#turned off reblogs cause it was genuinely making me upset that people reblog the wrong version lmao

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Days of Splendour

Sequel to Marriage of Inconvenience, Acts of Atonement, and Memories of Misdeed

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, marital discord/neglect, cheating, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You face the fall out of your confession.(Regency AU)

Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne

Note: You can imagine any Bruce you want. I hate Affleck so I went for Christian Bale in my head but to each their own. I pictured Cavill because uhhhh yes, but hey if you wanna go with Brandon Routh that’s chill af, or Tom Welling.

And here’s the unexpected sequel.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Humpty Dumpty love falling off walls. Take care. 💖

Bruce stares at you. The confusion that glimmers in his eyes startles you, dismays you. Your heart clenches tightly as you can hardly stand on your own. You could bear the years of neglect stabbing into you like a dagger but you cannot bear any hurt you could cause him.

“Tell me,” he utters in a brittle tone, Kent’s laughter tapers off into raspy snorts.

You gulp and quiver as you cross your arms, not comforting yourself, bracing yourself. You must tell him. To be done with it. So that you may face his wrath and your fate as a fallen woman. 

You sniff and bring a glove up to wipe your nose, your other hand firmly on your elbow. “The night of the fair…”

“Oh go on, regale him with how I thrilled you,” Clark bolsters from below, a smooth strike with the shove snaps his head back. You wince at how his skull hits the floor and he groans into a slurred grumble, “Wayne, you…”

He does not finish as you sway, staring at the silver shovel, almost hoping he swings it at you next. You fold your hands over your chest and shudder as the memories swells in your stomach, threatening to revolt as bile rises up your throat.

“Upon our journey back to this manor, Lord Kent… I… in the carriage we… were unfaithful,” you push the words out with a breath and cannot inhale again, dizzy as you stumble, turning to press your hand to the window and stay upright, “I’m sorry, husband, I am unworthy of you and all you’ve provided me.” You press your hand to your stomach, the tight stay making it hard to take in air, “I only ever want to please you but I have committed a crime which no wife could be forgiven–”

A soft nudge quiets your sobs, you wiggle your nose as you glance over, Bruce stands in smeared hues behind the wall of your tears. He stops your hand as you go to flick away the droplets from your cheeks, instead wrapping your fingers around the shovel. He steps close, so close you can smell the citrusy scent of his cologne.

“Go on,” he urges.

“What–” you quiver as you try to pull away, try to release the shovel but he holds it in your grasp.

“He deserves it, and you should be the one to deliver it upon him,” Bruce’s deep timbre sinks into you. You’ve never heard that tone from him before. It’s dangerous and dark. “So go, lay upon him the wrongs he’s done to you.”

You swallow and sniffle, more tears spring out in your shock. You shake as you reach for his other arm. “Please, husband, I cannot–”

“Why?” It’s a genuine question, as if the thought of violence would be natural.

“I… am not… cannot…hurt him. Or anyone…” you flutter your lashes as you try to see him clearly through your lashes, “it is I that is owed castigation.”

He sighs and turns his face away, blinking long in irritation. He shakes his head as he draws away, taking the shovel as he spins to face Lord Kent. The other man sits dizzily on his knees, gripping his head as his bright blue eyes flash up to face his adversary.

Bruce points at him with the shovel, “I should cave your head in with this, I should stain this carpet with your blood, I should make you beg until no breath can rise from your lifeless chest,” he snarls, “but I shall not. Unlike you, I have honour, so I will allow you your life…” your husband pauses and glances at you, “so long as you are away from my estate at once. So long as you do not tarry and goad me further for I do not know how much longer I can withhold my vengeance upon you, sir.” 

He grips the shovel and prods Kent’s chest as he bends to meet his gaze, “go now and never lay eye or hand on my wife again. At the risk of my fury, you will not so much as think upon her. For the next time I shall not think to fetch a shovel but my pistol.”

He shoves Kent with the shovel and takes a steps back, pointing with the long silver handle towards the door. Kent’s eyes wander towards you and the gleam of the shovel quickly deters him. He stands with a stagger, gripping his knees before he can set himself on his own weight. Blood trickles from his nose and the cut along his cheek.

No words pass between the men in the stolid stalemate. Bruce stands unmoving but for his eyes as they follow Lord Kent out the door. Alfred’s voice greets him from the corridor, no doubt the loyal butler has heard it all and is ready to see the man from the premises.

You shiver and your legs buckle and fold. You collapse into a heap and catch yourself on the heel of your hands. You weep freely as all strength abandons you on the cold floor.

“I am so sorry, my lord,” you quaver, “please, I do beg of you to forgive me. I will do whatever you wish. Should you wish me to go–”

Your voice lumps in your throat as the shovel clatters to the floor. You reluctantly look up with a trembling lip as Bruce stands staring at the floor, one foot kicked out as he grips one hip. His face is lost in shadows and sets in you a new fear. 

You think for a moment he may do worse to you than Kent. You will not resist if that is as he wishes. What more do you deserve?

He drags his foot around as he turns. You wince as he nears you with heavy steps and bends his knees as he brings himself to your level. He puts his hands on your arms and slowly rises, bringing you up with him. You stand uneasily, legs quaking as he holds you up.

You can’t look at him but suspect he can’t either. He pulls you against him suddenly, you squeak. He holds you there, you hear the beating of his heart, arms tight around you, body stiff. His embrace slackens and at once he is scooping you off your feet.

You latch onto his shoulder as you smother a gasp. He stares ahead, determined, as he turns and carries you across the room. The house is empty and silent as he comes out into the corridor, the staff scattered from the discord.

“Br– Lord Wayne,” you murmur as you place your hand on his chest.

He does not answer as his long strides continue into the foyer and the ascent is slower, jarring you with each step. He proceeds past your door as you squirm in his arms, uncertain and afraid. He is your husband, your master, he may punish you as he sees fit. As his wife, you must heed his will.

He pauses, shifting you as he bends to turn the knob on his bedroom door. You hold your breath, tears dried up with anticipation, with dread. He continues within and kicks shut the door behind him. Your fingers curl into his vest as you steel yourself for what comes next.

He goes to the bed and lays you down gently. You’re surprised as he straightens and tugs at his stock, freeing it from his neck. He works at unbuttoning his high collar, nose flaring with his thoughts as his dark eyes dilate. You stare at him, witless.

He unbuttons his waistcoat and disposes it. His attention drifts away from his own attire as he comes closer to the bed. He bends and reaches around you, pulling at the knot behind you that holds your silk belt in place. The thick ribbon with the opal stone at the front drops into your lap.

“You are my wife still,” he says, looking you in the eyes, “you will ever be my wife. It is I that have failed you,” he retreats and continues to undress, “that I sent you off with that cad, exposed you to his perversions–” he shakes his head at himself, nearly ripping his shirt as he yanks the tails from the top of his breeches, “it will not happen again, ever. I will see that it does not.”

“My lord, it is not your–”

“Not my fault?” He puffs as he faces you again, his chest tense as it peeks out from beneath his open shirt, “do you think it your own?”

You blink at him. You can’t say it aloud but you do.

“No, that… beast, that creature,” he snarls and hits his hand with his fist, “he has preyed upon a married woman, he has defiled my own wife, and– and you are too gentle to hold an ounce of anger for him. So let me, let me carry that flame and let it burn me from the inside. For you deserve better, you deserve vengeance.” He clicks his tongue and shrugs off his shirt, tearing it off in frustration, “you deserve better than I am and better I shall be.”

He nears you again and you barely keep from wilting before him. He takes your hands and urges you to rise. You do, quivering, and he follows your sleeves up your arms and his fingers dance over your shoulders. He tickles your neck and cradles your face, his own body shaking.

“Ready for bed, blossom,” he bids as he hovers his lips over yours, “so that I may hold you close and safe in my arms.”

“My lor–”

“Bruce, your husband,” he insists as his thumb brushes your cheek, “yours, as you are mine.”

He crushes his lips to yours fervently. You let him as his hands frame your jaw firmly, squeezing as he touches you with an intent you’ve never felt in him again. So raw and rabid, all rigidity tossed away. His tongue pokes into your mouth demandingly and he edges you back against the bed.

You fall and he descends with you. He parts as he holds himself over you, his breath washing over you hotly. He pets your face and traces your hairline as he marvels at you, “there has been much excitement, wife, and I wish only to have you in my arms and sleep. So that you may rest, that you may recover.”

Your eyes wet and you wiggle your nose, “m–Bruce,” you caress his bare shoulder, “you are too generous, too forgiving–”

“You needn’t my forgiveness and he shall never have it,” he hisses, “but I will ever have you, until eternity, my blossom, as you swore to me and I to you.”

💔

The warmth is sweltering. Bruce lays flush to your back, his arm snaked around you to keep you close, as if to trap you there. You have no thought of escape as you wake gradually, the chill of the chamber creeping in over the top of the eider. 

You pull the blanket closer to your chin as your husband shifts behind you. He grumbles into your hair, the heat of him seeping through the measly layers of linen. Your shift is a poor shield to the early morning cold and the man behind you. 

He untucks his hand from under you and drags it up your stomach. He covers one side of your chest, fondling you as he purrs and wiggles against you. His fingers crawl up and pluck at the laces across your chest. He loosens them enough to slip beneath your shift, toying with your nipple as it hardens against his touch.

A ripple flows through you. You could cry again. He wants you still. Even after a night to think, he desires you. He does not blame you, though you cannot say the same. The guilt lingers and nips at the nape of your neck.

He nuzzles the back of your head and hums, edging down the slender sleeves of your shift to bare your chest completely. He gropes you, playing with you, tweaking strings deep inside you. You moan and nestle into him, welcoming him.

His hand trails up to your shoulder and he moves, leaving you cold as he pushes you onto your back. A rush of air flows in beneath the blankets as he lifts himself over you, edging your legs apart with his knee. He bends his arm around your hand and leans in to kiss you.

You breathe into him, letting all the tension, all the worry drifting away. You touch him shyly, fingers fluttering over his side, making him twitch. You feel the strength in him, relish in it, feel safe in it.

His mouth slips across your cheek. He kisses along your jaw and neck, doting on you, exploring as if it’s all new again. His lips make you giggle as they meet your throat and he rolls his thumb over your nipple, stirring another flicker of elation. 

Your hand brushes along the top of his short drawers and he groans. He wants it, you want it to. You push down the linen and he shifts his hips to help you. His fingers walk down your stomach and trace the line of your pelvis. He slips between your bodies and along your folds. He rubs you cloyingly as his shorts catch around his thighs.

You moan and twine your hand into his dark hair as he nibbles along your collarbone. He teases your tender bud as his mouth follows the curve of your breast, pinch the skin between his teeth as you squirm. He takes a nipple between his lips and sucks, another strike of pleasure pings up your spine, arching you against him.

“Bruce,” you rasp as you grasp his shoulder, “please…”

He purrs and it rolls through you. His fingers tease your wet folds as he coaxes your body. You bend your legs around him, ready, impatient. 

He slips his hand away and his mouth leaves a wet smear up your chest. He raises himself over you, guiding his tip along your cunt. You bite your lip as you bring your hands along the sides of his neck, the tendons straining as he prods along your entrance.

He thrusts into you all at once. You cry out as your hands fall to his shoulders and you dig your nails into his flesh. He does it again, harder, the sudden urgency surprises you. You gasp and press a palm to his chest as he ruts once more.

“Bruce,” you whisper.

He pushes his legs up, shorts stretched between his thighs as you bend your knees around him. He snarls as he snaps his hips again and you curve your spine deeper to take him. He’s never been like this. Before, those few times in the early days of your marriage were dull and dutiful, and since, soft and fond. Now, he’s rough but not unloving. Desperate, almost.

He kisses you, swallowing up any protest you might muster. He rams into you, over and over, flesh slapping loudly between you. The pressure, the friction of his pelvis against yours, tingles over you, coiling within, tight until fraught.

You whine into his mouth and hook your arm around his neck as you cum. You spasm as your walls twitch around him, succumbing to his demands. His lips part from yours as he chuckles, tickling your side as he thrusts as deep as he can.

He frames your chin and turns your head harshly as your arm slips away from his neck. His lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “you will never again be lost, blossom, for you are exactly where you belong.”

He shoves himself up, sitting back on his heels as the bed jostles with the movement. He runs his hands along your thighs and grips your hips, pulling you further onto him. He watches the joining of your bodies as he sinks deeper and you whine. 

You reach back to clutch the pillow as you grit your teeth. He rocks, growling as his eyes cling to his long strokes pushing in and out of you. He rams his hips up until you're full and you exclaim. He does it again, just as hard, and you squeal. He smirks, keeping the deliberate tempo.

He drags his hand away from your hip and presses his thumb to your clit. You writhe as he tilts his hips, rubbing you as he fucks faster and faster. All control flies away from him as your voices rise and mingle in the frigid air, now damp and smelly with your sweat.

“Oh, blossom, I know you can do it,” he taunts, “yes, only for me, yes?”

You puff as another climax piques in you, shaking you to your core as you bend your legs around him, begging for more. He grins and slides his hand beneath your knee, then the other, pulling your legs up his torso, spreading his hands across your thighs, fingertips poking into you sharply.

He hangs his head back as his tempo quickens, hammering into you as he growls at the canopy. You moan and sink your nails into the pillow as his needs ripples through you, enthralling you, melting you to a quivering mess.

He snarls and grunts, snapping his hips several times before stopping, holding himself at his limit as his body twitches. He’s breathless as he caresses you from thigh to foot and back down again. He lets your legs fall around him and bends over you, kissing your fiery cheek.

“My wife, my blossom,” he coos as he runs his thumb over your lower lip, “I promise you, there will never again be any other but me for you.”

“Husband,” you exhale wispily, “I–”

He hushes you and pecks your lips, “do not be sorry, ever.”

💔

You can almost forget Lord Kent’s disastrous visit, yet Bruce’s new ardor is a constant reminder. A reassurance almost as he chips away at the guilt still hard as a stone in your chest. His insistent presence and attention are a pendulum between soothing and suffocating. He is your husband, however, and you swore to serve him.

That day, he is in his study. A rare occasion in the weeks since the revelation. He has not gone to the parliament more than once a week and spends much of his time with you, whether it be with your books or his bed. More than his habits, his manner has changed. He is more intense, more insistent. As if he is afraid, and other times, he seems enraged. Not at you, but at some unspoken threat.

You’re at your vanity when the knock comes. Ester helps you with the ribbon you thought to tie around your hair as you call for the visitor. Bruce enters, dressed simply in dove grey and navy, his eyes sparkling as you peek over from the looking glass.

“And what is the occasion?” He wonders as his footsteps pad over the floor.

“Housework,” you chuckle, “I suppose a ribbon isn’t needed.”

“Housework?” He rests his hand on the edge of the vanity, you feel his gaze on you, “is that not what the staff are employed for?”

“I like to help,” you shrug, “I mostly say where to move the furniture when I do not like the arrangement.”

“I did wonder why the settee keeps wandering,” he muses, “but I’m afraid I must put a pin in your plans.”

“Oh?” You look up at him as Ester sighs and lets the ribbon fall limp again. 

You know you’ve been moving overly much, your restlessness worse with each day. That cause of which is hard to determine as it befalls you at unsensible times. And the sickness that keeps you from finishing your morning meals, sometimes those later in the day. You wonder if the winter has brought an ague upon you.

“The seamstress has come,” he declares as if you should know why. Your confused look affirms that you don’t, “so that you may have a new dress for the yule celebration.”

You tilt your head at him as Ester pulls back, “forget the ribbon, Ester, apologies,” you wave her away and turn to Bruce, “a new dress?”

“Did I not mention it?” He gives a crooked smirk.

“You know that you did not,” you smile as glee erupts in your stomach. You’ve not had a new outfit since before your marriage, a whole trousseau left neglected in your isolation.

“Consider it a surprise,” he offers his hand, “I’ve come to escort you, lady.”

“Well, aren’t you the gentleman, this day,” you tease as you take his hand and rise.

“As I am every day, though we shall not mention the nights,” he winks and you give a glance to Ester as she barely hides her amusement.

“Husband,” you tap his arm in reprimand.

He laughs and leads you to the door, “you do not counter the point, however.”

“This is not The House, sir, thus I needn’t entertain your debates,” you reproach.

“Oh, how you entertain me in other ways,” he hooks his arm through yours.

“My, you are naughty,” you chide, “what has overcome you, husband?”

“Only your beauty,” he leans over to kiss your hair.

You giggle and shake your head at him. He leads you downstairs to the sunroom, the windows shrouded behind the thick winter curtains as rolls of fine fabric are displayed before them, the fireplace burning amber, as a woman in a plain grey dress stands patiently beside it. You cannot believe the scene.

“Madam,” she greets with a nod from Bruce as he lets you go, “I am Marigold, I am here to take your measurement back to Monsieur Lammeau.”

“Lammeau?” You bat your lashes, “why, he resides in Paris.”

“Monsieur is vacationing in London presently,” Marigold explains, “and is eager for the many commissions he received for the king’s yule ball.”

“Why, I…” you look at Bruce as he strides to a chair and sits smugly, “sir, you are a scamp.”

He smiles over his knuckles as he leans his chin in his hand. You are surprised further that he remains but don’t let it affect you. You are much too excited at the site of silks, brocades, and muslins.

“Shall we review the fabric first, lady? Then I shall close with your measurements,” Marigold directs. 

You accede to her suggestion and go to tall rolls. A tailor would often travel with pocket-sized swatches but you suspect the extravagance is at your husband’s insistence. 

You peruse the many options before you. The teal and gold brocade is much too springish for the season, the violet muslin too presumptuous for court, and the black silk too drab. You don’t mind the burgundy velvet with small gems set into it in an even pattern but you think of the expense, the plain blue might be preferable in cost, and the emerald satin is simple enough for most patterns.

“Hmm, I cannot decide,” you tap your lip, “I wonder what the other ladies have chosen.”

“The other ladies’ options have been removed from the catalogue, madam,” Marigold says, “they do seem fond of muslin despite the cold however.”

“What about the red velvet?” Bruce offers, “you seemed to linger on that.”

“Yes, but… it seems rather ostentatious, perhaps without the gems,” you mull.

“I think it suits you,” he insists, “wouldn’t you say, Marigold?”

“The red is a fine tone for your complexion and would take only a simple cut,” Marigold offers, “but of course, it is the lady’s preference that matters.”

“I do like it,” you twiddle your fingers, “might I ask the price?”

“You may not,” Bruce interjects, “that is a matter I will attend to, lady.”

You give an abashed, tight-lipped smile, “yes, husband.”

“Is that your decision, madam?” Marigold prompts.

“If I don’t decide on it now, I don’t think I should be able to choose,” you say, “yes, I will have the velvet.”

“Very good,” she takes out a small notebook, “Monsieur will arrange a visit to consult about his designs, but for now, I will take your measurements. It would require, madam, to be done with only your shift.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose, that would be necessary,” you glance at Bruce who is unmoved at the suggestion.

“I’ve seen less than the shift,” he shrugs as he sits back.

You’re taken aback for a moment by his impropriety. It was once that this man seemed averse to anything not stamped into him by years of etiquette. You cannot be displeased by it, though it does confound you.

“Shall we call for Ester?” Bruce wonders, “to assist.”

You agree and wait as the maid is summoned. She helps unlace your layers, secured less than an hour ago, and you stand in only your shift and slippers. It feels odd being in such a state anywhere beyond private chambers. 

You raise your arms and stand still as Marigold does her work. You watch the scribbles she makes in her notebook, distracted only by Bruce’s intractable gaze. He squints at you for a moment and you wonder what he is thinking of. 

You peek at the numbers again before Marigold closes up the pages. She thanks you and declares her job done. You give her a half-minded courtesy as your mind strays. 

The numbers are not as they were at your last fitting. It has been some time and you have noticed your stays are tighter. It isn’t unexpected to gain some weight, especially in the winter months. Still, you can’t help but ponder.

Bruce stands to thank Marigold as you dress. You subtly brush your hand over your stomach as Ester ties your laces. A speckling heat spreads beneath your shift and sweat beads on your scalp. You feel suddenly out of breath.

“Are you well, miss?” Ester asks quietly as you turn to her, your husband’s voice droning as he assures Marigold he will have the staff assist with her carriage.

“Yes, I am only a bit…” 

You can’t finish the sentence as you don’t know what you feel. Fear, anxiety, hope? You can’t figure which is the strongest as you try to recall the last time you had your monthly bleeding.

[eoinmcgonigal]

So I saw a post about tumblr wanting to try this 'communities' thing, and I just gotta vent/say my piece. (the tl;dr is 'fuck that shit')

1. I really hate the current trend of fracturing and fragmenting things down into little pieces so they can be categorised into boxes. That's not natural. (Also, discord pushing threads, which I already detest for 1) making me feel like I'm gonna hurl from the violently dissonant, ugly layout, 2) the severely narrow topic problem, and 3) how neurodiverse-hostile they are.)

Like, naturally conversations meander. If you're only allowed to discuss one topic, it's gonna be stifling. You WILL run out of things to say. Making another little box isn't going to fix it, it'll just add to the clutter

2. Quite importantly, honestly, just stop fucking changing shit. It's unnecessary

3. It's not going to be neurodiverse-friendly. As if fandom hasn't changed enough to become increasingly unfriendly to people who are just here to enjoy their hyperfixation and/or special interest. I don't need another thing to learn to navigate. I don't need another place with different rules to carefully traverse. Yes, I'm fandom old and salty. I'm AuDHD and a spoonie with about half a spoon to spend on a good day. I do not have the energy to do all this switching about and jumping from thing to thing. It's exhausting. I want everything where I can find it, and where I can be passionate without having to perform tasks like it's some customer service job, or job interview

4. FOMO shit is toxic. This whole 'be a part of the thing!' necessity if you want to 'engage' or see the conversations and 'content'. Why? I guess it's a social media model that drives engagement, but the stress of it is going to fuck people up. What if you don't have the time, energy, health, spoons, social skills, etc? I have no idea how much interacting will be expected with other people in the 'community' but I can see it becoming a twitter-like circlejerk, and if you're not one of the 'in' crowd doing your required interaction/reblogging/commenting then you might as well not exist to that fandom/group

5. From the description, it looks like these things will be ripe for drama, toxicity, clique shit, becoming echo chambers, etc. because 'semi public' means you gotta opt in/join in some way and whatever's said isn't visible to any old user

Like, who is going to create and mod these things? Who decides what the rules are? What if your fave is 'problematic', or your kink is 'gross' (if nsfw is allowed at all), your take doesn't fit with fanon, or you are just a bit weird and people shun or turn on you for that?

I hope I'm wrong and either these things never happen or they're not as bad as I fear, but fuck sakes I have the above worries because it's shit I've seen happen time and time again, and I don't want to see given a place here

Also, genuinely, what the fuck is tumblr going to be like if you can't/don't want interact with these community things?

Quickly, 6. it creates an 'us' (in crowd) vs. 'them' (not part of our gang)

And then 7. who is going to be dominant in these 'communities'?

Yes, I'm upset right now, because tumblr was just fine (well, fine enough) until this point. I mean:

We have the ability to make sideblogs! (My Star Wars sideblog from... well a decade ago oops... is still out there, I don't touch it any more but I left it up for people to go through). Tumblr even made it so we can reply with sideblogs, which was a very neat update.

Tags!! I don't think it's as usual these days for people to go through tags to find new content, but that's how I do it, how I've always done it, and how I always intend to do it. I'm not following everyone who makes an SAS:RH post. I love you guys, but no. My dash would cause me to have a panic attack. It's already too much for me most days.

EFFORT!!!! I can be here every day full-time doing Stuff if I want! Or I can zone out for weeks if I want/need, materialise and contribute a silly meme, then drift off into the sunset again. If I 'miss' anything, I can go back through the tags, or scroll someone's blog. But honestly, who notices/cares on here if someone lurks or goes afk for a bit. It's super low pressure, because I'm doing what I can/want when I can/want

I want to opt in/out on my own time and terms. The thought of having to be part of a 'community' so I can see/not miss Content TM is freaking me out. I don't want there to be an 'appropriate' time window to interact with things like there is on other social media sites.

So, idk how the shit will look, but I don't agree with making things harder for people to access/find. I won't be posting stuff 'semi-privately'.

And you know what's super upsetting? The thought that I won't be able to see conversations and creations for things I love, because they're hidden away behind some complex new social thing I can't navigate. (Which is already an off-putting, ostracising problem on discord.) That's not how fandom communities should be.

The thought of there being less stuff 'out there' because it's in some 'community' somewhere... really not the direction I'd ever hope this site wold go in

I'm fuckin exhausted. Just lemme do my fandom whateverness without having to perform to some arbritary social interaction standard/requirements that I neither understand nor can do

[rinhaler]

hi sorry for the long ask! I read your recent kunigami fic last night and genuinely died when i was reading cause of how hot u wrote him. my brain literally stopped working after my all nighter cause of how fine he was and I could quite literally not express my thoughts any more besides from (#help) cause i literally had to take breaks from reading and walk around my room cause the way u wrote his praise genuinely awakened something in me. I just woke up for class and checked my tumblr and I did not realize in the moment that my tag of #help could come off as offensive and I want to let you know I did not mean to insult you whatsoever! i appreciate your work so much and i just wanted to let you know incase I offended you! i reblogged your fic to my side blog since my main used to have my government name on it back in the day 😭so I’m not sure if it was that but either way I just wanted to let you know my appreciation since I love your work so much and couldn’t bear in the case that I did hurt you <3

omg thank you so much I'm really glad you enjoyed it! I vaguely remember seeing a reblog like that but I definitely didn't take it offensively and I don't take it offensively now that you've brought it up either! I have my notifs turned off and the tumblr app can be STOOPID so I do miss a lot of notifs unless I go hunting for them but honestly, don't worry at all! Thank you so much for reading the fic I'm really pleased you like it and I'm so happy to have had such nice feedback on it 💕 I didn't think many people would read it because of the length but I had so much fun writing it and living in the world I was creating so hearing that other people enjoyed it just as much makes me very very very!!!!!! happy :3

thank u for sending me this ask ur so so sweet I'm just so pleased you enjoyed it, take care of yourself and don't worry abt upsetting me, I'm fine! u didnt do anything wrong hehe <3

[gaylittlewizardcat]

When Misto’s makeup design has black around the jawline so it looks like stubble, reblog if you agree

Julius Sermonia | Akihiro Hanebuchi | Christopher Hall-Manley

Don Johanson | Guy-Paul de St Germain

Liam Mower | Yu Hoe-ung 2008 | Yu Hoe-ung 2011

[bigskydreaming]

Also if people instinctively reaching for their “its just my interpretation” arguments as a rebuttal to that post about issue #416 could just not, I’d super appreciate it, thaaaaaanks.

See, the problem I have with that is like....no its not. Its really really not. If your fic or your meta is otherwise DIRECTLY referencing specific story beats of that specific ISSUE, like Dick not having talked to Bruce in over a year, or Dick not knowing Jason even existed until he saw it on the news, or Dick leaving Jason his phone number, or anything of the like.....it is not at all unreasonable for me to expect you to acknowledge the story beats of that very same issue that all of those things are written IN RESPONSE TO. 

You can yell at me about how the firing is just a retcon til the cows come home, but y’know what? It was a retcon that was reiterated IN THAT VERY SAME ISSUE. In it, Dick reiterated what the firing looked like from his perspective, how he waited around for two weeks for Bruce to change his mind before packing up and leaving with opportunities for Bruce to say something every step of the way....THAT is the SPECIFIC sequence of events that Dick’s anger about all of this comes from.

So its extremely disingenuous to try and pair that anger with the pre-Crisis ‘better version’ of events where Dick gives up being Robin all on his own and becomes Nightwing while still on good terms with Bruce...because that version of events has its OWN corresponding aftermath that was written in direct response to THOSE character choices. Like the aftermath where right after becoming Nightwing, Dick turns around and offers Robin to Jason himself, as he of course is already well acquainted with Jason by then. See, that’s kinda part of why Dick and Bruce are on such better terms in that version of events. It has a lot to do with Bruce not adopting a whole other son without so much as a phone call to let Dick know his family had expanded.

Now you can mix and match to your heart’s content, that has NEVER been in question. Especially since as so often said, its a fandom past time to take a match to canon and watch it burn. You don’t have to adhere to aaaaaanything you don’t want to.

BUT.

If you want to talk about INTERPRETING the canon? That is subject to a different set of standards. Because you’re acknowledging that the source material exists as a point of RELEVANCE to you.....and the fact is....the source material is the SAME for everyone discussing it. Now, people can and do have different interpretations of that same material, this is obviously true. But ACTUAL. GENUINE. DISCUSSION of it.....requires that all parties at least discuss those interpretations in good faith, and make an honest attempt to address the material as it is.

And that is not what happens in this fandom. Because you damn well KNOW that for all your talk of the firing just being a retcon......its still the specific version of events the “Dick being mad about Bruce giving Robin to Jason” thing is directly meant to reference and BUILD off of. Retcon or not, it is indisputably the FOUNDATION upon which the other character choices of that very same issue are built atop of.

Because there is another version of events, yes. The pre-Crisis version where Dick gives up Robin. But as I said, that version DOES NOT HAVE Dick angry or resentful....because a key component of it is that all three of them, Bruce, Dick and Jason, are already a family in spirit. There’s a true succession of Robin from Dick passing it down to Jason.

And a lot of you guys know this too. Especially the ones most likely to reach for that “let us have our interpretation!” arguments. Because the Dick Grayson corner of fandom has posted about it a LOT. In fact, we kinda churn out a crap ton of content for this fandom. Headcanons, ficlets, informative posts, etc. And there’s a very curious phenomenon that exists.....

Literally anything I or certain other DG fans post that is inclusive of the whole family, or does not reference any specific event that’s infamous within fandom for pitting Dick against another Batfam member in a ‘who was right, discuss” kinda way.....that tends to circulate WIDELY in fandom. We’re talking upwards of a thousand notes, regularly.

In comparison.....the informative posts that are chock full of panels pointing out how canon actually goes in these specific instances.....tend to top out at a couple hundred max. Its pretty much just fellow DG stans who reblog them. Everyone else, despite them going through the same initial routes of circulation....are very good at pretending they don’t see them.

Because see, misinformation - and make no mistake, that is what we’re talking about here - RELIES on a lack of like.....actual information provided to the contrary to thrive. 

For instance, if it were as common knowledge that in the pre-Crisis version of Dick becoming Nightwing, he makes Jason Robin himself, as it is say.....that the firing Dick as Robin story is ‘just a shitty retcon’......people might start to ask in greater numbers, like, okay, so why DON’T more people write Dick making Jason into Robin after giving it up himself? Why have Dick so bitter at Bruce and/or Jason, if in the only version where Dick gives up Robin, Dick passes it on himself? If you’re gonna go with the one, why not the other?

Because we all know damn well that’s not a difference in interpretation. That’s a conscious CHOICE to TRANSFORM the source material by stitching together two different sides of a cause and effect chasm. The events transpiring after Dick finds out Bruce made Jason Robin himself ARE NOT MEANT to reference the inciting event of Dick giving up Robin himself. You can make that happen, sure. But you have to MAKE it happen. There is no point in the comics where you can honestly, genuinely point to the comics and say this right here shows Dick being mad about this, where ‘this’ is Bruce giving Robin to Jason SPECIFICALLY after Dick gave Robin up, rather than being fired.

A choice has to be made there, for that to happen, if one has the ACTUAL information about how that really played out in the comics rather than just misinformation. And not everyone in fandom trusts everyone else to make the choices they would like them to make with the source material, do they?

After all, isn’t that the REAL root of all this?

See.....its no secret to any of us that nobody’s been all that happy with the actual comics aka source material in years. Meaning most of fandom, myself included, is here for meta and fics based on previously written comics, or our own adaptations of the material.

And fandom, being interactive, unlike canon.....is something that CAN be influenced by other fans.

So why don’t we all just stop fucking pretending that we’re not all trying to influence what the overarching fandom narratives are, shall we?

Oh, you can say this is just me projecting, but I’ve got plenty of instances of hypocrisy to point to that say otherwise. And THAT is the true source of my hostility in so many posts in this fandom.

Because its the very same people who loudly cry “let people have their headcanons” and “let people have their interpretations” and “stop trying to tell people there’s only one true version of canon to go off of” who NEVER. EVER. fail to show up on posts like that last one, the SECOND they start to circulate ‘too widely’ throughout fandom. There is ALWAYS someone waiting in the wings the minute a post like that starts to top a couple hundred notes, ready and raring to shoot it down with some kind of derailment or condescending reminders to everyone who might see it that ‘that’s just a bad retcon for people obsessed with misery porn’ or something like that.

And what exactly should we be calling that? When people show up every single time I make a post about the importance of Robin as a name to Dick, in order to make a big stink about how it being his mother’s name for him is just a retcon? Even though....did I say it wasn’t? Does it being a retcon mean it doesn’t exist? Am I not allowed MY interpretation of a story that very much does exist in canon, am I not allowed to reference other stories where that specific retcon is specifically linked to?

Or how about if I say, post a headcanon about Alfred getting snippy with Bruce about not reaching out to Dick after he leaves home, where within the headcanon itself I specifically reference a clear version of the story where Dick is fired and its eighteen months before he and Bruce speak again? Does this story not exist in canon? Am I not allowed to base stuff of it? It would seem not, given the way people jumped to derail that one by adding in additions about Dick being upset with Bruce about college, which is an entirely different continuity that in no way intersects with the specific events I reference, where they’re estranged for a clear reason that is directly raised within the headcanon itself. People even acknowledge “OP is entitled to any version of continuity they want” in that one, but are like....this one is wrong though, and true fans prefer the one that isn’t just misery porn meant to validate Dick’s teenage angst. With people all too happy to reblog that one while gleefully pointing out the tags that completely derail the post about a clear point in canon by making it entirely about another unrelated point in a different continuity in order to invalidate the initial headcanon or whatever.

Don’t even get me started on when we dare reference stories where Bruce is actually physically abusive to Dick, or when we link Dick’s actions in stories that acknowledge the emotional abuse or neglect of certain key moments in his life TO those inciting moments directly and say “hey its kinda shitty to act like Dick was just being a standoffish brat here when Dick’s attitude is actually directly based on the last time he and Bruce interacted being when Bruce told him to get out and leave his keys.” LOLOL nooooo, that’s not allowed to stand, because see, the ONLY possible reason we could have for even CONSIDERING those stories in character or in continuity, is because of the aforementioned addiction to misery porn or else because we’re just trying to smear Bruce to make our own fave look better.

Never mind that another popular refrain for a lot of the people I’m talking about here is “you don’t know what people are thinking or why they like the things that they like” so, y’know. It is a tad irritating to see that double standard applied, like I mean. Just speaking personally, I’m a survivor of childhood physical and sexual abuse with a lifetime’s worth of C-PTSD and permanent estrangement from my abusive family, so like....those stories where Dick is abused by a figure he never thought would hurt him and now has to reconcile that with still loving and admiring that very same person and still wanting to be family.....like, hey guess what, those themes are part of why his character resonates for me in particular and so they’re kiiiiiinda key for me to explore for a lot of reasons. And given that this fandom looooooves to talk about some people writing dark shit to cope, I find it veeeeeery curious that people are so willing to shut the fuck up and say nothing about incest, rape and pedophilia fics even if they don’t like them themselves......but will still come out of the woodwork to condescend about there being absolutely no valid reason for anyone to ever engage with content where Bruce is abusive even just in one singular instance.....nah. Its literally just cuz of the misery porn addiction.

But see.....the thing at the heart of all this is the simple fact that this hypocrisy doesn’t exist just for the sake of hypocrisy. It exists because we actually all DO know how much power and influence fans can have in an interactive environment like fandom.

After all, the entire reason that Dick Grayson fans are so often posting informative panel-filled posts about what ACTUALLY happens in canon stories that are DIRECTLY cited in many meta, fanfics and headcanons, just.....in a totally backwards way that just so happens to fail to mention that its not intended to be an accurate depiction of the canon its definitely mentioning its in reference to....

The entire reason for this is because of how thoroughly fandom has crafted a specific narrative for Dick Grayson’s character that is based PURELY on their own characterization wants and needs and has very little to do with the actual canon of the character.

Its not a coincidence that so many fans just so happen to genuinely, truly believe that Dick was a grade A asshole to Jason while he was Robin, and there’s a wealth of canon out there somewhere to back it up. No, this happened because of fanFIC narratives where this is the case, and these catching on, and being encouraged by the initial writers of this trope and its fans and so on and so forth until it became the overarching fandom narrative and not only didn’t require any canon basis to be so....it barely ALLOWED for any talk of the contrary. Dick Grayson stans had to yell and churn out posts like that last one for YEARS to make a DENT in this fanon conviction, and do NOT even approach me about it being an issue of tone and ‘if we’d only asked politely’ because lol. No. We did. You can find the clear shift in the tone of my posts from when I first re-entered the fandom years ago to when I just got frustrated with the willful avoidance of WHY so many fans like myself are so annoyed by certain fandom convictions......and even then, it was about the hypocrisy. It was about how loudly other people crow about letting them have their headcanons while literally shouting down ANY post we made about wanting space to just have our CANON-canon.

Pro-tip: that thing where if you just ignore someone long enough on a certain point, they’ll inevitably start to get frustrated and then you can point to their tone as being the problem and claim that was the issue all along? Yeah. Its not slick. This fandom didn’t invent it. Its always very transparent, and very obnoxious. 

But the point is.....fandom absolutely has the ability to override canon narratives with their own version that’s then formative for new entrants to the fandom who never even BOTHER with the source material and just are here for the fic. And so its dishonest as FUCK for people to not only MAKE no distinction between what’s genuinely their interpretation of the canon and what’s their transformation of it, with INTENT......but to weaponize fandom’s aversion to content-criticism to shout down even ATTEMPTS to introduce discussion of the actual source material by claiming oh you’re just trying force your preferred narrative on everyone else. Aka that thing THEY’RE actually doing themselves by once attaining a fandom wide narrative they like, maintaining a stranglehold on it and doing their best to dissuade any narratives to the contrary staking a claim alongside that.

Because again, it all comes back to the fic. See, as a Dick Grayson fan, I’ve made no secret of the fact that I turn to fic for what I can’t get from canon...and its frustrating as hell to see writers that loudly talk of being BETTER than canon and “RIP to canon but my Batfam loves each other” in a lot of cases DELIBERATELY make Dick in particular look WORSE.....and then act like they have no idea what we’re talking about when we try and tell fans who take these narratives at face value that uh, they’re lacking some extremely relevant context and nuance. Or in some cases, outright facts.

And I will happily laugh loudly in the face of anyone who tries to claim that they don’t feel similarly about fics that characterize their own faves in ways they don’t like.

Yeah, try telling me that after years of some of you writing fics that specifically exclude all reference to the events of Nightwing #30 when talking about Dick’s death or Spyral.....while still including every in canon instance of people bagging on Dick for what he only did in canon because of Bruce’s abusive writing. There’s kinda a vested interest in keeping fandom relatively free of talk of Nightwing #30 then.....because weirdly, people who write about a DIFFERENT take that’s not hostile to Dick seem to end up putting the blame on Bruce for that situation. Bizarre, I know. People attributing blame to the character who was actually abusive in the canon and being cranky that the victim of said abuse is held up as the sacrificial lamb in everyone else’s fics? Whodathunkit.

(Also a point of irritation - it never had to be just one or the other. This is where the whole ‘maybe its YOU guys who were projecting all along when you said the only reason we could have for talking about Bruce’s abuse was an intent to smear the character’ bit is a thing. See, fun fact: if you were going to ignore an issue or two in order to completely flip the narrative of what really happened with Spyral and dominate the fandom landscape for a couple of years....it never had to be Nightwing #30 that was the ONLY issue you could leave out in order to not make Bruce look like an abusive asshat. Like, there was always another option right there in front of you. You could have instead chosen to also leave out Grayson #12, aka the one where Dick informs everyone else he’s alive.....then you could very easily just sliiiiiide in reference to Bruce and Dick quietly informing the whole family of his status and his mission while insisting on keeping it quiet for his safety. Voila. NOBODY has to be an asshole then, and the whole family gets to be in the know. But see, most people didn’t actually have a problem with someone being an asshole in that story. They just didn’t want it to be Bruce, and didn’t mind it being his actual victim. 

Even though, lol, just another FYI.....abuse victims having things flipped on them so it looks like they’re the true problem and their abusers are completely innocent is a HUGE thing that happens a lot in real life, so FYI about that FYI.....anyone who does say, gravitate towards Dick Grayson specifically because of how he’s impacted or might be impacted by abuse from his father, like.....is proooooobably not going to have a super fun time with diehard commitment to making this particular fictional character the true mastermind of his family’s misery and abusive instead of the abused. Weird huh.)

And round and round it goes. Where it ends, nobody knows.....because it doesn’t. fucking. stop. The number of ways in which fandom has willfully flipped the narrative so that Dick is the aggressor instead of the aggrieved is just absolutely ridiculous. This guy has been punched by every member of his family except Duke and Alfred, and somehow he’s the one characterized as uncomfy to be around because of how volatile he is. This guy is the only one who has actually been KICKED OUT of the manor, and somehow that gets glossed over and considered out of character while he apparently definitely did very much do this exact specific thing to Tim, I hear.

And like broken records, people squawk ‘let us have our interpretations/headcanons/etc’ any time we try and make a stink about how no, actually, that’s NOT HOW IT WENT....and at the EXACT SAME TIME....most of these exact same people show up on every post that uses ACTUAL information to make Bruce or Jason or Tim or whomever look like the actual problem in a story where they were actually problematic, like, the SECOND a post gets popular enough....to derail, to condescend, to shout it down with how its just a retcon or its out of character or its just a bad take or how fans with taste know better than to take it seriously.

And why do you care? Like, if we’re all supposed to just live and let live and everyone’s allowed their own interpretations, why this everpresent need to show up all the time with a superior, patronizing ‘oof, this is just not good’ the second one of YOUR faves is in the hotseat, while condescendingly boxing out any posts informing people of how no, actually, Dick and Kory’s breakup WAS linked to Mirage and Dick and Donna’s infamous fight WASN’T the way its commonly talked about and oh yeah there was brainwashing there too and etc, etc....see, when WE do that, we’re just overacting stans who can’t stand others not liking our fave. Instead of just....trying to correct misinformation so more fans can at least engage with the character from a starting point of zero instead of a negative integer. 

So why this hypocrisy? Oh yeah, because you don’t WANT the misinformation corrected. Because see, when the misinformation IS corrected, fic writers en masse....make different choices. And that’s why ever since more people started picking up the refrain of “well no actually Dick DIDN’T hate Jason, here’s the proof”.....there’s a lot more stories out there where...shockingly....Dick doesn’t hate Jason. Which bizarrely, does not really work well for the people who WANTED Dick to hate Jason and made a point to SHAPE the narrative to make him hate Jason.....because it wasn’t about that just being their interpretation, and it never was. Because the CHOICE to cut out Dick’s ‘justification for feeling slighted’ by being fired as Robin and pair that specifically WITH Dick resenting Jason for Bruce still making him Robin instead of Dick doing it....that has a narrative cause and effect within a lot of the fics that go with this. It gives Jason eternal underdog status that makes it easy to root for him while positioning someone specifically to blame for that underdog status and unfair playing field, and it also keeps focus off Bruce as the cause of any issues between his sons due to choices HE made, thus one singular figure is positioned as the obstacle to family unity....and that figure isn’t Bruce.

And no canon to the contrary will be acknowledged as legitimate.

Convenient huh?

Especially paired with the ‘thou shalt not con crit on another’s fic’ fandom commandment. Because when you can’t complain about any fanfic depictions whatsoever without immediately and inherently being cast as the rabble-rouser by default.....the ability to shape and dominate a specific fandom narrative becomes veeeeery key. After all, another popular fandom phrase is ‘we’re not the DC writers, complain to them about canon.’ But when there’s no canon complaint to be made to DC specifically, because its not canon we’re actually upset about, and we’re not ‘allowed’ to criticize fandom depictions because people are allowed to have their interpretations......all you have to do is stand your ground and insist that the fandom depictions of Dick are nothing BUT ‘interpretations’ and not acknowledge aaaaaaany of the places where you consciously make the decision to transform canon choices and behavior around him.....and voila. You’ve wrapped everything up in a neat little logic trap. Quite the fait accompli. There’s really no way for anyone to say or do anything ABOUT this little situation here without being ‘disruptive,’ ‘divisive’ and ‘having a negative impact on fandom harmony.’

Its just always gonna be a little weird to me, how much your positivity culture looks a lot like plausible deniability culture instead.

But whatever. That’s just a me problem I guess. Definitely not something anyone else in fandom has anything to do with. Just like they have nothing to do with derailments or condescension or counter arguments to so many of the canon-based Dick Grayson posts I make, and this is also all my doing...wait...hang on. I think I got mixed up again somewhere. Dang it.

[kittyprincessofcats]

RWBY Volume 8, Episode 14 - The Final Word

Thoughts on the final episode of RWBY Vol 8 under the cut.

Also, I will from now on reblog spoilers for Volume 8, which will be tagged with “RWBY v8 spoilers” if you want to blacklist them.

tw: Since the episode itself had the same content warning, I should mention that I will be discussing themes of suicide in this post.

Also, everything I’m about to say is *my* personal opinion. I’m not trying to tell anyone else that they’re supposed to feel the same way about anything in this episode. In turn, please don’t tell me how to feel about it either.

- I should start by bringing up what I said in my post about episode 13, because all of that is going to become relevant now:

So... that all aged... interestingly.

- Next, I should say that I actually did end up getting spoiled about Penny’s death. I was trying really hard and didn’t go into any tags, but literally one day before this episode was released to the public, Tumblr recommended me two blogs with the titles “Penny deserved better” and “Justice for Penny Polendina”… so I drew my conclusions from that. And while I think those blog titles are valid sentiments, I do wish people would wait a week before putting spoilers in a blog title. But then again, I was weirdly glad to get spoiled this time, because it meant I was more emotionally prepared.

- And now, on to my very controversial opinion about this finale: I… uhm… I actually liked it. There, I said it. I liked it. I’m seeing a lot of takes from people who hated it, and that’s totally fair, but personally, to my own surprise, I liked it. (It’s kind of interesting that last time I said it would be “awful writing” to kill Penny now, then it happened, now the whole fandom is complaining about it being awful writing… and I’m here going “actually… that wasn’t so bad”.) That’s not to say that I’m a fan of everything in this finale, especially re: Penny – but overall, the good outweighed the bad *for me*. (Stressing again that this is just how *I* feel.)

- I think the main reason I feel that way is because I honestly expected way worse. If you read that thing I wrote last week^, you see I expected multiple character deaths. I was incredibly nervous. And after I’d already spent a few minutes genuinely thinking Yang died (because of a badly worded episode 13 spoiler I accidently saw), I had to think about the kind of deaths that would be a dealbreaker for me and make me drop the show. (Let’s say it like this: If either of Bumbleby ever died for real, I would be done with this show immediately.) So, in short, I was terrified of the finale and expected it to be the kind of finale that ruins the show for me (which has happened in far too many fandoms so far) – and it wasn’t. I have mixed feelings about how they handled Penny’s story, too, but this finale didn’t ruin the show for me and I honestly felt way worse after the Volume 3 finale. Maybe that’s because I wasn’t prepared for it at the time, but this time I spent a whole week being super anxious, so when I’d actually finished the finale, I just felt overwhelming relief.

- Okay, so let’s talk Penny: Back in Episode 12, I already wasn’t a huge fan of the idea to make her human (if that even is what she was?), but I think I said I’d reserve judgment on it until we see where they go with it. Obviously, it feels unsatisfying to have the show just kill her off after everyone’s been trying to save her all volume. And of course, it’s never fun to see a favorite character of yours (and Penny is definitely a favorite of mine) get killed off. The way it happened (a character who’s been trying to sacrifice herself the whole volume finally doing so through assisted suicide, even though there could have been several potential ways to still save her) feels incredibly unsatisfying and depressing as well. The “heroic sacrifice” cliché isn’t new, but there’s still a difference between a sacrifice that feels necessary and like it really was the only way (Hazel, Vine) and one that feels more like a character being over-eager to sacrifice themselves even though there might have been alternatives (Penny). So really, I understand why people don’t like this, especially because the narrative, so far, seems to validate Penny’s choice by having her plan work. And that does send the opposite of the “fight for every life”, “no one is replaceable” message this volume had been going for until then.

- And this is why, I think Penny’s death is meant to be awful. Volume 9 might prove me wrong on this, but I think we haven’t seen the end of this storyline yet. For me personally, it’s too early to judge this plot-point by itself because it depends a lot on how they deal with it in the aftermath and how things go from here. (For instance: I hated Pyrrha’s death at first because going into a fight she knew she couldn’t win also felt like a needless heroic sacrifice to me. It was only how the aftermath of it was handled from there that made me be okay with it.) So basically, what I’m asking is: How will the other characters handle Penny’s death now? Will Ruby (or anyone else) get angry at Jaune for agreeing to kill her? How will Ruby grieve in general? And, most importantly: Will the narrative really treat Penny’s choice as the “right” one or will it challenge that view? (And was there maybe more going on that we know because I’ve been reading those “Penny is alive” theories and… oh boy.) So yeah – for me it depends on how it gets handled from here.

- Also, I just want to say that I really appreciate RT putting a suicide trigger warning in the beginning of the episode and I wish people wouldn’t twist that into a bad thing. (I’ve seen some takes along the lines of “If they had to put a warning, that means they were aware it’s a harmful message, so that makes it worse” and… please don’t do that. Content creators putting trigger warnings on things is a good thing. Also, this might be a controversial take, but I don’t think fiction always has to “send a good message and teach you a lesson.” The important thing is that RT were aware that this episode could be upsetting/distressing to people and that’s why they put a warning and the suicide hotline’s number in the description.)

- Anyway, I’ve been rambling for too long. My point is: I understand the criticisms and agree with some of them, but I hope the writers know what they’re doing here and I want to believe that they do. I also love all the theories about Penny coming back (in Winter’s mind, for example) and I think they’re not actually that unlikely. And if Penny doesn’t come back, then honestly, I’m okay with that, too. At the end of the day, she’s a fictional character. I can always go and read fanfictions where she’s alive and lives happily ever after with Ruby and nothing that happens in canon can ever take that away. Canon only has as much power as you want it to have. I can enjoy the canon show and the story they’re telling (even if Penny is dead for good this time), while still also enjoying my AUs where she’s fine. One doesn’t harm the other.

- (Also, let me take this moment to shamelessly promote my favorite cartoon show because I think this is relevant to the interests of anyone who hates the “person who’s been trying to sacrifice themselves the whole time ends up doing just that” story: The main character in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power is self-sacrificial to the point of it being unhealthy, but the show explicitly doesn’t treat this as a good thing. When she tries to sacrifice herself for the greater good in the final arc and says it’s better that way, this is treated as a problem, and the lesson she ends up learning in the end is her life has value, too, and that she deserves to be happy. (The show’s also very gay.)

- I don’t know if brought any of this across properly. Basically… I’m not happy about where they went with Penny either, but I am okay with it. I still enjoyed the finale and will continue to enjoy the show. And I want to focus on the things that make me happy about RWBY and made me happy about the finale, so I’ll talk about the rest of the episode now (while rewatching it because I’ll forget stuff otherwise):

- Have I mentioned I really love the Volume 8 opening? Because I really do.

- That shot of the destroyed whale is still awesome.

- I love how the episode opens with all the fights we left off with (Winter vs. Ironwood, Penny vs. Cinder, Harriet vs. Qrow, Ruby vs. Neo) and cuts between them. Also, the music is amazing!

- Elm admitting that Harriet is their friend and that being what finally gets through to her was a nice conclusion to their little arc, I guess. Vine’s sacrifice and his admittance that they’re his friends and he’s doing this for them were touching. Honestly, Harriet is right to blame herself for his death. That said, while this volume made me strongly dislike her, I do hope she now gets an arc about actually dealing with her grief and changing. I think that would be way more interesting to see than still having her be bitter, especially after what happened in this episode.

- Qrow causing good luck to stop the bomb was a nice little moment and honestly makes sense. Good luck and bad luck are just a matter of perspective, after all. What’s bad luck for yourself will be good luck for your enemies and vice versa. So, maybe Qrow technically caused “bad luck” for the bomb? Either way, I like the idea of him realizing that his semblance is more than what he thought.

- Cinder breathing fire during the fight was awesome. I need GIFs of that.

- Blake was amazing in this episode! I love that she didn’t let her grief over Yang consume her, but got up and kept fighting, kicked Cinder in the face and told Weiss to get up. Good stuff!

- I wonder if Cinder’s “You should have never been born” line to Ruby was just a generic “I hate you” line or meant something more.

- Do people honestly think that Cinder betraying Neo was unexpected or like… super unreasonable for a villain? Neo did threaten her – most typical villains don’t react well to their underlings threatening them, so I really don’t see why some people are so shocked or downright offended about this (is it just because they like Neo?).

- Weiss being the last one standing and using Blake’s weapon in the fight was absolutely amazing.

- The tragedy of Jaune sending Nora to bring the Huntsmen and Huntresses back through the portal while not knowing the portal is a one-way deal…

- Cinder knowing that Salem is back because her Grimm arm started hurting was a super interesting moment. And Weiss’ shocked face in that moment was quite interesting, too.

- I wonder if Penny really meant dying when she said “Let me choose this one thing”. To me, it sounded more like she meant choosing the next Winter Maiden. Also, her “trust me” to Jaune is an interesting line. Between that and us not seeing how that conversation goes on, I wonder if there’s something we don’t know here. (*puts on my “Penny is alive” tinfoil hat*)

- I’m glad they at least didn’t graphically show Penny’s death – which is an interesting choice again, because this show doesn’t usually shy away from making deaths graphic and portraying them in all their brutality. So, the fact that we don’t see the act itself and then just cut to Penny’s conversation with Winter was interesting. (But I am glad about it because I didn’t want to see that.) It might honestly just be because of the nature of Penny’s death that they didn’t want to show it too much (and that’s fair).

- “You were my friend.” Gosh, this rewatch is making me cry now 😭. (I also think it’s interesting that Winter calls herself a machine and Penny is now the one who corrects her. It’s a nice callback to Ruby telling Penny she’s their friend and “not just a machine”.)

- I was also just reminded that Penny died thinking Ruby was dead… ouch. This possibly hurts me more than Penny’s death itself.

- People have also pointed out that when Penny transfers the powers to Winter, her aura looks yellow (like Jaune’s) with only some green sparks (like Penny’s). Hmm… I really wonder if there’s more going on here.

- “I won’t be gone. I’ll be part of you.” Who’s cutting onions in here?

- Honestly, the main reason I kind of forgave them for killing Penny was because THAT MOMENT of Winter opening her eyes with the powers while that epic music plays was just amazing to witness. And her fight with Cinder? EPIC. BREATHTAKING. BEAUTIFUL. I’m not even that into the idea of Winter as the Winter Maiden (I honestly thought Penny, the robot girl, becoming the Winter Maiden was a much more interesting plot), but the way it was done in this episode was great. I’m glad we’re finally getting that rivalry between Winter and Cinder, because their arcs parallel each other in so many ways. And I love the symbolism of Winter only getting the powers that Ironwood chose for her after she betrayed Ironwood. I like the idea that she only became worthy of them after turning on Ironwood (which does work well with her Volume 7 arc).

- Oh, by the way, I really hate the “Team RWBY will become the four maidens eventually” theory. Even if it didn’t require characters to die, I just think it would be cheap and way too obvious, and I think it’s boring to throw all the magic powers at the main characters. So, if they only made Winter the Winter Maiden so she can eventually die and pass it on to Weiss, I’ll be very annoyed. (But I hope that’s not where this is going.)

- I’m also just realizing that Cinder asking “How am I supposed to take her power if she’s dead?” about Penny a few episodes ago was foreshadowing… damn.

- Jaune’s sword breaking was a really cool and symbolic moment, too.

- Winter trying to save Weiss from falling and not reaching her in time really got to me. I’m mostly not that affected by any of Team RWBY falling into the void because… come on, we know they’ll be fine. But Winter thinking her little sister just died is… oof. Maybe it’s because I have two younger sisters, but stuff like that really gets to me.

- Also, Winter going through that portal and seeing her family after she just (as far as she knows) lost Weiss… ouch. They never got to all reunite with each other (yet).

- I absolutely LOVED that final scene between Salem and Cinder. They’re both such fascinating characters and I just live for their interactions. Cinder talking herself down (even though she got the relics, so she knows she succeeded at the most important part) was amazing on her part. She did learn from Salem! It’s also interesting that even though she got what Salem wanted, Cinder didn’t get what she herself wanted (the Maiden Powers). I feel like that’s eventually going to become important.

- I wonder if Salem believed Cinder’s lies or not. I’ve seen some interesting opinions in both directions here. (Also, again, I don’t get why some people are so shocked and offended about Cinder lying? I’ve seen so many “I hope she pays for her lies” takes and… really? That’s her biggest crime in your eyes? Lying to another villain?? I don’t think any of you villain-haters feel bad for Salem here, so why… oh. Oh, nevermind, I just understood. They’re not mad that Cinder lied, they’re mad because they wanted Salem to kill her. Gosh, that’s so dumb. Face it, people: That’s not going to happen because Salem still needs the Fall Maiden’s powers. She’s not going to kill Cinder anytime before Cinder opens the last vault.)

- Cinder killing Watts with the staff was kinda funny, tbh. Also Salem’s proud little smirk in that scene kills me.

- “And that’s checkmate.” THAT. Okay, THAT was the best line in the entire episode, I don’t make the rules. What an epic moment!! Gosh, have I mentioned I love Cinder to death? What a queen! This volume really completely changed my opinion on her. I’ve already said that she’s my standout character of the volume, and I stand by that. It was her volume in so many ways and it’s so fitting that she gets to say the last line. It’s also such an interesting line in so many ways: 1) Because this episode is called “The Final Word”, is the only episode in this volume that doesn’t have a one-word title, and the actual final word of the episode is “checkmate”, it implies that “Checkmate” is the real, hidden title of the episode. And that fits so well! They could have easily just named the episode “Checkmate”, but revealing it like this works even better. 2) I also love the chess symbolism in this volume in general. There was a really great analysis about it on here somewhere, but basically: Salem is the king, Cinder is the queen (the king can’t die and barely moves, the queen is out there getting rid of opposing player pieces). And the interesting thing about that here is that the king can’t actually checkmate anyone else, only other chess pieces can. So, it’s very fitting that Cinder is the one who says “checkmate”. Also, in a game of chess, you often have to sacrifice your own pieces to win, which is what Cinder did. 3) I also LOVE the realization on Ironwood’s face when he realizes that he’s been so paranoid about Salem, but he’s actually been playing Cinder all along. (Someone else on here pointed out that there’s something super poetic about Cinder, someone who was very much a victim of Atlas’ systemic problems, being the one to defeat Ironwood and destroy his kingdom. Ironwood was ready to sacrifice all the poor people from Mantle for his own goal, and a poor person who was hurt by people in Atlas is the one who destroyed him. Yeah, yeah, Cinder’s evil and all, but I love it! 4) It’s also really interesting to me that Salem said “This game is not yours to win, it’s mine” to Cinder in the first episode of this Volume, but in the end, Salem ended up being gone for the entire last part of the volume and Cinder is the one who got to say “checkmate.” IT’S JUST SO GOOD.

- And ngl, I’m super happy for Cinder. She really got it all. Yeah okay, she didn’t get the Maiden Powers (and I hope she never does, because one person being two maidens at once is lame), but she got the relics, got rid of her enemies and co-workers (or so she thinks), destroyed the kingdom that she was a slave to, got back into Salem’s good graces… good for her! And apparently one of the buildings that you see being flooded was the Glass Unicorn? Amazing. Love that.

- (Yes, I’m team “redemption for Cinder please”, but come on… it was never going to happen this volume. And if it never happens, that’s okay, too – I’m loving her as a villain as well!)

- Also, I hope that all the people who were specifically criticizing Cinder for not being a competent enough villain are very happy now. Because there you have the competent villain you said you wanted! I mean, I’m saying this as someone who used to criticize Cinder’s character for not being interesting/deep enough. I used to say that I’d like a backstory or something that makes her more interesting/compelling to me. But as soon as we got that backstory, I happily switched sides to team “I like Cinder now”. So, I better not hear any complaining from the “I just want her to be a more competent villain” faction now!

- Yeah, I admit I’m getting annoyed with the Cinder hate. Everyone has a right to their opinions, but it gets frustrating when you’re going through the tag of a character you like and half of the tag are people talking about how badly they want that character to die. (Maybe use a seperate tag for it?)

- (I’m just realizing that I said “Well, at least it was only one character death” earlier, but people like Ironwood and Watts actually did die… I just didn’t count those because I don’t care. Sorry not sorry.)

- We decimated Salem’s faction quite a bit this volume, didn’t we? There’s only Cinder, Tyrian, and Mercury left. I wonder if Salem will get some new people on her side.

- Overall, while I did like this episode, I feel like Volume 8 got weaker towards the end. Most Volumes were at their best towards the end, but I feel like episodes 8-11 were the strongest parts of Volume 8, while episodes 12-14 were still good, but not as good.

- My prediction is that Volume 9 will (of course) be Tearm RWBY’s way out of the void (or whatever that place where they ended up is called) – And I quite like the theory that we won’t see the other characters at all and it’ll be focused only on what’s happening in the void.

[wr1ter-reader-dreamer]

Angel (Pt. 4)

Harry Styles x Reader

A/N: This one was inspired by Harry’s song Only Angel. It’s five parts in total. If you like it, be sure to give it a reblog and check out the other parts linked below. Thanks, and enjoy <3

Warnings: Slight jealousy, some making out. Swearing. It’s long. Seriously. 

Masterlist

Part 1  -  Part 2  -  Part 3  -  Part 5

Forty-five minutes later, I was all dolled up and in a cab on the way to the house where the after party was being held. Now that the situation with Harry was resolved, I was free to relax and fully enjoy my accomplishment. I had been working toward becoming a Victoria’s Secret Angel since I was eleven years old, and now, eleven years later, I finally was. 

Giddy with excitement, I pulled out my phone to text Harry and tell him that I was close. He replied almost instantly, like he’d been waiting for me.

‘Good. I’ll be out back by the pool.’

I nodded to myself and put my phone away since the cab was pulling up to the house. Thanking and paying the cabbie, I stepped out. My stomach filled with nervous excitement, and I couldn’t help but grin as I looked up at the bustling house.

It was a modern two story with large windows that allowed me to see the party in full swing inside. Music could be heard thumping at the windows, and people could be seen walking around and mingling. I caught sight of Elsa on the second floor, looking out the window at the city, and waved when she saw me. Her face split into a wide smile, to which I smiled back, and she motioned for me to meet her downstairs. Nodding at her enthusiastically, I made my way to the large front door.

The music was louder inside, the deep bass thumping through my heart immediately. I smiled and waved at a few of the girls and other people I knew as my eyes searched for Elsa. It didn’t take me long to find her quickly descending the stairs, eyes searching for me.

“Elsa!” I called when I spotted her.

She squealed and rushed to pull me into a hug, “Y/N, you made it!”

I chuckled at her enthusiasm and returned her hug, “Ya, sorry I’m late. I had something I needed to take care of.”

“Oh?” she asked, pulling back to look at me, “Is everything alright?”

“Oh ya, it just took a while,” I said with a reassuring smile.

“Good, now let’s get you a drink.”

Elsa kept me close to her side for the next hour, insisting on getting some alcohol in me and taking me to see the other girls. Every time I tried to break away, telling her I was supposed to be meeting someone, she protested and demanded that I stayed with her a little longer. Knowing how she could get when she drank and not wanting to upset my best friend out of the girls, I stayed. But time was ticking and I knew Harry had to be wondering where I was, if he was still waiting at all.

Finally Elsa became engrossed in a conversation with some photographer, and I was able to slip away. I knew she wouldn’t miss me so I didn’t feel bad about ditching her, especially since I had Harry waiting for me. 

I moved quickly through the crowd in the house, making my way out to the pool. The view caused me to pause in my search for just a moment, insisting that I take in the lights in the trees and the fields in the valley below. Shaking it off before I could get too sucked in, I searched the crowd for my childhood love.

There was a makeshift dance floor and a DJ booth set up to one side of the pool. A large crowd was dancing, and I briefly wondered how all these people got invited before moving my attention the the couched and chairs around the pool. Some groups were smaller than others, and there were even some people in the pool, but I couldn’t find Harry anywhere.

Sighing, I moved closer to the dance floor, hoping that he was over there. After a few moments of scanning the crowd, I was about ready to give up when I spotted his soft brown curls.

I realized that the reason I hadn’t been able to see him before was because he was laying down on one of the couches that had its back to me. Now, I saw that his head was on the lap of one of his band members, the woman who had played the drums. In fact he was surrounded by women, models to be precise. I rolled my eyes at how the young women leaned forward and ogled him as he spoke. Harry just basked in the attention, the exact same attention whore he had been since we were younger.

As Harry laughed, pushing himself up and out of his bandmate’s lap, I considered turning around, going back to Elsa, and getting black-out drunk. Harry was the same as he’d always been. He had always loved attention, especially the attention of pretty women, and right now, he had the attention of a lot of pretty women. I honestly didn’t know how I could compete with that, and I was jealous. I was now willing to admit that I was jealous of the attention he gave those women because I still loved him, and because of that, I didn’t want to be sober anymore.

Just as I was about to turn around and go drown myself in a bottle of vodka, Harry caught site of me. His entire face lit up, granting me with a large, genuinely happy smile and a view of his dimples. Looking away only briefly, he made a quick excuse to his group and in turn earned a knowing smile from his bandmate. Then he was pushing himself up and practically bounding over to me.

I couldn’t help but laugh, my heart melting at his enthusiasm. He was like a big puppy, so happy to see his person after a long day away. I realized that I was that person he was so excited to see, but refused to think about what that meant.

“Angel, you finally made it!” Harry called over the music, engulfing me in a giant hug as soon as he reached me.

“Hey, Harry,” I laughed, hugging him back.

I could feel the eyes of the models Harry had just left watching us as we stayed connected a few seconds longer than appropriate, but I didn’t care. Harry’s hugs had always been my favorite. He held you so close and secure, you just couldn’t help but feel safe. His hug brought out all of the feelings I was never good at hiding and didn’t want to deny anymore.

All too soon Harry squeezed me tighter then released me, pulling back to look me over. He whistled lowly and appreciatively at what he saw.

“Damn,” he swore, biting his lip, “you look gorgeous.”

I blushed a little but smiled. Alessandra and Elsa had helped me pick this dress months ago when I was first told I’d be walking as an official Angel, wings and all. I was worried that it was too much, but they both insisted that I looked amazing and this was the perfect place to wear it. Now, seeing Harry’s face, I was glad I did.

The dress was essentially simple, all tight black material clinging to my curves and stopping mid thigh. The stunning part was the neckline. A black collar twisted around my neck then parted at my chest, remaining open in a deep V that stopped just above my belly button. A harness shaped chain of crystals held the two sides closed and wrapped around my shoulders to drape delicately down the open back. At first I was self-conscious about putting so much skin on display, but considering I had just walked a globally broadcasted fashion show in nothing but lingerie and heels, I decided it really didn’t matter.

“Thank you,” I answered, giving Harry the same inspection he gave me, “You look pretty good yourself.”

He took a step back and did a little spin so I could see his outfit fully, making me laugh. He was wearing fitted black jeans and an open black suit jacket. Underneath was a loose fitting sky blue shirt with little white flower-like symbols on it. The shirt was halfway unbuttoned, leaving his smooth skin and a simple silver cross on display. When he moved, the swallows on his chest played peek-a-boo through the opening. His short hair sat as messy chocolate curls, a perfectly styled mess. All in all, he looked every bit the heart throb we both knew he truly was.

“Thanks, angel,” he grinned.

“Of course, but that sure is a lot of skin on display tonight, Mr. Styles,” I teased, trigging on the lapel of his jacket.

Harry laughed, dimples on full display, “You’re one to talk. Aren’t you afraid you’ll get cold wearing this dress in December?”

I shrugged, a coy smile tugging at the corners of my lips, “No. I figured if I got cold it’d be easy enough to find a man willing to lend me his jacket.”

“You’re not wrong there, love,” He said, glancing around, “you’ve already got them all starin’.”

I rolled my eyes internally, knowing full well that this wasn’t even the most revealing outfit here. It was obvious to me that Harry was jealous, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me kind of giddy. Seeing Harry again and resolving our past was bringing up feelings I’d been burying since I saw pictures of him and Taylor Swift for the first time. I had missed him and all the fun we’d had together. I was scared to admit it, but I hoped that the way he was acting, his choice to release that song, meant that he missed me too. Most of all, I hoped he wanted me back too.

Deciding that teasing Harry was fun, and that I wanted to see more of his jealous side, I looked around, “Really, you think so? ‘Cause I haven’t had a boyfriend in a long time, and I wouldn’t mind finding a cute one.”

“Well I might know of a pretty cute guy who’s been looking for an Angel,” Harry hummed, pulling me against his chest.

“Ya?” I grinned as I placed my hands on his shoulders.

He nodded, “Ya, and right now he’d like to ask that Angel to dance.”

“I don’t know,” I teased, “if it’s who I think it is, this Angel might not want to dance with him.”

“And why the hell not?” Harry asked, pulling away in mock offense.

I grinned at him, disconnecting myself and preparing to run, “Because if I remember correctly, he’s not a very good dancer, and I have a reputation to uphold.”

He growled and lunged after me, but I just laughed and took off running toward the house the best I could in six inch heels. Harry caught me in no time, picking me up from behind and spinning me around. I squealed and giggled, drawing attention to us but not caring. Harry growled again, nipping at my ear as he carried me toward the dance floor. I laughed again, stilling in his arms so he didn’t accidentally drip me as he walked. 

“We’ll see about me being a bad dancer,” Harry growled, placing me down on the edge of the dance floor and spinning me around to face him.

I chuckled as I stumbled against him, “Whatever you say Mr. Styles.”

Turning back around, I pressed my back against him front. I took a second to listen to the music, letting the heavy bass take root in my heart, before I started moving against him. The music guided my hips, prompting me to roll and dip with the beats. Harry stood behind me, stunned for a few moments, but quickly recovered and placed his hands on my hips. Matching the movement of his hips to mine, he danced with me. With a smile on my face, I slid my hand up to tangle my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled me closer and buried his face in my neck, pressing a kiss there. I closed my eyes and basked in the feeling of Harry dancing against me. 

It had been a long time since I had danced with Harry. The last time was when I was 17, the same night we slept together for the first time. He had rented out the club with his bandmates and thrown a party. I tagged along with my brother, hoping to blow off some steam after a hard week, but never expecting that my crush would tell me he liked me back. I wore some skimpy shorts and a top, typical club attire, and Harry was pissed. He didn’t like all of the male attention I was getting, especially since a lot of it was coming from his bandmates. So when I moved to the dance floor and started dancing, he followed me. 

That night Harry was quick to press against me, immediately matching my moves and whispering in my ear that I was asking for trouble. I just turned around and asked him how I could get into trouble with him always around to protect me. After that we danced for hours, and at the end of the night he kissed me and told me he’d been waiting to do that for years. I went home with him for the first time after that, and even knowing everything that happened after, I’d do it again in a heart beat. 

“So,” Harry spoke up, pulling at my side to get me to turn around to face him, “still think I’m a bad dancer?”

I smiled up at him and wrapped my arms around his neck, “No, I never did. I was just teasing you.”

“Of course you were,” he huffed, pulling me even closer, “You always were a tease.”

I shrugged, “Your reactions are funny.”

“Hmmm, you think so, angel?” Harry hummed, leaning down to press his forehead against mine.

The music changed, playing the first slower song I’d heard since arriving. I didn’t recognize it, but it was obvious that Harry did because he smiled down at me. I realized why a few moments later when his voice drifted through the air. Rolling my eyes at his obvious pleasure over them playing his song, I allowed him to sway us to the beat. We danced in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. I laid my head on Harry’s chest and listened to the words of his song. It was soft and sad, but still good. I began to realize that I had been missing out by not listening to his album before.

“What’s the song about?” I asked, propping my chin on Harry’s chest to look up at him.

“This one?” he asked as he looked down at me.

I rolled my eyes but smiled at him, “What other song would I be talking about?”

He shrugged and returned my smile, “I don’t know what goes on in your crazy mind.”

I rolled my eyes again and nudged him, “So what’s it about?”

“Just drifting apart from an old girlfriend,: he answered with a sheepish smile.

I frowned, beginning to get suspicious of his avoidance of the question. Why didn’t he want me to know who it was about?

“Which one?” I asked, pulling back to look at him better.

Harry averted his eyes but answered, “Taylor.”

I made a face, old feelings of jealousy and resentment rising to the surface. I loved Taylor Swift’s music, and I thought she was an amazing person, but thinking about Harry’s relationship with her still upset me. She was, after all, the woman I thought he left me for. She was definitely a sore subject. Clearing my throat, I untangled myself from his arms and moved off the dance floor. 

“Angel? Where are you going?” Harry asked, following close behind me.

“I don’t feel like dancing anymore,” I answered as I made my way to the back door, “I’d rather get a drink.”

He frowned, “I’m sorry, but I wan’t going to lie to you.”

Turning back over my shoulder, I shot him a small smile, “I know, Harry. It’s ok, I just need a drink.”

“Well, then let me get my angel a drink,” Harry said, taking my hand and moving in front to lead me to the kitchen.

After weaving through the crowd in the interior of the house, we made it to the kitchen. Harry didn’t ask what I wanted, but went ahead and made me a Malibu and Sprite.

“You remembered,” I laughed as I took the cup from his outstretched hand.

“Of course,” he said, leaning on the counter beside me, “It was the only thing that didn’t make you gag.”

I shrugged, no longer ashamed by my intolerance for the taste of alcohol, “It’s not my fault alcohol tastes so bad.”

Harry chuckled and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a call of my name from behind us. We turned to find one of my fellow Angels in the doorway, a large smile on her pretty face.

“Hey Romee,” I said, turning my body to face her more fully, “what’s up?”

She held her empty cup as she moved further into the kitchen, “Just needed a refill.”

I nodded, but didn’t say anything as I watched her mix a drink. Romee was a relatively new Angel too, having been added just two years before me, but we weren’t close. Ever since I had been announced as the newest Angel she had been cordial, but somewhat cold. I had tried to show her that I wasn’t there to replace her, but it didn’t matter, we would never be friends.

“So,” Romee said after taking a sip of her freshly made drink, “are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

I fought the urge to role my eyes, unsurprised by her request. It was no secret that I grew up with Harry, and it would be obvious to anyone who had seen us together tonight that we were close. It was also obvious that Harry was a very handsome, very eligible young man, so of course Romee wanted the chance to properly flirt with him.

“Harry, this is Romee Strijd,” I said, “and Romee, this is Harry Styles.”

Romee smiled as she extended her hand out to Harry, “It’s nice to meet you, Harry.”

“You too, love,” Harry answered, giving her a charming smile as he bowed slightly to kiss her hand.

She giggled and twirled a strand of hair around her finger, “Wow, what a gentleman. Where have you been all night?”

This time I did roll my eyes, taking a giant swig of my drink as Harry answered, “Oh you know, just looking for an angel.”

Romee smirked, taking a step forward so she could rest her hand on his chest, “Well lucky you, you found one.”

Jealousy reared its ugly head in my chest, flooding my body with heat and urging me to grab that bitch by the hair and haul her away from my man. But then Harry shot me a look over her shoulder that calmed me down. His eyes were playful, telling me that he knew what she was doing, and he wouldn’t fall for it.

“You’re right,” Harry said, smiling and stepping around her so he could wrap an arm around my shoulder, “and she’s right here.”

A smug smile slipped onto my features as Harry pressed a kiss to the side of my head, and Romee’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. She definitely wasn’t expecting that.

“I see,” Romee said, her features relaxing into an obviously fake smile, “you’ve stumbled across the newest addition to our ranks.”

“I wouldn’t say stumbled, more like finally found what I’ve been searching for,” Harry answered without taking his eyes off of me.

I smiled up at him and laughed when Romee just huffed and walked away.

Harry made a face at me, “Oops, did I just get you in trouble?”

I shrugged and turned so that I could wrap both hands around his waste, “I don’t care. The look on her face was worth it.”

He chuckled, leaning down to bump his nose against mine, “It was pretty great, wasn’t it?”

I scrunched my nose up and nodded. It was great to see him chose me over Romee. It was even better to hear that he had been searching for me. He may have thought I’d given up on him, but he hadn’t given up on me.

“So,” I started, my tone teasing, “you’ve been searching for me?”

Harry blushed but didn’t deny it, instead closing to tuck a piece of hair that had fallen from its place back behind my ear.

When he didn’t answer, I chose to keep teasing him, “So what is it about me exactly that you’ve missed enough to search for me?”

He rolled his eyes, “Definitely not how much you love teasing me.”

“Hey!” I protested, smacking his chest with my hand, “You like it when I tease. It means I’m giving you attention.”

“I guess that is true,” he conceded with a smile.

“You still haven’t answered.”

Harry sighed and looked up at the ceiling, “Well, let’s see. Your smile…” He paused to trace my lips with his thumb, “your laugh…” This time he tickled my sides, causing me to giggle, “your voice…” He paused again, a smirk tugging at his lips, distracting me from the path his hands were taking, “your ass.”

With that he smacked my ass causing me to screech out his name. He just laughed, letting me slip out of his arms as I pushed away.

“Harry Styles,” I said, hands on my hips and a stern expression on my face, “just what do you think you’re doing?”

He shrugged, still smirking as he took a step toward me, “Just answering your question, angel.”

I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest, “I was giving you the opportunity to be sweet but you ruined it.”

“C’m on angel, you know I’m just a dirty boy at heart,” he said innocently, still advancing toward me, “I can’t help it.”

Rolling my eyes, I took a step back, trying to keep distance between us. I knew from experience that we were treading in dangerous waters, and keeping our distance was probably the best option. Unfortunately for me, the kitchen didn’t agree, and the next time Harry took a step forward, my back made contact with the other counter.

“Shit,” I breathed as Harry crowded into my space, securing his hands on the counter on either side of me.

“You’re mine now,” he growled playfully, face only a hair’s width away from mine.

“Oh ya?” I asked, my eyes glued to his lips, “and what are you going to do with me?”

“‘m gonna kiss you,” he breathed.

He waited only a second to make sure I wasn’t going to protest before closing the distance between us. Our lips crashed together, each of us pouring years of pent up emotions into the kiss. Without missing a beat, I opened my mouth for him as I ran my hands up his chest to tangle my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. Harry moaned lowly when I gave a sharp tug, chasing me to grin into the kiss. This only spurred him on more, as he pushed himself against me harder and deepened the kiss.

I moaned when Harry bit my lip, and he responded by grabbing my hips and lifting me onto the counter. My legs parted for him naturally as he slotted himself between them. Now that I could feel his hardening member pressed up against me, I couldn’t stop my hands from wandering down. Panting against Harry’s lips, I stroked his clothed member once before gripping it tightly. He moaned again, this time louder than before, stoking the fire inside me. Matching his moan with a small whimper of my own, my hands scrambled for the button of his pants.

“Angel,” Harry moaned, his voice sounding pained.

“Harry,” I answered back with determination as my fingers finally managed to pop open his button.

“Angel, wait,” he said more forcefully this time, covering my hands with his own and stopping me from unzipping his zipper.”

“Why?” I whine, still trying to accomplish my goal.

Harry chuckled lowly but didn’t move his hands, “Angel, we can’t do this here.”

Frowning, I looked up at him with pouty eyes, “Why not?”

“Y/N,” he raised a brow and took a step back, “I really don’t think you want to risk someone walking in on us.”

With that minuscule distance, the lustful haze lifted from my mind just enough for me to remember where we were. My eyes widened comically and I cursed, causing Harry to laugh.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckled, buttoning his pants.

“I can’t believe I almost fucked you in the kitchen of a house where there are at least a hundred people partying,” I blinked, still a little dazed from that kiss.

“Me neither,” Harry said, clearly amused as he helped me down from the counter and covered me while I fixed my dress, “I would never expect such deviant behavior from my angel.”

I rolled my eyes and slapped his chest, now fully back to reality, “Shut up! It’s not my fault I got carried away. I haven’t been fucked in five years.”

“Wait, what?” Harry stopped, eyes wide at my admission, “You haven’t had sex in five years?”

I blushed, but nodded, “Not since the last time with you.”

“Why not?”

I blushed even harder, “No one ever came close enough to you to catch my attention.”

“Is that right?” Harry asked with a smug expression, gathering me back into his arms.

I rolled my eyes, “Well that and the fact that I was always too busy to really look.”

“Well it sounds like you, my angel, are in need of a good fucking.”

I scrunched up my nose at his crude way of putting it, but didn’t bother denying it. Instead I said, “Think you could help me out with that?”

Harry grinned, lust lighting up his eyes, “It would be my pleasure.”

[bumblebee-moreno]

I just wanna make a quick post about interacting with kids, because people on here seem to not know how kids work. (quick note before I start though: this is all spoken from my experience in working with kids--I do not have children of my own. I volunteer every year at an elementary school, working closely with younger kids who are struggling with learning certain subjects but don’t necessarily qualify for special ed (COVID has put a pause on this but I fully intent to resume as soon as it is safe to do so.) I am also a facilitator for a support group through a nonprofit--I’m part of the team in charge of facilitating the middle school group (ages 11/12-14). I didn’t really want to make this post because a lot of people get offended by these viewpoints, but the more I observe how kids are being treated by the adults in their life, the more I realise I need to say something.)

***I encourage you to reblog and add your own thoughts: I want to have an open discussion about this. 

Ok, first of all: Kids are a LOT smarter than you think they are. 

The problem is, they don’t know how to communicate and apply this yet. Calling them dumb and treating them as if they have nothing to offer conversations doesn’t support their development at all; in fact, it is one of the easiest ways to discourage a kid. This doesn’t mean turn off your filter and talk to kids the same way you’d talk to your friends. It just means, genuinely listen to their perspective and allow them to be part of intelligent conversations. Kids can’t learn responsible, mature ways to communicate if you don’t give them the opportunity to try it. 

One city in Colorado did a project that got kids involved in city development. In fact, this project was so successful that they are still continuing it! The classroom I volunteer in did a project inspired by this a few years ago. The first grade classroom was tasked with creating a city that could be applicable to real life. Their only restrictions were that they had to include four things: recreation, housing, jobs, and education. How they did that and what else they included was up to them. They were allowed to be as creative as they’d like. 

The teacher, other volunteer and I expected the city they made to be something out of a fantasy world. What we saw, though, was absolutely incredible. 

The kids created a detailed park complete with a pond for wildlife, a pool for recreation, walking trails, parking, wheelchair ramps, disability accessible bathrooms, community gardens, playgrounds designed specifically for younger kids, and another for older ones. They included apartment buildings and bus stations. They added traffic lights to intersections and lowered speed limits nearby their school. They made several large public schools, as well as a college (which they insisted, unprompted, was low-income accessible. They made a hospital and a fire station. 

Their instructions were only to create a city with only four boxes to check. They weren’t required to do any more than build the layout of it. But when we asked them to give us a tour of their city, they not only told us what each building was: they described laws that protected minorities. They told us about what roles people would have in their city, including the roles of kids.

No, it wasn’t to the great detail and precision that an adult could. Yes, there were many holes in their creation that would cause problems in the real world. They obviously weren’t thinking in terms of budget or government restrictions. But in a way, that made their ideas so much better. They weren’t tied down by the expectations adults had. They added features that we’ve been fighting for for years, such as basic accessibility, both physical and financial (such as their insistence about free college education).

Kids’ lack of experience doesn’t make them stupid. In fact, I believe it’s part of what makes them so smart. They observe the world around them and aren’t seeing things in terms of criticism and limits. They see something that needs to change, and they aren’t afraid to come up with creative ideas to make that change.

Talking at kids doesn’t do shit.

Telling a kid to do something or not to do it is probably the quickest way to encourage them to do the exact opposite.

But you know what I’ve found works almost every time? TWO WAY CONVERSATIONS!

Saying “don’t talk to people like that” is a very easy way to not change behaviour. Rather, help them understand why they shouldn’t talk a certain way. 

When working with young children, I usually start off with saying “When you said [x], my feelings were hurt because...” And then they usually figure it out for themselves that they said the wrong thing. 

This works so much better because:

1) the kid doesn’t get defensive. When you scold them for misbehaving, they quickly learn to guard themselves from that. When you can calmly explain to them what was wrong about that situation, they’re less likely to try to protect themselves from your words: because they won’t need to.

2) They learn exactly what was wrong about what they said. When you just tell them they’re wrong but refuse to talk to them about how or why they did something hurtful, they can’t always take it the right way. When a kid says “you look dirty” and you tell them that’s rude, they don’t understand why. In their heads, that may have been them trying to say you have mud smeared on your pants, or you have food spilled on your shirt: they may have just been trying to help you. When you explain to them exactly what about that statement was hurtful, and perhaps offer a kinder way to say it, they’ll recognise their mistake much quicker and remember it better.

3) They’ll learn how to express their own feelings in a much more healthy way. Kids learn from their surroundings. When you snap at them for making a mistake, you teach them to do the same. Then, later on down the road, you may hurt their feelings, and they may lash out at you. When you teach them to communicate more openly, they’ll learn how to address their problems in a productive manner.

4) It gives them the opportunity to problem solve. When you say “this hurt because” instead of “you’re wrong”, it allows them to come to the conclusion that they made a mistake on their own. It’s basically the child-equivalent of providing someone with sources to try to disprove them. Except when it’s taught from a young age, they’ll learn to accept the criticism instead of attack it.

On a related note, when you see a problem coming up repeatedly, or a child is growing upset about something: Share your feelings about the situation, ask them to share theirs, and then help them come up with solutions.  

Mistakes are healthy

Stopping a young person from making a mistake isn’t always helpful. Obviously, if they’re about to hurt themselves or others, stop them. But if it’s a little mistake, let them make it. And then talk to them about it. Help them come up with ways to first fix this mistake and then to avoid making the mistake again in the future.

It conveys the message of “you’re human and mistakes are normal: I’m here for you.” instead of the message of “You can’t do anything right, just let me do it for you.”

You can’t learn and grow as a person if you’re never allowed to put yourself out there and make mistakes. Give young people the chance to try things themselves: but make it clear you’re here for them when they need support. 

Listen to them.

This piggybacks off of a lot of what I said above, but listening to kids is important. 

When a teenager says they need help, it’s far more effective to ask them how you can help them than it is to tell them why they’re struggling and then refuse to help them solve it. I can’t tell you how many kids I’ve had reach out to me saying they feel alone because of this. They’ll come to me saying that they went to their parent to say they feel depressed (or even are on the brink of hurting themselves in some way), only to be met with “well you should think about how I feel” or “you’re just being dramatic.”

When a kid says something hurt them, LISTEN TO THEM. Kids’ feelings are every bit as complex as those of an adult. You don’t turn 18 and suddenly have a real brain with real emotions. You have that your whole life; humanity doesn’t come with age. experience based decisions do.

And, spoiler alert: kids know themselves better than you do. No, this doesn’t mean when your 11 year old refuses to eat vegetables or brush their teeth, you can shrug and say “well they know themselves best”. This means when they try to share how they’re feeling (ESPECIALLY when they’re sharing a feeling about something you did), listen to them and try to compromise when it’s reasonable to do so. If you hurt their feelings--apologise. If they feel like they deserve more freedom, offer up ideas for how they can earn your trust. 

TL;DR: Kids aren’t brainless creatures you can ignore and wonder why they aren’t becoming functional adults. They don’t lack intelligence: they lack a method to communicate that intelligence

Treating kids like adults (in an age-appropriate way) gives them the opportunity to learn the skills needed to act like adults when they’re thrown into the real world. You can’t treat them like they’re dumb their whole life and then ask why they’re not succeeding.

[oceanmonsters]

(creating a new post because the original one was being passed around radfems circles and the notes were absolutely toxic - link to original even though it seems to have been deleted by op)

I wasn’t initially gonna reblog this because I was like well, I don’t think traditions like these should be completely beyond reproach / criticism and although I did have my ears pierced as a baby and am personally glad of it, it isn’t something that I would do to my own daughters if I had them. But then I checked the notes:

and I take that back because the people replying to this post prove exactly why it’s fucking needed. Because white women (especially white radfems, whom most of these are) really don’t know how to behave themselves when talking about woc / other cultures. “It makes girls into objects to decorate and look pretty” “A sense of control over their environment which heterosexual and het partnered women seldom get to have” “not owning her body that began with her mother piercing her skin against her will” these people are acting as if woc are literal child abusers for doing something that yes, although it may be a gendered ritual and not one I personally agree with, does very little harm to their child in the long run.

First of all, there are actual cultural / religious roots to the ear piercing of children (x) and yes, it was done to both female AND male children, although it has become more of an aesthetic thing nowadays and boys being pierced is much rarer. I don’t have any concrete sources on this but I’d be willing to bet it’s to do with the influx of western culture starting with colonialism that brought the idea that earrings / jewellery are unmanly and therefore unattractive. In fact, jewellery in general and especially gold jewellery does play a significant part in Indian culture and I know Indian boys who have gold chains that they wear around their necks and have since they were a child, although I don’t know the specific significances of these. My point is, if you actually bothered to research the culture for even two minutes, you’d see that this was about more than just “omg girls being decorated for men to look at!!!”. And even if you don’t agree with the culture of piercing children’s ears, which, as I said, I don’t particularly personally, it’s really not the massive deal that some people in the notes wanna make it. I’ve had my ears pierced since I was a baby and trust me, they have never ever held me back in life. I never even considered them much. You know what probably did affect me more? The general messages I was being fed to me by society that I had to look feminine and pretty, and have “girly” interests. Makeup culture. Beauty culture. My earrings are really very very low down on the list of things that had a big impact on my life. “Why don’t you wait until they’re at least 15” “Because it’s about establishing from a young age that they’re possessions / for male decoration / that exist to be looked at!!!!” etc. etc. No, a lot of the time it’s literally so that it’s done early on and then they don’t have to go through it later. Piercings can be traumatic at any age. My friend decided to have hers done as a young teenager and it left her so scared of them closing up and having to pierce them again that she literally wouldn’t even sleep one night without earrings on. Meanwhile, I had it done as a baby and didn’t even remember. Again, is this something I would choose to do to my daughter? No, but at the end of the day I don’t know a single person who got their ears pierced as a baby who is genuinely upset and resentful about having it done, because it’s really not that much of a big deal. “It sends a clear message that your body doesn’t belong to you” “it’s our culture to train infant girls that they exist to be looked at”! My parents, contrary to apparent popular belief about desi parents, have never encouraged me to exist for male consumption. If there is one thing my mum and dad have tried to impress on my my whole life it’s that education is the most important thing and it comes before boys or relationships or anything like that. My dad has told me on no uncertain terms that my education, my life, should always come before relationships and marriage. And yes, my mum also decided to have my ears pierced when I was a baby because that is the norm and she wanted to get it over with when I wouldn’t even remember it so I wouldn’t have to get it done later if I wanted them pierced. Even recently she’s told me she’s felt guilty about it when she hears people saying things like this and that makes me so angry because my mother is not perfect, but she deserves a fucking lot more respect than these people are treating her and women like her with.

These are the three that pissed me off the most:

White feminists really do not know how to talk about woc without projecting their own narrow ideas of cultural misogyny onto everything they do. Like they’re literally taking the actions of women from cultures they know nothing about and trying to analyse them and pile patriarchal reasoning onto them - and basically assuming that all woc who aren’t from western / “developed” countries are a monolith who all share a hive mind designed around upholding the patriarchy and can’t think for themselves, unlike the enlightened western feminists who have the critical thinking necessary to see through everything.

Radfems will use the violence and misogyny faced by women of colour in countries like India etc. to prove their points and then will turn around and show their faces with posts like this where they demonstrate that they don’t really care about them except to prove a point, and that any compassion and sympathy that they have for them ends when they don’t act in ways that aligns completely with their beliefs. You’ll talk about how misogynistic and terrible things are for women in countries like India but as soon as they don’t completely conform to how you think they should behave (mostly because of the societal pressures they face) they’re suddenly agents for the patriarchy who are seeking “a sense of control over their environment which heterosexual women seldom get to have”. “It’s not clear to me what it has to do with being white or not” what it has to do with being white is that white radfems absolutely refuse to treat women of colour with respect and acknowledge that we have different experiences to them except when it’s to shit on our culture for treating us badly without actually caring about us as human beings!

Do I think desi culture is absolutely beyond reproach or criticism in the way it treats women? No, there are certain aspects of it that absolutely disgust me (as do aspects of almost every single culture in the world). However, if you really cared about the misogyny and violence faced by women in these countries, you’d use your voices to uplift them and listen to their problems and support the causes they think are important and will improve their lives instead of just using them as a stage to soapbox about your own opinions. But of course, you couldn’t do that! Because they might think the wrong things are important! Because they don’t see the world through your special enlightened western feminist eyes who can see that earrings are the real root of the problem!!!!!

Again, I don’t personally agree with this tradition and I don’t think it should be above criticism, but it certainly isn’t awful or horrible enough to justify the sheer amount of vitriol directed at women of colour who do it - as op was trying to say from the beginning, it’s really not that deep. And in addition, what this post has done is reminded me why even if I do think a cultural practice should be criticised, I absolutely don’t trust white feminists to be the ones doing it. This isn’t me saying “my culture is perfect and beyond any reproach or criticism”, this is about white women not knowing how to behave when talking about women of colour of other cultures and being unable to talk about them without acting as if they know everything and projecting their own preconceived ideas about why the people of that culture behave the way they do in order to get their own points across about the society they themselves live in while simultaneously throwing the women of that culture under the bus by treating them as if they are completely helpless naive victims or agents for the patriarchy who are complicit in their own oppression, and either way are not enlightened enough to see through their culture in the way that only western feminists can.

[molusca]

she apologized for how she handled the situation and apologized for brushing off someone's honest criticisms as hate. what more is she meant to do? throw herself onto a pyre? is she not allowed to feel lousy that this whole thing blew up in her face? because she's an adult and she made a mistake, she's not allowed to be sad or stressed? she's still an imperfect human. apologizing immediately usually means people are still sensitive to their own hurt of being called out because it's fresh and on their mind so it tends to slip into their apology, but if she had waited any longer to compose herself, you guys would probably have an issue with how long she took. also, in aaaaaallll of this, I've have yet to once see what exactly about her work is so problematic? I've read her fic and I personally can't see anything wrong, although I will admit that yes, I'm a white ciswoman but I'd like to think I'm aware of negative tropes. but the only thing touted is "it made an mlm uncomfortable" but HOW??? honestly, I want to know! if anything so I can avoid doing the same thing! how is anyone meant to learn when you're not bringing up these points as often as you're explicitly laying out the problems in her apology and whatnot. I've seen 6 posts about how shit the apology was and for why and I've not once seen the original comment detailing why the fic was problematic, and I've been looking on twit, tumblr, insta, and ao3. if it's been deleted, why isn't anyone stating again and again what's wrong? also, if someone is making fic/art you don't like, don't. interact. with. it. there's tons of stuff on ao3 and twit that I don't like, some of it that I think is disgusting (do you know how many fics there are with keith/kosmos?) and I just scroll past it cause it can't hurt me if I don't read it. there's one artist that's pretty popular on Twitter and I personally really hate they way they draw klance but it's all over my tl. I respect that person's art style and creativeness and keep on moving. other people enjoy it, good for them. and if I start reading something and get surprised with something I dont like, I leave! find people who write things you like and stop engaging with creators who's things you don't like, as far as I know no one is holding a gun to your head making you read problematic fic. also for as much as you rag on her for the words she used to apologize, you don't seem to be considering your own words when offering criticism. if Taylor mistook the person's words as hate, couldn't it have been because the way he worded the complaint was done hatefully? lastly, no one, absolutely no one, is required to talk about world issues when they're running a fandom account,no matter how "big" they are. we all know what's going on in the world, we're surrounded by sad and stressful stories practically 24/7 and if someone isn't, they're probably curating their social feeds to be that way (like you should do when it come to kl content creators you don't like). people sending hate in Taylor's defense are in the wrong I agree, and this isn't hate its critism its a discussion, but Taylor isn't responsible for, how many people did you say? 16k on twit? even if she said hey guys stop, you think they would? she's can't control all those people and expecting her to is nonsense. I see so many younger fans expecting perfection in their fandoms and that just isn't going to happen. yes we should be striving to be better but no one is ever going to be perfect. not you, not me, not the mlm person, not Taylor, not anyone on any side of this argument. the only way to avoid this kind of circular dog piling and hate sending is to better curate your fandom experience by ignore those you have issues with.- 🦛

she apologized for how she handled the situation and apologized for brushing off someone's honest criticisms as hate. what more is she meant to do?

im pretty sure i said its good that she realizes she handled it poorly. but she makes the whole apology about this, doesnt directly talk about the issues and i know someone went to her to talk about it. also, it took her a day to say something about it so it wasnt exactly immediate (in the sense people had already stopped talking about it but that doesnt mean they werent still bothered). the apology was directed at mlm, and i havent seen one saying it felt genuine. of couse she can be hurt but when you apologize to a marginalized group the focus shouldnt be your feelings, but the feelings of the ones you have hurt.

I've have yet to once see what exactly about her work is so problematic?

she admits to be projecting on lance. so she makes him very femine and keith very masculine. and ok, gay couples like that do exist, but she is a woman projecting in this situation so this bothers people. putting mlm in this position is a harmful steriotype, bc it feels very heterosexual. this is a trope, it unfortunately happens a lot and its harmful. women need to be aware of what they are representing when drawing/writing mlm because well, real mlm are going to see it, and no one likes to feel like a fetish to others. and its not our place to question if the criticism is right or wrong when we are not mlm, so if you read this and think “but thats not a problem thats not a fetish etc” well, its not your place to judge that. theres more to it and you probably could get a better answer from a mlm sorry.

if someone is making fic/art you don't like, don't. interact. with. it. there's tons of stuff on ao3 and twit that I don't like, some of it that I think is disgusting (do you know how many fics there are with keith/kosmos?) and I just scroll past it cause it can't hurt me if I don't read it.

please, lets not compare a minority pointing out harmful tropes with. something fucking illegal.

as you said, you are a cis woman, of course its not going to hurt you in this case. but if people are making harmful content its not a simple matter of “dont interact with it” because they will still be promoting it, other people are going to read it, and media influences how we see minorities so of course people will not like when they see bad portrayal of them. also, tumblr sucks so even if you want to just “dont interact with it” its hard because even after blocking you can still cross the content of someone. not sure how it works on twitter but anyway this discussion started on tumblr and tumblr doesnt stop people who were bothered by her to avoid her by blocking.

if Taylor mistook the person's words as hate, couldn't it have been because the way he worded the complaint was done hatefully?

i think she deleted the ask by now, but i dont remember the ask being hateful. i remember someone asking if she was a fujoshi, and another person mentioned that mlm didnt like the way she portrayals klance. i dont remember it being hateful. but again, she apologized for handling it badly. its just that she stops there.

no one, absolutely no one, is required to talk about world issues when they're running a fandom account,no matter how "big" they are. we all know what's going on in the world, we're surrounded by sad and stressful stories practically 24/7 and if someone isn't, they're probably curating their social feeds to be that way

ignoring world issues is a privilege. if someone is able to turn off from all the problems in the world, its a privilige. yes no one should talk aobut it all the time thats not even healthy, but to never talk about it is a privilege. thats what black people are saying, they cant just turn off from racism, so yes they are going to expect white people to do something. online honestly i cant do shit, i dont think anything i reblog here does a difference and i do what i can in my own country, but she has a plataform that could help bring awareness. again, its a privilege to be able to curate your social media to be a perfect happy place.

even if she said hey guys stop, you think they would? she's can't control all those people and expecting her to is nonsense.

maybe they wouldnt, but if people were doing this type of thing in my name, in my defense, i would at least say something about it idk. she cant control them but she makes nothing to show that she disagrees or look for the people being harassed to say something about it.

the only way to avoid this kind of circular dog piling and hate sending is to better curate your fandom experience by ignore those you have issues with.

when it comes to simple things like “i prefer taller lance and i dont like taller keith” yeah, its fine to ignore people who draw taller keith and move on with your life or something like that. but we are talking about mlm, a real group of people, being upset for being portrayed in a harmful and steriotype way. its everywhere in fandom, and in real life. they cant escape from real life, and then they come to fandom where everyone wants some escapism and have to deal with more issues. its tiring

[debunkingtaytaysbeard]

Well 90% of gaylor and kaylor blogs I follow ARE talking about BLM and the stuff happening in the US rn. In fact, the only people I'M seeing turn this thing into bs fandom drama abt the taylor's tweet is TTB and YOU. So maybe you should ask yourself why you're spending more energy on shaming TTB then on genuinely discussing the issues themselves. Cause from where I'm standing you are doing basically the same thing, making this about taylor when it's not.

First, if that’s what you’re seeing on your feed. That makes me incredibly happy and I’m glad to hear that. From what I’ve been seeing from my old Kaylor blog (who I still follow new Kaylors on to keep up with things) & my sisters Kaylor blog, it’s not being discussed outside of its connections to Kaylor and Taylor herself. As I stated before checking every Kaylor account is not my main concern nor focus right now, so I was asked to kindly be corrected. I’m not going to sit her and wag my finger at you say “No, no, no.”

Secondly, I have addressed the issue at hand, I have taken a break from her, I have reblogged as much as I can when I am on here. As I’ve stated before my baby cousin is black. Everyday I sit with the idea in my heart and mind that this is the world is has to grow up in. So excuse me if addressing how wrong it is to tie something back to a made up narrative that plays upon the privileges of two wealthy white women, born into privileged lives is being seen as the same thing as the people doing the former.

Thirdly, I have made this about Taylor by addressing that she should be doing more and address the true value of her voice. Look at GiGi Hadid, that girl has not stopped posting, helping advocating. Her following and reach maybe smaller than Taylor’s, but it’s still bigger than others, and she’s hasn’t stopped speaking. Her voice isn’t valued any less because she’s making more posts. It’s teaching more and more people. To brush off the amount that Taylor could be doing is conforming to the idea that most Taylor Swift fans have, and that is, oh she did this once, that’s enough. I know she’s donating money too, she may not show it, but I know Taylor’s action from the past, and I don’t need to see it. I would love to see her advocating for more black voices, restaurants, businesses, etc. those things are important at this time. Moreover, for people to say, that she doesn’t want to allinate her fan base by speak up more.....how can you be okay with that? This isn’t about allinating, it’s about ADVOCATING. By not speak out more in order to not allinate her non BIPOC, then she’s allinate the other half that’s currently suffering right now. Is that okay with you? It’s not with me. So don’t accuse me of making it a Taylor thing, because when you have a fan base that pays into your wealth & you don’t stand up for them more, it is a Taylor thing.

Finally,

I don’t stand. I will never stand. With a fandom that is built around the speculation about someone’s sexuality, trying to force someone out of the closet with their long letters on how they’ve “had enough”, who know that someone is in the closet yet still comments on their socials to come out and that they are gay, who speculates on someone’s sexuality based on their mannerisms, characteristics, and self expression, who thrive on the tearing down of people because you chose to make them the villain of your story, who go against the LGBTQ+ community’s efforts to breakdown the stigma and stereotypes around their sexuality. I also will not stand by a group of people calling others homophobic for believe the words that are coming out of Taylor’s mouth.

I’m sorry that being queer is lonely. I’m sorry you feel desperate. Yet, putting yourself in Taylor’s shoes, according to your narrative, if you weren’t ready, weren’t able to, weren’t coming out soon, would you be okay with a fandom trying to push you out? Getting upset at you for not doing so. If you put yourself in Karlie’s shoes, would you liked to be painted as a liar, an insulter of a religion who doesn’t care enough about it that’s she’s willing to fake a conversion. Put yourself in the shoes of any closeted person who isn’t ready to come out. Do you think you would like to carry around a fear that one day someone is going to out you because all these people keep saying you are gay/lesbian/bi, etc. put yourself in a man’s shoes, who’s masculinity is being questioned. Imagine being told you’re not manly enough, or too soft so that makes you gay. What good does doing any of these things bring?

I’m an advocate. I always speak up and out. It’s who I am. I call things wrong as I see them. I call out rasicsm, homophobia, classism etc. that’s who I am. Sure it’s just Kaylor and honestly it’s not that serious, but you all are playing with people’s life’s. You are throw out ideas that young readers will inherit and not all of them are okay. Also don’t take that as me saying two women being together is not okay because that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about everything I stated in the paragraph above.

This probably has a shit ton of grammar and typos & I don’t care. It is what it is.

[randomfandomimagine]

Soul of a Warrior. Chapter 14: Sisterhood

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Jaskier x Nissa (OC)

Previous Chapter - Chapter Index - Next Chapter

AO3

Please reblog and leave a comment, it would make my day!

Jaskier is rambling. I have never been so enthused by his nonsense. I’m not even picking on what subject he is prattling about, only focused on the passion with which he always speaks and the way his eyes sparkle and his lips curl up.

“I’m sorry…” He suddenly says, turning to me with a hand on his hip. “Am I boring you?”

I shake my head, unable to contain my smile. He watches me carefully, being infected with my gesture. Moved by a feeling I thought forgotten, I quit our walking and immediately sneak my arms around his waist to hold him tight. This embrace seems to bring me together when his arms envelop me as well. His light chuckle sounds near my ear and causes my heart to skip a beat.

“I have missed you, stupid bard” Needing to look into his lively blue eyes again, I pull away and look up at them. His arms linger around me. Reminding me of something else I had missed, his bright smile dazzles me when it arrives, bigger than ever and mildly smug.

“I knew you couldn’t live without me, love” When I glare at him, he chuckles in an adorable way and strokes my back with his hand. “I’ve missed you too, Nissa”

Once more, the way he looks at me flusters me deeply.

“Why don't we… sit for a moment?”

“Of course” He unhands me, leaving coldness in that spot where his hands rested. Jaskier then bows with a flourish, inviting me to choose a spot myself in order for him to follow.

“Now” I plop down on the ground, not bothering to look for a more suitable place to rest. We have been talking for hours, and all this walking is tiring me after I have grown more accustomed to riding and traveling through portals than to our usual trudging when I was with Jaskier and Geralt. “Jas”

“Hm?”

“What are your plans?”

“I… don’t really have any” He mumbles as he sits by my side. “Why, do you?”

“Maybe we should look for Geralt” I shrug a bit, trying to conceal how excited I am about the idea. “Get the team back together”

“I…” He fidgets his hands, not establishing eye contact again. “I’m not quite sure that’s what he wants”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I offer, finally addressing what has clearly been bothering him for a bit. “Something obviously happened between you two”

Jaskier sighs. His entire composure crumbles in a second. He quiets down, though when he pipes up again he does so with his usual fervor.

“That obstinate witcher…” Jaskier rolls his eyes dramatically.  “He shouted at me, so I just walked away”

Despite his feigned carefree tone, I can tell that he’s upset. I stare at him, noticing the subtle frown on his brow, but he nervously shakes his head. Before I can react, he has put his head on my lap and I freeze for a moment. His head is literally on my thigh.

“I mean, how is that fair?” He mutters, gesticulating quite a lot, but facing away from me.

I feel bad for him and see no reason to push him away. Instead, I find the gesture to be quite endearing. I smile and sigh. After several seconds of hesitance, my hand falls over his head. His hair is surprisingly soft and I find myself sinking my fingers in it, which also seems to be of comfort to him as he relaxes into the touch.

“What happened, exactly?” I encourage him, continuing to caress his hair.

“It was because of Yennefer, he was grumpy and…” Jaskier suddenly grows quiet. In any case, he gave me all the information I needed.

It seems as though Geralt has not remedied his tendency to lash out at people, especially if a certain sorceress is involved. I myself have suffered the effect Yennefer has on Geralt as well. I cannot forget that moment at the inn. She only makes his temper worse when they clash.

I grit my teeth as I watch Jaskier. He remains quiet. I patiently wait for him to continue, but he only turns around to lay flat on his back. Now our eyes meet and there is a pronounced frown in his brows again. I can clearly read the vulnerability and remorse in his expression.

“Did he take it out on you?” I venture, making him shrug before crossing his arms over his chest. He looks up at the sky, perhaps to avoid looking at me.

“It’s fine…” Despite his words, he makes a face. “It wouldn’t be the first time anyway”

“Jas” My stern tone causes him to look at me. “Cut the crap”

Jaskier lingers for a moment, eyes drowned in emotion as he stares. Then he sits up off my lap and heaves a big sigh. He tries to hide it with a faux smile, but his eyes have turned watery.

“Um, actually… I’m… quite hurt” His voice falters, and I put my head on his shoulder as a silent gesture of comfort. That seems to encourage him to continue. “He said some things…”

“Like what?”

“You know…” His fingers nervously fiddle with the grass that flattens under his legs. “How I give him nothing but trouble and he wishes he never met me… the usual…”

“Jaskier…” That is harsh, even for Geralt. I am outraged, and I wince in sympathy.

He stays quiet, though I know him well enough to read his thoughts. He’s scared, terrified that Geralt was speaking the truth, that all this time he didn’t actually consider him a friend, that he only seems him as a nuisance and a meddling bard that he merely reclutantly tolerated.

“You know he didn’t mean it” I pull away from him to look him in the eye, yet he doesn’t reciprocate, instead absently glancing down at the grass he twiddles between his fingers. “Jas, look at me”

He finally meets with my gaze. His blue eyes are drowned in tears, which honestly breaks my heart. How dare Geralt hurt Jaskier like that? If we meet again, I will be certain to scold him for it. He should realize the impact of his words and consider other’s feelings before opening his big mouth. Stubborn bloody witcher…

I take Jaskier’s hands in mine to keep him from pulling at the grass any more.

“Geralt cares about you, he genuinely values your friendship” I shake my head, mentally cursing the witcher. “And if you say Yennefer was still around, you know she rattles him. I’m sure you did nothing wrong”

“Yeah…” He chuckles, although the emotion doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose”

“We are going to look for him and find him, and he better apologize... or I’m going to kick his ass until he does. Only I can taunt my stupid bard”

My joking tone is enough to lighten the mood a bit. Jaskier laughs once more, this time more heartedly. With his free hand, he rubs his eyes before the tears can actually come down.

“I miss that grumpy witcher” He reluctantly admits. “With our falling out…”

“I… was feeling lonely too” I tap his knee, and dedicate him a reassuring smile when his eyes meet with mine. “But now we can be lonely together”

“Thank you, Nissa” He breathes out, as though it had been difficult for him to breathe before.

I never let go of his hands, but I peck his cheek before carefully leaning my head on his shoulder again. He leans into the touch, resting his cheek against my hair. The forgotten butterflies return. My heart is thumping inside my chest once more. A thought burns in my mind, making that persistent ache in my heart to feel quite obvious, painfully so.

Unspoken words itch in my tongue, they burn in my mind. I feel shortness of breath at the thought of speaking them, of opening my heart to him. It’s probably a good moment. The atmosphere finally feels calm and warm. Silence has settled for a change. We are, in fact, holding hands and leaning on each other. I smile in anticipation, opening my mouth to pour my emotions out.

“Alright, your turn” He suddenly says before I can utter any words.

“What?” I pull away from him, watching him in confusion.

“Tell me what’s worrying you” Jaskier clicks his tongue in exasperation. “Or are you telling me you just wanted an excuse to tackle me to the ground and straddle me back there?”

“Can you not use that word?” I try to unhand him, but his hands tighten around mine.

“Which one, straddle?” I catch him smirking with the corner of my eye. Oh, he is back to being himself already, I see. “Why? Does it fluster you, Nissa?”

Lacking a proper response, I only press my lips together and shake my head. Fighting it with all my strength, I refuse to smile in response to his flirtatious teasing. Gods, how I have missed him…

“Come on” His fingers leave mine to instead clasp our palms together. “Tell me what’s wrong, I’m listening”

The gentle way in which he speaks gives me goose bumps. The tender manner in which he is staring at me is making it impossible for me to return his gaze. I hate that I adore him so bloody much, that he can go from insufferable to endearing so quickly.

A sigh escapes my lips.

“I feel so… vulnerable” I start speaking, allowing that restlessness that nestled within me for months to finally come out.  “Without you or Geralt around… I often spend time alone these days, and… I haven’t done so in my entire life”

Jaskier gravely nods his head, letting me know he understands. As I hoped he would.

There was always someone. When I was little it was my parents. When they passed, it was Kader. After he was taken from me I had Hana, and then Jaskier and Geralt. But now, even though I have befriended Triss and Hana is by my side once more… a strange and foreign loneliness has accompanied me, an empty feeling that rendered my heart prisoner even when I was in the company of my sorceress friends. This feeling was only driven away with Jaskier’s unexpected appearance.

Many times, I have been close to telling Hana all of this, to... venting this anguish that stirred within me. But all the sorceresses are too busy, or preoccupied with bigger, more important matters. Matters that concerned all of the Continent and not just an insignificant person like me. And even if it wasn’t the case, I didn’t feel brave enough to tell her. There are many reasons for it as well.

For starters, I didn’t want to burden her with my trifles. Knowing her, she would be more than happy to let me vent yet… I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea. Even if I knew she would scold me for thinking so, for believing that I wasn’t right to for even a moment.

Secondly, I wasn’t convinced that she would understand me. She would intently listen to my every word, of course, and comfort me and just be there, but… I needed someone who could understand what I was experiencing. Jaskier, who has traveled many times with Geralt before, probably relates to such vulnerability more than I can ever imagine.

The witcher’s company was comforting, a silent promise that his protective and skilled presence would defend us from any and all evils, because he was our friend and, no matter how much he tried to deny it if asked, he cared about us. He was in no way invincible, but he nearly felt like he was.

And now, whenever I leave for a stroll or ride with Pal, I feel exposed. Despite having my dagger and my sword as well as my scarce magic skills, I still do. Even if I train diligently, every day without fail. It doesn’t matter.

“Nissa?” His thumb comfortingly rubs my knuckles as his voice steers my thoughts.

“It is quite silly” A pang reaches my chest when I see the heartbroken expression in his face. I roll my eyes, ashamed by these feelings. “And cowardly”

“It isn’t” Jaskier softly shakes his head. “We have encountered so much peril… It’s not strange to feel in such a way”

Exactly. Jaskier does understand me. Warrior elves, vampires, bounty hunters, archespores, leshy… Each and every single encounter stays in my memory. Those close calls we have had never leave me, and they only magnify in my imagination when I am alone. Those same creatures and more of even bigger significance seem to lurk in every corner.

“Would you feel safer with me by your side?” He asks, and it saddens me to recognize a hint of fear in his voice. Fear of not being strong like Geralt. Fear of not being a good enough companion, of just not being enough. Before I can address it, he chuckles to appear nonchalant. “Well… I promise... No, I swear! To protect you with my life and… my lute”

I laugh through the unshed tears and pass a hand over my eyelashes before those that have gathered there manage to treacherously slide down my cheeks. This matter seems to have affected me more than I first imagined. Once I have spoken out on it, my chest feels lighter. Timidly, I glance up at Jaskier. His eyes hold as much emotion as I feel.

Raising his eyebrows in an invitation, his arms open. I don’t hesitate to shield myself in his embrace. It is cozy, homely and comfortable. When he holds me, I can finally breathe.

“Thank you” I close my eyes and treasure every second of the feeling of his arms around me. It is so wonderful. I feel at home now. At last.

“You too” He flattens his palms against my back to further press me against him. I smile.

This enveloping embrace is all I need to realize Hana was right. There are no doubts in my mind, no matter how much I tried to deny it. As I have before, I can fight my instincts as much as I want, but my emotions have made the decision for me. Long ago, before I even encountered him. I had missed him so much it hurt. Now that I have him with me again, I will not lose this opportunity. Destiny has spoken.

“Jas?”

“Yes”

“Where would we go?”

“Wherever you please, love”

In all honesty, I am not quite sure where I want to go. All I know is that I want it to be with him. The destination doesn’t really matter as long as I am by his side.

That notion fills my chest with warmth. Traveling with Jaskier and chatting like we used to. Spending every second by his side, flirting and joking and singing and just… being with him. It is absolutely ideal. I am giddy just thinking about it.

The fantasy, however, is wrecked by the weight of reality. In order to achieve that, I must do something first. Something quite unpleasant that I do not want to do.

“If…” I mutter against his silk doublet. “If we are leaving… then I need to…”

“Say goodbye?” He cautiously completes for me, comfortingly rubbing my back.

Even after all this time apart, Jaskier knows me well. It is so reassuring knowing I have someone like him, who understands me so well. Who cares. Who I have special feelings for. Who, in some way or another, reciprocates them.

“Yes” Begrudgingly, as I would comfortable lie in his embrace forever, I pull away.

“Let’s go then” Jaskier nods his head, and his encouraging smile brightens my gloomy mood.

_

Knowing he is waiting for me outside seems to fill me with courage. It is useful, for I lose vitality the more people I talk to. I have quickly said goodbye to most of the women here. First Tissaia, then Sabrina, Fringilla, Yennefer and Triss. Like last time, I leave the most painful farewell for last.

My fist is shaking as I knock on Hana’s door. I nibble on my bottom lip when it swings open to reveal her. Hana’s face bears a resigned tranquility.

“Are you here to say goodbye?” She asks, moving to the side.

“Not exactly” I avoid her gaze as I come in. I pause until I hear the sound of the door closing behind me. “Not if you want to come with us”

I refuse to make the same mistake twice. At the very least, I will ask her even if I already know the answer is no. My conscience needs it. I also find comfort to my racing irrational thoughts when I remember that she is not defenseless. None of them are.

“Nissa…” Hana rolls her eyes, even if a refreshing smile on her lips teases me. “What would I do with the two of you?”

I shrug, aware that what I am asking is foolish. If I was in her shoes, I wouldn’t come either, especially not since she has found a new home here just like I have with them. With him.

“I had to ask” I shrug my shoulders once more and force my gaze down when tears flood my eyes.

“I know” Hana seems much calmer than I am in spite of the subtle trembling of her level voice. “I appreciate it”

“I… I’m sorry, Han…” Even when her hands hold mine as soon as a sob escapes my throat, I still can’t muster the courage to look into her eyes. “I'm sorry for leaving you again, I am a terrible friend”

“You are not” She continues, still as serene. “I wouldn’t force you to stay somewhere you’re not happy in anymore, just like you understand that I want to stay here”

My bottom lip trembles. Emotions that I believed forsaken pour to the surface, feelings that I experienced soon after I first met Geralt and Jaskier. I vividly remember the moment I experienced them: standing at the top of the mountain, overlooking the desolation of my home and believing Hana to be dead. That guilt and sorrow return.

“L-Last time that I abandoned you…” A knot in my throat interrupts me as the sobs take over.

“Nothing like that will happen again” Her fingers squeeze my hands. “And you never abandoned me, Nissa”

"But I..." In the end I quiet, staring at our hands even though the tears blur them.

“Do you understand?” She insists, as though it is important to her that I do. Prey of my weeping, I only manage a vehement nod. I let go of one of her hands to wipe my tears.

The room grows completely quiet as we think of something else to say. How to express the gratitude of a lifetime? The regret that has been building up for months? The concern that clutches to my very soul? Instead, I pathetically smile at her and finally hold her gaze.

“Please take care” Completely breaking the connection, I instead throw myself to hug her.

Much like Geralt, Hana was never a physical or affectionate person. Her love language diverged from bold proofs of fondness. Nonetheless, she has no problem hugging me back this time.

“I will” She replies, and I can’t comprehend how her voice remains calm as she holds me tight. “You do too, you hear? Don’t be stubborn”

“I love you, Han” I suddenly chuckle, taken aback by a wave of affection that overpowers the sadness.

“Goodbye, sister” Hana says, squeezing me once more before breaking away.

Somehow, it all feels right. She is my sister, my family. The distance will never change that.

We linger for a moment, trying to postpone my departure for as long as we can. Ultimately, I smile at her as I step towards the door. The gesture is genuine and devoid of any melancholy or nostalgia. She will be okay. And so will I. She grins back, which is enough to fill me with peace as I step out of the room.

It is time to leave hers and return to a home of my own. As though destiny knew this thought would occur, I find Jaskier standing in the corridor. His back is leaned against the wall opposite of me. Arms crossed and head tilted, his eyes are vacant and thoughtful. I chuckle. The sound casts his gaze over me as he lifts his head up. I expected his smile, though his expression is stoic as he watches my red swollen eyes. I don’t know what to say to him.

“Nissa” Hana suddenly opens the door one last time. I turn in a daze.

When I face her, I see her offering something to me. As I approach, I watch the wide brass bracelet she twiddles between her fingers and timidly take it. The one on her wrist is identical.

“I bought it soon after you arrived, during one of my missions with Triss” She tells me, smiling when I put it on. “We both knew you would become a healer like you intended”

Oh, Hana… Tears gather at my eyes once more, and I mentally curse her for it.

“Thank you” I fraternally squeeze her upper arm. “I will never take it off”

Hana grins, though her eyes fix somewhere behind me. I had nearly forgotten Jaskier is there.

“Goodbye, lady Hana!” He kindly says. “It was a pleasure to properly meet you”

“Goodbye, Jaskier” She smirks a bit as she leans on the door. “Look after her, will you?”

“Of course” As a promise of his good will, his arm protectively sneaks around my waist.

“Actually, I’m looking after him” I chuckle, bringing a wide grin to her mouth. He doesn’t complain and in fact laughs.

Hana and I wave at each other. We smile, but my heart feels heavy. Her door then closes. A small emptiness fills me. The stillness lingers in the atmosphere for several more seconds.

“Are you alright?” Jaskier gently whispers. After all, I haven’t moved from the spot and I still stare at the closed door. It takes me a bit to answer, only managing a nod.

“Yes… Truly, I am” Taking a deep breath, I turn to him. “I know where to find them now, and I know Hana is okay. Safe and sound. She belongs here, and she is happy in this place”

Jaskier dedicates me a soft smile and a head nod. We don’t say anything as we start moving and advance through the hallway. Our footsteps echo against the walls, filling the void.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Nissa?” He sighs in reluctance. “I wouldn’t want you to regret it. Especially given that I am the very reason you are leaving and… I don’t want to be the one to drive you away from her, I… I know how much she means to you”

I grin. Unlike the moment when I said goodbye to Jaskier, this doesn’t feel wrong. Certainly, it is sad and I will miss her dearly. Nonetheless, I know I am doing the right thing. I am moving towards something that makes me happy. A special someone. I am staying where I belong.

“You do too, Jaskier” I instinctively say before I can stop myself. “I’m sure”

As we step outside, I hear him sighing. It seems a gesture of relief and fondness. Feeling mildly flustered by the way in which he suddenly stares, I hurry to reunite with Pal.

My horse is patiently waiting as I approach him and caress his neck as always. His jet-black eyes seem to smile when he lovingly nudges my shoulder. Then I nimbly climb up on the saddle and offer my hand for Jaskier to take. With a bright grin that rivals the sun itself, he takes my hand and rides behind me.

I pause and take a deep breath. Exhale. Another pause before spurring Pal on. I refuse to look back as we ride, not even to glance at Jaskier sitting in the saddle with me. He is uncharacteristically quiet, though I assume it is out of respect for my woe.

“Ah, I will miss this place… full of beautiful women, it was” He finally says, heaving a dreamy sigh. “They have in fact inspired me to finish my song”

“At last? It took you ages” As comical as it can be to see him struggle, I can sense his frustration. It is good to know he has finally finished it.

“Ugh, don’t remind me” His hands move in the air with his wide gestures. “But I did write it while we were apart. It didn’t actually take me this long”

“I see. Please forgive my affront”

“Alright, cheeky, would you like to hear it?”

“Of course, Jaskier”

“Brilliant” He clears his throat in a very important manner. “It is called Delicate Flower”

With his usual flare for the theatrical, he only clears his throat and pauses dramatically. I am very aware of the way his arms wrap around me from behind as he holds on to me. Preferring not to play his lute while riding, Jaskier starts singing a cappella instead. His harmonious voice finally fills the silence. I close my eyes to fully enjoy the sound of his singing, one that I had missed as dearly as I had missed the bard himself.

Let me tell you about my love

My muse, my beauty, my dove

Dazzling smile, gorgeous eyes

Her perfection, my demise

Brighter than the sun and twice as fair

No one else in the world can compare

 ...

A delicate flower

Claiming her power

Determined and sentimental

Fair, soft and gentle

Fierce and bold

Soul of a warrior and heart of gold

 ...

The mere touch of her lips

Would be absolute bliss

Her present existence

Unbearable distance

 ...

I wonder who inspired the ballad. It is lovely, though it pains me to think those feelings he harbored have nothing to do with me. Does he still feel in such a way about the object of his inspiration? Was that person only a fleeting infatuation? Does the song mean a lot to him? It doesn't matter. No, I refuse to linger on jealousy. We are together now. That's what's important.

“It was beautiful, Jas” I twist in the saddle to leave a peck on his cheek. “As always”

“Thank you very much” He beams, proudly squaring his shoulders up. “Any further thoughts?”

Yes, I wish that song was for me. But it isn’t. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.

“No” I say instead. “Not really”

Jaskier sighs, though says nothing more. His arms gingerly tighten around my stomach.

Pal is now noisier as his hooves resonate against the hard ground. They rhythmic and repetitive sound is calming.

As we leave the academy behind, I peer down at the new bracelet on my wrist. Its mere sight fills me with warmth. It is a reminder that, no matter how far away we are, we will always be family.

Tag list: @x-joie-x​ / @x-jodi-x​ / @dancingwith-thesunflowers​ / @golden-guide​ / @alwayshave-faith​ / @this-is-whump-dammit​ / @legallyblindgamer727​ / @lilyevans1​ / @kingniazx​ / @molethemollie / @a-somehow-functioning-dumbass // Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list to be notified when I post next chapter!!

[shreddedparchment]

Of Two Minds Pt.02

You’re Safe Here

04/29/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader x Steve          Word Count: 6,773

Masterpost     Warnings: Smut, language, alcohol consumption, angst, jealousy

A/N: This came out a lot angstier than I thought it would but honestly, what did I expect after what I built up with that first part? I hope you all like it. I can’t seem to stop loving Steve. For the record this is not a Stucky x Reader story. It is about Bucky and Steve loving the same reader. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Sometimes Steve feels like he’s falling. Head first. For you. Into despair. Into agony as he watches Bucky laugh with you perched on his lap. You’ve got your back laid against the sofa’s dark gray arm, the ease with which you throw your head back and laugh makes Steve’s lips curve up into an involuntary smile.

You look so beautiful in your sweats. Black pants and a dark red t-shirt. It’s Bucky’s but you look perfect in it anyway, even if it hurts to know its Bucky’s shirt. Your hair is gathered up on top of your head, lazy bun for a rare lazy day at the compound.

Bucky’s hands are continuously rubbing the outside of your left thigh. Steve really wishes he would stop, though he knows it’s his own fault for helping you get what you’ve been wanting since Bucky came to the compound.

He just wants you to be happy, but Steve desperately wishes that meant you were with him and not Bucky. But…Bucky deserves to be happy too. He’s been through so much and he’s been into you since he moved in.

Never mind that Steve saw you first. Trained you first. Liked you first. Loved you first. Never mind the times he stayed up with you, taking care of you after injuries or when you'd get sick.

Steve knows you don’t owe him anything. He backed off as soon as Bucky came into the picture. He loves his best friend, his brother, and the moment he saw Bucky's steel blue eyes shine with interest upon seeing you, Steve stepped aside because you seemed return it.

Bucky leans forward and whispers something into your ear and you throw your head back one more time, laughing energetically and making your bun wiggle—dangerously close to becoming undone.

Man, Steve would love to see that. He smiles again, his heartrate speeding up as he watches the bright joy of your smile.

It’s soft, his own grin, and it gives him away. Nat is watching!

Steve coughs and looks back down at the mission file in his lap. The large common room is full of lounging Avengers and he’s an idiot for thinking that he might be able to be here, with you sitting on the couch all cuddled up to his best friend and not let something slip.

He chances a glance up at Nat again who’s sitting in the seat directly opposite him on the other side of the coffee table.

She’s smirking at him, her eyes glittering mischievously.

“Y/N?” She says and Steve tears his eyes away from her back down to his file, intent on ignoring whatever stupid stunt she’s about to pull. Nat is a vixen and a half, and he wishes he could take back his smile and take shelter in his work like he’s been doing since the moment he Bucky came back into his life and effectively turned your head.

You laugh again loudly, then slap Bucky’s hand away as you turn to look at Natasha with forced composure. You clear your throat. “Yeah? Nat? What’s up?”

“Listen, I completely forgot that Nathanial’s first peewee game is this weekend-” She begins and Steve instantly knows where she’s going with this. No. Don’t do it.

“Uh, Nat?” Steve says, leaning forward, the file in his hands held between his thumb and forefinger as he lets it drop between his legs to hang loosely in his hand.

“-and I would really appreciate it if you would maybe go on this scouting mission with Steve for me? Please?” Steve hates the way Nat deliberately makes herself shrink so that she appears smaller. Her eyes are pleading, staring at you and only you as you consider her words.

“We had tickets to that concert you wanted to go to.” Bucky tells you quietly.

You look at him and shrug. “We can go another time, right? There’s enough time to get our money back.”

“If you’re sure?” Bucky asks, and Steve can see the hope in his best friend’s eyes. He doesn’t want you to go.

Steve’s gut does an uncomfortable twist as he feels the sudden but fleeting sting of resentment. Bucky gets you to himself every day now. You two have been making out and making love like rabbits. He’s not deaf. His room is right across the hall. It sucks having to listen to you whimpering and moaning in the middle of the night when you and Bucky think everyone’s asleep.

He hates it.

Then Steve remembers that you and Bucky have every right to be happy. Every right to enjoy each other. Bucky has every right to want to keep you to himself.

“I’ll go.” You turn to Nat, a smile stretching your sweet and pretty lips. That’s when you look at him.

Usually Steve takes extra care to make sure he’s not showing you how he really feels. Even before Bucky he'd been terrified to lose you as a friend.

Today, he’s so caught up in his own issues that he forgets to relax his face and smile at you. Instead he sighs heavily, shuts his folder correctly, and then heads towards the hallway to get some space from you, from Bucky, from the love that pours from your eyes every time you look at his best friend.

He only gets to round the corner before your voice halts him. “Steve?”

Steve turns around slowly, desperately wishing he could do anything but look at you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Steve assures you, trying to remain as calm as possible in light of the fact that he’s going to spend two days with you away from the compound. Alone. “I’m fine.”

“I-” He sees the uncertainty in your eyes, the confusion and the fear. No…that’s not what he wants to put in your eyes. “Did I do something wrong? I mean, are you mad at me? You’ve hardly spoken to me since—well, since Bucky and I got back from that mission on the Cayman Islands. Should I tell Nat that I can’t go for her? I mean,”

You always say that when you’re nervous. Steve's stomach clenches painfully.

“If you'd prefer to not go with me…if I did something? I can tell Nat that I won't go.”

He hates the way you’re shifting from one foot to the other, the way you’re chewing your lip nervously, your eyes are slightly pooling, terrified tears gathering in anticipation of being chastised and undeserved guilt.

“No.” Steve sighs, pushing the agony in his own chest aside as he focuses on getting that heart shattering smile Bucky seems to pull from you so easily back. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Y/N. I’m just not feeling like myself.”

“So…you’re okay with me going with you? Because I’ll stay-”

“Of course, I’m okay with it.”

Your face splits into a wide smile. “Good.”

Steve smiles back, soft but slightly sad.

“I’ve really missed you, Steve. I seriously can’t wait to go on this mission with you. It's been a while since it's been just you and me.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Steve grins sadly, hoping it comes off as a genuine smile because the last thing he needs is for you to wise up and learn that the kiss he’d given you to make Bucky jealous was just as much for himself as it had been for your benefit.

He can’t get the delicious taste of you off his mind and he hates to admit it but he’s eager for a second taste though he knows he can never take it.

Something is off with Steve. Really off. You don’t know what the hell you did to make him mad but he’s not being Steve with you anymore. It sucks.

You know now that he was lying when he said he wasn’t mad at you or that you did nothing wrong. Clearly you did and now he won’t even talk to you.

Your heart feels heavy and you know that you should be looking out the window, watching the bar across the street.

It’s not a real bar. It’s supposed to be some type of den for nefarious drug dealers. Modified drugs.

Someone has been dealing in drugs laced with enhancers. For those that are already enhanced the drugs are fine. They’re just like regular drugs, only stronger to offset the natural resistance that the enhanced sometimes have.

For regular people, the drugs are deadly and sometimes fatal in worse ways. There have been eighteen cases of people inheriting enhanced abilities for a short time before the abilities seem to make the users literally explode.

It’s messy and traumatizing for those who happen to be around them.

The goal is to find out who is supplying and tie as many associates as possible to put a stop to the spread of the drug.

Right now, it’s localized on the South American continent, but two cases have popped up in Japan over the last two weeks. The drug is spreading.

This place, the bar, is where your eyes should be focused. Instead, you sit across from Steve with your arms wrapped around your knees, feet flat on the seat as you watch the way he doesn’t look at you.

It’s still light out. There won’t be any activity for hours probably, but he’s watching the bar with so much determination you feel like maybe he’s actively trying not to look at you.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t turn to you.

“I know that you said you were okay, back at the compound? But you don’t seem okay. Are you sure that I didn’t do anything to upset you?” You try not to concentrate on the way it hurts to think that you’ve done something to really upset him. Mainly because you want the pain to stop. How did you hurt him?

The very idea of causing Steve, your closest and best friend at the compound, any kind of pain makes you feel sick.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

You watch him flex his jaw twice before turning your eyes to the bar. It’s too early.

You and Steve had arrived while it was still dark out. You have the rest of the day, all night, and then the day tomorrow to scope out the place before the Avengers get together to capture as many of these lowlifes as possible. If anything comes out of this little trip.

With a sigh, frustrated and unable to look out the window, you get up. “Fine. I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up if something happens.”

You pull down the tight t-shirt you’d pulled on. If anyone had happened to see you and Steve come into the hotel room in the early morning darkness, they would only have been able to see a couple checking in.

The cover story always similar. Married couple on their honeymoon or vacation. A couple taking their first vacation together. Two friends out to see the world. This mission’s cover story hadn’t been specified but when Steve had reached over to lace his fingers with yours as the two of you had made your way into the hotel, you’d accepted that the couple cover was his choice.

It’s easy to fall into step beside Steve. You’re not nervous. You’re so comfortable and it just feels right to hold his hand. It felt right when you wormed your way closer to him in the elevator, and when he released your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders you wound yours around his narrow waist and the other guests that passed you in the halls didn’t spare the two of you a glance.

You fret as you throw yourself onto the bed. Desperately trying to think of why Steve is mad at you. What did you do? You don’t remember doing anything…not recently.

Eyes blinking slower and slower as sleep overtakes you, your mind drifts into dreams while you think about the way Steve’s hand kept squeezing yours as he’d checked the two of you in and lead you upstairs.

He wouldn’t have held onto your hand or held you like he did in the elevator if he was really mad, would he?

Yeah, he would. Steve is nothing if not a professional. You’re the one that can’t stop worrying about why he’s mad at you.

Your two-day mission with Steve turns into a week. Nothing is happening with that bar. You and Steve have taken turns staying up to watch at night and nothing ever happens. People go in. Come out. Nothing strange.

“You’re not doing anything stupid, are you?” Bucky’s voice is worried, whether it’s over you doing something stupid or for your safety, you’re not sure. Both, probably.

“No.” You argue, dragging the word out because you’d offered Steve to go down into the bar alone last night and he’d shot that down quick.

“Steve?” Bucky checks.

“She’s fine, Buck. Nothing stupid. This is turning out to be a big waste of time.” Steve sighs.

You look at him and catch him watching you, his eyes narrowed almost as if he’s in pain. You reach out for him and he takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours again. Why is he so upset lately? What’s bugging him? You’ll need to ask him.

“How much longer are you two going to stay? I’m getting kinda antsy over here.” Bucky admits. “If you stay more than two more days, I’m coming over there.”

“No. No, don’t do that.” Steve says, squeezing your hand. “I think we’ll go check out the bar tonight and then head home tomorrow. No use sticking around if this is leading nowhere. We’ll have to start over from scratch once we get back.”

“What can I do on my end?” Bucky asks, his voice shifting into business mode.

“Pull up all the fatalities associated with the drug and see if we can’t find some kind of pattern. We know the last two are in Japan so maybe we’ll need to head there to see if we can trace it up from there. Get Nat to help. She sees things we don’t sometimes.” Steve orders.

“Will do. Y/N?”

“I’m here.”

“Get that pretty ass home in one piece. And no getting head from other guys, Y/N.”

Your cheeks burn, your neck heats up, and Steve’s hand goes slack around yours. You look at him and his look of confusion. “Bucky!” You chastise.

“I love you, baby-doll. I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up.

Your heart is pounding, aching to be home with Bucky and in his arms again.

“Head from other guys?” Steve asks still confused.

You laugh, nervous as you make to pull your hand out of his, but he tightens it once again.

“I…when we went on that mission to the Cayman Islands to pick up the drive? The guy we were taking it from—well, to make a long story short, he asked me out. I said yes. Then he took me back to his room and he was about to-to-to-do that when he suddenly passed out. Bucky drugged him at dinner and before he could touch me, he was out.” You reach up to scratch the back of your head.

“You were going to let some bad guy eat you out?” Steve asks, disbelief and hurt in his voice.

“I needed to get the drive. The drive was somewhere in his room. After I would have found it and taken it.”

Steve frowns. “You would have seriously slept with some random fucking-some dude you didn’t know?”

“I had to get the job done, Steve. I took an oath to put my own well-being after that of the people I am trying to protect. If I had to go down into that bar and fuck every one of those guys to get the information we need, I would. That’s the job.”

“No, Y/N, that’s not the job!”

“You do it your way. I do it mine.”

“Are you serious right now? What about Bucky?! Do you think he could forgive you for doing that to him?” Steve demands, growing angrier and angrier. His hand is a vice around yours and it’s starting to hurt.

“Ow, yes…” Damn, he’s kinda right. “With time, he would forgive me. People are dying. We have to do everything we can to stop that from happening.”

“Not that, Y/N. Not with them. Not like that. Random bad guys? You’d let them touch you?” Steve asks, squeezing your hand again.

“Ow.” You say through clenched teeth. “You’re hurting me! It’s just a job. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does mean something.” He insists, growing louder.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

“It doesn’t. It means nothing, Steve.”

“It means something to me!” Steve declares passionately, storm blue eyes boring into yours with desperation and want.

You’ve seen that look before. You’re familiar with it. You’re shocked to see it in Steve’s eyes, so your throbbing hand takes second place to the flutter of confusion in your chest.

“Steve…” You begin, remembering the same look in Bucky’s eyes when he’d finally confessed to liking you. Loving you.

Steve looks down at your hand and pulls his own free. “Get dressed.”

He’s breathless as he speaks, and you look at the floor. At your feet and try to understand the look he just gave you.

He wanders away to change. He comes back a few minutes later and you’re still sitting there, reeling.

“Y/N!” He snaps and you get up, licking your lips as you move to the closet to pull on an outfit that will stand out enough that people will look at you and not at Steve—he’s super recognizable, especially in a drug den where people are on alert—but also low-profile enough that it won’t make people approach you.

You pull on a pink suede skirt, short, with black thigh-high boots, and a long sleeve black shirt with bell cuffs around the wrists. The cutout neckline rises high on your clavicle but exposes the soft curve of your breasts to draw any and all eyes that may wander your way.

Steve already has his Nano Mask slipped on altering his face to look like some random guy with a nose too broad, and lips too narrow. His storm blue eyes are the same however and you take note of the way they brighten when you move out to join him.

You also observe what he’s changed into. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a loose but stark white t-shirt over which he’s slipped a chic navy blazer.

You’re not sure what he wants to tell you as he looks you head to toe but you’re nervous and know for sure that whatever he’s thinking is definitely not, “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

The moment you and Steve enter the bar, all eyes turn to you. Mission accomplished. Lurid gazes and licking lips devour your legs and the curve of your breast and butt.

Seeing all eyes on you, Steve wraps his arm around your shoulders again and leads you towards a red leather corner booth towards the back. The lighting is dim, and the bar is freezing compared to the scorching South American heat outside. Even at night it’s hot as fuck.

As you slide in, you wait until Steve is beside you to settle in against his side. As you wrap your arms around his left elbow, he slips his hand underneath the table to take possessive hold of your right knee. His hand is hot and you’re very aware of the hesitant way that he touches your bare skin.

“See anything?” You mumble through the corner of your lips after a few minutes of coy cuddling and observing the room.

“No.” He says simply.

A waitress approaches your table and stops with her eyes ogling Steve’s top-form physique.

“To drink?” The woman asks, her voice heavy with accent. She probably speaks Portuguese but with the way Steve looks, it’s understandable that she’d use whatever English she can speak, no matter that Steve can speak Portuguese.

“Two whiskeys? Straight-up for me. On the rocks for the lady?” Steve asks, looking over at you to verify while tracing burning circles against the inside of your knee. He knows your drink.

You nod.

“Okay.” The woman says simply then turns to head to the bar, looking back at Steve twice. You tighten your hold on his arm but while he’s been ordering, you’ve been scanning the room.

“Shit.” You whisper and quickly duck your head.

“What?” Steve asks, noticing your sudden nerves. “What is it?”

You keep your eyes trained on the table, staring at it but not really seeing the shiny grains of dusty wood.

“The uh…the guy from our last mission. Our mark. Aaron? He’s here.”

“He’s here?” Steve asks, scanning the room. His eyes stop on the bar where the tall Hawaiian God from the Cayman Islands stands leaning against the counter, his hand tracing the arm of your waitress, delaying the delivery of your drinks.

“We need to go, Steve. If he sees me…”

Steve gets up and helps you to your feet too. He tucks you into his left side so that as the two of you walk past the bar, you’re hidden from view.

The heat gobbles you up as you step outside again, relief washing over you as Steve takes your right hand and drags you back towards the hotel. You reach into your purse and pull out your phone, quickly dialing Bucky’s number. He answers after one ring.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” He already knows something is wrong.

“Bucky pull up all people associated with Aaron Keahi and dive as far as you can into his background. Pull everything.” You mutter quietly as you and Steve veer through the rowdy people on the street.

“Our mark from the island? With the data drive?” Bucky asks, confused.

“Yes. Everything Bucky. Any bit of information you can find.”

“Okay. Be careful, Y/N.” He hangs up and you shove your phone back into your purse.

Steve doesn’t let you go until you’re both back inside your hotel room. He locks the door and peeks through the peephole, on alert.

“What do you know about him?” Steve asks you.

“Almost nothing. I knew his room number. His schedule. Some of the stuff he’s mixed up in. The usual scumbag resume. Money laundering, fraud, identity theft, some arms dealing. Nothing like this. There was no drug dealing on his list. He might be dabbling for the first time but they’re hiding it too well. Either he’s really good at doing this or he’s got someone else running the show and he’s just a pawn.”

You’re pacing the room as you try and remember any small detail from your interactions with Aaron that might possibly hint at his involvement in something this big. Drug dealing like this, on this scale, it’s a lot of money.

Steve eventually takes a seat on the small sofa, watching you pace in front of the TV, his navy blazer removed and laid out on the sofa’s arm.

“You haven’t been sleeping well.” He tells you and it pulls your attention because your mind is so far away from personal comforts.

“I-I miss Bucky.” You admit, forgetting Aaron for a bit. “And…”

That look he’d given you as the two of you fought about using your body for the mission comes rushing back. What had that look meant?

He stares at you, storm blue eyes unrelenting and that pain from the past week comes flooding back into them. You move towards him, stopping as he sits back, straightening to look up at your face.

“What’s wrong? Please tell me. I can’t stand this anger you have for me, Steve. You’re my best friend. What did I do?” You reach forward and place your hands on his shoulders, shaking him lightly.

He blinks slowly and you hate that he’s still wearing that Nano Mask. You reach up under his chin and carefully pull it away. He lets you, leaning back as you tug it away and then throw it onto the sofa beside him.

His hands move up and grip your hips and your hand freezes.

You blink in confusion.

“I love you.” He suddenly says and you don’t know how to breathe. It’s not like you’re not trying. You keep gasping, trying to catch your breath but he’s taken it from you. “Y/N?”

“Give me a second…” You wheeze, unable to speak loudly without enough oxygen in your lungs.

As he watches you struggle, he brings his hands around your hips to rest his palm on the apex of your bottom, his fingers hesitantly settling on the small of your back.

You gasp again and finally pull away because you need the distance. He doesn’t let you. He makes his arms lock, steel binds around your hips.

“I know I shouldn’t.” Steve confesses. You look down at his face and he’s so hurt that you don’t dare try and pull away again. “I know you love Bucky and Bucky loves you. I know that I can never come between that. I’ve been killing myself trying to keep this inside. I did this. I helped you two get together. I was rooting for you and him because he’s been through so much and he deserves to be happy, but I can’t anymore. I’m sorry. It’s selfish but I love you, Y/N. I do. And I’m a jerk for telling you and I-I-I don’t want anything. I need you to know so that you can tell me it’s never going to happen and I can let this go. I need to let this go. For both of you.”

You’re stuck staring at him, void of words to speak, empty to everything but the strange agony in your chest. Steve loves you?

“But you never-”

“I didn’t want to ruin what we had. We’ve spent so much time being together, as friends, and the thought of losing that, your friendship—before Bucky came back, you were the only person I could take comfort in. You distracted me. Made me laugh. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Without your consent, your hands drift up into the hair on the back of his head.

“I’ll get over you, Y/N. I just…I need time.” He whispers, so quiet but deafening at the same time.

The pain in your chest slowly shifts, turning into a strange sort of desire. His words play themselves over and over in your mind.

I’ll get over you, Y/N.

I’ll get over you…

I’ll get over you…

Do you want him to get over you?

“I-I liked you too, Steve.” You sigh, and his face goes slack as he stares at your lips, taking in your words. “I just didn’t think that you felt the same way. I never said anything. I never-”

Steve leans up but you push his shoulders down, keeping him in place. You’re not strong enough to make him do what you want but he also understands why you won’t let him kiss you.

“I can’t.” You whisper, your voice dripping with regret. “Bucky…” You explain.

“I know.” He sighs, fisting the back of your black shirt. “I waited too long.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against your stomach as the two of you simply stand still, living this moment for what it is. Pure regret on both your parts.

After what feels like a long time but is probably only minutes, Steve’s breathing changes moving slower, steadier.

“Steve?” You probe, your hands down on his back now as you hold him to you.

“Hmm?” He asks sleepily and then seems to realize that he’s fallen asleep because he sits back, cheeks scarlet with embarrassment. “Shoot, sorry. I guess I was…”

“You haven’t been sleeping well, either, have you?” You demand, frowning at him. “Is it your nightmares again?”

Steve sighs and nods.

When he’d first come out of the ice, after he’d met you, there had been so much noise coming from his room. You’d finally gone in one night and found him thrashing on his bed, screaming. Not loud enough to wake the others, but you’re right there. After that, the two of you grew close quickly and after some time, Steve stopped struggling at night.

“Come on. Let’s…let’s forget this for now and both get some sleep. I’m so tired.” You whisper, take his hand, and drag him back towards the bedroom. He lets you go and disappears into the bathroom. You change quickly, slipping into a red cotton nightie, modest but short because it’s so hot out.

You move onto the bed, only one to keep up the cover story, and kneel as you wait for Steve to come out.

He steps out wearing a pair of navy briefs and a white t-shirt. He switches off the bathroom light and stops to watch you for a few seconds before he moves around to the right side of the bed to lay himself down.

“Close your eyes.” You tell him, and as he settles onto his back, his right hand on his stomach, his left reaching to take hold of yours as you kneel facing him, he closes them.

You reach up with your right hand and gently stroke his hair. Almost instantly he unclenches his chin, releasing the held tension. It only takes him a few minutes to fall asleep but soon his breathing is even, and his hand grows slack around yours.

You watch him sleep for what feels like hours. Your mind jumps back and forth from the topic of Aaron and how deeply he’s involved in the distribution of the drugs you’re chasing to Steve’s confession. You lean down over him, pressing your forehead against his cheek because you’d wanted him for so long.

You’d imagined what it would be like to kiss him, to hug him. And then he kissed you to get Bucky jealous and now you realize maybe he’d been just as curious as you had been to know what he taste like. You shut your eyes, slowly laying yourself on your right side so that you can keep looking at him.

You think about that kiss, the way his soft warm lips had moved around yours and the way you’d slipped your tongue into his mouth, urging the kiss deeper. Had you done that to make Bucky believe it? Or had you just been desperate to take advantage of the opportunity to taste Steve?

He had been delicious, too. Smoky cinnamon with a hint of sugar. Sitting on his lap, his hands on your waist, his delicious lips against yours. It’s safe to say you’re not exactly over him.

You drift off, still thinking about Steve’s lips and you dream of him.

It might be minutes or maybe hours later when Steve’s soft whimpers and quiet but stressed groaning coaxes you from your slumber. The bed jerks and you stir more, opening your eyes to the eggshell ceiling of the room. You’re still laying on top of the covers, too hot or too sleepy to get underneath them.

Steve groans again and you look for him, finding him with his hands fisting the sheets around him. He’d worked his way under the covers at some point and they lay covering only his lower half. His t-shirt is slightly damp, cold sweat dripping from his temples onto the pillow beneath him.

“Steve?” You reach over, placing your hand on his chest as you sit up slightly. He’s having his nightmare again.

He’d described it to you once. Falling. Forever falling towards a sheet of pure white snow. Then he’s cold and frozen, drowning, choking on ice water that cuts his throat as it floods in. Time means nothing for him in the ice. He’s in it for ten seconds…no…ten years…no, a hundred years. Each thought drifts into the next and he has no way of knowing how much time has passed. All he knows is cold and the heavy, biting press of ice on his chest.

“Steve.” You shake him a little and he gasps, shooting up onto his elbows and grabbing your hand. He’s in a panic as his storm blue eyes scan the room.

“I’m here, Steve. You’re safe. You’re safe.” You whisper and you can see the relief in his eyes as he realizes that he isn’t trapped in the ice. He’s here, in a hotel room, with you.

He finds your face, stares at you for a bit as the light returns to his eyes. He looks you over, head to toe then back up to meet your eyes.

The clench of his jaw takes your breath away because you see the moment that he decides. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want it.

He pulls the blankets up and over your legs, as his left arm wraps around your waist to slide you down beneath them. His heavy weight settles on top of you. Deliriously pleasant heat pressed against your own body.

Hungry lips come down over yours, massaging them firmly as he moans against you.

You swallow his moan, opening your mouth to greet his luscious tongue. He tastes you, sliding it along your own, as your hands wind their way into his hair.

Delicious body heat. Delicious lips. Delicious soft grunts and groans of desire. Steve is delicious and now that you can taste him, you want more and more.

Loving hands caress your body over your nightie, moving down lower and lower until Steve begins to punch it up at your waist. He pulls back to slide it up and over your head. He tosses it onto the floor and then leans back to balance on his knees as you sit up and pull his white t-shirt off of him.

As soon as he’s free of it he dives back onto you, settling more comfortably now that he has your bare breasts pressed against his chest.

“Uh, Y/N.” He whispers, fire breath against your throat as he kisses along your shoulder and down the soft flesh of your breasts before taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue traces salacious circles making it pucker.

You sigh, a soft high whimper escaping the part of your lips as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down on you.

His hands are everywhere, feeling the skin of your arched back, sides, hips, waist, thighs, briefly he touches the moist spot of your sex, making you shudder.

“Shit…Steve…” You mewl and it drives his hips down hard against your damp panty covered core.

He wants you and you want him…but this is all you can give him. He seems to know that because he meets your mouth again in a hungry kiss as he braces his hands beside your shoulders. He moans around your lips, shoving his hard clothed cock against your core.

He grinds into you, pressing hard, wanting to be inside you but he knows you won’t let him. You want him inside you too, but you can’t bring yourself to push his pants down. You curl up and around him as he continues to plough against your nub and take hold of his bottom, pulling him closer, urging him to move faster, rougher.

He drops down against you, kissing the top curve of your breasts as he enjoys their feel against his hard, chiseled pecs.

Your whimpers grow louder, faster, and your legs become vices around his hips. He shoves himself against you harder, feeling your need for release. It rushes up into you, bursting from the spot his cock is still rubbing into your hips, down into your legs and feet. You curl your toes as the climax floods you, cramping your foot as Steve grinds only two more times and then stills over you as he grunts in satisfaction. Delicious grunts. God, you want to hear him make those sounds all night.

Both bodies heaving. Both of you yearning for more. You cling to each other as your heart explodes in elation but also breaks in fear.

“I-I…” You swallow hard, breathing heavily and dripping with the sweat of effort.

“I know.” Steve groans, shoving his face into your neck, his arms tight around you but not in desire anymore. It’s in fear and desperation.

“I have to tell him, Steve.” You want to cry but you also don’t want to ruin this moment.

“I know.” He says, deep voice hitching and unsteady as he pulls back to look at you.

“I love you.” You whisper. And you do. You really do. How do you go back to not having this? Not having Steve? You can’t go back. Fuck, what did you do?

“I love you, Y/N. So much.” He whispers then leans down to kiss you softly, lovingly, like you’re the only thing that matters.

You and Steve hold hands until you absolutely must let go. You stare at him, terror and love pouring from your eyes just as it does from his. He lets your fingers go, reluctantly pulling his hand and shoving it into his pocket as the back of the jet opens up.

You both disembark and your Sergeant is there, racing towards you with his metal arm gleaming in the light of the setting sun streaming in from the open hangar door. He nearly tackles you, cradling you against his chest as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s needy and wet and when he pulls away, you’re laughing because it’s so good to be back in his arms.

“I missed you so much.” He whispers and you hold him tighter, watching Steve walk towards the elevator in the distance over Bucky’s shoulder. He turns to press the button and the pain in his eyes is sharp and it stabs you right in the fucking heart.

“I missed you, too.” You confess. “I couldn’t really sleep without you there. Tossed and turned all night.”

“That must have bugged the hell outta Steve.” He says it so casually that you’re sure he seriously has no idea what you’re about to tell him.

“Bucky…” You begin and he can see the bad news coming.

“Did something go wrong?” He asks, worried, hands dropping to your waist as he looks you over.

“No. Nothing went wrong I just...I’m afraid you’re going to be mad at me.”

“Why?! You didn’t go around fucking bad guys, did you?” He’s half joking but when you don’t laugh, he frowns. “Okay, this isn’t funny, what’s going on?”

“I’m going to ask you to do something. And it’s the most selfish thing that I have ever asked anyone to do for me.”

“Okaaaaay?” Bucky probes carefully, steel blue eyes uncertain.

“I love you. You know that. So much. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life.”

“I know that, baby-doll.” He says, drifting closer, his arms winding around your waist.

“But-I need you to keep an open mind, Bucky.”

He doesn’t speak again; he simply turns confused eyes on you.

“You’re not the first man that I’ve ever loved like this. I-I love someone else too. Right now. While I love you.”

“You wanna leave me?” He asks, shattered.

“No!” You rush to say, placing your hands on his cheeks. “No, Bucky. Never. I love you. I never want to leave you. I want to be with you. Forever.”

“But you said-?”

“I said that you’re not the only man I love. I love someone else too and I-I want to be with them too. Like I am with you.”

“What?” He scoffs. “You want me to share you?”

You bite your lip. “I told you to keep an open mind, didn’t I?”

“Are you joking right now? Tell me this is a joke.” You can see the upset on his face. What if you lose him over this? What if Bucky leaves you?

No. That can’t happen! But you can’t forget Steve either.

“It’s not a joke, Bucky.” You assure him, the agony in your eyes so clear that his disbelief and anger shift to concern and back to confusion.

“So, you-you want to be with this other guy too? The way we are?”

You can only nod.

“Well, who the fuck is it?” Bucky demands, slightly angry again and probably ready to rip this second guy’s head off.

“It’s-” Will it matter? Will it make a difference that Bucky loves him too? “It’s Steve.”

“Steve?” Bucky asks. “My Steve? Steve Rogers? THAT Steve?!”

You nod. “Yes.”

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[porchwood]

Hi just so I understand cause i keep waiting for it and it doesnt seem likely to happen have you kind of fallen out of love with wtm? and everlark in general tbh? cause ive been following you for a while now and you always had lil quotes and pictures and things that reminded you inspired you whatever it was about katniss and wtm and now alllll it is is gadge i followed you because personally i love what you did with everlark and im just wondering if thats gone and not foreseeable any time soon?

I’ve been thinking a lot about how to answer this… It’s afair question - to a point. If you’re more of a drop-in person (like me) thanlive-on-the-dash, coming back to find my blog awash in Gadge might have beenquite upsetting. There are several reasons for the current state of things:

1. Life has been driving me into the ground since December26, 2013. (Yes, going on six straight years.) If you were a WtM reader from thebeginning, you may recall that I was pretty energetic and prolific in 2012-2013.Oh, there were tough times, but nothing like what started on the aforementioneddate (a car accident where I was in the “bystander” vehicle and it still got totaled)and has continued relentlessly ever since. Sometimes adversity leads to greatcreativity and sometimes it turns you into a depressed, exhausted, reclusivelump, and the past 5+ years have seen periods of both from me. These past 18months have been exceptionally awful (and expensive), resulting in very littlewriting at all, about any pairing.

2. Writing WtM takes a lot out of me. I don’t know whether thisis common knowledge or not, but it’s the gospel truth. I love that world, Ilove that version of Everlark, but every chapter requires so much hard work, itmakes me tired just to think of it. Not to mention, over the past couple of chaptersEverlark have been pushing for more intimacy than the plot/timeline allows, andso I’ve been struggling with how I want to handle that. Do I fight them andstick to the plan? (I can’t advance the timeline for several reasons.) Do I tryto figure out a cheat for them? They’ve got minds of their own and have changedmy plans multiple times, but this is something they genuinely can’t have, and Ihave to fight them on it. ☹ Which is sad, frustrating, and exhausting.

3. I’m a multi-pairing shipper, and have been from about 3chapters into WtM. Which means that my Everlark fics almost always feature asecondary pairing (or more than one), and sometimes I’ll get a plot bunny for afic about a pairing other than Everlark. Most writers in the THG fandom exclusivelywrite their OTP, whatever the plot bunny, but I find that some plot bunnies don’tfit Everlark as well as they do another pairing. (This is why I’ll never write aBeauty and the Beast Everlark fic unless Katniss is the “Beast,” if you will.)

4. The Everlark fandom is…tricky. I’ve never fit in there. Idon’t write Everlark the way the majority of fans see them (except for Peetabeing “sweet,” I guess), I hated the movies (I refuse to see MJ 1 or 2), and I’vemanaged to really rub some people the wrong way over the years –unintentionally, and for a variety of reasons – all of which leaves me feeling kinda down about Everlark in general. Don’t misunderstand me: I love Everlarkand WtM, but it’s really isolating to be this sad little island of unpopularopinions and unwelcome side-ships. That’s the part I really wish I could makeyou understand. For six years I’ve had Christopher Plummer in my head saying, “You’llnever be one of them,” and he’s so, cruelly, right. I want to cry every time Ithink of Embracing the Season (my E-rated Everlark modern AU oneshot for Lovein Panem - lots of daring for me!) because I poured heart and soul into that andit still wasn’t the Everlark that people wanted.

5. About a year and a half ago (when Strawberry Time reallytook off of its own accord) I participated in Gadge Day 2017, working my buttoff to find and schedule (and tag) over 100 carefully chosen Gale/Madge/Gadge aestheticposts, and for lack of a better way to say it: it turned on my Gadge-dar. After that, thosekinds of posts just leapt out at me whenever I had a chance to scroll, and forseveral months I wasn’t sure what to do with that. With a little encouragementfrom @ghtlovesthg, I came up with #march madgeness – wherein I turned my Tumblrinto Madge/Gadge-land for one month, and it was a blast. (Side-stepping Gadgefor a moment: Madge is a highly underappreciated and underused character,especially in fic/on Tumblr and I love splashing the dash with Madge-love.) Thenext month I launched a run of pent-up Everlark posts (i.e., regularprogramming), but I missed my Madge, so I instituted #madge monday – one day aweek when I could splash the dash with Madge/Gadge. At every juncture I gavepeople tags to block if they didn’t want to see this content (though I stillget unfollows every time I post, alas). I participated in last summer’s THG Reread– on the fringe of it, but my posts (reblogs and meta) were strongly Everlark-focusedagain during that time. So there’s definitely still been Everlark on my blog,but if you’re just dropping in (or for that matter, glancing at my archive), you’regoing to see a majority of Madge/Gadge.

6. Frankly, Gadge is fun. It’s a completely different dynamicthan Everlark, with less pressure to create something transcendent, and whenthe chips are down, I’m more likely to work on something that isn’t my six-years-runningopus. This spring, in the midst of lots of awfulness, I finally wrote a piecethat I’ve had in my head for years – The Best Part of Waking Up – with a differentpairing featured in each drabble “chapter,” including Gadge, Luka/Johanna (whoI’ve been wanting to put out there for AGES) and Jack/Raisa. I haven’t beenable to write quickly in years, and I think I finished those three “chapters”in about two days, maybe three. I completed the Raisa drabble in a couple ofhours and I consider it one of the best things I’ve ever written. (Honestly, ifa pairing was going to topple Everlark in my heart, it would be Jack/Raisa, i.e.,Mr. Everdeen/Mrs. Mellark. I love them to distraction.) Once upon a time I could drabble/sprint Everlark too – notoften, but I could manage it. Maybe it’ll happen again someday, but for thetime being, when I write in quick eager bursts, it’s usually about aside-pairing.

7. Because I just need to say it: about a year ago, I set up a secondary Tumblr for almost all my side-interests and ships outside of THG. When I first joined Tumblr, porchwood was just a fun page where I posted whatever struck my fancy (pretty things, funny things, whatever I liked), and over the next few years, I honed it into a pretty “writer’s notebook” for WtM and my other THG fics (related quotes, aesthetic posts, writing check-ins, etc.). When Star Wars: The Force Awakens came out, I shared a handful of posts pertaining to a new ship (not a new direction for my blog or writing, just sharing my excitement) and it was made very clear to me that people didn’t want to see that content on my page. So when I started watching Voltron: Legendary Defender, I had a sneaking suspicion people wouldn’t want to hear about those ships either. So I started an entirely new Tumblr for that content, and every so often I accidentally post something to the wrong page, which I immediately correct in horror, but people still unfollow. Point being: this blog is THG (and a few personal life updates) ONLY, with a pretty consistent aesthetic. I hide literally everything else that I’m interested in so you don’t have to be bothered by it. Is it really so unacceptable for me to have side-ships (complementary to the main pairing, not threatening to them) in the same universe??

8. Believe it or not, I’ve been working on WtM all along,just not making any massive strides. I tried to chip away at the current chapterduring Camp Nanowrimo last July, and it was a disaster. I thought joining awriting group would be helpful, but I didn’t realize that Camp Nano is basicallya lot of writing sprints in which you try to churn out as many words aspossible, which you then report to your “cabin” – and that’s the onlyinteraction with your fellow writers. I can’t write like that anymore (seeabove) and especially not when it comes to WtM, so I got discouraged veryquickly and sort of drifted away. I reattempted Nano on my own in April and wrotealmost 15K words, but in that instance I was really just using the Nano platform toset and reach a goal (which I didn’t ☹ ); I wasn’t in a cabin and didn’t interact with anyother writers, except my friend @ghtlovesthg, who read the finished portion.

9. I want to finish this dang chapter so much, and frankly, theonly way that’s going to happen is if life gets a little better and I holemyself up with my laptop for hours on end for weeks at a time – and somemagical being comes to support/cheer/comfort me while I do so. It’s currentlysitting at about 25K and I anticipate it will need to be at least double that,which is beyond ridiculous, but that’s the nature of WtM. The chapters are asmany words as it takes.

TL, DR: I still love Everlark and I’m still working on WtM, but my life has been extremely difficult for a very long time and I don’t have a great Everlark lifeline. Gadge and all my other ships are fun, and most of the Gadge you see on my Tumblr is aesthetic stuff for themed days/months/occasions. Anything non-THG goes on my sideblog.

[lostinaseaoffictionalbliss]

Every Rose Has Its Thorn Part 10

A/N: If you like this check out my bio for more. I also have an Etsy account you guys can check out

Summary: Lilah finally gets the truth out of Fury. Is it enough to crush her after everything else or does it make her stronger?

Pairing: Steve x OC

Warnings: mentions of violence, torture, and death. Slow burn, language

Word Count: 1532

“Agent Coulson is down,” Fury said. Those were the words that pulled me from my musings. Phil was down. I tensed up.

“Medic team is on the way to your station,” one of the other agents replied.

I took off running as fast as I possibly could. Medic couldn’t help him as well as I could. I had to get to him. As angry as I was about the secrets I still loved Phil like a brother. He was part of my family and if I could heal him, even a little, then medic would be able to do the rest.

I came to a crashing halt and almost fell at the next words that came over the coms.

“They’re already here. They called it.”

I grabbed the wall and slid down. Phil was dead, Loki most likely gone, the Hellicarrier damaged, and the Hulk missing. It seemed within a few short minutes everything had went to shit. Tears poured down my face as I silently cried into my knees. I didn’t know what else to do.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there crying, but when strong warm arms picked me up I wiped my tears away. When my vision cleared I noticed Steve had me in his arms. He carried me to the bridge and sat me down at the large table. I didn’t even realize most of me was glowing as I looked to Fury who was standing in front of the table. My only clue was the strange look Tony was giving us before I was placed in a seat and it stopped.

“These were in Phil Coulson’s jacket.” Fury looked down at some cards in his hand. The were trading cards. Captain America trading cards, vintage, and Phil had been so proud of them. “Guess he never did get you to sign them.” Fury threw them on to the table.

I could see the blood splattered on them and had to choke back another sob. He really was gone. My friend was gone because of Loki and I didn’t know how to handle that. We had fallen right into his trap and now I wasn’t sure if we could get out of it. Some of the team was gone, Tony and Steve couldn’t get along for more than two seconds, and I felt crushed from everything that had happened.

Steve reached for one of the cards and I watched him. The way he was tensed, the set of his jaw, the look in his eyes; he was pissed and upset as well. So many lives lost because of one person.

“We’re dead in the air, our communications, the location of the cube, Banner, Thor...I got nothing for you. Lost my one good eye.”

I finally lifted my gaze to Fury. I wanted to yell at him; tell him this was his fault. Phil was dead because they messed with something they never should have. They had broken my trust because they knew I wouldn’t agree with what they were doing, but Phil’s face swam before my eyes and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He wouldn’t want me yelling at Fury, he wouldn’t want me crying like a baby either. That didn’t stop my tears however, but it did stop my burst of outrage.

“Maybe I had that coming,” Fury said softly. “Yes, we were going to build an arsenal with the Tesseract. I never put all my chips on that number though because I was playing something even riskier.”

I raised a brow. So he was finally telling the truth. At least some of it. It was about time.

“There was an idea, Stark and Shaw know this, called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles that we never could.” Fury looked to Tony, who had yet to look at him once during all of this. “Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea...in heroes.”

Tony stood suddenly and without a word to anyone stormed off. I watched him go, wondering what was going through his head. Probably thoughts similar to mine. He didn’t like all the secrets and lies either.

“Well it’s an old fashioned notion.” Fury looked down at his feet.

I watched him, weighed my options, and once Steve went after Tony, I decided to confront Fury. I pushed my seat back and stood. “Old fashioned or not you were banking on us. Yet you kept me in the dark about the cube, about who knows what else. I want to know what and I want to know why.”

Fury turned to me. “You mean why didn’t I tell you we were building weapons when I gave you clearance? Why did I send you to recruit Rogers? And why do you glow when you touch him? Is that what you’re asking me?”

“Yes, dammit! That’s exactly what I want to know. I trusted you, I trusted her,” I pointed to Maria not that far away, “I trusted Clint and Nat, and...and I trusted Phil. But all of you were keeping secrets and I want to know why.”

“I knew you wouldn’t approve of us building weapons with the cube. From the moment we found it and Rogers, you’ve been adamant that we should have left it in the ocean. You believed it would cause problems. I also know how curious you are. The best way to make sure you don’t ask questions is to give you access to something. You wouldn’t have any reason to go asking questions then because you could look for yourself whenever you wanted.”

I frowned. He wasn’t wrong. I hated that cube and for good reason. It had been the cause of so much destruction. Steve had crashed into the ocean, freezing himself for seventy years for a reason.

“As you can see I was right. That fucking cube is the reason that Phil is dead and we’ve ended up in this whole mess,” I snapped.

He nodded. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but there’s your answer.”

“And the whole thing with me and Steve?”

“That’s a bit more complicated. You might want to sit.” He pointed to the chair I had previously been sitting in.

I sat back down and looked up at him. “So answer me.”

“As you know the people that took you were giving you super soldier serum. Or a version of it. The real serum was lost years ago. The version they were giving you was one they tried to replicate using Steve Rogers blood. They must have gathered it when he got cut on one of his missions. I’m not really sure. But the truth is some of his DNA went into the serum that created you. The injection, the gamma radiation, along with the vat of chemicals you fell in after getting free is what gave you your powers.”

I was shocked. Steve and I had a connection because his DNA was used to create me. Unless we worked to control it, anytime I touched him I would glow. This wasn’t what I had expected and it was certainly a lot to take in. My mind was reeling, it was bouncing all over the place as were my emotions. I couldn’t seem to settle on just one.

“Holy fuck,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say or even think.

Fury laughed softly. “That is certainly one way to react. Do you have anymore questions?”

“Just one. Is my connection to Steve the reason I,” I cleared my throat and looked away a little embarrassed, “want to be near him and seem to get lost every time he talks to me?”

“No, that is because you genuinely like him. Even have a crush I would say. But don’t feel bad Shaw, he looks at you the same way when you aren’t looking.”

My head snapped up. “What?! Are you serious? No, you can’t be. He’s...and I’m...he’d never like me that way.”

“Ya never know unless you ask. Now get going.” He waved me away.

I went to say something, but noticed Tony taking off as fast as his beat up suit would let him. My eyes widened and as quickly as I could, I rushed to the hanger just in time to see Clint, Natasha, and Steve getting into a quinjet.

“Wait! I’m coming!”

Steve pulled me into the jet just as the door closed. We were incredibly close and I was glowing once more. “Glad you could make it Lilah,” he said barely above a whisper.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” I gazed into his startling blue eyes, heart pounding in my chest, butterflies swirling in my stomach and was about to press my lips to his.

“Good to see you again kid. I’ve missed you,” Clint said.

I quickly moved away and found my seat. “Good to see you again too.”

Steve had a look on his face as he found his own seat. Was it disappointment? Had he wanted to kiss me as well?

****

Likes don’t spread my work! Please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed this! I love hearing from you guys and knowing what you think and hope to see!

[kachinnate]

as you all know, the only venting i ever post on here is reblogged subtle depression feels *sparkle emoji* or an explosion of all the shit that’s happened to me like every three months because i cannot take Any More under a read more 

the three month deadline has come now 

triggers below, check the tags please

this year has unabashedly been the worst year of my life. 

and that sounds dramatic, and i know i could have it worse, and maybe i’m being selfish because literally all the things that have happened this year have been all inner turmoils and i’ve literally had years where my family went through financial struggles + death and stuff and even that doesn’t compare to the emotional toll i’ve went through this year but it’s just. bad. it’s so bad. 

i don’t know how or why but my depression seemed to just fucking turn itself up 8 notches after january hit to the point where i had to tell my dad that i needed medical help lmao... and i got my first diagnosis, my first perscription.. and it didn’t work, so they upped the dosage, and that didn’t work, so now i’m on a new medicine which has a starting dosage of 150mg, and my doctor told me if this one didn’t work she’s going to refer me to a psychiatrist, and i must have looked so broken and on the verge of tears when she said this because she immediately had to reassure me that this wasn’t a failure on my own part, which logically makes sense right, but at the same time it’s just so?? fucking disheartening?? after months of my upper dosage not working i just cold turkeyed them until my next appointment which probably wasn’t the Best Thing because shortly following that i realized that i wanted to k*ll mys*lf more in a two week period than i’d have ever in my entire life, and i thought that suicide idealization was an issue i struggled with since forever, but boy howdy was i wrong because these past couple of weeks have been sooooooo fuckin bad lmao. like i struggle opening my medicine because sometimes i dump like all of it out and just. look at it. in my hand. i never actually do it because i’m way too scared of having a seizure or my dad doing something stupid if i were dead but what if. what if what if what if. it’s more of an intrusive thought than me planning on it, but. what if. my new medication has a specific warning that it’s dangerous for overdoses which is. genuinely kind of scary. what if. 

i realized that i don’t have anyone friendwise irl anymore over the course of this school year. to save you and myself the retelling of the most bullshit high school drama i’ve ever been apart of, i realized that all my friends in my Group (tm) couldn’t care any less about me than they already do. i’ve always adored them and loved them with all of my being, and yeah i am not endowed to their appreciation back i guess, but watching them slowly and gradually ditch me and exclude me and ignore me and go out of their way to show me that they don’t care about my existence has been the biggest fucking emotional blow. people outside of this group told me that they were awful people and bad for me and so incredibly toxic and guess what? i defended them and now the fact that i was wrong makes me want to tear my fucking guts out. i spent three whole years with these group of people only for them to decide in the past six months that i’m not worth it. i feel so fucking empty. one of those people was supposed to be my best friend of nine years. and i still fucking love him despite all of that, y’know? i love all of them even though they have made me sob every night over the latter course of a school year and feel unsafe in a club that i was once prominent in and that’s so bullshit and so unfair but it’s fine it’s whatever. and like, i should have seen it coming, because the build up was them treating me so fucking badly. it’s an ongoing joke that despite being rank 1 in my class, i’m.. an idiot? like it’s a joke that haha i’m short and haha i’m stupid and haha i can’t interact with people and i have debilitating anxiety and i make mistakes all the time and i’m the ditzy lesbian of our friend group, even when i express that i hate being called stupid but they just insist that they’re joking with me and that i’m too sensitive. i can count on one hand the amount of times they picked at me for my eating habits even though at least one of them knew i have a pretty bad ED. they picked and picked and picked at me and then when we have our first fight they all immediately fucking drop me, and i still love them and i still try to fix everything but suddenly i’m not worth the effort anymore. it’s draining. i’m so, so tired. outside of the toxic group(tm), anyone that was close to me as i friend (or otherwise) i ended up pushing away or drifting away from or fucking up the relationship on my own, and even if it’s ‘Okay’ on objective terms, to know that i fucked up something that was once really really nice and now i can’t even feel comfortable opening up a message first because i know i’ll get left on read or, even worse, have to read a one-sided, hardly caring/pitying conversation makes me just not want to bother at all. it’s so hard to reach out to the few people i know do kinda sorta care for me, but the fact that i’ve been absent for this long? it makes the few relationships i have strained and forced so i can’t even bring myself to put myself out there knowing that it’s only going to make me feel worse

working makes me?? so miserable ????? i worked at pizza hut up until the beginning of june and while i was good at it and i had friends there, i didn’t get paid enough so i had to quit. i started a new job. i fucking hate it. i actively dread going there. people refuse to train me or are incredibly fucking disrespectful/unfriendly to me if i ask for help or just don’t know how to do something. i feel bad ranting about it because every single person i’ve asked for advice from just says that i’ll get used to it or it’s in my head, which.... regardless of whether or not it is, making me feel like it’s my fault or that i’m being crazy makes me feel sooo fucking sick and like i’m actually insane. i heard it enough from my friends this year. i’m so tired of being blamed for things happening that, while they might be worsened by the anxiety in my head, it isn’t JUST THAT. sometimes things are just BAD but they’re not because I’M making them seem bad, they genuinely just are!!!! not everything is in my head !!!!! things can be upsetting with it being solely because i’m fucking anxious every moment of every fucking day !!!!! regardless i need money so i can’t quit but goddammit i hate every minute i’m not at my house. 

all in all, i just feel so, so fucking alone. i have friends on here, and i’m so thankful for them - i’m so grateful to every lovely message i’ve gotten on anon and i’m so thankful for my buds on discord and i’m so thankful for streams and my stream team and i’m so thankful for people who follow me for musicals or art and actively talk to me about them - but it’s just.. here. when i log off and step back from my computer, i’m just immediately fucking alone again. if i were to disappear one day, no one would know what happened to me or where i went, and eventually no one would even care, given that anyone even noticed my absence to begin with. i’m so replaceable. i’m literally just another fucking face on here. another cutesy musical blog ran by a very, very fucking dysfunction kid

anytime i’m shown any shred of kindness, i just. start sobbing. like i cannot even interact like a person, or hell, like the person i was a year ago. this girl i’d been talking to momentarily told me that for as much as i’m there for other people, i need someone that i can jsut lean on and have care about me, and like. i cried. so much. when was the last time i had that? when was the last time i just had someone, anyone just to be here for me? and again, not saying it in a way like i deserve that or am entitled to that, but god fucking damnit i haven’t just rant on and on or spilled my feelings to someone without worrying that they’d get upset with me or deflect it back onto themselves in so, so long. i just want someone to listen. i just want someone to care. 

and it’s who i try to be, all the time. the person that cares, the person that listens, and that just might be part of the problem. i say this all the time, and it’s a mantra and probably one of the main highlighted points that comes with my depression: i put so, so much out, so much energy and love and time, and i get almost nothing back. and it takes suuuuch a fucking toll. in such, it causes me to retreat and suddenly just cut people off or distance myself because i’m scared of letting myself get hurt again because the emotional turmoil i go through genuinely, genuinely almost fucking kills me every time. when that whole thing happened with my friend group, i went days without eating and just. wouldn’t talk. wouldn’t do anything other than school. because school is my safety, i can always rely on school, school will always be there - so i threw myself in school and overworked myself and overmaxed my credit hours and like. if i didn’t have that, if i didn’t have my classes, i really don’t know if i’d be here right now. and it sounds dramatic and i’m sorry, i hate it too, but it’s just the fucking truth.  but - yeah again, i’m the person that’s always there. that’s why i never fucking rant like this on here. i don’t want to be triggering, and i don’t want to cause people distress, and i want people who are having a hard time to see my blog and maybe feel a little bit better and feel happy and have fun. but in the end, this is the only place i have to scream out into the void because i genuinely don’t have a space to do that in real life anymore. nothing. there’s nothing else. 

i’ve always said that when i go to college, i’m just going to do a hard-reset and change up everything. reinvent myself. but sometimes i really don’t see myself getting out of this year alive, or at the very least in one piece. i’m already fucked in so many regards. i’m predestined to be an alcoholic. my brain is actively trying to fucking detonate itself. i’ve never been in love, and sometimes i worry that i never will be. i cry and cry and cry out, but i can’t get help. my solutions to problems is just working until i forget or sleeping until i forget or just finding an alternate way to fucking forget. everything that i’m looking forward to is so incredibly temporary or so short lived or so pathetically small in the grand scheme of things. i have to stay alive to see my AP scores on july 5th. i have to stay alive because i promised my friends i’d stream on this day. i have to stay alive because i promised addie i’d go see this show with her in september. but it’s not for me. it’s never for fucking me. i couldn’t care less. 

i’m not going to ever kill myself because i’m too scared of the pain or the symptoms that i’ll feel right up to it. but otherwise, i really don’t know why else i’m obligated to stay here.