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adrinktostopyourthirst · 1 year

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Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Finally

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Spy!Reader

Plot: Bucky and you have a hard time staying away from each other. And though you try to push him away, every time he finds you again, the universe finds a new way to pull you apart.

Warnings: 18+. Smut, fluff and angst.

Words: 9,1OO

A/N: Recently I’ve been trying to understand what it is people want to read of my works and I have no idea, so here is my brain in scrambled pieces. I'm so sorry it’s so long, I swear it's worth it!

Romania.

It isn’t often you agree to such an extensive trip to meet up with one of your clients, but apparently this particular one can’t be seen in the more supervised countries. Besides, you’ve never been to Bucharest before, so you’re quite enjoying your drink at the small picturesque café.

You’ve done your research and know damn well who you’re meeting up with. A small part of you is screaming at you not to agree to do business with him or back out now, but your curiosity overrules any common sense. Last you heard, Hydra had lost their favourite asset and you can confidently say you were relieved to hear it. It had been a few too many times that specific organisation had made your job more difficult than it had to be.

A many number of things could have happened to the Winter Soldier. He could’ve been killed, corrupted by another organisation, fled to live as a hermit– You really want to know. It’s the spy in you that enjoys knowing the ins and outs of the criminal world. He’d tried not to mention who he is, but you had a few offers on the table, he needed some leverage to get you to agree to meet him. Safe to say, you were surprised he’d told you he was the Winter Soldier. Big chance you will now be the only person to know about the asset’s current whereabouts. That is, if you live to tell it of course…

Every hair in your neck stands up straight, despite the comfortable weather and the easy going crowd roaming the street. The sudden change in atmosphere has your spy senses stand on alert. Your spine stiffens and you casually look around, slightly discouraged at the way your body has never responded to anything in this particular manner.

You cross your legs and turn to look behind you, scanning every face in the crowd. When you turn back, the seat next to yours is taken, only a rickety metal table separating you from the large man sat in the other chair. Your breath halts in your throat and you look him up and down, instantly recognising the buff man as the Winter Soldier. How? You’re not sure, you’d never really seen a picture.

You check his hands. Gloves. With this weather? To cover up. You check his build and take a particularly long time to do so, because God, this man is broad. He’s all sturdy flesh and muscle, firm and casual. His thighs look like tree trunks and you know the man is fast, despite his build. You force the deliberate sweep of your eyes over his body to appear more nonchalant and confident than you feel.

Then your eyes reach his face and the breath gets knocked out of you. There is nothing in that face that hints towards a stone cold killer. Dark blue, deep set eyes, freckles pattered over his nose and cheeks, lips bitten raw from contemplation and an expression on his face that almost looks like… Nerves?

“Hello,” you start carefully, unable to keep your surprise from your tone, but sounding relatively cool to your own relief.

“Hi,” he says and the tone of his voice is deep, but rough, like he hasn’t spoken in ages. You think that maybe he hasn’t.

“Should I refer to you as the Winter Soldier?” you ask, composing your cool nature entirely now. “Or would you say that is a bit on the nose?”

He huffs a laugh and you smile, feeling the overwhelming urge to make him do that again. “James will do, thanks.”

“Alright James,” you say, taking your time to let your mouth get acquainted with his name, “what is it you need my services for?”

“I hear you’re a spy,” he starts and searches your face. “A good one– the best one.”

“Well now, I’d hate to disappoint,” you purr. “What do you need?”

“It’s not so much a document or one piece of information,” he mumbles and his face hardens as he collects himself. You sit upright and frown as you study him. “I need you as a partner for an assignment.”

You instantly shake your head, “Absolutely not. I’m not working for Hydra, that organisation is–”

“Not Hydra,” he quickly cuts in. “Just me. It’s a personal assignment.”

You wait for him to continue, not appreciating his vague communication if he wants to become partners on whatever this is.

He sighs, “I– I have a lot of… gaps. Things I don’t remember, things I can’t quite place. Years of information. The things I did for Hydra– I wasn’t there for most of it. Neither were a lot of people. So I need someone with access to some dark shit to help me figure it out.”

Chewing your lip, you process the information he gives you and empathy clenches your heart together. James gives you the time you need to put the pieces together. You’d heard of Hydra’s experiments with brainwashing and had already sort of assumed some of their soldiers had only worked for them because of that reason, had stayed far away from the organisation’s shit to steer clear from that danger.

But it’s so different to see it in real life, or what is left of it, you suppose. Many things aren’t quite clear to you just yet. However, you slowly start nodding your head. Your brain starts running a million miles an hour, all the gears turning to form a plan, the way you always do before you agree to a job.

“Can you pay me for the service?” you ask, already wondering to yourself if you’d help the clearly hopeless and damaged man for free, and to be honest, just for kicks. The things you’d dig up from everything he’ll give you– Selfishly, you’d kill for it. Anyone would kill for it.

He gives you a tight-lipped, apologetic smile, “Not that much. But I can save up more.”

You think. Your gut tells you he won’t kill you after he gets what he wants, even though he could. And though you will always keep a close eye on him and everything he’s capable of, your gut feeling has never disappointed you.

So you sigh and shake your head. “That’s okay. I’ll do all of it for free, and you can pay me what little you have to insure that I stay quiet. Sound fair?”

His eyes narrow with a twinkle that you hadn’t expected from a man like him and he says, “Deal.”

“Alright,” you say and finish your coffee before clearing your throat. “First order of business: tell me your full name.”

He shakes his head with a faint smile, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Oh shit.

You do know him.

Germany.

Relief seeps into your bones as you cross the threshold of your building and you slip into your routine of coming home. Tired feet drag you through your building and to your apartment, and muscle memory unlocks your door. After the week you’ve had, you are ready to turn off your brain and settle down.

You enjoy being this tired though, revel in it. Exhausting yourself with a normal person job and the way it puts your usually restless body to sleep at night is exactly what you wanted for your life.

One step into your own hallway, however, makes your daydream of a quiet night in crumble to your feet. Something is off. You can blame your trained senses for being so instantly on edge, but the apartment you just stepped into isn’t a place that has been vacated for the past nine hours. This apartment isn’t empty.

An even older routine settles into your bones this time and you creep into your home on light feet. The air is warm and the space is completely quiet. You’ve been alive long enough, seen enough, to know quiet is never good.

You don’t turn on any lights and let your eyes adjust to the dark. Ears perked and muscles at the ready to spring into action, you slowly make your way further into your home. And when you slip around the corner and look into your darkened living room, you let out a frustrated sigh at the dark figure lounging on your couch.

“How did you find me here,” you grumble and it is hardly a question.

You can feel him sit up and tune in to your presence. You couldn’t explain it if your life depended on it, but you instantly knew who it was. The dark figure in the dark apartment, waiting patiently for someone to catch him. After all, he will deny it until his dying day, but he does have an awful lot of dramatic flair for someone so stoic.

“Better question is: why are you here?” he counters and you drop your bag onto one of your dining chairs, shooting him an unimpressed glare. “Trying to stay off the radar, are you?”

“And failing, clearly,” you say before he can say it for you. “How did you find me here, James?”

Your eyes are finally fully adjusted and you see the smirk forming on his face. You haven’t seen that smirk in five years. “I have my ways,” he says and pushes off the couch, adjusting his leather jacket. “Now, what are you doing in this abandoned town?”

“It’s not abandoned,” you counter and slip off your coat, deciding to just go about your old routine and ignore his presence as much as you can. Maybe then he’ll go away.

“It’s a shit town and you know it.” He cocks his head at you, eyes tracking all of your movements.

You notice his puzzled look. He’s genuinely wondering what is left of his old ally and you can’t quite blame him. Perhaps he can easily see your lame attempt at finding a normal life for yourself. He has probably tried a thousand times himself to escape the roaring life of saving the world, has probably failed every time, too. But you’re determined to make it work – make yourself normal and live a full life.

And that is all you were to him anyway, just an ally. The entire time, you’d felt that he paid a little too much attention to you, but you supplied critical information and occasionally wiped someone off the map. A spy. Nothing more, nothing less. However, for the infamous Winter Soldier to need your alliance again, you cannot help but feel wary.

After the first time he approached you, you’d spent months together. It was an effort not to grow too close – too much effort. Because you had. It was impossible not to, helping someone literally piece their life together through intimate and awful memories. Digging through protective walls and coping mechanisms to help him rebuild some of his life again. With a lot of reluctance from both of you.

Yes, you’d grown close then. Grown close enough that you fell asleep slumped over the kitchen counter in his awful Romanian apartment, your face sticking to the countless research papers. You’d woken up hours later on his poorly constructed bed on the floor with a blanket thrown over your frame. Close enough that you’d eventually asked him to assist you on your missions. Ones that required a different skillset than your own. Close enough that you cooked for each other, sometimes shared clothes, roasted one another for the mental health issues that lead you both to your current occupations.

After a while, you couldn’t describe your relation to Barnes in any other way than a partnership. Partners. Who had kissed once. Maybe twice. After some bad Vodka.

You sigh and turn to him, “Why are you here, James?”

“I need to lay low for a while.” A wider smirk, his eyes narrowing at you. “I remembered I know someone who is very good at that.”

“Careful,” you warn and roll your eyes. “You just gave me a compliment.”

His smirk turns to a smile and he shrugs off his own jacket, instantly making himself at home in your apartment. A strange thing when it comes to Bucky, since you don’t recall that man feeling at home anywhere. Then, he did always have this incessant cocky streak around you and he is awfully good at getting on your nerves, so he probably sees the perfect opportunity to be a pain in the ass.

“If you so much as sneeze on anything, I swear–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, his tone unimpressed. “You’ll skin me alive. You’re always so weird about your stuff.”

You give him a tiny proud smile and decide to make yourself something quick to eat, only to feel him peer at you from the edge of your kitchen. He’s met with a confused frown before you raise your brows at him to make him spit it out.

“What’s the catch?” he asks warily.

You smile and look down at the sandwich you’re making. “Nothing. Just fix your shit and get out of my hair as quickly as possible.”

He winces slightly and you turn to him fully now, slowly taking a bite.

“What.”

Bucky sucks in a short breath and gives you an apologetic look before he speaks, “It might be a while…”

Your brows drop, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I–”

“Bucky.” You cut him another look, one shaped by many, many instances of working together. “What. Did. You. Do.”

“It’s not important. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You open your mouth to continue arguing with him, but decide against it, already done with his shit. Yes, he is doing better and supposedly now qualifies as a good person. But you know the man before you and the soldier cannot stop himself from lying about pretty much everything. He has damaged tendencies. Give him an inch and he will take a mile, show him a weakness and he will exploit it. You genuinely think he doesn’t know how to be different, how to not abuse those effortless skills he trained all those years working for Hydra and surviving it.

“It’s my weekend off,” you tell him instead. “If you get between me and my plans, I will change the locks.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You think I can’t get through a simple lock?”

Another glare is his answer and he raises his hands in surrender. You walk around him and toe off your own shoes, grabbing everything to take a shower as you shove the rest of your sandwich in your mouth. Bucky slowly strolls through your place and examines everything that belongs to you.

“Can you not pretend like you haven’t completely scanned the place already before I got home?” you ask him as you make way for the bathroom.

“It can’t hurt to have a second look,” he mumbles, but you have already closed the door and move take the shower you’ve been looking forward to the entire day.

You should probably work harder to get him out, should probably make an escape plan and move somewhere else. But you know arguing with him is futile and the best approach with him is to patiently wait for him to move on. Bucky doesn’t get attached and doesn’t nest, so he’ll be gone soon enough.

As the scalding water trickles down your scalp and spine, you realise how much more alert you should have been when you noticed someone was in your home. Especially with all of those loose ends and enemies you have scattered across this planet (and others). Yet, somehow you think your body knew it was Bucky waiting for you. After all, it isn’t the first time he’s pulled this shit, waiting up for you. Usually because you kept something from him, he found out and would start ambushing you to fess up.

And even though technically, you haven’t exactly kept anything from him this time, you can’t ignore the dreadful feeling that explaining your current situation will be the hardest thing to ever speak up about. How pathetic, to try and live a normal life when you’re ‘extraordinary’. Ugh, you hate that word. You’re trained well and you refuse to be anything but good at what you put your mind at.

Now, Bucky. He is extraordinary. He has potential to make a difference. You have always felt that. Hated working with him because of that. Not because of him – he never made you feel less than him at all. But–

The water turns cold and you groan audibly, time having slipped away from you as you got lost in thought. Stepping out and drying yourself off, you get ready to walk out of the bathroom. You’re met with Bucky sitting on your couch, reading one of your books.

“Let me guess, warm water’s gone?” he asks, not looking up from the book.

You walk to your bedroom and shrug, “Cold showers are good for you, I heard.”

“I suppose I’ll take the couch then?” he asks, finally looking up from the book.

You turn back and peek through your doorway at him. “You can take the floor if that’s more comfortable for you.”

“We’ve shared a bed before.”

“Not by choice.”

He smirks, “You liked it.”

“You snore.”

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.” He grins at you.

You make to get to bed when you pause and turn back to him once more with a slight frown. “Why are you so cheerful? Aren’t there people after you?”

“Well,” he says, casual as always, “these may very well be my last days, so I might as well be in a good mood.”

You find yourself swallowing hard and desperately search his face for any intel on how true his statement is, without giving away that you might just care a little bit about his well-being. But his grin stays firm in place and he raises his brows in wait for you to call it a night.

Without another word, you close the door between you and crawl into your comfortable bed. And you wonder why it is that you can’t quite get comfortable this time.

…

A powerful jolt rips through your body as you lift out of layers of sleep. You’re too tired for whatever made you wake up so suddenly. It’s too goddamn late for this shit.

But as you gain more and more of your consciousness, your senses start perking up and you realise you might very well be in danger. The gentle and calm voice calling your name with a warm stroke of a hand down your arm, confirms that for you. That specific type of calm in Bucky’s voice sends your body into overdrive.

“We’ve got to go, sweetheart,” he murmurs and is already throwing clothes onto your bed. “Now.”

You sit up and rub your eyes and it dawns on you after a week of Bucky staying at your place. This man wasn’t going to leave you until he got chased out of your apartment. And that day has come.

“Bucky,” you start with a hoarse voice as you climb out of your warm bed and quickly throw on the clothes he picked for you, “who the fuck is after you?”

He takes his time to answer, pulling two fully packed backpacks from the corner of your room that you surprisingly didn’t know he hid there. Oh, this man is going to get an ear full about this bullshit.

“Some weird underground cartel that deals in tech or something,” he grumbles and throws you a pack. You are nearly too slow to catch it before you sling it onto your back. You gape at him after his answer and his face stays solemn as he pushes a hand gun into your hands. “Let’s go.”

“Bucky.”

He stops and turns to you fully. “It’s bad, okay? I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.”

He groans out your name, peeking outside while he impatiently chews on his lip. “Don’t do this right now. You can be pissed at me later!”

“I will be pissed at you now,” you seethe, “and later. How about that?!”

He sighs and then grabs your arm, giving you a boyish grin before shooting two bullets through your window, breaking the glass, slinging an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and jumping out of the fucking window with you clinging to him. It’s only when you fly about five stories down, that you realise the two of you are attached to a bungee rope that eases your descent. His feet touch the ground first, yours following. He cuts the rope and grabs your hand before he starts running towards the parking lot beneath your building.

“Bucky, you piece of shit!” you yell at him as you run, hearing the faint sound of gun fire behind you over the sound of your ragged breathing.

“I’ll make it up to you!” he simply yells back.

You can hear the smile in his voice. And the worst thing? You feel yourself smiling as well when you realise how easily you’ve slipped back into being his partner in crime.

…

Bucky checks one more time, his gleaming metal hand pulling the sheer curtain aside to peer out onto the dark streets. You hear some shouting coming from outside and still feel your heart pounding, even when you know you have definitely outrun those people coming after you. You hate how out of practice you are. And how much you missed the adrenaline of being on the run with Bucky.

He turns back to you and finds you with your arms crossed, glaring at him. Oh, you know the perfect way to let out this adrenaline. There might be actual steam coming out of your ears.

Bucky cringes and slowly strolls over, already reaching out his hands to use his irresistible charm on you. Like the time he dropped the cake you made one afternoon and tried to make it up to you. Or that time he left some very important documents in one of the buildings he set on fire. Or the time he accidentally deleted your recordings off the TV when you had been looking forward to watching the next episode for two weeks.

However, your burning eyes stop him dead in his tracks and he opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it and closes his mouth again. A second later, he tries again, “Okay. Give it to me.”

You give him a satisfied, albeit sadistic smile, at his willingness to take your scolding and then, you start yelling. You have no idea what words specifically are rolling off your tongue, but your speech starts somewhere during that first meeting in Bucharest, drifts to your entire time together as partners, how you drifted apart, only for him to show up whenever he pleased, and you continue to how he stood at your door a little over a week ago, to him terrorising your happy little life in Germany… To now.

Your voice rises with every instance you tell him about, fire burning in your core and hands flailing to give your story that much more power (even though you couldn’t stop your conviction if you tried). As the grin on his face grows through your rambling, a metal hand pressing to his lips to stop it from showing too much, you burn even brighter with fury.

Then you stop, breathing heavily. You give him a withering look to get him to start speaking up, because let’s be honest, all the two of you really needed was only just a look.

His shoulders slowly stop shaking and he drops his hand, eyes sparkling like a glass of Prosecco in the light. Devious asshole. “I just– I haven’t seen you this alive in a while. It looks fantastic on you.”

You gape at him like a fish and you wonder if the warmth in your face still belongs to your anger. Though you fear it belongs to quite the opposite. Either way, this man certainly knows how to make you passionate. And you realise he knows what you have been trying to do with your fake little life here in Germany.

“I don’t think you–”

“I’m sorry,” he says and steps forward, his large hands cupping your face as he looks down at you with earnest eyes. “I’m sorry for making your life so goddamn miserable. So tell me how to make it up to you.”

And for all the world, you can tell he means it. Can tell that he will do anything to make it up to you. You can almost feel the squeeze of pain in your own heart when you see the disappointment in his eyes after he realises you didn’t enjoy this as much as he had.

But the worst part is, is that you did. You’ve never felt more alive than with him. Never felt more like you. You wouldn’t necessarily call him an adventurer, maybe he is just a magnet for trouble. But whenever you’re with Bucky, you’ll drop anything for him and you’ll burn like an inferno doing so. He makes you into the best version of yourself and he makes you love the parts about yourself that you have been conditioned to feel guilty about.

You sigh, “I don’t know. Never mind.”

He doesn’t let go though and searches your eyes, his own narrowing in suspicion. “I’m going to make it up to you, you know.”

You cross your arms and give him an unimpressed look. “Yeah? How?”

He smirks and your knees weaken. “I could kiss it better.”

“Shameless flirt,” you huff and roll your eyes as an excuse to break his intense stare on you.

“You’re just too proud to admit that my kisses would make you forgive me,” he prods and your eyes snap back to his. He’s right, that is pride surging in your chest to lunge at him.

“You’ve grown too cocky for your own good,” you sneer at him.

“You like it.”

“I assure you, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

“Manipulator.”

He feigns hurt, “Ouch.”

You huff a laugh with a roll of your eyes, “Such a fragile ego.”

He smirks again and you swallow as you fight to look at his lips. So close to your own. “Now you have to kiss me for forgiveness.”

You can’t help but truly laugh this time, your face still safely tucked in his palms and his brows raise with intrigue at the sound of your laughter.

You tell him, “You are so full of shit.”

His smile fades, his eyes large with earnest and all of a sudden, it’s the man standing before you that sat next to you in that Romanian café. Stripped down, bare, rough, and perhaps a bit vulnerable.

“Let me kiss you,” he says in merely a whisper now.

You fight for your life not to falter to that genuine request and the way he said it. “It won’t make me forgive you,” you say softly, but barely hear your own voice over the increased pounding of your heart in your throat.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs. “Just want to kiss you.”

He doesn’t wait for your permission either, because quite frankly, you most likely gave him a look of permission instantly at that request. His soft lips slot over yours and you could’ve never predicted the depraved moan that resounded in the back of your throat as your mouths meet. Your hands instantly slip into his hair as Bucky’s hands slide around your waist to pull you closer, fingers digging into your flesh possessively.

The kiss deepens when his tongue meets yours and he lets out a groan of his own, a sound so addicting that you instinctively tug on his hair to hear it again. The laugh against your lips is rough as he hauls you closer and changes the kiss. Something more desperate and impatient. Something hot and sweaty and slightly messy. You might be walking as Bucky finds something to press you up against or lay you down on, and you almost squawk in surprise as you fall back onto the double, motel bed.

Though before you can say anything else, Bucky is on you again, his mouth demanding and greedy against yours. His hands feel and grab and squeeze every inch of you and you grind your hips upward for his weight. You want his heaviness between your hips and on your stomach and against your chest.

Growing impatient, convinced that Bucky’s brain might no longer be working, you lock your ankles around his hips and pull him down between your legs, sighing a groan of relief at the feeling of him tucked against you so warmly.

“God dammit,” he grunts and gives one luxurious roll of his hips against yours, making you whine as your pulse hammers down in your core.

His mouth grazes against your neck now and you can hardly breathe, panting as if you’ve run a marathon. The pressure between your hips leaves as he moves further down and you buck your hips at the ache he leaves.

“Bucky,” you whimper and look down, heart slamming in your throat at the sight of him. He messily yet gently makes his way down your body. Hands roughly pushing up your shirt as his lips find the plane of your stomach, kissing from your bra, down to your hips that you can’t seem to keep still.

Your body feels so heavy, yet so light without him on top of you and you can’t remember any moment before this kiss. Before five minutes ago. Everything is solidified. Your entire history with him. And Bucky presses a kiss just below your navel that confirms that feeling, his hands peeling off your jeans. That is until he speaks.

“Listen to me,” he orders and you freeze at the sound of him. He’s only sounded like that during missions where either of you might die. So serious and detrimental. “Don’t ever try to build a life without me again.”

“Bucky–”

“No,” he snaps and you close your mouth. “Don’t ever pretend like we don’t exist. Like you and I aren’t supposed to do this shit together, like you are better off without me, like I am better off without you. That’s bullshit.” You give him a questioning look. Where is this coming from? “I’m going to kiss you and you are going to forgive me. And then I am going to kiss you some more.”

He waits then. For you to answer, to process what it is he is saying exactly. It’s a lot of words with a lot of meaning, yet you’re not sure if this is the declaration you didn’t know you were waiting for.

So you speak from your gut and let out a breath, “Finally.”

Bucky smiles at that and surges upward, clearly happy with that intuitive answer. His lips claim yours once again and then you feel his fingers inching up your thigh.

You whine softly against his lips and you feel him smile as his fingers reach your drenched core. Two fingers slip through your folds to explore your wetness and Bucky drops his head into the crook of you neck.

“Finally indeed,” he breathes and slips his middle finger into you, making you whimper and buck your hips.

The stretch against your swollen walls sends an ache through your abdomen that cries out for more. You cannot explain the desperation to have him, to have every empty pit of you filled with his essence. His finger curls up and you throw your head back, making Bucky raise his own head to look at you.

“There?”

You nod frantically and Bucky pushes in another finger, making you tense up around him. He curls that one too and you don’t recognise the sound spilling from your lips. You’re already so fucking full.

As Bucky teasingly darts his thumb over your swollen clit, he traces his tongue over your mouth and you gasp for air at the sensation.

“Bucky, fuck!” you cry and he pushes his mouth to yours in a claiming kiss, his fingers moving faster as his thumb rotates over your clit. You can barely kiss him back, overtaken by pleasure as he pumps his fingers over and over until you can hear your wetness surround his sinful digits.

It is by far the hottest thing you have ever experienced. So much time has passed and now this beast of a man who tries everything to make you blush with his flirty persona, is bent over you with his fingers peeling your pleasure to the surface like his own fucking release depends on it.

His chest is heaving from watching you, brows pulled together, eyes dark as they rake over you hungrily, muscles flexing as his hand disappears between your legs.

His leg slips beneath your knee and pulls your leg up to finger you in a different angle and your nails bury themselves in the muscles of Bucky’s neck, abdomen flexing at the wave of pleasure that courses through you. “More. Oh my God, more!”

“I know, I can feel it,” he grunts and slows his fingers. “But I’ve waited ages for this. I refuse to let it be over so soon.”

Your brain is nothing but cinders and you shake your head violently, “No! No, please. You can have everything, just let me come. Please.”

Bucky pecks your lips. Once. Twice.

“You want to come all over my hand, pretty girl?” he murmurs in your ear and you can only gasp at the press of his fingers against your spot. “Can I lick you up after?”

You clench around him like a vice, his low voice making you drip onto his palm, his words incinerating what is left of your pride. You can only nod, so you do. And his hand starts moving again. Faster, deeper, more thorough. You keep nodding, your moans raising, your pleasure retreating like a snake ready to strike. Oh God, oh God, oh God–

“Come.”

Your hips fly to the ceiling when you come, thighs trembling and closing around his hand. Bucky keeps moving and thrusting and curling until he has wrung all of your pleasure from your body and you feel like you’re made of jelly. Your voice is hoarse from yelling your release and the sheets below are drenched with your desire.

Soft kisses are pressed to your face and that is how you return from whatever plane of existence you went to. His gentle laugh makes you shiver and you open your eyes to find him licking his fingers like there is caramel dripping from them. You swallow hard and zero in on that action, making his eyes sparkle.

But something changes when you reach up to stroke his hair and his eyes flutter. Your eyes rove over his face in admiration and your entire soul sighs at the sight of him. Bucky looks down at you curiously and cocks his head.

“What is it?” he asks and you chew your lip, trying to find the words.

“You and me, huh?” you murmur with something like wonder in your voice. Bucky can only nod. You continue, “Who would’ve thought…”

Bucky leans down and kisses you. Soft, slow, deep. It makes your body sing. And he shuffles back to make himself at home between your legs. Though as he does that, he remains his focus on kissing you. Deeper, more, desperate. Depraved. He moans and breathes and you swear you hear him whimper, his hips grinding over your oversensitive cunt as he gets lost in kissing you.

Raking your nails over his scalp, you once again wrap your legs around his hips and pull him down. And if Bucky hadn’t snapped his leash just yet, this does it. He turns wild and passionate and heavy. One hand of his and one hand of your own both reach down, messily working together to get rid of his jeans. He shimmies out of them, not bothering to get rid of them entirely, but bothering to at least take off his shirt.

Your fingers drag down his pecs and abdomen, trying to memorise every curve and edge with what little brain capacity you have left. You feel like no more than a flame, no more than passion and want and need. And when Bucky slides his bare cock through your folds to slicken himself, you shudder so violently, your breath shudders with it.

“Woman, you are going to kill me,” he breathes and nips at your lips.

You almost growl with impatience, “Then fuck me and die already.”

He laughs, bold and happy, before thrusting into you in a long stroke. Home. Oh fuck, he’s home. Both of you freeze, taking in the moment of being fused together before he slowly pulls out and out and out. And sliding back in with an agonizing thrust.

Something in you clicks. Something so vital, so necessary. And Bucky feels it too.

“Yes,” he groans and presses another kiss to your lips, like he can’t get enough. “This is it.”

You nod and close your eyes in pleasure. In relief. You shudder with emotion and clamp onto him. Bucky keeps pressing kisses to your skin. Your neck, your lips, your cheek, temple, forehead.

“This is it,” you choke out and Bucky smiles. “You’re it.”

Bucky breathes a sigh, as if he’s been waiting ages for you to admit it. “Finally.”

Infinity War.

Biting your lip and bouncing your leg, you try to let the rumble of the swift jet calm your nerves. Your eyes search the cabin and go over the confusing screens for the thousandth time.

“Nervous?” Natasha’s sensual voice sounds next to you and you force a smile.

“Why would I be nervous?” you ask and smirk at her. “We’re only stepping into a war with the probability of us winning being like…” Zero? Less than zero? You sigh, “I don’t want to think about that.”

She bites back her own smirk and raises her eyebrows. “Wasn’t talking about the war. Are you nervous about seeing him?”

Bucky.

You glare at her after quickly glancing around to see if anyone heard her, making Natasha try even harder to hold back a smile.

Yes, you were nervous to see him. So much had happened. So many aspects of your spy work had suddenly intermingled and now you are fighting along with the Avengers. Even after you were sure they had torn themselves apart over Bucky. Being caught in the middle of that had put you and Bucky’s relationship –if you could even call it that– so far to the back of both your minds, you barely had time to mention it to anyone until Steve shipped him off to Wakanda to get some real help.

You and Bucky were over before it even started and you think that maybe it’s for the better. Neither you nor Bucky are any good at that relationship shit anyway. It showed over and over.

Luckily enough, you’d found plenty of distraction being on the run with Sam, Natasha and Steve. No Bucky in sight, but knowing he was safe and taken care of. Private mission after mission with other people you cared about, people who didn’t know about you and Bucky, one of them eager to forget about Bucky himself.

You barely gave it any thought.

Except you thought of Bucky every day.

And now you get to see him again. However, if any time would make you reconsider any commitment at all, it would be now.

“No,” you answer and then turn serious. “I mean, I was. But now I’m just preparing myself for either grief, or death.”

“Are those our only options?” she asks with a displeased frown. “Why not prepare for victory or somethin’?”

Giving her a long and hard stare, you sigh deeply. “Yeah. You’re right. If I die, I might as well die hopeful.”

“That’s my girl,” she grins and you bump her shoulder with yours, finding your own smile breaking through.

That’s when Steve gives Sam the coordinates to fly through a barrier and show you the hidden – and beautiful – kingdom of Wakanda. So you ignore every jittery feeling you have in your stomach at possibly seeing Barnes again, and you channel it all into hope.

…

Natasha strokes her hand over your shoulder as you walk up to king T’Challa, who’s flanked by his closest guard and a palace that screams to get you on your knees to worship. You barely hear the conversation the king has with Steve, partly because you’re still in awe of the beautiful place around you.

Now this, this is a refuge.

“How are we lookin’?” Natasha asks from next to you and that’s when you start to pay attention. You’d need a hell of a lot of man-power to win this.

“You will have my Kings Guard,” T’Challa starts, “the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and…”

“A semi-stable hundred-year-old man,” finishes a voice that makes your entire system dysregulate. Oh God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard the warm timber of that voice.

You notice your hands have started shaking and clutch them behind your back, squeezing courage out of them to face your past, as Bucky Barnes walks up to hug Captain America.

“How’ve you been, Buck?” Steve asks and Bucky answers with a heart-stopping smile.

“Uh, not bad,” he answers, “for the end of the world.”

They share another warm look before Steve turns to everyone behind him and then to the king, “Should we prepare?”

A few minutes later, you’re following the king inside with all of his closest guards and your own team, which now includes Bucky. Focusing your eyes on everything around you, you barely notice the large hand slipping around your elbow and pulling you into another hallway.

You know better than to scream for help and you use the momentum to swing the person around and pin them to the nearest wall with a knife to their throat. But the air rushes from you when you stand face to face with Bucky.

“There she is,” he grins and slowly raises his hands in surrender.

You back away slowly and look at him like a gaping fish, your insides pounding and swirling and thrashing as your body heats with adrenaline. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

“New arm?” you ask him, your voice coming out surprisingly steady, and he glances at the appendage, flexing his hand between your faces.

“Yeah, you like it?” he asks and he almost sounds like a young boy, genuinely interested in what you think of it, of him.

And you calm. Everything inside of you settles and the heat turns to warmth. Your insides seem to melt with relief and you throw your arms around his neck, almost tipping over until Bucky’s arms automatically slide around your waist to pull your pliant body tightly against his. He’s so big and strong and warm.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he laughs softly and one hand starts to stroke your hair gently as you huff out a sob into his neck. “Oh, sweet girl. You’ve never been sad to see me before.”

You finally pull back and cup his face as he lets you survey him closely, him grinning widely at the worry in your every feature. You breathe, “You’re good. You’re safe.”

He nods and takes your hands, pressing a kiss to your palm. “So are you,” he whispers and you nod.

“Not for long,” you add, deflated.

He gives you a sad smile. “Now, who would we be if we didn’t go down fighting, hm?”

You smile slightly at that. “Back on the same team.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips and the planet stops turning.

“Finally.”

The Blip.

Another knock sounds and you roll your eyes, throwing on a quick cardigan as you hop over to your door. Unusual, for your quiet, lonely evenings to get interrupted like this. You’re ready to cash in what you can only assume is some complaining neighbour or your awful land lord when you open the door and are met with a familiar face that makes your heart squeeze together.

“Steve,” you breathe.

“Hey.”

You step aside to let him in and take a deep breath.

“Want something to drink?” you ask as you close the door behind him and let him venture into your home. Or, whatever you have tried to turn into your home. It had never been more than the latest home trends and some empty picture frames.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I found you?” he asks and you get a feeling of déjà vu.

But you shake your head with a forced smile, “I left a trace for Natasha to track for emergencies. I know how you found me.” You give him a pointed look and Steve actually has the decency to look slightly apologetic.

That look tells you enough about how much of an emergency this is and you wonder what prompted Natasha to decipher your code and hand your location to the Captain. Maybe he was the one breaking and could use a familiar face. Maybe something turned him awfully worried about you. Maybe-

No.

“Aren’t you mad that Natasha told me?” he asks unsurely and you give him a tight-lipped smile, taking a seat in one of your dining table chairs and ushering for him to do so as well.

“Would you believe me if I said that it’s actually quite nice to see a familiar face after five pretty lonely years?” you refute and he gives you a warm smile.

“It’s good to see you, too, Kid.”

A comfortable silence settles between you two and you fidget with your hands, staring at them intently before raising your face back to Steve. “Why are you here, Cap?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Ever since the Blip,” he starts and you can feel him debating whether to continue, “I never– I didn’t get to tell you how sorry I am about Bucky.”

You freeze and slowly turn your gaze to him. “Okay. Now I am pissed at her.”

“Natasha didn’t tell me,” he quickly assures and you raise a brow at him. “He did.”

You fall quiet at that. “Bucky told you about…”

“What,” he laughs. “Didn’t think you two were serious enough for him to tell his best friend about it?”

You reply with a humourless laugh of your own. “He um– He wasn’t a very committing guy. And I don’t blame him. Why commit to something if you might lose everything all over again?”

The pity in Steve’s gaze feels burning to your skin. “Well, if you’re that scared of losing something, it might be worth committing to,” he says and you find yourself agreeing with the wise bastard.

“Well, I committed and look where I am now,” you huff. “Turns out, he was right all along.”

“Kid–”

“Why are you here, Cap?” you try again, all of a sudden too eager to get rid of him.

It takes a while for him to answer and dread settles low in your belly. When he starts talking, you’ve already started shaking your head. “We have found a way to bring them all back.”

You still. And you stay like that. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe another five years have passed.

“Did you hear what I said?” he tries.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. We figured out a way. Time travel.”

You bark a laugh and give him a pointed glare. However, your vision is already slightly impaired by the tears pooling at your waterline. “Don’t,” you stop him before he continues elaborating. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this in the past five years? That you, or Nat, or even Tony fucking Stark himself would stand at my door and tell me we figured it out? About a million times, Cap. And the more normal this delusional scenario became in my head, the more absurd it seemed to be. And now, you expect me to just believe that nearly five years on the dot, you have figured out a way to return everything to normal?!”

Steve can take it, the sudden outburst of your disbelief. He has definitely encountered a whole lot more scepticism in his life. But his heart breaks a little for you. Bucky had tried to be so casual when he finally told Steve about you, but Steve had caught the sparkle in those hundred-year-old eyes and he couldn’t describe the relief of Bucky having found someone, let alone you.

But now, to see you so far removed from Bucky – from hope. He hates it.

“I waited,” he almost whispers. “Until I was completely sure. We need you for this.”

You blink away your tears and one rolls down your cheek. Steve quickly reaches to catch it and cups your face. A touch normally so very unwelcome, but now you cannot help but bury your face in his palm.

“You’re sure?” you ask, voice breaking.

Steve pulls you in and up to his chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “Time to bring our best friend back, Kid.”

Time Travel.

You cannot help but smile when you see the handsome brainiac hunched over a laptop near some high-tech stage that you can’t seem to look at too long without talking yourself out of this.

“Hey, Tony,” you say quietly as you walk up and his brown eyes light up when he hears your voice. Stepping away from the screen, he opens his arms wide and pulls you into a tight hug. Another comfortable embrace that you can only breathe in and cherish.

“My favourite spy,” he murmurs and pulls back.

“How are you doing?” you ask him.

He gives you a knowing look. “Oh, you know. Good. Until he showed up,” he sneers with a pointed look at Steve, who simply rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he has a way of interrupting peace.”

Tony snorts. “Now that, is what I call a paradox.”

You laugh and pat his shoulder, “Pepper and Morgan?”

“They’re wonderful.” He grins, but you can see the fear shining in his eyes and you give his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this, Tony.”

He smirks in answer. “I swear, if you and Barnes don’t openly kiss after all I am about to sacrifice, I will find the stones and undo both of your existences.”

You shoot a thunderous glare to Steve, and to Natasha who is walking up behind the Captain. But Tony stops you before you can scold them on their horrible secret-keeping skills, “Pepper told me.”

You grit your teeth.

The Avengers are a bunch of gossips.

The Endgame.

You stumble backward, your sprained ankle and broken ribs somehow only a faint ache over the sight before you. You almost trip over debris, or a body, or just air and you keep blinking to see better or to make it all go away, you don’t know.

He did it. Tony did it. You’re sure you can still feel the snap of his fingers vibrate through your spine. And there he is. Slumped against more debris, half of his face cracked like burnt coal, his suit barely reflecting its original colours. The blue light at the centre of his chest is fading, shuttering and then… it goes dark. With Pepper’s hand over it.

Your own hand barely muffles the sob trying to break through and you stumble over and over again as you back away from that horrible, awful reality. He did it. But at what cost?

You turn around and start jogging. How? You’re not sure. Your body is in no state to hurry. But it’s incomplete. You were barely strong or extraordinary enough to be of any help during the fight, but you tried your best. Helping people in the field, some war medic patching up gushing wounds. You’d cashed some punches and kicks yourself. Dealt them, too.

It was all because you needed to be there. Because you needed to stay alive. Needed to stick around to see him again. And now… Now… You barely survived this, barely made it through. And Tony died. Tony Stark. The chance of him still being out there-

You start running faster. Hobbling and grunting from the pain.

“Bucky,” you voice is raw and frantic, it’s barely a sound as you cry out for him. “Bucky! Bucky!”

Head swinging from side to side, you hope the soldier reveals himself from behind one of the plumes of smoke. Further and further away, you flee from the horrifying scene of whatever is left after Thanos. You need to find him, but you can’t identify anything on this war ground.

If he’s dead. If Bucky is dead–

Your head whips around so fast, your neck might crack, when you’re sure you hear your name. Everything about you goes quiet and you hold your breath like it will make any difference. Slowly, you walk in the direction where you assume the sound came from, but you almost cringe at the idea that you might just be going insane. After all those explosions, your hearing can’t possibly be this sharp.

Though perhaps intuition is at play here, because you’ve always been able to feel him. Always knew it when it was him waiting up for you, or looking for you, or needing you.

“Bucky,” you croak again.

“Here…” It’s so quiet. But you hear it over everything else and follow the echo of the sound.

“Bucky,” you rasp out. “I’m coming!”

And there he is. On hands and knees, struggling to get up. You can only describe your approach as a dive, as you crash onto your wobbly knees and wrap your arms around him. His body instantly stops struggling and falls into your rib cage.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

“Yeah,” he groans. “’M right here.”

You had no idea you were sobbing it to him, but you don’t care as your hands grapple for a better hold of him. He does the same until both of you are kneeling in front of each other, cupping each others’ faces to check for injuries.

“You look pretty all roughed up,” he mutters and you smile through your tears.

“You look awful,” you reply and he chuckles before pulling you into his chest. “But you’re home.”

He shudders and you might actually hear him let out a sob of his own as he tightens his grip on you.

“Finally.”

#SLOW BURNNNN #I looove their dynamic okay #lots of dialogue which we all love #some action and fluff and passion adn efgedksbf i love them ok?!#PLease tell me what you think and if this is maybe too long...#it's a bit intimidating i get that but it's an easy read i promise #ok i love you guys #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #writing #bucky barnes fluff

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hgfictionwriter · 2 months

Text

Self Control: Part Four - Changes

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Changes start to occur, some small, some bigger. Jessie and you navigate the first few weeks of your pregnancy.

Warnings: Vomiting. Some suggestive language.

A/N: Just fluff this time around, folks. Doting Jessie makes her first appearance lol.

Jessie and you were seated at the table eating breakfast together. With a baby on the way and your health more important than ever, Jessie took it upon herself to take over meal planning and prep. With her exposure to nutritionists over the years, her knowledge along with her now extensive research into prenatal diets, she figured this was a role suited to her.

The food you two ate was already pretty healthy - it had to be. But now, she made sure you got extra iron, protein, calcium, etc., along with your prenatal vitamins which she arranged every morning at the edge of your plate. She felt great about it all.

Minus the coffee situation. She had dutifully removed all remnants of coffee from your apartment given even the beans in the pantry made your stomach turn. She nearly gave the bag away to Janine, but quickly thought better of it when she realized the questions it may spur.

The best you and Jessie could figure, you were about six weeks pregnant. You took the test a couple of weeks ago and though small changes had occurred, for the most part things had been smooth.

Until now.

Jessie stopped mid-bite when you lifted your fork halfway, paused, staring vacantly for a few moments before setting it down rather abruptly and placing your hands at the edge of the table.

"Um." Was all you managed to say before you bolted up out of your chair and rushed to the bathroom. Jessie's fork clattered to the table as she shot up out of her seat and followed you.

She was coming around the corner when she heard you retching.

"Oh, baby," she said gently as she came up behind you and pulled your hair back as you coughed out what little you'd eaten. Your shoulders heaved and she knelt down and rubbed your back.

When you finally sat back, you skin was clammy and pale and you were short of breath. Jessie kissed your temple before rising and grabbing you a damp face cloth.

"I knew it was too good to be true," you mumbled as you patted your face. You finally opened your eyes and gave Jessie a weary look.

"Guess it's started, huh?" Jessie asked with a sympathetic expression.

"I'm going to die if I'm one of those girls that has morning sickness all the way through their pregnancy," you lamented, a sad frown forming on your face.

"Well," Jessie started, looking for the right words to say, "let's hope that isn't the case. And worst case scenario, if it is, I promise I'll take care of you all the way through."

"You better. This is your fault after all," you commented with a smirk. "You're going to hear that from here on out."

Jessie might've felt affronted, but instead she mirrored your smirk and felt a blush started to spread across her cheeks. She knew you didn't mean it negatively. It was her baby that was growing inside of you, creating all of these changes. And that concept pleased Jessie in more ways than she cared to admit.

Before her mind could derail and turn to inappropriate things, the sudden shift in your expression caught her attention, refocusing her immediately as you lurched forward and began vomiting into the toilet once more. This time dry heaving and struggling even more.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," Jessie said as she rubbed your back again. When you eventually pulled back, your eyes were watery with tears.

"You better be staying home," Jessie urged. "And I'll skip practice, too."

You groaned as you leaned back against the wall. You gave a feeble shake of your head. "No. I have a stakeholders meeting this afternoon."

"Babe," Jessie scolded. You waved her off.

"I'll take the morning off," you compromised. "It's morning sickness, right?" You laughed emptily, you and Jessie both reading that it could occur any time of day.

"I'll stay home with you," Jessie repeated. You groaned again. She knew you didn't want her to miss practice, but from the expression on your face you were clearly torn. "No room for discussion. I'm staying home with you."

You whined a bit further, but relented. "Fine. But just today. We both have to just cope with this. I can't miss work all the time and neither can you."

"Let's play it by ear," she compromised. You rolled your eyes, but you leaned into her, Jessie wrapping her arms around you right away. You lay heavy against her, still breathing deeply and struggling to remain composed.

It was sometime later before you were finally confident enough to leave the bathroom. Jessie helped you up and walked you towards the bed.

"No, I want to go to the couch," you nearly whined. Jessie swallowed a laugh.

"Okay. Couch it is," she accepted.

She built you a nest of blankets and pillows, carefully arranging you into it and placing a garbage can within your reach. "What do you want to watch?" She asked as she stood poised with the remote. You heaved a sigh.

"I don't know. Anything," you said tiredly.

She put on one of your favourite movies. You'd watched it dozens of times before, but you never seemed to get bored of it. When you looked content and cozy, Jessie gave you a kiss before stepping away.

"You're coming back, right?" You asked. While your tone had been stubborn and defiant a short while ago, now it was sad and almost meek.

"Of course, babe," Jessie replied, not being able to fully hinder her laugh. She turned to you, a wave of affection and love going through her upon seeing your sad eyes peering over at her through the blankets. She spoke patiently. "I'm making you some tea. Then I'll stay with you." She gave you a sad smile when you gave a morose hum and turned your attention back to the TV.

When Jessie returned to the couch, she set down the steaming mug of tea on the table in front you.

"It's really hot. Give it a few minutes. This is peppermint, but I'm going to go out to the store later and get you some ginger tea and crackers. We'll find stuff that settles your stomach."

"Thank you," you said quietly, exhausted and almost half asleep.

Jessie studied you for a few moments, readjusting your blanket a bit before sitting down at the far end right next to your feet. She pulled out the notebook and pen she'd had tucked under her arm.

Since finding out you were expecting, Jessie started tracking all of your symptoms, their timing, severity, frequency, and had a section dedicated to questions to she wanted to ask the obstetrician at appointment in a couple of weeks. She started making notes about today, including which foods you had for breakfast. She'd work on deciphering if there was something specific in it that triggered your nausea.

Her pen stalled against the paper when she felt you nudge her with your foot through the blankets. She looked over at you in question to see your eyes were closed though you weren't asleep.

"What are you doing?" You asked in a small voice, almost pouty. Jessie dug a hand under the blankets to give your calf a light squeeze.

"Making sure I take care of you two the best I can."

------

Another couple of weeks went by and Jessie wished she could say that your morning sickness waned, but it actually worsened. She was concerned for you, of course, but based on everything she read - and a precautionary call to the doctor - it was to be expected.

All she could do was try to help you navigate and mitigate best as possible.

It was especially hard being away from you these past couple of weeks. You'd stayed home a couple of times, feigning food poisoning and a flu, but you'd insisted that Jessie go to practice and to games.

You flip flopped between pouty and needy to stubbornly independent and it was hard for her to determine which you really needed and wanted. You tended to fall more on the side of the latter, so Jessie ultimately went to Kansas for her game, but it was torture leaving you in your condition.

While away, she texted and called as often as she could, though even that proved to be a greater challenge than expected since she couldn't risk anyone overhearing her conversation. You hadn't even told your families yet. Though you were both excited to share the news, you agreed you'd wait until the first ultrasound to tell your families, then a while longer for others.

When she was home though, she was all yours.

Though things were far from pleasant for you, it seemed like you'd collectively found some coping mechanisms or small wins.

Through Jessie's keen note taking, you'd refined some strategies involving smaller meals, sometimes broken out into just snacks throughout the day. At this point, you were on a diet that was rather tailored and limited to stay inoffensive to your sensitive system. Concurrently, your cravings were reaching a peak of their own.

When you weren't sick to your stomach, you'd developed an affinity for grapes, the texture and sweetness satisfying some kind of itch for you. "The firm ones, not the gross mushy ones," you'd specifically instructed. By now, you'd even developed very particular timing around partially freezing them before eating.

Pickles weren't a thing for you - at least not yet. However, dill pickle chips were. Very much so. Jessie went on one late night adventure to the convenience store for you to get them before caving and stocking up despite the fact that she wished you'd eat something a bit healthier.

She'd made the mistake of trying to limit you and nearly had her head bit off. She kept her opinions on the chips to herself after that.

One evening you were napping, simply exhausted from being sick, balancing work, and still trying to contribute at home. Jessie finished up a few chores she'd convinced you in relinquishing to her - at least temporarily - before heading into the bedroom to check on you.

You must've been warm because you'd kicked off all the blankets and your shirt was hiked up. Jessie wordlessly approached and gingerly climbed onto the bed, laying flat on her tummy, perpendicular to you and stared at your exposed stomach. Eventually, you woke and peeked an eye open. As you registered her position, you gave her a curious look as she still silently surveyed your stomach.

"I think I can see the slightest curve here," Jessie said, eyes still trained on your stomach as she lifted a finger to point at your abdomen.

"Hey," you said mildly as you swatted her hand away. The action surprised her and she pulled back giving you a sullen expression.

"Sorry," you chuckled softly, before grabbing her hand back and laying it on your stomach where she pointed. "My mind defaulted to just regular weight gain and being offended, but then I remembered, "Oh wait, I'm growing your baby" so I should show sometime soon."

Jessie hummed quietly, her sullenness forgotten as she gently stroked your stomach, studying it further as though she might discover something new. Honestly, it was a bit early to show, she was probably imagining things, but she willed it anyway.

Without realizing it, she began to speak.

"Hi little one." She felt your eyes on her and could feel her cheeks warm. She'd talked about the baby plenty, but she'd never talked directly to them before. "How are you? I know you're going through so much and just trying to find your way, but it would be really nice if you stop making poor Momma so sick."

She stole a glance at you, her cheeks growing hotter at the way you watched her in adoration. She gave you a faint smirk.

"It's not that I don't love taking care of Momma, but, I know she'd like to have a regular meal again. And not be so tired." She grinned when she heard you snicker. She continued to caress your stomach. "She's working really hard to make sure you grow nice and strong and healthy. Please try to be nice to her - she's our favourite person, you know." She cocked her head. "You can give her all sorts of trouble when you're a teenager instead."

You laughed. "I think you're going to be way more uptight than me when it comes to stuff like that, so I think you're just jinxing yourself, babe."

"Maybe," Jessie offered noncommittally as she smiled softly, still enamored at the mere thought of the life that rest below her hand and inside of you. "I can't believe that we're making a little human being," Jessie said in quiet awe.

Your hand came to rest on her forearm, your thumb slowly stroking her. "I know. It's incredible to think about."

"I love you," Jessie told you. "And I love you, too," she directed to where your baby was forming. Unexpectedly, her throat tightened with emotion. "I can't wait to meet you."

"Jess," you said gently as you began to brush her hair back. "You're going to make me cry."

"I can't help it," she said, her voice still taut as she leaned up onto her forearms to lay a soft kiss at the center of your stomach.

You continued to stroke her hair, but grew silent as you now stared absently at the ceiling. Eventually you gripped Jessie's hand and squeezed it tightly.

"I love our family so much already." You took a steadying breath. "I really hope everything goes well at the appointment tomorrow. I don't know what I'll do if something's wrong."

Jessie shushed you gently as she shifted to lay next to you.

"There's no reason anything should be wrong. We've been doing everything we should." She kissed your cheek. "Just one more sleep and we'll know for sure. And whether everything's perfect or if there is something we need to address, we'll do it together."

You exhaled heavily through your nose before you turned your head to meet Jessie's gaze. Your eyes were watery, but you smiled at her.

"I love you so much."

A few minutes passed, Jessie's own eyes falling shut as she lay peacefully with you. She opened them upon hearing you give a small huff of a laugh and seeing you wear a faint smirk.

"And I'm sorry I haven't been in the mood lately," you said. Jessie frowned deeply.

"Do not apologize. Like I said, you literally have a tiny human growing inside of you and you've been so exhausted and sick lately. I just want you to feel better. I'm not thinking about anything else," Jessie told you adamantly.

Your smirk grew. "Yeah? What I saw of your shower this morning tells me otherwise."

Jessie's face immediately began to burn hot as the memory of her activities this morning played vividly in her mind. You snuck a quick kiss, somewhere between teasing and placating.

"I can't wait until I feel better so I can take care of you again," you said. Jessie began to stammer a rebuttal when you interjected. "In the meantime, you really don't have to hide it. I may be puking my guts out, but I still think you're gorgeous." You shrugged lightly. "I'll just have to imagine it's my hand around you. Or you know, another part of me."

Jessie's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she shifted onto her back releasing a groan of both exasperation and appreciation. She covered her eyes with a hand, feeling the heat radiating off of her face. She shook her head with a laugh.

"Jesus Christ."

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #jflem #canwnt x reader #wlw fluff

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adventuringblind · 10 months

Text

Admitted

Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Genre: angst

Summary: Reader has a breakdown and has to be addmited

Warnings: Self-harm, reader is admitted, probably inaccurate

Notes: Please bear in mind that I'm not schizophrenic. I've hallucinated because of medication, which was diagnosed as 'schizophrenic like', so that's what I'm going off of, as well as some extensive research.

Masterlist

Everyone seems to be interested in Daniel's love life. Something he really likes talking about - until they are just digging for gossip. The one thing Daniel won't let them pry into is the private life of his fiancé.

He himself is open, but he's also protective. Specifically of her and what she has to go through on a daily basis. It's not anyone else's business.

He knew she'd been struggling. Her medication was doing a number on her mentality. She's hates the side affects and it's a struggle everyday to get her to take it.

He should've known not to leave her alone for the weekend. He arrived at the paddock on Thursday and left on Sunday after his job was done. Getting home late at night is never ideal, but at least he's here.

He sets his stuff down quietly and slips into the bedroom. Daniel expected to he greeted by his sleeping fiancé. Instead, he finds her staring at the wall. A knife pressed against an already bleeding wrist and mumbling to herself.

He knows not to panic. Panicking will startle her. Daniel makes a conscious effort to step softly and announce his presence while crouching on the floor by her.

"Hey baby, can you talk to me? Tell me what's going on."

The fact her eyes are glassy and she's not looking at him is highly concerning. Her eyes flicker to different points in the room. "They won't be quiet."

"Yeah? Did you try to make them be quiet?"

She nods her head slowly. Tears slip down her cheeks as she finally looks to her wrist then to him. Her breathing picks up to a startling pace.

"No Danny - I'm sorry - please don't."

And god does it hurt him. But he knows it'll get worse if he doesn't get her help. She knows this too.

He hates leaving her, but it's so late they won't let him stay. He takes to sleeping in the car and calling anybody he trusts who will pick up the phone.

He's back in the hospital as soon as he can be. Daniel hates the psych ward. He knows it's probably the worst place to he considering, so he stays as much as they'll let him.

He can see the dark circles forming under her eyes. She's struggling to eat. It's absolutely gutting and he wants to take her home as soon as possible.

Finally, after a few days, she is allowed to go home. Exhausted and in need of a decent meal, but her medication is back on track.

He's going to start taking her to all the races at this point. Who cares what people think? He loves and wants her to be safe. Wants her to not feel like she's isolated and an alien on her own planet.

She's funny and kind and he loves her smile with every ounce if his being. She's extremely talented despite everything going on in her head.

So he'll love her and calm her thoughts because she means so much to him.

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inkyquince · 1 year

Text

so it turns out that every thought i've ever had about gale is true, and i am always right <3

characters. gale (baldur's gate 3)

content warning. Nsfw. gale gets baby fever and makes it everyone's problem. gender neutral reader, but they have the means to get preggers, either through due to race shenanigans or through other means, ahem. mention of mpreg, horny gale, implied baby trapping later on featuring angst. (2.6k words)

BALDUR'S GATE 3 SPOILERS

so basically, we'll start with the wholesome side. after the entire fucking hell hole of a time with the city of baldur's gate going to hell, Gale insists on bringing you back to live with him in Waterdeep. You need to see the place he showed you with the Weave after all. And meet his mother. Very important.

Gale is already showing off a few grey strands, but it isn't until a few more join his hair does he get smacked with the most intense baby fever known to man. To be honest, he never really thought about it (a lie, he thought about it a few times, but more to that later) but this is the first time he struggles to get through the day without dedicating many of his intricate thoughts to, say, the nursery, if Tara would do well with an infant in the house, how you would look, stomach swollen and in his shirt to sleep. Things like that. Not to mention the highly enjoyable activities that would lead to the conception, and how vigorous you two would be in the undertaking.

To go on a lengthy tangent, but Gale undertaking extra research the moment baby fever hits him? Amazing.

(I am so sorry, but im gonna alter lore here, @undead-merman and I have talked extensively about different breeding techniques of DnD races, I'm SO sorry.)

But Gale cracking open a book on tieflings, and finding out that all Tiefling sexes are able to get pregnant, since the Devils pass this ability down. Taking a moment, mug of warm tea halfway through his lips when he reads over that the only thing required for the non-females of the Tiefling race is a well known ritual and hey presto, deviled babies on the way. Goes home, and just zones out, Tara on his knee as you accept that your love is probably in his little thinky mode and get him some dinner.

Or how, while Driders can't breed, Lolth-blessed Drows are highly fertile, especially since the Underdark is quite the dangerous place, and its it would not do well if you lost your only child to an exploding mushroom. Seladrine drow have repoerted lower fertilties, but a member of the Society of Brilliance has recently reported that a simple tincture would kick up their fertility back to the rates of their red eyes cousins. That, and they have eerily similiar breeding techniques to spiders. However, if you refrain from eating him after sex, it should be good.

Wood elves have larger broodes than High Elves, and more likely to get triplets and twins. High Elves, however, seem quite unaffected by pregnancy, and seem to breeze through it. Both have seasonal mating rituals though, with Wood Elves prefering to have their children in the summer and autumn and High Elves prefering the winter and spring.

Not to mention, if you yourself can't naturally carry children. Doesn't lessen the baby fever at all. In fact, he gets his little intense glints in his eyes and spends time pouring over books. Wizards have been going into stranger and stranger things over the centuries, so obviously there's some books about pregnancy and how to stimulate the conditions to carry a child. Hopefully Elminster doesn't catch him while he's off guard. Nothing would ease the fluster Gale would find himself in if he was asked what he was researching and instead of saying anything like, "The Crown of Karsus" or "The Book of Thay", he'd instinctively reply that he's looking to get his partner pregnant.

Elminster wouldn't blink though. Old ass.

Anyway, that's all to say, he'd love reading up on the different races breeding techniques. Then comes the euphoria of fatherhood, but before that?

Slowly bringing up the subject, laying out all the plans oh-so meticulously. Any rituals? Planned in advance. Preparations? Set out. Only can have children at a certain time of year? He's got the calender out and has marked the dates where it would be ideal to do nothing but stay inside and... Well, fuck. Gale's baby fever is so bad at this point too. Instinctively goes out to touch your stomach, or tell you a fun fact you might not even know about how your people breed. No, Gale, you won't bite his head off after sex, stop bringing it up.

He suspends all appointments, regular meetings, even his own research. Gale is always more of a relaxed lover, worshipful even, but now he firmly takes charge. Has scheduled food and drink breaks, but those usually tend to end quickly. How could he resist? Fuck, shortly before the first time you two fuck, he was entranced by the sweat roll down your skin as you fought. Yet he's supposed to be a gentleman now? With you naked, greedily drinking down your cup of water, cum slipping from between your thighs, sweat gleaming like magic against your very skin? Gods help him. He whispers soft words to you each time you tighten around his cock and cum too. How you're the only one for him, how he loves you, how he can't wait to see you carry his child, even how you're the reason he gets to live properly, not as a student of the weave, but as a man.

Then, it happens.

He's always delighted by his child, no matter what. They'll always be at least half human, but the traits they carry over from you? Adorable.

His child snoozing, with little tusks peeking out from their mouth? He worries about the blanket getting snagged in them. Little horns, just barely nubs? He runs a thumb over their soft texture, knowing that with time, they'll harden. Little pointy ears and eyes that are so big and soft? Gently tickles them and laughs softly as they kick. Oh so small, they barely fill his forearm? Mans too worried to ever put them down, wears a sling to always carry them around. Scales? Mans gets weirdly paranoid about scale rot that occurs in dragonborns and dragon blooded sorcerers, and stays up reading about it, but it all vanishes when his kid makes a soft chittering noise when he gently massages the ointment into their scales to prevent dryness.

Gale insisting on being the one to feed them in the night. Spends his mornings, no longer pouring over books, but sitting shirtless at the table, trying to convince your child to eat just a bit more. His home is no longer messy with papers strewn across every surface, but toys. There used to be silence inbetween each note of the piano, but now there's your laughter as he gets misty eyed each time your kid hiccups. Pretty sure that the only person he lets near his kid in their early years would be Wyll, Shadowheart, Jaheira or Halsin. Not that Karlach gets to visit a lot but she still has to wear heavy gloves before ever holding them. Astarion agrees with Gale and stands way back, wrinkling his nose. The nicest thing Lazael says is that Gale's spawn is less wrinkly than the last time she saw it... Also Halsin's baby rights nearly get taken away when he suggests going into bear form and letting them sit on his back. Minsc is accidentally the best, with Boo at his side to tell him to hold the baby correctly. Shadowheart is not the best with your kid, but she tries, even as you have to correct the way she holds them each time. Wyll is uncle of the year easily and you'd say Jaheira is the grandmother of the century... If you didn't think she'd tell you off for saying that. Gale feverently hopes The Emperor never comes to visit for the love of everything magical, but don't worry. He'd never. Scratch is the best guard dog, snoozing by your baby's crib every night. You cried when Gale told you that the owlbear cub was very much an adult now, and should go free. Then you laughed when you saw him standing in the garden, looking a bit lost after you tried to urge him to go back to the wilds. Doesn't mean Gale lets you take the baby near him.

Sidenote, Gale officially takes back anything snide he ever said to you about your magic if you were a sorcerer, since now he has to deal with your child practically coughing up magic at this rate. Oh, his hubris.

To get less wholesome, what if his baby fever hits when you two are travelling in the first place? Every day a fight against the Absolute, every night a blessing that everyone got through it without dying. He doesn't know what triggered it.

Maybe its seeing the Tiefling children band together. Maybe it was just seeing a family in passing, the mother round with child and the father with his hand at her back. Maybe it was the paralazyed dwarf who cried out for his children as he ran from Auntie Ethel's basement.

He's a man living on borrowed time. For once, it's not just the Orb endangering his life. Each day could be his last.

Gale always had a thought he might have children in his future. But his future is black, endless as the maw that swallows every essence of the weave he feeds it.

Most cruel of all, he's meet the person he'd have loved to settle down with. Introduce you to Tara, meet his Mother, Elminster, everyone important in his life, because he wanted you ingrained into each second of every day.

Life is cruel. Mystra is cruel. Something he'd never think before this adventure, but now he knows it. This was her final act of spite. Letting him find the one, only to put a time limit on it.

The thought starts with accepting that he'll die. You may insist that you'll find another way, but the notion as settled on his soul, heavy and foul like the vials of acid those goblins won't stop throwing at him. Then the whispers at the back of his mind start. Not influenced by the Dream Visitor, nor the Absolute. His own deep worries. You were... Well... You. He knew the others had intentions on you, at least at the time of the first major win for the group, the Tiefling party.

Astarion had purred to you, slyly coming closer and cocking his head to make sure you noticed his silver curls in the firelight. Shadowheart had poured you a cup of wine, her dark eyes drinking you in. Wyll had gifted you his winning smile, stepping closer. Karlach had been loud and open about how fucking you would be definitely on her to do list for that night if you wanted. Lazael was... Basically salivating. Hell, even Halsin's smile turned toothy and sharp as you spoke to him. Fuck, even some of the Tieflings might have tried to shoot their shot. Ikaron, Alfira, Rolan, Guex, Gods knows who else.

You were just... That wonderful. But that word weighted heavily on his tongue now. What happened... When he died? How long would you remember him? How long would you mourn him?

Expecting you to never take another lover was... Insanity, even to his bleeding heart. You have your entire long life ahead of you. He would be a brilliant, bright mark on your life, of love, of lust, of truely connecting with each other. But so brilliant that you never kissed another person?

Gale knew he should be taking the higher road. To bow his head and acquiesce that you would move on, but be happy in the fact that what you two had would be real, would be pure.

He managed a single night.

He just couldn't. Maybe it was his hubris, the one that tarnished his relationship with Mystra, now rearing its head when it came to you. How long would the others wait till seeking you out? To comfort, to hold you close? Before taking the plunge.

You would forget him. Even as you snoozed against him, he lay, idly rubbing his fingers along your knuckles. You'd forget him. He knew it. The group would remember his sacrifice and raise a glass, but he couldn't bear the thought that one of their lips would curve into a smile against the rim of their mug, knowing that in the end, they had gotten you?

In the coming days, it happened too quickly. His soft thoughts about having a family with you in another life, collided with his fear that he would never linger against in your mind after a period of time.

You could have his child.

A part of him would live on. A part you'd never hate. Him and you, into one perfect child, that yes, he may never get to see, but one he'd love so fiercly that they'd always know it. That magic would always be there, even when his physical body crumbled into nothing. The others could and maybe would become intimate with you. Become your new partner. But Gale's baby would always be there, a symbol ofyour shared love, and the fact that he was your first choice. Despite everything. He was the one you wanted first.

So he whispers to you that he doesn't have much time left. Kisses away any of your insistence that you won't let him die. Holds you close as he pushes your trousers down, lips against your neck. Doesn't lead you away from camp to make love privately. No, this is for him and for you. The others would have to deal with it.

With every action, it was like he was hoping to brand your memories with nothing but him.

Branding your future.

Astarion could hold you close, skim his teeth against your neck with a drawled double entendre, but you would spend at least half your day in the sun, for the sake of your child. Lazael would bite your lips with each kiss, cunning fingers skirting under your shirt, grazing the bruises she left along your hips, but you'd never join her in the Tears, not when your child would never be accepted among her people. Shadowheart could be the one you curled up with every night, fingers intertwined and sharing slow, soft kisses, but its his soft eyes your child would have, not her dark ones he once so brazenly complimented. It doesn't matter if Karlach would spend her time with her new tentacled friend, or journeyed with Wyll throug the hells. You would not bring your child to the Mindflayers, nor Avernus. She'd visit, she'd hold you and make love to you and get your child to giggle themselves stupid, but she wouldn't be able to be with you all the time. Same for Wyll. In Avernus, with Karlach by his side, his mismatched eyes won't melt your heart. You two would have to wait years to dance again. Even as the Duke, he could lead you by the end to a soft, slow song, humming as he pressed kisses to your fingers and neck, but Wyll was the best man he knew. Every time he saw his dead friend's child, he'd feel a twinge. Just enough to sour the time spent with your baby. Halsin could fuck you senseless and cradle you afterwards all he wanted to, he could soften your heart with his effortless smile and hold you close, but he'd have to live with the fact that he came second. That you and Gale would have something that went deeper than what the Druid could offer. And your child was the perfect representation of that.

There was no proection that night. No love making while surrounded by magic and the Weave. Just you and him, getting only a partial rest as he held you close and fucked you deep.

So, imagine his delight when he got to live.

#ehehehe #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale bg3 #quincewrites #nsft #im #so fucking insane #LEGITMATELY #baldurs gate 3

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silverskye13 · 2 months

Note

talks to u

You will regret talking to me I'm very very sorry

So recently my sister has been reading out loud to me [it is very fun I wish I had someone to read out loud to] and the book she picked was Haunting on the Hill. This book was an absolute minefield of a read because it was advertised as a spiritual sequel to Haunting of Hill House and HOHH is probably one of the books I've been the most emotionally invested in ever. Mostly because I see people take the book and Try To Do It Better constantly, and they do it wrong over and over and over again. I don't know how this became My Hill To Die On, but no one can do a remix of the genre right, especially those that pretend like they're trying to.

Hell House, for example, a book that I hate with my entire being, was a very intentional stab at HOHH. It took the trope of four people -- one a slightly older gentleman who is doing research on the property -- two women -- who is a lonely homebody, and one who is a (implied) bisexual psychic -- and one younger man about their age who has some Obvious Substance Abuse Problems, and sets them in a haunted house to try and figure out why its haunted. The author then spends the rest of the book punishing those characters for obvious perceived societal slights. The old man's sin is being old, and dies because he isn't virile and strong enough to withstand the house [unlike the young male protagonist]. The psychic is punished for believing she is psychic, being a confident woman who lives alone, and being implied bisexual [this is evident in the nature of her death, which I won't share here. It's fucking bad]. Then after these characters die, the white male savior comes back, something to do with the old owner of the house haunting it with his willpower, in a closet with a glass of water? It made no sense. But the metaphor the book was obviously leaning towards was, the Good Guy can win and get the girl if he has strength of mind, is vaguely psychic [but better than the psychic lady obviously] and fucking stands around long enough while his friends are killed.

House on the Hill, which should have been marketed as a reference to Hill House and not as a spiritual successor, is a passable haunted house book that attempts to remix the story by making all of the main characters theater kids. There is an older lady who has been ousted from her community for being too old, the young woman main protagonist who is the Ellie parallel, the Theadora parallel is her girlfriend, a bisexual actress who is maybe a little too full of herself, and their single male character has a substance abuse problem involving cocaine instead of alcohol, like Luke from the original book. The author even seems to have grasped some of the original intention of HoHH as a conversation about isolation and loneliness. However about halfway through the book, it takes a turn and seems to punish Theadora for being the character she was written as, in the same way Hell House punished its Theadora allegory character. The rest of the book proceeds with a lot of standard haunted house tropes -- not a bug exactly, but they don't reinforce any extended metaphor. They're mostly there to be spooky. Which would be fine for a standard haunted house book, but not for a haunted house book that claims its the sequel to HoHH.

You see, Haunting of Hill House, and by extension, Shirley Jackson, the author, have a very subtle but also deeply impactful metaphor about loneliness going on in the background, and everything from the haunted house to the fallout of the characters reemphasizes this theme.

Ellie, Eleanor, is an exhausted housewife-style woman in the 1960s, whose never gone anywhere or done anything with her life, because instead of marrying and moving across the country somewhere, she stayed home to take care of her ailing mother. Now that her mother is dead, she lives with her sister and brother-in-law, and believes herself to be a general tax on the family. She fills stuck, alone, unloved and unwanted. The story is in her point of view, and you quickly realize her way of coping with her trapped feelings involves fantasticizing the world around her. She dreams of who she would be if she just lived over there in that little cottage, how differently her life would turn out if she had a cute little life in that one room house. Etc. When she accepts the summons to Hill House, she steals her brother in law's car and drives there on her own, her first trip alone anywhere in her entire life.

Theadora is a psychic who, if I'm remembering right, lives alone and owns a flower shop. She lives a much more interesting lifestyle than most women in the 60s, in a big city with many different friends and lovers coming and going, completely independent. There is an implication that she has trouble keeping interpersonal relationships -- she's a little too flighty -- and really a woman who can't settle down with a man is a red flag.

Doctor Montague seems fine on the surface, if a little jaded. He's a professor at university who is being slowly pushed out of his scientific field because he believes in the supernatural, and wants to prove it using empirical evidence. You find out his wife is very supportive in this venture -- too supportive. He thinks all of her contributions are nonsense, and so is she. His loneliness is self inflicted. He has a fan club right there with his wife, if he gave two shits about her opinions.

Last is Luke, an alcoholic, and the person in line to inherit Hill House. His loneliness is that he, doesn't want the fuckin' house. But because of his alcoholism and gambling problems, the family has decided he, as the cursed child, gets to take care of the cursed mansion no one else wants to touch. So Luke, ostracized from the family and a little shitty about it, decides he might as well rent out the place for some extra cash to fuel his various addictions. The family is going to be cutting him off soon anyway...

These four characters, over the course of Hill House, become haunted by the house, not because of tragic deaths there, or because the house is alive in any literal sense of the word. But because the House has the quality of an overbearing mother, smothering its children with its expectations. Any piece of furniture moved in the place is replaced as soon as they leave the room. Any door opened to allow air or light inside is shut the minute they walk into the next. The house rights itself back to a self-inflicted perfection that is unlivable, and it wants to isolate you too, to be like it. Hill House tells you exactly what it is and what it wants to do in the first paragraph: And all who walk there, walk alone.

Shirley Jackson wrote this very intentionally. As a woman in the 60s trying to have a successful writing career, none of her books were taken seriously. She was pigeonholed into mother and housewife first. Articles that wrote about her works at the time held the patronizing tone of someone congratulating a child who found a new hobby -- not a serious writer wanting to make poignant stories. Her books are lovely now, the few that were published. But Shirley Jackson lived a life that was full of anxiety and agoraphobia, in a world where she felt belittled and token. Her books are written the way they are for a reason. There is great loneliness in being shoved in a box.

I really love that exploration. I love how the people in the book descend into the box of Hill House, the expectations they place on each other, and the way all the women feel tonally dissonant in their token roles. And that's why I hate so many modern adaptations, or inspired-bys, or spiritual sequels. Hill House is a metaphor before it's a ghost story -- and that is why it succeeds as a ghost story! It is scary because you get invested in the characters' wellbeings, their doomed qualities, their individual, very subtle, madnesses. Watching new writers read the book and punish those characters over and over again for not acting right [especially Theadora, Jesus Christ.]

In fact, since I'm already ranting, I'm going to give you a quick rant in defense of Theadora.

Theadora breaks into the book as a very bright star in Ellie's world. She is, literally, everything Ellie wishes she could be. She lives an interesting life, alone, without being too cripplingly lonely. Theadora, used to a little bit of flirting and over friendliness, falls in with Ellie and Luke immediately. She is charming, and bright and beautiful, and Ellie, who's character flaw is romanticizing everything, falls head over heels for her. They get scared together. They comfort each other when the ghosts start acting up. They get haunted together. And Ellie decides, in the way of someone romanticizing something, when all this is over, she would like to live with Theo. But when she tells Theo this, Theo laughs it off. "This is just a holiday, Ellie dear. We will have to get back to our lives eventually." It's unfair to say this is a game for Theadora. I feel like her feelings in the book, all her charm and her flirting, are genuine. But they're genuine in the way of someone going on vacation and flirting around with the people they meet -- she has a normal life she enjoys that she plans on getting back to. Ellie, who is incredibly alone, and who feels like she has only just tasted happiness now that she's come to Hill House, doesn't want to go back home after this. This is the happiest she's ever been.

Ellie informs Theo she is going to follow Theo home, and Theo turns very, very mean. She starts hitting much harder on Luke [something that makes Luke uncomfortable, but something he never really stops, because Luke also likes the attention he's getting] and belittling Ellie and her wild fantasies. She pushes Ellie away. It isn't kind, but what else can she do? She told Ellie she doesn't want to be followed home and Ellie, trapped in her daydreams, doesn't listen.

The rest of the book unfolds. Hill House isolates Ellie, and makes her feel like she can have no happiness outside its smothering walls. She gets taken by it.

In every book that takes on the mantle of trying to tackle the themes that made Hill House great, I would like to ask you all this: Why do they always punish Theo?

Hell House straight up kills its Theo allegory in a very brutal, overt way, implying she deserves that brutality for her promiscuity. The House on the Hill kills its Theo for being too full of herself, for believing she was entitled to greatness.

Why?

You can make a case for the queer aspects of her probably. Or for misogyny. Or for infidelity. Or for the fact that she appears to choose Luke over her relationship with Ellie. But I notice none of these books punish their Ellie allegory for also falling for Theo. For also aspiring to be something other than a stuffy housewife somewhere. For also falling for Luke, and wanting him to be a part of her happiness fantasy.

In honesty, I really think these authors read Theo and think she's the antagonist. So they write their stories to punish the angry woman who was mean to poor, lonely Ellie. But, here's the kicker, Theadora isn't the antagonist. The house is. Loneliness is. The house leads Ellie to a perfect world, and Ellie, who is the way that she is, cannot fathom a world where that perfection is broken, so she ignores it. So she scares people with her over-attachment. So they try to send her away, because whatever is going on with her, it's not safe and it needs to stop. So she decides she would rather die than leave.

Theadora is only "the bad guy" because she's the one that reminds everyone that the fantasy of this perfect house must break eventually. The Doctor will have to go back to his university that doesn't take him seriously and his wife who takes him too seriously. Theadora will have to go back to her shop with her rotating friends who aren't as close as she'd like, but whom she can't force to stay. Luke will have to go back to his place as the unwanted, failing heir and Eleanor --

Well. Eleanor doesn't leave Hill House.

Everyone gets so mad at Theodora because of Ellie's investment in her. Because Ellie is lonely, and sad, and relatable. The first time I read Hill House, some of Ellie's lines made me want to cry they hit so close to home. All her assertions that when she spoke to people she said too much and was too stupid, she would be better tomorrow. All her quiet chastisements that she needs to be more interesting. All her attachments and how scared she is of being spurned. All her wonder when she looks around at the world and tries to imagine a better life. But it's not Theodora's fault that Ellie doesn't get that. It's Ellie's fault for becoming too attached to something that isn't there, and it sucks, and if this were a story with a happy ending, she would realize that and grow past that, but she doesn't. That's not how the story is written.

On one of the nights when the haunting happens, Ellie and Theo are sharing a room. They are laying in bed and holding hands while the house comes alive around them. Knocking on the walls. Slamming doors. Claws, and whispering, and scraping and screaming. Ellie and Theo hold each other's hands tightly. She hears the torturous sounds of a baby in the other room, a child in pain, screaming for its mother, and she's terrified and she's holding tight to Theadora's hand.

And finds, when the haunting stops, that Theo was out of reach the whole time.

Ellie asks, who's hand was I holding?

[The Haunting of Hill House is a metaphor.]

One of these days I'm going to sit down and write the Haunting of Hill House remake in my head, that I am just egotistical enough to believe I could do well. I would find a more modern metaphor first. Something to do with the loneliness of an infinitely interconnected world. Something to do with how boxed in we all feel, how trapped, and how so many people blame it on computers, even though they should be able to connect us more.

I would build a Hill House where the four characters meet on a forum, the first time they've found someone with similar interests. They would meet in person for this haunting expedition. They too would take in the oddness of a house that rights itself on its own, pretends they were never there. They two would fall in love with each other, and bond, and find community in a group of people who are constantly isolated and are glad to finally find someone they relate to.

They too would have to dear with the objective, lonely horror of realizing this doesn't magically fix their problems. That they were alone in the rest of their lives not just because the world isolated them, but because they're bad at forming connections. They would get catty, and disagree, and worry about the lives they need to go back to, and complain about spouses and partners. And one of them, as is Hill House's tithe, wouldn't be able to cope.

One of them, as is Hill House's tithe, wouldn't be able to leave.

Anyway, not sure where exactly this rant was going. Uh. Nice Sunday we're having anon. Got any niche special interests you've been meaning to unload recently?

#answering asks #anonymous #the barking writer #the haunting of hill house #the house on the hill #hell house #i feel like its worth mentioning i'm not the god of books you are welcome to disagree with me #in fact i encourage you to tell me your own takes on the books / stories if you feel the mood #except for hell house #im sorry my passion for that one still burns bright i would shred my copy but it was a library book so i returned it instead #if you like hell house i apologize i don't see it and i don't want to see it #house on the hill was fine i didn't read the whole thing but my sister did it seems like a solid spooky book #its just it really shouldn't have sold itself as a hill house book yanno?#[coughs]#anyway #uh #goodbye

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staraxiaa · 2 months

Text

porcelain, the afterword:

author's corner/first thoughts.

first and foremost: upon rereading, a scene in this fic holds a lot of similarities to one from dust, diamonds on ao3 by maokitty. (the jealousy scene w the husband where the wall crumbles) especially with the dialogue. i was definitely taking inspiration from that fic while writing the scene, and wanted to make a note of it here. go read it even if ur not into aot pls bc it’s actually life-changing !! i beat my sunflower record btw this was 25k ish words written in less than 20 total writing hours. spread over 1.5 days total. also i think i fucked up the pacing a lot from what id originally planed buuut at least its over. dobby is finally free!!! anyways. the original intent for this fic was a discussion on body imagery, to anyone who has ever struggled with the unrealistic standards of social media and/or felt lesser than themselves because they were not beautiful in a 'typical' manner. but then it ballooned into a monster of its own bc i was like how can i make this hurt. i took my inspiration from porcelain + kintsugi vases... like how can i break this reader before i put her back together. i think that i'd like to touch upon similar topics again one day. as a natural extension of my style and the way i write that 'fits' the childhood theme of this collection, i don't believe i handled these topics the best i could've: a lot of them are simplified to a point that, looking back, makes me go 'eugh' a bit because there's so much depth there that i had to like, tamp down upon as a result of my own inexperience. parts of it were likely believable, and parts of it likely weren't - whether because of my youth, or because i was afraid of approaching these topics from the 'wrong' angle. either way, i hope to be able to grow as a writer to the point that i can tackle these themes again to a point where i myself can be sufficiently pleased with the depth i've put into it. that is all. if you've read up to here, thank you. i'm not really expecting this one to do nearly as well as sunflowers - the content is heavier, it's not nearly as light, and shouto is just less of a popular character overall. but this is very likely my magnum opus so far in terms of how much thought has been put into the work, so it means a lot to me even if you do not interact, and simply read up til this point. thank you. your support truly means a lot. will also update again as i think of things

unwritten scenes, headcanons, thought process

another angst scene. at the todoroki forgiveness dinner table, katsuki and izuku are probably there. i havent watched this scene i just know it exists. (was gonna go find it just for research). enji hits shouto with the 'you can marry whoever you'd like' thing majig. shouto's like, cool i didnt give a shit anyways i was gonna marry her. with or without your permission. and THEN i hit you with the akshually... she's engaged... to be honest, a lot more scenes where it was just mother and daughter. i really wanted the point to hit home that, the mother is always intending to do good in the only ways she knows how - it's not discussed thoroughly, and she's obviously a negative influence when it matters most, which is why reader cuts her off at the end. i am a firm believer that not all parenting is good parenting, even when it comes from a good place, and to me it's like when you hurt someone - it doesn't matter your intention, because that should always come secondary to the fact that you hurt them in some way. sorry. i'm not sure if cutting completely out of the life like that was necessary, but i think that in real life, sometimes it is. something to think abt / regret abt this piece ig lots more on the brother. he was not seen a lot, and i cba to include more about him cuz tbh he's only really relevant for like... 2 scenes but basically the tl;dr is that. he also feels the same pressure. it's just offscreen. (he's a man, he's his father's heir, but he sees the impact this family has upon you). i honestly think he's pookie and hold him dear to my heart but he was really just there to get the plot moving... so.... sorry guys. i didnt even bother to give him a name. BUT hes definitely a very complex character i just didnt write it..... i just needed to add a little happiness to the dysfunctional family ok the husband. okay. so. i originally wrote him in with the intention of being someone to hate, entirely and utterly, with the whole of my heart. but i absolutely hate writing in characters that don't have at least some depth/some complexity, so here goes: he was definitely in love, i think, though i'm not sure i would call it that. there was a grooming aspect to it, an age gap difference (he attended all your recitals/performances when you were underage, had his eye on you), was twice your age. i think i wrote it in a way where it could definitely be interpreted as a form of love, as twisted and fucked up as it was⏤ in the way you think of ownership, that a pretty woman is nothing more than a flower to give the sun to, to water when you'd like. but you're not. you're more than that, you need more than food and water and a roof over your head, more than pretty jewels. you just couldn't love him, and i think that's the part that fucked with him the most. the husband was always supposed to die. i toyed with different versions of this⏤ if you should be the one to kill him, a final 'hurrah' when you finally find your courage. but i thought this wasn't very in line with the reader characterization, so i didn't include this. it's ok though u guys are always #1 bosses in my heart. i hope its clear though that the reader didnt love him at any point bc i dont like him enough as a character to give him that. sorry. he was also supposed to be a mafia man... did i make that clear... but both him and the father were like. i hate these characters. the father especially (he has 0 characterization he's only plot relevant bc he has to be). wipe them both from ur minds pls xx in terms of the baby: i actually know nothing about motherhood. this is only what i've done from the best of my imagination. if it isn't accurate at all i apologize.

i did not know tumblr had a max characters per block. i yap a lot huh. anyways on to cute shouto moments <3 i really considered the idea of like. sex scenes. nothing graphic, but tl;dr with shouto when you cry, he stops immediately. this would be near the end, when you're learning to live again, but it's like, you're so moved because no one has ever done it like this for you before, and he's just worried that he's done something wrong, and it's sad but it's like. you don't know if you can ever handle touch again, but bc you're married, you think it's your duty, and you also love him, so you want to try. you guys love each other so much i could sob. i didnt add this just bc i didnt think this was the fic i wanted to start nsfw with, and bc i dont think i could do the intimacy i wanted justice. also tbh i debated on including more thoughts of shouto during the relationship with the husband but i think, while the mc would definitely think of him, she would try her best to be a good wife. i think this is textbook of abusive relationships (i tried to portray that in the way that the husband speaks and turns the fault onto mc when he hits her) where naturally, they abuse you despite you already doing the best you can, and make you feel lesser for it. i.e. she hasn't thought about shouto the whole while, hasn't done anything, doesn't intend on it, and he still blames her for the way she feels. DID I EMPHASIZE THAT HE PICKS UP EVERY CALL EVEN THO U DONT TEXT HIM ANYMORE JUST IN CASE bc shouto todoroki the man that you are... the man i wrote you as... im never marrying idgaf i write my own standards too high i also jus wanna say guys... the way u pull him out of his shell... and then its his turn to pull him out of urs.... i am a SUCKER for stories that come full circle watch me write it into mermaid au anyways im so excited!!!!! in another world, shouto is the one to catch you. somehow he's in your penthouse apartment. the man's holding a knife to your throat (??) or it's your husband trying to save his own skin. in some variations you walk off the edge yourself, in some variations your husband pushes you, in some variations it's the man. i thought this fit better. either way in all of them he was supposed to dive off the fucking building after u but i also thought: he can't be there himself but he makes sure ur taken care of anyways. sort of fitting the characterization i had for him, i think. i rlly considered a kiss scene too but it'd be sort of natural. like stepping into someone's warmth and feeling entirely comfortable in it, knowing it's what you want and knowing it's also what he wants. at the end. but i didn't add it. wouldve been sweet but unnecessary bc i think this would be further down the line and would require a separate scene. once again i scoot free of my kiss-writing responsibilities ! ! ! more on this, though, i think i really like writing about how simple intimacy can be. i do not believe you need to be physically affectionate with someone to love them, though you certainly can be, and i hope this was reflected in the way i portrayed both shouto and reader. in my dreams we are shouto's sugar babies and just vibe for the rest of our lives. and that is all. the smallest things the reader does make him so happy like. slowly. you guys are already holding hands, so a kiss on the cheek would make him the happiest man on earth. oh here's a bonus scene: at some point he takes you out to see the fireworks. the two of you are sitting, you're tucked snugly into his side, you're watching the fireworks, but when you turn, he's watching you. it's so stupidly romantic. you probably ask him what he's looking at and hes just like 'you'. you flush a little. he kisses the top of your head, grinning like the little shit he is.

i also think it'd take a length of time to get married, so you guys probably do kiss sometime before then. no clue about the scene. but canonically (aka in my head) you guys are just having a normal conversation. like Normal Normal. nothing fancy. and all of a sudden you just lean in and kiss him on the corner of his lips. he touches it, and you can see the shock on his face. dunno if you lie and say 'something there i was just getting it for you' bc im a sucker for that but he only leans a little closer and asks you to do it again. i'd like to think man is patient even tho he desperately wants to (like to the point it's painful to watch) so you have to tell him straight up it's okay to do anything, when you're ready: i.e. initiate kisses and anything else later down the line. once he gets the green light though there's no stopping (he will immediately if u ever tell him) like in my head this man has been basically touch starved all his life and he YEARNS. everyone say thank you to the anon who prompted these scenes btw notes on reader: i think what i wanted to explore with this piece was the way that your parents, the environment you grow up in, the role models you have can shape how you grow a lot. but that does not mean you need to stay that way forever. and that even if you do, you are not necessarily 'weak' or any lesser. reader never actually stood up for herself until the very end, but she was strong in her own way. she tried her best to be a good wife, even when she practically hated her husband. she persevered, she tried her best to love her child. things were bleak, but she pulled through; she kept on living, she kept on breathing. and that was enough. she was enough! <33 i also don't know if this reader was a very believable one. a lot of what i explored here was an extension of some of my own experiences, but like. i simply have not experienced a lot of it personally, unlike with my other pieces, and not at all to the same depth. i hope that there are people out there that can resonate with her and her experiences, but like not in a fucked up way. i simply hope that this story can make someone out there feel seen/heard, even if it's just a little. also putting this here to say, i tried to write reader in a way where it made her thoughts read off as like. ingrained into her? but that the way she thinks is not supposed to be normalized. please love yourselves. just wanted to make that clear djsklsfjd

#[❀] — afterwords

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matan4il · 4 months

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Hey, I just felt the need to vent and see if you or your followers had any advice for me because I feel so stuck.

I don't have any relatives or friends in Israel so sometimes I feel I have no room to talk on the conflict. I'm in the US, I'm 'safe', my family is safe, but I still feel so hurt and the grief from everything happening to 'my people'

I was talking to a friend and I know we have conflicting opinions on everything happening. I just feel so heart broken by him as we were discussing things and he cuts the conversation when I said "Hamas is a terrorist organization". I don't know how I can trust him anymore when he can't even see that. I love him so much. He's essentially my best friend. It hurts so much and I don't know what to do. At this point I just keep quiet but there is resentment building and I hate it.

Any advice would help. Sorry for rambling. I'm just emotional.

Hi Nonnie! I totally understand, you're being legit in how you feel, and I'm sending you many hugs!

I believe I've answered a similar ask at some point since the war, I'm just not sure how to find it, because Tumblr's search option sucks. Maybe through the ask tag, IDK. If anyone's better at handling this site, and can find it and link it in the comments, I'm sure the anon (and definitely me) would appreciate that!

I think that ask was more generalized though, so here I'll refer more specifically to yours.

First of all, if you're Jewish, you have family in Israel. All Jews are one big family, one tribe, and I consider every Jew a part of my extended family. That said, there's actually a good chance that, given enough genealogical research, you'll find that one, two or three generations ago, the family tree split, and there's a branch where people returned to Israel, so you have distant relatives you weren't even aware of here. If you're interested in looking into this, a good place to start is to contact the Anu Museum, which delves into the history of the Jewish people, and also keeps extensive genealogical records for Jews.

Hamas is a terrorist organization, that's not an opinion or debate, it's a fact. People tend to claim that resistance can be seen as terrorists or freedom fighters, depending on one's opinion, and it's true that at times the term "terrorists" has been abused, but there's actually a very simple way to figure out the matter. If an organization intentionally targets civilians with violence, including lethal violence, for the sake of achieving some sort of a political change (and that includes political change in service of an extremist religious cause), then we're talking about terrorists. The differentiation between a regime as a legit target for a struggle, and innocent civilians who should never be targeted with violence, that's the difference between freedom fighters (whether we agree with them or not) and terrorists.

The exact date of Hamas being established as a terrorist organization is not known, most believe it was Dec 1987 (it announced it was joining the First Intifada on Dec 15, when it started on Dec 9. Hamas escalated it considerably, as it did the Second Intifada), while the son of a Hamas founder (Mosab Hassan Yousef. He was repeatedly jailed by Israel for terrorist activity in the service of his dad's organization, but as a teen in prison saw how Hamas was torturing Palestinians. He decided to flip and help Israel in order to save his own people from Hamas) says it was actually slightly earlier, in 1986. Either way, by the end of 1989 (just two years after its first public statement), Hamas was already so brutal and violent, that it was outlawed here. Soon, especially as it started carrying out extensive suicide bombings (the very first one was on Apr 16, 1993), it was also recognized as a terrorist organization and outlawed by multiple governments (including the UK, the US, Jordan, the EU, Japan, Norway, Iceland, Canada, Australia and Paraguay).

Not only is Hamas clearly a terrorist organization since its very first act of terrorism, after Oct 7 it is also one of the most successful ones ever (second only to Al-Qaeda after 9/11, though if you look at the number of fatalities per population size, then Hamas have surpassed Al-Qaeda as well). To not recognize Hamas as a terrorist organization is to not recognize terrorism, and that it is fundamentally wrong, because nothing ever justifies killing civilians to affect a political change, and THAT is an incredibly disturbing position to take.

On top of that, Hamas is Islamist, it wants a world ruled by an Islamist regime, and sees the eradication of Israel as a first step on the way there. It will only condemn other Islamist terrorist organizations for digressing from this plan of eradicating the Jewish state first, before taking on the rest of the world. Hamas is also genocidal towards Jews. Its founding charter declares this explicitly, that Judgment Day will not come until all Jews are exterminated. Its leaders have continuously and repeatedly expressed themselves in similar ways, calling upon "true believers" to kill Jews everywhere around the world, and in fact since Oct 7, several Hamas terrorist cells have been exposed as operating against Jews outside of Israel.

Someone who can't even admit Hamas are terrorists will likely not recognize the genocidal, antisemitic and extremist Islamist nature of Hamas, either. If you're Jewish, what that means is that your "friend" is willing to turn a blind eye to the declared statements of those who wish to kill you simply because you're Jewish. And if you ask me, that's not a friend at all. But even if you're not Jewish, I think the willingness to allow Hamas' genocidal antisemitism by denying the nature of this organization is morally despicable. I would kind of get it if your friend lived in a non-free country, where he can't get the true info on Hamas. But if you live in a free society, and your friend can get online, and go to one of the sites that share info on Hamas, especially the footage from Oct 7, but he's still denying what this terrorist organization is really like? I think you're very right to be upset by that.

At the end of the day, how you deal with it is up to you. It sounds like this person is really important to you, and I get it. At the same time, it sounds like you're having a hard time living with his views of Hamas, which is beyond justified. If your friend is willing to overlook this, what else is he willing to allow? I guess the question is whether you feel like you can have a talk with him, where you put this all on the table, not just Hamas being a terrorist organization, but also the genocidal, Islamist and antisemitic nature of it, and explain to your friend that it is personally distressing to you, that he can act as if Hamas is a legit organization? Do you feel like you can talk to him, and if he understood what it means to you, he might be more willing to listen? If you don't talk to him about this, do you feel like you can live with his views?

I'll be honest, I personally would not want such a person as a "friend." I would never feel like I could trust him. That doesn't negate all of his other good traits and what he can and does give you as a friend, though. I get that. I understand that it is a loss, if this ends your friendship. And that's why I say that it's up to you. It's up to what you feel is in the best interest of your well being. Do you still trust him to have your back despite his views? Do you think you'd be worse off to lose everything else about your friendship? Or do you think he values your friendship enough to listen? Do you feel like the distress of knowing what he supports is too much, and is bad for your well being? At the end of the day, only you can answer these questions.

Just know that no matter what you decide, you're not alone. There are others who feel like you do, and who would accept you, all of you, anti-Hamas views included, and will be true allies and friends. You def have a friend here. I'm wishing you well with whatever you decide to do, and if you feel like sending follow up asks, please don't hesitate to! Much love, Nonnie. xoxox

(for more of my posts regarding Israel, click here)

If this is a person who you define as your best friend, but they're cool

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gallusrostromegalus · 1 year

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I'm glad to hear that Kaname protected Momo from the worst of Aizen's manipulations. Does she ever find out about his efforts, or does that stay a secret?

Post-Aizen-Fight, Kaname is in the hospital recovering from General Befuckening, and needs Reiatsu transfers to finish purging The Curse from his system and it's Hitsugaya's turn.

*****

The boy doesn't actually say anything for a long time after Unohana finishes connecting the IVs. It's alright. He's still exhausted, and there really isn't that much to say about what happened that hasn't been gone over and over and over, in debriefings and staff meetings and the distant sound of tears Tousen can hear coming from Lieutenant Hinamori's room. Gradually though, Lieutenant Hitsugaya's silence grows cold and sharp and restless, a winter gale banging against a window that won't quite latch right.

"-Out with it." Kaname sighs, opening his eyes and not frowning at the ceiling. "If you keep sulking like this I'm going to get frostbite and Unohana-sama will have both our hides for it."

Toshiro startles, coughs a bit like he's about to deny it, but collects himself and states his problem with magnificent succinctness.

"Momo." he says, voice almost violent in it's neutrality.

"Ah." Kaname nods. "I did what I could, but I know that was far from enough. I am sorry."

Hitsugaya is quiet, considering his words. "...What did you DO, actually?" he eventually asks.

Kaname blinks in surprise. "Huh. I thought Hisagi-san would have noticed when he did the audit of all my paperwork. I was genuinely hopeful you were going to spot it before Aizen could make his move with how much Momo complained..." he muttered, slightly puzzled.

"Spotted what?" Toshiro grumbled.

"You have undoubtedly been subject to the ongoing saga of the Rice-Farm-Subsidy Fraud case that Lieutenant Hinamori has been investigating since her promotion to lieutenancy?" Kaname prompted.

"Yeah, yeah, the one that's got her haring off to some backwater district or getting lost in the stacks at the archives for days on end or-" Hitsugaya graoned, then stopped. "...the one that had her constantly traveling away from the division, or doing extended research without Aizen's help."

"He used to get terrible motion sickness from trains or portals, you know." Kaname smiled, sitting up a bit. "-and a wretched allergy to paper-dust. Part of the reason he made me do all his fucking lab work, I imagine. but it seemed a good way to keep Miss Hinamori outside his sphere of influence at least for a few weeks at a time. Do I still have water in my glass?"

"...you MADE IT UP?" Hitsugaya yelped.

"I did no such thing. There is an extensive conspiracy between the various provincial leaders and mid-district governors to defraud the Central Government of subsidies for rice farms that frankly, do not exist, while also hiding the existence of taxable villages, resulting in invisible granaries used to fund private armies and other villiany-" he explained, sitting up properly and groping for the end-table where his water theoretically was. "-I just made sure Miss Hinamori had enough information to know where to look for the evidence of said conspiracy, and occasionally... lightly interfered with granaries in the middle districts to make sure more visible evidence came to light for her to keep the investigation open and moving in a timely manner. Lieutenant, if I may ask for your help-"

There was a rustle of cloth as Hitsugaya shook himself, grabbing the pitcher and refilling Kaname's glass, handing it to the frail man.

"Thank you." Kaname took a drink, handing the glass back to Toshiro to set down. "-I imagine the investigation will go much faster and with fewer extended trips to the rukongai now that I'm not cursed and can freely discuss the taxation and census records Aizen had covered in his illusion to hide his experiments." he explained. "...But doing it the long way has allowed Miss Hinamori to build a very complete and entirely legitimate case. She's an exceptional forensic investigator."

"...HOW?" Hitsugaya gaped. "The curse- it's not like you could talk to her, or send her messages- and if you could, it'd mess with the legitimacy of the case to have an anonymous tipster?"

"I had to...sort of gently suggest the names and locations to her in such fashion that her subconscious would make the connection between those terms and the case. Fortunately, in addition to being a certifiable genius, Miss Hinamori is also a master of the Lingual Arts."

"...Sir, I don't think Hinamori is that kind of girl." Toshiro mumbled, and Kaname could almost hear his full-face blush.

"You're thinking of Zaraki-Taicho, who is an entirely different kind of cunning linguist." Momo announced from the door. "-but you don't know everything about me Toshiro." She teased, coming in the room and climbing onto the bed beside Kaname, unfolding and re-folding that week's newspaper. "Lieutenant Sasakibe took over the crossword in your absence, and I think he may still be a bit upset with you."

"Ah." Kaname winced.

"What?" Repeated Toshiro, thoroughly lost.

"You remember that Tousen-taicho is the Editor-In-Chief of the Seireitei Newsletter, right?" She asked Hitsugaya, who failed to respond in a fashion that suggested that he did not, in fact, know that. "-Anyway, sometimes he writes more or less for the paper depending on that week's news, but without fail, he also designs the crossword- the most fiendishly difficult one in any of the newspapers, Sir." She explained, taking out a pen and tapping the partially-finished lexical puzzle she'd been working on.

"I try." Kaname smiled, looking just a bit genuinely smug.

"You largely succeed. I didn't actually make the connection between your five downs and the rice subsidy investigation until i tried doing Sasakibe's substitute puzzle this morning. I think he may have made the same connection, because 5 down today is 11 letters, starts with "P" and the clue is 'Degenerate Justice'."

"...Prevaricate." Kaname hissed with imagined pain at the likely wrath of the Chief Lieutenant. "Oh dear. Do you think a written apology is in order?"

"It's Sasakibe-san, it's just as likely to be his idea of an apology." Momo shrugged, filling in the word.

"...for those of us that are better at Sudoku?" Hitsugaya glared.

"Tousen-Taicho was putting clues about where the next bit of evidence I needed for the Rice Subsidies case in the Crossword because he knew I did it every week." Momo explained. "The clue was always in the fifth column down, which is a structurally important one in crosswords- you little shit, I even got on your case last year about how you always used locations for your 5 Downs and I STILL didn't make the connection!" She realized, rolling up the paper and affectionately swatting him over the head.

"Entirely deserved, but you have my word that was as much as I could do to help you, and that you have my full resources available to you now." Kaname smiled.

"I have entirely too many words from you-" Momo sighed with exasperation before putting the paper down and laying down beside him, hugging his chest. "-But I believe you. There's- I've been finding all sorts of things- people I forgot, places I'd been before and couldn't remember- huge sections of my LIFE! that his Illusion just... vanished."

She hugged Kaname's chest. "-I can't imagine what you went through."

"I hope you never will." he sighed, returning her embrace and for a moment, Hitsugaya felt even more outside the conversation- this was a secret grief, but the burden lightened by finally being able to share it. "...Did Sasakibe Key any clues to 5 Down? He might have more to say." Kaname asked, letting go and Momo sat up, frowning at the paper.

"Key?" Asked Toshiro, pleased to be talking about anything else.

"Sometimes one word is a hint to some of the next words, usually the ones that originate from it, um- Yeah, three words. Four letters, second letter 'i', clue is "Astronomical Favor"; Three letters, middle letter 'a', clue is "German Opera, 1874" ; and the last one is four letters, Second letter 'e', clue is "Truth's Abode". Momo read off.

All three of them stared (or pointed their faces) blankly at each other for a moment.

"...Yeah I'm gonna stick to the Sudoku." Nodded Hitsugaya.

#AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #Bleach #Bleach fanfic #kaname tousen #momo hinamori #Toshiro hitsugaya #Crosswords are fun i promise!#bonus points to whoever figures out Sasakibe's Secret Message!

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estiebestieban · 2 months

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omg your tags were ABSOLUTELY PERFECT! you understood exactly what i was trying to say in my post and i truly appreciate that.

of course no one HAS to like esteban but whenever i see someone hate on him i just want to ask "why?". because pretty much 99% of the time their reasoning for hating on esteban is based off one of the narratives that has been thoroughly disproved, not just in my post (i don't think that highly of myself lmao) but in many testimonies over the years. i've even seen people say they don't really know anything about him and then just write paragraphs of lies to justify their dislike of someone they OPENLY ADMIT they could be wrong about! and if their whole basis for hating on a driver is based on a bunch of lies, then what's left once the falsehoods are deconstructed you know? (and if you're one of the 1% then go ahead - i can't stop you lmao!)

also i actually had written a line about how esteban's teammates, who have all been VERY TALENTED when it comes to getting the media on their side, have absolutely used this negative perception of esteban to boost themselves (i even had interview quotes from fernando and pierre at the ready and was trying to find some from checo) but i ended up removing it because i didn't want to be accused of using my post to hate on the aforementioned drivers. because of course my extensively researched and cited 1000+ word essay that i spent hours on and collaborated with multiple blogs was all written for a single line in which i "hate" on two drivers...

there are definitely times where i wish that esteban would play the media game and speak his truth (and i think he's actually testing the waters a bit with very reasonable statements). but that's not how he wants to approach things and i have so much respect for that. and considering all the team principals (including his very likely future team principal ayao komatsu) and other paddock members have vouched for him over the years, i think it was the right decision.

anyways sorry for another mini-essay in your ask box but i just wanted to say thanks again for your tags <3

You're so right for your post and you're always invited into my askbox for mini (or full length tbh) essays because you get it!!! (As do all other esteban stans I've seen on here cheers to like all five of us.

As a Dutch fan, the one question I get asked most is "Oh you must be a Max fan, right?" and when my answer is no, people go down the list of possible drivers I could be a fan of, but somehow they never say Esteban. When I say I'm an Alpine fan, the gut punch response is always "Oh, Fernando/Pierre, I get it."

While there is nothing wrong inherently wrong with assuming favourites, it's wild to me that even when I narrow it down to three possible drivers, Esteban still isn't even considered.

Even when I'm surrounded by major fans of the sport, the concept of Esteban having a genuine fan is foreign to people. I understand that most people around me view the sport through the lens of the Viaplay vision (and previously ZiggoSport) which favours Max to the extreme, and who couldn't give less fucks about other drivers. Esteban is hardly mentioned during broadcast, and when he is, it is always in a negative way (that's what happens when you take out the golden boy once I guess)

I've had this discussion time and time again, where I point out that Esteban drives in a similar style like Fernando - but where Fernando is praised for his balls and his attitude, Esteban is shoved aside as reckless and a danger. Where Max is hailed as the second coming of Christ, Esteban is deemed as a liability on track.

Why? Because he isn't considered charismatic enough? Even when he has countless fun and endearing interviews?

The media continues to cut Esteban out of the narrative wherever they can. An example would be people pushing the Pierre/Charles friendship for a dramatic tale of childhood friends turned competitors, but they leave out Esteban time and time again - like we don't have various images showing their closeness during their karting days.

Also, we forget way too often that Esteban and Max were rookies together in f3 in 2014 who both skipped f2 to go straight to f1. Only one of them won f3 that year, and it wasn't Max

#sorry this is just rambling i should be sleeping #but i rise to defend my man on main any given day #esteban ocon

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hatchetno1 · 8 months

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sage forest mental institution.

chapter 4. in which you dissociate the day away. word count: 3.5k note: im not gonna lie at this point this fic is so bad i'm gonna label it crack so at least it seems like it's bad on purpose /hj cw: dissociation. descriptions of domestic abuse. READ NO FURTHER IF YOU CAN'T it's the paragraph literally under here.

Dissociation. It’s a pretty foreign feeling to you, and yet it’s so familiar. You can’t place where you felt this before, almost like deja vu, but with an aftertaste of impending doom. It was a topic you’d researched extensively back in your old home—no, house. Scouring the breadths and depths of the Internet was your entire coping mechanism back in the day and your occasional background music would be the smashing of glass, your mother crying and your father’s yelling reverberating across the walls. You liked to call it something of a live, interactive band, because sometimes if you were lucky your father would come barging into your room in his drunken anger, grab you by the hair and throw you against the bed, or the wall if you were particularly unlucky.

Sometimes you wished you’d be able to cut your hair short. But your mother would threaten you with a kitchen knife, crying and screaming that she only had one daughter and she would not have a son. Your poor (?) mother had an innate fear of men, so you’d understand where she was coming from, but you hated her nonetheless, and that hatred still resides in your heart.

“…not enough, you can ask for more. We should be able to lend you some of ours.”

You blink and jerk back to life.

“Are you okay.” It’s more of a perfunctory sentence than a genuine question. Hoodie gazes almost blankly at you.

“Um. Yeah. Sorry.” You try to keep your answer as short as possible. When faced with law enforcement officers, it is advised to keep your answers as short as possible and not to give away any information that’s not required of you, is what you always read on Reddit under r/getoutoftrouble or whatever it was named. The “sorry” at the end is just insurance for your life.

Masky gives you a look, then returns to droning on about household rules. Stay out of others’ ways, don’t play with Ben unless you’re looking for nightmare fuel, stay especially away from Jeff, don’t eat anything in the freezer that’s labelled because those are human organs for EJ’s consumption, don’t talk to EJ about his diet (which you already did and are now concerned for your life), and don’t go looking for The Operator, or as the proxies are to address him, their master.

Sometime halfway through showing you around the mansion, each proxy would disappear one at a time, leaving the other two still in their ridiculous hospital getups to continue bringing you around. The first to go was Hoodie, who came back in, like his namesake, a yellow hoodie. The second was Masky, who came back in a tan jacket. Just as you thought they’d both just let Toby walk around in his hospital gown, he left, and came back in a brown-and-blue hoodie and orange goggles sitting atop his head, his cheek bandage nowhere to be seen. It was only then that you saw his cheek wound.

You still stare at it now and then, the wound going all the way through to expose his teeth, leaving you wondering just what the hell this boy has been, going so far as to bite his cheek so often that there’s now nothing left to bite.

Besides those few moments, the house tour, which is actually not as fun as it sounds because you are at the mercy of these people, is a blur. The only thing comforting you is the fact that you got your own room, which leads you to believe that they’ll keep you alive, at least for a while.

“Lock your door just in case, so Jeff and EJ can’t come in. Though the Operator is powerful and could easily guard you himself, he’s never explicitly stated that you will be protected from harm. He only needs you alive,” explains Masky. You appreciate that they’re looking out for you, though it’s not straight-up protection. Still, it’s a luxury; they could just leave you to fend for yourself.

“We’ll be keeping spare keys to your room. Don’t try anything. I’ll break both your legs, reset them, then break them again,” reiterates Masky. But honestly, you’re far past trying anything. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Well, the last part probably isn’t true, but it’s either you maintain your status or gain something. Either way, your life can’t get worse…unless they torture you, or you start hoping for some unrealistic shit like being able to escape for freedom. That, you could lose. Hope is a precious thing, and you’d rather not conjure it out of nowhere just to lose it. You’re given food, shelter and clothing. You can’t get greedy.

You next find yourself in The Operator’s office. Again, you have no idea what to expect; this whole day has been an absolute mindfuck. But this office isn’t anything fancy, nor is it bare-bones. It’s just…a desk, a chair, and…nothing else. You either can’t process what’s going on in your state of dissociation, or you’re not meant to perceive what it is. Indeed, The Operator is powerful, and can alter your perception of things.

You aren’t given a seat to sit in.

Leave us, he commands his three proxies, and they retreat. You wonder if they’re willingly working for him.

The Operator’s hands are large, fingers bony and fingernails extending into claws. They’re placed on the table, fingers interlinked with each other. You’re reminded of a Disney villain or something equally cheesy, but you remember that if he has telepathic powers then he can probably read your mind or something, and your life is in his hands, so you immediately cut off that train of thought.

You, begins the voice in your head, are to keep my proxies from insanity. If they fall to it… He leans forward. Static begins to fill your mind, and you feel your own sanity slipping from your grasp. You see red. You lose control of your body.

Just as quickly as it appeared, it disappears. You’re on the floor.

It would be in your best interests to keep their insanity at bay. You are hereby allowed to administer whatever form of treatment you believe to be most effective. However, he pauses here, I see through my proxies’ eyes and ears. I will know whether you try to defy me. That is all.

Before you even manage to say “huh” in a really, really dumb voice, a door appears in front of you, identical to the one that leads to the office. Just as you wonder how the fuck he made a door appear, you realize that you’re outside his office, and you feel the presence of the three men behind you. You have no time to think about whether or not he was being literal. If he wasn’t, that was a really shitty riddle.

Slowly, you stand up, carefully brushing any dust off your uniform before realizing the interior of the mansion is surprisingly clean and you’re just obnoxiously brushing nothing off you. Saving yourself from second-hand embarrassment from your own actions, you cut that train of thought off in favor of wondering how much information has been imparted to his proxies. And anyway, what the fuck is this Operator guy on? You want to believe that he actually gave a shit about these three, but don’t want to jump to conclusions. Given the authority to administer whatever treatment you want, you’ll be able to extract information out of them.

As you wonder what kind of treatment The Operator meant for you to administer, you flick through multiple options in your mind. Talking to them, saving them from insanity…

Therapy?

No fucking way, some faceless fuck brought you all the way here to give his three little servants therapy.

At this thought, you howl with unrestrained laughter. Laughter containing your amusement at the situation, containing your despair at this situation, your confusion, your anger, everything. You just wanted a goddamn normal life. Now you have to give therapy? Damn, you really just found something floating in thin air for you to lose. Your prospects of having a normal life.

God damn, you really are God’s strongest soldier.

God favors me, God favors me, God favors me, you try to convince yourself.

“Ahem.”

Oh fuck, you forgot that there are three whole ass men behind you.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Ahaha.” You highly doubt that you’ve said anything intelligent today, so you try to convince yourself that it’s okay and it’s valid and whatnot. Oh yeah, so very valid. But aside from that, you have no idea how to break it to these three that you’ve been brought here alive just so you can give them therapy. Knowing most people’s reactions to therapy in your area, namely “Therapy is for pussies and the crazy,” you wonder how horribly this can go, so you briefly consider not telling them anything and just hitting them up all like, “Hey, any pressing issues that are stressing you out right now? We can talk about your feelings.”

One thing at a time, you remind yourself, before asking, “Any spare rooms around here?”

For better or worse, they show no signs of judging. Toby’s shoulders jerk every so often, fidgeting with his hands and peeling skin off his dry lips, but aside from that, he doesn’t seem to be judging you either.

“Yes,” replies Hoodie. “Come.” As he nods at his companions, signaling something that leads them to leave you both, you hope this spare room isn’t right next to The Operator’s office.

Thankfully, it isn’t. It is, however, run-down.

Hoodie flicks the light switch on, and it’s…an interrogation room? White walls, greenish-blue tiled floors, a mirror behind the table, a rickety old chair and what seems to be handles on the table for handcuffs to slip through. Upon noticing your visible confusion, he speaks. “This room is the only spare we have at the moment. We don’t really use it anymore. Nowadays we take them straight to the dungeons.” You have no idea how to respond.

“Okay.” Is what you settle for. You want to bang your head on the metal interrogation table. “Is there, like, a store room or something? For furniture and decorations and whatnot…” Nice save.

The man before you pauses. “No.” Then he adds, “Write down what you need. We’ll get it for you.” You briefly wonder how they’re going to procure what you need, but then decide that you probably don’t want to know.

After Hoodie leaves, telling you he’ll get you a pen and paper, you sit down on the old chair and make yourself comfortable after making sure it won’t break beneath your weight. For the first time today, you’re left alone and able to think about all that has transpired today.

“So I tried to work my job.”

Uh-huh, replies your second inner monologue, like an angel and a devil, except both are now equally confused.

“My coworker tells me I don’t have to do shit and then skips off.”

That’s right.

“Then I see a patient and try to carry out my job.”

Yep.

“It was probably not a patient. Wait, it probably was. Wait, what the fuck am I gonna do? I just let my responsibilities escape.”

You’re a victim of kidnapping and technically off the grid. Society and rules don’t apply here.

“Right. Anyways, he tries to kill me.”

Yes.

“Then this dude named Masky saves my ass. And then him and the not-patient threaten me and manage to free their friend, then I shove them all back into the cell because I’m so fucking smart.”

Yeah.

“Then I come across a nice guy. He’s not a nice guy, he’s a cannibal. He saves me from not-patient, then tries to eat me. Then a floating Link cosplayer pops up, and I have no idea where he is now, and tells all of us that I’m supposed to be alive. Then they pop me into a truck and drive off, and I have no idea where I am right now, or what time it even is.”

Correct, check, all accounted for. Except you don’t know what time it is, where you are, and whether you’ll live to see the next day.

It’s now that a pen and paper slide over to you, and now you’re worried about how much Hoodie has heard.

“…when did you get here?” You ask meekly.

“You have no idea where you are and what time it is. It’s 5.57pm. You’re free to use whatever you need in the kitchen. And give us the list by 9pm,” He states flatly.

Okay, those answer all your questions. It could be a lot worse, like an actual kidnapping where you’re given absolutely zero information.

Hoodie slips out of the doorway, expression as unrevealing as ever, and closes the door. You don’t hear the lock click, a silent signal that you’re free to leave this room if you want. You really wonder why they’re not straight-up restraining you right now, but then again, how do you give someone therapy when you’re all tied up? And why even would you drag a rando to give your proxies therapy? Huge plot hole. Even if you were asylum staff, there’s no guarantee you’re actually able to treat them, especially since staff there were notorious for poor handling of patients…

You come to the conclusion that no way in hell The Operator, such a powerful entity, would call on someone as incompetent as the average asylum worker to treat his own proxies. He would choose based on merit and skill, but how would he even determine that? Does he have an archive of every single human in existence or something?

Doesn’t matter. You finish up the list, which is probably more akin to a half-hearted scrawl of the bare bones you’ll need for the office. Bean bags, a table and a carpet large enough to cover up these ugly goddamn tiles. And that’s pretty much it, aside from some simple writing equipment— files for each member of the household (save for The Operator, you fear at the idea of having to treat him) and a couple stacks of foolscap paper, along with some pens. You also throw in a sketchbook, pencils and erasers because why not. It’s time to learn a new motherfucking skill while you’re in this hellhole.

You’re pretty much only “awake”, that is to say, not spaced out when you try to find your way down to the kitchen. Given your dissociated state earlier, you expect not to be able to find it and instead get lost so fantastically you end up in the backrooms or something, but your muscle memory seems to bring you to the place you actually intend to be, conversation flooding the hall from inside the kitchen. It’s faint, but it gets louder as you approach. Very, very loud.

“Tobias Erin Rogers, I swear to fuck if you don’t come down here right now—”

“WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO, HUH?”

“I will kick your fucking ass!”

“NICE TRY, GRANDPA, I DON’T FEEL PAIN!” A whistle and a whoop.

You’re met with the sight of Toby perched on the top of the refrigerator, Masky’s face an angry red (because he’s literally angry), hands on his hips like he’s a 40-year-old mother scolding her child, and Hoodie pinching the bridge of his nose. All heads turn to you the moment you approach, which is kind of…no, absolutely fucking creepy.

You stand there. You have absolutely no idea what to do. Hell, you’re hungry as fuck, but if it saves you from awkwardness you’ll just grab a glass of tap water and run.

“Hey, Y/N!” Toby chirps like a baby bird, which is very strange given his size as a full-grown adult male.

“Uh…hey, Toby,” you choke out, forcing a smile as you awkwardly shuffle between the men to grab yourself something, anything, to pretend you know what you’re doing and you’re totally not panicking right now. Yes, you are composed, in control.

Then a loud THUD sounds behind you and you feel a presence very close behind you.

“Whatcha doooooin?”

You never, EVER expected to hear that annoying phrase after you left elementary school.

“I’m. I’m, uhhhh…” You chide yourself for literally not having spoken a single proper sentence today. God, you’re so off your game.

“You want the chili, right? I gotchu!” He speaks so fast, it’s a wonder he doesn’t trip over his words, though he does stutter a fair bit. A stupidly lanky arm reaches up over your head to the highest shelf and grabs you a jar of chili, then plops it into your hands. You stare at it and contemplate if you should take the entire thing and book it out of this situation. Fuck your spice tolerance, there are two men who are currently definitely staring at you right now, making a fool of yourself.

“For god’s sake, Toby, why the fuck would she want the fucking chili?” Groans Masky from the corner of the kitchen. He probably shifted his position since his little monkey brother jumped down from the fridge.

“I like it! I want some!”

“Not everyone eats it straight out of the jar, Toby.” Deadpans Hoodie.

Your head whips around to face the boy.

TOBY EATS IT STRAIGHT OUT OF THE FUCKING JAR????

He grins innocently at you. “I can—mm, fuck—can’t feel pain!” He proclaims it like he’s won the Nobel Prize for it. Your concern for this boy grows by the second.

“That’s…good to know, Toby,” you reply, then curse yourself for being an in-real-life dry texter. “What can you feel, then?”

The boy seems to think for a bit. “Hmmm, I can feel pressure… and I can’t feel tem-whu-woo, fuck—tempera—woo!…” His brows furrow as he concentrates, but you feel some frustration coming off him too.

“Take your time, Toby,” you reassure, now feeling a genuine human connection with this boy. Maybe he’s not that bad. “You can do it.”

“Temper-rature!” His face lights up at his success. “Temperrature!—woo!” He throws his fists up in the air as celebration and you feel an impossibly strong urge to protect this boy.

“Well done, Toby.” You find yourself smiling at him, surprisingly, which causes him to gasp.

“Y-y-you see that, guys? Ha, Y/N’s smiling! A-a-at me!” He beams, then wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up into a painfully tight hug.

“Ah… Toby, too tight…” You wince. He stutters an apology and puts you down, then sprints away.

Now, you’re no genius, but you know something’s up with that boy. You look to the other two for, hopefully, an answer.

Hoodie answers your unasked question. “Toby has something called BPD. Borderline personality disorder. It tends to affect his relationship with other people,” he states, but doesn’t elaborate. A test of your knowledge?

“I see,” is your short reply; you’re still processing the information you were provided first-hand. Should you write this down? “Thank you, Hoodie.”

“Call me Brian,” he corrects gently.

“Oh. Brian it is, then.” Huh, he doesn’t seem so touchy with his real name, unlike Masky. “And that’s Tim,” he says, nodding at Masky. Okay, guess not. This time, he elaborates. “You’re the only human from normal society for miles here. You may as well call us by our…human names.” Must be a way to preserve their sanity, then.

“I’m Y/N. Nice to formally meet you,” you say with a polite smile and an extension of your hand. Brian takes it and shakes your hand, a firm grasp on it and a hint of practice in it. This guy knows what he’s doing. “And you as well, Tim.” It’s his turn to shake your hand, and he grunts and shakes it too, with a significantly stronger hold, just enough for it not to hurt. Youch. Must be the aggressive type.

With a polite nod of acknowledgement, you confidently leave the kitchen, before stopping in your tracks.

You forgot your food.

plot twist you're an underqualified therapist ig. part 5 coming soon. chapter 5 is out.

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scoobydoodean · 10 months

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omg i just finished your emma vs amy takes and the subsequent discourse about it (which was so refreshing to see btw!! love it when adults can be Adults and argue about the topic without insulting the other person) and I might get fried for this but that incident aside, do you have any other scene/episode in mind where sam reacts the same way or does the same thing?

(im sorry if this isn't your cup of tea for asks! your takes have been Enlightening)

You mean another situation where Sam shoots a person with supernatural abilities who hasn't shed blood and has a sympathetic backstory without giving them a chance? Not as overtly—Benny in season 8's "Citizen Fang" certainly comes to mind, but even Benny, Sam at least made a show of giving a chance by assigning Martin to keep tabs on him and make sure he didn't do anything wrong before trying to kill him. (Though whether there was conscious or subconscious sabotage involved when Sam chose Martin specifically—someone he knew to be mentally unstable—is certainly a good question given Sam had already made death threats about Benny before then.)

The fact that Sam's behavior in 7.13 "Slice Girls" is pretty unique is really what I want to point out about this episode in the first place—that Sam's actions in "Slice Girls" are inconsistent with his previous behavior and future behavior as far as "good" monster episodes. We can turn to examples such as:

1.14 where Sam insists they try and talk Max down instead of killing him, because Max's murders are a result of extensive abuse.

Lenore and her nest in SPN's seminal "monsters can be good" episode (2.03)

Sam thinking Andy is responsible for the killings in 2.05 but still waiting for proof before acting.

2.09 where Sam insists they not kill someone they think might be infected with Croatoan virus before he turns and tries to kill them because that doesn't give him a chance.

Two episodes where Sam faces off against Gordon because Gordon wants to kill him before Sam kills someone (2.10, 3.07)

2.17 where Sam and Dean search for a cure for Madison, who is not aware that she has been killing people.

4.04 Metamorphosis where Sam is the one who takes the initiative to research Rugarus, learns that they can survive without giving into their urges, and insist they go and talk to him about how his body is changing (lol) so he has the chance to fight the urge to kill and eat people.

5.06 where Sam and Dean oppose Cas who wants to kill Jesse, who is a child who is not aware that he has powers and is hurting people.

6.02 where Sam, even soulless, recognizes the innocence of a shifter baby.

Then we have Amy and Emma in 7.03 and 7.13 respectively.

8.04 where the brothers let Kate the Werewolf go because she was turned against her will and killed the man who turned her in self-defense.

8.09 Citizen Fang (already discussed)

I'm getting lazy but then we also have Magda and Jack Kline—both children with powers, one severely abused, the other the son of the devil with uncontrolled explosive powers that could end the world, both of whom Sam attempts to help work with their abilities.

Dean has a more structured series of personal "rules"—a litmus test we see from the very beginning—one Sam often follows as well, but I'm not sure Sam ever really fully grasps that Dean thinks this way.

Has this person hurt or killed anyone?

Was it on purpose or was it outside of their awareness?

If it wasn't on purpose, are they capable of learning to control their urges?

We see this code as early as 1.12 "Faith":

SAM Wait, what the hell are you talking about Dean, we can't kill Roy. DEAN Sam the guys playing God, he's deciding who lives and who dies. That's a monster in my book. SAM No. We're not going to kill a human being Dean. We do that we're no better than he is.

Dean applies the same reasoning in 1.14 with Max:

SAM These visions, this whole time -- I wasn't connecting to the Millers, I was connecting to Max! The thing is I don't get why, man. I guess -- because we're so alike? DEAN What are you talking about. The dude's nothing like you. SAM Well. We both have psychic abilities, we both... DEAN Both what? Sam, Max is a monster, he's already killed two people, now he's gunning for a third.

Despite the exact opposite being the typical fandom perception, early on we learn that Sam tends to define a monster by their features/abilities, while Dean defines a monster by their actions. We see the same with Amy—she is "a monster who killed four people" (7.07) . She isn't a monster because of what she is but because of what she did. This again—is also why Dean doesn't even consider killing her son right after her kid swears to kill him one day. We see Dean, in the rare cases where it comes up, is also perfectly fine with taking out human serial killers they stumble across (ex: Thin Man).

Sam will also kill a human serial killer at times (and murderous witches by 3.09), but he reserves the word "monster" to describe individuals with supernatural features/abilities... and I think the fact that Sam's definition of the term differs from Dean's is something neither brother ever fully realizes about the other, leading at several points to arguments where they are talking past each other and do not understand one another. Sam hears "monster" and thinks "Dean is talking about me", when Dean is operating under a completely different definition of the term that is based on the actions of a person.

When Sam is in a headspace where he is thinking of himself as one of those monsters, he shows increased or lessened sympathy in turns. For example, he assumes Andy's guilt in 2.05 because he is panicked about becoming evil himself and is comparing the two of them (but again—still waits for confirmation) but his sympathy for Max in 1.14 comes from the same comparison with himself. Sam completely misrepresents Amy in 7.03 as an addict who relapsed but more generally is "managing", as a way to compare her with himself... when Amy didn't feed on anyone herself and her actions have absolutely nothing to do with addiction or battling "monstrous urges".

I've been bitching and moaning a lot, but I will reemphasize that there is a more sympathetic reason that Sam shoots Emma—Sam and Dean are both crowding up to the diving board at the deep end of the pool in season 7. Dean's grieving and is drinking extremely heavily to cope and Sam is hallucinating. They are both unraveling at the seams. Neither of them is in a place where they trust the other's judgement because they both know themselves and each other to be unstable. So if we imagine a reality where Sam and Dean give Emma a chance, and it doesn't take, Sam assesses himself and Dean to be in no mental state to cope with a potential surprise attack. It's just that Sam also erroneously compares Amy and Emma when they are not the same, and by doing so, frames Dean wanting to spare Emma but killing Amy as hypocrisy (because they are both "monsters") when Dean's actions are perfectly consistent with his personal ethical code and his definition of a "monster"... and Sam's actions aren't.

#sams moral compass #deans moral compass #mail #7.13 #1.14 #2.03 #2.05 #2.09 #2.10 #3.07 #2.17 #4.04 #5.06 #6.02 #8.04 #8.09 #7.07 #7.03 #emma #amy #max miller #jack montgomery #andy

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nickyroethemarinebiologist · 7 months

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Hello this is my presentation on what animals Les Mis characters would be except I'm only 500ish pages into the book so it's very short list at the moment

I decided almost IMMEDIATELY that Valjean would be some sort of owl, despite what I believe is the most popular interpretation being him as a lion. I was thinking of that one chapter in the book where he's referred to as an owl (the one called 'a nest for owl and wren' I think??) and decided yes absolutely that is 100% it. So then my first thought was a snowy owl, since they're pretty fucking big and also white (I'm not too bothered for hair colours and what have you in the rest of these but for Valjean it seemed pretty important) but the snowy owl look just wasn't doing it for me!! (something about their look was a little too intense, I guess??) And then! I remembered the barn owl (which is, by the way, probably my favourite owl). And yeah I might be a little biased towards them but they have a sort of gentle look while still being, y'know, owls (notoriously pretty dangerous predators). And of course, owls are nocturnal.

Also, just look at them!! The vibe is perfect, I'm certain of it.

(And!! While most barn owls have that light brown colouring, there have been white ones!! So the hair colour problem is all good)

Javert was a LOT more trouble (which I wasn't anticipating, after the easy pick for Valjean). He HAD to be some sort of wolf/dog-adjacent animal, that was the one and only condition (though I did briefly consider a horse. Just because he has a horse in both the 2018 BBC series and the 2012 movie??). A hyena was my first immediate pick (yeenvert <3) but it wasn't QUITE there and I was struggling desperately for some other idea. AND THEN! I decided, if no horse, why not a vaguely horse-shaped dog? Which led to a short list of hounds (scottish deerhound, irish wolfhound, ibizan hound) which I sort of juggled in my mind for a bit before finally deciding I kind of liked the scruffy deerhound vibe. They're very sweet dogs, as far as I know, so in that respect maybe not so accurate, but they definitely have the capacity to be foreboding in the same way most hounds have. They're also pretty tall!

(And yes I KNOW I said I wasn't fussed for colours but the grey on these guys is actually perfect for my mental image of Javert so! It's a happy accident!)

I knew pretty immediately that the bishop would be some sort of rooster. I have absolutely no reason for this other than the vibe was too perfect to ignore (though I think I might have been inspired by some gif of the bishop an old Les Mis movie where there were chickens in the background). So then I went on Wikipedia and ran through a list of roosters until I found this magnificent little beast, a faverolles rooster. I found on my not-so-extensive research journey that these guys are super gentle and apparently very hilarious, which, yeah, that's absolutely him <3

The bishop's sister (Mademoiselle Baptistine?) also gets a chicken. Because yeah they're related but also I just think it really fits her. Or maybe I'm biased, idk, I do really love chickens. I don't really have much to say about her which I am so so sorry for because I do really like her!! But she's a swedish flower hen

And Madame Magloire was going to be a chicken (before I gave that to the bishop's sister instead) but I later landed on some sort of donkey. Again, I haven't got much reason for this but the vibe is there!! I promise you!! I switched between a bunch of different donkey breeds (all of which I had never heard of before but I absolutely love, by the way. Go check out a provence donkey) and then i found the bourbonnais donkey, which is just perfect to me. If I have ever been certain of anything it's this.

(There's a disappointing amount of donkey photos on the internet. Where are they all!!)

I was going to save Fauchelevent for a different post but i really like him so he's here too. I was pretty sold on him as a sheep at first, and I very nearly left it at that but then!! I learned of a cashmere goat, which was not only a lot closer to how I imagine him but also they look cool as hell!! So I thought, okay, that was easy, but something still wasn't sitting quite right. The goat idea was absolutely perfect, but the cashmere goat was too far in the direction away from the sheep idea (which I'm still very attached to). So instead I went for an angora goat! Which apparently do something pretty close to gardening for a goat (eating/destroying nuisance plants and improving pastures) so it was almost too perfect to pass up. Also their horns are pretty awesome

(It's very funny to me personally that Valjean is an owl while Fauchelevent is a goat. Yes, we are brothers, the bird and the goat. Makes perfect sense)

I was going to give Cosette one in this post too but I'm not 100% sure of hers yet!! So she'll have to wait. I apologise deeply.

#IM SO SORRY FANTINE ISNT HERE ALSO I HAVE ZERO IDEAS FOR HER!!#however i am very happy with these #barn owl valjean my beloved <3 #les miserables

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nevermoreconfessions · 4 months

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I'm...sorry for being back... PoeAnon.. But I got so damn curious about the staff that I went back to read Masque of Red Death and I have a few stretches I can make here to at least make a structure for theories. I think. THIS IS ALL WORD SPEWING DON'T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY <3 also feel free to ignore if it's too long, I know I get ranty on accident (⇀‸↼‶)

First, things to notice in the story that might be significant/prominent in Prospero:

- The guests in the story avoided the black and red room because of the ebony clock and it's ambience.

- There are seven colored rooms, but purple and violet can be considered the same color family if you don't think about it much. I'm thinking maybe the "wings" represent each room? It has six spikes but the hourglass in the middle could be the 'ebony clock' ????

- In the story, Red Death is depicted as a man that then stabs Prince Prospero dead and maybe where the blood spewing from that one panel came from?

- Prospero has an ability that's to paralyze people and it seems like his watch is what controls that, maybe the connection is that in the story, the chime of the clock is so loud and demanding, it causes everyone including the orchestra to stop what they're doing??

- Also, I don't know if this is as relevant as I think it is but the last room was black woth red windows, it's the only one where the windows don't match the inside and since he is fully black but his eyes (windows of a the soul????????) are red- well... I don't know..

I've seen people debate each room's significance and I've seen purple being 'childhood' while 'violet' is old age, and since Prospero in spectre form uses a purple-ish hue, not sure if purple or violet more.... That could be significant? Anyway, this got waaaaayyyyyy too long but yeah, I felt stupid in my previous Anon so I went to do a bit of research and thought of sharing what I got thus far. Please lmk what you think!!

- PoeAnon :>

POEANON!!

So sorry for the late response, PoeAnon. I kept you waiting.

While most of my posts have extensive commentary, I'm going to let you keep the spotlight, here, since you have more Edgar Allan knowledge than me, but here's my tidbits of comments:

Oh, I didn't consider the wings before. That would be a very clever reference! And here I was thinking it was because of diseases...

As for the stabbing, you really spiked by intrigue. Prospero did seem to be stabbed in the neck, or slashed, so I'd make sense if his death reflected the story. The more I think about him, the more intrigued I am about his death. It's a complete mystery, to me.

You aren't stupid, PoeAnon. Our little communication has been my favorite moment on this blog. You're the only one who has a nickname, after all.

Wow, look at those windows to the soul. I'm enamored.

#nevermore confessions #nevermore webtoon #nevermore #prospero nevermore

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noyasaur · 9 months

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hii!! i have a few shifting questions im a bit new lol

can you prove shifting is real? im trying to shift but i cant get over the fact that it might not be real and that im wasting my life yk?

do i have to script personalities or appearances to existing characters or will they jut be like they are in the show/game?

how can i be more motivated to shift?

sorry if this doesnt make sense! im a bit bad at english even though its my first language lol

anyways have a great day!!

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

hihi anon ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i hope you're doing well and welcome! i hope your journey is going well so far! and don't worry, your questions made perfect sense! and i also apologise for taking so long to answer your questions, i spent a lot of time trying to formulate the right answers for your questions so i hope i'm able to help 😭 and sorry for the super long answer!

anyway, let's answer your questions~

🪐 CAN YOU PROVE SHIFTING IS REAL?

honestly, this is a tricky one. i want to be very honest with you and i, in no way want to demotivate you at all! right now, the only way of 'proving' shifting (at least, to my knowledge) is through experiencing shifting ourselves, or trusting other shifter's word as proof of reality shifting. regarding scientific research and proof behind reality shifting, to my knowledge, there are no studies that directly investigate reality shifting. i also feel like reality shifting would already be incredibly difficult to prove already on top of the existence of infinite realities/potentials, thus leading to an extension of an infinite amount of different variables.

reality shifting is a very personal experience and one's journey and experience will differ from person to person. unfortunately, in the current state of our reality, reality shifting has not been scientifically proven.. yet.

reality shifting is on of those experiences where you just have to form your own beliefs on it, and trust yourself and others. i like to think of it this way. take our own consciousness for example- we are all conscious right now, correct? we all know we have consciousness. it's a known fact. however, very little is known about our own consciousness, it's origins and it's power. but we all know that we have a consciousness, and we can't prove it to anyone yet but ourselves.

people thought lucid dreaming wasn't real many years ago and now people recognise it as a legitimate practice. same with astral projection, and out of body experiences.

and i know shifting is real because i have experienced parallel reality shifts (some intentional and some unintentional) and mini-shifts myself.

however, not all hope is lost! are there studies and theories on infinite universes, parallel realities and the multiverse? yep! are there studies on consciousness, quantum mechanics and biophotons? yes! there are plenty of studies, theories, and concepts that can be linked together and used to scientifically determine how reality shifting is even possible in the first place. yes, it's one of those things that isn't believed or accepted by the general public, but it exists. we may not know exactly how and we can only theorise, but there are connections that can be made.

now, i completely understand your worries on how reality shifting might not be real. that's totally valid! especially speaking since we've been conditioned out whole lives to think otherwise. that we only have one shot at life and we have to work hard to get our desires, but know we now that's the opposite? we can live an infinite amount of lives and have an infinite amount of parallel realities? we are the creators of our own reality and we have the power to shape what we experience?

however, this is where you come in. i highly recommend that to reassure your worries, find these answers out for yourself. determine what exactly reality shifting is for you and find how it is possible, instead of worrying about what if it's not possible. i'm not a fan of overconsumption of shifting information, however i think it's good to do a deep dive on shifting every now and then to help you open your mind to question what reality shifting is and how it's possible. then, when you've formed your own beliefs on shifting, it's easier to validate your belief and trust in shifting since you've discovered yourself how it's possible and what it is to you! that way, you won't need to worry about any external shaking your beliefs or making you worry about whether shifting is real or not because YOU have personally worked out how it's possible for you.

explore and read about other people's experiences, beliefs and theories on shifting. read scientific papers on concepts relating to shifting such as The Many Worlds Theory, multiverses, and parallel realities. read about the Law of Assumption and consciousness. read shifting success stories! just anything that relates to shifting. and don't worry, at the end of this post, i'll link some helpful resources at the end that have helped me explore deeper into how reality shifting is possible!

and if you're worried about wasting your life away on reality shifting, something that could help is to normalise reality shifting. what i mean by that is see reality shifting as something that is an everyday casual thing (which it is). think of it as a hobby, and not something you don't need to be heavily obsessed over. become content with the fact that, "oh, there's this super cool thing i can do! i can shift realities, i'll try it. oh, i didn't shift, that's okay i'll try again next time. oh, i shifted? cool!"

remember that reality shifting and your desired realities all exist in the now regardless, and they aren't going anywhere. reality shifting is not something super unattainable. i understand where you're worries are coming from and they are 100% valid.

🪐 DO I HAVE TO SCRIPT CHARACTER'S PERSONALITIES OR APPEARANCES, OR WILL THEY JUST BE LIKE HOW THEY ARE IN THE GAME/SHOW?

now, you don't have to script character's entire personalities and appearances (if you don't want to!). you can, but it's also not necessary. it's entirely up to you :)

with scripting, you don't have to script everything down to the tee. you aren't specifically creating any reality out of thin air, more like visually and physically specifying your intentions of what reality you want to shift to/experience. in fact, some people don't even have scripts!

scripting essentially has no power. scripting is just a physical, visual outline of the desired reality where you intend to shift to. to sort out your thoughts and intentions. your subconscious mind already holds everything in that script and whatever else you intend to experience. your subconscious knows what you want and it'll fill in all the gaps for you, so don't stress!

there is no requirement or criteria for how much, or how little you need to script. you can script as little as you like, or as much as you like! thus, if you don't script anything about a character's personality or appearance, but you intend for them to act like how they would in their respective game/show, then they will act how you expect them to. you can even add that in your script if you want as well: "this character will have the same personality/appearance as they do in ___." it's all up to your assumptions and intentions.

however, if you feel like you want to script their appearance or personality, then go for it! do whatever makes you feel best and most comfortable.

🪐 HOW CAN I BE MORE MOTIVATED TO SHIFT?

oh gosh, there are so many different ways to help keep you motivated to shift! i'll try not to ramble :)

honestly, just thinking about the concept of reality shifting and the possibilities can be motivating enough. like how there are infinite realities and infinite possibilities? you can literally experience anything and be anyone you want to be.

you can consume any kind of content relating to your desired reality, watch videos, create pinterest boards (e.g. your outfits in your dr, dr locations, etc.), write letters to people in your desired reality, or think/make a list of things you're excited to experience in your desired reality.

or even just think about your desired reality and get yourself excited! what are you excited to experience? who are you excited to meet? what are you scared about? where do you want to visit? things like that.

however, while i am a big advocate for being able to seek motivation from yourself, it's also good to watch videos and read about other people's shifting experiences to motivate yourself! find other people who have the same/similar desired realities as you, or read shifting stories.

however, it's good to learn how to motivate yourself and not rely on other's so much for validation on shifting, it's existence and motivation. however, it doesn't hurt to consume shifting stories and tips from shifters too, just don't rely too much on it as your main source of validation/motivation.

additionally, it's completely okay to feel demotivated with shifting. it's okay to be drained. and it's also okay to take breaks when you need it. stay at your own pace and don't rush yourself into anything. you don't need to be trying to shift every single day of the year if you don't feel like it. reality shifting isn't going anywhere and your desired realities are always going to exist. so please don't stress and don't feel like you need to rush! you can always shift to your desired reality whenever you want, and however you want!

alright, i hope i answered your questions well and i hope this helped! and i apologise if i rambled a little bit, i just had so much to say (especially for the first question dhjkds).

have an amazing day and good luck on your shifting journey! you got this! ʚɞ ⁺˖

- saturn ♡

🪐 HELPFUL RESOURCES! (these are just some that have helped me!)

REALITYSHIFTING101 - i found this user through amino and their posts have been so, so informative in the in-depth science behind reality shifting and how it's possible. honestly one of the only shifters i've seen who's done such an in-depth analysis on reality shifting and the objective science behind it.

blog: https://realityshifting.medium.com/ amino: https://aminoapps.com/c/desired/page/user/realityshifting101/5w64_MWUYf81pj0qoYwJY00P5JdG5ZxmQHY ULTIMATE RESOURCE: Total Shifting Science (amino): https://aminoapps.com/c/desired/page/blog/ultimate-resource-total-shifting-science/xLkq_62t2u6DWEXn3x55w5rgL5z5vZkKmm

LOVE - an amino user who's been shifting for quite some time and visited many different realities. provided some very interesting information and perspectives on the reality shifting, the multiverse, other realities, and some interesting terminology and concepts.

amino profile: https://aminoapps.com/c/desired/page/user/nill-l/vPMG_2qu2f6eoEGbvBBwwP7kK2Y1qepw32sX

OTHER RESOURCES - here is are some other uncategorised links of good shifting resources!

reddit post (shifting + other shifting related resources): https://www.reddit.com/r/shiftingrealities/comments/ow7n7y/recommended_reliable_resources/ yennieshifts shifting carrd: https://yennieshifts.carrd.co/https://yennieshifts.carrd.co/

#shiftblr #shifting #reality shifting #desired reality #shifting realities #reality shifter #shifting blog #desired realities #noyasaur #shifting community #visualisation #ask saturn💌#🪐 ― saturn's shifting advice!

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