracle that she isn’t. 

Once the little girl was safely in her mom’s arms, she motioned for them to get to the end of the pool. 

Turning around to look for Tyler, she felt his hands on her waist from behind, easing her quickly towards the ladder to get into the pool. Allowing herself a moment to breathe. 

Until she caught sight of that couple trying to drive away, getting caught up in the tornado that is way too close for comfort.

Hurrying down, she reached up for Tyler, half wanting him to just jump down, and get to safety as quickly as possible. Pressing a hand to his back to stable him as he dropped down. 

Both of them rush over to alcove with the woman and her daughter. 

Showing them where to hold, and that she should keep her daughter’s eyes covered from any debris. And not to let go or look around for any reason. 

As she started to get a grip on the pipes, she heard a shriek from the motel clerk. He had tried to stand up while Tyler was helping him, and was sent to the shallow end. 

Then the idiot tried again and was dragged off into the sky. Her heart was heavy in her throat as she watched Tyler turn and start to crawl back to them. Fighting against the wind. 

Holding on tight to the pipes, but leaning out with her hand as far as she could go. Desperately reaching for him. 

Especially when a bus or something landed in the pool and started to tip over them. He’d be crushed. 

She’s too panicked to really think about anything other than making sure he grabbed her hand. Because she wasn’t losing anyone else - not him. 

As soon as his palm connected to hers, she pulled hard, to give him that small bit of leverage he needed right as the bus fell. 

He pressed up behind her, keeping both her, and the woman pinned to the pipes, holding on as best he could. They got a little more cover from the bus, thankfully, but the wind was still bad. 

With one arm still curled around the pipes, her other reached back to get a handful of his shirt. He was not going anywhere. 

Once it was over, all of them soaked and panting, and pretty injured from projectiles, they finally let go. 

Of the pipes, anyway. She couldn’t let go of his shirt yet, even as his hands found her waist. Digging in, to help her stand and reassure himself they’re still alive. 

Once they’d stood, and stumbled out from around the bus, they walked up to the shallow end to look around. 

The town - the rodeo - had been decimated. 

And with his hands still comfortably on her waist, she eased the grip on his shirt. Finally turning and wrapping her arms around him. Squeezing as tight as she could to try and now reassure herself. 

They’re both alive; they’re both okay. 

He hugged her back just as tightly, and she’s not sure if it’s the adrenaline from surviving, but she never wants to be anywhere but his arms ever again. 

Want more?! Good!