#FUCK IF I COULD GO BACK IN TIME AND HAVE MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF MONEY I WOULD FUND MACABRE 2 MYSELF

[queenslimon]

the only movie that's ever made me desperate for a sequel is The Mo Brothers' Macabre

like hello??? Dara is one of the most captivating villain presences of all time????? the only comparison I have is watching All About Eve when Marilyn Monroe, in a tiny role before she was a big star, makes her first appearance and I couldn't stop watching her despite being in a crowd of all these established actors like Bette Davis and George Sanders. except Shareefa Daanish IS the centerpiece

Dara: Mama bear, small-business owner, chainsaw-weilding vampire with the biggest, unblinking eyes, the smoothest skin, and the most comforting voice to tell you exactly how fucked you are. I don't even care if a sequel wouldn't live up to Macabre I literally just need Daanish to reprise the role

I remember watching it not-too-many years after it came out, and still having hope

but it's now been fifteen years and I must come to terms with the cycle of grief

[starkeyisthelastname]

(Here you are my gorgeous babes! 😘💕) Because Dealer!Rafe has enough money and then some more.💰😻💖

You knew Rafe sold drugs, the first interaction of you two was because you needed weed and your friend knew of him. You just didn’t know the depth of it and nor did Rafe want you too. He would always tell you that you were too damn pretty to worry about it, never needing to really reveal how dangerous of a man he was.

Banks runs were a fun day, riding in the passenger seat of his blacked out Range Rover like the princess you were. Fresh mani-pedi, lash extensions thick, pretty Louis bag sitting next to your hip. He would have one ringed hand on the steering wheel, other hand holding his phone as he talked to Barry about something you didn’t understand or would even question. You already had tried that before, and was reassured Rafe could defend himself.

“Stay here, pretty girl.” He would tell you, phone still pressed to his ear as he began to open the drivers side door. You turned your head as you applied the Dior lipgloss in the mirror, looking at him with a glossy pout.

“Can I go in this time?” You asked, long lashes fluttering at him.

Rafe shook his head, gripping your jaw firmly to make you look up at him. “Quit fuckin pouting, you’re too goddamn gorgeous for that shit.” He said, voice low. “Let daddy handle his business and maybe you’ll get something.”

You nodded, eyes looking up at him like the perfect little doll you were. He loved every second of spoiling you with the massive amounts of trap money he made. He pulled you in for a sloppy kiss before pulling back with a smirk on his lips. He never had committed to any girl or ever wanted to, but something about you was different and he would give you whatever the fuck your precious heart desired.

You waited as patiently as you could, eyes glancing up at the door ever so often until you saw your tall boyfriend walking out of the bank, a couple blue bags in hand. He was so effortlessly sexy wearing his white tee, a gold chain resting against his collarbone, and fresh buzzcut bringing how his handsome face. He got into the drivers seat, setting two out of the three blue bags in the center console next to a shiny gun. He closed it, before handing you the one bag he left out.

Unzipping it, you looked into the bag to see bundle of cash wrapped in rubber bands and colorful tabs. He chuckled as you looked up at him, eyes a little wide at the amount.

“Go fucking crazy mama, daddy’s got plenty more to go around.” Rafe laughed, looking over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking space. He was a fucking boss and his money and girl were the only two priorities he was worried about. “You are a pretty princess aren’t ya? Pretty princesses deserve expensive shit.” He said, hand coming over to possessively grab your thigh.

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Hey guys, your favorite former fit girl, Ava, here with another quick vid sponsored by the lovely people at Hucow Heaven! When they first offered me to try their product as a brand deal I thought it was a joke, ngl. I'm a fitness vlogger with an a lean bust, barely a B-Cup. Why would someone like me want gigantic breasts? They got me on the phone with a representative who was so sweet and she told me I can opt out any time, but most women who tried their products kept going longer than they thought they would. So, I ask a bunch of questions like will it impede me from my workouts and lifestyle and she was blunt that yeah, it would after a while, and I'd be far more prone to retain fat while taking the product, since it encourages such large growth so fast!

I still wasn't convinced and she basically told me I'd be compensated extremely well even if I tried it for only a couple weeks.... That she knew I'd love it and my popularity would grow tremendously. Her logic was hard to argue with..... I could get super busty for a year or so, make tons of money, several more times than the amount to get my boobs reduced back, and pocket the rest. That Influencers and glamour models did it literally all the time. I.... caved, as you all know. I couldn't say no, she was so nice!

This is month four and yeah, I'm getting a bit chubby but I think the added thickness suits me, don't you? I've never looked more incredible and oh my god, these boobs are SO much fun. The back pain is totally worth it! I love them to death and flaunt them everywhere I go. People barely have to ask and I flash them in public and encourage anyone who wants to give them a feel. Or a squeeze..... Or a nice loud smack! God having them slapped around is so fun, I never used to like bondage of pain but having these huge fat titties get tied up or whipped or paddled or just grabbed so hard I feel like they're gonna pop..... I'm addicted to the pain soooo bad now. These fucking melons have turned me into a total whore. I practically can't so no these days, and if I do I don't actually try to stop them....

I used to hate unwanted attention from men. Now they grope my tits, rip off my tops, play with my boobs everywhere I go, and I'm always so turned on by it. I never knew I wanted this.... And I'm a HH-Cup after only four months.... That's six whole cup sizes in just four months! Imagine how big they'll be if I keep going? I know I should stop here, they're the perfect size and I'm still really mobile and light on my feet, but completely sexually liberated and free use.... Yet, I can't stop. I need them to get bigger, and bigger, and BIGGER until I know I've completely fucked up. I don't just want huge boobs, I want them to be debilitatingly massive. So fucking giant I can barely walk, maybe not at all. Imagine being disabled because I'm too big breasted? How pathetic I'd be..... poor fit girl who screwed up her whole life and health because having big titties was way too fun and hurting them was simply too addicting.... The representative told me once I started I'd keep going.... I didn't believe her. But look at them? All I can think is how amazing it would feel if I bloated these huge titties up so much they each weighed more than I used to before I started this sponsorship...... I bet you can't wait just as much as I can't!"

[jessejaredstories]

Walk on the Wild Side

Sergio was a walking gay man’s fantasy. He was tall and muscular as fuck. Beefy could barely even begin to describe him as everything from his biceps, chest, thighs, back, and even ass were massive! He made his living off of flexing his hot body as well as fucking other beefy dudes on camera. Sergio was truly living the life many could only dream of having.

But although Sergio was living the good life, he couldn't deny that something was missing. More specifically, something about his sex life. Sergio loved his very active sex life and was more often than not satisfied after every hookup he had. Yet at the same time, Sergio found himself wanting more. He wanted something new, and he knew exactly who to contact. Kris the Kink Witch.

Sergio reached out to Kris through Twitter DMs. Kris, like Sergio, also made his living off of recording and selling the videos of his gay escapades. He was known to be one incredibly kinky motherfucker online, and he took great pride in it too- as evidenced by his self proclaimed title the Kink Witch. But unlike Sergio, Kris took a much more professional approach to his line of work. For Kris, it wasn't about pleasure, it was about money. He meant business, and he never shied away from demonstrating that fact.

Fortunately, Sergio was also pretty well-known in the online gay community. Kris recognized Sergio and responded back to him within a couple of minutes. Their conversation went as follows...

S: Hey, you're the Kink Witch right? I've got a request in mind.

K: Yo. Yeah that's me. You want to film a collab together?

S: Not at all. I was actually thinking you and I can link up and have some fun. No cameras. 

K: Sorry, I don't do charity work. 

S: Trust me, I don't either. I just need to have some real fun and I know someone like you can help me out with that goal. I'll pay you a good amount too if you're interested.

K: Go on, I'm listening...

Sergio and Kris went on to negotiate the deal. In exchange for a kinky night of fun, Sergio would pay Kris $2500 in cold, hard cash. However, in order to earn that money, Kris needed to get Sergio to cum and to feel real pleasure while doing it too. But before they could seal the deal, Sergio gave Kris a heads-up by saying that he had already done almost everything anyone can think of. If it wasn't something new and exciting like he wanted, then Sergio had no problem calling the deal off. Yet despite his stark warning, Kris accepted the deal without any hesitation. It slightly unnerved Sergio how confident Kris was. He was pretty sure they both had more or less the same amount of experience when it came to sex. Could Kris really know something Sergio didn't?

Regardless of the initial unease Sergio felt, it was too late to back down now. Kris was already on his way to his apartment. Sergio passed the time by doing the usual prep work of cleaning himself out, just as Kris told him to. Yet despite his best efforts to distract himself, Sergio couldn't help but wonder what Kris had in store for him.

Does this twink really think he's gonna satisfy me just by fucking me? Ha! I've already taken on plenty of men, there's nothing new he can do there! 

Sergio chuckled at his own thoughts. His curiosity was making his mind run wild. Luckily it didn't take much longer for Kris to arrive. He showed up at the entrance of the building and Sergio buzzed him in. Sergio then welcomed the young man into his home, and although he was excited to hook up, he couldn't help but wonder if he was in over his head by hiring some 20 something year old dude with messy hair and a dirty hoodie. 

"Alright, you ready?" Kris said as he began to strip down to nothing but his underwear. 

"Yeah, do you wanna go-" 

"Wrong answer," Kris interrupted Sergio. "I'll excuse the first mistake but you'll only address me as Sir, Daddy, or Papi from here on out. Got it?" 

Sergio was thrown off by how to-the-point Kris was but decided to just ignore it. 

"Yes, Sir." 

"Good boy, now whip out your cock. Get hard too,"

Sergio did as he was told. Kris did the same. Sergio was impressed with Kris' member. It was long and hairy with some decent girth too. Although his was definitely longer, Sergio's cock was the thicker one. They were both hung, Sergio like a bull and Kris like a horse. Once they were both erect, Kris reached down to his pants. He pulled out two rings out of the back pocket, one gold and one silver. He put the gold ring on, then handed the silver cock ring to Sergio.

"Put this on, then on the count of 3, twist it to the right."

Sergio held the cock ring in his hand. The silver hue of the ring almost seemed to glimmer under the light. He hesitated putting it on. It definitely wasn't the first time he wore a cock ring, but Sergio got an inexplicable feeling telling him that he shouldn't put it on. Kris noticed his hesitation right away.

"C'mon, don't be shy, put it on!" Kris said firmly. Sergio looked up and met his gaze but didn't say anything. A moment of silence passed, then Kris sighed.

"Look man, you paid me to do a job and I plan to deliver. You trust me, right?" 

Kris seemed slightly more empathetic now. It was just enough to make Sergio trust him. Sergio nodded, then proceeded to put on the ring. He placed it on the tip of his dick and slid it down to the base of his rock hard member. 

"Alright, ready? 1... 2... 3!!!"

Sergio and Kris then twisted their cock rings to the right at the same time. The moment they did, a wave of orgasmic sensations hit their bodies, causing them to throw their heads back with pleasure. 

"UURRGGGHHHHH!!!" They both moaned obscenely loudly. 

Sergio's vision blurred as he felt the wave of pleasure overtake him. His body trembled as the ring grew tighter around his cock, making it engorged. Then suddenly, Sergio became extremely lightheaded. He could feel his very soul leaving his body. As his soul stepped out of its vessel, Sergio lost all physical feeling as he became nothing but a mass of light. He looked ahead and saw the same had happened to Kris. Both of their souls had just stepped out of their bodies!

Sergio was mind blown by what he was seeing. But before he could even react, his soul began moving on its own. His soul was floating towards Kris' body. At the same time, Kris was floating towards his body. During the brief moment they passed each other, Sergio could've sworn he saw Kris smirking. His soul continued its march towards Kris' body, and as soon as it made contact, it began sinking into the soulless body. Sergio's soul aligned with its new vessel within seconds. Every single cell of Kris' was invaded by Sergio's soul, and he could feel ecstasy wash over him as his soon-to-be new body surrended itself to his control. Once it was done, Sergio immediately felt the difference as he longer possessed his jacked, beefy body but instead a hairy twink like Kris. 

"Arghh fuckk.. what the fuck..." Sergio said with his new voice. All of the extraordinary sensations he just experienced made him fall to the ground. While he was busy trying to recover, he could see his body moving out of the corner of his eyes. 

"Bro look at these fucking pecs! These are some massive slabs of meat on your chest!!" 

Sergio watched as Kris bounced and groped his pecs with shameless joy. Slowly but surely, while Kris was enjoying himself, Sergio came back to his senses. He sat up, then kneeled down onto his knees. Well, Sergio was mostly back to his senses anyway. The sight of seeing a burly man play his own chest was filling him with lust. The only thing on Sergio's mind was how to best worship and please his master. 

Kris noticed Sergio was basically drooling and smirked.

"What's the matter, you want something?" Kris stripped down naked, then bounced his pecs again. Sergio nodded his head vigorously. "Then ask for it, tell Daddy what you want."

"I want milk Daddy..." Sergio said with bated breath and dilated pupils. "Please, Sir, let me worship your beautiful pecs!" 

"Good boy," Kris put his thumb on Sergio's chin and flicked it down, leaving his mouth hanging open with his tongue out. "Now show your Daddy what you can do with that mouth."

As soon as he heard he got permission, Sergio couldn't contain himself anymore and pounced onto Kris. He immediately planted his mouth on one of Kris' nipples and began suckling away while Kris enjoyed getting serviced. He was smirking all the while. His plan had gone off perfectly; the cock rings switched their bodies! That was the kink Kris had planned for Sergio, and he knew it would be the fun night he could've never predicted. After all, nobody knew how literal his title of Kink Witch was. But while Sergio was aware that they switched bodies, there was one little detail Kris kept to himself. Both rings would allow a body swap, but only the gold one would let the user retain their original personality. Because Sergio used the silver cock ring, his soul was forced to absorb Kris' hidden total sub personality when it took over his body. It might still be Sergio in mind and spirit, but it was now Kris in personality. With Kris possessing Sergio's muscular body with his mind still intact, the conditions were now set for him to complete the request Sergio made. 

"FUCK yeah, just like that!" Kris moaned. He could feel as Sergio alternated between licking, sucking, and flicking his nipple with his tongue. His warm mouth felt amazing against his sensitive nipples. Kris pressed Sergio's face down into his chest. Sergio let out a muffled groan of pleasure as he motorboated Kris. They were both having the time of their lives, filling the room with their sensual moans. 

Kris let Sergio worship his chest for a while longer before moving onto the next phases. Within the span of the next half hour, they made out passionately and intensely. Kris stuck his tongue inside Sergio's mouth as they grinded their bodies together, sharing their body heat together. Kris then began moving his mouth down Sergio's body, covering his neck and torso with hickies as he bit and sucked on his body. All while Kris had his middle finger firmly set inside Sergio's ass, massaging his hole and making him squirm while he claimed him as his sub. 

Then, before the final act, Kris tore Sergio off his body. He had a hand wrapped around his throat, lightly choking the panting young man. Sergio's eyes were lit with an intense lust, begging and desperate for more. Kris smiled internally. He had him right where he wanted him.

"Fuck, Boy!! You really know how to please your Master, I wanna give you a reward... Are you ready? Are you ready for Daddy's present for his favorite sub?" 

Sergio whispered "yes Sir, please Sir." Kris then pulled out a couple more things he brought and gave them to Sergio, who put them on enthusiastically. 

Sergio laid there with his ass perked up. Kris came up from behind and laid his big, strong hands on Sergio's perky cheeks. He massaged him first, letting Sergio's bubble butt jiggle in his hands for a bit. He then spread his cheeks apart and leaned down to stick his tongue deep inside his ass.

"Nghh..." Sergio groaned. He could feel Kris' tongue swirl and flick around inside of him and it. Felt. AMAZING. 

Kris ate Sergio out for a while, making sure his ass was nice, wet, and ready for his girthy cock. Once he had enough of using his tongue, Kris got back up and positioned himself just above Sergio. He let his dick rest in between his cheeks and moved it up and down, making Sergio squirm in anticipation. Then, with a wide grin on his face, Kris stuck his dick inside of Sergio. He let out a silent "fuck..." as he watched his cock head penetrate his bound up sub. He thrusted slowly, letting inch by inch of his fat member disappear into Sergio's hole. Kris was proud of his tight and warm hole, and now he finally got a chance to fuck himself in a very literal way. He waited a bit to let Sergio's wall expand to accommodate his dick, then began pounding away at him. 

Loud obscene moans, guttural groans, and boorish grunts filled the room as the two men fucked. Kris found the perfect rhythm to move his hips, fucking Sergio like he was a jackhammer. Sergio closed his eyes as he took the dicking down like a champ. Somewhere in the back of his head was the vague memory that he and Kris had switched bodies. The thought of getting fucked by his own body made his pleasure increase tenfold. It was his own cock stretching out his hole and rearranging his insides. It was a strange thought, but Sergio didn't care. All he could think about was how he was Daddy's personal fleshlight and how much he was loving servicing a big, strong man like Daddy. 

They fucked for a while longer until Kris couldn't hold his load in any longer. He pulled out, flipped Sergio over, tore off the jockstrap, then stuck his cock back on.

"C'MON! CUM FOR ME! COVER ME WITH YOUR- FUCKKKKK!!!!"

Kris finished mid sentence. He rammed his throbbing dick deep inside Sergio and let out all of his loads inside of him. Hearing Kris' satisfied groaning as he cummed along with the sensation of getting filled with his seed made Sergio shootout ropes of warm jizz all over. Within seconds, they had both become incredibly sweaty, potently musky, and drenched in Sergio's spunk. Sergio got his walk on the wild side and Kris completed his job.

Once they cooled down and cleaned up, Sergio collapsed onto his bed. Aside from the mind blowing sex, he was also exhausted by swapping bodies. He was a first time swapper after all, it was only natural. 

But just before he could drift away into a deep sleep, he noticed Kris was still moving around with his body.

"Hey... what are you doing?"

"Daddy's gonna go have a night out with his bros. Don't worry about it, just go to sleep."

Kris hopped into bed with Sergio. He kissed him on the forehead, snuggled with him, and watched as he fell asleep in his embrace. Sergio was way too tired to question it, and Kris was glad. Kris then hopped out of bed and let Sergio rest inside his body while he went out to complete his next assignment: find a hairy, muscle bear with a big ass. Now it was his turn to bottom, and although Sergio woke up the next morning not knowing where Master was with his body, he had no problem patiently and eagerly waiting until Daddy returned home.

[formulatrash]

from following you on twitter im absolutely certain you have (far more informed than mine) thoughts on whatever the fuck williams is doing. very interested in hearing them, if you’d care to share?

so like, from the off: I have always been a Logan Sargeant defender. people who didn't follow his junior career just saw an American, assumed he was a pay driver and didn't check any further. the guy had a better karting career than Oscar, was competitive with him the whole time they were in the same series - they were the George and Alex of their day.

sometimes those drivers fall off. Jack Aitken was, in fact, George's main rival up to F2 and then got mechachromed (or technically hewlanded) out of the running for more than a guest spot. but Logan didn't - he just ran out of money. that year in a Charouz (a backmarking F3 team struggling to score points) was when he really proved himself, especially on being solid at development and leading a team.

that was what convinced Carlin (at the time, not putting in the best showing in F2) he was worth it. and his time at Carlin was what convinced Williams. not money. Logan never had sponsors pulling the strings for him. he knew he might well not get to F1 so had already started experimenting with prototype racing, which he was good in. man was being pragmatic about how to have a career in Europe if things didn't all shake out right.

but they did (sort of) and he got the Williams seat. he was probably one of the least-prepared drivers for quite a long time, with close to zero F1 testing prior to, err, F1 preseason testing. the Williams driver academy, at the time he was in it, amounted to pretty much a gym membership. a pass for the factory canteen and some branded sweaters to wear rather than some structured programme and he'd only had one year in F2.

we know the Williams is not like, the best car. the team has had Some Issues and despite the investment from Dorilton, is still rebuilding pretty heavily. I mean remember it was (in 2023) five seasons previous that they turned up to testing like whoops, no car. our bad.

then in 2022 they had Jost Capito and FX Demaison living in a weird student flatshare while they tried to work out what the hell was going on in the team, only to both leave prior to 2023. at which point James Vowles turns up and goes my god you're running this whole team via a spreadsheet. truly, we (a team whose history includes the owner's wife, who was actually the owner, locking up the factory and telling the bailiffs to fuck off every other week for years) were so fucking back.

(if you want to read a really, really, really good book about F1 then Williams: A different kind of life is exceptional)

so yeah it's a bit of a Charouz of a seat but then Logan's flourished in that circumstance before. except you're going up against a guy whose only second-fiddle circumstance was against Max fucking Verstappen. you're an underprepared rookie and you're against someone who did at times hold his own against Max Verstappen, even as an underprepared rookie himself and he's been in the team for a year already, leading all the direction and development. fucking yikes. that's not a low-pressure seat where you're both just hoping things might work out.

saying all that because: I think Logan was given an incredibly tough gig. that doesn't mean he shouldn't or couldn't have risen to it. but that Williams seat wasn't an easy ride in his first year, where he showed he could improve when he gained momentum and confidence, something that's massively important. when things turn against you and keep turning against you, it's incredibly hard to reverse that in motorsport - just look at Daniel Ricciardo at McLaren.

and yes I know there's a lot of mad conspiracy theories that for some reason the team would want to lose points in the constructors' for the express reason of humiliating a driver they were paying an obscene amount but please let's be realistic: McL really badly wanted that one to work out. and Williams seemed to, too, in Logan's first year. they weren't babying him and he had clear targets and goals but there was a desire to see that work out for both of them.

this year that, uh. hasn't seemed to be there. I know, I absolutely know, why James Vowles felt taking Logan's car and giving it to Alex in Australia was the right thing to do. Alex had scored a point there the previous year, although it's historically not been a great track for him. that point could be the difference between 9th and 10th in the constructors - millions of dollars.

but if you want to absolutely implode your driver's brain and publicly announce you have no confidence in him then that's certainly a good way to go about it. and the thing is Australia is one race whereas Logan was supposed to be in that car for the rest of the season.

it's hard to underestimate just how much F1 teams are swayed by the media. Nyck de Vries is an incredible recent example: yes, he scored points in that Williams weekend but in the same year he was driving like absolute shit in Formula E. probably because he was so focussed on F1 but any FE journalist could have told you the guy was not, in fact, the second coming of Senna - extremely likeable, weird, idiosyncratic and actually fun to watch but far from performing at his own best let alone anyone else's.

so when he was hyped to high heaven as about to wipe the floor with Yuki there was widespread eyebrow-raising from a paddock no one in F1 cares to look at. but teams bought into it, fought over him. in a matter of races the media turned on him, shredded him and Red Bull shrugged, said they never liked him in the first place and binned him off after, realistically, exactly the performances you could have expected him to put in.

the media has never been very kind to Logan. he is a little shy, he is quite softly spoken, he doesn't go for bragadaccio and he's not particularly goofy. he doesn't insist on pointing out he's there on merit. he's quite careful with what he says, guarded. he does not like things to get weird and with the motorsport media, things so often do.

trepidation about his F2 record from people who barely tune into the races being broadcast in the media centre they're in raised questions before he was in F1. Williams' re-signing of him was deemed a bit controversial, perhaps proof the team was soft. yeeting him from his car was proof they were hard enough, in fact, that rending confidence from your driver like flesh torn off a bone is somehow a useful function of the sport, from people who a mildly critical comment would send into a 5-day spiral.

(I would know)

Logan has not performed poorly this year. he hasn't performed as well as Alex but Alex has been throwing together Lando-grade drives, as you'd probably expect given the pair of them have (close to) equal experience in F1 or at least the same number of years chewing through the gristle of it.

(why am I using so many visceral meat metaphors? perhaps 3am is not the time to write anything)

all things considered, the fact that Logan did not dissolve into a puddle of goo after Australia is commendable. he has also outqualified a fucking Red Bull multiple times. he has crashed a bit, yes, because that's what driving on the edge with an air of desperation starts to look like - when Charles did it (really a lot more) in 2020 no one thought it was because he had run out of talent.

Logan has not been driving the same car as Alex. Alex himself has confirmed this. that's, uhm, fucking dire if you're trying to fix things in the simulator because that will be correlated to the upgraded car, which is what the team is interested in. even if they load yours back in, the correlation will be steadily migrating away and they won't be too interested in what it's telling them because it's the old car.

to say that Williams lost interest in Logan early this season would be an understatement. they spent a huge amount of effort and got back a bunch of world champions to film an hour-long feature with Logan's sponsor and him. it got mentioned, like, twice? because it came out the same week Alex got re-signed.

I'm not saying re-signing Alex Albon isn't exciting. hell, I'd be very excited. but that was probably the moment I knew this was going to get horrendously messy.

James Vowles is a charming man who has lots of likeable qualities. he is first and foremost an engineer and looks for engineering solutions, something he was very able to translate to strategy. he is, however, not used to being a figurehead for an organisation.

do I think the public way JV conducted the search for Logan's replacement was fair on the team, any of the drivers involved or, especially, Logan? absolutely fucking not. made all of them look like they were taking turns in a fake taxi that instead turning into a sexy thing was a clown car with JV dressed as the Joker.

I don't honestly know how Logan kept turning up and driving through that. it's one thing to believe you can do something, anything, to prove yourself and another to know you just: can't. there's nothing left you can do. there are no other seats on the grid. time to start talking to teams in other series except if you do that someone will hear about it and then you'll be even more undermined.

I think that, when he looks back, James will realise he fucked this very badly. he obviously wants to do what's best for the team and is overruling quite a lot of sensible interpersonal stuff to do that and particularly how he should act with the media which, again, not something he's had such exposure to despite his long F1 career.

Logan Sargeant has, like his car last weekend, burned in a pyrrhic symbol of what Williams want to exorcise from their team. they want to stop losing.

but like James was saying at the start of the season, before the rush of chasing new drivers caught him up, the main problem is they need to fix the car. Franco Colapinto will not do that. he is a perfectly good stopgap replacement for someone who, yes, has probably now reached a mindset where it is perhaps kinder to not expect him to drive an F1 car.

but it will probably be more telling when Carlos Sainz Jnr is also just a driver, unless the team pulls miracles over the winter.

[feroluce]

NO OK BUT I'M STILL NOT OVER BOOTHILL AND DAN HENG AND THE JADE ABACUS IN ENA'S DREAM!!!!!

For some extra context, I have a whole henghill manifesto I wrote over here, but the tl;dr is that Dan Heng decides to use the Jade Abacus of Allying Oath to save the Express Crew the first time. Boothill urges him to think it over carefully, but he doesn't stop him. And then, the second time Dan Heng decides to use it, we get this instead:

And just! That's so!! so!!!

Because like. We see in the first battle against Sunday that that Jade Abacus is effective, like we really do just get an entire army lead by a whole-ass Emanator of The Hunt right to our location and ready to fuck shit up. It's important. It's incredibly valuable. That is a huge amount of power to hold in the palm of one's hand.

But Tiernan's relic works the same way.

Galaxy Rangers are terribly dangerous. Boothill comments on this when discussing Acheron's motives, because he can't believe anyone would be stupid enough to get The Hunt on their asses. They're considered to be on a level even above The Annihilation Gang.

And now, with the burial relic, he has a way to get thousands of them, almost immediately, and all in one place.

And you can't tell me that wouldn't be something extremely useful to Boothill, like literally life-saving. He's wanted by the IPC. He makes his living as a bounty hunter. His whole driving motivation in life right now is to do whatever he can, up to and including throwing away his own human body, to ruthlessly hunt down one man and kill him in revenge. Like that has to be dangerous, the IPC is a massive entity with far-reaching influence and money and power and weaponry. He surely must have already had some close calls.

Like can you imagine it? Galaxy Rangers are solitary creatures. If Boothill were to find himself near death, he would probably be all alone. Do you think he had regrets? Did he wonder if anyone would find his own burial relic? Did it feel the same way it did when they melted his flesh, replaced it with metal? Did he lay there with his vision slowly blacking out until he thought of home, and family, and the little daughter who he never even got to hear her first word, until he was so full of fury that he could prop himself up on his rage like a crutch and find help?

Tiernan's relic would have been like a get-out-of-jail-free card. Just for one time, no matter where Boothill was, someone would find him. The Galaxy Rangers aren't sociable or organized between themselves, but they help their own. Someone would save him.

He chooses to give all of that up to help Dan Heng.

And I just cannot get over it, especially the wording of it, the pause before he speaks, the gentle way he tells him to hold onto his once-in-a-lifetime treasure...!! He wants Dan Heng to leave this to him! He wants him to keep this precious item that will help him save his companions again in the future! And maybe it's just...wishful thinking, me reading too much into it? But I mean. Just the way he says it...

I really do think it comes from a place of deep kinship and respect. That there's a lot of thought and feeling behind that statement. Something from one Pathstrider of The Hunt to another. Boothill fought for his home and his family, he fought really really hard! But. Sometimes that just doesn't matter. And now he's watching Dan Heng fight for his, too.

When he made that decision the first time, Dan Heng was in the parlor car of the Astral Express. He was completely removed from any danger. He could have chosen to get the hell out of Dodge and not look back. Obviously we know he would never even consider such a thing, but it was technically an option, and Boothill watched him decide to go back into the proverbial lion's den for his friends anyway. And I'm sure that was part of what sealed his decision, to later use Tiernan's relic instead of the Jade Abacus to summon enough people to disrupt Ena's Dream. Because he greatly values ideas like righteousness and justice and saving people, and Dan Heng so beautifully embodies all of that and then some.

Boothill doesn't have people to protect anymore, only ghosts to avenge.

And there is just something so endlessly endearing about him wanting to help Dan Heng, to make sure his friend doesn't go through that the way he did.

[stormberry-12]

faceless // P1: the mask... take it off ~ charles leclerc x reader

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!driver!reader

includes/authors notes: language, lack of equal rights/ gender equality, readers an unknown figure in the races, fem!reader's gender assumed as male, use of "y/n".

Bold Italics are the past.

Normal Italics are thoughts or radio messages.

summary: "There is a new mysterious driver on the grid. Nobody knows who he is, the only thing we know is that he races for Red Bull with the number 66. Other drivers call him the faceless driver for none have ever seen his face or heard him speak. The faceless driver is a legend in the making and even giving Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen a run for their money…”

Come on y/n!  you told yourself. You could feel the car beneath you hum as you broke smoothly into the corner, speeding up once again on the straight. Repeating these movements over and over like clockwork, as you did laps around the track, maintaining your position in first.

Throttle.

Break.

Turn.

Repeat.

Driving in a car as nice as a Red Bull felt euphoric, the car was sleek and fast. You glided across the pavement with the perfect amount of traction, you could overtake in your sleep.

"Nice work 66, you've lapped the back of the grid. Tsunoda coming up on your right at P20." your race engineer informed.

Clicking on your voice changer and the radio you responded, "Roger, thanks Rick,"

You lapped multiple people, continuing to feel at ease behind the wheel, your race could not be going better and you were well on your way to pulling ahead of your competition in the championship standings.

But you see, that was kind of a stressor...

Your boyfriend Charles had no fucking clue you were racing, hell he didn't even know you had ever stepped foot near a car before you met him. When you got the call from Christian Horner that he wanted you on the team you were beyond ecstatic, but of course, being the first woman in Formula One, there were some hesitations.

You had never had a huge social media presence and the thought of interviews made you nervous. Not to mention the massive fan population of Formula One that you felt already stalked you enough after meeting Charles.

Voicing your concerns with your new team principal was not a problem, and to be honest it sounded like he agreed with everything you had to say. Making you feel confident about your choice, even if you had nerves going into this alone and keeping it from your boyfriend.

"I completely understand y/n," Christian said over the phone. "I think if we send you out into the media, the drivers and them will eat you alive, not saying you couldn't handle it but that is a lot of unnecessary pressure."

"Yes," you replied. "And I want to be taken seriously, I believe people not knowing I'm a woman might just make my life a whole lot easier."

"And this is why I picked you y/n, you're serious about your work and are smart about it. I think this year is going to work out just fine."

You and Christian whipped up the plan to create a mysterious persona. You would use a voice-altering device at all times, people called you 66, no interviews or media were ever allowed, and absolutely no one could know your real identity. Not even your teammate Max, who had clearly been fuming since Horner started to favor your superior driving skills on the track, without even having a name.

"Box, box," Rick quipped, pulling you out of your thoughts, that sounded about right. You were about to take the second pit of your two-stop strategy. Replacing your worn-out hards with fresh medium tires that would last you until the end of the race and warm up perfectly for fastest lap attempts.

You turned the last corner before the entrance to the pit wall came into view, slowing the car, you took a clean park just outside your garage. After a quick few bumps up and down your car was released again, rolling down the pit lane and back out into the race. That must have been the fastest pit stop of your life. You speed past a Ferarri to maintain your previous spot in first.

Holy shit, that was Charles.

You pushed the car to the max, pulling away little by little, trying to brush off the achy feeling you felt when you saw the bright red race car in your rearview mirror. But you didn't feel right and it wasn't the thought of Charles, not feeling as calm in the car as you usually did put you even more on edge. Something was off. Something was wrong.

It was taking more effort to drag the car around corners and every time you tried to break, something in your car hissed like a cat being held above water.

"Ri-ck-y, wha-at the h-ell is going on?" your masked voice shook over the radio from the tremor of your car.

"Um, looking at it right now 66,"

You knew it wasn't Rick's fault of course and he was always on top of things when it came to your needs during the race. You didn't need to panic, he would fix it.

Stay calm y/n.

Stay fucking calm.

"Oh no, once she starts quoting Micheal from The Office you know shits about to go down," your best friend Sarah cackled.

"STAY FUCKING CALM PEOPLE!" you shrieked, pulling smoking cookies out of the oven. You could hear Lando rolling around on the ground, laughing so hard he was crying.

"It's not on fire love, you're blowing out nothing..." Charles smirked, making Lando wheeze next to him. 

"Okay, don't panic 66"

"I'm not fucking panicking-"

"Oi... watch your language," You could practically hear Ricky's smirk in his voice, except he seemed uneasy.

"Ok, dad,"

"66, focus."

"Right sorry,"

"I'm going to need you to box again,"

"WHAT?"

"I'm. Going. To. Need. You. To. Box. Again."

"FOR WHAT?"

"Your left rear tire is loose, I'm sorry mate,"

You felt like you were going to scream, how the hell does that happen? The simple pit stop your crew has been doing all year, and they can't put the tire on tight.

"UHHHHH" you groaned.

"I know, I'm sorry, box this lap please,"

You drove the car as best you could around another corner, the pit lane was still about half the track away so you would have to stick it out. Charles however, was gaining on you from your slow lap times with the wonky tire. Oh boy, Charles was really gaining on you.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The car jerked to the left, and you struggled to maintain control of the wheel. The back of the car shook as you pushed it faster, you could not let Charles pass you by this much, even if you got a fresh set of tires you wouldn't have enough laps to regain pole position. The red Ferarri pulled into view beside you making your heart clench and pulse quicken.

"Leclerc trying to overtake on your right," Rick warned, "Be careful with that tire!"

Too fucking late Ricky.

The back of your car slipped, sending both you and Charles hurdling toward the barriers. You braced for impact, head pulsing, ears ringing. You tried to take a deep breath, letting oxygen into your lungs, instead, they were greeted with thick grey smoke. You could see flashes of red around you and heard people screaming outside the car, why were you still sitting there?

"Mate! Do you copy? Get the hell out of the car 66!" Rick yelled into your ear.

Both of the cars had burst into flames. You removed your steering wheel and neck guard, holding onto the halo above you in order to pull yourself out. Your boot had gotten stuck somewhere under the seat and no matter how hard you yanked on your leg, it would not budge. Your body felt weak, and muscles throughout your body shook with fear and fatigue.

The radio must have failed at some point because Rick had stopped yapping your ear off, leaving you to your own thoughts and tears that had started streaming down your face.

"Please don't advance towards the fire!" someone shouted. "Mr. Leclerc!"

Looking up you saw Charles. He had weaved himself through a part of the car that was not in flames, holding out a hand to help you. Taking his hand you both used all of your strength to pull and release yourself from the cockpit of the car. Your foot popped free and survival instinct took over, sending you both running out of the flames.

"Thank you," you mumbled, making sure the voice changer was not damaged in your helmet before speaking to him.

Charles just grunted, lifting his visor, and then his helmet from his head. He pulled off the white balaclava as well and stuffed it into the helmet. 

"What the fuck was that mate?" he asked, green eyes dark. You panicked and remained silent, to be honest, you didn't really know what you had just done. Pushing the car was one of the stupidest things you could have done with a loose tire. 

You slowly backed away, you needed to get out of here.

"Mate what-?" Charles let out an aggressive sigh as you turned away. "I saved your bloody life after you tried to end mine! The least you could do is talk it out-" he was yelling now and you just walked away. You knew you would hear all about this later anyway.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to step into the medical car," a sharp-looking woman with glasses tapped her clipboard and then pointed to the car with her pen.

You just kept walking.

"Sir!"

"What a dick-" you heard Charles say in the distance, making guilt build up in your chest.

The tears continued to fall once more as you made your way to the Red Bull garage, you were glad the heavy helmet covered your face, and that you made the deal to never remove it. You could feel the stands of people staring at you, some cheered, some booed, other people stared with looks of fear or adoration. That crash was a mixture of emotions for everyone.

The stares continued as you passed the engineers to head to your driver's room. Guilt filled you when it came to the team as well, who would spend the rest of the week getting you a new car started for next weekend's race. When you closed the door to your room you could hear whispers through the walls, everyone was pissed.

"Christian, I want to know who I'm dedicating countless hours to mate," an engineer said. "He fucking fried the car, and now I'll be fixing it for the next 5 days, I don't even know who the guy is."

Christian, who was right outside your door said, "I know Matt, I'm sorry it's just not an option right now."

"But-"

"Thank you for understanding, if you'll excuse me."

The door opened in front of you and your team principal walked in, closing and locking it behind him before he turned to stare at you. You took the hint and removed the sweaty helmet from your head, fresh air hitting your sweat-soaked skin.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, recalling the crash clearly in your mind.

"And so am I," he said, face remaining calm, "Our race control should have been better than that and your tire should not be hanging off your car during the race."

You gave him a small grateful smile, "I lit the fucking car on fire."

He let out a hoarse chuckle, "That you did. Look, I'm going to let you go find Charles, keep your cover and shit. We can talk about this later alright, there are still some things I think we should discuss."

"Okay, thank you sir," you said and once he left you slipped back into your street clothes, sleek jeans, and a black shirt. Brushing your hair into a messy bun, and trying to touch up your makeup before exiting out the back alleyway towards the Ferrari garage. By this point the race had ended and the crowds were bustling giving you a perfect opportunity to b-line to where Charles and Lando were standing.

"You need to get a girlfriend, Lando," Charles spoke, hitting his friend playfully, "How bout that girl over there?"

Lando looked to who Charles was pointing at, "Eh, maybe,"

"C'mon mateee, she's pretty. Some might even say stunning, go talk to her!"

"This morning I saw a YouTube video with a puppy riding a motorcycle. So my bar for stunning is pretty high."

"Okay, but maybe there are different bars for different situations...?"

What the fuck were you listening to?

"The bar is consistent, the only time I set the bar low is for limbo. Always keep the bar raised no matter what."

"Uhm, okay, your funeral," Charles said before spotting you, his face lit up and Lando turned over his shoulder to see what Charles was looking at.

"Look who it is!" Lando cheered. "Your girlfriend, Charles. Maybe you should focus on your own love life and not mine..."

"Where were you?" Charles asked, ignoring Lando. Pulling you into his side and placing a kiss on your head.

"Bathroom," You replied curtly, "needed to compose myself."

"Were you crying?" Charles questioned, eyes looking concerned.

"No." you grumbled, wiping away access mascara from under your eyes.

"Well I wouldn't blame her mate, you gave everyone quite a scare with that crash," Lando shrugged.

"Oh, I'm sorry baby, I promise I'm alright," your boyfriend cooed, pulling you into his chest for a tight hug. You chuckled and relaxed into his scent. Lando was called away after a few minutes leaving you and Charles alone.

"Should we head back to the hotel?" he questioned.

"Yeah," you sighed, squeezing his hand as the two of you walked to his car. He opened the passenger door for you before heading around to his side. Turning the key and pulling out of the parking lot he blasted his favorite French rap music that you didn't understand. 

"Uhh, what a day," he sighed.

"That looked like a nasty crash," you replied, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh, yeah I'm fine," Charles said, "I hate the other guy,"

You gulped at his words and tried to keep your voice steady, "Yeah, we don't even know who he is though..."

"That's also a problem, like we get it, he's good. Hell, he's amazing. But now he's fucking up other people's races by being selfish, and then hiding behind his visor because he's too much of a coward to own up for the mistakes he and his team make-"

Holy shit. Is that how people saw you? A coward?

As Charles ranted on you felt your breathing quicken, images of the crash fluttered through your mind. What would happen if Charles found out about your secret? This was the best relationship that you had ever been in, you felt genuinely loved and cared for. The butterflies in your stomach never ceased when he was around, no matter how many times he complimented you. You hadn't fully said it to him but, shit, you were in love. 

Would he break up with you if he found out you had been lying?

Was it hot in here?

"Woah love, are you okay?" Charles asked pulling you from your thoughts. "You zoned out there for a second"

"Mhmm! I'm fine!" you forced a smile.

Charles's green eyes narrowed as he frowned, "You know you can tell me anything right?" his hand reached over the console to rub your thigh, reassuringly.

"Of course,"

He leaned over to place a kiss on your forehead before he continued to drive, he continued to talk about his race, and you hummed in agreement. You had back-to-back races so another one was just around the corner, you needed to pull yourself together. Growing less anxious as the night went on, a beautiful sunset captured your attention as the colors faded behind some hills, but the word coward still screamed in your mind that night as you drifted off to sleep.

next chapter

[munsonsduchess]

Monster Smash

summary: you meet eddie at a house party and the night takes an unexpected turn warnings: underage drinking, recreational drug use (weed), face sitting, oral (f receiving), semi public sex (eddie and the reader are in a room at a frat house during a party) w/c: 977 a/n: surprise bitch! another halloween fic! honestly with the amount of ghostface content on tiktok these days it was kind of inevitable we'd end up here, i was originally just going to post the other halloween fic but this one wouldn't leave me alone

It was Halloween and you were having the worst time. You didn’t know anyone at this party your roommate had dragged you to, citing that you needed to get out more, the drinks were shit, the music was shit, honestly you were tempted to just sneak out the back door of this frat house and claim you’d met somebody if your roommate asked the next day. 

You sighed and took another drink from your lukewarm beer and pulled at the hem of the black dress you were wearing. Usually you didn’t feel self conscious in the things you picked for yourself but being, less petite, than some of your peers and wearing something your roommate had picked out so you could both wear matching costumes (you got to be the bad witch) in a room full of obnoxious frat bros made you feel slightly … less confident than normal. 

You were about to cut and run when a guy appeared in front of you wearing a Ghostface Costume,

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

“The Exorcist, 1973. A masterpiece in horror cinema” you responded without thinking. You hadn’t actually expected anyone to talk to you, after being basically ignored all night

“That’s, yeah that’s a really good pick” the guy pulled his mask off and you found yourself looking into the face of the local weed guy, Eddie Munson. 

Everyone you knew, yourself included, bought their weed from Eddie. His stuff was guaranteed to be the best and not laced with anything it shouldn’t be,

“It’s the line from the homeless guy in the subway ‘can you help an old altar boy father’ and then later on when they’re in Regan’s bedroom and she says the same thing in the same voice. Chills. Literal chills” 

“Such a good movie. They don’t make movies like that anymore, y’know? Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Rosemary’s Baby” 

“Have you seen X? Or Pearl? They have the same kinda vibes but are totally modern movies” 

“I’ve seen X. Massive Texas Chainsaw vibes” 

“Right!” 

You ended up finding a quiet corner with Eddie where the two of you could talk about horror movies for the rest of the evening. You’d honestly never really found anyone who loved horror the way you did so it was amazing to be able to vibe with someone like this. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 👻 ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The party raged on into the wee hours and by now both you and Eddie were feeling the effects of the beer and few joints you’d shared. You were feeling pleasantly buzzed and enjoying the attention of an attractive man, even if it wouldn’t go anywhere. 

“It’s so cool that you’re into horror, most people get freaked out or maybe enjoy those like conjuring movies”

“Ugh. The Warrens are the absolute worst, by all accounts they just scam people and then use their stories to write books and make more money” you gestured widely around the room, “how fucked is that?”

“Totally fucked” Eddie agreed 

“You know I almost didn’t come tonight but my roommate kinda forced me to” 

“Remind me to send your roommate a fruit basket or something as thanks then” Eddie said, “cause this is definitely a way better night than I thought it was gonna be”

“It’s so cool to meet a friend tonight” you agreed, “but aren’t you like ‘working’ the party?” 

Eddie laughed and you had to admit you loved the sound. You wondered if he would want to still be friends after the party was over,

“You’re cute. I mean sure it’s great talking like this but honestly, I saw you standing on your own and seriously couldn’t understand why cause just the sight of you in that dress had all the blood in my body run south. I mean, the fact that you’re awesome on top of being drop dead hot is a bonus”

Your brain short circuited for a moment and you couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing,

“So, you wanna get a room?” 

“Absolutely I do”

Eddie smirked wickedly at you before helping you off the couch and pulling you behind him to the main staircase and along a corridor to an empty room. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 👻 ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Sit on my face, come on” Eddie grinned at you, taking one of your hands and pulling you towards the bed. 

You followed the tug and threw one leg over the bed and balanced on your knees. Before you could even try to think about how much weight to bear down you felt Eddie grab your hips and pull you down onto his face forcefully. 

There was no way you could focus on anything but the way Eddie licked into you hungrily. His hands on your hips dug into the flesh there and you threw your head back with the intense feelings, moaning loudly. 

“Oh my god Eddie”

Beneath you Eddie made a muffled noise which you assumed was positive since he didn’t stop what he was doing for even a moment. 

You wondered briefly how he could breathe but the thought left your mind as quickly as it had arrived when Eddie’s nose brushed against your clit and you saw stars. 

Eddie continued to suck and lick you through your orgasm and the aftershocks, the oversensitivity made you want to pull away but Eddie held you firm coaxing yet another orgasm from you until your legs began to shake. Only then did he allow you to pull away and catch your breath,

“Holy shit” you panted, trying to regain some of your self control,

“That’s only the warm up act baby. It’s just you and me and no one is gonna hear you when you scream my name as loud as you want to” 

This was definitely a way better night than you’d thought it would be when your roommate forced you out tonight. 

After all what was Halloween without a few screams?

[system-of-a-feather]

Honestly I think people on here really greatly under acknowledge and recognize the large impact / large trauma that comes from intergenerational trauma from colonization, systemic racism, and not-white America centered trauma. And I know that likely has to do with how massively white tumblr dot com is, but it really isn't until I was around my writing partner that has known me for more than half my life and talking with another peer with Chinese-Indonesian background did it really occur to me how intensely pervasive intergenerational trauma due to US involvement in SE Asia is and how it plays / impacts my life.

A lot of non-America centered trauma and abuse really doesn't fall into any of the real common ways people talk about abuse, neglect and trauma because a lot of that sort of trauma is way more complex and nuanced because a lot of the nature of HOW / WHY that abuse, neglect and trauma occurred is inherently tied a lot more into a history of community / collective trauma and abuse and the ways the individuals from those areas 1) had to survive and 2) the resources that they had available to work with and 3) the inability / difficulty for individuals who are transmitting that intergenerational trauma to realize that they are not in that situation anymore and thus not unintentionally recreate the environment / mindset / trauma for the kids going on

And I'm saying "inability / difficulty" in this case because while I agree that the rhetoric of "it doesn't matter if an abuser has trauma, they could have not continued it" is true in most cases, in my experience especially with my own intergenerational trauma, some people have systemically been stripped of basically any real resources or aid or opportunity or space to really "stop the cycle of abuse" and even at their obvious BEST attempts, they still end up in a position where they systemically really can't prevent it from passing on

It was a joke - a very real joke, but that is something I appreciate with my close friends because it reminds me to check my anxieties against reality - that I "act like I still am in Indonesia" (which for the record, I have never been in Indonesia, I'm the only one in my family that hasn't because I wasn't born when they were there) as a call back to when I was commentating on the complex and dynamic financial situation my family had growing up to which my friend told me "Yeah, but it doesn't matter if you had money or not if your dad constantly lived like he was still in Indonesia" which like... 100% true

And its honestly a really fucking hard thing to work through and overcome. Factually, ON MY OWN - ie not including my fiance who is ALSO in a similar situation on his own, I am financially pretty well off. Every month I make good savings and I have a pretty fat cushion in case things go bad, and so I very much CAN afford to buy myself a $6 fidget toy, but spending that $6 feels like fucking death itself a lot of the time.

I honestly don't know if I'll ever feel as if my financial situation is anything other than broke, not because of income or anything, but just because the factual amount of money I make isn't what controls if I feel financially comfortable / well off or not. I could probably have a half million in the bank and still be sweating about spending $6 on a fidget toy.

And honestly, I was watching 90 day fiance with my friends when I was traveling, and one of the dynamics (for those that know Ashley and Manuel) REALLY made it apparent how disconnected multi-generational Americans can be towards immigrant / immigrant families that have had to come to America for a chance at a better life. It's an experience - a trauma that a lot of people who are not an immigrant themselves or a first generation American to wrap their head around and fathom.

And honestly, I wish there was more talk about it. I wish there were more people with that history talking about it.

(I 'lowkey' start venting under here so Imma put it under the cut since it detracts somewhat from the point but its also worth stating)

I wish there were more people openly discussing how absolutely fucked it is that the US gets to come into countries, INTENTIONALLY fuck it up as a CONFIRMED and ADMITTED method to 'instill democracy / capitalism', and then the same people that from the same country that the US fucked over - for PURE survival - have to immigrate for a chance of living a life that is anything other than rough and a constant struggle.

Some people really wonder why it is that our system has such a foul taste in our mouth for America, I know some people think that because before fusing, >I< wondered why XIV was so deeply and intensely bitter about all things American, and I absolutely get it.

Indonesia was literally intentionally and systemically fucked over by the US Military. That fucking over resulting in immense trauma to my dad that not only immensely translated to me, but also made him EXTREMELY subservient in a "keep your head down, lick the boots of the most powerful person, and enjoy living under the boot of those in power because its the only way to have peace" which is something we - specifically XIV in the past - had internalized deeply which is why were were pretty far down the right wing path and why - when XIV looked at it closer and immediately saw past it - flipped to hard Anti-America values. Because its FUCKED that the US gets to come and ruin a country and then have the victims come and having the same victims "thankfully" licking the boots of the US for giving them a "better life".

Its honestly awful and literally no one talks about it and I know its not just Indonesia that has this. Its the fucking US's modus operandi and its fucking awful.

The US is a place you can come "to get a better life" largely because they fucking ruined most of the other places ability to have a good life.

[fartlovingblkguy69]

Aromatherapy (Continuing a Story from Nifty.org)

A link to the story I'm continuing: https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/aromatherapy

Part 1

I waited 10 minutes before leaving. I was shaking with anticipation. i had never been so excited in my whole life. He was already pulled around waiting in a 2018 GMC Sierra Crew Cab. "Get in. This isn't a free ride by the way. You can either give me gas money or get down there and sniff my gas. It's a 30 minute drive, maybe longer since it's about to be rush hour. Your choice". There wasn't even a question. I quickly climbed in the passenger side and laid down while he rose up and lowered his basketball shorts. He was wearing stained gray boxer briefs with a wet stain on the back and a big golden brown streak going up the crack. They smelled like a sweaty toilet seat. He quickly sat down and ground his fat ass around my face until my nose was right in the middle of his crack. He reached back, spreading his cheeks and pressing down until my nose was pushing the dirty undies into his hole and his ass enveloped my face. "Ah, that's it. Your nose feels great in my nasty hole. I'm still sweaty from that sauna and I just took the most massive shit so your nose is going to have to scratch that itch." He ground his ass on my face some more as we pulled out of the parking lot. We stopped at every red light on the way to the highway. It took 45 minutes to get to his place. I could smell the fresh shit around his hairy hole and he kept letting out the worst SBDs the whole way laughing each time and rubbing it in on my nose. Finally we got there and he pulled up his shorts and got out. I sat up and made my way out as well. The house was huge and there were 3 other vehicles in the driveway, 2 SUVs and another pickup. We made our way inside and he took me straight to the living room. "I'm hungry so I'm going to make myself something to eat. Get down on the floor with your head in that seat over there and I'll be back" pointing to the comfy chair in the corner. I quickly obeyed and was waiting quietly in the dark when suddenly this handsome young man walked in texting on his iPhone Xr. He had on only a jockstrap that was bulging. He looked to be about 25 maybe and he had a perfect amount of muscle, nice arms, legs, firm pecs, with a little bit of a chiseled but bloated belly and a nice happy trail. He launched himself ass first into the chair I had my face waiting in and oh boy was it a nice one. Nice smooth golden cheeks with a very hairy crack that smelled like a long day with several unshowered before it. Once he had sat down he quickly realized there was something under him but instead of getting up he just farted loudly and wetly. PRRRBBBBBBTTTTTT. "Ah. That felt good. I don't smell a thing. Pops must have gotten a new fart cushion. Awesome! Especially after all those burritos had for lunch. The cheese and beans is really fucking my stomach up." He sat on my face for 10 minutes letting let out several sbds and loud wet releases while rubbing his sexy belly and really ground his wet hole into my face before spreading his cheeks to let out a huge shart. SSSSSSRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHTTTTTTTT. My nose was sprayed with hot air and speckles of shit "Whew that was nasty. Think I felt a little shit come out on that one. Pops will have a fit if I stained his favorite chair! He might even make me his fart cushion again! Definitely don't need that torture!" He shot up and turned around bending down to make sure he hadn't made a mess of the seat. While he did I got to see more of his handsome face. He had a perfect chiseled jaw, beautiful mischievous eyes, and a thin, long nose (think Daniel Croix with green eyes). I licked my lips as he finally got to inspecting me. "Nice. It all went on you huh, cutie? Well plenty more where that came from" He said with a chuckle. He let out a bubbling fart into the air and sniffed. "Damn that's ripe. Why don't you open that pretty mouth for me this time just to be safe. I'll try not to take a dump in it". I shuddered at the thought as I'm not into that at all. He kindly wiped my face off looking down at me with a glint in his eye. I did as he said as he turned around and spread that perfect ass open.

[kimpossibly]

⋆♱✮♱⋆ 𝘿𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝘼𝘿𝙄𝙎𝙊𝙉 𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙂𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙍𝙔 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿𝘾𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙉𝙎 !

𝘼𝙐𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙍'𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀! new theme, new obsession, new me! i'm really excited about this one. i started and finished ahs coven in a few days and holy LORD i love it. i also go to school in new orleans, so it's definitely rlly special to me :) 𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂: madison montgomery x fem!reader 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎: some nsfw headcanons toward the bottom, i'll give a warning before the transition. swearing, use of magic (reader can charmspeak), mentions of death/murder (if you've seen ahs coven you have an idea of what to expect) 𝙍𝙀𝙌𝙐𝙀𝙎𝙏: none, this is totally self indulgent haha!

𖤓 she would initially take interest in you if you were from a rich family—maybe the mob or something, maybe you guys just had money. but if we're going with the mob route, she'd ask sooo many times about the fucked up things you've seen.

"have you ever seen someone get shot?" "uh...no." "ugh, boo. what kind of mob family are you?"

𖤓 she'd kinda do what she did with zoe in the first episode—she'd find you kind of interesting and be like well. guess this is my friend now.

"i'm dangerously low on entertainment. and a roommate. i guess you'll have to do." "...thank you?"

𖤓 the first time you guys would hang out one-on-one would be when madison gets cabin fever and breaks you guys out to get your nails done.

𖤓 it's here that madison gets your whole backstory out of you, including (but not limited to) how you discovered that you were a witch, why you were sent to robicheaux's, and what powers you have.

𖤓 i imagine she'd be fascinated by charmspeak. once you tell her how it works and what it can do, she's already imagining all the things she could do if she had that ability—all the roles she'd have, all the money she'd make, all the things she could get. at that moment you become more than just new entertainment to her. you become useful.

𖤓 you'd go shopping after and she'd be grabbing things left and right. dresses, fur coats, jewelry. if she likes it even a little, she's grabbing it and adding it to the pile.

"you're seriously going to buy all of this?" "nope. you are."

𖤓 she asks you to charmspeak the cashier into giving it all to you guys for free. when you refuse, she's not angry, really, just...surprised? maybe a little confused by you. you have this insane ability to get literally whatever you want, and yet you adhere to a strict moral code? she just doesn't get it.

𖤓 while she doesn't make you use your charmspeak, she does set a small fire to distract the employees long enough to let you guys sneak out with all the stuff.

𖤓 which then, of course, results in a massive fashion show back at robicheaux's. severely disappointed by your wardrobe, madison forces you into some of the clothes from your shopping escapade, and even some of her old things. she's surprisingly generous with the amount of things she'll just give you.

"i like this one." "keep it. i wore it to the teen choice awards two years ago, so i can't be seen in it again." "says who?" "says fashion, y/n. the media. the press. rewearing an outfit is like writing 'i'm poor and irrelevant' on your head in permanent marker." "oh. of course."

𖤓 from then on, you guys are attached at the hip, so much so that nan and queenie take to calling you madison's assistant behind both of your backs.

𖤓 one weekend madison forces you to come to a frat party with her (and i mean forces—you'd been to a couple frat parties at home and hated them, so she has to do some hardcore convincing to get you to go with her).

𖤓 and going to a frat party with madison is definitely a unique experience. from the moment you step in the door, all eyes are on her—madison montgomery, the movie star. and there you are, trailing after her like a lost puppy. it's slightly humiliating, but madison does her best to be accommodating.

𖤓 and by accommodating, i mean she navigates you two to the drink table and starts pouring shots for the pair of you. you both take one, then two, and that's where you stop. madison does not. she takes a third, then a fourth, and then drags you onto the dance floor with her.

𖤓 the dance floor is where a new side of madison comes out. she dances like absolutely no one but you is there, moving around in an energetic but still graceful way. if you're not a big dancer, she'll put her hands on your hips and gently guide you to sway with the beat.

𖤓 she'll definitely get more touchy when she's drunk on the dance floor, holding your hand and moving your hair for you when it gets in your face. your faces will get so close without either of you even realizing, and then you'll burst into laughter for no reason.

𖤓 but then some frat guy would appear and start flirting with madison and she'd kind of float away to dance with him. your mood definitely takes a bit of a hit at that, but you're buzzed enough that you can dance on your own without feeling lonely.

𖤓 you keep an eye on madison as much as you can, but eventually she and the guy disappear. you stop dancing and move to look around, suddenly worried. eventually you find her, stumbling up the stairs with her hand attached to the guy. absolutely not.

𖤓 you catch up to them, stopping madison before she can get to the top of the stairs.

"hey, madi, time to go." "ha, sure. you go ahead, i'll catch up with you." "no, madi, it's time for both of us to go." "look, i get that it's past your fucking bedtime or whatever, but i'm having a good time. what the hell is your problem?"

𖤓 yeah, she doesn't take kindly to being told what to do. but she's too drunk to be going to some random frat guy's room, and you're too drunk and tired to argue with either of them. so you have no other choice. your eyes turn black as you summon your charmspeak.

"let her go, and stop trying to take advantage of drunk girls. work on trying to be a better person, take up volunteering or something. don't be a creep."

𖤓 the results are instantaneous. the guy lets go of madison's hand, muttering something about being too drunk, and heads upstairs alone. that's the first time madison's ever seen your charmspeak in action, and she's fucking furious.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?" "i just did you a favor. trust me." "bullshit! you can't tell me what to do." "technically i can, i just don't. come on, let's go."

𖤓 eventually you coax her out of the party and start walking back to robicheaux's—which is made considerably harder by the fact that madison is still very drunk, stumbling in her heels so badly that you have to wrap an arm around her waist to support her.

𖤓 she's silent on the way back, still fuming at you. but as she sobers up, she comes to a realization she wouldn't normally come to: you were right. she was way too drunk to be hooking up with a guy ten minutes after she'd met him.

𖤓 and the next thing she realizes is that you were just looking out for her. nobody ever really had before. madison had been told no very few times in her life—she used to think that was just a testament to her fame, but over time she came to realize that it just came from a lack of people who care about her. and that's when madison comes to the terrifying realization that you care about her.

𖤓 and since she doesn't really know how to say 'thank you," she gives you one of her joints for your trouble when you get back to your room.

𖤓 you share the joint in the backyard, finally having sobered up enough to enjoy a high. you stay quiet, mostly because you're worried she's still mad at you, partially because you're embarrassed that you used your charmspeak on someone, which you swore to yourself you'd never do again unless it was life or death. you were scared that madison was going to cut you off entirely. most people back home did when they realized what you could do. a voice in your head was telling you that madison was never going to speak to you again.

𖤓 so imagine your surprise when she turns and kisses you.

𖤓 you just back out of pure surprise, completely caught off guard. you have a million question but your high only allows you to stutter a huh?

𖤓 madison just laughs a bit, expertly hiding her disappointment at your pulling away. all of her television and film acting serves her well in situations like this.

"what? am i still too drunk for you?" "no, i just...what?"

𖤓 you're just so surprised. did you find madison attractive? undoubtedly yes. did you maybe kind of sort of definitely have feelings for her? also yes. but did you ever think there was a universe in which she'd reciprocate those feelings? absolutely not. so what the fuck was happening?

𖤓 the second time you guys kiss, you're the one who leans in first.

𖤓 that night, you don't do anything more than kiss (despite madison wanting to), but you do end up crashing in madison's bed in your party outfits and makeup. the hangover the next morning sucks ass, but the memories of the night before get you awake pretty quickly.

𖤓 i feel like it wouldn't be too long after that that you guys start dating. madison's never been a huge dater—she's very deeply ingrained in hookup culture, as most of young hollywood is. but when it comes to you, she doesn't think she can settle for the occasional hookup. for one, you guys are literally roommates, so you're together most if not all of the time. for another, her attraction towards you isn't just physical. she likes being around you. she likes talking to you. and because you had a moral compass, hanging around you made her feel like a better person. she hadn't had someone like that in...well, as long as she can remember.

𖤓 there'd never been an official "do you want to be my girlfriend?" type conversation. you would be out somewhere, someone would start messing with you, and madison would get in their face and tell them to leave her girlfriend the fuck alone. they'd leave, and madison would turn to find you with wide eyes and cheeks flushed pink.

"girlfriend?" "duh. is that a problem?" "nope, not at all." "good."

𖤓 i imagine the pda isn't too over the top, but it's definitely there. she'll hold your hand while you're out and about and occasionally lean in to kiss you (she thinks leaving lipstick marks on your cheek is cute). when it's just you guys in your room, she could be all over you depending on her mood. she also loves cuddling, even f she doesn't act like it. whether she wants to be the big or little spoon again depends on her mood. if you're just lying on your bed reading or something, she could just come over and lay her head on your chest if she feels like it, and you do the same to her.

𖤓 when you guys are alone she can literally be such a softie, but she will deny it to the ends of the earth. like if as a joke you threaten to tell everyone how cuddly she is she'll deadass be like "girl. who tf will believe you" and she has a point because like. no one would expect that from her.

𖤓 she's not a big user of pet names, but i can definitely see her calling you "babe/baby."

𖤓 if you have similar styles, your clothes would be her clothes and vice versa. if not, she'll still give you her clothes to wear. she just loves it when you're walking around in her shirt/dress/shorts/etc.

𖤓 also, madison can be an extremely jealous person. if you're out and someone is flirting with you, she will not hesitate to appear out of nowhere and kiss you.

𖤓 or you would make a little game out of it. for example, if a guy was flirting with you at a bar, you'd entertain him for a while, and then when he got around to asking you for your number or asking you out, you'd give an apologetic look and say "sorry, i only date celebrities," and then madison would appear out of nowhere and put an arm around you, giving the guy a smug little smile. you'd laugh about that for a while.

𖤓 you're one of the only people who can see through her "acting" in daily life. she's more confident than the average person for sure, but a good portion of her not giving a shit is acting. you become so attuned to her mannerisms that you start to recognize what's real and what's fake.

𖤓 it would be heavy grumpy x sunshine vibes with you guys. or like...bitch x sweetheart. when everyone else finally finds out you guys are together, they're so surprised. no one can fathom the idea that you, one of the nicest people at robichaux's, are dating the literal bitch supreme.

"y/n, you're...dating her?" "careful nan, you might hurt my feelings."

𖤓 and speaking of everyone "finding out," i imagine you wouldn't do some big reveal where you announce it to everyone one day. you'd both just stop giving a shit about trying to hide your relationship from everyone else.

𖤓 sometimes you really have to tell her to chill tf out...like she'll be threatening someone over next to nothing and you're right behind her apologizing for her.

𖤓 but when it comes to defending you, she will stop at literally nothing to ruin their lives. if they mess with you, they mess with her, and no one messes with her. so by extension, no one messes with you. ever.

𖤓 you'd be the first person she wants to see after the resurrected. you'd see her and run into her arms crying, and she'd say something like "jesus, calm down, i'm fine," but she's tearing up too because she thought she'd never see you again.

𖤓 you're the thing that gets her to feel again after she's brought back. it's around this time that she first tells you she loves you. you wouldn't be doing anything in particular, maybe just lying around your room and watching a movie or something, and she'd realize that she actually feels okay. and then the words would just tumblr out before she can stop them.

"i love you."

𖤓 you'd look at her, and she doesn't see surprise or fear. just a smile.

"i love you too."

𖤓 there wouldn't be a big fuss about it either, you'd both just kinda put it out there and let it be. it's so un-madison to be so chill about it, but she likes it being lowkey. you're hers, she's yours, and that's it. it's one of the only things in her life that's just simple.

𖤓 and if you somehow died? she would do literally anything to resurrect you. there is no universe in which you get to stay dead. not if she has any say in it.

𖤓 before the seven wonders, she’ll pull you aside and tell you, no bullshit, that you have to make it out. you have no choice. neither of you. she won’t even entertain the idea of saying goodbye to you because she won’t fathom the idea of either of you not coming back.

𖤓 at the end of the day, you are the one she wants to be with. whether that's alive or dead, it's you. that's something that's constant in her life.

nsfw

𖤓 in my head, madison is extremely bisexual—she's attracted to anything that's hot. in a similar vein, she never really had an aha moment when she realized she was attracted to girls, it was always just kinda there and she thought, so what? she knew realistically that she kinda had to keep it quiet when she became famous because the media could be ruthless, but she knew who she was pretty early on.

𖤓 to start, madison loves giving hickeys. it ties in with her being a jealous person—what's better than a literal physical mark telling everyone that you're hers? she'll leave them everywhere too. your neck, collarbones, shoulders, breasts, inner thighs.

𖤓 when it comes to men, i feel like she'd lean more towards being bratty/submissive, but when it comes to women? she likes to be in control, for sure. she'd like to give and receive, but she adores watching you come undone on her fingers or her tongue.

𖤓 the best way i can think to describe her is rough but gentle. like, she can be vicious with you but then lean in and whisper "are you okay, baby?" and if you say no, she'll tone it down.

𖤓 she'd also tease the fuck out of you. like, anywhere. during dinner, when you're out, anywhere. she'll put a hand on your thigh and just eeeeeease it higher and higher until your face goes red and you have to push her hand away. she'll literally laugh at you when you stop her.

𖤓 at parties, she'll be all over you while you dance. you'll be pressed against each other, moving in sync, until you wander over to the corner and you can't keep your lips apart anymore. if it's dark enough, she'll even sneak a hand up your dress. she'd be so smug if she could make you come while you're literally on the dance floor.

𖤓 or she'll just drag you to the bathroom and make you sit on the counter so she can eat you out. and then afterwards she'd just fix her lipstick like nothing happened.

𖤓 i feel like if she had an inexperienced partner, she'd be really excited to be the first to do certain things to you, or to figure out what makes you tick. and if you were anxious or nervous about anything, she'd find it soooo cute. she'd be quick to put your worries to rest, though.

"relax, baby. let me take care of you."

𖤓 but sometimes, of course, she'd be more than happy to have to take control—she'd tell you exactly how she likes it and tells you when you're doing a great job. and she is loud. she's got no shame when it comes to that. she doesn't care if people hear her moaning—in fact, sometimes she'll purposely be so loud that she knows everyone can hear her. she doesn't care if people hear how good you make her feel. she also likes seeing the way your face flushes red whenever she does it.

𖤓 she's not exceptionally kinky, but there are deffffinitely a few things she likes. she'd be into breath play and temperature play—as in, she likes choking and sucking on an ice cube before eating you out. while she can be rough, she would never do anything to actually hurt you.

𖤓 we also saw how she was when zoe walked in on her and kyle—she loves the idea of getting caught. she has no clue why, but the idea of someone walking in when she's between your legs gets her so turned on.

𖤓 she'd also give you permission to use your charmspeak on her sometimes. you're hesitant at first, but eventually you indulge her.

𖤓 she'll use a healthy mix of praise and degradation and she likes getting both back. some days you're a good girl and some days you're a slut, there's no in between lmao.

𖤓 she's conflicted when it comes to adding a third person into the mix. on the one hand, the idea of anyone else getting to touch you the way she does makes her furious. on the other hand, she likes the idea of watching/having someone else watch. you'd probably have lots of discussions about it to see what you're both chill with, and it'd probably end with you both flirting with a guy at a party and having a threesome. it's not spectacular, it's not awful, it's just fun.

𖤓 before you, madison never really understood aftercare. mostly because she never got it, so she never expected it. she was used to hooking up and leaving either right after or in the morning, so she's pretty surprised when you ask her if she wants to shower with you after the first time you guys have sex.

𖤓 taking a shower or bath together becomes the norm after you have sex, but if you're too tired you'll just fall asleep tangled up in sheets together.

[bug-bites]

west side apartment, paper plane

tw: brief non-graphic mentions of ghost going thru war stuff and ghost's backstory in the comics (changed a few details because this is fanfic. duh), slight angst (bc yk,, yearning) but sort of fluff if ghost had a dollar for every moment he spent yearning he would have enough money to retire and live a happy life away from the military, also we're pretending british chinese takeout is good, not proofread :P

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader (like always can be read as platonic or romantic)

characters: simon "ghost" riley

a/n: i hate how fucking massive the song link is but yk what its fine. but i am back and in a laufey moment!

simon has lived an interesting life, maybe he wouldn’t use interesting. if he could describe it he would probably use words like terrifying, cruel, or for a lack of better terms, shitty. from the moment he was born it seemed like misery and tragedy followed him around like a stray dog, finding its way into every aspect of his existence. his childhood home was always something he wanted to escape, or rather his father was what he wanted to run away from. there were good moments after he kicked the old bastard out, but the ever present threat of tragedy proved that it wouldn’t last. life had been cruel, dealing him possibly the worst hand possible, the only constant being misfortune, that is until you came along.

a temporary living arrangement. thats all it was. rent was a little too much for one person to afford, so you both signed the lease on a crummy, small, mixed-use apartment right in the middle of manchester. it wasn’t much, takeout dinners from the restaurant below and late rent payments were the norm but even with the busted heating, life in that apartment had never felt so warm.

after long shifts at your respective jobs he would come home, plastic bags of takeout in his hands, a sign for you to set a few blankets on the ground before both of you eat ungodly amounts of shrimp fried rice and orange sesame chicken. he could spend hours listening to you speak, nothing made him feel so at home. maybe it was the fact that the food was good and also inexpensive, or maybe it was because he was too exhausted to do anything else, but he loved those long sleepless nights spent sitting on the floor, talking about everything and nothing. simon cant imagine another time in his life when he was genuinely so happy or another time he laughed so hard water came out his nose.

he especially loved opening fortune cookies with you at the end of every meal. sure, he never believed in those fortunes but the idea was always fun to entertain. the sound of the cookie cracking open to expose the slip of paper, revealing what the future had in store for him usually filled him with a childlike curiosity. or at least got a laugh out of him.

“hah, mine says ‘there will be a happy romance for you shortly’. these things really could not be farther from the truth. bet yours is more accurate” you say, popping half of the broken cookie into your mouth “your father loves you and is always with you. remember that.” he reads out loud with a chuckle “oh. that- hm. yeah i take that back”

but the one thing he loved more than opening those silly fortunes with you or the late night dinners was after you both cleaned up the empty takeout boxes, taking the menus and folding them into paper planes. it became a sort of tradition after you got bored and began to mess around with the glossy paper that listed mouthwatering dishes and house specials. he could never get it right, one wing was always too big or his folds were clumsily made and uneven, making them practically incapable of flight but yours were the complete opposite. each crease made was perfect, every intricate pleat skillfully crafted to allow the small paper aircraft to glide through the air with ease. as you tossed your planes off the balcony of your shared flat, the sight of the plane sailing through the air as the sun set always filled the both of you with a sense of nostalgia. and of course you both picked them up and tossed them out because we dont mess w/ littering over here

simon cant help but look back at those simpler times and miss them. he knows from the start it was intended to be temporary, but he’s been through so much chaos and trauma all he just wants a quiet life where he doesnt have to be ghost. he just wants a nice warm home to come back to. it doesnt have to be big, it doesnt have to be expensive, it just has to feel like home. it just has to feel like you. its been so long since the two of you parted ways but as he stares at the last paper airplane that he kept, he cant help but wonder if you feel that way too. as he lies awake in his bed at the military base he’s stationed in, he spends those nights craving that domesticity he had with you. he recalls every memory, every minute detail that made him love that cramped apartment and maybe how he loved you even more.

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

I want to tell you about the Flash arc ever: Rogue War.

We start off in the first issue with a totally normal premise. Zoom had escaped jail and was having a romantic fling with Cheetah. The two of them were running around killing people for fun. So naturally Wally and Diana teamed up to stop this horrifying turn of events. Oh and they're also trying to stop the murders as well. Diana was blind for unrelated reasons and she lassoed Wally so that he could act as her seeing eye dog. It's all very normal.

Anyway, so Captain Cold and Captain Boomerang were all doing in-depth research on the Flash family tree. Boy, can I relate to that. Mirror Master hauled in the Turtle for the crime of being... around? I guess? And Weather Wizard found a note tapped to their door inviting the Rogues to a Rogues fight.

In the next issue the Rogues broke the Trickster out of jail and then they tried to hunt down the corpse of the previous Captain Boomerang. It didn't go so well.

Hartley showed up and kidnapped Zoom's wife which was an ABSOLUTELY BALLSY THING TO DO MY GUY. Speaking of kidnappings, Zoom kidnapped Jay because he wanted Jay to build him a cosmic treadmill.

Then we get our Rogue fight. Captain Cold, Mirror Master, Weather Wizard, Captain Boomerang and the new Trickster vs Wally's best friend (Pied Piper), Wally's childhood best friend (Magenta), Heat Wave and the old Trickster. Someone start blasting the John Cena wrestling music because I associate that with massive showdowns and this is one for the century!

But what exactly was the titular character The Flash doing during all of this, I hear you ask. Well. Wally and Linda spent this issue in the doctor's office running tests and finding out that they couldn't have children. It's all very depressing and we're going to move past it because I won't do the scene justice.

Anyway, so the Rogues were fighting each other and we find out that Hartley's team was working for the FBI. They weren't the ones who had sent the Rogues the note inviting them to a Rogue fight. No, they were just a random, convenient grouping of Rogues who happened to have a bone to pick.

Cut to issue three and Wally was at work. He heard on the news that there's trouble going on so naturally he suits up and heads out. He arrived, in the middle of the Rogue fight, and he had no fucking clue what was happening because there were about nine Rogues duking it out in the middle of the street for no reason.

Now there are three teams. The og Rogues, who want to quell the Rogue uprising and find the previous Captain Boomerang's corpse. The FBI Rogues, who have the previous Captain Boomerang's corpse and don't want to give it up for FBI reasons. And Wally, who would really like them to stop breaking skyscrapers please and thank you.

So they're all fighting and causing just an insane amount of damage to the city when all of sudden the Top shows up out of nowhere and is all "Aha! Rogue fight!!" and suddenly there were four teams in this fight. And that's not all! Turns out the Top was the one who left the note and he had his own Rogue team at his beck and call. Girder, Murmur, Plunder, Tar Pit and Double Down now enter the fight.

There were FOURTEEN Rogues all trying to murder each other and Wally was left scrambling to make sure that they a) don't kill each other, b) don't kill him, and c) don't kill any civilians. Wally did knock out Hartley at one point and then Wally brought him back to his house to crash on his couch which was very cash money of him. Wally was like "go sleep off your bad decisions and we'll talk about this over breakfast ❤️"

But yeah, Wally was straight up not having a good time. Captain Cold killed the Top and shattered bits of his body everywhere, fires were raging because Heat Wave decided to go nuts, both Tricksters were battling it out mid air with acid bombs, ect, ect.

While this is all going on, Zoom's wife found Captain Boomerang's body and he was very much a zombie. The FBI wanted a zombie Captain Boomerang for... reasons, I guess? Cap begged for death so Zoom's wife let him die. Terrible timing though because right when he died the new Captain Boomerang barged into the room. See, the new Captain Boomerang was the previous Boomerang's son and he wasn't happy to see what he thought was a random lady killing his father.

So he threatened to kill Zoom's wife.

Not a great idea.

Zoom showed up and took his wife somewhere safe. That safe place was Wally's living room because it's fucking Zoom and he does whatever he wants.

And now we have five teams. The OG Rogues, the FBI Rogues, Top's Rogues, Wally and Zoom. Why was Zoom on his own team? Why wasn't he fighting with a Rogue group? Well, before Zoom was Zoom, he was an FBI analyst who specialized in the Rogues. He hated them with every fiber of his being. Zoom's main goal was to make Wally suffer but killing a bunch of Rogues was irresistible to him. Plus, they threatened his wife.

This was apparently too easy for Wally though. I mean, fourteen Rogues and Zoom at the same time? Pfft. Come on. So naturally Captain Cold called in Dr. Alchemy to distract Wally. Dr. Alchemy apparently thought 'distract' meant 'brutally beat him' because, by god, the man did not go light on the already extremely beat up and tired speedster.

But that's not enough. No, Cold was like "This is still too easy. Call in the big guns." So they brought out Grodd.

16 Rogues and Zoom versus a man who was bleeding out on the floor. Super awesome and fair fight. You love to see it.

Bart ran in at this point and was all "you never invite me to anything fun, Wally". Because Jay's missing and Wally's at deaths door and Bart learned from Wally that you hide your emotions under a layer of sarcasm at all times. Wally genuinely thanked him for the help and, at the realization that this was so serious that they were abandoning snark, Bart responded with a genuine "you're welcome". In one of my favorite blink-and-you'll-miss-it scenes, Bart and Wally stood back to back, surrounded by Rogues, prepared to make their last stand.

Then Zoom swooped in and killed a few. Zoom said his iconic line "I don't give a shit about the Rogue stuff. This is a speedster fight now." (I'm paraphrasing) Zoom grabbed Bart and threatened to snap his neck. Bart said his iconic line "Do it. You won't." (I'm paraphrasing but not as much as you'd think). Zoom then said his iconic line of "SPKFDVL" (not paraphrasing)

At this point Zoom decided that 16 Rogues and himself was WAY too easy for Wally. So naturally he invited Eobard Thawne to the party. Eobard showed up to the fight fashionably late on a cosmic treadmill. One that had Jay chained to the hood like a dead deer.

We still have two issues left people, so buckle up because it doesn't get less insane from here on out.

The Rogues actually had pretty good survival instincts so they took Zoom's whole "speedster fight" thing to heart and they bailed. They got out of there like rats abandoning a burning building.

Wally then showed the world how smart he was and managed to free Bart and Jay. Wally then showed the world how dumb he was and fought Eobard and Hunter on the cosmic treadmill. They then started time traveling with about as much control and finesse as a drunk driver in a snow storm.

They did a hit and run somewhere in the time stream. Poor Captain Boomerang. He got knocked into the arms of Meloni Thawne in the far off future. (And that's how Bart's brother Owen was born)

Hunter's whole plan here was to take Wally back in time to force him to watch Hunter's previous vicious attack on Wally's then pregnant wife, Linda. This attack was devastating as Hunter's attack caused Linda to miscarry the couple's unborn twins. Hunter wanted to make Wally suffer because Hunter thought tragedy would make Wally a better hero.

Eobard's just there cause he likes fucking with people.

So the two of them hold Wally down to make him watch the worst moment of his life when BARRY FUCKING ALLEN SHOWS UP.

You know. The man who has been dead for years.

You see, Barry was also time traveling because of course he was, he's Barry Allen. While Barry didn't have a single clue about what was happening, Barry saw an adult Wally getting beat up and the man went into a rage. That's his KID goddammit.

Barry did his whole best dad thing and gave Wally a pep talk. Wally, for his part, was pretty chill about time traveling Barry because honestly time traveling Barry showing up wasn't really as uncommon of an occurrence as you would think. Barry then dragged Eobard back in time to kill him (not joking).

Okay we're in the end game now.

Wally kicked the shit out of Hunter and threw him in front Linda, shielding her from Hunter's attack. Hunter flipped out and tried to operate the cosmic treadmill but he fucked up and hurled himself through time. Skill issue.

Wally time traveled back to the present where him, Bart and Jay yelled insults at the retreating Rogues because the Rogues were holding them at Turtle point.

The three made a mad dash to the hospital when they heard news that Linda was Not. Okay. Linda went from not pregnant to nine months pregnant in the span of a second because Wally fucked with time. Linda was in labor and EVERYONE WAS FREAKING OUT.

And that's the story of how the West twins were born.

The End.

[genericpuff]

Just to add to the speculation: Rachel was on Twitter and instagram over the last week being really excited over how she's talking to Webtoon about LO's return date and seemed to be in good spirits, but now that we have confirmation of LO ending and her and Webtoon are now being really quiet about it, I get the impression she was expecting that meeting to be a renewal discussion but instead was greeted by Webtoon asking when she was wrapping things up with no offer of another season. I think WT was considering it since none of the S3 ads mentioned it was the last season, but they must be seeing the internal numbers and with the potential of the TV show not happening and less and less book sales, they must have seen no financial or business reason of renew it. The obfuscation both her and Webtoon are doing right now implies Rachel was blindsided by this IMO.

fucking OOF BRO

That was definitely an angle I hadn't considered, obviously it's still just speculation/tinfoil but from what I've heard about how cagey WT can be about communicating with their creators, it could very well be a possibility. That said, while it would SUCK for Rachel if that was the case, I feel like it's also something she shouldn't have been pressing her luck with for so long. TBH there's a lot of evidence to support the fact that LO has been getting "special treatment" for years now and I think a lot of that was based on the good will of how well the series performed in 2019/2020. When the series started going downhill, WT would have likely been willing to give her benefit of the doubt, but now with things going the way they are where people are clearly DONE with LO and Rachel isn't making any attempts to actually get her shit together, it would make sense if WT is just finally deciding to cut their losses.

Of course that's, again, HEAVY speculation. But I've seen series that weren't controversial or regularly criticized like LO get suddenly dropped without much warning for the creator (see: Yuna & Kawachan). The fact that LO has been going on this downward spiral for so long without any intervention or attempts to improve things just goes to show how much WT was banking on this series to succeed, especially after all of the time and money and advertising they had sunk into it. Even look at the awards that LO won this year, including the Eisner, which isn't an award traditionally won twice, lending credence to the fact that WT is buying her these awards to try and save their golden goose. It's too late to save it. It's barely managing to stay alive on life support.

If anything I hope this is a harsh but necessary lesson to WT to not undercut their other creators and series just to shove all their eggs in one basket. There are so many series on the platform that could be massive hits if WT would just extend them the olive branch and give them the same royal treatment they gave LO for so many years. There's no reason all of their resources need to go into one series, it's not a pie, everyone should be able to get the opportunity to be seen within their library. Otherwise, if for some reason WT can't allocate those resources due to the sheer number of series on the site, then that should be a wake up call to lessen the amount of titles that are being churned out into the Originals catalogue every week. To be fair, the launch weeks have lessened over the past year, they're not quite as overstuffed with launch titles as they used to be, but it's still a lot compared to what it used to be back in the day.

The reality is that LO was released at a time when the site wasn't nearly as oversaturated as it is today so it was created at the right place, right time - if it was released today, it would likely be another buried series with little to no advertising. It was a product of its time and that time is very much long gone.

[mikaswannabe]

CARLA JAEGER IN TATTOOARTIST!EREN AU.

i imagine that miss mama carla was a firehouse baby. for the first 3 years of her life she grew up w two chaotic + unstable parents that just left her at a fire station one day.

then she grew up in foster care and from 13-18 she stayed in a group home with other girls of all different backgrounds, and they felt like family even if it was chaotic.

something that she took up during her childhood was sewing. like this bitch can make anything if she got a lil fabric. and she knows how to throw deown.

she has italian lineage with a thick jersey / new york accent in my head. curves like a disney mom.

after high school she went to a community college and also took classes at a fashion school. for money, she was the most one of the most charismatic bartenders & bottle girls you could ever meet, coming home with her pockets full of tips with the help of her pretty ass face.

everybody loves carla! if you don’t, you did something wrong. she has connections to so many helpful people because everyone just knows she’s that bitch.

and where do you think eren gets his firecracker ways from? she loves a good time, having all eyes on her at clubs, but if any jerk got out of line her mouth would run off the chaiinnn, and don’t make her have to slap the piss out of somebody, because she will.

at around 21, she met grisha, who was 26 and in med school. how did she meet him? partied too hard and wound up being treated by him.

“you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re just a student. get me an actual doctor.”

“or, you could go home. deal with the massive knot on your head and possible concussion by yourself.”

fuck, she loved his accent.

“at least i won’t have to see you again.”

“likewise.”

yeah, they hooked up that night. knot on forehead and all.

she didn’t think she was gonna fall for the man, especially since he already had a kid, but then a messy 3 years of falling in love later she was pushing eren’s big head out and marrying this german man.

she worked a desk job while eren was young, but after grisha got on top of his medical school fees and started getting that neurosurgeon money, she was in her stay at home mom bag.

eren was such an troublesome bby to deal with. he would always be running around and making him sit still was a challenge. one of the only times he would shut up without even having to be told anything would be when he spotted his mom drawing sketches of her dress designs, crawling up on her lap and watching everything she did.

and something that always infatuated him was her few tattoos that he would see every now and again. like the dragon on her shoulder that had beautiful lilies drawn around it, or the butterflies on her left foot. when he got into his tattoo art talent, grisha was against it but carla embraced it, allowing him to refresh her old tats and them getting matching ones of each other’s names, his on the back of his shoulder while hers is on her arm.

as eren got older his favorite parent was evident. he loves his mom but he LOVES annoying her even more. just goes in her room and lays on her bed like “what we watching?” the amount of times she’s popped his hand for reaching into her food.

she loves her son, but she gets to that “get the fuck away from me, eren. my head’s throbbing like a fuckin’ drum with you around, god.” he know’s he succeeded when she has to physically push him out of the room.

when they’re at home it’s either, “sweetie, have you eaten?” or “get out this kitchen, you moose! i’ll throw this fryin’ pan at your skull, move!”

when ppl be like, “eren, your mom’s so nice.” he agrees, but not forgetting to say “to you guys.”

but seriously, when it came to being a community mom in eren’s grade school days, carla was it! always packing foods and drinks for kids at the games, taking them out to eat afterwards, and clearing hoes at pto meetings. that mama drama is no joke.

now that e’s in college, when other mom’s complain that they miss their baby so much, she just nods. she was glad eren got his ass out by 18. she loves her baby, but handful isn’t even enough to describe him.

she’s able to claim time for herself again, and then, she knows her son, and even with all the problems he can bring onto himself, she knows he’ll be fine.

[astxrwar]

blunt force trauma [2/x]

SYNOPSIS: traumatized!Bucky x Brainwashed!supersoldier!reader.

Rating: M

Word Count: 5k

Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence. Check out the tag "fic; blunt force trauma" for Content + ao3 chapter notes for extras if you're interested. <3

Read on AO3

[1] [ 2 ] [3]

It’s the first thing he realizes when he wakes up the next morning; he’s going to have to fix that giant fuck-off hole in the wall.

Bucky only remembers after he’d gone through the convoluted and absolutely unnecessary process of the Home Depot self-checkout— gloves don’t work on the stupid fucking touchscreens they have now, and neither do half of his fingers, which is just such bullshit, god, everything was easier when you could just hand some guy actual money and be done with it— that the government tracks his purchases. The military, technically. Parole condition, again, since they’re paying his rent and also all of his bills, and because, he suspects, him having an actual job would limit the amount of time he’s available as a state-sponsored superweapon of last resort. 

“What’d you get at the hardware store?”

Doc’s tone is light, nonchalant, and painfully fucking contrived. A nail gun, he thinks about saying, and some rope, and duct tape, and, oh— a band saw. Whatever he can think of that sounds the most like he might be planning to commit murder; just to be an asshole. But she already knows exactly what he bought, courtesy of the modern-day surveillance state dystopia that already pretty much existed even with that HYDRA mission falling flat. 

What he bought was a seven-foot oak two-by-four, a C-clamp, wood glue, and twelve 3” galvanized screws.

Nothing villainous, nothing remotely illegal , or whatever the hell these people think. That support in the wall is fucked, but he’d done some amount of woodworking, just as an odd summer job way back when he was fifteen or so, and he knows enough, he thinks, to be able to fix it on his own. Even if he doesn’t, tough shit, he can figure it out— he’s not going to explain to his fucking super why there’s a massive hole in the drywall and the beam’s been split nearly in half. No bullshit excuse he could come up with for any of that even came close to sounding like it’d be believable, and, besides, he kind of likes having something to do. Progress that’s visible. A goal that’s concrete. 

“The TV stand,” he lies. “It— broke.” He’d worked out the details while he was on the subway headed here, decided on exactly when to pause and hesitate like he’s admitting to something, the points where he’d inject some moments of performative vulnerability into it, not too much, just enough, he hopes, to get everyone off his fucking back. 

Doc’s eyebrows raise briefly. She taps her pen against the pad. “Broke how, James,” she prods, on fucking cue.

He hesitates, on purpose, and looks away from her, also on purpose, and then says, pointedly monotone, “I had a nightmare.” 

She leans forwards, just a little bit— she’s probably not even aware of the fact that she had, the way most people tend to be oblivious to their tells— and he knows she’s interested. Thinks this is something. “Walk me through how those are connected.”

The implication is pretty fucking clear, because she already knows he sleeps on the floor in the living room more often than in his own bed, and she knows that he has a temper, a violent one, one that he controls with precision except in circumstances where he doesn’t have to. Like when he’s alone. But she wants to hear him say it; so many appointments end up like this, the both of them already knowing whatever unspoken thing that’s been brought up, and her just— obsessed with the actual speaking. It’s annoying, but at least it’s fucking predictable. “I had a nightmare,” he repeats, not even having to fake the irritation, “And I was in the living room, and I woke up, and I was— in a bad mood. So I broke it.”

She writes something down on the notepad and he has to restrain the urge to roll his eyes. This is not the first time he’s talked about breaking shit when he’s angry. There is fucking– nothing new here. 

“So you’re planning on fixing it, then?” She says when she’s done, studying him. 

He grits his teeth. Again with the fucking obsession with stating the obvious. “It’s new. I don’t want to just— throw it out.”

She stares at him for a moment longer, her expression too relaxed to be vetting the merit of what he’s said; more like she’s contemplating it. Eventually she blinks and shifts in her chair, crossing one leg over another and sets the pad and the pen on the edge of her desk, seemingly satisfied. “That sounds like quite the project,” she remarks, in that tone he can never quite place, whether it’s approving or patronizing or something else altogether. “I think this has the real potential to be a valuable lesson for you, James. Fixing something you've broken instead of discarding it– it can be a therapeutic experience. It might help you work through some of the guilt you’re feeling.”

He doesn’t bother to stop himself from gritting his teeth at that; it would have annoyed him even if he hadn’t been lying.

~

Bucky fixes the beam, hammers the splintered wood back into a vaguely-straight line and seals the cracks with wood glue and attaches the new two-by-four to it with the galvanized screws; it’s called sistering, what he does, and the last time he’d done this shit was something like 1934. It’s what you do when the alternative would be jacking up the wall and tearing down the entire thing, which would be a massive fucking pain and require more tools and more expertise than he has.

He doesn’t see her again between then and his next appointment.

Doc grills him about his ‘project’ the next time he sees her and he says some stupid shit like yeah, it’s going fine, I feel better, I guess, about not throwing it out. And I was thinking I kinda don’t want to break it again, ‘cause I put a lot of work into fixing it. 

Doc looks satisfied with that. It’s not entirely a lie; he knows, now, what this kid is capable of. Next time he really will be more careful.

He makes sure, when he gets around to buying the spackle and the mesh and the paint to patch the drywall, that he pays in cash.

~

The second time she’s a whole lot more sneaky about the breaking-and-entering. 

Bucky wonders, briefly, if this is how it felt for his targets to come home and see him there, straight-backed and still like a statue, just– waiting. Not blinking, hardly even breathing, motionless and so utterly detached that it was hard to tell if he’d been there for hours, or if it had only been minutes. 

This time, he knows better than to try to get close. 

He’d been at the package store, picked up a case of beer, but she’s in the kitchen again and between him and the fridge, so he decides to just set it down by the door. He makes his way into the living room empty-handed, arms raised like last time. He doesn’t go further than the single armchair about halfway, just kind of rotates it around so it’s facing the kitchen, and sits in it. Focuses real hard on looking– safe. Nonthreatening. Whatever the fuck that even means.

“Sorry,” she says, after a while, the word kind of– slurred, like her tongue isn’t moving right in her mouth, thick and clumsy and unused to the dexterity speaking requires. “About your– wall. I didn’t– I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says, after a while. “I fixed it.”

She stares at him, for a long time, not even blinking. He stares back, unfazed.

All of this feels like the weirdest kind of deja vu– like how sometimes in his nightmares he watches himself, in the third person, like he’s an observer in his own memories, or sometimes even from the eyes of victims or bystanders, even though that’s impossible and doesn’t really make sense. That’s what it feels like, now, kind of, except where the nightmares feel visceral and frightening and have him jolting awake drenched in sweat and violently sick, right now he’s– fine.

It’s one of those nightmares, except all of the pieces are cut up and rearranged and the details are all disorganized, like somebody’s telling a story all out of order. Like the cinema, back when he was a kid; he had had this friend before he’d dropped out of high school who worked in the back room at the theater, and he’d gotten to watch, one time, and see how the movies that look like they play out as one cohesive and unbroken event when you’re sitting in the audience are really just a whole bunch of smaller reels, switched out between two different projectors to give the illusion of continuity. Right now, if this were a movie, all of those reels would be all jumbled up, and whoever’s running the show keeps forgetting how to time the switch between the projectors right; things keep overlapping, getting lost. Remixed.

“You want to maybe tell me what’s going on?” he says eventually.

“I–” She finally blinks, then, and tears her eyes away, looks somewhere over his shoulder, glassy and sightless. “I don’t– I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Bucky shifts on the chair as he watches her, leaning back, resting his elbows on the arms, trying to appear casual, relaxed, which is– not how he feels. He’s not stressed out, really, but that same thing is going on with his awareness, like the last time; everything is sharp and bright and detailed, and he’s here, he’s present, he’s not caught up in his own thoughts or in his memories or in the past, separated from everything else in his head like he’s cordoned off from it all by this thick pane of glass. “Okay, well, what do you know?”

Here is what he knows: when he’d gone back through the memory, some of the patterns she’d used when they’d fought were HYDRA, but a lot of them weren’t. He thinks she’s probably been brainwashed, but it’s hard to tell to what extent, and even harder to tell why. She knows him, and he’d bet that’s why she keeps coming back here.

She doesn’t answer the question. She still hasn’t moved, not even to shift her weight, like she can’t feel the way her body must be getting sore from standing in the same place for a while. Normal people, they fidget a fucking lot. Bucky’s not as bad as he used to be, so he moves, now, occasionally, aware of his muscles complaining if he’s stayed still for too long, but it’s infrequent enough to make people uncomfortable. 

He figures it probably doesn’t make her uncomfortable. He figures even if it did, deep down– she probably wouldn’t even know.

“You know me,” he presses, after the silence has drawn out for a long time. “You knew my name.”

She looks back at him again. Even the way her eyes move is strange, unnatural, too sharp and too sudden and too intent. People don’t realize this, either, but when they look at stuff, they never really look at it; the eyes move, back and forth, just a little bit. Compensating for the fact that the human field of vision is actually pretty narrow, filling in the bits in the periphery. When she looks at things, there’s no movement. Just this unwavering precision. That happens to him sometimes, still. 

“Do you know your name?” he asks her, and she flinches. 

That thing that he’d seen the last time, like a spark, or a glint, or something, when she’d been about to do some serious damage to herself in order to escape and he’d let her go, when she’d recognized that– it’s back. 

Absently, Bucky thinks about Romania. This apartment is way fucking nicer than the one he’d had then; a one-bedroom, new, light fixtures that all work and really great water pressure and a kitchen that’d been remodeled just last year. In Bucharest, he’d lived in a studio, with windows that didn’t latch and leaked when it rained and hot water only sometimes. 

“How about you just tell me your name,” he says, more firmly than the first time. “You know it, it’s always the first thing to come back.”

That’s not really true. The first things are feelings, but they’re fleeting and sometimes wrong. A name is a concrete thing. It’s a fact. You can write it down and you can say it aloud and you can hold onto it.

She jerks back like he’d slapped her. “How do you know that,” she replies, still flat, but wavering a little; so little that if he didn’t know , he probably wouldn’t notice.

James Buchanan Barnes. He’d carved it with a pocket-knife into the floorboards of that studio apartment, above where he’d hidden his go-bag underneath, in the spots where water damage had rotted it, made the wood soft, like carving into skin. It was insurance. To make sure he couldn’t forget. He’d stare at it, when his nightmares would keep him awake, and the letters would float out of focus and distort and stop making sense, like when you say the same word over and over, until it means nothing.

Eventually, there were other things, too. 

Your mother’s name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Bucky says. “Tell me your name.”

That spark in her eyes is bigger, flickering, like watching a candle in a windowsill. “I– I don’t–”

“You can tell me,” he repeats, louder, “You know it. You’ve said it, haven’t you? Out loud, to yourself, and I bet you’ve written it down somewhere, you know it, I know you do–”

His voice rises in volume and lowers in pitch without him meaning for it to, and something inside of her flips like a switch, that candle stops being a candle and it flashes bright and wild like a molotov cocktail or a fucking car bomb, like flames licking up the side of a building, the veneer of neutrality cracked open and something vicious and violent and vulnerable underneath and whatever of that is still left inside of him rears up to press at the surface of his skin and he thinks yes, come on, just fucking say it–

Her eyes flash and harden and her mouth presses into this trembling line and she turns and disappears down the hallway.

“Oh– god damn it,” Bucky says, the tension he hadn’t even registered collecting in his body giving out, his back slumping into the chair cushions. 

He sits there for a long time before he finally gets up and goes down the hall to his bedroom, where he stares at the open window, and then pulls it shut.

~

Bucky sleeps in his bed, that night, and not in the living room. He doesn’t have nightmares, and he doesn’t even really wake up on the hour like he’d expected to. Instead, he dreams. In his dream, he comes home to a darkened apartment, case of beer in hand, and he walks the length of the living room and he opens the fridge and sets it inside. When he closes the door, she’s standing behind it, and dream-him jerks like he’s been startled, though he doesn’t feel any actual fear.

She has a gun to his head. She’d been in civilian clothes both times he’d seen her, but in his dream she’s wearing black. Body armor.

“Sorry,” she tells him. Like she’s talking about the hole in the wall.

Her finger tightens around the trigger.

He closes his eyes.

Bucky wakes up before it goes off. His bedroom is flooded with morning light and his heart is beating slow and steady and he feels, strangely, fine. 

~

Doc stops halfway through a back-and-forth about whether or not he’d consider actually picking up woodworking as a hobby– you need hobbies, James, it’s part of being a well-adjusted human being, to which he’d flashed a not-smile and said back, I thought the reason I come here twice a month is because I’m not one, Doc.

She’d looked at him like a parent looks at a child who’s being snarky on purpose, which– fuck that, honestly. He’d been alive probably before her parents were even born.

And then she’d just leaned towards him and tapped her pen against her notebook and stared, the way normal people stare, her eyes fidgeting back and forth, not staying anywhere for long, flicking over his expression and his posture and the way that he’s holding himself in the too-small annoyingly-uncomfortable chair–

“You’re in a good mood,” she says, and then, as an afterthought. “Relatively speaking.”

Bucky scowls at her. “I'm not in a– good mood,” he says. 

She raises an eyebrow at him like she thinks he’s full of shit. “I’d like to discuss it. Your mood. Good or otherwise.”

The scowl deepens. It’s real fucking aggravating, the way that she always prefaces shit with I’d like to and let’s try and if you would as if he has any choice in the matter. As if this isn’t a session he’s forced into attending because the alternative is– many years in prison. Many. So many.

He closes his eyes for a second. He has a headache starting; he always gets fucking headaches, here. “It’s nothing, I don’t know,” he says. She stares some more, the way she does when she’s not going to say shit, the threat of talk or I’m court-ordering you back to sessions more frequently than either of us want to be seeing each other lingering unspoken in the deeply annoying silence.

Bucky makes some vague frustrated noise and then does what he usually does when she gets like this; racks his brain and makes something up. 

“I met someone,” he says finally, which is true. “They’re a veteran,” which is also true. Kind of. “I’ve seen them a lot,” not really, three times isn’t that much, but the context kind of makes it feel like it is. “And I guess I’ve just been thinking about them. We’ve started– talking. Kind of. Not really friends, but– acquaintances. We have–” he shifts on his chair, crosses an ankle over his knee, thinks, again, about how the government could buy furniture that doesn’t suck. “We have a lot in common.”

Doc blinks at him; she’d sat forwards, the way she does when she’s pressing him, and she leans back, now, which he’s sure makes him palpably relax. “A veteran,” she repeats, pensive, “World War 2?”

He scoffs. “No.” 

“Korea?”

“No.” 

She gives him this look, which he figures is something along the lines of would it kill you to just answer the obvious question here?

Bucky sighs, long-suffering. “Recent. I don’t– it hasn’t come up, but they’re pretty young, so.”

Doc makes some approving sound and nods and writes something in her notebook. He hates that fucking notebook. Sometimes he thinks about breaking into the office and setting it on fire, but the risk-to-reward ratio, he figures, just isn’t worth it. He’d probably go to prison. Or worse, he’d be sent all the way back to visits twice a week. 

“If they’re around your age–” he opens his mouth to say something technically probably obnoxious, but she shoots him a sharp look and says, “Your physical age, James,” before he can– “--it’s likely to have been Iraq or Afghanistan.”

She glances up and to the left of him– the clock. Great; they have to be almost done. “Both of those wars were– complex. Most of my clients served in one or the other,” she says. “Quite a large number of soldiers who were simply following orders found themselves responsible for the deaths of innocents; I’m not surprised you have things in common. I think it would be beneficial for you to make friends you can relate to.”

What he thinks: 

I don’t have anything in common with people who chose to follow orders. People who chose to do-- anything.

What he says, instead; “What, you want me to make friends with them?”

She sets the pad and the pen down on the table beside her chair. “This is one of those things that’s more about what you want, James,” she says eventually.

“I don’t know what I want,” he replies.

~

It’s been a week, since he saw her; she’s not there, when Bucky steps into his apartment after taking the subway back from therapy. He wonders for a second if he’d fucked up the last time, scared her off, but he knows, objectively, it’s too early to consider the possibility. Not like he could do anything about it, anyway; he doesn’t have the connections to be able to figure out who she is without a name.

That night he has the dream again. The apartment, darkened and silent. The bright, washed-out white of the open fridge, setting the case of beer on the second shelf, the inside otherwise empty. Spotless. Like a prop. Dreams are weird.

He knows what’s going to happen when he closes the door, this time. For a second it looks like there’s something red on her arm, at the shoulder, but when he looks harder for it there’s nothing, just unbroken black.

“Sorry,” she tells him, again, only this time she keeps going. “I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

“It’s okay,” he says; this is new, too. “I know. It’s going to be okay.”

Her finger tightens around the trigger in slow-motion, and he doesn't close his eyes, this time.

Bucky still wakes up before the gun actually goes off, and he still wakes up feeling weirdly calm. He prefers this, he decides, over the dreams about killing people. Dreaming of being killed– that’s fine. Better, actually.

He sits up and he swings his legs over the side of the bed– he’d been taking advantage of the lack of nightmares and the suspicious ease with which he’s been sleeping, lately, because he’s kind of getting old and his body has started to hate him whenever he doesn’t sleep on an actual mattress– and when he stretches his back doesn’t ache or twinge or crack the way it does when he sleeps on the floor.

He yawns. He rubs at his eyes until splotches of color burst behind his eyelids, and then he opens them, and he waits for his vision to unblur, and–

He zeroes in on something moving on the windowsill with an instinctive and familiar efficiency.

It’s a slip of paper, folded up and trapped between the glass and the mesh screen, fluttering gently with the breeze. It’s from a notebook, ripped out, the kind that comes from one of those slender, flimsy little pocket-sized spiral ones you can get at the dollar store, the pages inside so thin they might as well be tissue paper.

On it, scrawled in shaky, uneven handwriting, is a name.

~

He has the dream a bunch more times after that, and it's mostly the same, and then it isn't.

Stepping through the door to his apartment, stepping into an open mouth; the lights are on, this time, but somehow the room is still dark, just these glittering shards of white on the ceiling that look like sharp, gleaming teeth. He can’t see her as he rounds the counter to the fridge, and though he tries to turn his head and look, the dream body won’t obey. Just opens the door, puts the beer inside– there’s stuff in the fridge, just splotches of color that could be anything– and then closes it again.

Gun to his head. The muzzle is touching his skin, this time, which is weird, and also stupid. You don’t touch people with the gun you’re pointing at them; that’s a really good way to get it taken from you. But it’s a dream, and even though he tries to turn and disarm her, his body stays still.

“Sorry,” she says, “I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

It’s okay. I know. It’s going to be okay. He’s had this dream a lot of times, now, and so he expects–

He says the name from the notebook paper. Her name. She’d given it to him, she’d wanted him to have it. 

Her finger tightens around the trigger all at once, and he doesn't wake up, this time, but the gun doesn’t go off, either. 

It clicks. Jammed. She opens her hand, and it drops, and then it disappears instead of hitting the floor, because– dreams.

“What do I do now,” she says. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

"It's okay,” he hears himself reply. "Just-- let me help you."