#their fucked up little traits are way more of a disadvantage than they thought

[friendofthecrows]

Wish I had more of that stereotypical "refined genius psychopath mystery villain" vibes and less "dysfunctional no sleep cycle can't tell when/if they have emotions traumatized mess doesn't feel like a human paranoid future true crime psychopath" vibes. So that was word salad. Moving on.

[myrddin-wylt]

I 110% agree with the "race is an abstract concept" thing. I'm central asian and it pains me when i click the "asian" button when college apps in the US ask me for my ethnicity and then they have options for a bunch of asian countries except for central and west asia. Do... do i not count?? Bc fr i thought i was asian this whole time, no apparently the US counts central asians as white??? and i feel like that erases my whole identity.

I did research on genes and stuff to find some semblance of "asian" in the genes of the country i originate from, and i was a little relieved that there was more "asian" in the genes. But the fact that i did this to calm myself down really hit home how race is seen as a defining factor for many

Bc central asian history involves indo iranians settling in, the mongols invading, alex the great and all that stuff and you expect us to be homogenous like east asia? i was talking to my tunisian friend about this and she agreed, since there were arab takeovers and roman invasions and all that too, so of course the population will be split on race. I feel like ethnicity is more helpful because at the end of the day, this feels like it's more about skin color or what you look like, and i feel like the concept of race was popularized to divide people in a way

Theres tiktok discourse where an east asian lady called armenians white, which similarly erases armenian identity(also why i never understood why caucasian = white because it refers to people in the caucasus region, so armenia, azerbaijan, etc), so yeah i agree. Cant ethnicity be used instead? It feels like its a lot less subjective

you know, incidentally, what prompted that post was a bad race discourse tiktok I saw and thought “lol this person would have no idea what to do with a Turk.”

“I feel like the concept of race was popularized to divide people in a way.” so there is...... a LOT to this topic. a LOT. but strictly speaking you are 100% correct. like I feel like a dismissive asshole for saying “go read the wikipedia page” but there is absolutely no way I can explain even half the topic via a tumblr post. however I will try to give a few..... idk, tips?

1) prior to the 17th century, ‘race’ is just a group of people with a shared trait, not necessarily genetics/appearance.

2) scientific racism is pseudoscience that defines ‘race’ by genetics.

3) racial essentialism is the unholy result of when academics use ‘race’ to mean social construct but laymen think they mean genetics -> result: -> the consequences of ‘race’ are social and cultural and change depending on that culture, but the categories themselves are fixed. so the advantages and disadvantages of being white are purely social, but whiteness itself has a static definition (ie appearance). calling an Armenian white is an example of racial essentialism. 

link, link, link, link to an abstract because the rest is paywalled but the abstract is sufficient, another abstract with a paywall, huh, it’s almost like the reason science doesn’t filter down to laymen is because it’s so fucking difficult to access and understand.

4) racial essentialism is the reason you can take something as useful as critical race theory and twist it so far beyond recognition that you use it to come up with a conclusion that both Thomas Jefferson and Hitler would unironically agree with.

here are some sources on the confusion of critical race theory. mind you, because this is so contentious, please use your own judgement on the accuracy and/or trustworthiness of these sources.* link, link, link, link

5) ‘identity’ is whatever traits people use to identify you, right? so it’s an external thing applied      to you      by others       so that they can make assumptions to understand you. you do not have to make any of these assumptions or identifiers how you understand yourself ie your personal identity. have no fear. it’s less important to focus on what you ‘are’ than on what emotions you’re feeling and why, what your thought processes are and why, etc etc.

good luck and godspeed lmao

*if you read something you disagree with, don’t fuckin @ me

[rotshop]

Auditor reader is always some good shit. Long or not I’d love to read more! Remember not to burn out and to take care!

hell eya,,,,tysm anon,,,heres a stupid lil drabble bc its 4am and im experiencing

hopefully this isnt too bad bc im not proff reading and im Very Tired

---

Being..whatever it is you are had a lot of perks.

It took a lot of pressure off of 2b knowing he wouldn't have to worry too much about you being injured. Sure, there'd been an incident or two where you'd been shocked (once by Hank on accident and another by just bad luck involving live wires on a mission) but it didn't keep you down for too long. While you yourself had noticed -and subsequently pointed out- he'd seemed a little more stressed than usual when he'd been checking over your recovery, he'd brushed it off as nothing more than him simply worrying he wouldn't be able to help you due to his lack of knowledge on 'Shadow beings.' You both knew he wasn't being truthful about that but, to his luck, you hadn't pressed further on the subject.

However, there were a few disadvantages that made themselves known very quickly. For starters, if you were in a dark area then it was near impossible to see you aside from your teeth, which of course had freaked the fuck out of Deimos and Sanford (and even Hank, once, see the above shocking incident) more than once. Then there was the issue of other people mistaking you for The Auditor, which'd ended in more than a few fights. Then lastly, and most concerning to 2b, your 'cold-bloodedness' as he put it.

Not in a ruthless and bloodthirsty way (although he'd seen you demonstrate a certain violent sadism on agents before), but rather in a living way. The temperatures in Nevada could be..spotty, to say the least. While most days were hot, there was definitely notable random dips where the temperature would drop to unbearable degrees. For the most part it was just an irritating note, most of all to Sanford who'd have to begrudgingly wear a top of some sorts on those days, it was more serious for you.

It was very quick that he'd noticed your change in demeanor on colder days ; you were far quieter and more noticeably exhausted, sometimes to the point you couldn't be trusted on a mission or around anything particularly sharp. You tended to apologize for your behaviour (as best as you could, noticeable pauses and confusion thick in your words as you tried) before walking off to go try and lay down. While that on it's own wasn't a big problem, whenever there was a streak of cold days is when 2b started to freak out. Back when he'd first started noticing this trait, there'd been an unlucky straight week of frigid weather. In that week, you apologized, laid down, and didn't get up.

That had to be up there was one of the times the other three had ever seen him so stressed and visibly upset. He'd spent most of his time watching over you as you slept away without a care. Hell, he'd even tried to wake you up with no real success. Eventually, he'd caved in once he realized he couldn't force you up or something along those lines. Instead, he just stayed around you in your room and waited.

Despite how dazed you'd been from sleeping for so long, it was an amusing sight as he scolded you, letting it slip that he'd been worried about you. He wanted to be more upset but he couldn't bring himself to be as he caught you up. He'd been a little more careful after that, if it seemed like the weather was getting cold again he'd do his best to try and keep you warm somehow.

At first it was hit and miss success, sometimes working and sometimes really not. Over time though, he'd gotten a little better at keeping it semi-controlled, much to his pleasure. Though, there were times when he himself was exhausted while you were in the same state, leading to moments like these ;

You had your head resting on his chest, half laying on him as you slept soundly. Your hair (or at least what you referred to as and he'd recognized as your hair) was spread out aimlessly in different directions, a complete mess that he'd briefly attempted to sort out before giving up and letting it be. It took a keen eye- his keen eye, to just notice the rise and fall of your chest with every breath. It was difficult to properly differentiate parts of you at first but over time he'd improved greatly- which had, of course, earned him a teasing jab or two from Deimos.

He had an arm around you, resting gently on your figure as he traced shapes on your skin (skin? it felt right to call it that, even though he doubted that would be the 'right' term). At first he'd struggled to calm all the thoughts racing through his mind, lucky and unlucky that the others were quiet since it served to leave him with his worries and concerns. It was something you'd teased him about for a while ago, he'd been tired out and you'd forced him to take a moment to rest. 'Don't take your worries to bed,' you'd chided softly. He didn't.

Even through the thick of his anxieties he was pulled back as he felt you readjust, stretching lazily before you'd nuzzled into him. He imagined this was what having a cat was like, just with the addition of more inhuman-yet-human qualities. He'd found himself focusing on the sound of your breathing and the little twitches in your hand, drowning out his worries near effortlessly. It didn't take much longer for him to slip into his own slumber, keeping you closely held to him all the while.

Being whatever it is you are had a lot of perks.

[amerrierworld]

Makeover

Ocean’s 8 fanfiction

request: Would you do dom!daphne and sub!reader from oceans 8? Thanks!!!

Summary: You’re Daphne’s date to your first red carpet premiere, and you’re a little nervous, so Daph finds a way to settle your nerves.

Characters: Daphne Kluger x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,724

Warnings: s m u t, dom!daphne (but soft n caring), sub!reader :)

“Isn’t it a little.. I don't know, too much?” you instinctively winced as a pencil liner came close to your eye, and the makeup artist sighed.

“Honey, you’re going to be Daphne Kluger’s date on the red carpet for the first time. Nothing can be too much.”

“Frankly, I think people will be disappointed if it isn’t too much,” your hairstylist grinned at you in the mirror. 

They prepped you, pampered you, and dressed you until you felt and looked like a fairy princess. Your eyes were outlined in heavy eyeshadow and liner, making your gaze piercing and entrancing. And the deep red shade of your dress made you feel and look incredible and powerful.

Daphne had gone full-out for you, with the best stylists and designers and champagne to make you feel like a luxurious queen in your hotel room opposite hers.

Standing in the mirror, you practiced some poses. Flexed your legs, arched your back, pointed your hip. Smile; with teeth, no teeth. Then no smile; serious but sultry. Flick your hair, look around, glance at Daphne who would be beside you, wrap an arm around her waist. Smile, change pose, smile again. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Despite the great look and how beautiful you felt, you still were a little nervous. And who wouldn’t be? Daphne had become a trend-setting icon over the last little while, directing and acting while looking glamorous as always. And you  were seemingly a nobody compared to that. 

But Daphne wanted you at this premiere, wanted to show you off and make it finally known that she was taken, and that thought made you smile.

A text popped up on your phone from Daphne, saying,

when ur done get over here xx

With your slippers on your feet and high heels in hand you padded across the hallway to her suit, knocking softly on the door.

You expected a massive party of stylists, make up people and her whole team to be there, but instead you saw Daphne sitting at her vanity alone, putting her hair up and out of her face. She was in one of those thick, white, luxurious bathrobes that seemed like she was wrapped in a cloud.

You were going to comment on how  beautiful  she looked when she saw you in the mirror and spun around in her chair, exclaiming in a loud, dramatic gasp,

“Y/N!” 

You blushed and smiled back at her, setting your heels on the ground. She clasped a hand over her mouth as she looked you up and down, amazed at how stunning you looked.

“Why are you so surprised?” you giggled, doing a spin for her, “you picked this out for me after all.”

“Well yes, because I have incredible taste,” Daphne rose from her chair and came over to you. “But to see you in this.. Oh my god.”

Her hands rested on your waist, eyes glittering at you, “you look incredible.”

“So do you,” you mumbled, letting yourself be drawn in for kiss.

“Oh, hush,” she scoffed. “I do not. I don’t even have primer on my face yet.”

“No I like this,” you protested, “you look refreshed.”

She smiled, revealing pearly whites, and you gave her another kiss.

“I have half an hour before my team is going to come barging in through the door,” she said softly. “So we can be alone for a bit. How are you feeling?”

You shrugged, “pretty good, I guess. No amount of makeup or designer dresses could ease the nerves going on inside me right now, though.”

“Well, if you really are nervous you’re very good at not showing it,” Daphne commented as she lead you to sit down on the edge of her massive bed. “That’s an excellent acting trait, you know. I’m surprised a modelling agency hasn’t scooped you up and taken you away from me yet.”

You snorted, “I don’t think that life would be for me.”

Your leg was bouncing, unbeknownst to you, as you looked around the room. You’d snuck in at night before to sleep with Daphne in her bed after all her interviews and calls were finished, but never took in its glory in the sun. 

As you marvelled at the suite around you, Daphne pulled your legs over your lap, massaging her fingers into the tense muscles, making you groan in surprise.

“You just have to relax, hm?” she said sweetly, though her voice was dripping with something suggestive. You nodded, eyes closing as she edged up over your knees to your thighs.

“You have to be absolutely still, okay? You don’t want to ruin your makeup, right?” Daphne smiled. You suddenly realized at how much of a disadvantage you were, fully dressed and ready for the show, whereas Daph had only her bathrobe on and a completely natural face. You had to worry about your goddamn lipstick not getting everywhere.

Daphne pushed your dress up towards your waist, revealing thin, seamless panties. She grinned, seeing how wet you were getting.

“Best get these off before they’re ruined,” she tugged them down your legs, and then pushed your torso back to lay flat on the bed.

“Daph-,” you stammered, “they’re g-gonna come soon.”

“No, baby, the only one coming soon is you,” she said, breathing hotly over your lower stomach. “I don’t want you all tense and worried on the rd carpet. What kind of girlfriend would I be to let you suffer like that?”

Suffer... you thought, no the real suffering is waiting for her to be done teasing. 

“I have your favourite toy here, if you want,” Daphne smirked, “may help speed things up.”

She pulled out a deep blue vibrator, one you two had used countless times. She turned it on and the hum of the toy seemed to be the loudest thing in the whole room, and you squirmed against her. 

“Yes, please,” you whimpered, your legs falling open almost instantly. Daphne laughed, her face lighting up.

“You'd like that, wouldn’t you? Getting all dolled up and then getting fucked by me right here?” she crawled over you, moving in between your knees. One flick  of the  robe and it came off, revealing her gorgeous and nude body to you. You couldn’t help but reach up and grasp her breasts with a pathetic whine.

“Oh, no, no,” she tutted, tugging your hands away no matter how good it felt. “Down, girl.”

Your arms fell limp by your sides and you laid there, panting.

The vibrator was humming and buzzing, and Daphne took her sweet sweet time to trail it along the inside of your thighs, the vibrations leaving you trembling.

“Pretty baby,” she cooed, watching you arch up, bite your lip, toss your head.

“Please?” you asked, then after a beat, “please, Miss Kluger.”

That darkened her gaze instantly. You knew how much she loved to hear you address her like that. Only when you said it did she feel as great of a person as the media claimed her to be.

“That’s it baby,” she said, breathy and hoarse. The vibrator was circling your cunt now, barely coming in contact with you clit and making you plead for more.

She greedily took in the sounds you were making, the way your face contorted in pleasure as she edged closer and closer to your clit. But she knew she couldn’t wait too long, or there’d be people at her door, and your makeup and hair would be ruined from the sweat that was already forming from how worried up you were.

So she bent down, and without another word, pushed her tongue inside you and pressed the vibrator to your clit.

You nearly threw her off the bed, your body tensed so hard. 

“Keep your head still, sweetheart, or your hair will be ruined,” she ordered briefly, before getting back to her work. You could barely contain yourself, every inch of you was buzzing like the vibrator, feeling the intensity build and build as she pressed it hard against you. 

Her tongue fucked you diligently, drinking in the taste and smell of you, wanting to bring you to the edge as quickly as possible. 

You grabbed her hair just as you came, and just as a choked cry was about to escape you, a hand knocked on the door.

“Ready when you are, Miss Kluger,” her stylist said from the other side. 

You clamped your hand over your mouth, thrashing and bucking against Daphne’s mouth, keeping your voice down despite how much you wanted to scream as you rode out your orgasm.

Daphne pulled away for a second to say, sweetly, “Awesome! Just give me a minute.”

Your body trembled as she yanked the vibrator away, hastily standing up and grabbing the bathrobe on the floor. You couldn’t move for a second, before she came to hover over you, pulling at your hand, and the reality suddenly hit you.

You grabbed your underwear, whimpering as the soft fabric pressed against your sensitive clit. Daphnee opened the window, turning on the air to get rid of the smell of your sex. She sprayed some air freshener and help you to look more presentable than you did a minute ago.

Your hair was barely out of place, thanks to top-notch hairspray, and with a quick pat-down of powder, your face looked perfect as well.

Just before Daphne opened the door, she stole a glance at you and sucked the vibrator between her lips, making you gasp and steady yourself with the back of her vanity chair.

“Come in! So sorry about that, Y/N had some trouble with her dress, I had to fix the zipper and couldn’t let you walk in on that,” Daphne lied, greeting her makeup team as they came in the room.

They seem oblivious, and you figured you really were good at hiding what you were feeling because no suspicious glances were given.

You sat perched on the bed where Daphne just had you begging as she got pampered and dressed, laughing and chatting with everyone in the room. They opened a bottle of champagne as a toast to the premiere and she glanced over at you over the top of her glass. She winked, licked her top lip, now lined with deep mauve lipstick, and you nearly came again on the spot. 

A/N: Anne Hathaway is wonderful, and Daphne is a fun character to write for. Thanks to the anon for this request!! I had fun writing it, I hope you hav fun reading it ;)

[agusvedder]

I DON’T CARE if this doesn’t get any notes. I need to vent.

My name is Agustina, I’m 27 years old. I’m a nonbinary, queer, latinx person, parent of a 4 year old, non-verbal authistic child. I suffer from depression and anxiety.

I’m 9 thousand kilometers away from the woman I love.

I’m not a victim. I am a minority. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I started watching Supernatural in 2015, you know, being a stay-at-home parent, who dropped her career and her job to live the first years of their child, there wasn’t much I could do in my free time but to watch a show. I caught a few episodes of season 11 on tv and then I decided to start from zero. I always acknowledged how problematic it was in terms of representation, but always saw small threads of light filtering in the message it sent, recognizing how its writers were trying to shed a little light, creating a jenga tower of storylines and new characters, only to be thrown away by poor, useless deaths and the erasure of said characters.

Since my first run on season 1 I related to Dean. I saw myself on him. (I will never be as brave and cool as him tho, never ever, but his personality traits, some of his family issues, his self worth issues, his loneliness, his unaddressed childhood trauma, his growth in a circle of violence, his reticence to address his feelings until he explodes?... Yeah. There are days where my girlfriend makes fun of me saying “Ok Dean”). I kept looking up to Dean in his geekiness, in his way he always put his life on the line to protect the people he loves and put them always first… even in the supernatural side of the storyline, he still was profoundly human and abnegated to the people in his life. Also because I’m deeply in love with Castiel but that’s another subject. Thanks to this show, I’ve found people in my own country who now I recognize as my family beyond SPN, who helped me accept myself the way I am, who are always there for me. My found family, my chosen family. Because family don’t end in blood, because family cares about you, not only for what you can do for them, because that’s what all of us have in common, and why this show resonated as strongly as it did for us. That’s why we found each other and ourselves in the process, in a circle of love, support, non-judgement and willingness to find a family in ourselves when our own blood relatives ignored us, abused us, refused to recognize us. We’ve found love and family. I’ve found the woman with whom I wanna spend the rest of my life with because of this show.

That’s the power of this story. I know my small circle is not the only one who lived this, who continues to live it.

I can talk about this forever, but there’s something I wanna talk about specifically here. When the ending aired.. what I felt was… like a bucket of cold water was thrown over my head. You know when your parents come home, or call you and give you the devastating news that someone you love died? that exact feeling. The adrenaline, the heartbreak, the feeling of loss. 

The whole season 15 and 15 years of storyline were completely overturned. The misogyny the writers tried so hard to erase, it was there again, in a faceless woman who was supposed to represent the person a lead chose to spend the rest of his life with, reduced to a lilac dress, a blurry face and a uterus. We never seen acknowledged the existence of Eileen Leahy, Sam Winchester’s romantic interest since season 11, his perfect partner whose disability wasn’t an obstacle for her to be a badass hunter. (BUT COVID!! <- No. Eileen Leahy appeared in two episodes this season without Shoshannah being on set: Last Holiday and Despair. If they wanted to include her, they would have. They didn’t because they don’t give a FUCK). Sam Winchester is an academic, a witch, a leader, a powerful hunter, a kind human being, and the ending that was given to him was living an unfulfilled life, dying at a ridiculous young age, having a son only to replace his dead brother? It was sad. Sammy deserved better. He always did.

My beloved Dean Winchester, who I love so deeply, who taught me a lot about myself, about life, love, family, about *ejem* VICIOUS CIRCLES and the power of breaking free from them, of learning to embrace one’s self, our real tastes, our real identity, to come out of a shadow of being reduced to someone’s caretaker instead of having an identity of our own, to spend life loving family the healthy amount.. well, he was killed in a ridiculous way, on a milk run of a hunt.  After being eager and ready to kill himself so many times. After all he’s been through, after saying he’s good with who he is, after considering retirement, after standing up to his dad, saying he already has a family, ready to cut the “I’m Okay” bullshit, address his feelings, his trauma, don’t letting those define him. He deserved better. He always wanted a family, he always wanted to break free from the version of himself he was created to be, “daddy’s blunt little instrument” (For fuck’s sake, he even said it in the same show 10’ before dying, man. If we don’t keep living, the sacrifice the people who died for us did, was for nothing). Are you telling me this man really would refuse his brother to call an ambulance? Refused his brother to get the first aid kit even knowing it was more serious than his brother thought? He was ready to live. He CHOSE life, and at the end his choice was stripped away from him. He clearly was a bisexual man and they never explored it.

Cas. The misfit. The fish outside of the water. Ambiguous gender and sexuality. Finally makes a homosexual declaration of love after all he’s been through. After being brainwashed, used, suicidal, isolated. After telling Sam and Dean he loved them more than once, that they meant everything for him. After confessing he’s been in love with Dean since he pulled him out of hell…. Was erased from the story. Erased, literally. Two emotionless mentions aren’t enough for a 12 year old family member who pulled both brothers out of hell, who died for them more than once, who until 2 seasons ago he didn’t even feel like he belonged there ‘cause he was never told he was loved. No one ever told him “I love you” back. Not Jack, not Sam, not Dean, not Mary. No one. Ever. And still, he died for love. And with his death, he was erased from the finale, being that the first finale Castiel wasn’t in since his appearance on the show. He deserved better. 

All roads lead to Rome and you know what we got at the end of that road? a bottomless pit of NOTHING. The building up towards a different end isn’t just in s15. It’s been there for years and years. And if you watch the show, you see it at plain sight.

 

Sam Winchester hurried to die to reunite with his brother in heaven EVEN WHEN HE SPENT 30 MORE YEARS WITH A WIFE AND A KID he only wanted to die to go back to his brother? it’s insane, it’s ridiculous. That’s not what the show has been about for seasons now. SEASONS. The road was paved towards a healthy brotherly bond, each brother living their future the way they wanted, finally breaking free from the curse John dropped on Dean that Sam’s destiny was in his hands. No no. What was that? Did it ever happen? Was it a fever dream? They really destroyed everything in 38 minutes of the finale? 

Stupid. 

Representation is important, stories are important. They change lives. You know how it changed mine? After I saw Jonathan Van Ness coming out as non-binary, I started to realize how I never called myself "a woman, a girl" or anything like that, how my "female presenting" aesthetic changes drastically depending on how I feel when I wake up  how I always called myself a "person", no gender involved. I realized I was a non-binary person even after becoming a parent. Thanks to Jonathan Van Ness. Thanks to seeing a person like her being unapologetically herself. 

Representation matters. 

It matters. 

It helped my mom understand me when I was 13 and had a girlfriend. It helped my dad educate himself about trans identities. It helped my sister understand about her demisexuality. It helps break circles of ignorance and stereotypes. It helps people process what these characters wanna tell, and realize they're human beings above it all. We suffer, we laugh, we grieve. We love. We exist. 

Supernatural missed a chance to be a historical show in terms of representation. And it breaks my heart.  I cant believe they decided to erase Dean's sexuality, to erase Castiel after saying loud and proud he's in love with a man, to erase Eileen whose disability only was a disadvantage when they KILLED HER in the most ableistic way in s11, to never show Charlie and her girlfriend again, that they decided to make God bisexual AND a villain, thay they decided to turn the only regular non-binary character of color into the villain too (Billie).

I'm still grieving.

This is why "a stupid show" is so important for me, and for lot of people like me. Cause representation can change lives. Stories can change lives. It certainly changed mine, and I'm not the only one. 

Don't let anyone tell you you're just a butthurt fan because you're suffering this ending. Every one of us have a story and this is mine. All of us are valid, our feelings are valid. And we'll get through this eventually

[cadykeus-clay]

Would you mind sharing your thoughts about vex and Beau being cross campaign foils?

so!!!! first things first: apologies for taking weeks to answer this, finals + having adhd sometimes makes my brain turn to mush and forget every ask ive ever recieved. second of all, i’m assuming you sent me this bc of what i said in my vm vs. m9 how they view the world meta. and i’ll be real with you. i have exactly 0 memory of what was going through my head when i wrote that line, so i am simply going to type out a bunch of thoughts that i have on the similarities and differences between beau and vex and i hope that lives up to what you were expecting jsdflksjdksld

I'll detail some specifics in a moment, but overall, I think beau and vex share a very similar kind of trauma of exclusion in their formative years, that's caused them to have a lot of similar traits that manifest in different ways - for vex, she maintains control through her material posessions and beau finds an emotional control in her asshole-ness. I've broken this down into 5 points on which I think comparing the two really emphasizes that claim:

1. daddy issues: both beau and vex have awful no good terrible very bad dads. both syldor and thoreau can suck my ass. they both raised their kids with little love and impossible-to-meet expectations, alientating them and leaving them with lifelong feelings of inferiority and unbelonging. If beau and vex were to meet, i think they would have a very friendly toast to shitty dads, and then have a good drunk vent about it an hour later.

but, at the same time, the actual minutae of their trauma and the ways it manifests are nearly polar opposites. syldor wanted nothing to do with vex, or else wanted her to somehow become a full elf. her issue was that she would never be able to belong, despite her desire to, and as she grew up it lead to her being overly protective and even possessive of the people she found who DID accept her as she was. 

With beau, rather than exclusion, her father created an environment of toxic inclusion. He created a role for beau to belong in, disregarding her distate for actually fulfilling it. And, as such, she ended up making herself into someone who could have no expectations and pushed away anyone who tried to set them up for her. In the end, they both came to love themselves by abandoning the woman their father wanted them to be but for vex it was the laying down of an impossible dream and for beau it was the picking up of a mantle she had feared to wear.

2. brothers: now, on the topic of family, I also think its really interesting how their interactions with their brothers play out. We've got vex and vax, tied at the hip til the very end and then some; and then we've got beau and TJ - decades apart and with beau barely acknolwedging TJ's existence. But, even that distance between beau and TJ didn't stop her caring for him when they actually met. She gave him lucky Jade, and she entertained the idea of kidnapping him to get him away from her stinko dad. 

And I'd espeically like to talk about what she said outside the hag's hut - "I think Luc and TJ could be best friends", in comparison to the way Vex reacted when Vax told her was going to Zephrah with Keyleth for the year break. There's an aspect to the way they interact with their brothers that lets them slip back into those bad habits they formed growing up (NOT that i'm claiming vex and vax were like toxic for each other. but even good relationships can have unhealthy moments). 

With Beau, when she offers to give her happiness so TJ can grow up safe, she's trying to take on the role she's ""supposed"" to fill - the big sister, the protector - because she failed to fill the one her father set out. And with Vex, when she grows jealous of Vax, it's because she's afraid that his leaving with keyleth is a sign that she no longer belongs in his inner circle, and she falls back on that childish, desperate desire to do anything to be accepted unconditionally. 

3. romance: spoilers for 5 or so most recent m9 eps (115-120)  if you haven't watched them ahead!!!! at this point, both vex and beau have an endgame romance - percy and yasha respectively. Obviously as the m9's campaign is still playing out, that could change, but like. yasha wrote her a love letter and they're officially going on a date so i'm counting that as at least endgame-track rather than just random flirting. What's interesting to me is that they both seem to flip between the SAME roles between their (in-game) general perception and their actual pursual of romance. 

Vex gets characterized as a pretty big flirt, right? She's got the winks, the casual "darling". She's flashed grog her boobs on multiple instances with little prompting. Beau, similarly, has easily the most game out of anyone in the m9. She's slept with two guest characters and at least one more npc in the events of the game. Caleb made her a fuck mirror in her room in the mansion. And yet, in both of their actual romantic endeavors, they became the shy, uncertain type. 

Vex only confessed her feelings when Percy was laying dead before her, and not an hour of game play before percy kissed her in the woods, she had a talk with vax about how she was pretty sure he didn't like her that way and she didn't want to pursue it. Beau, similarly, spent a very long time convinced that yasha wasn't looking for love after zuala, especially not in anyone like her, asked everyone in the party if they thought yasha ACTUALLY liked her, just to be safe, and then still terrified to ask her out after recieving a literal love letter. I'd argue this shift comes from that same sense of unbelonging - they're very good at pretending they fit a role but doubt their actual right to take it when the opportunity is presented. This time, the role is the lover rather than the daughter.

4. authority: Both vex and beau grew up shunned by the upper crust of society, and grew to mistrust those kinds of people. And yet, both of their arcs result in them assuming such a position. Vex, thrown out of high society gets her place as a baronness, and Beau, running from leadership of her father's business ends up a top member of the Cobalt Soul. There's not a lot here, but I find it interesting how both of their stories involve them shedding their baggage regarding authority and power and assuming it in a way that they feel comfortable in - invitation by someone she trusts for vex, and a promise of freedom of will and control for beau.

5. their deadliest sins: this is the point at which their similarities culminate and transform to a fundamental difference. despite everything they share - shitty childhoods, the small piece of family that's still good, flirtiness masking shy love, and a mistrust of those in power - vex and beau are such different characters because of their biggest vices. Vex, both in game and out, is "the greedy one". She's stingy with money, she haggles for everything, she mourns the loss of physical objects. Beau is "the mean one". She cares little for people's feelings if they're not in her immediate circle, she focuses on her tough guy image, she laughs at things she knows she shouldn't. 

And, over the course of the campaign, as they find unconditional acceptance, they grow away from these traits (I won't say they grow out of them) because they heal from the things causing these vices to begin with. I've always been vocal about vex's greed being a manifestation of her class insecurity, and beau's asshole-ness stemming from her fear of being forced back into another position of complacency. And I stand by that now - all the similarities in their backstories are what tally up to these different women.

Despite her careful tally of party funds and her reflexive bargaining, vex is not cruel. she is not angry on her own behalf. She saves two boys from the market in the city of brass at great personal cost, she relinquishes an entire dragon's hoard to the devastated city of Westruun, she took the time to save a baby bear from a cage when she could have just cut and run after escaping her own. She's the first one most people go to when they need a shoulder to cry on, and she's devastated when they don't (thinkin about when Scanlan left). She carved "forgiveness" into the bow she stole from a man after killing him by proclaiming how much she loved someone, because she knew anger had no place in her heart.

And Beau, Beau is a bitch and she's harsh, but she doesn't hoard or protect like vex did. she spends her money without much of a second thought. She pitches in to help her friends buy a ton of glowsticks, and she loves to indulge in material desires like drink and good food and the nicer inn room. She's a member of an organization that's about making knowledge public rather than guarding it. And, though this may be controversial, I think her position with bowlgate of "its not our problem what cali wants to do with it", her long-standing mistrust of their alliance with the bright queen and  and more recently with the tomb takers of "i want to go in and talk, rather than assuming they're antagonistic, even if it puts us at a disadvantage" are both examples of this non-possessiveness too - she has no need or desire to get involved in controlling what other people are doing.

so, i guess the general conclusion here is: vex struggles to let go of things, of money, of people. beau struggles to let herself be known in case she gets wrongly interpreted again. they both fight feelings of inadequacy, they both fight the feelings of not belonging, of 'doing it wrong', they fight the perception of them as shitty people because of the shells they hide in despite their absolute hearts of gold.  but at the end of the day, vex's story is one of having to lay down what could never be hers so she can carry what is, and beau's story is one of allowing herself to be known so a place can be made for her.

[druedidit]

Drue Wilkes Intro

★ BIRTH DATE / 21 February, 1960 (bro this is my third pisces i am going out of my fucking mind) ★ BLOOD STATUS / Pureblood ★ PRONOUNS & IDENTITY / she/her; cis female ★ FACECLAIM / Reina Hardesty

ACADEMICS & ROOMING

★ PRIMARY SCHOOL / Cornwall County Day School, 1978 ★ ACADEMIC PURSUITS / Social Studies degree, History of Magic cohort ★ HOUSE & YEAR / Slytherin, 2nd Year

TW: mentions of murder, suicide, and gaslighting

POINTS OF INTEREST

★ The Wilkes, unlike most of the families listed as the Sacred 28, did not have much in means of monetary value to fall back and survive on. They were forced to become working class people, after the failure of yet another business idea of Rupert Wilkes. When two children came along, Devin and Drue, it only complicated things further. Thankfully, Lindsey Wilkes was able to salvage a hair dresser’s business in Diagon Alley, with a small flat above. It was much too stuffy for four people and while the adults complained and huffed, it was nothing but normal to their two children. Eventually, they were able to afford another business, just next door. They even had the opportunity to join the two flats above.

★ Owning the Junk Store, which worked like a wizard’s pawn shop, introduced the Wilkes to many opportunities they thought they’d never have. Most of the objects that came through their shop were faulty and Mr. Wilkes would spend hours trying to fix them -- success was 40/60. One day, something came through their shop he couldn’t pass up. A time turner. Months were spent, casting charms and spells to make it function good as new. And what do you know? Rupert Wilkes mended it. It became their family’s sole, greatest possession. The only thing of value to the Wilkes name.

★ Of course, having that much power would eventually lead to some trouble. In 1975, after Rupert refused to turn back time to save the family’s dying pet, Devin took it upon herself to steal the time turner. Fifteen year old Drue was woken from a dead sleep, to the sounds of screams. She always thought in a moment like so, she’d freeze up. But no, Drue ran on to her parent’s bedroom, and found her older sister standing over their limp bodies. Devin said only two words murder, suicide. Her life was now built upon this lie, because her sister refused to go back in time now and had much graver plans.

★ Devin never hid a single murder she committed from her younger sister. Family breakfast became confessional. Gory detail after gory detail, Drue knew if her sister did not slow down soon, she would be caught. Or become notoriously known. Either way, having the advantage of being two places at once seemed to lessen her chances of ever being arrested. But without Drue’s own sharp perception, she does not trust Devin’s sloppy ways and has vowed to assist her sister in her crimes. Drue’s become her own personal bait to lure in victims and participates in crime scene clean up. Now, in 1980, Devin has committed seven murders in the last four years. She believes spacing them out will draw away attention. Drue sincerely hopes so.

Extra HC Shit

She & her sister, Devin, claim their mum was a huge advocate for peace and muggleborns. They’ve even inspired people to start a foundation named after Lindsey Wilkes (who was allegedly murdered at the hands of her husband), which encourages blood unity through muggle sports such as tennis, bowling, and roller blading. They do not care if their pureblood allies believe them to be blood traitors. The end game is much more important -- you must be friends with your enemies.

Has never been too affected by the death of her parents, tbh? And though she lives this uncomfortable paycheck-to-paycheck life, she blames them for all of Devin’s disadvantages in life.

Works part-time at Junk Shop and the hairdressers called Hair Dahlia. There was no large inheritance when her parents died. They were left with more debt than anything and both had to continue working. Devin did not attend Hogwarts and Drue only got in on a scholarship for academics.

Working at the Junk Shop has turned her into a total COLLECTOR OOPS! But, she just collects the cool stuff that looks “artsy”. More so for aesthetic than function. Her dream of all dreams is to open some sort of art history museum in the wizarding world. Of course, the funds make it almost impossible to. She is majoring in History because of this, however. Might as well become rich in knowledge if you can’t with money, right?

Is a large participant in JWL and has never felt the need to exactly prove herself because of her lack of money. She feels her ideas and informative opinions are enough to carry her through. Maybe she’ll be so lucky to become President next year, with a little elbow grease.

Devin, her older sister is 100% a Death Eater. Drue’s in the process of being recruited. Which, she more than accepts. Their message is something she agrees with. Although, she wouldn’t be so messy about it -- it’s why she’s going to join. To reform the Death Eaters and keep her sister out of any crossfire.

Also speaks Japanese, is learning Latin, and is a fan of haiku, unironically.

TRAITS

✓  audacious; accommodating; tough  ✗ gaslighting; extravagant; amoral

yes so p.s. my dears..... while i am not a fan of “mindgames”/intentionally gaslighting people, drue can be that way. it may actually be unintentional sometimes because how often she has done it in the past. anyways, i understand it can be a lot! if you ever, ever, ever need me to tag something as a trigger, let me know!!! <3 trust me bbs, i gotchu!

[unsettledink]

Instead of thirty asks:

So @the-faultofdaedalus had a bunch of posts about ABO and genetics and how things might be able to function and ending up with some really interesting stuff about types beyond alpha/beta/omega (which I will totally end up playing with in a fic at some point because COOL).

And that sparked off a bunch of ABO related thoughts in my head. A... bunch. So I'm putting them all in one hopefully easy to ignore post if you are not into ABO at all. It's probably a little disjointed – none of this is stuff I've thought at length about, just sort of gone BUT WHAT IF??? I tend to veer more into the societal stuff because I know nothing about genetics and if I spend too long thinking about world details I never get anything written, BUT I STILL THINK THEM.

Interestingly enough I used to not be into it much? And I think I'm still not into the older classic stuff – I will literally run from anything that had mpreg in it 99% of the time. I also get really annoyed at the tendency to always make characters of certain builds/ages/attitudes one type.

But I really, really like ABO because of all the opportunities. So many! It's one of those things where you can go as much or as little into the worldbuilding as you want, in pretty much any direction. I think that's just so cool. Pretty much every single one of my ABO's has been a different 'type' of ABO (oh shit how many are there anyway? 10?? Well fuck.).

So!

A lot of this may make even less sense if you haven't read their posts because it's in re: to things they bring up. Also how much do I miss LJ and threaded comments right now? An obscene amount.

Thoughts more along the 'shit genetics can do' side and as you go down they slide more into the cultural/social/mind fuckery stuff:

(Also I know very very little about anything re: genetics.)

what if there's some sort of pattern/color type thing, like color morphs in reptiles, or heat sensitive color points like in cats and such?

uhhh I don't remember if it's like, lizards or fish or something, but the ones that change sex if there isn't enough of the type needed? What if that's a thing certain subtypes could do? Would it be controllable to any degree, or makes things wild in terms of types associating with each other? On the horror end, what if it's something that can be forced?

Hair? Facial hair things?? Body hair things??? Pattern baldness and the like????

ok yes so classic ABO = canine traits. And I've totally seen some different takes but I always want more. What about feline based? Or reptile? Or bird?? Some kind of insect hive/colony type thing????

WHAT IF SOME TYPES FLOURESCE?? and only certain other types can see it and I just find the idea of distinct type markers that only a percentage of the population can see really fascinating. Underground clubs with lights so everyone can see, testing people by shining a light on them, people faking it...

P H O T O S Y N T H E S I Z I N G??? Look I don't know there wasn't much thought associated with that. But like, we already have huge problems when we don't get enough sun, what if it was something even more dramatic and literal? Anyone seen Farscape?

Re: terrible cooks – what if some subtypes straight up can't taste a whole 'taste'? Like – don't have sweet receptors and have all kinds of issues with 'normal' food and wf is up with the other subtypes and their love of desserts??

they also touched on it briefly but seriously, all the even crazier food intolerances and allergies and things that would just be utterly toxic to one group?

re: two nips=1 bb, what if there are large litters but there's something more like an insect hive structure? Or 'pack' communal type thing, a good family has an omega + alpha + other, omega has the litter and the non alpha is able to nurse as well??

POUCHES. Marsupial style or seahorse. Just. Pouches.

multiple sperm donors in one litter and the possibility of not even knowing it, some sort of shenanigans with what types can get who pregnant and carryover from who they had sex with before the person pregnant and people doing this intentionally as a sort of surrogacy thing even?

Literal eggs?? EGGS?? soft shell eggs???

why are omegas so frequently the tiiiiiny ones? (I mean I know why and I don't like it.) But aren't most young bearing larger than males? If omega is for babies, then shouldn't they be built for it? And how might that affect subtypes?

advantages/disadvantages physically due to genetics and 'hidden' beta typing in regard to sports or fine motor skills or art (seeing/hearing more/less than other types?)

maybe the 'alpha voice' stuff could be attributed to some types able to hear different frequencies or tones/sub harmonics or/and alphas/maybe a type betas being able to produce different sounds and why? Vocal cord stuff????

seeing further into either end of the spectrum for certain types? Something creepy advantage heat and fertility/pregnancy related, being able to look and *know* and how that's changed in more modern times – could it be a career? Considered super rude? Hipaa violation?

re: leftover traits – things like third eyelids or shiny at night eye thing for certain types and various cosmetic alterations as those things go in and out of vogue

re: medical variation like blood typing – organs not being compatible or even in different places due to wtf omegas have going on in there

re: dogs are horror to wolves – what if even the nulls are NOT HUMAN. There actually are just like true standard humans and like, aside from genetically there's next to no difference between them and nulls though it's more visible differences with standard vs a/o? Something about the purpose behind omegas because they are the only link that can properly/safely interbreed and/or produce non sterile offspring? Or maybe standard and a/b can mate but they only produce nulls or standards or sterile like mules??

what if a/o ISN'T rare? If that's the norm and betas are the rare ones and sort of seen as residual hanger ons since they don't have whatever advantages omegas/alphas have? After all, what advantage does a beta have over an omega? The societal aspect of risk if all can interbreed and like, does an a risk mating with a b and risk having a null? Or knowing they can only have a b?

Trickier and could come off really poorly, but how might being trans function with so many types and the additional divide of sex/gender/secondary sex? What the hell might hormone therapy or surgery or transition in a scent based society be like??

and intersex? Like especially if you've got limited grasp on genetics and then you have these typed betas who aren't recognized that way, what about the people who don't fit even on that spectrum?

and sexual identities! The possibility of like, some groups being much more likely to lean in one direction or another and some of it due to not understood sub beta types and that complexity. Just the complexity of interest at all with a whole third factor added in!

horror aspect if m/f can be determined before birth but not a/b/o status, if there are actual environmental factors like TSD that could change that and people trying to ensure they have x type? All omegas are allergic to peppermint so if you eat peppermint your whole pregnancy you won't have an omega or some shit. Does an of it work or is it all old wives tales? D: D: D: D: (as much as I really prefer to write ABO's where things are more equal because of it, I read a lot more of the uglier verses where everything is worse)

Bonding???? how could it be an actual physical genetic thing and the differences across types and who can bond with who and why and are only certain types able to initiate/accept it and the whole fascinating culture stuff from THAT

and then the bonds that are of the mental type, either some sort of emotion/pain/thought sensing that's limited or full on sharing, how each type could differ and maybe only certain types could be broken or certain types are able to have them with multiple people/types??

formation of bonds and what environmental factors exist and what genetic and things like forcibly separating before x amount of time is tantamount to torture or ruining a bond that can't be fully stable/broken and fixed?

the scent stuff – beyond the whole 'smell like strawberries/whatever' the stuff about smelling emotional states and types that are able to smell that or not, hormonal based scent changes are super common but also one of the slightly more plausible things? Are certain types with sensitivities to different types of smells prone to go into certain fields because of it?

More scent stuff – things about your scents that are influenced by origin/area growing up in. that you can acquire a 'type' or base of scent that is hard to get rid of or change for a lot of people and is often obvious but indistinct. Like accents? And then the people who are REALLY GOOD at changing it.

i fucking love the typed jewelry trope (lol hit me up for a whole other post JUST about that) and even more when it's not just 'pretty showing off socially' but actually has some sort of biological effect but then why? Weird metal imbalance lol? Typed betas more vulnerable to that as well as full types and cultural stuff about that?

wtf family groups I mean. Possibilities of more than two genetic donors and paternity and custody and filling out demographic info on forms ahahahaha oh god

the whole more sensitive to smells – the hilarity of like, sending strongly scented flowers to an omega as an insult. To one type, that floral delivery is romantic, to another it's a giant 'fuck you' from an ex.

Yes I might have a problem ok.

[riaflicke]

The saying went something like, monsters are created not born. And that was exactly how Ria Flicke felt about the demon - or demons, plural, depending on the day - inside of her. It wasn’t always dark, but it was fed enough that it grew and grew until she didn’t know what it felt like to not have the darkness inside of her.

Some of the creation was self-inflicted. It wasn’t like she knew how to walk away from a bad situation or how to let the light win out, no, she let the darkness win and that was her own fault. Over the past few months of alone time and wrestling with questions and curiosities, she managed to figure out how and where the darkness was cultivated, fed and nurtured by the people that were meant to protect her.

AUGUST 17th, 2010, FAIRFIELD, CONNECTICUT (14 years old)

Move in day for Faircrest Preparatory School. Day one of one million of learning to be a spy. Mariana thought that it would be a good idea for Leon to drive Ria to move in. After all, he worked at Faircrest, and she thought it’d be good for the younger Flicke to finally get to know her father. 

Needless to say, it did not get off to a good start. Ria knew two things: her mother was cryptic about her father and the only way to get adults to pay attention to her was to be annoying. And she had lots of questions for Leon which meant she would be extra annoying. 

“Don’t put your feet up there,” Leon turned over to his daughter, who had perched her feet on the all white car dash. “You’re going to get it dirty.” “What?” Ria didn’t dignify him with even a glance, she instead focused on picking a scab on her calf. “Maria-” “Ria.” “Maria,” Leon huffed, “Take your feet off the dash or we’re not leaving this driveway… What did you do to yourself anyway?” “Fell off my bike.” “Don’t you know how to ride a bike?” Picking at the scab until she got it to bleed again (because it definitely made her dad cringe), “Yes. I let go.” “Why?” “It made mom freak out.” She finally moved her feet from the dash, pleased with the furrowed brow her father now had. “And why in the world would you want to do that?” Leon asked in a deadpan tone, clearly frustrated with his daughter’s antics. “It proved mom cares. Somewhere. She got worried.”

The frustration on Leon’s face morphed into one of pride, but in the blink of an eye it was back to neutral. “You’re already thinking like a spy. What has your mother taught you so far?” “Nothing, I’ve known for all of like, three months.” “Alright. Well, we have about six hours ahead of us-” “Joy.” “Don’t interrupt me, Maria. I can’t have my daughter not knowing anything about spyhood. You’re already starting Faircrest at a disadvantage.”

That spoke to the competitive side of Ria and all, but she thought that this ride would be a way to get to know the man she’d wondered about for years. “You’re going to spend six hours talking to me about spy stuff and not like… anything about me?” “I didn’t say that. Anyways, I’ll see you all year on campus, we have plenty of time to get to know each other.” “Ooookay. Weird, but, fine, talk to me about your spy life or whatever…” Her voice trailed off into silence.

Leon glanced over at her, “What were you about to say?” Chewing on her bottom lip, Ria was silent for a little longer before speaking up. “I wanted to ask you a question.” “Fine, ask it then.” “Do you love me?” The words sounded sharp to hide the fear inside. “I don’t know.” Sitting up straighter, the blonde’s face dropped, “How do you not know? I’m your daughter.” “We just met.” “So?” “So,  I need time to decide.” “Do you think you ever will?” “We’ll see.” And he wouldn’t. ‘I love you’ were three words he’d never say. “Fine… Tell me about this spy shit.” “Language.”

JUNE 8th, 2010, FAIRFIELD, CONNECTICUT (17 years old) Whether she wanted to listen to her father or not (spoiler: she didn’t!), Ria wanted to be top of her class. Success was something she could control. Success gave her purpose. Success made it all worth it. So as much as she hated Leon Calder with everything in her being, she kept note of all of his rules and the subsequent tests and trials in a tiny leather bound notebook. It was a pale pink, embossed with “Maria” on the cover - which she had since scratched up with pens and keys until it only read Ria.

With graduation on the corner - and a four year break from spyhood (her parents hated that one) on the horizon - she flicked through the pages, a walk down a very bumpy memory lane.

Rule 1: Control the conversation What’s it mean: - Have conviction in what you say - Stand by your words, even if they’re questionable - Don’t get stuck in webs of lies - Take pride in attention - good or bad - throws people off their game when you embrace an insult

Rule 2: Head not heart What’s it mean: - Don’t lead with emotions ever - Look at things logically bc that’s trustworthy, emotions are fickle - Tears are weakness - avoid at all costs!!!

8/30/10 - first week @ faircrest, dad got me a xanax prescription. told me it’s better to feel nothing than something. haven’t tried it yet 2/1/12 - (middle of soph. year.) - i think i’m addicted  4/29/14 - i’m graduating in 2 months. Idk how to feel bc i don’t think i’ve felt anything in four years. 8/2/14 - i don’t trust my own head

Rule 3: Don’t have a blindspot What’s it mean: - Falling in love means youre caught up in another person - Getting caught up in another person is a weak point - A lover will betray you or will be used against you - Lust =/= love, lust is ok.

11/1/13 - i don’t think ive cared about a single person ive slept with. like at all.

Rule 4: Know what you’re walking into What’s it mean: - Awareness is key - Evaluate every situation in full - ALWAYS keep your guard up or you’ll get backstabbed

12/21/10 - was @ home for christmas, dad snuck up behind me and threw a knife. i ducked in time. said i need to get better at awareness. Wtf.

After twenty or so blank pages, one page of the notebook had a few words written on it in all capitals. They were written more cleanly than the notes and scribbles of yesteryear, clearly written by an older Ria with stronger penmanship.

I THINK IM A MONSTER.

SEPTEMBER THROUGH NOVEMBER, 2020, ROSEVILLE, VA (24 years old)

The fires the year prior had been the first time that Ria remembered crying in over ten years. Something cracked inside of her as the buildings and all she’d used to ground herself started to fall and crackle apart. It was what pushed her to look inside of her. To know why she held so tightly onto the lessons and learnings from two people that couldn’t care less about her. It was what sent her to therapy. 

There were no diagnoses to be found, apart from a self-inflicted dependence on unhealthy relationships and her vices. She lacked the remorse and violence to be a psychopath, and she didn’t have the swings of anger that hallmarked aggression disorders. What was there instead was a shell, a guard that presented itself as sociopathy - but she knew what she was doing, she had remorse, that was where the questions began. How could you display every trait in the book but be ‘normal’ inside? 

The revelation of Blackthorne as a school for assassins had opened up even more of a can of worms, but she ignored it until the start of her third year, as she continued to try and understand what was going on inside of her head. Leon had gone to Blackthorne, yet the alumni didn’t seem to recognize his name. Something was up.

With the help of one of her Faircrest friends, Tobi, she was able to find more on her father. More on his employment records and his history. He’d begun going by his middle name after graduating Blackthorne, Leon Calder instead of Malcolm Calder. Hardly a criminal offense. He had a cross listing with the MI5 (expected, she knew her parents met in London) and a private agency ‘Atkinson Associates’. Further digging revealed it as a hitman agency, one that her father was still actively employed with. 

Once she had that, and access to the files of the company, she went to dig on her own - not wanting to pull anyone else deeper into the mess. The employee roster and files were what she really wanted. Clicking on her father’s, she read through the notes, feeling a gross pit building in her stomach as she learned more. Kill count: 117. Use for: High profile, quickturn jobs. Works both individually and with partners.

Noting that the word partners was linked, Ria clicked on it, skimming quickly over unknown names until she settled on the name of a former partner. One she knew too well. Mariana Alice Flicke.

“No…. no no no…” But she couldn’t stop, she had to know more about her mother. Kill count: 2. Use for: Track erasure and evidence destruction. 

She didn’t know if it made her feel better or worse that her mother was typically non-violent… Even if she condoned the violence. Blue eyes kept scanning the profile of her mom. Employment Terminated: September 30, 1995 Reason: Pregnancy.

“No wonder he hates me so fucking much.” She took Mariana out of the field, she took his partner away… But that wasn’t her fault! Hovering over the word pregnancy, Ria’s brow furrowed. Another link. There was no reason that needed to be linked. Everyone knew how pregnancy worked!

After a long stare off with the link, she finally clicked on it. The curiosity eating away at her. It pulled up what looked like an incomplete profile, one with nothing but the key statistics. And she didn’t even need to read them, they were ones she knew by heart. Name: Maria Grace Flicke Date of Birth: June 6, 1996 Start Date: To Be Determined.

She wanted to stop scrolling, but her hand kept moving, the answers were finally there. Whether she liked them or not. 

Current Status: 

Atkinson Associates Case study 001.:  Nature versus Nurture

- Developing the mindset of an assassin from day one - Utilizing upbringing to control later characteristics, thought processes, and disposition

None of her mania was an accident. It was all part of a bigger plan that she never wanted to be a part of. Each demon was planted inside of her by the people that were supposed to love her most.

And the only way she could deal with this was to let out an ear-piercing wail.

[strikertheblackdog-blog]

Striker

The Basics:

Name: Striker Age: Unknown Place of birth: Unknown Current location: Folie a deux  Species: Black Dog (guardian type) Powers: Stronger and faster than an average human, better senses (sight, smell, hearing), can shift into a huge black dog at will (unaffected by the moon) Skills: Tracking (even when not shifted), hand-to-hand combat, singing

Physical Appearance:

Eye colour: Blue (human form), red (dog form)

Hair style/colour: Black, longish and sort of disheveled (human form), black, thick, roughly the same length as a Golden Retriever (dog form)

Build: Lean but muscular (human form), big, bulky muscles (dog form)

Usual level of grooming: Somewhat untidy but clean

How he walks: Lazy sort of stroll in human form, confidently in dog form

Distinguishing features (tattoos, scars, birthmarks): A few scars from normal wear and tear: one on his shoulder about 2″ in length from a sharp tree branch, on his left calf there are 5 small puncture scars from being bitten by a wolf during a fight. No tattoos. No birthmarks, only a few freckles here and there in his human form.

Preferred outfit: Jeans, black t-shirt, work boots

Glasses/contacts: none.

Any accessories that are ALWAYS associated with him (cane, pipe, necklace, etc.): Silver lighter with intricate engraving though he doesn’t smoke

Distinguishing “tics” or mannerisms: He likes to roll his knuckles along the wall/fence/whatever is next to him as he walks. 

General health: Good health, no issues

Handwriting: Sloppy, barely legible

Speech and Communication

How he talks: Quickly

Style of speech: Average, sometimes a smattering of Scottish slang or different languages thrown in

Accent: Scottish

Posture: Relaxed and casual, usually crosses arms over his chest

Gesturing: Only when agitated or eager

Eye contact: Direct

Preferred curse word: Fuck (it’s very versatile)

Catchphrase: For fuck’s sake

Speech impediments: None

Distinguishing speech “tics”: May pause while he collects his thoughts

What's his laugh like? What does he tend to find funny? Loud, boisterous laugh unless he’s being a little shite about something in which case it’s an evil little chuckle. He finds most things funny, especially when people (read: Vihaan) get pissy about stupid, unimportant things

Describe his smile: (Okay, it’s Sebastian Stan.. it’s radiant and the loveliest of lovely smiles that warms the hearts of even the most dickish of dragons!)

How emotive are they? Do they wear their emotions on their sleeve? How easily can others to read them? Very emotive, his face doesn’t really have a filter unless he’s very focused on hiding what he’s feeling, it’s very difficult for him to do. Others can usually read him quite well.

He has a resting ANGEL face.

Some general stuff:

I wrote a more detailed bio for Striker here but here’s some tl;dr points: 

Black Dog shifter that used to guide and guard travellers in the Ballyboley Forest

Saw “something” in Vihaan and decided to pursue him

They were together a long time (you can see the wanted connection info here

Striker was an idiot and left, faking his death which affected Vihaan more than he knows/understands (it affected HIM more than he knows/understands)

After faking his death, he wandered around in the wilderness for a while in his dog form, eventually being tracked and trapped by scouts for the city who think he has some way to predict/see upcoming deaths, which he doesn’t

Possible Interactions:

I mean there’s gonna be angst with Vihaan like no bodies business... and some shit with Citali because of course but here are some things I’d love: 

Mentor: Someone older or wiser than he is. He’s got his head on straight most of the time but he’s been known to make stupid decisions

Drinking buddy: It takes a lot to get Striker drunk with his abilities mucking things up and he doesn’t do it often because of this but a friend to drink with and shoot the shit with would be amazing. You know... deep drunk convos at the bar or laying on the hood of the car staring at the stars...

Friends with benefits: Because of course? Striker’s gay, sorry ladies!

Housemates: Other rescues who don’t have a sponsor yet

Mix ‘n match: Anything you can think of really. Striker’s a sweetie, you won’t regret making friends with him (just don’t ask Vihaan’s opinion on this point...)

This Or That

hot weather or cold weather | one - piece or two - piece bathing suits | crunchy or soft foods | scary movies or light - hearted movies | coffee or tea or neither | tattoos or piercings or neither | early mornings or late nights | fruits or vegetables | tv shows or movies | pie or cake | sunrises or sunsets | gardening or baking | busy cities or calm countrysides | ice cream or frozen yogurt | breakfast or lunch or dinner | pastel colours or dark colours | hugs or kisses or secret hand shakes | romantic love or platonic love | sweet candy or sour candy or chocolate | fresh juice or boxed juice | long sleeves or short sleeves | pancakes or waffles | social media : love it or hate it

Personality Quizzes

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Hogwarts House: Gryffindor Seven Deadly Sins:

Greed: Very Low

Gluttony: Low

Wrath: High

Sloth: Very Low

Envy: Very Low

Lust: Very High

Pride: Very Low

Colour Quiz:

You are a Red/Green Planeswalker. Striker, your scores are... | White: 29 | Blue: 34 | Black: 39 | Red: 75 | Green: 50 |

A Red/Green Planeswalker asks the question where am I now, and where should I go? Red and green both agree on the importance of authenticity. Green, from a place of wildness and immediacy, and red from a place of passion and self actualization. A real life activity that embodies red/green is Circling (à la the Authentic Relating community), which in part emphasizes setting aside narratives and frames and just being present, in the moment, with yourself and other people. Dionysian archetypes are red/green, as is Tinkerbell and the Hulk, and the parts of Wolverine that aren't green are usually red. On the gentler side of things, Aang from Avatar: The Last Airbender is firmly red/green and is often torn between his innate red playfulness and the gravity and responsibility required of his green role and destiny.

Red wants freedom.

Everyone seems preoccupied with the meaning of life. Red's not, because red already knows the answer. You see, your heart tells you what it needs in order to be fulfilled. All you have to do is listen to it and act accordingly. It's not a mystery. You are literally bombarded with constant feelings that guide you down the correct path. The problem is all the other colors ignore the message.

To outsiders, red might seem a bit chaotic; but that's only because others can't see what's in red's heart. They cannot feel red's emotions guiding them. Living life to its fullest takes a lot of dedication and perseverance, but red is always up to the task.

Green wants harmony.

The other colors are all focused on how they'd change the world to make it better. Green is the one color that doesn't want to change the world, because green is convinced that the world already got everything right. The natural order is a thing of beauty and has all the answers to life's problems. The key is learning to sit back and recognize what is right in front of you.

== Results from bdsmtest.org == 100% Rope bunny 98% Primal (Prey) 93% Submissive 75% Pet 67% Voyeur 65% Exhibitionist 60% Vanilla 59% Brat 58% Experimentalist 41% Masochist 14% Non-monogamist 10% Boy/Girl 4% Ageplayer 1% Switch 1% Degradee 1% Slave

PLACE IN SOCIETY financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty / depends on who’s asking medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged. class: upper / middle / working / slave / unsure / unknown education: qualified / unqualified / studying criminal record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no

FAMILY married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / open / single / divorced / separated / verse dependent has a child or children / has no children / wants children / verse dependent close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings (prolly) / sibling(s) is deceased orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s) / other

TRAITS + TENDENCIES extroverted / introverted / in between disorganized / organized / in between close minded / open-minded / in between calm / anxious / in between disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient / in between outspoken / reserved / in between leader / follower / in between empathetic / unemphatic / in between optimistic / pessimistic / in between traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / in between cultured / un-cultured / in between / unknown loyal / disloyal / unknown faithful / unfaithful / unknown

BELIEFS monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic / other belief in ghosts or spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. belief in an afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. belief in reincarnation: yes / no /don’t know / don’t care. belief in aliens: yes  / no / don’t know / don’t care. religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious / other philosophical: yes / no / maybe

SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION heterosexual / homosexual /bisexual / demisexual / asexual / pansexual sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable. (slightly) romance repulsed /romance neutral / romance favourable. sexually: adventurous /experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious. potential sexual partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all potential romantic partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

ABILITIES combat skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none. literacy skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none artistic skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none technical skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none. 

HABITS drinking alcohol: never / sometimes/ frequently / to excess. smoking: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. other narcotics: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. medicinal drugs: never / sometimes  / frequently / to excess. indulgent food: never / sometimes /frequently / to excess. splurge spending: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. gambling: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

[hyugapineapple]

Of kisses and hidden crushes [KuroKen]

Kozume Kenma was completely and hopelessly in love with Kuroo Tetsurou.

He knew it. He knew it for a long, long time when he first noticed how beautiful his best friend looked in the light of the sunset at age of 13. He knew it when Kuroo grabbed his hand to pull him up after the blonde's fall from his bike at age of 14 and Kenma realized just how soft and warm Tetsurou's skin felt against his fingertips. He knew it when Tetsurou stared at him then laughed softly at Kenma's pout when the other refused to get out of the bed and play volleyball at age 15. Kenma realized that Tetsurou's chuckle was one of the most beautiful sounds he could ever hear. He knew it when he saw Kuroo's worried frown when Kenma fell ill and had to stay in bed for almost a week, missing all their practices and their usual meetings at Kuroo's porch at age of 16. Kenma concluded that Kuroo was too beautiful and too kind-hearted to worry about anything in this world.

And he knew it now, at the age of 17, as he stared at the brunet who was sleeping peacefully in Kenma's bed.

It was another usual night for them. Kuroo dropped at his place around 8 PM as he did it every Tuesday and Thursday - the days when they didn't have volleyball practice. They did their homework, Kuroo tutoring the blond and helping him when Kenma stumbled across some complicated task. Then they played some games and watched several movies with Tetsurou commenting with his best poker face every detail of the movie, having an amused Kenma hitting him, trying to shut him up. Then they went to bed, chatting about random things as Kuroo slowly fell asleep while Kenma played on his mobile. When Kenma finished, Tetsurou was already in deep sleep, his hot breath hitting Kenma's slightly pink cheeks while the other admired Tetsurou's facial traits.

Kenma stared and thought. He admired Kuroo's long lashes and the shadow they formed on his cheekbones and thought about how kind and loving Tetsurou was. He looked at his strange hairstyle and meditated about how Kuroo's laugh made his insides churn and twist in excitement and something...warm and endearing. He liked to think that it was love. Kozume glanced at Kuroo's sharp jaw and his straight nose and contemplated about the way his best friend made him feel every time he smiled or pulled him in a hug. And of course, he gazed at his lips, those rosy, plump and soft looking lips of Kuroo Tetsurou and he thought about the countless times when he wanted to kiss them.

But he couldn't and wouldn't do that.

Kenma wasn't blind nor stupid. He understood it that Kuroo would never let him hold his hand or wrap his arms around his body or love him the way Kenma ached to. He knew it that he would never get the chance to kiss the brunet or look in his eyes and tell him that he loved him, that he adored him with his whole heart and that he couldn't live a day without him. He knew it that Kuroo loved him too. But it was not the same kind of love. Kuroo would never fantasize about kissing Kenma and holding him tightly in his arms as they shared the most intimate touches and whispers. It was impossible. Because they were best friends. Best friends don't do such things.

Kuroo was...Kuroo. He was attractive, smart and charismatic. He attracted plenty of people, both males and females. He had from where to choose. He'd never look at Kenma. Hell, Kenma wouldn't look at himself either if he was in his place. Kozume was boring and...plain. He was skinny, short and not very handsome. He was not exceptionally smart, well built or very sociable. He'd rather isolate himself from others and play games or read rather than going to dates or socialize in general. He'd rather munch on his apple pie and admire the sunset rather than partying or going out. He was boring, so he accepted the fact that his best friend wouldn't cast a second glance at him if it were to choose someone as his lover.

Kenma understood. Kuroo most likely preferred loud, charismatic people, people who knew what they wanted and how to get it, not for awkward, shy boys who hated human interactions. He was sure that his best friend went for tall, gorgeous men or women. He deserved something that would match his looks, not a short, skinny body with a plain, boring face. He felt a pang of something bitter and suffocating in his heart everytime he thought about his chances with Kuroo. He always brushed it off and blamed it on his tiredness or maybe hunger. Kenma wasn't jealous or hurt. He understood.

Yet he found himself staring at Kuroo's face again and he bit his lip to hide his soft, sad sigh. He felt so envious of those who were lucky enough to fall in love with someone who returned their feelings. Bonus points if they were old, close friends. He wanted the same. He wanted Kuroo to love him and stare at him with the same adoration that Kenma felt everytime his eyes landed on Kuroo while he looked away. It was unfair. Very, very unfair. But he couldn't do anything other than holding back his "I love you's" that practically burned his chest in their need to be spoken. He couldn't do anything but bite his lip and look down, ignoring his growing need to hold Kuroo and never let him go.

Life surely sucked for Kenma Kozume.

After a few more seconds in which Kenma kept looking at Kuroo, the blond averted his gaze and shifted backward a little, as if he feared the fact that Kuroo might have heard his thoughts and he needed to look for an escape. He thought about getting out of the bed to maybe head out or at least stare at the night sky from his balcony to get some fresh air. But his limbs felt weak and sluggish so he dismissed the idea almost immediately.

Deciding that sleep would be a far better idea, the blond nestled comfortably in the small space that his bed provided and sighed again, ready to fall asleep. And he would if it weren't for the fact that Kenma found himself staring at Kuroo's face again.

“God damn it.” The blond thought, glaring at the brunet as if it were his fault that Kenma couldn't tear his eyes off of him. It probably was.

A sudden thought popped up in the blond's head. A stupid thought, to be fair. Reckless, even, but so, so, tempting. Kenma felt his cheeks coloring up and his breath hitching lightly as he analyzed the possible outcomes for his actions. He wanted to try to do it. After all, a peck on the cheek wouldn't scream "I am in love with you and I've been like this since my pubic hair started to grow, please love me back.", right? Okay, maybe not "that" kind of message, but still. Innocent pecks on the cheeks or forehead were a friendly gesture, weren't they?

Still, he found disadvantages as well. Kuroo could get suspicious if Kenma decided to kiss him out of the blue. They both knew that Kenma was not a tactile type of person so this kind of actions could provoke a whole interrogating session and Kenma's secret wouldn't be a secret anymore. He couldn't allow that to happen. Another drawback was Kenma's fear that Kuroo might see that gesture as something disgusting. He knew that Tetsurou liked boys too, but that didn't mean that he would accept a peck from his best friend. As irrational as it sounded, Kozume was still considering this outcome. He didn't want to destroy their friendship because he was stupid enough to kiss him.

"But you could kiss him right now while he sleeps." A voice whispered in Kenma's head. "It might be your only chance to kiss him ever". The same voice punctuated. Kenma had to admit that it made sense.  Kissing him in his sleep could be his only opportunity in his whole life. It would be the closest he could get to Kuroo when it came to romantic gestures. It was worth a shot. Nothing bad would happen. Kuroo seemed to be dead asleep and Kenma was going to be very careful. Just a quick peck and things would go back to normal. He hoped.

Taking another deep breath, Kenma leaned in, awfully slow and careful, watching the brunet with alert eyes, looking for any signs of consciousness on Kuroo's face. His breath grew heavier as he tried to inhale and exhale as calmly as he could, trying to muffle the insane beat of his heart in his chest. He was so, so, so scared and anxious. But at the same time, he felt a tug of excitement and impatience in his chest. He couldn't believe that he was about to do it.

But of course, of course, that something had to happen. Why was he even surprised?

Right when Kenma's lips were about to touch Kuroo's cheeks, Tetsurou had the fucking audacity to decide that it would be a good idea to move. Exhaling peacefully, the taller male shifted in his sleep and tilted his head a little. Everything good, if it weren't for the fact that his movements caused Kenma's lips to be pressed against Kuroo's ones. Wonderful.

With wide eyes, Kenma scrambled back, mouth slightly agape as he stared at the other. His cheeks burned like as if he was placed in some overheated oven and Kenma was pretty sure that his chest would burst open if his heart continued to beat with that insanely fast pace. This was bad, this was very, very bad. And the worst part?

Tetsurou stared back at him with identically wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

Kenma felt his eyes stinging with tears and he bit his lip, not being able to avert his gaze. That was it. Kuroo will sit up and leave his room, disgusted and angry at him. He won't wait for him in the morning so that they could walk to school together.  He won't smile or wink at him when they passed by each other on hallways. Kuroo won't put all his trust in Kenma's tosses and tactics at practice anymore. They won't walk back home together and they most certainly won't have any sleepovers anymore. All because Kenma was the biggest idiot and dumbass that this world ever had. What was he thinking? It wasn't some game or the plot of a shitty shoujo manga or romantic show. It was real life, things didn't work like that.

He was about to swallow his tears and sobs to apologize and crawl away from Kuroo, already accepting his fate when Tetsurou moved again. Gently, he cupped Kenma's cheeks and wiped the few tears that rolled down his cheeks and pulled him closer.

Then, he kissed him.

The kiss was a real one this time. The brunet moved his lips slowly against Kenma's ones, making the blond widen his eyes even more, freezing in Tetsurou's arms. He was right, Kuroo definitely had the softest and sweetest lips. Not that he kissed other people before. Slowly, he closed his eyes and returned the kiss. He knew that he wasn't the best kisser and that Kuroo definitely had more experience than him, but Kenma didn't let that bother him. He wanted to savor that moment for as much as he could before he had to face whatever consequences his actions provoked.

When they pulled back, the blonde wanted to whine, the sudden absence of Tetsurou's lips over his mouth being almost too much for him. He slowly cracked his eyes back open and was quite surprised to find Kuroo smiling at him, his thumb still caressing Kozume's cheek gently.

"Please tell me that you didn't kiss me because you're a sleepwalker." Kuroo murmured, half joking and half serious. Kenma's cheeks took a deep shade of red and immediately looked away, hoping that the taller boy wouldn't notice his ridiculously bright blush. He glared at the duvet that the two of them shared and shook his head slowly.

"You already know it that I am not sleepwalking." was his short answer and Kuroo laughed in response. He snaked his arms around Kenma's middle and pulled him closer, burying his face in the blond's hair as he inhaled Kenma's scent and sighed peacefully. Kenma could only blush more (if that was even possible) and return the hug, still confused as hell. Was Kuroo sleepwalking? "You didn't turn into a sleepwalker either, did you?" he asked, just to be sure.

Kuroo cackled again and shook his head, humming a "no" in response. Then, he pulled back a little to look at Kenma, his gentle smile still on his lips.

"I'll assume it that you're having an equally huge crush on me as I do on you." the brunet beamed wider, his eyes remaining soft and caring. Kenma could swear that he saw a frail blush on his cheeks as well, but he decided that he was just tired and he started seeing things. Probably. "Either that or I'm imagining things and my unrequited attraction to you will stay unrequited till the rest of my life." Tetsurou finished, staring right into the blond's eyes. The said boy gazed back into Kuroo's eyes, shock and disbelief written all over his face while he processed his words. When he decided that he was definitely not dreaming or imagining things, Kenma buried his face back in Tetsurou's shirt and clutched his shirt in his fists, too embarrassed to look at him anymore.

"You assumed right." He managed to mumble in response, smacking Kuroo's arm gently when the other laughed, louder this time.

After a few moments, the brunet wrapped his arms securely around the other boy and squeezed him a little, pecking his hair lovingly. Kenma breathed surprised but decided not to say anything. He had no idea how to respond anyway.

"We'll talk about this in the morning, okay?" Kuroo whispered quietly. "But what I want you to know right now is that I've been waiting for this kiss longer than you could imagine." he finished, the smile evident in his voice.

Kenma stared at the other's shirt with wide eyes as his chest swelled with happiness and the same warm, endearing feeling that he felt when Kuro laughed or hugged him. It was definitely love. Finally, he closed his eyes and snuggled closer to the brunet's body, hiding his wide, face-splitting smile.

"Me too."

Thank you for reading!

This work can also be found here

[salve-teff]

All About Us

(It’s a day late, and I’m so sorry. I guess that fighting is not really my style, and I don’t know why I chose this one XD I’ll blame t.A.T.u. for that(?). Cross-posted on AO3)

Pairing: Jeith/Jaith. James x Keith Rating: Teen And Up Aud. Warnings: Poorly description of fighting, Pidge is meme Queen Word Count: 2202 Summary:  Karma is a bitch. James and Keith matched when it came to brains,—and maybe the fighter pilot was stronger than him—but Keith has always been the most agile of them all, and he knew how to use that for his advantage.

James and Keith Week.

Day 4. Hoverbike/ Fighter / Lion.

The MFE’s pilots performed their best during the fight. No one had expected a second Galra cruiser so soon. Especially, not when Voltron wasn’t able to fight back. Thankfully, James and his team were able to handle it so far with the help of Atlas.

What he wasn’t expecting was the fatal flaw of the MFE Fighter Jets. The energy was not as lasting as the Lions’ or the Castle.

Kinkade and Leifsdottir have been down for four dobashes now. James and the rest had no chance to keep on fighting. The Paladins are merely watching from the command room. There was an uneasiness in Keith’s heart. They should regroup and withdraw from battle. Atlas could handle the dire situation.

Keith was proud of James. The cadet was an exceptional fighter and pilot. But it’s not enough, the brunet was not calling for retracting. He should have called already, taking advantage of the fact they were on Earth. Keith feared of what might happen if he had to fight in Space. The fighter jet of James fell, communications were broken. The Black Paladin sucked in a breath. He needed to get to his lion asap.

Before his knees moved completely, the Galra ship that had been pursuing James exploded. And the Leader of the MFE went up again. Keith was mad, that had been so reckless.

The cadet had allowed shipping to get closer; he had played bait in order to attack. Clever move, yet reckless. More so having in mind how he was currently struggling to keep on the jet—energy must’ve run out— still.

Keith impulsively decided that had been enough. He left the room against the protest of the others; his mom wasn’t stopping him. Besides, he was feeling fine.

He jogged all the way to where the Lions were. Black resisted at first to let him in, but he wasn’t as obstinate as Red, so it was easy to convince the metallic beast to allow him in and go join the fight.

The voice inside of the Lion solemnly spoke to him. It wasn’t mockery, and it wasn’t a scold either, however, it unsettled Keith. That’s what you made us feel.

The Black Paladin chuckled bitterly. Karma, sure as fuck, was a bitch.

______

Keith found James while he was roaming what remained of the Garrison’s training grounds. It had been a coincidence. He was nothing but seeking dummies to punch until his head cleared—he had even brought a sharpie with him, in case he was feeling salty and wanted to name one after the Leader of the MFE.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” Truth to be told, it was James the one who found him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the Hospital?” Keith shot back. Stretching his shoulders, they were sore for the lack of activity. Hospitals were genuinely a nuisance. “Not entirely human, remember?”

James chuckled at that. Keith didn’t identify what was so funny about it, but the remains of the ice between them broke. Keith’s eyes opened all the way, his expression never betraying him, though. Maybe the dummies were not going to be necessary after all.

“Fancy some sparing? Or you have duties to attend to?” James raised a brow. Shock shone in his eyes for a few, then his expression changed to a smug one.

“Why not?” James made his way to the facility. “We’re both in a disadvantage here, anyways.” Their wounds were minimal by now, although it was kind of entertaining to follow the game. Both males entered the facility. It wasn’t abandoned per se, but Keith could clearly recognize the lack of use it had received lately.

The leader of Voltron took off the jacket he was wearing and hurled it aside. Keith placed his mom’s blade next to his jacket. He locked eyes with James, both were ready. Keith adopted a fighting position.

Unexpectedly, James was the one delivering the first punch. That surprised Keith big time, for James' tactic, was to always taunt first, at least he worked that way with him. The leader of Voltron barely had time to defend himself from that.

The moment he tried regaining momentum, he was tackled brusquely, his body flew until it hit against one of the walls; the next thing he felt the urge to grasp for air. James’ fort has never been the hand-to-hand fight.

Keith should know about that. His rival was astute and strong, but violence was not one of his traits. That was all Keith’s. James approached slowly and offered him a hand, which he naively took.

His blue-gray eyes were shining in a way he couldn’t decipher at all. He felt like slapping them. Good thing he always acts before thinking, because the back of his hand was already on his attractive face. An exact flick with his knuckles in his cheekbone did the trick. It wasn’t really his intention to hit him like that, but in his defense he deserved it! That tackled had hurt. The Black Paladin stretched, making his spine crack to rearrange whatever could have broken with the hit. “Not bad,” he had to suppress the desire to wolf-whistle.

James smirked. “Been practicin’”

His pretty face was still shinning with youth, not that he was old enough to have lost those qualities. It was just his sense of time was still recovering after the two-years trip with his mom. Keith wanted nothing more than to see that face sweating and gasping as he yielded.

He cracked his neck as he assumed position one more time, he had no intentions to start. He was eager … excited even. Had James been practicing? He wanted to see that. Moreover, he had no idea of what kind of style the Leader of the MFE mastered the best. Contrary to Keith, he must possess a disciplined martial art. And if that was the case, it’d only keep him standing for a while.

As he had wanted, James made the first move, charging forward, aiming for the ribs. (That was unexpected!) Keith defended once again, he used his arm and elbow to block and hit him in the shoulder, seizing his wrist and jerking his arm to his back. The Black Paladin never saw the leg of James coming right to his knees, and he stumbled. But the extra weight made him fall, with James on top of him.

“I’m sorry,” mumbled James, there was a big fat grin plastered on his face.

The bastard was enjoying it! There was the same glimmer in his eyes, it was annoying and gratifying at the same time. It gave Keith so many mixed signals. Confusing feelings was the last thing he wanted at the moment, he was still mad at the cadet. Not that he was going to confess that.

With a swift kick, he got rid of the other’s weight and stood. On the bright side of things, James Griffin could be taller, but he wasn’t that heavy. That newly acquired piece of information ran through his brain like lightning. Keith oversaw all his chances to take him down. Both young males were up and ready to charge again. Adrenaline was running fast in his system.

It was a feeling of freedom. He felt alive and able to take on everything. He was just as eager. In the cadet's eyes, Keith could anticipate the next move, a punch. (Redirection.) He hooked him into just behind the fist at the wrist and directed the attack aiming for overbalancing him through his own attack, and James met the floor a second time.

James stood once again, he wiped the blood coming out from the corner of his lip. The action had been quick, but for the paladin, it took an eternity. James was bleeding, and that conflicted him until he remembered their current situation. The expression on his face was severe, more than he has ever seen before. Keith backed a little to obtain impulse. A front kick would do the trick. He hesitated for a few seconds, should he aim at the knee, or above? He had to remind himself that wasn’t a life or die situation, he couldn’t go for James’ ribs or temple.

He still had hesitated, that was his mistake. The moment James was in front of him, he ducked his entire body and knocked him to his knees. It didn’t really hurt, but Keith lost his balance. The next punch was aimed at his face; he defended.

The Leader of Voltron bit his lip, irked. Should he blame the stress of the few Decapheebs? What was going on at the moment, that little sparring session, he knew he wanted that. There was a lot of steam to get rid off. There were so many upsetting thoughts roaming his mind. And every single one of them had to do with cadet James Griffin, Leader of the MFE.

A strong kick sent James flying to the same wall he had collided before, he made sure it was 10 times harder. James gasped for the air that seemed had abandoned his lungs. Lying on the floor he rolled to face the ceiling. Keith was gradually approaching, he was in no hurry for he knew it was going to take time to recover from that one.

His Blue-gray eyes took the time to bare James' being. So many things changed, bags under his eyes he hadn't noticed before. His shoulders were broader, he could totally believe he's been training hard his body. Keith got close enough to appreciate the blush adorning prominent cheekbones. The pilot's olive skin didn't allow it to be strenuously notorious. That look, at a short distance, fitted him. A flustered James was not uncommon—at least the James of his memories used to get flustered and excited about everything. Although, Keith realized he had never paid attention to those little details before.

He noticed how James' nose was still slightly twitching while he mumbled nonsense. However, that recognition didn't affect the leader of Voltron's disposition to not allow him to stand. He placed both of his hands on his face. He found the other's ears and hit them. Not too hard, he didn’t want him in a Hospital for a month.

“You son of a—,” moaned him. Keith smiled in delight, somehow it felt personal. Not their current position, but the situation in general. The feeling was exhilarating, overcoming the adrenaline he felt at the beginning of it all. Keith never left his post on top of James, who apparently did the first thing that entered his mind. He gripped Keith by the waist using his legs and smashed their foreheads together.

Keith will bet money on the fact that that was not one of his most brilliant ideas. None of them wanted to lose; that was a fact. The Black Paladin has faced terrible opponents before, and he was not losing against one that was handsome, tall, and … he shook his head. That was not the time!

Something keen to pride settled unspeakably between them. Suddenly, they were rivals once again. There was no time for doubting or pleasantries. When they both were on their feet again, the whole ordeal turned aggressive. Keith was not so sure he would survive that kind of encounter, emotionally speaking. But he had to give his best and, at least, wipe the floor with James' ass once or twice. He’d love to finish him, though.

James and Keith matched when it came to brains,—and maybe the fighter pilot was stronger than him—but Keith has always been the most agile of them all, and he knew how to use that for his advantage.

They kicked, they punched. James grabbed him by his hair and threw him, almost smashing his face against the nearest wall. (And James wasn’t, in the slightest, surprised when he turned the tables and did the same to him.)

At some point, clothes were too heavy and hot to carry. Not to mention they were dampened in sweat. Keith found time to get rid of what he could, so did James. In an instant, the two of them were nothing but wearing their Garrison pants and wet tank tops.

Sweat was falling from the olive skin of the cadet. There was something alluring about that, and he couldn’t shake that idea off his head. Sweat kept falling from his own face, Keith couldn’t distinguish which drop was his and which James’. This time around, he found himself back pressed against the floor with the cadet on top of him. None were moving, their eyes were locked, trying to read the next movement the other would attempt to do.

His chest felt heavy, not in a bad way. Even though, both males were panting neither of them wanted to yield. Or to let go of the grip on the other.

“Is this the moment when you start making out, and I say: ‘Not in front of my salad’?” They both turned startled as Pidge broke the moment—if there was one, to begin with. “Because I swear, you two have been in the same position, eye-fucking for about five dobashes now.”

[itsjustforce]

He Can't Hurt You Now - Bucky Barnes One Shot

This is based off an ask I had sent to @ringpop-poppy and it ended up inspiring me enough to get me to write this awful little thing. You can find the ask here!

First fic I ever post and it's kinda poorly written soft smut. Go big or go home, right? 18+ for the smut pls

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (i guess??????)

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, anxiety attacks, mentions of depression/past suicidal tendencies, mentions and reflections on PTSD triggers, smut, death by fluff, Soft Bucky™, cursing

Words: 4719

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Bri and Bucky were sitting on the couch in the common room, cuddling one another and watching a Disney movie while wrapped in her large fluffy Star Wars throw blanket. ("the fact you have not seen the absolute MAJESTY that is the rest of the Disney films they've made over the years is actually a crime, and I'm fucking SUING the people responsible. Wh-Hey! Stop laughing! I'm being serious here, dammit!")

Bucky had his arms wrapped around the slighter shorter woman, the lower half of his face pressed against the side of her head and allowing him to get a whiff of her conditioner and her vanilla perfume. While the scents were nice, having them forever be linked to this living, breathing ball of sunshine made a warm feeling blossom in his chest and a flush to grace his cheeks.

When he met her, he and Steve had taken Peter to the Captain America museum as per Tony's request. "I'm too busy, and the kid's been wanting to go. And besides, who better to go with than the man himself and his similarly elderly best friend?" He'd said, and Bucky thought if he rolled his eyes any harder they'd get stuck in the back of his head. He and Steve got in some semblance of a disguise, trying not to make themselves look suspicious while not being too obvious, which actually was a bit of an ordeal for Bucky because while it was the middle of July and New York was currently dealing with a heat wave: if he didn't wear his jacket and gloves he would be recognised and probably get kicked out or unwillingly make a scene, which was not exactly what he had on his to-do list for the day.

He first saw her at one of the larger scale exhibits in the museum, and even though he'd been there dozens of times before he'd never seen her before. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a ponytail, showing off her sharp jawline and little assorted freckles, her pale green eyes sparkling as she gave the background behind said exhibit and answered any questions the guests had. She was obviously not wearing any make-up besides a warm pink tinted chapstick on her full lips (which he'd find out was a thing the hard way: he used it once and Sam spat his coffee on Steve in brief shock before bursting into a laugh that had him in a ball on the floor of the kitchen with tears in his eyes), and her excited grin at every question asked caused the corner of her eyes to crinkle, the underneath of her eyes to wrinkle, and her cheeks to dimple and Bucky swore the look alone was the equivalent of being outside in the sun, she just seemed to beam with joy and positivity.

When that group had moved on, Bucky had decided to drift away from Steve and Peter and go to the woman at the exhibit. He was intrigued. When her eyes met his, a spark lit in them and her bright smile found its way back onto her face. Her voice was silvery and kind as she greeted him, engaging in a bit of small talk with him to see where his limit of knowledge was. She was so expressive, from the shifting in her face to her hands gesturing around to accentuate or further explain her points, and even though he knew nearly everything she told him already he found himself gripping onto her every word. She made the facts seem interesting, cracking little jokes and making little comments that got him to smirk and chuckle at, and in the time he spent with her he found himself hooked.

Once or twice a week, when he could, he went to see her, spending time learning tidbits of the stuff he'd missed after the fall that Steve either didn't mention or didn't know, and also getting to know her as a person. She came from a town on the coast of the Florida Panhandle, having a little sister and divorced parents. Her great-grandmother on her mom's side immigrated to the US from Norway in 1921 and her husband was born in Sweden, but Bri wasn't sure when he'd immigrated over or met his wife. She was a bit of a history nerd, being a high school history teacher during the school year and working as a docent during the summer months. She has ADHD, depression, anxiety, and PTSD, the first three causing her to have severe insomnia. She takes medication for her ailments, but for a seemingly bright and bubbly person the fact she had depression and anxiety had surprised Bucky at first. She brought up the fact that she was fairly quiet and reserved when she was just by herself (which was something he'd witnessed himself, but didn't really think much of at the time). If he had asked, she'd tell him vague stories of her battles with her depression, of the very few times she nearly lost, of the times she was fighting tooth and nail just to get through the week, and how even during that dark time she would be found being another person's rock and shoulder to lean on.

"I tend not to let people see that side of me, because the people who know me and talk to me often see me as their own rock. They come to me because something in their life is going to shit and they need someone they know will be there for them and maybe even give them advice if they need it. Hell, I'm one of the most important people in my little sister's life. She-When my dad left for the first and second time, she fell into a really bad state of depression, and like, how could I be there to try and help her if I was openly showing I was in that same spot? I couldn't. From birth I sorta had this personality trait to just be nurturing. It's sorta second nature for me to put my feelings to the side and put everyone else's emotions and issues before my own, because everybody needs that someone who can put on a brave face and be there for them no matter what."

She'd either be listening to him talk about literally anything that could be on his mind, looking at her phone and maybe showing him some of the stuff of technology and the internet he didn't understand, sketching in a little sketchbook she keeps in her backpack, or reading a book. And with both her teaching and docent job, she would tell him that even though she got anxious and quiet around new people and also get anxious talking in front of other people, she took those jobs because history was something she adored and she wasn't going to let her fears stop her. Both were actually some things he'd come to admire about her: her strength to push through and her determination to do what she sets her mind to even if she's at a disadvantage.

It was established early on she knew who he was, she wasn't exactly trying to hide it, but she also didn't say that fact out loud. It was sort of a silent understanding, if you will.

When he'd asked her out on a date, he actually had to be coaxed to do it by Steve, who basically gave him a 20-30 minute pep talk because HOO BOY he was so nervous his metal palm was sweating. But, as time would go on, one date would turn to two, then to five, and then he asked her to be his girlfriend. Their relationship was slow, she moved at the pace he was comfortable with, and she was always making sure whatever she did he was comfortable with it.

"I don't want you to feel like you need to force yourself into situations you aren't comfortable with just to make me happy, okay? Your feelings are just as valid as mine, and I can't exactly read your mind, so please talk to me and let me know about stuff. I don't mind waiting if that means I get to keep that pretty little face around." She'd told him after he had stuttered out an admission that he still wasn't ready to kiss her yet, getting so close to it when he was dropping her off from a date. She had said it so gently, sweeping a lock of his bangs behind his ear while barely touching his skin in the process before gently running her thumb against the scruff on his right cheek and smiling softly. He gave a kiss to the knuckles of that hand instead, giving a small 'thank you' as his chest was filled with a warm feeling that made it a little bit hard to breathe.

Nearly three weeks later, he kissed her beneath a realistic display of the night sky that was projected onto the ceiling in a planetarium they were visiting. (They're both such big science and tech nerds its actually ridiculous.)

Three months pass, Bucky is now comfortable with the more basic displays of affection. Hugging, kissing, hand holding, basic little touches she'd give like cupping his cheek, tucking some loose hairs behind his ears, and nose/cheek booping (her personal favorite because it got him to either grin or giggle). But, at this time, their relationship exits its honeymoon faze and some trials began. Bri very slowly began to withdraw into herself, many of her smiles would eventually not be able to reach her eyes like they used to, she would more often than not be forced to take a nap by her concerned puppy of a boyfriend because she wouldn't be able to sleep well at night: which showed in the dark rings around her eyes, said eyes losing their sparkle and becoming seemingly dull and lifeless, her strained and tired smile, and her increased tendency to zone out or get distracted EVEN on her ADHD medication. He made sure she was taking her medications like she was supposed to, listened whenever she decided to tell him a bit of the turmoil going on inside her, was there with her when she booked an appointment to the same therapist Bucky was going to and went with her to said appointments to make sure she knew he cared for her and that he was always going to be there for her (which actually caused her to tear up a bit when he'd told her that face to face). She got better, and another month later here they are, binge watching every single Disney animated movie because Bucky not having already seen them is "absolute sacrilege" in her eyes.

Bucky got to cuddle with his best girl, her resting on his firm chest while she sits in a space Bucky'd made for her between his legs. He wanted to hold her. He can hear her softly sing along to the songs she remembers, and use her excessive body heat to stay all warm and cozy. He wasn't exactly in a position to complain.

The sound of something vibrating catches her attention, her rolling over and grabbing her phone from the bedside table and looking at the screen. He didn't much mind it at first, but when she tensed up and gave a small "shit" under her breath he looked at her.

"What's up?" He asks, pausing the movie and turning to her. She sets her phone down and turns to him with a small smile and a "it's nothing" before reaching for the remote. He seems unimpressed as he moves it to have it just out of her reach, her looking to him with an unimpressed look. He has an eyebrow raised both expectantly and as a silent question, to which she only sighs in defeat and tilts her head down onto his chest.

"Look, it's nothing. It's just that my dad's come to New York for business and he wants to see me." She says, feeling him tense against her.

"Seriously?" He asks quietly, her tilting her head to see him looking at her with anger.

"Yeah." She replies, placing a hand on his stomach to rub her fingers in soothing circles.

"You aren't thinking of seeing him, are you?" He asks, her sighing and sitting up for him to follow.

"I dunno, Buck. I mean, maybe?" She says, running a hand through her dark brown hair.

"Bri, do you not remember the last time you saw him?" He asks, Bri looking at him with a defensive yet vulnerable look in her eye. One day while she was working as a docent her father and his new family came to visit the museum. Sam had been there watching her on Bucky's orders, him having been on a mission that was set to come in later that night and apparently people already were threatening on hurting her, and after they talked for a bit they said their goodbyes and moved on. But, as the two hugged, she seemed to freeze, and as the family moved on she had to go off to the side and proceeded to have a panic attack. It took a coworker AND Sam to calm her down, and she was sent home with Sam to wait for Bucky.

To say Bucky was angry at the story, and the backstory, was an understatement. He was furious.

"I know, Buck! I just-"

"No, no. He's toxic, sweetheart. He treated you like shit doll, and as long as your my girl I'm gonna look out for ya." He turns her head so she looks at him. Suddenly, a thought enters his mind, and his eyebrows furrow in thought.

"You know I love you, right?" He asks softly, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah." She murmurs.

"So I want you to be honest with me here. Is he the reason you don't want me callin' you baby?" He asks, her hesitating before she looks down and nods.

"And," she looks at him, confused there's an addition. "Is he the reason you refuse to call me James, even though I've told you that you can."

She waits a long moment, before she sighs heavily, nods, and mutters, "His name is James, so I've kinda just... avoided the name entirely just because of the bad memories it has with it."

"Alright, then y'know what?" He says, her looking to him confused. He pulls her onto his lap with her giving a surprised yelp, having her straddle him as he cups her cheeks.

"How about you 'n' I make it have some better mem'ries?" He asks, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"What uh, what exactly did you have in mind?" She asks, Bucky giving her a smirk. He takes her lips in a soft kiss, his hands moving to rest on her hips. She takes a gentle hold of his cheeks, letting out a satisfied exhale as the tension in her body seems to diminish somewhat. He breaks away to place kisses along her jaw before stopping at her ear.

"Well, I was thinking I'd take care've ya. Maybe have you sayin' my name as I run ya a bath, maybe have ya moanin' it as I eat that pretty lil' pussy've yours, but I'd definitely have you screamin' it as I fuck into ya nice and slow." He takes her earlobe between his teeth, a gasp accompanying the shiver that shakes her body. He lets it go, moving up to hoarsely add, "All ya gotta do is say my name, and I'm all yours doll."

She tightens the grip on his cheeks, moves his head back, and hungrily takes his lips in a kiss. He lets out a surprised noise at the force before completely caving in, kissing her back with the same intensity and fervor. He moves his hands to her ass, and just as he runs his tongue along her bottom lip he gives both a squeeze as a distraction to move her to his half-hard length. She lets out a small gasp at the feeling of him being so close yet so far, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth. He meets her with soft, languid strokes, a sense of calm replacing the more usual heated urgency, and she gave a pleased moan to the action. He broke the kiss, his head ducking to her neck to kiss at the spots that send all of her nerves into a tizzy.

"Gonna treat you so good, sweetheart." He husks out, kissing, nipping, and licking at the spot near her ear and above her jaw. She squirms at the feeling of his lips and stubble tickling the area, her letting out a mix of a giggle and a whine when she can't seem to wiggle free. A warning nip at the middle part of her neck and a squeeze of her hips gets her to stop, her resolve and worries seeming to crumble away like a sandcastle hit by a wave. She lets out an airy moan in response, one of her hands going to card through his shoulder-length locks while the other goes to the junction between his neck and his shoulder. He nips and suckles at the spots on her neck, drinking up every little noise she made to meet it with an encouraging purr.

"God, Buck." She breathes out, biting her bottom lip.

"James, sweetheart. Call me James from now on. Not only gonna make the name better for ya, I'm gon' show everyone how special you are t'me in the process." He murmurs back, kissing the prominence of her collarbones while rubbing on her thighs.

"Feel good?" He asks, slowly running his thumbs up her inner thigh.

"Oh God yeah. Fuck, don't stop." She purrs, him kissing his way back up her neck.

"Who's making you feel this good, huh?" He asks, moving his head up to look at her through long lashes.

"I-You?" She asks, the infliction adding a questioning tone.

"What's m'name, doll?" He chides, almost tutting at her. Her cheeks blush as she looks down, biting her bottom lip.

"Y-You, James." She murmurs, Bucky grinning widely at her.

"And don't you fuckin' forget it." He growls before kissing her deeply. She runs her fingers through his hair, tugging on it from time to time for him to let out a moan. He runs his hands under the hem of her black t-shirt, for a band called 'Ghost Town', and it takes her a moment to break away and tug it off. She wasn't wearing a bra, and Bucky couldn't help but run his thumbs on the hot flesh of the underneath of her breasts.

"You're so pretty, doll. Not only on the inside, but you're gorgeous on the outside, even with these lil' scars've yours. God, I dunno why your dad would even wanna hurt such a sweet lil' rarity like you." He coos, pressing wet kisses to her slowly flushing chest.

"James." She whines impatiently, gently tugging on his hair as the other tugs at his t-shirt. A warm arousal spreads through him at the way she says his name, him grinning wide before he takes her lips in a searing kiss. He places his right arm around her lower back, flipping the two of them over so she lays on her back. He holds himself up with his left arm, the vibranium glinting in the low lamp light as he sits up, removes the arm from under her, and tugs off his shirt to throw it somewhere. Leaning back over her, he watches with amusement as the fingers on her left hand gently trac the gold lines in the dark metal, following them up to the scarred seam of the metal and his shoulder. She rubs gentle little circles into it, getting a pleased whimper from him while he bites his lip. She moves her hand to then place it on the back of his neck, her other hand cupping his cheek while she looks at his face with eyes full of admiration.

"Beautiful." She whispers, her tone soft and sweet as her thumb rubs his cheekbone. He leans in and kisses her again, this time being hot and heavy and brimming with passion. His right hand caresses her body, running over every line and curve with a gentle touch that sends shivers through her. He breaks away to return to her neck, singing sweet praises about her and his love for her as he goes, until he reaches her breasts. He gives each of them equal attention, her mewls, moans, and whimpers sending blood straight to his cock and leaving him achingly hard when he reaches her cotton sheep shorts. He rests on his heels as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of both the shorts and her cotton underwear, looking up at her for permission to get an enthusiastic nod. Tugging them off and tossing them away, he pulls one of her lips to the side to see the start of her slick beginning to coat her folds.

"God, look at you." He purrs in admiration, wetting his thumb in her slick before going to her entrance and pushing in to the first knuckle.

"Please don't tease." She begs, Bucky huffing in amusement as he removes his thumb and places her legs on his shoulders.

"Just wantin' to get right to the point, huh?" He asks, locking eyes with her as he spreads her open and places a kitten lick to her clit. She jumps, letting out a gasp as her eyes widen and her hands dart to fist up her sheets.

"I can do that." He grins, and he dives in, pulling her apart and taking her like a man starved. His every groan is met with a breathy noise from her, ranging from a squeak to a moan to even his own name, her hands clutching his hair like he was the one thing keeping her on the ground. He takes as much time as he can stand, opening her and preparing her for his cock while whispering praises to her and writing love letters on the sensitive nerves of her clit. She comes undone with a loud moan, her shaking thighs trapping his head in place as he rides her through her high and laps up as much of her release as he can. He then takes of his sweatpants and his boxers, grabbing a condom from one of the drawers in her bedside table. Sliding it on, he props himself up over her body to meet her lips with them and his chin covered in her juices. He wipes her slick from his face, quickly licking it off his hand before he kisses her and rubs his cock along her folds to get slicked up, her moaning at the action and the taste of herself. One of her hands pulls him off of her while the other takes hold of his hard member. He lets out a shaky breath, his head falling to her left shoulder while his thigh muscles begin quivering in anticipation.

"Need you in me bad." She pants, lining him up with her entrance while finger combing his hair. He nods and begins pushing in, the two of them letting out moans as he restrains himself from slamming into her.

"So tight, sweetheart, shit you're so good to me, huggin' my cock so nice." He groans out, her responding with a pleased sigh as he finally slides home. He pauses, making to get a grip back on himself and trying to catch his breath. He looks at her face to find her eyes are closed and her mouth is open to let out her gasping breaths. His right hand cups her cheek, his thumb rubbing her cheekbone and causing her eyes to open.

"Always look so pretty around my cock, skin all flushed with y'lips all red and that smart lil' mouth opened up. Lookin' so sinful for me and I can't believe it's all mine." He coos, Bri biting her lip.

"James, c'mon." She whines with a small pout, Bucky chuckling at the look as he begins moving. He moves soft and slow, taking care to make sure he doesn't hurt her while pressing wet kisses to every reachable piece of her. He praises her up and down, leaving absolutely nothing about her out of the equation while giving her scars some extra attention. She's a squirming noisy mess beneath him, running her hands through his hair as he makes love to her. When he begins to speed up in order to catch his orgasm, his flesh hand goes to her sensitive clit while the metal one maps her body even though he knows it like the back of his hand. He never stops the praise, doting on how she feels around him and how well she always takes him. He places his sweaty forehead to her own, their panting breaths intermingling as his long hair tickles her cheeks.

"Sweetheart, I'm-shit-I'm not gonna last much longer." He grunts out, her nodding.

"I'm right with ya, hon. Fuck! I-uh, shit, just let go if y'need to." She responds, his amusement at her cursings shadowed by the feeling of the tightening coil at the bottom of his stomach. He picks up the pace on the stimulation of her clit as his hips begin to slow, the action causing her to gasp and arch her back. As his hips begin to stutter, the keening cry of his name as Bri's coil snaps and her muscles sieze tightly sends him over the edge, his grunting her name as he spills into the condom. He rides the both of them from their high before collapsing on top of her, his heavy body pressing her to the mattress as they catch their breaths.

"James, you're-you're gonna... crush me." She says between breaths, Bucky lifting himself up to look at her with narrowed eyes.

"You callin' me fat, doll?" He jokes, Bri letting out a breathless chuckle that gets him chuckling too.

"I mean, you said it." She responds, him swatting at her causing her to loudly laugh. He pulls out of her, the both of them shivering at the loss before he moves to dispose of the condom. He tosses it, going to the bathroom to clean himself up and grab something to clean Bri to find she's up, wearing his t-shirt and her panties, and entering in the bathroom to do her own business in cleaning herself up. They return to the bed hand in hand, Bucky finding his sweatpants and boxers to pull them on. She's already on the bed under the Star Wars throw, remote in hand as she wakes the TV and goes to restart the movie where they left off. He slides underneath the blanket to lay beside her, pulling her to his side and hugging her waist.

"Movie fuckin' shut off. Was just gettin' to my favorite part too." She grumbles, Bucky chuckling as he nuzzles into her neck.

"You said this entire movie was your favorite." He responds, Bri giving a short huff of air.

"I mean, I'm not wrong, my middle name is a reference to the little white kitten Marie. Even with that said, The Aristocats is a masterpiece, and it really doesn't get enough credit." She retorts, starting the movie again to look at Bucky. She finds him looking at her lovingly through droopy, tired eyes, a lazy smile resting on his face.

"What?" She asks softly, brushing some of his slightly sweaty hair from his face with a soft smile.

"I love you, jus' want ya to know that." He says tiredly, her smile turning into a goofy fullblown grin.

"I love you too, James. Ya dumb goof." She replies softly, booping his nose and causing him to giggle.

"But I'm your dumb goof." He coos, Bri snickering as she nods and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

"All mine."

[cyanpeacock]

the way a lot of mental illness is portrayed in media is like... so bad

like. my body feels things Intensely. i dissociate and lose my senses of time and/or space. sometimes there are voices in my head. at times i have violent intrusive thoughts. i'm deeply suspicious of others. these things are part of the nature of the kind of unwellness I live with

but these are all symptoms of being Sick, not Evil. and yet it feels like you only ever see those traits in the Axe Murderer, or the Psycho Ex, the badly-written 'Crazy' tropes who hurt others indiscriminately 'because they're wrong in the head'. i think it's really, really damaging for a sick person, particularly a young sick person, to look at those tropes/characters, and find that their ways of thinking and feeling relate more to the Bad Guy™ than they do to anyone else in the cast. it leaves you with so little hope that you can ever live a 'normal' life when all the people like you on TV end up murdering or murdered or in jail.

so my point is. we need more realistic representation of 'scary' mentally ill people - the personality-disordered, the dissociatives, the psychosis spectrum, the obsessive-compulsives. because we most certainly Are Not all axe-murderers-in-waiting. we're vulnerable people at a disadvantage in society, far more likely to be the victims than the perpetrators of abuse and violence. and it's fucked that popular media doesn't reflect our reality.

[letmewritemylife]

Moving, Not Running (Perhaps)

I want to find something I've wanted all along, somewhere I belong. - Linkin Park (Somewhere I Belong)

A/N It's flashback time! Just as a side note, Lara is using her first fake identity in 2013 (Amanda Ross) and I’ll feel personally offended if you don’t get the reference in her nickname.

TRIGGER WARNINGS None?

The relationship between Lara and Katrina had never been easy and everyone knew it pretty well. Elize, being friend with both of them, had grown used to their infinite banter and had just accepted the fact that perhaps, despite their many common traits, they were not made to get along. And maybe it was just because of their many similarities that they couldn't stay in the same room without throwing deadly glances at each other, as if they were always about to pull out a gun and shoot each other in the head.

Unfortunately for them, since they were both great spies the Head of Department often insisted on them working together. At least Lara could appreciate Katrina's abilities with firearms and the fact that she never questioned plans, even if they sounded dumb as hell. This last thing in particular was very good considering that most plans were made by Lara and she accepted little to no criticism on her ingenious ideas.

Elize's death only seemed to deteriorate their relationship. Lara knew her and Katrina were quite close, maybe more than friends, and knowing that she was the reason why her friend was buried six feet underground made her feel guilty for the pain she had brought to Katrina too. 

On the other hand, Katrina silently watched as Lara got trapped in a relationship that was far from healthy. More than once Katrina suggested Lara what to do, how to run away, but her advices were deliberately ignored. In the end, it was Katrina to leave.

March 2013, New York.

The coffee Katrina made always tasted like shit, no matter how hard she tried. Actually Lara doubted Katrina even tried at all, but that wasn't the point. 

"So you're leaving the Agency?" Lara asked, a skeptic smirk on her face.

"I'm not leaving the Agency, I'm leaving New York. There's a difference, Ross," the other answered, looking at her colleague with an annoyed gaze. "You won't get rid of me that easily."

Lara took another sip of her terrible beverage. "I see, you can't stand the idea of not being as good as me. You're human, you do have flaws." She got a frozen look from Katrina, but just took another sip of coffee and went on talking. "I mean, you're not me."

"Do I have to remind you I have a gun with me, дурак?" Katrina stepped away from the counter of the kitchen and looked at Lara straight in the eye. "Are you going to help me or not?"

"The great Katrina Popova needs my help! That's something I've never thought I could see." Lara took another sip and stood up. "What do I have to do?"

"What about giving me ten thousand dollars to settle down in Boston?" 

Lara looked at the Russian spy with eyes wide open, almost choking on her drink. "Last time I checked the White House did not rent rooms and was not in Boston."

Katrina sighed. "I know a few people in Boston. Not cool people, to be honest, but they still want money from me." Lara was still not convinced. "Why do you think I work here? Because I like shooting people in the head? I sure do, but I also need money."

Lara sighed. "Sorry, I don't have that much money. You will have to ask someone else." Lara was about to leave, but a hand gripped her wrist.

"I know you are as broke as I am, but I'm sure you can help me find those money." Lara was surprised to see Katrina worried. She was always so cold and detached, like Russian winter had found its home in her. "Please." That last word was almost whispered, a begging coming directly from Katrina's stone cold heart. 

"Fine, I'll help you." Katrina smirked. A smirk probably was the closest thing to a smile she could do. At least with Lara. "But you owe me a big one. And I'm the leader of this thing, I'm not taking orders from you, got it Karenina?"

Katrina breathed out a laugh, sincerely surprised by the spy's knowledge of Russian literature. "And how are we going to get money for that, Lee?" Katrina looked down at Lara for guidance. In that moment Lara understood being the leader was really a pain, especially considering she was nothing more than a confident moron.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to steal it." A huge smile rosed on Katrina's face and stayed there for a moment before she realized her friend was deadly serious.

"Seriously? We really fell this low?"

"You are literally a deadly spy. Stealing a few thousand dollars isn't for sure the worst thing you've ever done." 

Katrina was still not convinced. "I could steal those money myself, I thought-"

"Did you really think that if I had that much money I would still work here with you? You're crazy!" 

Katrina laughed and put a hand on Lara's shoulder. "So? When are we starting, Amy?"

The ballroom was full of guests, there were people wandering around in expensive suits and gowns everywhere, everyone with a glass of champagne in their hands.

Katrina looked out in the room and then at Lara confused, her blonde hair moving around her face as she turned to the spy. "Why are we here?"

Lara sighed in annoyance before taking a sip of her drink, her other hand playing with the fake pearls of her necklace. "You said it yourself. You need money and there's no better way to make money than fool some drunk rich-as-fuck businessmen into leaving you their company."

Katrina couldn't believe her friend was serious. Her idea was terrible and crazy and what scared her the most was that it could actually work. "And tell me, boss, how do you plan on making one of those dudes drunk enough to leave you his company?"

Lara smirked. Katrina knew pretty well it was a bad signal: all of Lara's worst plans always came after a smirk. "Well, we may use some of your Russian beauty and some of my American ability to mindf*ck the innocents. Do you like the idea?"

The Russian spy rolled her blue eyes. "No, but it looks like I have no choice." As soon as a waiter came across her, she left him her empty glass. "Let's end this torture fast, okay?"

Lara smiled. "As you wish, Kat."

"And one last thing!" She said, pointing her finger at the other woman. "Don't call me Kat."

Passing by the spy, Lara smirked. "As you wish, Iarna rusă."

"Hey doll, you know you've got beauuutiful eyes?"

Lara looked up at the man by her side. He was taller than her, brown eyes and dark hair. He was visibly drunk and his suit gave out the idea he was rich too. The perfect one.

Lara turned to face the man and leaned against the table behind her, casually biting her lower lip. "Really? That's very kind of you."

The man giggled, then almost threw up on the floor. Katrina, who was standing close to Lara, forced herself not to laugh. If American economy was ruled by men like that, it was a miracle the US were not facing a terrible crisis yet. 

The businessman straightened and looked at Katrina. "You look cute too!"

Katrina tried to fake a smile, slightly curving her red lips, then spoke: "Thank you. You're very kind but we need your help."

The man nodded unsure. None of the two women was sure if he was listening to them or just looking at their breasts. Lara continued, making sure to play with her hair and smirk as much as possible: "My friend has just lost her job and really needs money, and I'm sure that if you're generous even half of how handsome you are, you will help her. Will you?"

The man wasn't really paying them attention, too focused on the cleavage of Lara's purple dress and disadvantaged because of his not completely clear view caused by the alcohol. He just nodded and dragged the two out of the room. The three of them walked down a corridor until they stopped in front of an office. There, the man opened the door and fainted on the floor. Katrina stared down at him, while Lara looked around the room. After a few minutes, she found a safe.

"Katrina, we need a key, maybe he has it with him," she said, not looking away from the wall in front of her.

They heard footsteps coming from outside the room. Lara sprinted to the door and looked out. There was no one but a few guests wandering around, as sober as their friend on the floor. 

In the meantime, Katrina was inspecting the man's jacket, but she found nothing. The pockets of his trousers were empty as well. With a sigh, she stood up and looked at the safe: it wasn't buried in the wall, they could take it away from there. 

She turned to face her friend, who was busy looking on the shelves of the library. "Amy, what if we just take the whole thing away?"

"Do you really think no one will notice us going around with a goddamn safe?" The other asked offended.

Katrina nodded. She was right. "Maybe there's another way..." she said, slowly taking the safe out of its little hole in the wall and putting it down on the desk. 

Lara touched every spot of its surface, desperately looking for a hole or anything that could be some kind of help. After a long inspection, she gave up. "Are we even sure there's money in there?" She huffed, tugging a stroke of hair behind her ear.

Katrina thought of shaking the safe to understand if it was empty, but when she was about to do it she noticed something under it. A little, shining key had been placed right under the safe with a piece of grey tape. She laughed at how much they had overestimated their little friend. With a smooth move, she opened the safe and looked at what was inside of it: money, a lot of money, and even a few watches and golden stuff. She took it all out and placed it on desk, then let Lara began counting the banknotes. There were more or less twelve thousand dollars, three watches made of gold, a diamond necklace and two rings made of white gold. 

"Take what you need and let's go," Lara ordered before throwing a look at the door behind her, then at the man laying on the floor. He was sleeping deeply, a few snores coming out of his mouth every once in a while. Katrina took all the banknotes and hid them in her bag, then put the jewelry in a paper bag, which she threw at Lara.

"Your part of the loot," she added when she saw her friend's confused look. She proceeded to leave and turned again at Lara, who had not moved from beside the man. "I'm kinda sure those things are worth quite a lot. Oh, and don't worry about him, he is so drunk he won't remember a thing." She stopped and looked at Lara straight in the eye. She took a deep breath and spoke. "Thank you." 

Lara smiled. "No problem, Kat."

Katrina huffed and rolled her eyes. She hated that name more than anything else. Then, out of nowhere, she hugged Lara. 

Lara was not ready to that kind of affection from her, but weakly hugged her back. She could feel all the "thank you" Katrina was not able to speak out. She didn't know a lot about her, to be honest, but she had always had a feeling the two of them had something in common, something that made them crash against each other but not hard enough to break them. Something no one among the other agents had. Something that Lara felt came from shared experiences, shared pain. And well, if moving to another city could help Katrina fight that pain then she was happy to help. 

None of them knew how long that hug lasted. Maybe a minute, maybe a hour. It didn't matter. In the end Katrina stepped back and smiled, this time for real.

"I'll miss you, Lee. I have to go, but I owe you one. Goodbye."

And that was the last time Lara ever saw Katrina Popova.

[skywarper]

okay so, since its been a while since That issue, i wanted to more or less sum up my thoughts on “forged Starscream” aka “”true Starscream” since i havent really done so yet

tl;dr: the concept is interesting and adding such depth to starscream’s motives/actions throughout the entire franchise is awesome, but the fact it directly intersects with whats basically a race analogy is really bad and “true starscream is a forged starscream” is not something that should of been included in the same idw timeline as “religious asshole literally tries to murder every constructed-cold bot for being ‘crimes against creation’”

okay so ill admit im not entirely caught up on idw. but ive read enough to know the basics of forged vs constructed cold. its a bit shoddy but its essentially a race analogy. forged are considered purer, better at their crafts, closer to primus, etc. medics are expected to be forged as you cant construct suitable hands apparently (to the point ratchet stole pharmas hands instead of just making new ones) its taboo to ask if someone is constructed cold, and it can be seen as a shock when its found out someone is. some bots are specifically racist against constructed cold bots, tyrest wanted to purge them, etc etc

so obviously, youre going to want to stress that constructed cold IS equal to forged with this set-up, lest you walk the dangerous line of real world parallels - i.e. if you suggest that forged really is just BETTER with this set up, to some you could be suggesting some real world races are just naturally “better” than others (a very common stance of white supermacists, infact)

writers like JRO do this fine, but i can only assume Mairghread Scott (TAAO’s author) missed the memo, or something?

so lets back up a bit. starscream throughout the entire TF mythos is established as being power-hungry (wanting not to rule just the decepticons, but EVERYTHING theoretically) and also appearance-conscious. hes not so focused on his appearance in g1 and tfa, but is very much so in tfp and ESPECIALLY idw. idw starscream goes through approximately 4-5 frame changes (not including “forged” frame), challenged only by megatron (who mostly changes frame because he keeps fucking dying) 

its established in the IDW character profiles that starscream does indeed swap between frames so much to compensate for insecurities. in TAAO, this is revealed to be because he is constructed cold and subconsciously feels ‘robbed’ of his ‘true’ frame. he feels because he is constructed cold he cannot compare to those around him and therefore has lofty ambitions to overcompensate.

okay.. first of all, this kind of conflicts with earlier lore imo? multiples of starscream’s standard seeker frame are shown in TAAO as being how all seekers were constructed. but earlier in IDW its said that the seekers (such as warp and TC) CHOSE their frame in respect of their commander, starscream. if all seekers were born at the same time, in the same frame, with no input from starscream as he hadn’t been born presumably, this makes no sense whatsoever and is a pretty glaring plot hole.

okay well besides that. personally, i actually think adding this depth of character to starscream’s base personality from g1 is awesome and a great move. adding a motivation to starscream other than plain narcissism is a superb way to expand his character and make him feel more relatable and real. hes no longer just Starscream, the power-hungry. hes now Starscream, dealt a bad hand in life but isnt complicit in it. if it was left like this, without the “true frame” angle, it would of been perfect, to be honest. a little wonky, but a wonderful addition to his character nonetheless.

but that ‘true frame’... its such a horrible smear on this entire concept it really makes me upset. so first of all a glaring problem. i like Windblade, i do, but having her, the daughter of primus, whos probably THE *MOST* forged-ass bot in the current cast, being the one to “reveal” the “true starscream” was just...so bad. because it turns it into “most forged bot feels pity and is patronising towards starscream for being constructed cold and missing out on a ‘better’ (forged) self” considered the race analogies... its really fucked up and just should of never been included in my opinion.

and then showing starscream’s ‘true’ (forged) frame is.. also kind of messed up? because now both us and starscream are burdened with the knowledge that he’ll never be happy, never feel complete, and never be ‘better’ because he was born constructed cold. we know theres a “better” starscream above the one we have, that we’ll never get, because starscream isnt forged. its implied if he was forged, he never would of become a decepticon, because he would of been a “better person”. despite the facts idw also establishes autobots are just as bad if not worse than decepticons are, and decepticons consist mostly of those considered ‘minorities’ or ‘disadvantaged’. it adds a lot of layers to the whole concept that just sours it completely and makes it uncomfortable - especially if you relate to starscream being essentially born a minority, but aiming high in spite of the society that fights against him.

so more or less... the concept of starscream’s conditions of birth being the motivator for his most famous character traits is AWESOME in my book. its amazing, a sorely needed addition to his character. but then you add in windblade’s involvement, “true starscream” and the fucked up implication starscream is a BAD PERSON for not being forged..??! its all kinds of disaster and should of been handled way better, especially in IDW’s setup of forged/constructed cold

ur free to agree/disagree whatever, this is just how i feel and i wanted to voice it haha