#and/or you like it because it in some way reflects your own actual lived experience? so you think it's good rep then.

[jadeshifting]

— SUPERNATURAL SCENARIOS ( romance w/ Dean, sibling bond w/ Sam vers. )

˚　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　 ˚　　　　 . ★ ⋆. ࿐࿔

MOTEL RITUALS

there's truly nothing like the mundane but essential routines of the hunter lifestyle—checking into yet another sketchy motel, dumping weapons onto the bed, flipping through a dusty lore book under flickering yellow light

you and Sam bicker over who gets the room with the least stains, while Dean throws himself onto a bed with a sigh, boots still on ( you give him a rancid look for that. ) maybe you all order greasy takeout, end up patching each other’s wounds in the bathroom, or perhaps you sit in silence, loading bullets and preparing for the next day

YOU'RE BAIT

during a hunt, you’re chosen to play the bait ( yay? )—maybe for a vampire nest, a shapeshifter, or a demon deal gone wrong. Sam’s reading over the plan, looking skeptical, while Dean's smirks at you mockingly, saying, “You sure you can pull off the helpless act, sweetheart?”

of course, when the moment comes, you hold your own way better than expected—Sam's grinning and clapping you on the shoulder triumphantly, and even Dean has to gruffly admit that he underestimated you

ROAD TRIP ROMANCE

you, Dean, and Sam are on a long-haul road trip between cases, taking turns driving the Impala down empty highways at night and napping in the passenger side or the backseat

Dean teaches you how to drive Baby ( very reluctantly at first, because no one touches Baby, but eventually he enjoys watching you take the wheel. ) his hand guides yours and he directs you with an unusual calmness, the kind he really only reserves for you ( he's never been that nice to Sam when he makes a mistake driving )

you and Dean share quiet, stolen moments at roadside diners, and he always insists on ordering for you, claiming he “just knows what you’ll like.” you roll your eyes, but when he keeps ordering things that you actually like, you slowly realize he's been paying a lot more attention to you than you realized

A HUNT THAT HITS TOO CLOSE TO HOME

one of the cases you go on mirrors something from your past a little too closely—a town you once lived in, a victim who reminds you of someone you lost, a creature linked to an old trauma. you try to play it cool, but Sam notices, Dean notices, and by the time the hunt is over, you’re staring at the motel ceiling, totally unable to sleep

Dean tosses a beer at you from across the room, the cure-all that he thinks can dull the pain of anything ( works for him ) muttering something about, “you’re thinkin’ too much. can't do that with this job.” though you see the way he looks at you out of the corner of his eye, the sympathy

A CLOSE CALL

after a hunt goes sideways, the three of you barely escape. no one talks as Dean drives off into the night afterwards, the Impala cutting through the darkness and providing the only bright spot you've had this whole job. from the passenger seat, Sam’s staring out the window, lost in thought. you’re in the backseat, watching the reflection of neon lights flicker across the windshield

while Sam isn't paying attention, Dean takes the moment to reach back and rest a hand on your arm, providing some wordless reassurance after the tough few days you've had

HIGH TENSIONS

you and Dean end up in an unusually high-stakes situation—maybe a cursed object binds you two together, or a witch’s hex forces you into an emotionally charged confrontation. the point is, the tension is thick. your faces are inches apart, the heat of the moment demands something break it. Dean smirks, “you gonna stab me, sweetheart, or finally admit you wanna kiss me?”

( i'm not coming up with what happens after that girl that's all you. go get your man. or stab him. up to you no judgement here !! )

CLASSIC "HUNTER'S FIRST TIME" CHALLENGE

early on in your time hunting with them ( regardless of whether they're teaching you to hunt from scratch, or you have experience ) Dean and Sam decide to test you ( it's Dean's idea )—maybe it’s your first time handling a shotgun, setting up salt lines, or exorcising a demon. Dean's making jokes the whole time, Sam is decent enough to try to explain things scientifically and guide you

it's up to you whether you completely botch it and end up having to scramble to fix it, or get saved after your mess-up, or if you totally blow it out of the water and shock both of them with your competence

INTEL GATHERING AT A SMALL-TOWN BAR

you guys have to pull a classic hunter move—blending into a small-town bar to gather information

Dean is flirting with the bartender for leads ( and you're giving him the nastiest look out of the corner of your eye, though you're trying to act like you don't care. Dean brings you one of the free drinks she gave him as an almost-apology, though it's up to you whether you forgive him or not )

Sam is trying to stay on track ( while failing to keep Dean in check ), and you’re somewhere between the two—maybe charming a witness, maybe listening in on a suspicious conversation, maybe getting dragged into a bar fight that you absolutely didn’t start, but that Dean definitely finishes for you before you all head back to the motel

MIDDLE-OF-NOWHERE EMERGENCY

one random night, the Impala breaks down on some forgotten road, no cell service, no town for miles. Sam’s got the map out, trying to figure out where the hell you even are, while Dean is cursing under his breath as he's halfway under Baby’s hood, lamenting how this could've happened when he takes such good care of her

the forest around you is too quiet, shadows stretching unnaturally long. maybe it’s just a busted radiator. maybe someone did it, and now something is watching

DANGEROUS JOB

on a particularly dangerous hunt, you get injured—nothing fatal, but more than enough to scare the shit out of Dean. whe you wake up, you're in a motel room, bandaged up and with a dull ache emanating through your body, though it's bearable

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, jaw tight, refusing to leave your side. he’s pissed, but not at you—at the world, and this stupid job, and himself for putting you in danger. the air is thick with unspoken feelings, and when you try to joke about it, he just mutters, “you scared the hell outta me, sweetheart.”

NO ONE TOLD ME IT WAS THIS MESSY

there's a moment for you where you realize hunting isn’t just cool lore and cool weapons—it can truly be brutal

maybe this moment happens when you’re stitching up a deep wound in a gas station bathroom ( yours or one the boys' ), or dragging a body to salt-and-burn it while trying not to gag. Dean slaps you on the back like it’s nothing, Sam gives you an approving nod, and you stare down at your hands, wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into

DEAN ( JEALOUS MESS )

you run into another hunter ( maybe an ex, maybe just someone overly flirty ) who’s a little too friendly with you. Dean acts like he doesn’t care, of course, but his entire demeanor shifts—his jaw clenches, he gets snarkier, and suddenly he’s pulling you closer, his arm resting on the back of your chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world ( you know he's never done that before )

later, when you call him out on it jokingly, he doesn't laugh—he grumbles, “I just don’t like people touching what’s mine, alright?” or some variation of that

SAM ( RELUCTANT WINGMAN )

Sam catches onto your and Dean’s growing romance before either of you even admit it. he's constantly giving you knowing looks, poking fun at Dean relentlessly, and occasionally drops casual remarks like “would you two go somewhere else to do that?” while you and Dean are going back and forth, making you both glare at him

he also becomes your confidant in the whole thing—originally, he gets grossed out when you talk about his brother with him—he ends up being someone who genuinely listens when you need to talk about Dean’s walls and your own feelings

GOING IT ALONE

in a reckless moment, you decide to try to take a case on solo, perhaps in an attempt to prove something ( to yourself or to them )

Dean and Sam find out too late, and they have to race to get to you before things go south. maybe you handle things yourself perfectly fine, or maybe you don’t and they have to save you. either way, after they show up and it's all said and done, you see the fear in both of their eyes at the realization that they could've lost you, though Dean's is quickly masked with anger. “you ever do that again, I’m handcuffing you to the goddamn Impala.”

HIGHWAY CHASE

a run-of-the-mill case takes a turn for the adrenaline-fueled and cinematic—you’re flying down an empty highway in the Impala, Sam loading a shotgun in the backseat while Dean grips the wheel, radio blaring classic rock. maybe you’re being chased, or maybe you’re doing the chasing. either way, the energy is sky-high and the air crackles with the electricity of a thrilling hunt

DOMESTIC MORNINGS AT THE BUNKER

imagine a slow morning at the bunker where you're not being chased by a demon or the gods: Sam reading at the table with a cup of tea, you curled up on the sofa with your coffee

Dean walks in, his spiky hair sticking up in all different directions, grumbling about how you and Sam wake up way too early

you tease him for being lazy, he steals a sip of your coffee in retribution ( even though he has his own and he doesn't even like yours. ) Sam rolls his eyes at your playful back-and-forth. it’s rare, these quiet moments, but you cherish all of them

HEART-TO-HEARTS IN THE IMPALA

hunts are tiring—physically and emotionally—and after one particularly taxing one, you and Dean drive alone in Baby, silence filling the space between songs on the radio. Sam is asleep in the backseat with his face mushed against the window, and the road stretches endlessly ahead

you both talk about the things you’d normally never say in the daylight. he tells you about his fears, his regrets, things you've never heard him say out loud, especially not with Sam around. maybe it ends in a kiss, maybe just a promise, or maybe it dissolves into silence as the two of you mull over all the things you said. either way, it’s a turning point

A HUNT GONE WRONG

a simple salt-and-burn ghost hunt turns into something much worse. the spirit isn’t what you expected—maybe it ends up being a vengeful god, an ancient curse, or something that shouldn’t even exist. point is, it's unbelievably far off from what you were expecting

the three of you barely make it out, retreating to the Impala, covered in dirt, breathing hard, the realization settling in: “we weren’t prepared for that.” it’s a humbling moment for you guys, a reminder that even experienced hunters don’t always have the upper hand

QUESTIONING EVERYTHING

during one of your run-of-the-mill hunts, you find out that the creature isn’t evil—or maybe the real monster is human. you’re forced to make a choice, one that goes against everything hunters are supposed to do, everything you've learned so far. maybe you keep it a secret to protect the object of your hunt, or perhaps Sam and Dean find out. either way, you’ll never look at hunting the same way again

DIVE BAR CONFESSIONS

you, Dean, and Sam hit up a dingy dive bar after a hunt. Sam’s rolling his eyes at you and Dean trading flirtatious jabs at eachother, but when Dean gets up to grab another drink, Sam leans over to you and gives you that classic protective brother talk ( you're shocked, Sam's never like that )

he gives you the whole "Dean’s been hurt before" rundown ( as if you didn’t know that, come on ) and that if you’re in this, you’d better be "all in." you're wide-eyed and nodding

later, Dean finds you outside the bar under the neon glow of the overhead lights, asking what Sam said. you can feel the weight of his past in his eyes, and it's up to you whether you tell him or not

SOMETHING IS FOLLOWING US

this is a long-term arc, something has latched onto the three of you—maybe a ghost that won’t move on, a demon keeping tabs, or an entity drawn to your energy. no matter what town you’re in, it’s there. watching. waiting

you're more perceptive than the boys, and you notice that something is up. the hairs on the back of your neck stand up sometimes, you're whipping around in an empty room to check behind you, eyes flicking to the empty window, just because you feel eyes on you. the boys don’t fully believe you at first, they think you're just paranoid from hunting, but the signs are undeniable

you eventually get your big fat "I told you so," moment, and it's one of the most satisfying things in the world

˚　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　 ˚　　　　 . ★ ⋆. ࿐࿔

[batking-lich]

"i'm not like those Other People, i only consume Unproblematic Media™ with Good Representation™ and i don't like Irredeemable Media™"

"i'm not like those Other People, i don't like this Sanitized Media™, i only like Real Art™ with Bad Messy Representation™"

you are literally the same people wearing different hats the only things you disagree about are what counts as bad media and what counts as good representation

[prokopetz]

Something that pops up in my notes from time to time is folks thinking I'm being excessively kind in my criticisms of Dungeons & Dragons, and I'm going to spin this off into a separate thread to address that without putting anyone on the spot.

First, if your own critique of Dungeons & Dragons is rooted in the idea that it's the Worst Game Ever, that speaks more to the limits of your experience than it does to anything else. Dungeons & Dragons in any of its iterations is far from the worst the tabletop roleplaying hobby has to offer – like, you have no fucking idea!

Second, I tend to be even-handed in my discussion of D&D's rules because, fundamentally, the rules are not the problem – or, at least, not the principal cause of the problem.

In many ways, the indie RPG sphere has never escaped the spectre of Ron Edwards, sternly pronouncing that the mechanical process of playing traditional RPGs causes actual, physical brain damage, and that this brain damage is responsible for the bad behaviour we often observe at the table. We don't say it that way anymore, but on some level a lot of us indie RPG designers still kind of believe it.

This is understandable. As game designers, we're naturally inclined to think of problems at the table as game design problems. When we see a problematic culture of play, our impulse is to frame it as something which emerges from the text of the game, and which can therefore be mitigated by repairing the text of the game.

Confronted with the obvious toxicity of certain facets of D&D's culture of play, we go combing through its text, looking for something – some formalism, some structure, some piece of rules technology – which we can point to and say: "this is it; this is where the brain-worms live."

The trouble is, this is not in fact where the brain-worms live. Certainly, the text of a game, particularly a very popular one, can have some influence on the game's surrounding culture of play, but that text is in turn a reflection of the culture of play in which it was written. The Player's Handbook isn't an SCP object, spewing infectious infohazards everywhere when you crack open the cover – hell, I'd go so far as to say that many of the problems of D&D's culture of play operate in spite of the game's text, not because of it!

Basically, what I'm saying is that I don't see any contradiction between being the sort of pretentious knob who writes one-page indie RPGs about gay catgirls talking about their feelings (which I am), and speaking favourably about this or that piece of rules tech from whatever flavour of Dungeons & Dragons is in favour this week (which I do), because I recognise that you can't game-design your way out of a problem you didn't game-design your way into.

The fact that one of the biggest problems facing the tabletop roleplaying hobby is something that can't be repaired by fucking around with dice-rolling procedures is a bitter pill to swallow for a lot of indie game designers, and I won't say I wasn't resistant to it myself, but it's something that's both useful and necessary to accept.

(None of this means that the text of Dungeons & Dragons in any of its incarnations is beyond criticism on other grounds, of course, and I've never been shy about highlighting those criticisms where they're warranted. The only way you're gonna arrive at the conclusion that I'm some sort of D&D apologist is if you're starting from the presumption that The Real Problem Is The Rules.)

[wagpastie]

sometimes i see peoples posts that make sweeping statements about specific demographics with absolute certainty and its just like. man you truly just not have had many good people in your life huh

[allaboutthemoonlight]

How to Master Motivation

Hi friends,

Today I want to talk about motivation and finding ways to maintain it in our daily lives. Motivation is a crucial factor that drives us to achieve our goals, overcome challenges, and stay committed to our development.

Understand the locus of control

Our locus of control, internal or external, is the degree to which we believe we have control over what happens to us in our lives. It influences how we respond to circumstances that impact us and how motivated we feel to take action.

An external locus of control is when we believe that our life and the outcomes we experience are a result of external forces beyond our power. We think everything that happens to us occurs because of chance or luck—two things we can’t control.

The key to staying motivated is to develop an internal locus of control. This is when we believe that we’re responsible for the things happening to us and understand that we have control over the outcome. It’s a level of self-determination where we realize our efforts, decisions, and habits create the life we live.

So, how do we adopt an internal locus of control?

The first point I want to emphasize is that, regardless of your perception of how much control you have over your life, the amount of work you put into something is always within your control. The first step is to abandon the mindset that everything is left up to chance and, because of this, you should stop trying. You need to understand that you always have some level of power over your circumstances, even if you’ve been told otherwise:

Be more aware of the choices you make and realize there is always a choice to be made.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help or guidance from those around you.

Spend time self-reflecting and trying to understand yourself better. Reflect on previous instances where you’ve felt a lack of control and write down what could have been done instead.

Don’t be afraid to fail; it’s an opportunity to learn.

Know the different types of motivation

Next, I want to talk about the different types of motivation and how they impact you.

There are 4 different types of motivation, each with their own distinctions:

Intrinsic motivation: This is where you do something because it aligns with your values or just because it’s fun. Although it’s good to have intrinsic motivation, this type is fragile and can be undermined when we start feeling like we’re losing autonomy over our choices.

Extrinsic motivation: This is what most people think of when they imagine motivation. It’s when our motivation comes from outside of us—we’re doing something for a reward or to avoid a punishment. It’s the opposite type of motivation that you should seek if you want to be self-driven.

Introjected: This type of motivation can create resentment or tension. We do something because if we don’t, we’ll feel shameful or guilty. For example, you might go to the gym not because you enjoy it or care about the health benefits, but because you feel guilty if you don’t work out.

Identified: The reason you’re doing something is because it aligns with your idealized self. It’s something that you’ve internalized to be important and allows you to behave in accordance with your self-concept and identity. This is the most important type because it creates habitual behaviors are no longer choices. We understand our identity and that certain habits and behaviors need to be done so that we’re constantly aligned with our higher selves. For example, you might regularly volunteer at a local shelter or organization because you’re someone who values compassion and community service.

So, how can we implement identified motivation more into our lives?

Really try and understand the reasoning behind a goal you want to achieve. Ask yourself “why do you actually want this thing?”. This is also a good time to review your values and whether or not your goal aligns with them.

Constantly remind yourself about why the outcome matters to you because we often forget the reason that we started in the first place. —ex.

Like James Clear said, make your goal, system, habit, or whatever you’re wanting to accomplish more motivating or fun. Beyond that, start associating the reward with the challenge itself. If you’re training for a marathon, instead of seeing the finish line as the only reward, find or fulfillment in the training process and the discipline you developed along the way.

Adopt a positive mindset. Rather than complaining about having to workout in the morning or studying for an exam, start saying “I get to study for this exam and further my education” or “I’m blessed to have a body that works for me and allows me to exercise”. It’s all about perspective and embracing gratitude. If you put half the energy that you use from complaining into figuring out how to take the next step, you’ll accomplish a lot more.

Don’t neglect your emotional and mental health

Slumps are very real, and mental health can impact every aspect of motivation. Self-improvement and changing your life aren’t easy journeys by any means, and there will be times when stress and feelings of being overwhelmed can paralyze you. In these moments, it’s critical to take a break, a breather, or anything that can help reset your mental health. Remember to engage in activities that support your emotional needs. Not every second of the day needs to be spent doing something productive or working toward your goals. It’s okay to take breaks and have rest days; in fact, I think it’s crucial.

Reward yourself often, even for the smallest achievements. It’s not about what you completed, but the fact that you completed something at all. Spend time acknowledging your accomplishments.

Take it one step at a time and remember no action is too small. Starting small is what helps us build consistency in the long run.

Embrace positive self-talk. Avoid talking yourself into a negative spiral, as it will only make you lose motivation and put you in a slump.

Get an accountability partner. Having someone in your corner who will cheer for you and keep you accountable is a game changer.

Stay motivated, stay grateful, stay resilient.

Love,

Luna<3

[shaniacsboogara]

jojo siwa claiming she's revitalizing gay pop and releasing 'karma' on the same night as conan gray's 'found heaven' and chappell roan's 'good luck babe' is so poetically ironic. it's like the universe WANTS to draw a comparison between jojo and queer pop artists.

the thing that makes queer pop compelling as a genre is the unique storytelling and experiences of queer artists told through their music. that doesn't necessarily mean every song by a queer artist has to be about their queerness. they don't have to scream "hey i'm gay!" in every single song they write. but claiming to be "reinventing gay pop" should mean you're telling interesting stories about your queer experience, right???

'found heaven' by conan gray is about growing up as a queer kid with religious guilt and disapproving parents. he equates being in love in an authentic way to "finding heaven", and the piece as a whole resonates with a TON of queer people in different stages of their lives. some people can look back at their childhoods and how much they've grown since then, some can relate because they're currently going through what conan's written about, and some people can sympathize with the way some queer people are treated, even if they aren't necessarily queer themselves.

'good luck babe' is a song about queerness and compulsory heterosexuality. chappell sings about a woman she was in a relationship with who decided to settle down in a conventional marriage despite being queer. the song reflects the denial a lot of queer people go through (specifically regarding the lesbian experience) and the unfortunate way a lot of them end up repressing who they are to conform to societal standards. it's fun, it's campy, but its message is still poignant.

as for karma… there's nothing inherently queer about that song. the music video for the original version, ‘karma’s a bitch’ by brit smith, featured a heterosexual storyline. jojo buying the rights to a song she didn't write isn't inherently a bad thing, a lot of mainstream artists do that all the time. however, if you're claiming to be a pioneer of the “gay pop” genre and your music doesn't reflect any queer themes or experiences, is it really “gay pop”? again, queer artists don't have to write exclusively about their queerness, but if you try to present yourself as a voice for the queer community without telling any of their stories, you're not going to be lauded as some revolutionary figure. if any of the songs on jojo’s album are actually about her experience as a lesbian or contain any queer themes, then i think she'd qualify as a “gay pop” artist. but so far, she's given us a faux edgy, generic pop song and tried to market it as some insane never-been-done-before feat. and honestly, if her entire album is like this and she continues to market herself this way, it's a slap in the face to all the genuine artists and storytellers in the queer community.

but let's stop talking about jojo siwa and start talking about the incredible queer artists who are truly breathing life into the "gay pop" genre: chappell roan, renee rapp, ben platt, conan gray, girl in red, kevin atwater, baby queen, mitski, clairo, dodie, and SO MANY MORE (feel free to add on some of your favourites because there are so many wonderful artists out there <3)

also: if you have a different perspective on this situation i would absolutely love to hear what you think and if you agree / disagree with this! i love discussing topics like this so feel free to reblog with your own take

[pencil-n-pen]

Is it possible for you to expand on your overworked series w Leon? I actually loved it sm

first request !! of course lovely, hope you like it! <3

masterlist | first part | previous part

NOT SO MESSY

✮‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🧸 ⋅ ˚✮

college student! leon x college student, eldest daughter! reader

summary: things get difficult- they pile up, and the harder things get, the further you start to drift. Luckily, Leon isn’t pushed away so easily.

cw: realistic depictions of depression, reader is overwhelmed with everything, abandonment issues if you squint (not that hard tbh) leon being a very good boyfriend :)

a/n: been having a bit of a rough time recently and when this request came in i knew what i had to do

hey!! so this fic deals with realities of depressive episodes and how the room(s) we live in reflect that. i have had depression most of my life, so I’m drawing on personal experience. That being said, if you are bothered by the mentions of “gross” depressive behavior in this fic, i.e not showering, dirty plates/moldy coffee in the bedroom, or not brushing teeth, and plan on leaving a comment about how “depression is just an excuse to be gross” just don’t. scroll on past, this fic isn’t for you :)

✮⋆˙₊⋅ ୨୧ ᝰ.ᐟ

You’re hiding from Leon.

Not a good idea in the long run, because one, he always manages to find you —always— but two, when he does inevitably sniff you out, he’ll be upset for two reasons— because you’d let things get bad and because you’re hiding it.

Your room is a disaster. It’s always the first sign. Well, the first sign is usually the general unwillingness to do anything but get out of bed, sleep, or binge watch tv, but still. Half-empty water bottles litter every available surface, accompanied by papers —both unimportant and important— and dirty dishes. You don’t even want to look at the coffee cups.

It’s disgusting. You know it is. Actually, truly disgusting. There’s mold on some of the plates for Christ’s sake. And all you have to do is stop whining and just do it. But you can’t.

You can’t.

Because letting everything else get this bad is the only way you’ve managed to keep your grades intact during this episode. Something had to give— you didn’t have the energy to give to anymore. So your room fell into complete and utter disarray and you haven’t been eating well like Leon wants and you don’t even want to talk about your shower routine.

It’s bad. Everything is bad. You hate going home to your dirty, gross room, and you’re tired of being too tired to do nothing but homework, and you’re afraid of how upset Leon is going to be when he finds out.

And you’re so frustrated. Because you’re not that girl— you can’t be the girl with the dirty, messy room and the unkempt hair and the bags under her eyes who doesn’t leave the house. You can’t— you’re more than that. You’re you. You’re that girl. The girl. Beauty and brains. You just don’t know how you let it get this bad.

And you don’t know how to climb your way out.

—

Leon hasn’t been by in… awhile.

This of course, is not his fault. Over the course of this episode, as things got worse and worse, you got better and better at keeping him away.

At first, you were ashamed. You were doing so good for awhile, before everything got bad again. And then, you started worrying— you’re pushing him away, hiding everything from him, and once he realizes, he’s not going to be happy. You’re scared of losing him because you can’t keep it together.

You don’t dare to admit it outside the safety and comfort of your own mind, but you’ve really come to rely on Leon. He’s always there for comfort when you need want it. Even when you don’t know. He knows. He always does.

A hand on your thigh, squeezing to distract you from picking on your hangnails during class. A large, warm arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight to him. That deep rumble in his chest when he’s telling you something, his voice low and sliding around in your brain, making all your thoughts stick together.

And you’re not allowed to miss him. You pushed him away. You told him he was distracting you. You told him you didn’t want him at the apartment.

You’re not allowed to miss him. But that doesn’t stop you from doing it anyway.

You’re sitting on your bed, staring at the slivers of floor you can see and wishing it would all go away so you’d stop feeling so bad. You hate staring at the mess, hate seeing it— but you can’t bring yourself to look away. The shirt you’re wearing probably smells —you haven’t kept up on your laundry so you’ve been cycling through the same three shirts for around the house wear— and you can practically feel the tangles you’re getting in your hair from not washing it. You haven’t showered in awhile either. Your skin feels grimy.

Your gross. This is gross.

A loud knock sounds on your door and you snap your head up, frozen.

Only one person knocks like that on your door.

“Shit— uh, coming!”

You pick your way across the floor, stumbling over clothes and hangers and seriously, how many disposable water bottles can one person drink?

You finally reach the door and crack it open the tiniest sliver.

Leon’s staring back at you, his expression unreadable.

That’s not good. You can usually read them, nowadays.

Your eyes catch what he’s wearing- his uni sweatshirt and one of his favorite pairs of old, worn flannel pajama pants.

That’s not good either. If he’s wearing his comfortable clothes, it means he’s not leaving for awhile.

You stare at him through the crack in the door for a little while, unable to break the silence. He shifts his stance, rocking back onto his heels and putting his hands in the pockets of his pants.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You don’t respond. You begin to chew anxiously on your lip, hands going white-knuckled on the door-frame.

“Princess,” He says, and you can’t tell if his voice sounds fondly annoyed or just annoyed when he says it, “You wanna tell me what’s been going on?”

You shake your head.

“Oh? Not talking today?” He relaxes his stance a bit, “Is the reason you’ve been avoiding me the same reason you won’t let me in your room?”

You resolve begins to crack. It always does that when he’s right in front of you, every part of you longing to slot yourself into place next to him, safe and protected.

You stamp down the urge.

“I’m just busy right now Leon. I’m not avoiding you.”

“Sweetheart, I stopped believing that the second you started wearing the same sweatshirt for a week straight. You’re not well.”

“So? What does that matter to you?”

“Do you really need me to answer that?”

It becomes a competition then- who’s gonna look away first. Leon’s staring into your eyes, clearly cataloguing your face, that unreadable expression still in place. You meet his gaze right back, wondering how long it will take to get him to break.

He doesn’t. He must find whatever it was he was looking for in your face though, because he smirks, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“You’re not going to outlast me, princess.”

You sag, frustrated. “I just…”

You suck in a breath, rushing all the words out at once.

“I’m ashamed and I don’t want you to see it.”

He blinks. “Your room?”

You nod. “It’s… really bad. I let it get really bad.”

“No,” He starts slowly, taking a step towards the door. “You don’t let things happen, baby. Sometimes we can’t help how bad things get.”

“But I—“

“No but’s. You’re overwhelmed. Of course some stuff is gonna fall through the cracks.”

You scrub a hand over your face and immediately regret it, the feeling of your unwashed skin grating on your already frayed nerves. “It’s gross. I haven’t showered and there’s mold in the coffee cups—“

“Don’t care.”

“But you should. It’s disgusting, Leon. I’m—“

“Hey now,” He says, voice hardening. “Don’t finish that sentence. Now, answer one question for me: do you want to keep living in your room like this?”

“No! But I can’t—“

He shrugs. “Then I’ll help you clean it.”

He says it so easily. Like it’s not a gross, hard task that he shouldn’t have to do.

You shake your head. “You don’t have to, really—“

“I want to.”

The words go straight to your chest. Warmth begins to pool and spread where they struck, tendrils curling around your fingers and throat.

“Why?” The word is lodged in your throat- you barely manage to get it out.

“Because you’re my girl,” He says, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his warm ones brushing your chapped in a kiss so gentle you almost wouldn’t feel it, if not for the press and heat of his face. “And when my girl needs —or wants— something, she gets it. Especially when it comes to help. Okay?”

Tears begin to well unbidden in your eyes. “Okay.”

You open the door wider, stepping back and letting him see into your room. It all feels raw— you’re like an open, exposed nerve. Letting him see your room is a bit like cracking your chest open and letting him see all the messy, bloody, ugly bits that keep you going.

He steps into the room. Pauses. Looks around. Looks at you.

“You wanna do this?”

You nod, biting your lip and hunching in on yourself as he takes in the mess.

“Baby,” He says slowly, stepping into your space, sliding his hands across your waist, “What do you need from me?”

You press your face into his shoulder, breathing in deeply.

“Come on. Use your words.”

“Can you just��“ You step back, “Can you please just… sit? On the bed? I just, I just need—“

He strokes a hand over your cheekbone. “You need me to sit on your bed and tell you you’re doing good?”

You can’t help the whine that builds in your throat. Not really.

“Mmm. My poor baby.” He presses a light kiss to your forehead then walks away, sitting and immediately making himself comfortable on the sliver of open space on your bed.

He reaches for your bedside table, opening a drawer and pulling out the headphones he knows you keep there.

(You keep them there because he bought them for you. Your old headphones were falling apart but did the job just fine —most of the time— but Leon wouldn’t stand for it. The next day, you’d opened your door to a brand new, incredibly expensive pair of headphones you’d brought up wanting maybe once. So when you’re not using them for studying or walking to and from classes on campus, they live there. Safe.)

“You know listening to music makes you more productive,” He says, extending them out to you, “Leave one side off, so you can hear me.”

You take the headphones, sliding them on and powering them up- though not without leaving one ear uncovered. You put on one of your more upbeat playlists- something to keep you moving.

It’s slow going at first. Since the trash and dishes are what makes the room feel the grossest, you start with them first. Wrangling the dirty coffee cups and water bottles and other various forms of trash into the trash bag is an arduous promise, and more than once you have to tell Leon he might want to cover his nose.

He remains where he is, scrolling idly on his phone and occasionally putting it down just to watch you clean. After a few moments of staring, he’ll pipe up with a comment:

“Keep it up, princess.”

“You can do it.”

“I’ll be right here if you need a anything.”

The last one is by far the most tempting offer.

Once you’ve finished getting all the trash and dishes out —the room not only feels and smells one hundred times better already— you move on to the bigger part of the project: the clothes. They’re everywhere. And they probably all need to be washed, but doing that many loads of laundry is—

“I’ll take them to the washing machine if you sort them.”

You jolt, not noticing him standing next to you.

“You don’t—“

“Start with that pile over there. It’s the biggest. Everything else will feel easy once you finish that part.”

While you (begrudgingly) begin tackling the pile, he cues up a t.v show on your laptop, then hooks it up to your monitor so it plays on a bigger screen. Then he leaves the room, giving your shoulder a squeeze as he walks by you.

(He’d given you the monitor too. He’d told you that he upgraded and didn’t need his old one anymore, but the monitor was in suspiciously good condition. But you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how guilty the amount of money he spends on you makes you feel.)

You slip your headphones off, putting them back in the drawer and use the ambience of the show you’ve seen ten-thousand times and the now available space on the bed to sort clothes in a relatively timely fashion.

You’re starting to slow down a little, a headache beginning to form behind your eyes right when a delicious smell hits your nose and the door opening signals Leon’s return.

“I bring sustenance for the princess.”

He holds two plates of grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches. One with ketchup, and one without.

You snatch the plate with ketchup and devour the sandwich in seconds, making a grabby motion for the water bottle tucked under his arm.

He chuckles, but obliges, sitting down at your desk to tuck into his own sandwich. You go back to your folding, headache miraculously waning and energy renewed. Go figure. After a few minutes, Leon disappears with the plates and then reappears with an empty laundry basket.

You wordlessly point to a pile, engrossed in the show he put on as “background noise”, folding and sorting clothes as you go.

And so bit by bit, your room gets cleaner, and cleaner, until Leon’s taken the last of the loads down to the washing machine and you’re making your bed and you’ve got an entire season of the show under your belt.

It’s long been dark outside, and you’re making your bed now, fluffing your pillows and laying your plushies in their respective spots.

Leon comes up behind you, draping his body over your back, hands over your shoulders and chin resting on your head.

“Looks good in here, princess. I think you deserve a little reward.”

You hum, leaning back into him. “For what? Needing help to do a basic thing?”

“For being vulnerable,” He drops his head to your shoulder, burying your face into the crook of your neck, “So proud of you, baby. You were so brave.”

Your stomach is doing backflips. “You don’t have to baby me.”

“M’ not babying you. You were brave. And I am proud of you.”

He wants to curl up in bed with you and keep watching t.v, but you insist on showering first. You’re gross and you just washed your sheets.

Feeling happy, you grab one of your nicer, cuter pairs of underwear, taking your time to lather your good smelling body-wash and enjoying the warm spray. Your enjoy the shower once you’re in it. It’s just getting in that’s hard.

When you get out of the shower, you notice that the oversized shirt you were going to wear was replaced with Leon’s sweatshirt. The one he spent all day in.

You smile to yourself, throwing the clothes on and rushing out to cuddle up in bed with Leon. The second you touch the bed he’s dragging you to him, face finding the free inch of space between your neck and the top of your sternum. He takes a deep breath, warm air fanning over the soft skin there.

“You smell so fucking good.”

“Mm,” You hum, already growing sleepy in his hold, “Your sweatshirt smells like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s really good. And comfortable. I’m sleepy.”

He chuckles, pulling the blankets up over the both of you and planting a soft kiss to your forhead.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

You fall asleep surrounded by warmth and safety. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

ˑ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

[lackadaisycats]

Why does Fablepaint draw such mean spirited art of Rocky. Is it a personal sense of humor kind of thing? Or does disturbingly mean spirited art the only way for FablePaint to draw this character. Is it possible for some more lighthearted and optimistic stories regarding Rocky to show up anytime soon? I’m not saying this to try to be offensive or aggressive, I just think the world’s depressing enough, why make the fictional world sad as well. I do love the comic, I just wish it was happier.

I don't think Fable's art of Rocky is especially mean-spirited. At least no more so than mine has been. Rocky has always been a character with a knack for getting himself into trouble. I do know that Fable likes Rocky and finds various aspects of Rocky's personality and circumstances pretty relatable. I think a lot of what you're seeing actually comes from a place of affection, and maybe even a little bit of vicarious self-deprecation. I will tell you from my own experiences, this is very common among creators (myself included). A character may not be an intended self-insert of any sort, but you inevitably still end up with bits and pieces of yourself reflected therein. And in many ways, you're also inevitably sorting out some turmoil close to your own heart through the character and the story they inhabit.

-----------------

About the broader topic of sad things in fiction... Yeah, the world is harsh, cruel, and unfair even at the best of times, but I don't think art that fully disregards this does much service to anyone. The most fluffy, pastel-colored, marshmallow-mild media will still tend to present us with some conflict, because that's how a story manages to resonate. It's hard to convey something meaningful about human resilience, or abiding love, enduring friendship, confronting inner demons, triumph over injustice, or about the absurdity of living without acknowledging the darkness. Even if you're just writing something to make light of the implacable dark, it must be there for you to laugh at.

I think it's fine to use fiction as a temporary retreat from your own real life concerns. And I think it's fine to have comfort characters who you turn to when you need some uplifting. There are a lot of really sweet and lovely fan-works featuring Rocky out there that are much gentler with him than Fable or I will be. You can stick with those! That's okay! But canonically, he's part of a story about a tumultuous time in history, and a tumultuous time in his own troubled life. He's a flawed character surrounded by other flawed characters. He's willfully taken on the role of a violent criminal, in fact. And though I don't think the story of Lackadaisy is without happy, silly, lighthearted aspects, it's not only that. I can't change that without undoing everything I've been working toward. I hope that's understandable.

[david-talks-sw]

"The Acolyte" wasn't 'woke' propaganda.

I had my issues with the show (you can check out my other posts to see what they were) but there's this notion that The Acolyte was created to spread The Message™ of "woke propaganda"... and I think there's a bit of a mix-up going on, there.

Because that's simplifying things a lot.

When you're a minority, you're not "being woke" when you're just being yourself! Conversely, you're not "writing to be woke" when you're a minority drawing inspiration from your personal experiences to tell a story.

I talked before about how George Lucas implemented elements of his personal life in his own films. In his own words:

"There's no way to write without writing from yourself. Y'know, the stuff gets made out of things that you care about… whether you've actually lived them or not. There are emotional issues that you deal with, and I think that's always a major factor with any writer. I don’t think— it's hard to write without having some kind of emotional connection to the material. I've never seen any reason not to. It’s easy to write that way. It's hard to write in the abstract. So when I write a scene, I write a scene that moves me or I care about, or is something that is personal to me." - George Lucas, Q&A with Lynne Hale, 1994 (StarWars.com)

Any piece of writing worth some salt needs to come from a personal place to some degree because that's where the heart of the story, the truth, lies. That's what an audience will relate to.

Example: The six original Star Wars films are purely George Lucas. As in, everything in those films, from the characters, to the cinematography, to the editing style, etc are all a reflection of who George is as a person and what he stands for:

anti-Vietnam / "fight the corporate & imperial machine"

60s-70s white kid from Modesto, California

single father of three

who defines himself as Methodist-Buddhist,

has an anthropology major and

a passion for Kurosawa,

cinema vérité,

cinema history in general

art and visuals and

car racing.

You see all that in those films.

Same thing with The Acolyte.

Leslye Headland drew from her personal experiences.

Among other things, Leslye is gay. So that's what she uses as inspiration to, for instance, craft Qimir's character motivation.

"I was on the treadmill being like, “What is [Qimir] gonna say?!” And my wife, who is a huge part of my creative process, finally she said, “What do you wanna say? Stop thinking of it like you have to somehow tap into a different guy.” [...] I was like, “I wanna say that people don't want me to exist as a gay woman, as a woman in this particular space, working in this wild sandbox.” There was a whole crew of people who believed in me, but deep down, I felt like, “I am unaccepted for who I am because of what I believe in and wanting to wield my power the way I'd like without having to answer to the legion of people that just exist out there.”" - Leslye Headland, Collider, 2024

She took this specific life experience of hers, and then made it more universal, so that a bigger audience could relate to it.

"By the way, I think everybody feels this way. I think that's why it resonates when you're honest about yourself, and you get personal about it. When [Qimir] says, “I want freedom,” that's what I want. I just want freedom. I want to be able to just be out there and be myself and be the type of artist I want to be without having to answer to anybody." - Leslye Headland, Collider, 2024

Same goes with Osha and Sol's relationship, or how she defines the Jedi Order. It derives from her own relationship with her father and how she felt being raised straight, in a Christian household.

If you have the time, listen to this audio clip where she describes that.

In the context of the whole interview, her voice goes down a few octaves and starts to crack a bit. This is a vulnerable moment, when she's talking about it... and it's this experience that she turned into fuel for her writing of Sol and Osha's father/daughter bond.

"There's this thing that's called benign sexism, and part of it is this paternal protectionism — it seems like this good thing, but like you said, there's this, “I have to protect you from everything. I have to make sure you're okay. I have to tell you what track to get on, and then once you're on that track, I need to support you.” Ultimately, what happens is — again, this is a father-daughter relationship — as women evolve in their lives and develop their own personalities separate from their fathers, at some point, they have to reject that protectionism. [...] She cannot stay a little girl or an adolescent or young adult. She has to, at some point, say, “I reject what you have told me I need to do to make you proud, to follow in your footsteps.” She has to do that." - Leslye Headland, Collider, 2024

Now... if we're talking consistency with the themes in Lucas' Star Wars, then yeah, The Acolyte misses the mark.

The Jedi Order isn't the patriarchy or the Catholic Church. They're more like Buddhist monks, George has stated so multiple times.

The Jedi teachings aren't narratively meant to be the same traits found in toxic masculinity or benign sexism.

When a Jedi tells you to be mindful of your emotions, it's not meant in the "boys don't cry" sense.

When they talk about letting go of attachments, it's not meant in a stoic "don't get emotionally involved" sense.

Anakin too, the whole point is that he's wrong, the narrative frames his fall to the Dark Side as his own fault, it's not meant to be perceived as a failure in upbringing.

But she's not the only one who does it. Filoni does it too, a majority of fans have this take on the Jedi.

And because of her experiences, I can see why her takeaway would be that. Same goes for Filoni, they're products of their generation, upbringing and experiences.

My point is:

Leslye Headland is writing from a personal place, when she's writing The Acolyte. It's partially informed by her politics because - like she quotes, "personal is political" - but when it comes to the writing of the show, it's personal first and foremost.

What this was, was a Star Wars fan (arguably the nerdiest one we've had so far, in terms of creators) putting all of herself in the creation of a show that perfectly reflects who she is and what she stands for, resulting in:

a story about growing past your father's paternal control and accepting that our guides aren't infallible,

where her wife holds a role and gets to wield a lightsaber,

a show about taking corrupt religious institutions to task

about the Sith and the Dark Side

and questioning the unquestionable

and exploring whether the good are really so good and if the bad are really so bad.

This was a project written from the heart, and regardless of whether the resulting art found its mark, I think it's important to note that it wasn't written to spread a propaganda message in some "pro-woke holy war" or whatever the hell the YouTubers are peddling.

[sincerelykimii]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?

𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺， 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵．

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴， 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘺．

𝐀/𝐍: 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺！

Growing up, you always felt a sense of detachment from those around you. Your parents were preoccupied with their own struggles, leaving you to navigate your emotions alone. As a result, you built walls around your heart, finding it easier to keep your feelings hidden rather than risk vulnerability. Friendships and relationships were challenging, as you often seemed distant and aloof. Despite your longing for connection, the fear of getting hurt kept you emotionally unavailable.

When you joined the avengers, you had a hard time connecting with the others. The first couple of weeks you were cooped up in your room keeping to yourself, often finding yourself reflecting on your past life, mirroring the experiences and emotions you once lived through. Whether it was the way you approached relationships or handled adversity, your past life served as a constant reminder and guide. This mirroring allowed you to draw strength from your history, using it as a foundation to build a better future while remaining deeply connected to your roots. Over time you slowly started to join the conversations, showed up at events, even staying for movie nights.

After years of feeling like you were constantly on edge, you finally found a sense of calm. The anxious thoughts began to quiet down, and you felt a newfound sense of control over your emotions. The once overwhelming stressors in your life seemed more manageable, and slowly you approached each day with a serene confidence, bringing a deep sense of inner peace you longed for.

That was until you met Bucky.

You truly didn’t have a problem with him, you found him almost intriguing. His cold demeanor, his attitude, his attractive features. You felt drawn to him. Until you finally drew him out. His snarky comments, his shameful teasing, the pure hatred in his eyes when you walked in the room. Lowering your walls was already hard enough to overcome, but letting in the hatred that spat from his lips wasn’t what you were expecting whatsoever.

You had always been sensitive to the harsh words and negativity thrown your way, but over time, you learned to block out his antics, keeping your calm personality you’ve built. Constantly reminding yourself of your strengths and the small acts of love received from those who truly mattered.

———

You walked into the gym, finally getting some alone time to work out in peace. Well, you thought you did.

There he was. Shirtless, lifting an overly weighted bar over his chest. You didn’t pass up the opportunity, letting your eyes travel down his toned abdomen. That didn’t last long, because as soon as your eyes met his, it felt like the air shifted completely. He was up within seconds, walking over to you. Great.

“Leave.” he practically growled.

You let out a scoff, setting your bag at one of the weight machines, “I didn’t know you owned the gym?” Your retort, your words dripping with annoyance. His eyes flash with just as much annoyance dripping in your tone. He takes a step towards you, his voice dropping an octave lower.

“I don't own the gym, but I make the rules here. And the rule is, you leave.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing spare weights placing them on the bar. Does he hear how stupid he sounds? Like actually. What kind of comeback is that? “I don’t know who you think you are, but you have no right to try and boss me around.” your tone is calm, you didn’t want him to think he can get under your skin so easily, and you surely didn’t want to provoke him. You weren’t mentally prepared for another unnecessary argument. You simply throw your headphones on, not wanting to hear any more of his ‘rules’.

You start your work out, pushing the heavy bar above your chest then slowly back down, letting your arms really feel the weight. Your music plays almost eardrum shattering loud, almost forgetting about Bucky.

Almost.

He finds himself watching how you smoothly handle the weight, his initial anger turning into something more... admiring. His usual sharp tongue stays silent for once, caught off guard by your calm defiance. Instead of chasing you out, he walks closer, deliberately trying to disturb your peaceful workout.

Pushing the bar above your chest a final time, you Finish your set. You glance up, looking into the mirror taking a double take as you see bucky standing too close for comfort. You lower your headphones, letting them fall around your neck before turning to face him. “Did you need something?” You ask, brows furrowing in confusion. You could already hear his sarcastic tone coming from a mile away.

"Need something?"

He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest, still standing uncomfortably close. "I thought I already made it clear you weren't welcome here." Despite his harsh words, there's no real malice behind them now, just pure curiosity on how you'll react.

He wanted a reaction out of you, and you refused to let him get one.

“I’m not going to argue with you.”

Bucky narrows his eyes suspiciously as you abruptly change tactics, his usual confrontation tactic failing miserably. He uncrosses his arms, unsure how to proceed without getting a reaction out of you.

"So, what? You just gonna ignore me?"

You nod at him through the mirror, hands lingering on your headphones, “That exactly.” You say, sliding your headphones back on your head, starting your next set. As you take the weighted bar in your hands, the weight feels lighter than before, almost like a weight being lifted off your shoulders. That weight in question being, Bucky.

He eventually walks away, going back to his own workout. He looks…upset? Usually the two of you would be biting eachothers heads off, but now it’s, peaceful, almost too peaceful. The rest of your workout goes smoothly, no sharp remarks, no bickering, just peace. That’s how you liked it, well you thought you did. Something in the back of your mind, was screaming at you to go and talk to him. The other part telling you to leave him alone.

You began packing your bag back up, glancing over every so often at Bucky, his expression still a frown. Maybe you were too harsh? You leave the gym, taking a final glance at Bucky, his eyes meeting yours briefly before looking away.

Bucky’s head was spiraling just as much as yours, maybe even worse. He watched you pack your bag, your quiet, care free workout making him realize how much he feeds off of the arguments. He sees you look at him multiple times, your expression unreadable. He unconsciously unclenches his jaw when you finally leave, his frown deepening. He had always struggled with expressing his feelings, just as you did. Especially when it came to the person he found himself heavily drawn too. Instead of telling you how much you meant to him, he found himself teasing and picking on you. It was his way of getting your attention, but deep down, he knew it wasn't the best approach. He admired you from afar, wishing he could find the right words to show his affection.

———

A few hours later, you found yourself rummaging through the fridge for what felt like the hundredth time. Just as you reached out to grab something, the door closes almost catching your nose. “What the fuck.” You spat out, jerking your head back.

Once again, there he was. Leaning against the counter, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips. "Language," he chastises lightly, his tone teasing rather than scolding. He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an unreadable expression.

You roll your eyes opening the fridge again, grabbing a pre-made caeser salad Peter picked up for you at the deli. “Do you ever get tired?” you ask, opening the salad, taking a bite.

“Of what?”

“Being a pain in my ass.” you retort, chuckling softly.

He laughs unexpectedly, throwing his head back slightly. "No," he answers simply, uncrossing his arms. He watches you eat, his smirk softening. "You know what's funny?" He adds suddenly. "You never seem to snap at me anymore." He watches your expression shift, mesmerized by your beautiful features. "You're always calm," He points out thoughtfully, his voice lower than usual. "Like nothing gets to you."

He unconsciously mirrors your action, leaning back against the counter again.

"Do you ever get mad?"

Instead of finding a healthy way to communicate, you often let her frustration and anger take over. You would lash out at those around you, even when they had done nothing wrong. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" You snapped at your friend, who was only trying to help. It was your way of coping, but it left you feeling isolated and misunderstood.

You set your fork down, suddenly losing your appetite. “Not really, you don’t get under my skin as much as you think you do.” you say, sliding the bowl towards him.

He raises an eyebrow, taking the bowl from you and sitting on the counter instead. He starts eating the salad, his mind reeling with questions. "So you're telling me that none of my jokes, or pranks, or constant bickering bothers you?" He asks incredulously.

You shake your head, leaning further against the counter. “I like to think you just like me so much, the only way you think you can talk to me is through those insults.” you reply calmly, knowing just how to get under his skin. You can see his jaw tighten slightly, though there's a flicker of amusement in his eyes at your calm confidence.

He swallows a bite hurriedly, trying to maintain his composure. "You think you've got me all figured out, don't you?

“You didn’t deny it.”

For a split second, his eyes darken with something more than his usual teasing - a mix of frustration and awareness. Then he covers it with a smirk, "Just because I don't deny something doesn't mean it's true," he says.

“Well it stands, till denied.”

He chuckles, taking another bite before speaking. "Fine, I'll deny it. I don't like you, and I only talk to you through insults because I hate your calm, annoying personality." He says, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Your lips curl into a grin, “Lying is a sin Barnes.” you retort, a full smile on your lips now.

He rolls his eyes, but he can't help the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Every time you smiled, it was as if the world around him lit up. Your smile had a way of reaching your eyes, making them sparkle with a warmth that melted his heart.

“And what about you, huh? Always so perfect and put together.” He says, his eyes trailing over your face.

A quiet scoff leaves your lips, “No one’s perfect. Fake it till you make it.” you say, shrugging your shoulders.

His eyes narrow slightly at your words, a hint of vulnerability flashing in their depths before he masks it with a scowl. "Fake it till you make it, huh? Is that what you're doing with your whole perfect act?" He challenges, his tone a bit sharper than before.

You nod, eyes focusing anywhere but his, “yeah.” you coo, softly. Your tone wasn’t as playful anymore, it’s was vulnerable, it was...real.

This obviously didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky.

His scowl deepens, his mind reeling with questions. He's crossed a line, he can tell by the way your voice has lost its usual teasing tone. He swallows hard, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you're really faking it. He can see it now - the way you won't look at him, the way your shoulders have tensed up. He's hit a nerve, and he hates that he feels a strange sense of satisfaction from it.

Before he could say anything, you jump off the counter. “Goodnight.” you say, before dissapearing to your room.

His jaw tightens as he watches you retreat, his mind racing. For the first time in a long time, he feels like an actual asshole. "Shit," he mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair. He knows he's hurt you, can feel it in his gut.

———

The sun came shining strong through your window, illuminating your face. Tossing and turning trying to avoid it, your eyes eventually flutter open taking in the light. You layed in bed longer than you usually would, finding yourself daydreaming about what it would be like to experience true love. The kind of love that made your heart race and your soul feel complete. You longed for someone who would understand you in ways no one else could, someone who would stand by your side through the highs and lows. You yearned for the gentle touch, the shared laughter, and the comforting silence that only one could bring. Finally getting up from the place you enjoyed most, you enter the kitchen pouring coffee into the mug Tony got you for Christmas. ‘Be Happy!’

How ironic.

Bucky hears the soft footsteps down the hall, his eyes watching as you enter the kitchen. He notices the dark circles under your eyes, the tight lines around your mouth.

"Morning," He grunts softly, testing the waters.

You glance over at him, a small smile tugging at your lips, “Mornin.” you coo, voice still gravely from sleep.

He nods, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment longer than necessary. He wants to say something, anything to break the tension between you two. But he's never been great with words, especially when it comes to emotional shit.

"You...uh...look tired."

A small chuckle leaves your lips, before taking a sip of the caffeinated drink. “Thanks.” you mumble, leaning against the counter. Your hair is a mess evident you just awoken, still in your pajama pants hanging low on your hips, paired with a black tank top. He looks you up and down, taking in the sleep-mussed hair, the worn-out pajamas, the way you lean against the counter. There's something about the picture that makes his chest tighten. He sets his own coffee down, moving to stand next to you.

"You okay?"

You nod mimicking his movements, “Yeah, not really a morning person.” Lie. You loved the mornings, just not particularly…this morning. Something about last night hit a nerve, shifting your whole mood. He raises an eyebrow at that, his gaze lingering on your face. He knows a lie when he sees one, and right now, you're practically screaming it. "Liar," he says bluntly, his voice low. "You love mornings. Always have."

Your eyes widen slightly, shocked he knew that. “Someone’s been paying attention, you’re only proving my point from last night.” you retort, taking a long sip of your coffee, loving the feeling of your body warming up.

He tenses at the mention of last night, his jaw clenched tight. He knows he fucked up, knows he hurt you with his careless words. "I'm sorry about last night," he says gruffly, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I was an asshole."

You simply brush it off shrugging your shoulders, “It’s fine.” you mutter. He frowns slightly at your dismissive shrug, knowing full well that 'fine' doesn't necessarily mean fine. He leans in a bit closer, trying to maintain eye contact. "It's not 'fine'. I was a prick, plain and simple. Didn't mean to make you feel like shit."

Your heart tightens at his words, an unfamiliar flutter making itself present. “It wasn’t you, just…not my day today.” You weren’t lying, although he was being a real ass last night, he wasn’t the full reason to your mood change.

He watches you closely, buying your excuse. He knows you're not a great liar - your nose wrinkles when you do it. "You hungry?" He asks instead, changing the subject. He's not an idiot, he knows there's something off about you today, but he won't push. You shake your head, setting your mug in the sink. “No, I’m gonna go shower. I’ll see you later Bucky.” You say before disappearing back to your room.

He watches you leave, a furrowed brow and a heavy heart. Something's definitely off with you, and it's bothering him more than he cares to admit. With a sigh, he turns back to the coffee maker, pouring himself another cup. He has a feeling he's going to need it.

———

An hour or so later you emerge to the living room, finding Bucky reading a book, settled comfortably on the sofa. You smile softly at him as he meets your eyes. Grabbing another caeser salad from the fridge, you open it immediately digging in. Thank god for Peter. He looks up from his book as you enter, his eyes following you as you move to the fridge. He watches as you pull out the salad, his eyebrow raising slightly. "That's the second one of those you've had in two days," he comments, setting his book aside.

You stuff another mouthful past your lips, shrugging your shoulders, “It’s so good.” you mumble, a hand coming up to cover your mouth.

He grins slightly, watching you eat. God, you're like a guy when you eat. No lady-like small bites for you. He watches your shoulders, seeing them tense up slightly. "You do this when you're stressed," he realizes softly.

“What?” You mutter.

"Eat like that."

Your eyes widen in shock once again, for someone who hates you, he sure notices a lot of small details. “Barnes if you didn’t pick with me every other day, I would think you’re in love with me” you say casually.

He almost chokes on his own saliva, shocked at your teasing tone. His face flushes slightly red, and he clears his throat roughly. "Fuck off," is his immediate response, trying to keep his voice casual, but his eyes betray him. "Just stating fact." He adds.

Your lips tug into a smirk, his response telling you everything you needed to know. “Once again, not denying it.” you retort, laughing softly.

He rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. "You're delusional," he mutters, trying to play it cool. He hates that you can read him like an open book.

You coo a soft, almost sarcastic,“uh huh.” stuffing another bite of salad in your mouth. I gotta thank Peter when he gets here. Finally tossing the empty container, you make your way to the couch opening your own book to read, before putting on your headphones. The music is painfully loud, blasting John Wayne, just how you liked it.

He watches you from the corner of his eye, noticing your choice of music. Cigarettes after sex- predictable. Then again, it suits you. His jaw ticks slightly at how damn cute you look with your headphones on. Focus, idiot. You're supposed to hate her.

The song plays peacefully through your ears, the soft singing easing all your thoughts. You glance up at Bucky to find him already looking at you. offering a warm smile before returning back to reading your book.

He catches your smile, feeling his heart skip a beat and internally curses himself. Your warm smile does something to him, things he can't fucking ignore anymore. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, then abruptly stands. "I'm going for a run," he mutters, grabbing his coat.

You look up at him, a confused expression all over your face. “It’s raining…? Just wait, I’ll go with you.” you mutter, jogging to get your own coat. It’s not like you had anything better to do.

He nearly tells you to stay inside, but seeing your determined expression stops him. Instead, he tightens his jaw, trying to ignore how his heart does that stupid flutter thing again. "It's fucking pouring," he argues, partly hoping you'd change your mind. "You'll get soaked."

You roll your eyes in response as you slide your coat on, “So will you, someone has to make sure you don’t slip.”

He scoffs, but secretly smiles at your stubbornness. God, why does she have to be so- fuck, stop thinking like that. "I'm not some damsel in distress," he grumbles, stepping out into the rain.

“Sure act like one.”

He hears your whispered comment and his eyes narrow slightly. He's about to retort when he realizes the cold rain is seeping into his bones. Fucking hell. He quickens his pace, hoping to get this over with. "Just keep up," he calls back, his voice muffled by the rain.

“Yeah, yeah.” you mumble, jogging not too far behind him. You can hear his hushed ‘hurry ups’ so you quicken your pace reaching him, just as you do you miss a step almost tripping. You close your eyes preparing for the fall.

Without thinking, Bucky's hand shoots out reflexively, catching you before you face-plant onto the slick pavement. His arms instinctively wrap around you, holding you steady against him as rain pouring down both of you. He blinks, momentarily stunned by how perfectly you fit against him.

Your arms wrap around his body instinctively, the rain pouring down soaking your hair. His arms wrapped protectively around you make your heart flutter, “Thank you.” you whisper, faces inches from his.

They found themselves wrapped in each other's embrace, completely unaware of the feelings that had blossomed between them. The world around them seemed to fade away as they held on tightly, seeking warmth and comfort in each other's arms. The rain soaked through their clothes, but they didn't mind; the closeness they shared was all that mattered. They looked into each other's eyes, feeling a connection that words couldn't describe, yet neither of them realized that was love.

Bucky's breath catches in his throat, his eyes searching yours for a long moment. The rain pounds around you both, but he barely notices, captivated by your proximity. His grip on you loosens slightly, yet he doesn't pull away. "Careful," he murmurs, his voice rough. You nod, pulling away from his embrace. As soon as you do, you regretted it. His touch is warm, fitting, nearly perfect.

“We should go back, if I get sick, I’m gonna kill you.”

Bucky can't help but smirk at your words, despite the cold biting into him. He falls into step beside you as you both head back, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Yeah, yeah, blame it on me if you catch a cold,"

You snort out a laugh, placing your hands in your own pockets. “Oh I will.”

———

You prayed you didn’t get sick, really prayed. But with your luck, it was bound to happen. The next day, you woke up chest burning, and nose stuffy.

“I’m gonna kill him.” You mumble, a cough following.

Bucky on the other hand was perfectly fine, not an single thing wrong with him. He was heading to the kitchen for a snack, but stopped abruptly hearing coughing down the hall. He freezes, listening intently. "Shit," he mutters, spinning on his heels, heading towards your room. He tiptoes to your door, pushing it open slightly. As the door opens, you’re already looking at him, standing there, your face flushed red and your eyes watery from constant sniffles. Irritation written all over your face. He crosses his arms, trying to look stern. "You sound terrible," he states, his tone unintentionally softening slightly.

You shake your head, walking closer to him, “Thanks.” you mumble, pushing him aside so you can open the door. You enter the kitchen, grabbing a bottled water immediately taking a long sip.

He watches you grab a bottle of water, only to have to suppress a smirk as you stagger past him, clearly irritated. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed as he observes your attempt to hydrate dramatically.

"Feel better?"

You send him a glare, before setting the water down. “If I had the energy, I would -makes a stabbing motion- you right here.” you say, before flopping on the sofa, curling into a ball. He chuckles at the threatened gesture, finding it hard to stay annoyed at you when you're sick and grumpy like this. He sits down beside you on the sofa, turning on the TV to distract himself from your miserable presence.

"You're so dramatic when you're sick,"

You roll your eyes, if it wasn’t for his little dramatic episode you wouldn’t be sick. You reach for your headphones instead met with air, you curse softly under your breath. “Can you go to my room, and grab my headphones, please?” you coo, sweetly.

He raises an eyebrow at the sudden sweet tone, knowing full well you're buttering him up to get what you want. He gets up reluctantly, heading to your room to fetch the headphones. He returns a minute later, tossing them onto your lap. "Here," You catch them, swiftly putting them on.

“Thanks hun.”

Bucky blinks, momentarily taken aback by the endearment slipping so casually from your lips. A faint blush creeps up his neck, quickly masked by a scowl. He flops back down on the couch, stretching his legs out. "Yeah, whatever,"

You hum to the song, immediately feeling better, eyes glancing at Bucky every so often.

Ever since that day in the rain, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he held you, how he looked at you, something about it had your head spinning and you’re slowly getting dizzier and dizzier. It was in the quiet moments, the ones where words weren't needed, that you finally realized your feelings. As they sat together in comfortable silence, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace and belonging. It was the way he understood you without needing explanations, the way his presence alone could calm your restless mind. In that moment, you knew that what you felt went beyond friendship or admiration—it was love.

As you continue to glance at him, Bucky starts to notice. He catches your gaze a few times, furrowing his brow in confusion. After a while, he reaches out and gently removes your headphones, setting them aside. "Hey, you okay? You look kinda pale."

You nod, despite the uneasy feeling in your stomach. Maybe it wasn’t just your head getting dizzy…you rush to the bathroom, throwing up everything but those damn feelings. A few minutes later, you returned back to the living room, flopping on the couch. He watches you rush to the bathroom and return looking worse than before. He sits up straight, his brows furrowing in concern. "You're still sick," he states the obvious, reaching for the remote to pause the TV.

You groan, looking up at him. “No shit, captain obvious.” you retort.

He ignores the sarcastic remark, his mind more focused on the fact that you look worse by the minute. He gets up, standing over you. "You need to drink more," he insists, heading to the kitchen to grab another bottle of water. For the first time, you comply sitting up against the sofa. You take the water bottle from his hands, taking slow sips.

“Thank you.”

He freezes slightly at your genuine 'thank you'. He's so used to your snarky remarks that this catches him off guard. He watches you carefully, noting the dark circles under your eyes and your faded complexion. "You hungry?" He asks softly. "Like, actual food?"

You nod, another unfamiliar flutter in your chest. You’ve must of got it bad, the sickness is affecting your heart. Right?

He nods, pleased with your response. It's a small victory, but he'll take it. He heads to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge. After a moment, he emerges with a bowl of soup and some crackers. "Chicken noodle, okay?" Your eyes light up, the warm soup clouding your senses. “I think you’re going soft on me Bucky.” you say, your words dripping with sarcasm. You raise the spoon full of warm broth to your lips, quietly sipping it. Your body immediately relaxing.

He rolls his eyes at your teasing remark, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't get used to it," he mutters, watching you sip the soup. Seeing you relax, even slightly, brings an unexpected warmth to his chest. "It's just soup."

It’s more than just soup, the thoughtfulness behind it warming your heart, he’ll never truly know how much this meant to you. You eat slower than usual, savoring the broth, the taste making you feel all cozy inside. As you eat, Bucky settles back onto the couch, his gaze lingering on you. He tells himself it's just because he's making sure you eat, nothing more.

You glance at Bucky catching his baby blues staring, you squint your eyes at him, “Do I have something on my face?” you say, as he practically stares into your soul, it’s kind of sweet actually.

He quickly looks away, running a hand through his hair. "No... just making sure you're actually eating." He tries to play it cool, but his eyes keep drifting back to you. "You're usually not this quiet." He adds, trying to break the unusual silence.

Heat rushes to your cheeks at his words, since when did he care? And why is it making you feel all warm inside. Are you gonna die? “I’m usually not sick, but thanks to somebody.” you mumble playfully.

His smirk returns at your mumbling, he can't help but feel a strange warmth at the fact that you're blaming him for your sickness. "Yeah, yeah, blame the guy taking care of you." He teases back, leaning against the armrest. You smile softly, picking the almost empty bowl up in your hands, placing it in the kitchen. As you return you grab the remote out of Buckys grasp, changing it to a rom com.

Sick days equal Romantic Comedy’s. I don’t make the rules.

Bucky's eyes widen in surprise as you take the remote and change the channel. He watches as a cheesy rom-com starts playing, his initial annoyance quickly turning into a soft smile. "Seriously?" He asks, his voice a little quieter than usual. “Yup.” you reply, popping the ‘P’ dramatically before taking your seat next to Bucky on the sofa, trying to siphon his warmth.

Bucky shifts slightly as you snuggle up next to him, trying to ignore the sudden surge of warmth flooding through him. He clears his throat, looking away from the mushy scenes unfolding on screen. "You do realize these movies are all lies, right?"

You gasp turning to look at him, “Not cool Barnes, they’re real to me.”

He chuckles, his arm instinctively draping behind your body, resting on the sofa. "Oh, come on. You can't seriously believe in all that sappy love stuff, do you?" He asks, his voice a little softer as he looks down at you. You meet his gaze, pondering for a moment. You’ve never really seen it first hand, but you like to believe you’ll experience it one day. Cuddling, romantic dinners, taking care of eachother when you’re sick…kisses, chocolates for Valentine’s Day. You wanted all that sappy love stuff. “I do.” you say almost too soft.

His expression softens slightly as he looks at you, seeing the dreamy look in your eyes. He swallows hard, pushing down the strange feeling in his chest. "You really believe in all that stuff? The grand gestures, the love at first sight, the happily ever after?"

You nod, “I never got see that sorta thing growing up, always made me wanna experience it.” you admit, feeling a bit too vulnerable around him.

Something inside him shifts at your vulnerability, the way you talk about something you've never even had. He suddenly feels a strong urge to protect you from every hurt in the world. He really needed to get it together. "What kind of fucked up place did you grow up in that you didn't even see people in love?"

“My home.”

You sat quietly in the corner, watching as your parents argued yet again. The harsh words and raised voices filled the room, creating an atmosphere thick with tension. You longed to see them show the love they once had for each other, to witness a simple hug or a gentle kiss. Instead, they avoided each other's gaze, their interactions cold and distant. It broke your heart to see the people who were supposed to be her role models in love and unity drift further apart with each passing day. You wished they could remember the warmth and affection they once shared, instead of letting anger and resentment take over.

His expression immediately turns serious, voice dropping to a gentle rumble as he realizes he struck a nerve. "Hey..." He shifts slightly, tilting your chin up so you meet his eyes. The concern in his gaze is stark. "Bad enough you're sick. Stop giving me those sad eyes, doll.” A weak laugh slips from your lips, soaking in the comfort of his hand resting on your chin comfortably.

His thumb caresses your jaw unconsciously. He realizes how soft your skin is, how small your face is compared to his large palm. "So, wait..." He hesitates, trying to word his question carefully. "No one ever showed you what real love was?" He asks softly.

You shake your head, “It’s not just that, my parents never really showed their love for eachother. They didn’t kiss, hug, hell…they barely even talked to eachother. It affected me heavily growing up, I couldn’t even stay in a relationship. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the person I was with, I just didn’t know how to show them.” The confession was enough to fully break the walls you’ve built, it hurt. In another sense you felt relieved, relieved you could finally open up to somebody. To tell them what you were feeling without being afraid how they’ll react.

His heart clenches painfully at your words, a fierce protectiveness rising inside him. No wonder you're so closed off. No one ever showed you what love could be. He wants to be the one to show you, to break through those walls you've built up. What if he was.

"That's..."

You cut him off with your own words, “Fucked up. I know.” you mutter, focusing back on the movie.

Bucky watches you for a long moment, the soft glow of the TV illuminating your profile. He realizes then, more than ever, how much you need those cheesy rom-coms. They're not just entertainment—they're a glimpse into the kind of love you've never known.

"Hey..."

He looks at you intently, his voice soft but firm. "You deserve better than what you've had. You deserve someone who'll make you laugh, who'll hold you when you're sick, who'll kiss you just because." You deserved him. The man who makes you laugh no matter what mood you’re in, the man who’s currently holding you while you’re sick, the man you wished lips were on yours instead of talking.

“You check off three of those boxes.”

His breath hitches at your words, his heart racing in his chest. He looks at you, really looks at you, and sees the vulnerability in your eyes, the longing. Without thinking, he leans in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "And the fourth?"

Your breath catches in your throat, your free hand subconsciously moving to his jaw. “Hasn’t been checked off yet.” you whisper, leaning in just enough to feel his breath against your lips. His eyes flick down to your lips, his own parting slightly. He can feel your warm breath mixing with his, can see the way your pupils dilate. Slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull back, he closes the distance between you.

"Let me check it off for you."

You had spent years keeping your emotions locked away, convinced that love was something you could never truly have. But in that moment, love came into your life, patient and kind, completely breaking down the walls you had built around your heart. For the first time, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable, realizing that you had finally found the love you had yearned for.

[ceilidho]

This is in no way of hating but i want to know why do you enjoy writing noncon/rape? When I first downloaded tumblr which was couple of months ago i was surprised by the amount of noncon fics here. I eventually came to enjoy them which makes me question myself. Whenever i read a noncon fic and enjoy it i feel like im betraying women who actually went through those traumatic events. Plus I actually don't really like dark romance books? I love cod dead dove and that is mainly because i really love the characters and the authors are so talented. I rambled so much and i hope you don't get this in the wrong way i don't mean to hate AT ALL i love the stuff you write. Maybe i shouldn't think too much and let myself enjoy what im reading lol

first of all, no worries! i wasn't sure about your tone/intentions at first, but by the end i was totally fine with the question.

i actually don't mind talking about this stuff - i just sometimes avoid it on main because i prefer chatting about it privately.

second, i'm no psychologist or sociologist, so i probably won't be able to give you the most satisfactory answer, but i think there are a lot of different reasons. i can only name a few. one thing i should mention right off the bat is that rape fantasies are very normal (and this is true whether you're a survivor of SA or not) and writing/reading fiction can be a safe way to process those thoughts/feelings.

one of prevailing reasons is, of course, that many survivors of SA use noncon/dubcon literature/art as a way of processing their experiences and taking ownership of their trauma.

and look, people are going to go back and forth on this point (i've seen it all before - many people refuse to believe that engaging with noncon lit/art is helpful, and in fairness, it's NOT helpful for everyone because every person is different), but at the end of the day, if a survivor tells you "writing/reading this was helpful in my recovery" then that's that!

additionally, for many women and non-binary folk (i can only speak as a cis woman, but i'm sure this is a shared lived experience across many different people), we're also taught from a very young age to suppress our sexual desires / that being open about our sexuality is morally reprehensible and shameful. and a lot of people carry that shame for years, impacting them well into adulthood. so dubcon/noncon fantasies can be a way of being able to enjoy sexual scenarios where you don't have to be the initiator, thus taking away some of the emotional weight and shame.

plus, at the end of the day (and im sure many people will disagree with this take, it's something that i'm still figuring out myself), there is a kind of weird underlying consent implicit in dark fics. like, you might be reading a fic or novel that's ostensibly noncon, but you're also actively seeking out that literature (hopefully it's not just sprung on you - i do very much agree with tagging to the fullest extent and my lukewarm take is that I think all books, even traditionally published ones, should come with content/trigger warnings too).

there are a medley of reasons why someone might write or read dark fiction/dark romance. again, i'm just one person and i can only speak from my own experience!

i think at the end of the day, the important thing to realize is that fiction is fake, and as long as the writer appropriately tags their work and ensures that the audience is aware of what they're getting into when they start reading, they're not coercing the reader into something they aren't prepared for.

and it's totally fine if you have limits (like, you can read and enjoy dubcon, but not noncon) or can't engage with the material at all, but it's also unfair to say that it reflects someone's real life values - the same way that we don't say that the people who enjoy crime fiction must love murder.

and the last thing i want to say because this got a bit out of hand lol, is that, yes, for some people dark fiction is genuinely harmful, whether or not they're a survivor. it's not for everyone and that's completely fine and i'm aware of that, which is why i agree that you should tag as much as possible (even if you feel like you're overdoing it sometimes), but someone else's discomfort doesn't give them the right to tell you how to process your own emotions/experiences/desires/etc.

as long as no one's getting hurt, there's no issue as far as i'm concerned. and sorry but, no one's getting hurt by reading a fic or a novel unless the author didn't give proper content warnings - if you "forgot" to read the tags or read anyway DESPITE being warned, im sorry but that's life.

[mint-in-the-moonlight]

the fandomification of paganism

hello everyone! first of all, thank you for taking the time to read this post. I want to preface it by saying that it is based on my opinion and observations and it's coming from a genuine place of care for the community. I don't mean to attack anyone or deny anyone's experience, I simply want us to reflect on the path that online paganism has been taking in recent years. with that being said, I hope you can continue reading with an open mind and limit your critiques to those actually related to my points, framing or conclusions. thank you!

there is something that I've been noticing in online pagan spaces lately, a shift which has me worried and feeling disconnected from much of the community. it seems to affect the way we think and talk about our deities which then seeps into the rest of our practices and communities.

I think we have already witnessed many large ways in which it manifests. the most recent and widespread example that I can think of was the whole "the gods are mad" thing on the eve of the US presidential election. some people were adamant that the gods were emotionally affected by the affair as if they themselves had a personal stake in it. now, I don't mean to say that the gods don't care about human affairs but the general consensus after this whole debacle seems to be that the gods are generally quite distant from stuff like this as they have no stake in things like human politics beyond potentially how it affects their worshippers. I agree with this general idea and I think what is likely happening is people are projecting their own opinions and feelings onto the gods because it is important to them that the gods seemingly agree and can sympathise (i wrote a bit more about this situation here if you're interested in reading it).

so from this one example, but potentially many more that I or you reader have experienced, i think what we are seeing is a certain trend (and I don't mean this in a negative way) of the gods as much more human-like. this is not necessarily a bad thing, many pagans see the gods as much closer to humans than I do (I see them as much more non-human or superhuman and just completely out of our realm of understanding). but what i usually see this being accompanied by is a certain belief that the gods are always around and very invested in every tiny aspect of our lives. in some people's practices, they seem to serve a more companion role and their importance as gods is severely downplayed.

I think this want for spiritual companionship is completely understandable and normal, this is after all one of the reasons why people can decide to become pagan or religious in general. but I think at times I see this move into a territory that I find problematic. I call it the "fandomification" of paganism.

I've been struggling with how I want to describe it because as much as I want people to be able to worship and practice however they want, I genuinely think that some of these behaviours cause problems in our communities and I want to address that from a place of good faith. with the knowledge that this might ruffle some feathers I want to say the following: I think some people treat the gods too much as manifestations of their favourite blorbo from a tv show or book rather than the powerful spiritual beings that they are.

I think that the idea that anyone can immediately communicate with the gods through a candle flame or a pendulum has led people to believe that they always have the ear of the gods and that the gods care and have opinions about every little thing that we can think of. I think skits on tiktok have popularised the erroneous idea that the gods can have snippy little conversations among themselves and practitioners and that they have beef amongst themselves.

what I honestly think is that many people have lost the respect and awe of the gods and made them into their personal entertainment clowns and that really rubs me the wrong way. this is not the way I want to engage in my religion, and once again while I do not wish to compel people to adapt their religion to what I believe, I have definitely noticed a growing schism between pagans who think like me and pagans who do not. I think it may be time for us to reflect on this development and how we want to tackle it going forward in relation to the future of our pagan communities.

[blurreynights]

I think the biggest culture shock I experienced in Finland so far is around friendships, as well as the area where I learned a lot of valuable things about myself. I might not be entirely right about this as I've only been here for a short time, but those are my main take-aways:

(under the cut to not block ur tags w my english rambling)

Trying to build real friendships takes time, much longer than in my home country. It is relatively easy to get in contact with Germans in my experience, especially if you live in a bigger city and speak the language, ESPECIALLY if you are a student and just starting out in a new phase of your life. You will naturally hang out frequently if you match well and spend a lot of time together. It might take a few meetings before people will invite u to their home, but generally there's not much distance as soon as the ice is broken.

Here I feel like people are much slower and more reluctant to open up. But that doesn't equal rejection, it's simply a slower process and you will still be able to tell the difference between being rejected and being on the path of friendship. In Germany, it's usually a lot more fast paced and there is a small window you have to catch to get into tight friendgroups. If you miss it, no chance of ever going back, vibe gone chance gone. Also people who might have found you interesting could lose interest if you wait for too long (meaning usually a month or so) to get back to them.

I actually realized that this way of socializing stresses me tf out. I much prefer a more laid back approach where you can get to know each other without time limitations (of course prerequisite is that you have the time). It is a much more sustainable, thoughtful and respectful approach to someone elses time. You're not treated as disposable, but rather as a person someone actively chooses to get to know.

Likewise, if people feel like they either do not vibe with you or if they already have a very busy social life or life in general, they will let you know and don't pretend to have time or like you. This was quite a new thing to me and felt a bit cold, but I actually really appreciate it now, as it's saving you from stressful, draining interpersonal connections. It also made me respect some people immensely, because they know their own self worth and boundaries quite well.

It made me reflect upon my tendency to be a people pleaser, and the strong yearning I have to treat my own relationships the same way as I've experienced it here. I've grown so tired of superficial connections that are placeholders for true, fulfilling friendships. I used to think being lonely was the worst thing in the world. It kind of is still awful, but what's worse is being surrounded by a bunch of people you don't really click with or can rely on, which leaves you lonely as well. I do think letting go of this is something that will slowly seep over into my own life, as it is so freeing.

I also intend on staying, or rather coming back when I've finished up all my business back in Germany (I am not really rooted to the city I live in). People who I've told about this recent development were very worried if I would be able to be happy in a country that is (generally) much more reserved when it comes to social interaction, as I need social interaction regularly. I don't really think it's that big of an issue, as I think I can balance out people's passive approach with my more active one in the beginning. I have a high social battery, so I'm fine with interacting with a few more people, before people get truly comfortable to hang out on the regular. Yet I also prefer quality interactions over a bunch of small talk meetups I don't care about. I also still have my core friends who I talk to regularly on the phone, and this has been a tradition for years already before I came here.

What I am immensely struggling with right now is trying to make sense of all the connections I made in the past 10 years. This is the 6th city I lived in the last decade, and the 8th move. All my relationships feel so spread out and scattered. I am holding on to some solely because those people were there when I moved somewhere new and I didn't have anyone else. Like back in school, when I was friends with people because they were the only ones there. It's all a bit confusing and painful right now, as my values and perspectives are changing. I think there are a lot of people moving from the friends to acquaintance category right now. I'm completely redefining friendships for me at the moment.

[deadandphilgames]

A note from Daniel (new epilogue from You Will Get Through This Night)

Thank you for reading This Night. Writing this book in 2021, while sitting locked down in a lightless basement apartment for months, had a certain self-fulfilling irony that was not lost on me.

In many ways, I wrote this book for not only my past self that I wish could have known these things when I needed them most - but for the guy sitting in an incredibly uncomfortable, hunched, t-rex-esque position typing, that needed it right then. Like many of you, I thought those particularly fun couple of years were a temporary inconvenience, that I wouldn't have to age the book by diving into. And here we are. I hope you enjoyed that new chapter about resilience and whatever the hell a 'polycrisis' is. Turns out certain global events do have an additional effect on our mental health - it's understandable that you may try to power through it and pretend it never happened, but we all deserve to take whatever time we need to honestly process how life makes us feel. I hope you're doing alright. My journey of reflecting honestly on my own life experiences and lifestyle while writing was …like spontaneously punching yourself in the stomach. "Wow. I really live like this? That is apparently not conducive to a healthy mind. Oops. Guess I'll go touch some grass." I'm happy if that made this a more entertaining read occasionally.

Even now, I find myself continually re-reading the book in those small moments of first emotional reaction to situations where I now at least think "Wait - what was I supposed to do here? Right. Not catastrophise." If this is you - that is fine. You are not expected to perfectly memorise this book or retain all knowledge you hear in life. I know I don't. If you're ever sat next to me in the emergency exit aisle of a plane, know that you may be required to physically throw me out of the door in order to inflate the slide because I was busy during the briefing, imagining how my life would have been different if I actually had the nerve to dye my hair black that time in school. I am at peace with that.

It was honestly terrifying for me to try and mine the content of my life to try and actually illustrate advice for people that may really need it …for me to honestly look at the balance between joking about my mental health, and really getting real. Hey - if your attempt at opening up via some humour comes out a bit offensive, you still get points for at least putting it on the table. That's progress.

This is not a book about me. I am here just as an example of terrible behaviour that you have permission to have an inappropriate public transport snort at, and as a writer who has repeatedly not finished traditional 'self-help' or scientific study books for being dry, unrelatable and preachy. I just hope you found this moist, identifiable and accepting of all of your beautiful flaws. So many flaws. I often worried if any of the material was maybe obvious, or something you could stumble across on the second page of Google - then I had a small moment of honesty with myself contemplating my own ignorance, commitment to procrastination, attention span …and the fact that factually just 0.63% of all people searching online, ever bother clicking to the second page of results. If you already knew some of this, good for you. Honestly. You must literally be happy with yourself. I'm just looking in the mirror and trying to do something for the 99.37% of humanity that spend their lives never successfully researching how to not lay awake at night fantasising about their doom. Look forward to the upcoming pocket size book of 'offensively self-destructive jokes' by Dan - or 700-page memoir of my yet un-girthy, mostly unremarkable life so far if that's what you're really looking for.

Perhaps the most terrifying result of releasing this book into the world, has been coming face to face with those of you that have read it. For in these moments, all of my protective self-deprecating persona comes crashing down in an instant when someone says this book made them feel better. Hearing that this book was the first time they finished anything tangentially related to self-improvement, or that just one thing they read was a new perspective on a part of their life they needed, makes me feel my mission in life is already complete. Seeing it be recommended by bookstores amongst all the other choices, hearing that people have shared it with their therapists or had it suggested to them by a professional, is an unbelievable seal of approval that I appreciate. I am so inarticulably grateful to have been given the opportunity to do anything that could make your life easier, more peaceful, more enjoyable. I've met people who annotated this book with post-its, told me they listen to audiobook exercises on their commute - and even a few people that have had illustrations tattooed onto them as a symbolic reminder of a message.

All of this puts that year of typing like some kind of infinite monkey at a typewriter into perspective. I'd do it all again. Mostly. It has been the greatest privilege of my life to be the guy whose name is printed on this book, and I just hope that reading it helped you, as much as writing it helped me.

Love and good luck.

- Dan

[eamour]

you are within yourself.

one important realisation i had — thanks to former loa blogger aphrodite apprentice — that challenged my point of view was to realise WHO is manifesting. when i say "who", i‘m not talking about "who in this reality is manifesting" but rather "who inside of me is manifesting".

the mind outside of the body.

imagination creates reality — in other words — your 4D creates your 3D. your 4D is your mind (not the physical one), your 3D is everything outside of it. you, not your body with flesh blood, but you, the real you aka pure consciousness, exist in your mind in its unconditioned form (let’s call it the 4D shape of yours). other than your mental image, you also exist as a physical image in the 3D. that’s your 3D shape with a body you can perceive with all of your senses. the same way you are the 4D, you are also the 3D — the physical embodiment of your consciousness and whatever you are aware of. the 3D is the same as your 4D, in terms of its content.

the body within the mind.

if you can still follow me, you will understand what is meant when we say "you are always within yourself". you experience the 3D which is a reflection of your 4D. you are WITHIN your 3D, meaning, WITHIN whatever goes on in your 4D. you are LIVING the 4D experience in a different (here: 3D) medium.

all things come from imagination. when you desire, when you imagine… you all do it in the same place: imagination. there is nothing but imagination. so everything you can touch, smell, taste, hear and see has been imagined once. concluding, your body is something that comes from your imagination (let’s call it mind, which does not refer to your physical body but a mental place).

if your body comes from your mind, it also exists there. your body is in your mind, not the other way round. that also means your mind isn’t in in your body. you are within your own mind, inside your own imagination — just physically.

changes from within.

knowing this, it makes more than enough sense to change self because there is only self. there is nothing outside of self, neither mentally nor physically. everything that exists is you. everything originates from your imagination.

it’s unreasonable to try to change the 3D or hope for changes when whatever you are dissatisfied with physically is what you have accepted mentally. your 3D exists within you, we just call it 4D. and it’s not some place where things are perfect. it’s a place where things CAN be perfect if you choose them to be. and the changes you make in there directly affect the 3D, so changing the 3D always means to change the 4D first.

3D or 4D — it doesn’t matter. technically, they are the same. but when we advice to change the 4D first, it’s actually the only place you can actually change. remember, you exist physically but you have always existed mentally. you can stop to experience the 3D but you can never stop experiencing the 4D.

the mental and the physical.

think of your imagination as a house. you're always in there, just like you are always in your own house in the physical world. the key is to realise that the contents of both of these houses, the one that you are in mentally and the one that you are in physically are identical. they look exactly the same. the only difference is that one house can only be accessed by the mind, the other by your senses.

you are always in your own mind and inside of your imagination, mentally such as physically.

with love, ella.

[pepperf]

Genuinely can't decide if the writers intended the Five and Lila relationship to be toxic, or if that's just their idea of romance - just like Rochester, Heathcliff, Darcy, and that dude from Twilight, right???

Okay, let's have a readmore. Note tags, ppl, and curate your experience.

Lila has a relatively sensible approach to relationships, which is consistent, despite her somewhat Machiavellian approach to getting what she wants out of them - she put Diego in his place about having realistic expectations back in s3. She's pretty clear about who she is and where her lines are drawn, and is "weirdly self-actualised", according to Klaus. And Five - romantically inexperienced, thinks everyone should do what he says at all times - tries to impose his notion of How This Should Go onto her, from nearly the start of their brief romance, but leaning hard into it once it starts going sour - which also checks out: he was alone for 45 years and his previous relationship was all in his head, giving him full control, so that's what he's used to. But I couldn't tell if they genuinely intended to show it as him being incredibly selfish in prioritising his feelings over her wishes, or if they honestly thought it was romantic. I mean, the barbed wire-style bracelet is a little on the nose, and there's some symbolism that I'll get into in a sec. Truthfully, I'm not inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt - I think SB at least thought it was hot, judging by what he's said about identifying with Five, and about how he finally gets to have a romance. This seems to have been his pet project for the season, blergh.

It's that tedious old misogynist chestnut, that all women secretly want A Man to take control. It's frustrating, because they already established that Lila likes to be in charge, she wants to be free to make her own choices, she'd already had twenty-plus years of being told what to think and do. And yet she has to remind Five, who really ought to know her better by now, "You do not get to decide what I do with my life!" It's also very disconnected from reality. It's not actually fun or sexy to be gaslighted, to be lied to by some insecure asshole who thinks they know better about what's good for you, that they have a right to stick their nose into your personal relationships or keep you away from your kids. Not cool, Five, not cool. He's lucky she didn't kick him in the nuts on the way out. But another reason I think they didn't do this consciously is that Five doesn't seem to realise his assholery - there's no hint that he's regretting anything other than being dumped.

Lila was trapped for seven years in an intense, claustrophobic situation with Five - and if they'd continued to exist, she could have worked through the feelings that come out of that. Like Ritu said, of course there's going to be love there: they've spent seven years together, on the run. If nothing else, it would be a matter of survival - either you find a way to get along, or you kill each other. And they went in with a fair amount in common already (although being adopted by the Handler at age four is not at all the same as being recruited by her at age fifty-something). So I'm annoyed that Lila's whole arc this season is one of frustration about having to be the grown up in her relationship, taking a break to reassess, going off to do something a bit crazy and fun - and promptly getting stranded with someone considerably less emotionally competent.

Okay, I'm being somewhat harsh - Lila unexpectedly getting the timeout she wanted could've been a decent storyline, she could have some time to reflect, live the child-free life without consequences, and have some adventures (she actively enjoys danger!). And she and Five got to bond, that had lots of interesting potential, especially with their complicated history. But it tipped over from being a potential opportunity into an immensely over the top punishment for her impulsivity, and took them so far from where they'd started that there's a total emotional disconnect with the main story. Which is a fucking weird choice for one episode in such a short season, ngl.

And then, ugh, she's right back to dealing with the apocalypse, visibly thrown by a Diego who has unexpectedly thought about what she said and is trying to be a better husband, and dealing with a Five who has decided to get territorial. It's deeply uncomfortable, Five is gearing up to start trouble, so wrapped up in his own hurt feelings that he's functionally useless for the actual problem in front of them - leaving Lila to deal with the mess he creates, and then leverage said feelings to get him to put on his big boy pants and help. She still reaches out to him in the end, I think she knows him well enough by this point to understand what makes him tick...and she's having to be the sensible one up to the end of her existence. Can't she have someone who's willing to meet her halfway? The reflecting that Diego did, him making a start on making amends (given that it was only a few hours for him, that's about as much as they could squeeze in) was basically just wasted. They start to reconnect at the end, and mutually apologise for the damage they've done - but that's all they get, and it's a travesty.

Personally I think the whole storyline should have been cut, but if - if - they really felt it added something, they could have given it some time in the real world, see how this shaky new romance holds up against a serious relationship that's been massively fractured. In a different show, that might have been a fine story. But they don't do that. Whatever she might have wanted, Lila doesn't get time to even think about her choices. She gets to stop existing. (Or they could just have not gone there in the first place, god I hate love triangle plotlines, they do no favours for anyone involved!)

Given a continued existence in which to do so, I'm sure Five would have moved on pretty quickly. It's his first romance with a real person, he feels it intensely - but once the dust settled, he'd see that they were in very different emotional places (she wanted to get back to her family, the break from reality is way overdue to end - and he wanted to stay in their little bubble and leave all that behind). The actual romance part was actually pretty brief, and lacking in any deep communication - as Lila says, it wasn't real. They're playing house in an attempt to feel normal - in a greenhouse (a fragile structure, not a real home), eating strawberries (a treat more than real sustenance), like children...hey, maybe I'm wrong and the writers DID intend to do that, bc that's some choice visual metaphors. And they're playing roles: all their normal antagonism - what made them so fun and sparky in previous seasons, and even during the earlier part of their adventure! - disappears. Lila is a chameleon, taking on a character is her happy place - and this was how Five kept himself going, last time he was in this situation, so he's slipping back into that method of survival (although he's not as good as she is at separating reality from fiction). So while all that is totally understandable, it's insubstantial. If Five had the space to do some self-reflection, or if one of his more rational siblings (Luther maybe, or...um...or a friend, if he can make one...or maybe that dude in the Losers Department at the CIA...) sat down with him and explained that you need to treat a partner as an equal, maybe he could do better next time - or double down and keep being an asshole, that's also a strong possibility.

idk - I still don't honestly think the show intended it that way, unfortunately. I think they shoehorned the characters into the scenes they wanted, regardless of sense or even plot requirement. There are a LOT of badly-explained or badly-thought out moments in this season, and this whole mess just adds to the incoherency. Or maybe it's just a consequence of TV - you get multiple creative people involved, and the reasoning gets muddied, especially over time. Maybe it was SB's intention from the start, but he didn't inform the actors until the final season, so they've been playing it straight.

This show has an...interesting tendency to do something that you think is totally unacceptable and just gloss over it at the time, and then address it next season (like Luther apologising to Viktor), as if the writers all brought it up in their respective therapy sessions during the break, and worked through the issues - so maybe if they'd had another season, they would have gone into all that. Maybe. But we're clearly not going to get that, and they're all gone from existence so I can't headcanon that in this universe, they eventually sort it out. So I'm putting it down to one thing:

Break out the dodgy facial hair (I see you're ahead of me, Five) and let's get kicking babies!