#// but..... it's just way harder to sympathize with it

[dollya-robinprotector]

I know I have a habit of always keeping things to myself… But why am I still surprised when people don’t know what I know?

[camping-with-monsters]

In regards to that video on Twitter, of all places, making rounds about an autistic boy’s violent meltdown about not getting something he wants. Props to the mom for showing she actually has a little bit of knowledge of what to do in this situation! Also, she’s a fucking disgusting human being for actively making a TikTok (let me say that again so you’ll understand. A TIKTOK. You know, the place that has a negative reputation for a reason.) displaying her child’s meltdown to the world! In what fucking universe does a parent see their child having a full blown meltdown and say “oh, looks like my child is having a meltdown again. Let me just pull my phone out and record my autistic kid’s reaction for the world to see!” Like literally fuck you for doing that. What was probably your attempt to “spread awareness” has turned into a threshold for demonizing and public humiliation! Have you not seen the comments people are leaving on this video? How many times it’s been shared and twisted to make you out to be the “victim”? That’s cause that’s all the fucking video did! You posted a video of your autistic son choking you out during a meltdown because you just wanted to remind the world “being an autism mom is soooooo haarrrrdddd” literally for fuck’s sake woman. Be for real. The only one who needs to be put in a zoo is your birdbrained ass for exploiting your child’s reaction to not getting what they want! My apologies that your alien overlords didn’t give you the fucking human decency guide before dropping you on planet earth!

Autism moms who brag about being autism moms are the scum under my shoe. Nefarious sons of bitches I tell you. There’s a special crib in hell for crybaby autism moms who play victim.

[demonsfate]

he was still SO right for this honestly

[whoviandoodler]

petition to stop making fun of people who like those pinterest-esque posts with sad quotes and whatever bcs to you they may be edgy and cringy but to someone out there it might be the first time that they are seeing someone put into words the confusing experience of being Human. same goes with those bad ya books like. yes they are objectively, technically bad and most times just badly mimic something someone else did but someone will see deep ideas explored in them for the first time and marvel. and maybe instead of going lmao dumb kids we should go 'hey if you liked that book you might like [a book that was much better at exploring trope from that angle'. peace on planet earth or whatever

[asleepinawell]

in the same vein, one of the other things that differentiates garrett from your typical chosen one hero is the fact that although he gets embroiled in the plots of the wealthy and powerful, he never becomes part of that world and barely interacts with it. nor does he change the status quo of the wealth disparity in the city. he is just a little guy

the main antagonists of the first two games are both wealthy. constantine, despite being one of the pagans, lives in a giant mansion full of guards and has enough wealth that he doesn't mind garrett looting a bit. karras builds a giant metal palace in the city and uses poor people in his experiments. garrett thwarts both their plans, but it doesn't impact the huge class divide at all. these were just two rich dudes having their weird rich dude tantrums and everything moves on as it always has with them gone. there are plenty more where they came from. most citizens still live in tiny houses with torches while the nobles have electricity and a dozen half empty rooms with no purpose in their giant mansions. garrett has a small apartment in the poorest part of the city and struggles to pay rent

garrett is not out there striking a blow in the class war so much as being forced to bail out everyone from the mess caused by the rich people. the keepers act like this is some sacred duty but like... no the weird rich death cults are more or less just the end result of having a ludicrously rich noble class full of self-important nut jobs with too much time and disposable wealth. no wonder garrett is so disgusted with getting dragged into this shit. once again the poor people are left to try and clean up the mess made by the rich people and resigned to inevitably have to do it over and over

garrett isn't a hero in these terms. he's a janitor

garrett, the main character of the thief trilogy, is such a funny version of the chosen one trope. he's in all the prophecies and central to stopping all the big almost-apocalypses but he never attains notoriety or power. by deadly shadows he'd saved the world twice and no one gives a fuck. almost no one knows. guards try to murder him on the street for being a petty criminal. pedestrians shoulder check him and call him a loser

he's a reclusive loner who never gets a plucky band of comrades. he has no friends. his fences betray him. the only person who ever really works with him or shows him any respect is viktoria (in metal age) who had previously betrayed him and ripped his eye out (builder forbid women do anything)

he complains about being swept up in apocalyptic events non stop and not in a reluctant hero or 'woe is my heavy burden of duty' way, but just kinda bitches and moans about it while doing it anyway. even when he gives in and commits to helping his general vibe is "is this what we're doing now? okay" and his goal seems to be getting it over with so he can get on with his life

in the third game he finds a journal written about the downfall of the previous game's antagonist whom he destroyed (with the help of viktoria who really hard carried that mission with the treepocalypse thing and spare supplies while garrett spent 3 hours sitting on ledges waiting for twenty angry robots to de-aggro), and it attributes the victory to a religious cult's god

the handful of people who know what he did think he's a loser. and he IS a loser (affectionate) who thinks he's so cool and makes snarky quips to himself out loud while attempting to be stealthy. he is only one step removed from the kronk stealth scene in the emperor's new groove

he still can't pay his rent

[sundaycentric]

I need fluff can you write yandere dan heng and if you do 2 Neuvillete (idk how to spell his name 😭)

Sorry if this goes over the rules you could ignore I loveee yandere dan heng hehe

(separate yandere) dan heng & neuvillette x gn reader

content ★ headcanons, minific, yandere, not proof read, gn reader, reader has hair in dan heng's part, sfw, fluff?

note ★ i love yandere hcs.. idk what it is i just eat them up every single time. but sorry for my recent inactivity ?!?! i rushed these a bit tho.. hope theyre still good </3 mainly just put my thoughts down :(

DAN HENG ★

Dan Heng knows what it's like. He knows what it's like to be locked up, forced away from the outside world. He knows what it's like to be alone and scared. He knows what it's like to have someone watch your every move. Dan Heng knows what it would be like for you. Yet, he can't shake the thoughts and desires to take you.

Dan Heng knows it's wrong. He can sympathize, which is probably why he tried to deny it all in the first place. However, he's been so selfless. He accepted punishment without complaint. He helps around the Astral Express so much. It's hard for Dan Heng to not be selfish this once and indulge in his love.

That is if he can even call it love. Dan Heng tried to deny his feelings for you first. He knew how hard it would be, even without expecting the obsession to come along with it. His draconic heritage makes him more possessive than the average lover. They hoard what they love, and it includes their mates as well.

Dan Heng can't avoid it entirely, though. Being without you feels like an even worse punishment than his banishment. With you, he feels something he has never felt before. Dan Heng can no longer deny his love for you, even if it may be more than that.

You might notice him giving extra attention to you. It is never anything big, but rather small things. Dan Heng looks at you a bit longer. He smiles slightly when you talk. He stands closer to you. He won't flinch away when you grab his hand. He'll let you into the Archives. Dan Heng will treat you differently.

He is still silent as ever, but he is more relaxed around you. At the same time, he feels more tense, though. Dan Heng doesn't want to push you away. He'll take his time with you.

In his dragon form, his thoughts are even worse. It is harder to suppress his desire for you. Especially when he already begins to subconsciously think of you as his mate. This is when things get a bit more severe. He's less controlled.

Dan Heng's tail might loosely wrap around your ankle as if you'd run. He'll glare at people he thinks are too close. He'll only go where you go. He'll favor you and always find a way to defend you. Things like this are much more noticeable as his love grows.

The Archives have a lot more entries about you. Your physical description, personality, hobbies, interests, and moods all have their own extensive pages. When he can't be with you, he'll simply write or read about you. Dan Heng will find himself reading over your information if he can't go to sleep.

At this point, Dan Heng knows it is more than love. He knows he is obsessed with you. But he doesn't care all that much. He feels something, something that isn't cold. Something that feels good and warm in his heart, even if it is terribly wrong in his brain. He's given up on trying to suppress it. He simply can't, so Dan Heng embraces it. He embraces you. He loves you.

If you do end up loving Dan Heng as well, he will be overjoyed. You can't see it on his face, but the way his tail tightly coils around your waist tells you otherwise. He isn't too big on physical touch normally, but he will always have some kind of touch on you.

He'll get a bit overbearing. He doesn't want to see you hurt. It's dangerous trailblazing. Dan Heng needs you.

If you find out the extent of his love, he might finally lose the rest of his self-restraint. You'd probably run. He doesn't want that. He won't let that happen. You're his now.

Dan Heng gently ran his fingers through your hair, playing with it. You sat down in front of him with his tail securely wrapped around your waist. Your back snugly pressed against his chest. Both of you breathed slowly, enjoying the moment.

"Dan Heng?" You asked. He did not respond. He only continued to mess with your hair. You couldn't see his expression, how he looked at you with utter love in his eyes. He was thinking.

"Dan Heng..?" You question softly. This time, Dan Heng seems to have heard your words. His fingers stop for a moment as he blinks.

"Yes, what is it?" His fingers resume once he speaks. They softly pull through any tangles, Dan Heng paying extra attention to make sure he doesn't hurt you. His tail lightly twitched around your waist.

"I was thinking about going on the Luofu with March and..." You didn't get to finish your sentence as Dan Heng's grip on your hair tightened. It hurt a bit, as his fist pulled on your hair unknowingly. Dan Heng's voice came next.

"No," he said. Dan Heng's voice was far colder than it usually was. He sounded angry and disappointed and upset. It was impossible for you to turn to see his expression with his hand holding your head straight. Dan Heng repeated, "No. It's too dangerous. The.. Stellaron Hunters are there. He is there. If something happens to you, you will never be able to best him in a fight. You need to stay here, where it's safe. Besides, March and the others don't need you. They can do this alone."

Dan Heng's words came out harsher than he was meaning to, but he was too busy worrying about you to realize. He shuddered slightly, imagining what it would be like if you were Blade's next victim. It wasn't hard to figure out Dan Heng is attached to you, so perhaps he would go for you to get to Dan Heng. The thought sickened him. He never wanted to see you in pain like he had to be. Slowly, his grip loosened as he went back to playing with your hair.

However, you were also a bit uneasy. Dan Heng's tone was off, and he had been acting weird recently. You spoke after a few minutes of silence, "I'm feeling tired... I'm going to go to sleep in my room now, Heng."

"Hm," Dan Heng hums, "No. I think you will sleep in here from now on."

NEUVILLETTE ★

Neuvillette also knows it's wrong. What he stays up at night thinking of is illegal. It goes against everything he does in life. Yet, he would never think it would feel so good.

Neuvillette has never been a selfish man. For hundreds of years, he upheld justice for others. He was always fair and righteous, even when it hurt. However, Neuvillette has never really wanted anything specific in the first place. Yes, he yearns to understand himself and others, but he has never felt that carnal desire to own something.

That is, until he met you of course. Suddenly, he felt something he'd never felt before. It was weird, bubbling in his chest sweetly. It made his heart ache with yearning. It almost felt a bit painful, but it was also so enjoyable. He wanted more of it.

You made him feel something he has yet to grasp. He may not understand emotions well, but he knows what certain ones are. But this, he does not know. You made Neuvillette feel something new. Something that made him feel a bit more alive. As if you were the purpose, the reason he was born.

Neuvillette tries to dismiss these thoughts, but it's hard. He must focus on his duties, but he often thinks of you in the moments between work. He knows it's wrong. But it doesn't feel bad. It feels good. So, is it really that wrong?

Neuvillette is still very busy, though. He will get the melusines to spy on you, which they happily accept. Neuvillette often tells them about you since he doesn't have anyone else he can tell. It's gotten to the point where alongside seeing Neuvillette as their father of sorts, they see you as a parent as well. Of course, they think, you must be the monsieur's spouse. They certainly have no issue with simply ensuring their 'parent's' safety, after all.

Neuvillette never corrects them. After all, it makes him feel warm inside. Marriage sounds nice. A legal contract, bounding you to each other forever. Suddenly, Neuvillette seems to pay more attention to marriage documents and trials related to it.

He will never say anything first. Ever. Even though Neuvillette wants you badly, he will not break his moral code and risk doing something irrational. He likely wouldn't either way, but he worries. Especially when it comes to you.

Neuvillette is very protective of you. He wasn't very big on touch, but now he likes to have some sort of contact with you. Holding your hand, arm, waist, finger, whatever it may be. It helps him make sure you're okay. It's been so long since he's felt affection like that, and he tries to get you to spoil him with it sometimes.

He loves it so much when you treat the melusines like they are your children. Maybe one day you can have children together. Whether it's biological or adoption, he doesn't care. Neuvillette wants to be with you however he can.

And once the prophecy kicks off entirely, you're never leaving his sight again. Even if you're not from Fontaine, there's still a risk and uncertainty. Neuvillette won't let you slip away. He can't. He'll pamper you, do whatever you ask of him (besides letting you go), but he just needs you to stay where he knows you're safe.

If you try to leave, then good luck. It'll be raining. Hard. You can barely even walk without getting soaked. It's never been this bad in Fontaine before.. but as soon as Neuvillette sees you again, it's unbearably sunny. The weather is quite extreme.

You're his mate after all. Why are you even trying to leave him, if you are? This is your home now. Neuvillette sighs, perhaps you're just nervous. It's okay, though. He figures you need to adjust.

He won't care if you find out how much he loves you. Why does it matter? Of course, he loves his mate.

"I forbid you," Neuvillette stares you down, "My dear, please, come back over here. I'd hate to request a guard to block the door."

You stop in your tracks, not doubting Neuvillette's words. You could feel his gaze burning into your skull. It scared you. He was incredibly powerful, and it would be best to comply with him, no?

You turned around. He smiled gently, "Good. Now come, sit back down, mon ange (my angel)."

You listen to him, slowly walking back towards him. You sit on the couch next to his desk before he sighs. The rain gets a bit harder.

"You know that's not your seat," he murmurs. And you know exactly what he means. Neuvillette waits for you to return to him, and sit on his lap—your seat. You do.

"There," Neuvillette breathes out on your neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into your neck. The rain alleviates, slowing. You shake a bit in his grasp, either from his breathing or your possible fear.

"Shh.. it's okay, mon cœur (my heart), is it that you're cold..?" Neuvillette asks sweetly, before holding you tighter. "I'll warm you up, my love. Just stay with me.."

His hands begin to rub circles into your back as he flips you over. Neuvillette isn't manhandling you roughly, but he does it with such ease. It may not be purposeful, but it's a reminder of just how much stronger he is than you. After all, he is a dragon. He uses his glove hand to gently push you against his chest. Neuvillette effectively trapped you in his warm grasp.

"Neuvillette.." You say softly, "There is no need to hold me like a lifeline."

He smiles but doesn't loosen his grip. "I beg to differ. After all, I don't think I could live without you, so you are my lifeline, no? My lifeline and my mate.."

Neuvillette's voice is longing. You won't be able to get out of this any time soon. The rain disappears alongside your smile (or frown).

[missdrarrydawn]

Hera wanted Athena to win

Guys hear me out, this is my conspiracy theory LMAO

I feel like in God Games when Athena is battling the Gods to help Ody, of all of them, Hera wanted her to win the whole time.

Hera is the final "level" of the game, and if Athena convinces her to say yes, then it's a yes and Ody must be released, and I'm sure Hera knew that fact.

Now look at what all the other Gods say.

Each of them gives a very specific reason why they don't want Ody to be freed.

Apollo's reason is slaughtering the sirens.

Hephaestus' reason is the Scylla sacrifice.

Aphrodite's reason is abandoning his mother.

Ares' reason is being cowardly in the Trojan war.

And then, we get to Hera, and she's just like 'Yeah just give me any good reason and I'll agree to let him go'. She has no qualms with Odysseus, she has no motivation even to fight with Athena on this. She doesn't really require convincing, per se.

She's legitimately just asking Athena to give her any half decent justification so she can say yes and make it look legit in front of Zeus.

The whole time as Athena is giving Hera reasons, Hera is also continuously egging her on to give her a better one, a more sound one that would look really convincing. She's saying things like 'Try Harder' and 'You can do better than that.'

So my theory is that after Zeus announced the God Games, Hera saw it as a chance to stick it to him for once, for all his cheating and disloyalty to their marriage, so she wanted Athena to win, and played her cards accordingly.

All she needed was Athena to give her any half-decent justification for her to say yes, so that the games look legitimate, but ultimately she was on her side the whole time. She made the game really easy for Athena, because she gave her free reign to think of absolutely anything and everything she possibly could in favor of Ody, instead of giving her a specific, niche argument she has to fight against.

Additionally, Hera is the goddess of marriage in the pantheon, and even if she doesn't care the least little bit about Odysseus, I am willing to bet she very much cares about Penelope.

Think about it, Hera herself is stuck in an awful marriage to Zeus and is not very happy about that. And she would 100% relate to Penelope's struggles of being alone, missing her husband and trying to ward off the suitors who are trying to force her into a, let's be real, abusive marriage with Antinous.

Hera as a wife definitely sympathizes with Penelope as a wife, and releasing Odysseus so he can return to Penelope is the only way to help her be protected again.

So there you go. My conspiracy is that Hera for one absolutely wanted Athena to win the entire time. I think she at the very least tried to help her, I mean she couldn't have known that Zeus would fucking kill her for winning LMAO

[leonkennedybreedingkink]

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY

bestie!leon kennedy x reader

warnings: 18+, dubcon lol, mental health issues for both leon and reader… he’s a pervert and again ooc but that’s the fun of things. dacryphillia and he’s a little mean and sleazy.

tumblr removes fics with nsfw tags from the tag. ergo i’ve flagged the content at the beginning. you’re also responsible for your own media consumption, so if this bugs you, don’t read it.

Leon sat there on the edge of the bed with you, rubbing your back as you hid your face in your hands. “I just feel like I’m going in circles.” You tell him, lifting your head out of your hands to rest your chin on them. “I mean, I don’t feel like I’m ever gonna get better.”

He can sympathize, he really can, especially when he was in boot camp post Raccoon City and laid awake at night because he had nightmares otherwise.

He rubs your back in circles on autopilot, trying not to get bored or indulge in an impulsive thought that tells you to shut the fuck up and quit fucking crying, maybe open your blinds once or twice a day and you wouldn’t feel so bad. Eat a fucking vegetable or two while you’re at it.

You, believing the best in him, don’t really notice. “I just—“ and your voice breaks, face warming all the way to your neck as you hide your face in your hands again and kick yourself internally for crying in front of him.

You hate crying in front of everyone, your face gets splotchy and you can’t breathe through your nose. When it’s Leon, though, your best friend, it’s a little worse because you’d bet he looks cute when he cries, him and his stupid Botticelli angel face.

And, oh, that’s not really the right move.

He doesn’t remember when watching someone cry would be enough to get him off, except for an adult video he watched had a girl get fucked so good he could watch tears leak out of her eyes, openly sobbing when she squirted because that faceless phallus hit the right spot inside her.

Or when his ex-girlfriend was on her fourth orgasm of the night and she cried just a little while his face was between her legs.

He needed a stress reliever that day, it was a tough time; and he’s never really had to think while going down on someone.

Leon shifts a little and prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that he’s not seriously getting bricked up by you crying. Nope, it’s not going down, shit, he hopes you don’t notice.

You stifle sobs into your palms for a good thirty minutes, face and ears hot enough to power a fucking house. You take a break to wipe your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling wetly before you reach over to blow your nose. “‘M sorry,” You tell him, voice wobbling before you blow your nose and toss the used tissue away.

“It’s fine.” Leon tells you, his voice just a little strained. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his lap and prays you don’t notice that he’s bricked up just from you crying. God, Leon, that’s so fucked up. At least those girls—nameless pornstar and ex-girlfriend—were enjoying it, you’re crying because you’re sad and mentally ill.

Again, fucked up.

You cry a little harder when he’s being so kind to comfort you, hiding your face in his shoulder as you sniffle and keep the sobbing to a minimum. When your tears come to an end, that’s when you notice that he’s fully hard beneath you. You lift your head up after a pause, wiping one eye as you look at Leon. “Leon… are you…?”

He can’t quite hide a grimace. “I’m—um, I’m really—I’m not—“ And when he catches sight of your red face and tear-streaked cheeks, he nearly groans, his throat suddenly dry. That’s when he flips you onto your back.

You land in the pillows with a soft grunt, giving him a bewildered look. “What are you doing?” You ask him in a little voice, sniffling and wiping your runny nose.

“Do you ever stop feeling sorry for yourself?” He asks you, one hand planting in the pillow beside your head, the other untucking his shirt.

Your stomach turns and he can visibly see his words hit the mark. “What?” You ask him, eyes close to brimming with tears again.

“Jesus,” Leon swears, undoing his belt buckle one handed cause he’s had enough practice. “You wanna know what I think? I think you like wallowing, I think you like having people consoling you.” His belt comes undone with a rattle, his button and fly next.

You stare at him with your mouth agape before a couple tears slip out. He takes the chance to push up your shirt and lets out a groan when he sees the cute black bra you’re wearing, hands wandering up to squeeze handfuls of your tits.

You yelp, back arching of your own accord—he’s glad that worked, you told him enough of what you liked when venting about your ex-boyfriends not being able to find the clit or eat pussy right.

He’s never had that problem, obviously.

A slightly mean smile crawls across his face before he leans down to lick a tear track up. “Poor, unloved little thing.” He coos, sticking his hands down the front of your sweatpants to find you damp.

Leon rubs circles on your clit to see you grind your teeth and twitch, one of his hands still on your tit as you try not to react further. “You just sit here in your depression cave and feel bad for yourself, huh? Do you even open up your curtains to get some sun? The sun’s real nice, a natural antidote to depression.”

Humiliation and an orgasm lick up your spine a few seconds after he’s done talking, body locking up as your hands fist in the sheets. He tuts at you and sticks his used finger in your mouth, kneeling between your spread legs as he pulls down your sweatpants with the other hand.

Aw, you left a cute little wet spot on your panties, just for him.

You lift up your hips when he tells you to, he throws the flimsy garments on the floor where they land with a soft slap. “C’mon, I know how make you feel better.” He tells you, one hand cupping your knee to put one over his shoulder as he finally pulls down his jeans and boxers to mid-thigh.

Leon sinks in with a stifled groan, then wraps your other leg around his waist, turning his head and kissing your knee once he’s balls-deep.

Your chest heaves and he kisses your collarbone—poor thing, it must be a little much for you, he’s not even moving.

You scrabble at him when he finally does move, nails catching on his shirt before you manage to tug him closer. Each short, staccato thrust makes the bed rock and punches little squeaks from you.

Your door’s open, but he doesn’t feel like closing it, so he puts a hand over your mouth as he covers your body with his, hips grinding to hear you whimper against his palm. “I know, I know, baby.” he tells you, lips ghosting over your cheek before he licks up more salty tears that overflow. “I’ve got you. You’re all empty inside, I’ll fill you up.”

But not before you come, Leon’s a gentleman like that. He loops his arm beneath you and pulls you into his thrusts, you grow a little louder beneath his palm. He shifts so his pubic bone can grind a little harder against your clit and your thigh twitches before you sob against his palm, brows furrowing as you lurch up, more tears squeezing out.

He fucks you through it before pulling out and painting your tummy white, collapsing by your side and panting softly. You sniffle loudly and Leon feels a little bad, rolling over when you do and spooning you from behind, his release staining your sheets as you cry quietly.

He holds you through it, kissing your shoulder and the nape of your neck before hiding his face in your hair. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles after a long silence, “I was out of line.”

You shake your head and stay silent, wiping your eyes as you two cuddle in silence.

[dunesofpriam]

Actually, the reason misgendering is hurtful is because it sucks having people tell you you're something you're not. It's hard enough to be born into the wrong body and to deal with the ways one's mind can try to destroy you because it recognizes how you exist as wrong, it doesn't help that when you ask someone for a little respect they spit in your face. Calling me a woman isn't wrong because being a woman is a bad thing to be, it's wrong because I was never supposed to be one and the "female body" I was born into just feels like a cheap, ill fitting costume that is constantly choking me. All most of us want is to be treated with respect. Me being trans isn't anymore of an ideology than me being bisexual is.

I'm sure it does hurt having someone tell you you're something you're not. When I was a kid my grandma told me dragons aren't real so I can't have one as a pet. Made me cry.

That doesn't make dragons real.

You can't be born in the wrong body, that mindset is born out of a the view that your body is just some vessel for your mind. You are the whole thing. Your body is you. I can understand you may have a condition(s) which make your life harder and I sympathize with that.

You say you were never supposed to be born into a female body; says who? Either you're looking to religion (which I don't ascribe to and can simply tell you I don't share your faith) or you're looking to biology, which has yet to show any actual physical condition which causes a person to be trans. At best you could say you were never supposed to feel you should have been male.

You will never be able to escape your female body, because you are female. Therefore your body will always be a female body. Perhaps if you were a frog or a parrot fish, but alas, we cannot change sex. You might feel no longer trapped if you were "perceived" as male - so you're referring to the societal constructs around male and female, in which case; congrats! That is the core of radical feminism - to deconstruct that. Women are adult female humans in the same way a bull is a male cow. It's just the term used to differentiate our sexually dimorphic species. No further inferences which can be controlled by free will should be ascribed to that, however those decisions made under free will should be analyzed and discussed to identify the societal factors causing them, and to figure out whether there is a biological component.

[bardicbird]

no actually i want to talk about how fucked it is yet how much it makes sense that you can ‘save’ cuno from his situation but not cunoesse. because the way you get through to cuno is by emphasizing how scary cunoesse is to him; by separating them.

and, yeah, part of it is because cunoesse is more verbally aggressive and harder to get through to. but i really think a significant part of it as well is the difference in how harry is able to empathize with cuno and cunoesse respectively—and thus how we as players tend to end up empathizing with them.

harry can see himself in cuno. and even though the future he can give him with the rcm isnt exactly… ideal in any way, it’s still giving him a chance. the way harry sees cunoesse, on the other hand, is from a more distant lens. he can acknowledge that she needs professional help, but he doesn’t want to engage with her. she’s the scary little girl who’s killed people and lashes out. harry’s type of Cop empathy doesn’t give him the skill set to understand and sympathize with her. and it’s just. so tragic and realistic. idk.

[starcurtain]

I wish everyone collectively understood aventurine’s character like you…things would be so much easier! I genuinely don’t understand how people keep getting his motivations wrong??? Could it be because some of the most popular Aven fanfics were written prior to his release? That could have contributed to some of the takes we tend to see about him…thoughts?

I struggled all day to come up with a concise way to answer this and couldn't think of one, so here, have a long-winded ramble:

I don't think early fic writers have much impact in the situation with Aventurine's character now, since most people can look at when a story was posted and go "Oh, this was before we had ____ information."

I think that Aventurine's problem is being a male character in a gacha game. Gacha game characters are designed to sell. Hoyo can sell female characters very, very easily. Give her huge tits and a visible underwear strap and you're good to go. I love all my guy friends, but I'm not gonna sugarcoat it: straight men are not the hardest audience to please. Hit a particular fetish (feet, spandex, dommy mommy), and you're gucci.

Nah, we all know why Jade's trailer is Like That.™

Male characters in gacha are harder to sell because women as consumers are a little harder to predict. Does every woman want a tall, ripped hunk? Shit, no, small cute boyish models like Aventurine are selling better now? Why?! Would a bad boy be more popular than a nice guy??? It's harder to account for women's tastes, especially because they are often (a little) less visually-oriented.

Hoyo is good at what they do though, and they've figured out that male characters sell very well when they possess at least one of two specific traits:

Endearing vulnerability/helplessness

Gay ship tease

Give a character both, like Aventurine? They might as well be printing money.

That sound you hear is Hoyo's stock prices rising.

So, from the very beginning, Hoyo is incentivized to create a character that appeals to people, a character people will want to crack their wallets open for. And they achieved this, first and foremost, by giving Aventurine traits that female players (in particular, but men too), find especially appealing: emotional and physical vulnerability.

We see Aventurine's pain. We sympathize with his grief. We identify with his struggle to make meaning of his difficult life. He's our woobie, blorbo, babygirl, whatever the hell they're calling it now.

He can't hide his suffering anymore. He's on the very edge. He's a dude in distress. He's surrounded by enemies! He misses his mama! He's been betrayed! No one understands him like you do, dear player!

The ultimate feeling evoked is: He needs to be saved.

When people talk about male power fantasies, I think they forget that women can experience them too, and "Emotionally vulnerable man that only I (or my favorite character) can fix" is actually a female power fantasy.

And from there it's really easy, right: the people who shell out cash to buy warps for their harmed-husbando feel like they've saved him; the people who are into mlm ships look for the nearest hot dude to be the savior Ratio was waiting for his time lol.

Morally and intellectually, this type of deep-down-golden-hearted, emotionally-wounded male character is very easy to digest. There is nothing to dislike about this type of character or role in the story: this character is a good guy who has just gone through so many terrible situations, whose victim status makes him endearing, and whose lack of agency means that any of the questionable or downright bad things he does are always the result of someone else forcing his hand, and never something he would have chosen himself.

His motivations are always clear and consistent: get free, heal, and live happily ever after.

Insert the Wreck-It Ralph meme: "Do people assume all your problems got solved when a big strong man showed up?" But to be fair, a big strong man did kind of solve Aventurine's problem, so--

Anyway, it's simple. It's straightforward. Morally, it's pretty cut and dry, black and white: Aventurine is our hero, which means everyone dictating the course of his miserable life is evil.

Hoyo is not remotely discouraging people from literally buying into this emotional appeal.

And trust me, I get it. I'll be the first to admit that hurt-comfort is its own entire genre in fandom because it is so appealing. People eat up Aventurine's tragic backstory like candy! The idea of watching a character go through hell at the hands of bad guys just to finally find a happy end is like the definition of everyone's favorite story.

In fact... people love Aventurine's suffering so much, they have invented whole new ways for him to suffer that aren't even in the game.

This is where we get all the headcanons that Aventurine was a sex slave, every single person he meets hates him because of his race, the Stonehearts are executioners holding knives to his throat, Jade enslaved him to the IPC with a lifelong contract, his material possessions belong to the company, the IPC is forcing him to take only the most dangerous missions where he is being required by his evil jailers to continually put his life on the line... You name it and I promise you, I can find a fanfic where Aventurine suffers from it. 😂

Bro can't even sleep in on his day off; life is so hard for this man.

Being serious: if the game is telling us that Aventurine is a victim... Why not make him the perfect victim?

Why not envision an Aventurine with no freedom, who bears no responsibility for any of the horrible situations he is in or any of the dubious things he does?

It's so natural to like that version of Aventurine, so appealing to see a totally powerless underdog use his own wits and charms to claw his way up to freedom. Or, if you're the kind who really relishes angst: It's even appealing to see Aventurine lose more. To delight in fics where he loses his wealth, where the IPC punishes him for past crimes while he's powerless to stop them... (I assure you, this is many people's cup of tea and the fanfics prove it!)

Ultimately, there's nothing wrong with liking characters who are exactly this straightforward! It's completely fine to embrace characters that are intentionally written to be morally above-board, whose primary role in the story is to generate angst by being a good person who suffers, or those characters who never show unlikable traits, bad decisions, or contradictory actions.

The problem is that that's just not who the game is telling us Aventurine is.

Hoyo may be capitalizing off people who love to envision poor Aventurine still living his life as a slave... But the game also needs to tell a complicated enough story overall to appeal to people who don't care about this specific husbando--Aventurine's role in the actual game's plot has to be interesting enough for almost everyone to appreciate it, not just Aventurine's simp squad. (Don't get mad, I'm in the simp squad with you.)

So his character doesn't stop at just being a pure-hearted victim who is still waiting to be saved.

Aventurine is not that easy to label, and I think the biggest struggle in this character's fandom right now is between people who prefer the even-more-angsty, still-a-slave Aventurine versus people who want a morally grey, self-destructive character instead.

To me personally, while I greatly understand the appeal of fanon!Aventurine and the joy of a really juicy angst fic where characters lose it all, I think that missing out on the depth that canon is suggesting would be a real loss on the fandom's part.

The character motivations that Aventurine shows in the game are complicated. They cancel each other out. They're basically self-harm! He makes almost every situation he's in worse for himself--on purpose.

He is a good person, but also a person who has done unspeakable things. He does have morals, but he's not above allowing those who don't have them to use him to their advantage.

He's both the victim and the victor. He's his own worst enemy. He's a lost little boy who's been making terrible decisions for himself since he was like eight years old, and a grown ass man who is barely managing to fake his way through an existence that destiny is not letting him quit.

This kind of character is a lot harder to embrace. He's done things that most people would find appalling--like willingly joining up with the organization that let his entire race be massacred. He's invented a whole new peacock persona to frivolously flaunt riches he doesn't even care about (Poison Dart Frog Self-Defense 101). He actively plays into racist stereotypes about his people to manipulate others through their preconceived expectations. He's made a mockery of his mother's and sister's hopes and dreams by endlessly trying to throw his own life away.

He has flaws! He bet everything he had on a ploy without doing his homework to find out if the people he was risking his life for were even still around. (Maybe he already knew, and couldn't bear to admit it, even to himself.) He's intentionally off-putting and obnoxious to everyone he meets (Poison Dart Frog Self-Defense 102). He terrifies everyone who gets close to him by (seemingly) carelessly throwing himself into the jaws of death without the slightest provocation.

He knowingly allows the IPC to exploit his power and talents for profit. Did everyone forget that his role in the Strategic Investment Department is asset liquidation?! Like, his actual day-to-day job is ruining people's lives. Canonically, Aventurine kills people when his deals go bad.

His motivations change off-screen in two lines of story text. We're told in one line that his biggest reason for joining the IPC was to make money to save the Avgin, then in the next line we find out that's impossible. And... then what? What motivations does he even have now? The whole point of his character arc from 2.0-2.1 is that he was on the edge of giving in to utter despair and nihilism because he couldn't even perceive a single reason to stay alive. He has no purpose in life before Penacony, and that didn't start with the Stonehearts at all??

People keep saying Aventurine was held in the IPC by golden handcuffs, but how do you tie down someone for whom profit is meaningless? What can you offer to a man whose only desire is to bring back something already lost forever? How do you imprison someone whose only definition of freedom is, canonically, death?

Working for the Stonehearts is obviously not healthy. But that's why Aventurine was doing it--because taking dangerous missions allowed him to put himself at risk. The job that he originally pursued hoping to save his people became a direct means to self-harm, and the IPC's only real role in that was just happily profiting off the results.

The journal entries for Aventurine's quests are there deliberately to tell the player what is on his mind, and none of it has to do with escaping from his job:

Like... Work is the least of this man's problems.

At really the risk of rambling on too long now, he's also just a massive walking contradiction:

Aventurine is among the most explicitly religious characters in the game, yet he's one of the only people in the entire game that we have ever seen actively question his people's aeon.

You might be tempted to think Aventurine's risky gambles with his life as an adult are a result of giving up after finding out about the Avgin massacre... Butttt no, Hoyo makes sure to tell us that even at knee-high in the Sigonian desert, Kakavasha was already willing to risk himself in a fight to the death against monsters because even back then he found his own life to have less value than a single memento.

He's the "chosen one" who will lead his people to prosperity... except they're all dead.

He's explicitly suicidal... andddd also a pathstrider of Preservation.

He wants to die... He doesn't want to die. He wants to make it end, yet goes to staggering lengths to continually survive. (Every plan risks his life on purpose--but every plan's win condition is also to live.) He life is the chip tossed down, but his hand is trembling beneath the table. When faced with an otherwise unsurvivable situation, Aventurine literally became a winner of the Hunger Games. He beat other innocent people to death with his own chain-bound hands just to come out alive.

He knows the IPC failed the Avgin and left them to die... and he still willingly sought out a position of power in their organization. Maybe he really is after revenge... but maybe not.

He starts his journey in the IPC with a truly noble goal in mind: to help his people using his newfound wealth and power. He's a good guy who did genuinely want to save the Avgin and repay all those who helped him. But once it became clear he was too late, once it was obvious he would have no use at all for that monetary wealth and power he risked his life to get... What did he do with it? Unlike Jade, we don't see him over here donating to orphanages. (I'm not that heartless; I'm sure he does actually do a lot of good things with his money on the side, but the point is that the game does not show us that--it shows us, over and over again, Aventurine putting on a wasteful, over-indulgent persona toward wealth. We've supposed to feel how meaningless money is to him, how meaningless everything is becoming to him.)

He outright refuses to use underhanded tactics or to cheat at gambles, which is meant to show us that's he's more morally upright than his coworkers. There's an entire exchange where he says that he'll never stoop to using manipulation the way Opal does. But... he doesn't have any issue fulfilling Opal's exact agenda. He was never remotely morally conflicted about denying the Penaconians their freedom by dragging Penacony back under IPC control.

He's willing to risk his own life, which is one thing--but he's also willing to risk other people's well-being. Topaz accuses him of constantly egging their clients on into dangerous situations; we've actively seen him shove a gun into Ratio's hands and pull the trigger with no care for how Ratio would feel about that on their very first meeting... Dragging the Astral Express crew into the entire Penacony plan in the first place was exceedingly dangerous...

To me, I just think it's vital to understand his character through the lens of these contradictions because they demonstrate the extreme polarity of Aventurine's life: from rags to riches, from powerless to empowered by multiple aeons, from willing to kill to survive to killing himself... He has quite literally lived a life of "all or nothing," and while he is the victim of many terrible situations out of his control, his arc as a character involves facing the truth of himself and the future his own actions are hurtling him toward.

Frankly, the Aventurine that canon is suggesting is a little annoying. You want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and say "Why are you like this?!" And he won't even have an answer for you, because he doesn't even know why he's still alive.

In the end, to me, this is so, so much more interesting. I can read an endless supply of hurt-comfort fics where Aventurine escapes the evil IPC and Ratio is there to fill the void in his life with the power of love and catcakes and be a perfectly happy clam online, but I want canon to continue to serve us this incredible mess of a man who constantly takes one step forward and two steps back.

Who is fully aware of his role as a cog in the grotesque profit-wheel of cosmic capitalism and still manages to say he never changed from the rags-wearing desert rat of the Sigonian wastes.

Who over and over again flirts with nihility but, ultimately, even if he has to wrest it from the grip of the gods themselves with bloody, chain-bound hands, chooses life.

[ethereal555]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY.

angst x jobe bellingham.

You’ve never seen Jobe act this way before. We had just finished our dinner at Hakkasan which started off lovely; you'd both missed each other to bits. It started when Jobe expressed his confusion about the amount our waiter spoke to me, the way in which he spoke and looked at me and definetly didnt like the fact I was slighly enthusiatic in return when the mans questions regarding my profession. And no matter how many times i'd tell Jobe, that 'it's common decency' it fell upon deaf ears every time.

In situations such as these which occured often, he'd be a baby about it and whine about how all the men we come across were always infactuated with me and how it wasn't fair because I am his and his only. Or he'd tell me to be more blunt and harsh in my rejections. At least he was communicating with me..

But this time, it was an intense silence on the way back home, a silence that left your mind unsettled.

-

You both made your way back to his black Audi. Your gaze frequently shifting from the side profile and then to the floor as you internally prepared yourself to rectify this issue before it got out of hand.

Your gaze landed on Jobe again only to see his sharp jawline prominent due to the extent of which he was tensing it. Tensed hard enough to break glass. You also noticed his walking pace quickening by the second, another telling sign of the volcanic eruption brewing within him.

“J, you’re going too fast can you hold my hand please?” you whined. You knew he wasn’t in the mood for that and definitely had other things on his mind but he did it anyway reaching his long arm back and in doing so not sparing me a glance. Your rolled your eyes, hard.

You latched onto his hand making your way back to the car at a decent speed this time. Thank God.

Everytime you both were at a social event, there would always be an odd circunstance that occurs leaving one of you jealous, disheartened or upset. Jobe was the usual culprit; you had told your man for what felt like the uptenneth times that you were an attractive girl, men were bound to stop and stare and wink and do whatever they desired and the same applied to him. But you also told him, there would never be any reciprocation from your side; which you expected him to trust. Simply saying thank you to compliments would suffice. Just common decency that you'd been taught growing up- it wasn't going to change. It baffled you as you'd never given him any slack throughout your 3 year relationship about any of the thousands of fangirls that were overbearring and desperate around him. You trusted him, and you were secure.

This time, you think it hit harder for him because it was supposed to be an especially romantic date; as you both had been apart for 5 months in different countries for work purposes - so you did sympathize slightly.

You halt in your tracks, consequently making Jobe's walking stop. He looks back at you, unimpressed. You smile at him sweetly, leaning up to kiss his mouth. 'Please don't be mad at me. Baby, I've missed you so much and I want us spend quality time tonight. I really enjoyed dinner and I want to enjoy.. you later.' you whine as you pepper wet kisses over his jawline and neck. Hoping he'd leave this atttitude in the resturant and not bring it home with us.

You see his adam's apple move up and down, he beckons with his head 'Get in the car, Tee', pushing at your waist.

You both get to the car, and to your surprise he doesn’t open the door for you, like he usually does. He goes straight to the drivers seat and sits.

You scoff entering from your side of the car, slamming it shut once you were in.

“Listen Jobe. Bellingham. Don’t let your jealousy get you fucked up. I don’t give a toss if you're pissed , especially because of how stupid it is. You’re still my man. So act right.” You scold mushing his head with your index and middle finger.

He moves his head away from your hands.

“Stop - don’t touch meh or ya walking home, crazy girl”

“Get the lad in 'er to rush over and open the door for ya, and 'em lads you like to entertain. Desperate” He said gesturing towards the waiter who was now serving some guests who were seated outside.

You look at him dumbfounded. Mouth wide open.

'I could.. Jobe.. i could spit on your right now, how dare you..?'.

'Try it' he dares, an inferno arising in his chest.

“Y-You're really upset because I was being a decent human being. You’re a child you know that right? and you're fucking childish and immature and direspectful as fuck” you spat.

“That’s great actually - fucking brilliant - because I’d rather be a child than be a fucking flirt that hasn’t a self aware bone in their body” he humours, driving out of the parking lot.

It felt like your heart dropped.

“A flirt? When did I flirt?” I questioned hysterically. I understand Jobe was jealous , and had those tendencies, but to say I was entertaining another man was absurd and not in my character.

You start to shake your feet, attempting to distract yourself from this recongizable feeling. The heat you felt rising from your chest racing toward your throat, your cheeks burning and your eyes stinging. No, you thought, I'm not giving him the satisfaction.

'Stop the car', you cry. Struggling to get your phone our of your back, that was placed by your feet and underneath the dashboard.

Your voice betraying you.

'N-now, Jobe, I can't anymore' you shake your head continously.

'Ya can't do what?", his face softeneing for this first time as he briefly turns to look at you. He pulls into a side road and removes his seatbelt turning to face you. Rubbing his hands over his face as if I was the one stressing him out.

You chuckle bitterly 'that's the only thing you've listened to, this whole ride', your vision and your thoughts become blurry so you carefully remove the accumulated tears from your eyes as you try and call an uber, not wanting to pull any of your clusters out.

Jobe cradles your face when his left hand, you react as if his hand was a bowl of scorthching hot oil.

'If ya must ya can call the uber later, just look at me'.

You knew he hated to see you cry, that was his kryptonite, no matter how bad the arguement is.

His right had catches your other cheek until he has encaptured the entirety of your face within his palms. He stares, looking deep into your eyes, for what felt like minutes. maybe searching for words to say, accountability maybe.. you anticipated an apology ..

“Ya do this all the time me love.."

'what jobe, what i do?' you croak

'ya cry when I tell ya the truth, baby, ya know I don’t lie', he pecks the corner of your lips.

You break away and look at him through your now damp lash clusters and teary eyes.

my man my man my mf man

'make up your mind' - chris brown inspo kinda

i hate a nigga that doesnt take accountability btw.

[buckysdollbarnes]

you are in love series - part two

meant just for you

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Chapter Summary: Without the barrier of identity between you now, you sympathize with Bucky and think of a way to make him a bit more comfortable.

warnings: FLUFF! some sad fighting with his past Bucky, but again FLUFF!

word count: 2.7k

a/n: thank you ALL so much for the love on part one: one look, dark room. when I posted, I didn't expect such overwhelming positivity! you're all so wonderful and I hope you love part two just as much if not more than part one. this will be slow burn, but there will be plenty of cute moments in between too. also, as a long time fic reader, heavy fics are sometimes just what you need, but other times, nothing can beat easy reading, and I hope to be able to provide that for you <3 no need to worry about a broken heart on my blog ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

a/n: if you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know! I appreciate every one of you <3

masterlist | part one

With the first signs of sunlight trickling in through the blinds and the early hum of traffic along your street, you stirred awake. The soft rays of dawn kissed your eyes as you settled into calm contemplation of the night before. The events were still fresh in your mind, and it was hard to believe such a significant part of Bucky’s life had been revealed to you. Even harder was the realization of how quickly you returned to feeling normal about it. The shock wore off almost instantly, and his presence returned to just James again, reminding you that nothing about him had truly changed.

You felt no aversion towards him—neither at the moment he told you, nor afterwards. The fear and repulsion he seemed to expect never surfaced. Instead, you were filled with awe and empathy.

To Bucky, his identity was tied to the events and actions of a past he had desperately tried to forget. But for you, it was about the life he had missed entirely.

Closing your eyes, you could hear it in the silence, the crackling strains of Sinatra, the melody that had brought a brief flicker of peace to Bucky’s troubled face. As the music played, you exchanged a few words, but not too many. You didn’t want to spook him, sensing the lingering tension after your discovery of his other name. He chose to stay, and you let him sit unmoving as long as he needed, letting him know you were comfortable with him there. In that moment, you were content to simply watch him.

The music seemed to cause a shift in him—as if the song reached into the depths of his memories, the parts he still cherished, and pulled him back to a time when things were simpler, when he knew how to be a part of the world. A time when he didn’t feel like he was taking up space that wasn’t meant for him.

That moment deepened your view of him. You realized how much had been taken from him—not just the music of his time, but everything that made life rich and full. Sent to war, never to return home, and then being thrust into a world that had moved on without him, a world where nothing felt familiar, just like Captain America had. The weight of that understanding pressed on you, filling you with a sense of urgency that lingered now, in the light of morning.

Seeing that fleeting calmness, the softening of his eyes as he listened, you knew he needed a lifeline—a way to escape the constant feeling of not belonging.

As the morning light grew stronger, a decision solidified in your mind: you needed to help him find that peace again, to create a space where he could retreat whenever the world became too much. A decision fueled by altruism, and perhaps, by the desire to see that beautiful look on his face again as he found solace in your apartment.

It wasn’t just about surrounding him with memories of the past. It was about finding a way to bridge the gap between the world he remembered and the one he found himself in now.

Finally pulling yourself out of your much-too-comfortable bed, you moved to the kitchen, your bare feet padding softly against the floor as you prepared a simple breakfast. The rhythmic sounds of shifting ingredients and the sizzling of butter provided a backdrop to your thoughts, which were still occupied by Bucky. His presence lingered, even in his absence, as if you could sense him across the hall in his apartment without needing to see him.

With the toast popping up, you added it to your otherwise completed plate and set it down at the small kitchen table. You grabbed your laptop and opened it, quickly diving into what you do best: finding treasures among other people’s old junk, all while working through your breakfast.

Your fingers moved quickly across the keys as you typed in the names of artists from the 30s and 40s you’d found on Google. The results flooded the screen—some listings for supposedly ‘pristine’ records, others showing signs of wear and scratches. It didn’t take long before you stumbled upon a lot of records—30s and 40s jazz and swing, bundled together in a collection. Some of the vinyls were described as being in less-than-perfect condition, with scratches that might affect the sound, but for $30, it was worth the risk.

The thought of Bucky being able to listen to more music from his time, music that could help him feel just a little more at home, made a feeling of warmth spread through you. You added the records to your cart, excitement building as you placed the order. It seemed like a small step, but felt a lot bigger. All you needed to do now was wait a couple of days for the package to arrive.

As you closed your laptop, you took a bite of your breakfast, the warm food a comfort as you considered the days ahead. The records would arrive soon, and with them, the hope that Bucky might find some peace, some connection to the world he once knew, and maybe even more of a connection with you.

Bucky had spent the past couple of days trapped in a loop, a repetitive cycle of hope and despair. The night with you had sparked something within him—a small flicker of what could be, of what it might feel like to be normal, to have a friend. But that flicker was quickly smothered by the reality he faced every time he closed his eyes.

His nightmares had been relentless, each one a violent reminder of who he really was. The images would blur and twist, merging the faces of those he had hurt with those he had lost.

He’d wake up on the floor, sheets sweaty and falling around him, the cold emptiness of his hardly furnished apartment pressing in on him from all sides, making him feel like he was trapped in a continuously shrinking box. Telling himself that he could move forward and live normally felt like he was just pretending.

He knew he was different, that the world was different. Without Steve, he was alone—no one else was stuck like he was. Just him.

The life he was supposed to have had was a distant memory, replaced by something darker, something he couldn’t shake no matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise.

But then there was you. You, who had looked at him with kindness instead of the fear he was used to. You, who had sat with him, listened to music with him, and hadn’t flinched when he revealed his secret, if he could really call it one. It had almost reminded him of Steve in a way. Knowing him, he would have accepted him immediately, just as you had.

For the first time in a long time, he had felt the crushing weight of loneliness ease just a little. The realization of how isolated he had been hit him like a punch to the gut. He found himself longing for your company, wanting to hear your voice, to see your face again.

But that longing came with a gnawing sense of guilt. He didn’t want to be a burden. The last thing he wanted was to drag you down into the darkness that clung to him like a shadow. He knew he shouldn’t get too close, shouldn’t let you get too close.

So, despite the pull he felt to reach out, to knock on your door and ask if you wanted to listen to more music, not knowing how else to connect with you, he held back. He decided to wait, to let things happen on their own, if they were meant to.

He wouldn’t tell Sam about this. And he definitely wouldn’t tell his therapist.

It was already hard enough to have to deal with the emotions as they were. If he told either of them he was just going to end up frustrated and annoyed by what they had to say. Sam’s jokes and his therapist’s lectures were just too much for him right now.

So, he waited. Every day he would find himself standing at the door, hand hovering over the handle, debating whether to take that step, to cross the hall and knock. And every day, he would turn away, convincing himself that he was doing the right thing, even though it felt like he was just running in circles.

The days passed by fairly quickly, with you busying yourself with admissions office job you had gotten at the university. After waiting, the lot of records you had ordered online arrives.

You headed down to the lobby, where the same disinterested worker from the other week was on the job. You were almost certain he was the only employee at this point. His eyes barely flicked up to you as you approached, his indifference almost offensive.

You couldn’t help but think you could probably steal everyone's packages and he would never know the difference, but being honest in nature and too excited, you took the box you knew now belonged to you up to your apartment.

Once inside, you carefully unwrapped the package, peeling back layers of bubble wrap and cardboard until you were through to what you cared about.

You inspected each record with care, worried with them being so old that they may be brittle. The listing had promised only slight scratches on some, the majority having stayed in their sleeves, untouched, for years.

A smile tugged at your lips as you saw the seller’s claims had been true. The records were in remarkable condition, considering their age. You decided to transfer them into new, clean sleeves to ensure they stayed as nice as possible and one by one, you slid them into fresh covers.

With the records now properly housed, you moved over to your setup, making space on the shelf. You cleared out one of the cubbies, sliding the new additions into their place. The final touch was a small bow you tied onto the ledge, to showcase that the spot was a gift.

Your heart thudded with anticipation. There was no reason to wait any longer; you wanted to share this with Bucky today if you could. You made your way across the hall to his door, your excitement making your steps lighter. Standing outside, you knocked gently, calling out his name to let him know you were there.

But there was no response.

You knocked again, your voice a little louder this time, but still nothing. Disappointment began to settle in as you considered the possibility that he wasn’t home, or worse, didn’t want to see you.

Just as you were about to turn away, you heard a sound behind you—the soft creak of a door opening. You turned back to see Bucky standing there, his expression unreadable but his eyes locked on you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“Hey,” you replied, the relief washing over you causing a grin to replace the disappointment that had been on your face just moments before. “I was hoping to catch you.”

He looked at you, waiting, so you continued, “I got something I wanted to show you. Actually... it’s a bit of a surprise. I was thinking maybe you could come over for dinner again? I promise it’s for a special reason.”

For a moment, Bucky seemed to wrestle with something inside himself, his gaze dropping to the floor. But then he looked back up, a small, almost imperceptible nod following.

“Yeah,” he said finally, “I’d like that.”

As he closed the door, unseen to you, a smile spread across his face. Giving it time had been the right choice, but he had no idea what reason could be so special to invite him over for.

The rest of the day passed by in anticipation, your thoughts constantly drifting to the dinner you planned for the evening. As the time approached, you began preparing the meal, the kitchen filling with warmth that promised a good night ahead.

Just as you were finishing up on the stove, a knock sounded at the door. Quickly moving the pan off the heat and covering it to let the food simmer, you wiped your hands before heading over to answer.

When you opened the door, Bucky stood there, his expression slightly guarded, but with something else there as well. Maybe it was just curiosity, maybe just happiness to be here.

You hoped it was both.

“Come on in,” you said, stepping aside for him to enter, “I was just finishing up. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were spying on me.”

The two of you sat down, and slowly eating, the conversation which had started slow and nervous eased into something more relaxed. The topic eventually drifting to your past and his, you shared how you got there and Bucky, with a small, nostalgic small, told you stories of going dancing.

You couldn’t help ask more.

“Dancing, huh? I can’t really picture you out on the dance floor.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his eyes distant for a moment as if he were pulling the memory from a far corner of his mind.

“It was different back then. Everyone went. It was just something you did.”

The idea of Bucky, so often serious and reserved, out enjoying himself like that was both endearing and a little surprising. An idea began to form in your mind as you stood up from the table, making your way over to the shelves where your record player and collection were kept.

“Maybe you heard one of these when you were out there with one of your dates,” you said over your shoulder, pulling out the box you placed in the cleared cubby earlier.

Bucky’s gaze followed you, a hint of confusion knitting his brow as you came back to the table with the box. Setting it down in front of him, you opened the lid to reveal the records you had carefully collected, each one now neatly housed in its new sleeve.

“That,” you said, gesturing to the empty shelf, “is your spot. And this is the start of your collection. And if you want, you can add that Sinatra record from the other night in here too.”

For a moment, Bucky just stared at the records, recognizing some of the names through the clear plastic covering them, his fingers hovered, hesitant to touch something that felt so much like home yet so far removed from his current reality. Then, as the realization of what you were offering him sank in, a flicker of shock crossed his face.

“What is this?” he said quietly, his voice thick with an emotion he was clearly trying to keep in check.

You shrugged, smiling at him. “We could say it’s a happy early—or late—birthday gift maybe? If I need to have an excuse to give it to you.”

Bucky looked at you, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice softening. “It’s meant just for you. So, whenever you need it, a little bit of comfort, come and be familiar with something.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes glistening slightly, though he quickly looked away, trying to hide the depth of his reaction. You could tell the gesture had touched him more than he was letting on.

“Thank you,” he said, almost a whisper.

You leaned back in your chair, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “Maybe once you hear some stuff again you'll get an itch and have to show me how those old dances went. Since you owe me now you know? For starting your collection for you.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small smile, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I guess I do.”

And there it was again, you could hear it in the silence the same way you did the morning you ordered the gift, Frank’s voice in the back of your head.

In that moment, something shifted between you—a subtle but significant change. You’d take it one step at a time.

a/n: well there it is, hope you liked the way this part played out. your support is unimaginable! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

taglist:

@mcira

@mostlymarvelgirl

@hzdhrtss

@winterslove1917

@purplecolordeer

@nicksolemnlyswears

[silverzoomies]

quickie 22 please please please🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Peter Maximoff/Reader drabble: ⚡"Shh, just a little more..."⚡ warnings: dilf!peter, wardrobe malfunctions, awkward boners. this one isn't as filthy as it could be. sorry! i'll try and make the next ones extra filthy as compensation 💗

In one of the mansion’s guest bathrooms, Peter tugs the useless zipper of his dress pants.

Tonight’s the big night. Some millionaire humans are hosting another boring party. Big name politicians. Or business managers. Or whatever. Who the hell knows? Peter sure doesn’t. The last thing he wants is to attend another fancy affair. But Charles told the team it was mandatory. If only to make a positive impression on humans.

Eugh. Peter can’t stand that kinda shit. Playing kiss ass for a bunch of rich assholes. Elitist pricks who don’t care whether mutants live or die. On nights like this, Peter almost sympathizes with his absent father’s extremist mentality.

The team are all dressed up in expensive suits and glittery gowns. They wait together in the entrance hall. Five and half minutes passed since Peter insisted he’d be ready to go.

And, see, he didn’t mean to come back so late tonight.

He only wanted to spend as much time with his daughter as possible. Right down to the last second, Peter immersed himself completely in Luna’s little world. It’s not his fault he rarely gets to see her. His ex Crystal keeps him at such an arm’s length. Peter fears he won’t have a real relationship with the little peanut if he doesn't make the most of every moment.

Again. Running behind schedule? Not his fault.

And the fact that his zipper got stuck? That’s not his fault either. Peter wrestles with the godforsaken thing for another two minutes. He’s driving himself insane with it, since it took him only a half second to dress up in his newly tailored, uber expensive, rental suit.

Which, by the way, Peter won’t hesitate to admit; even though he hates dressing up, he looks ultra sharp. Like a suave, silver fox.

In a superspeed blur, he fumbles with the zipper to no avail. He alternates between squatting and standing. Peter tugs even harder, but the goddamn thing won’t budge. Even more frustrating, he can’t bend over enough to get a look at what’s causing his wardrobe malfunction. Another minute passes. And just when he thinks he’s gonna give up, go out, and give the world a peek at his undies; you come knocking at the door.

Peter’s saving grace. Like an angel from the heavens.

For a half second, the door flies open before Peter pulls you quickly inside by your arm. He drags you into the cramped, guest bathroom with him. With his back against the sink, he takes another half-second to check you out. Peter’s beady, lidded eyes zip all across, up and down your body, admiring your figure in a luxury dress. 

You whisper-shout at him, gesturing wildly with your hands, “What’s taking you so long? Scott’s about to freak out! Our ride’s here waiting and everything. Logan said we should just leave you here!” 

Oh. Right. The party. He almost forgot. Pulling his speedy gaze from your hips, Peter focuses on his cumbersome zipper again. “I’ll be there in a sec. Promise! Jeez. Can’t they all just slow their roll? Someone really needs to teach those guys some patience, amiright?” Peter snickers, grabbing a handful of his crotch, tugging his zipper hard with his opposite, “Motherfu-”

“You...uh...having some trouble?” 

You cross your arms, cocking a hip to the side as you watch his thick fingers fight his zipper. Peter rolls his eyes.

“Nope. I just felt like goin’ on a date with Pamela Handerson before our big night. What’s it look like??”

Cracking the briefest hint of a smile, you shake your head and wave your hands dismissively. “We don’t have time for this.” You note.

"You're tellin' me. I just can't get it to-" Peter stiffens as you step closer, pressing your curvy body against his, "Oh, hell-o."

With the stressful determination of a mother on school picture day; you double check the rest of his suit. Your gentle hands smooth the faint crinkles in his dress shirt, doing the same with his jacket, adjusting his tie - all before bringing your hand down to his crotch. Following a short apology, you blindly feel for that pesky zipper. On accident, you grab a firm handful of something else.

Peter jolts in place against the sink, canting his hips into your touch. In a flash, he latches a strong grip around your wrist. The corners of his eyes crinkle with fine lines as he playfully narrows his gaze.

“Whoaaa, there. Easy with the merchandise, baby.”

“Whoops! My bad. I'm just trying to help.” You raise a quizzical brow, challenging Peter with a look, "And who're you calling baby?"

"You is who I'm callin' baby, baby." He chimes in a playful tone, matching your teasing gaze.

He loosens his hold on your wrist, giving you free rein to continue.

After a beat or two, he adds, "And, hey, if you're still down for later..."

"Down? Down for what?"

"Y'know. Shopping for merchandise?"

He notices the way you suppress a riled laugh, ignoring his advances for the time being. You fight with his problematic zipper for a solid minute or two before ultimately sinking to your knees. Perching yourself on the floor in front of him, nose to crotch, you lean in as closely as you can. Peter feels blossoming heat flare up in his cheeks. Swallowing hard, he rests his hands on the edge of the sink behind him.

For a momentary instant, you lean back on with your ass resting on your heels. Peter gets a choice view of your flush cleavage. Pillowy and coaxing him to stare. He gnaws his lip and knits his mercury brows. His dusky gaze follows the motion of you leaning in, practically burying your face in his crotch to get a good look at the pesky pants culprit.

“Uhhh…hey…look, you really don’t gotta-” He chokes, his fingers clenching the countertop tighter.

“Aha! I found it! Just gimme a quick sec.”

A loose piece of fabric caught the zipper. You bring both hands up to try and tear it free, but it still won’t budge. Taking a more risky approach, you pull his fly open, ripping the piece of cloth with your teeth. Peter shudders as a sublime tingle races through his body. Warmth swarms in his groin. A more vulnerable expression overtakes his worn, rugged features.

“Oh my g-...uhm…babe…it’s cool. Seriously. You can stop now. I won’t hold it against you. Thanks for tryin'. I’ll just take one for the team and-”

You pull back again with a focused whisper, squinting your eyes.

“Shh, just a little more...”

“N-No. I’m not foolin’ around. I really think you should call it quits before-”

“SHHHH! Wait, I got it!”

It’s not until your teeth shred the fabric, freeing the zipper at last - that you realize he’s pitching a tent in his pants. Your hand rests over his crotch, and you can feel him pulsing hotly under your palm. Freezing in place, gaping at the (impressive) bulging sight before you, you steadily tilt your head up. Your pretty eyes peer at Peter with partial caution, and partial curiosity.

When you meet his sluggish, wide-eyed gaze; Peter has a hand covering his mouth. Staring down at you, his face burns blazing hot. He pauses, running his hand up from his mouth and through his silver hair, mussing the clean look he took so much time (a few microseconds) to style.

"Okay. In my defense-"

"Been a while?" You taunt him with a flirty chuckle.

Peter tips his head back, exhaling a throaty laugh, "Yeah. Been while."

[daughter-of-sapph0]

one thing about tumblr that I don't see anyone talk about even with all the discussion about horrible changes is what happens when someone blocks you.

how it used to be is that you could still go to their profile, and would be able to report them or block them back. but you couldn't see any of their posts. and if one of their posts did happen to show up on your dash through reblogs, you couldn't like or reblog it. of course, it wouldn't tell you any of this. it would just give an error message or load indefinitely pretending like something was happening, rather than just saying "hey this person has you blocked, so you can't interact with them"

now it's a lot worse. idk when it was, but some change made it so now you can't even click on their blog at all.

now you might say "what's the big deal? why would anyone even want to go to a blog that had you blocked if you already couldn't see any of their posts in the first place?" and while true, there was at least something you could do on that blank blog. blocking them back and reporting them.

here's how it worked in the past. if someone sent me a rude message or tagged me in a dumb post and then blocked me, I could simply go to their blog (which would be blank for me) and block and report them.

now, if somone does that, I cannot click on their blog. in fact, because I can't block or report them, they can keep sending me horrible things, or even do the same to others without any fear of consequences. in order to actually be free of them, I'd have to go onto the desktop dashboard which a lot of people don't use, go to blog settings, scroll all the way down to blocked accounts, and manually type in their url exactly and add them to my list of blocked accounts.

and also, there is no way to report them. if someone is being racist or antisemitic or homophobic, and they have you blocked, you cannot report them at all.

I'm not going to say that this change was made by the sympathizers on staff specifically to protect terfs and white supremacists who spend all their time harassing and stalking and abusing people online while making it harder for their victims to protect themselves or even make those people face any consequences for their actions at all...

but the fact that this change happened around the same time as the whole "scorched earth / partyjockers" situation where staff entirely disintegrated a post and all it's reblogs because op said that one of the people on staff was a hairy potty fan, it's a bit too suspicious for me to call it a coincidental change.

[the-raindeer-king]

Nikto is such a feral cat of a man. Wild, untrusting, always alert, always bristled, refuses to be kept if he doesn't want to be somewhere.

But pretty pretty you, you don't force his attention, don't demand his responses. You let him slowly creep closer over time, never forcing him to talk, never seeming bothered if and when he doesn't respond to you. Slowly, over a long time he creeps even closer. A mangled, feral thing that's not hissing at you anymore, not barring fangs and claws but slowly blinking it's eyes because it knows you now. He knows you, and you're no threat.

So he'll come closer, maybe one day rest his heavy head in your lap and trust you to be the one keeping your eyes open when he doesn't.

That sounds nice in his mind. -🐾(I don't know Nikto as well but the vibes are there and bold lol)

Nah, I think you got Nikto pretty down pat. I know there's little info for some (most? Idk correct me if i'm wrong. I didn't play the game) of the operators in warzone, so we're running off assumptions and headcannons to cover the middle ground.

anyway, but Nikto = feral cat. Yes.

When you first join KorTac, you're introduced to some of the higher ranking operators, as many rookies are. However, unlike the other rookies, you don't spare Nikto more than a polite nod. You don't even seem bothered by the way he stares, blue eyes bearing into your soul.

It shouldn't bother him. This is exactly what he wants. But for some odd reason, it does. Your disinterest makes the voices in his head louder, demanding your attention.

Nikto, as he so often does, ignores them. For now.

But as time goes on, they become harder to ignore. Or well, the effect you have on him becomes harder to ignore. The way his mind goes quiet when he comes to visit you in the med-bay, his entire being solely focused on you. Even though you're never focused on him the way he wants you to be.

Most of your knowledge of Nikto comes from the others. Mainly whatever König and Krueger let slip when they're talking to you. You sympathize with Nikto, but you keep that to yourself, understanding that he's probably heard enough sympathetic phrases to last a lifetime. So you offer the next best thing, and that's just to treat him as you would anyone else.

Because of this, a friendship had gradually grown between you and Nikto. That's what you're calling it at least. He's friendly, occasionally bringing you tea and snacks during your shift. You sit with him at meal time, sometimes seeking him out during your free time.

Most of the time it's a one sided conversation. Nikto never offers more than a few words at a time, but you never seem bothered by it. Opening up to people is hard for him, and you don't push for more than what he's willing to give. You're a blessing, an angel, and Nikto doesn't understand what he's done to deserve you.

The thing with men like Nikto is once you've shown him kindness, he'll come back for more. Let him sink his teeth into your soft flesh, mark you in a way that can never be taken away. A warning for others that you belong to him, and he isn't afraid to bare his teeth when necessary.

For now, he'll accept this. Dragging his weary body to your room, having returned from a two month long mission, familiarized with your schedule to know that you're not busy. You're never too busy for Nikto, always willing to make time for the masked man. He doesn't bother knocking, knowing the door will be unlocked. If it wasn't, he'd either pick the lock or just kick the door down.

He has just enough mind left to kick his boots off, before he's crawling into your bed. The mask stays on, a blessing and a curse, as he lays his head down into your lap. He may not be able to feel the softness of your thighs, but he can feel the way you drag your nails over the back of his head, as if trying to drag your fingers through his hair.

If he could, he'd purr in response. Instead he sighs loudly, practically melting into your mattress. And a few moments later, he's snoring. A sign that you're not going anywhere for a while, so you might as well get comfortable yourself.