#and/or you like it because it in some way reflects your own actual lived experience? so you think it's good rep then.
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
"i'm not like those Other People, i only consume Unproblematic Media⢠with Good Representation⢠and i don't like Irredeemable Mediaâ˘"
"i'm not like those Other People, i don't like this Sanitized Mediaâ˘, i only like Real Art⢠with Bad Messy Representationâ˘"
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
#bats makes a post#oh this ''bad'' representation you love was made by an actual queer person? depicting their lived experiences?#and/or you like it because it in some way reflects your own actual lived experience? so you think it's good rep then.#and this other queer media doesn't reflect your lived experiences at all?#and it feels too clean like it was made for straight people and not actual queer people? you might even go as far as to say it's... bad rep#''i don't like Show A because there's not enough good rep'' ''i don't like Show B because there's too much good rep''#You Are Both Grown Adults Arguing About Shows For Children. You Are The Thing You Claim To Hate.#everyone needs to chill the fuck out and get some nuance and recognize this a giant community where everyone has different needs#and that we all have better shit to do than argue over ultimately nothing#and to be clear i'm not different from any of these people either! none of us are! we all like it when things are good#and don't like it when things are bad#and it's completely within human nature to argue over pointless shit so i don't necessarily blame anyone#back in the day you had to get books published and shit to be a philosopher#but now anyone can be a philosopher for free and share their ideas with the world#and that's wonderful! but god is annoying to read sometimes#(and to be absolutely clear i'm not coming specifically for people who love ''bad'' rep#those are just the takes i see more often due to content curation#and therefore the side of the debate that annoys me more because i actually see it regularly#and generally is the side i agree with more often in the broad strokes which Makes It Worse when they're annoying about it)
3 notes
¡
View notes
Text
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 â 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 â 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 â some formalism, some structure, some piece of rules technology â 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 â 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.)
4K notes
¡
View notes
Text
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
#this is not a callout just a random thought#saw a post abt parents#you really truly think everyone thinks like that? seriously?#because god that is so sad#that the world has only shown you its worst parts and you havent experienced some actual good#or just people who genuinely try to be good#i havent had the best of experiences but i know i have absolutely not had the worst and that ive lived a good and happy life so far#so i know my worldview reflects that#but idk#im thankful im at the point where i now actively seek and recognize the good before the bad#things are much more managable that way#this got away from me#but yeah#its like those posts abt creating mean and innacurate versions of ppl in your head due to your own insecurities#just. that cant be fun. or happy to live like that#and it makes me sad that this is what life and the world is like for people#this is all very naive and vent-y and rant-y#but i genuinely just want people to be able to find happiness in the world and their lives#working on myself and my mental health has rlly made me feel this#like damn. i just want us all to be okay and not fearful of the world
0 notes
Text
Why you donât feel pretty (Itâs not about your looks)
Have you ever looked in the mirror and felt like something was just offâlike no matter what you do, you still donât feel beautiful? The truth is, itâs not really about your looks.
So many of us tie our beauty to external validation, seeking approval from others without even realizing it. If your confidence depends on how others see you, youâll always feel like youâre chasing something unattainable. The people who seem the most beautiful arenât the ones with perfect features but the ones who move through life with effortless self assurance, embracing their own unique features.
Itâs easy to look at certain girls and think, She has it so much easier because sheâs beautiful. And in many ways, itâs trueâpretty privilege exists. Attractive people often get treated better, receive more opportunities and have an easier time socially.
The women who benefit the most from pretty privilege arenât just attractiveâthey own their beauty. They expect good treatment, they carry themselves with confidence, and they present themselves in a way that makes people take notice.
Ever notice how some women who arenât conventionally âperfectâ still get a ton of attention? Itâs because beauty is an energy. If you constantly shrink yourself, avoid eye contact, or assume people wonât be drawn to you, the world picks up on that.
And then of course, thereâs comparison. Social media makes it impossible not to feel like youâre falling short. Perfectly lit, edited, and curated images trick us into thinking that beauty should be effortless. But even the most stunning women have insecurities. The difference is, they donât let those insecurities define them.
Sometimes, feeling unattractive isnât about your reflection at allâitâs about how you experience yourself.
Do you take care of yourself? If youâre running on empty, constantly stressed, or neglecting your needs, it doesnât matter how flawless your makeup isâyou wonât feel beautiful.
Do you feel valued by the people around you? When you feel overlooked, disrespected, or under appreciated, it wears on you, making you feel smaller and less significantâeven if nothing about your appearance has changed.
Are you holding onto past hurt? Painful experiences can shape how we see ourselves. If youâve ever been rejected, ignored, or made to feel "less than," itâs easy to carry that hurt into the present. But your beauty isnât something that can be taken away. The moment you decide to release those old narratives, you start seeing yourself differently.
Feeling beautiful is a full body experience. Itâs not just about looking in the mirrorâitâs about how you show up in your own life.
Instead of rushing through your morning routine, turn it into a ritual. Light a candle, play music and actually enjoy the process of getting ready.
Wear clothes that make you feel goodânot because theyâre trendy, but because they feel like you.
Take slow, confident steps. Speak clearly. Look people in the eye. These small things change how you perceive yourself.
When you start treating yourself with love, your mind follows.
So many people put life on hold, thinking, Iâll start doing things when I feel prettier. But confidence doesnât come from waitingâit comes from living.
Go out. Travel. Meet people. Try new things. Stop waiting to look a certain way before you let yourself experience life. The more you engage with the world, the more you realize that beauty isnât about being perfectâitâs about being present.
Treat yourself like someone worth taking care of. Move your body, nourish your skin and invest in your selfânot because you have to but because you deserve to.
Stop waiting for permission to be confident. Walk, talk and carry yourself like you already are.
Focus less on how you look and more on how you feel. When you feel good, you look good.
The moment you stop chasing beauty and start owning it, youâll realizeâyou already are.
363 notes
¡
View notes
Text
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, âkarmaâs a bitchâ 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 âgay popâ genre and your music doesn't reflect any queer themes or experiences, is it really âgay popâ? 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 jojoâs album are actually about her experience as a lesbian or contain any queer themes, then i think she'd qualify as a âgay popâ 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
#jojo siwa#karma#chappell roan#conan gray#queer pop#also the fact that this rebrand is a coverup for jojo's awful behavior#like be fucking fr#don't use the queer community as a sheild
1K notes
¡
View notes
Note
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



âŽâ§â áľáľ 𧸠â
ËâŽ
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 isnât 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 Iâm drawing on personal experience. That being said, if you are bothered by the mentions of âgrossâ 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 âdepression is just an excuse to be grossâ just donât. scroll on past, this fic isnât for you :)
âŽâËââ
ŕ¨ŕ§ á°.á
Youâre hiding from Leon.
Not a good idea in the long run, because one, he always manages to find you âalwaysâ but two, when he does inevitably sniff you out, heâll be upset for two reasonsâ because youâd let things get bad and because youâre hiding it.
Your room is a disaster. Itâs 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 âboth unimportant and importantâ and dirty dishes. You donât even want to look at the coffee cups.
Itâs disgusting. You know it is. Actually, truly disgusting. Thereâs mold on some of the plates for Christâs sake. And all you have to do is stop whining and just do it. But you canât.
You canât.
Because letting everything else get this bad is the only way youâve managed to keep your grades intact during this episode. Something had to giveâ you didnât have the energy to give to anymore. So your room fell into complete and utter disarray and you havenât been eating well like Leon wants and you donât even want to talk about your shower routine.
Itâs bad. Everything is bad. You hate going home to your dirty, gross room, and youâre tired of being too tired to do nothing but homework, and youâre afraid of how upset Leon is going to be when he finds out.
And youâre so frustrated. Because youâre not that girlâ you canât be the girl with the dirty, messy room and the unkempt hair and the bags under her eyes who doesnât leave the house. You canâtâ youâre more than that. Youâre you. Youâre that girl. The girl. Beauty and brains. You just donât know how you let it get this bad.
And you donât know how to climb your way out.
â
Leon hasnât 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 worryingâ youâre pushing him away, hiding everything from him, and once he realizes, heâs not going to be happy. Youâre scared of losing him because you canât keep it together.
You donât dare to admit it outside the safety and comfort of your own mind, but youâve really come to rely on Leon. Heâs always there for comfort when you need want it. Even when you donât 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 heâs telling you something, his voice low and sliding around in your brain, making all your thoughts stick together.
And youâre not allowed to miss him. You pushed him away. You told him he was distracting you. You told him you didnât want him at the apartment.
Youâre not allowed to miss him. But that doesnât stop you from doing it anyway.
Youâre sitting on your bed, staring at the slivers of floor you can see and wishing it would all go away so youâd stop feeling so bad. You hate staring at the mess, hate seeing itâ but you canât bring yourself to look away. The shirt youâre wearing probably smells âyou havenât kept up on your laundry so youâve been cycling through the same three shirts for around the house wearâ and you can practically feel the tangles youâre getting in your hair from not washing it. You havenât 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.
âShitâ uh, coming!â
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.
Leonâs staring back at you, his expression unreadable.
Thatâs not good. You can usually read them, nowadays.
Your eyes catch what heâs wearing- his uni sweatshirt and one of his favorite pairs of old, worn flannel pajama pants.
Thatâs not good either. If heâs wearing his comfortable clothes, it means heâs 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.
âYouâve been avoiding me.â
You donât respond. You begin to chew anxiously on your lip, hands going white-knuckled on the door-frame.
âPrincess,â He says, and you canât tell if his voice sounds fondly annoyed or just annoyed when he says it, âYou wanna tell me whatâs been going on?â
You shake your head.
âOh? Not talking today?â He relaxes his stance a bit, âIs the reason youâve been avoiding me the same reason you wonât let me in your room?â
You resolve begins to crack. It always does that when heâs 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.
âIâm just busy right now Leon. Iâm not avoiding you.â
âSweetheart, I stopped believing that the second you started wearing the same sweatshirt for a week straight. Youâre not well.â
âSo? What does that matter to you?â
âDo you really need me to answer that?â
It becomes a competition then- whoâs gonna look away first. Leonâs 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 doesnât. He must find whatever it was he was looking for in your face though, because he smirks, crossing his arms and leaning back.
âYouâre not going to outlast me, princess.â
You sag, frustrated. âI justâŚâ
You suck in a breath, rushing all the words out at once.
âIâm ashamed and I donât want you to see it.â
He blinks. âYour room?â
You nod. âItâs⌠really bad. I let it get really bad.â
âNo,â He starts slowly, taking a step towards the door. âYou donât let things happen, baby. Sometimes we canât help how bad things get.â
âBut Iââ
âNo butâs. Youâre overwhelmed. Of course some stuff is gonna fall through the cracks.â
You scrub a hand over your face and immediately regret it, the feeling of your unwashed skin grating on your already frayed nerves. âItâs gross. I havenât showered and thereâs mold in the coffee cupsââ
âDonât care.â
âBut you should. Itâs disgusting, Leon. Iâmââ
âHey now,â He says, voice hardening. âDonât finish that sentence. Now, answer one question for me: do you want to keep living in your room like this?â
âNo! But I canâtââ
He shrugs. âThen Iâll help you clean it.â
He says it so easily. Like itâs not a gross, hard task that he shouldnât have to do.
You shake your head. âYou donât have to, reallyââ
âI want to.â
The words go straight to your chest. Warmth begins to pool and spread where they struck, tendrils curling around your fingers and throat.
âWhy?â The word is lodged in your throat- you barely manage to get it out.
âBecause youâre my girl,â 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 wouldnât feel it, if not for the press and heat of his face. âAnd when my girl needs âor wantsâ something, she gets it. Especially when it comes to help. Okay?â
Tears begin to well unbidden in your eyes. âOkay.â
You open the door wider, stepping back and letting him see into your room. It all feels rawâ youâre 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.
âYou wanna do this?â
You nod, biting your lip and hunching in on yourself as he takes in the mess.
âBaby,â He says slowly, stepping into your space, sliding his hands across your waist, âWhat do you need from me?â
You press your face into his shoulder, breathing in deeply.
âCome on. Use your words.â
âCan you justââ You step back, âCan you please just⌠sit? On the bed? I just, I just needââ
He strokes a hand over your cheekbone. âYou need me to sit on your bed and tell you youâre doing good?â
You canât help the whine that builds in your throat. Not really.
âMmm. My poor baby.â 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 âmost of the timeâ but Leon wouldnât stand for it. The next day, youâd opened your door to a brand new, incredibly expensive pair of headphones youâd brought up wanting maybe once. So when youâre not using them for studying or walking to and from classes on campus, they live there. Safe.)
âYou know listening to music makes you more productive,â He says, extending them out to you, âLeave one side off, so you can hear me.â
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.
Itâs 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, heâll pipe up with a comment:
âKeep it up, princess.â
âYou can do it.â
âIâll be right here if you need a anything.â
The last one is by far the most tempting offer.
Once youâve finished getting all the trash and dishes out âthe room not only feels and smells one hundred times better alreadyâ you move on to the bigger part of the project: the clothes. Theyâre everywhere. And they probably all need to be washed, but doing that many loads of laundry isâ
âIâll take them to the washing machine if you sort them.â
You jolt, not noticing him standing next to you.
âYou donâtââ
âStart with that pile over there. Itâs the biggest. Everything else will feel easy once you finish that part.â
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.
(Heâd given you the monitor too. Heâd told you that he upgraded and didnât need his old one anymore, but the monitor was in suspiciously good condition. But youâre 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 youâve seen ten-thousand times and the now available space on the bed to sort clothes in a relatively timely fashion.
Youâre 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 Leonâs return.
âI bring sustenance for the princess.â
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 âbackground noiseâ, folding and sorting clothes as you go.
And so bit by bit, your room gets cleaner, and cleaner, until Leonâs taken the last of the loads down to the washing machine and youâre making your bed and youâve got an entire season of the show under your belt.
Itâs long been dark outside, and youâre 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.
âLooks good in here, princess. I think you deserve a little reward.â
You hum, leaning back into him. âFor what? Needing help to do a basic thing?â
âFor being vulnerable,â He drops his head to your shoulder, burying your face into the crook of your neck, âSo proud of you, baby. You were so brave.â
Your stomach is doing backflips. âYou donât have to baby me.â
âMâ not babying you. You were brave. And I am proud of you.â
He wants to curl up in bed with you and keep watching t.v, but you insist on showering first. Youâre 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 youâre in it. Itâs just getting in thatâs hard.
When you get out of the shower, you notice that the oversized shirt you were going to wear was replaced with Leonâs 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 heâs 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.
âYou smell so fucking good.â
âMm,â You hum, already growing sleepy in his hold, âYour sweatshirt smells like you.â
âYeah?â
âYeah. Itâs really good. And comfortable. Iâm sleepy.â
He chuckles, pulling the blankets up over the both of you and planting a soft kiss to your forhead.
âGo to sleep. Iâll be here in the morning.â
You fall asleep surrounded by warmth and safety. Itâs the best sleep youâve had in weeks.
Ë . . Ýâ âš . Ý
#girlblogging#dom!leon#leon kennedy#leon kennedy fanfic#leon kennedy fanfiction#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy fluff#leon x reader#dom leon#re4 leon#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy
342 notes
¡
View notes
Text
đđ¨đ° đ°đ¨đŽđĽđ đ˛đ¨đŽ đ¤đ§đ¨đ°?
đđśđ¤đŹđş đđ˘đłđŻđŚđ´ đš đđŚđ˘đĽđŚđł
đđ˛đŠđ§đ¨đŹđ˘đŹ: đ đ°đśâđłđŚ đŚđŽđ°đľđŞđ°đŻđ˘đđđş đśđŻđ˘đˇđ˘đŞđđ˘đŁđđŚ. đđśđ¤đŹđşďź đąđŚđłđ´đŞđ´đľđŚđŻđľ đ˘đ´ đŠđŚ đŞđ´, đŽđ˘đŹđŚđ´ đŞđľ đŠđŞđ´ đŽđŞđ´đ´đŞđ°đŻ đľđ° đ¤đŠđ˘đđđŚđŻđ¨đŚ đľđŠđŚ đ¸đ˘đđđ´ đşđ°đśâđˇđŚ đŁđśđŞđđľďź
đđđŤđ§đ˘đ§đ /đđđ đŹ: đľđłđ˘đśđŽđ˘ đ§đłđ°đŽ đ¤đŠđŞđđĽđŠđ°đ°đĽ, đ¤đśđłđ´đŚ đ¸đ°đłđĽđ´ďź đ§đđśđ§đ§, đ˘đŻđ¨đ´đľ, đŁđ˘đ´đŞđ¤đ˘đđđş đ˘ đłđ°đŽđ˘đŻđľđŞđ¤ đ¤đ°đŽđŚđĽđşďź
đ/đ: đ đ¸đłđ°đľđŚ đľđŠđŞđ´ đŁđ˘đ´đŚđĽ đ°đŻ đŽđş đąđ˘đ´đľ đŚđšđąđŚđłđŞđŚđŻđ¤đŚđ´ đ¸đŞđľđŠ đŁđŚđŞđŻđ¨ đŚđŽđ°đľđŞđ°đŻđ˘đđđş đśđŻđ˘đˇđ˘đŞđđ˘đŁđđŚ. đđ°đąđŚ đşđ°đś đŚđŻđŤđ°đşďź
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 didnât 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 wasnât 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 youâve built. Constantly reminding yourself of your strengths and the small acts of love received from those who truly mattered.
âââ
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 didnât pass up the opportunity, letting your eyes travel down his toned abdomen. That didnât 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.
âLeave.â he practically growled.
You let out a scoff, setting your bag at one of the weight machines, âI didnât know you owned the gym?â 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.
âI don't own the gym, but I make the rules here. And the rule is, you leave.â
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? âI donât know who you think you are, but you have no right to try and boss me around.â your tone is calm, you didnât want him to think he can get under your skin so easily, and you surely didnât want to provoke him. You werenât mentally prepared for another unnecessary argument. You simply throw your headphones on, not wanting to hear any more of his ârulesâ.
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. âDid you need something?â 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.
âIâm not going to argue with you.â
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, âThat exactly.â 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 looksâŚupset? Usually the two of you would be biting eachothers heads off, but now itâs, peaceful, almost too peaceful. The rest of your workout goes smoothly, no sharp remarks, no bickering, just peace. Thatâs 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.
Buckyâs 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.
âââ
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. âWhat the fuck.â 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. âDo you ever get tired?â you ask, opening the salad, taking a bite.
âOf what?â
âBeing a pain in my ass.â 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. âNot really, you donât get under my skin as much as you think you do.â 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. âI like to think you just like me so much, the only way you think you can talk to me is through those insults.â 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?
âYou didnât deny it.â
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.
âWell it stands, till denied.â
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, âLying is a sin Barnes.â 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.
âAnd what about you, huh? Always so perfect and put together.â He says, his eyes trailing over your face.
A quiet scoff leaves your lips, âNo oneâs perfect. Fake it till you make it.â 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, âyeah.â you coo, softly. Your tone wasnât as playful anymore, itâs was vulnerable, it was...real.
This obviously didnât 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. âGoodnight.â 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.
âââ
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. âBe Happy!â
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, âMornin.â 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. âThanks.â 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, âYeah, not really a morning person.â Lie. You loved the mornings, just not particularlyâŚthis 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. âSomeoneâs been paying attention, youâre only proving my point from last night.â 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, âItâs fine.â 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. âIt wasnât you, justâŚnot my day today.â You werenât lying, although he was being a real ass last night, he wasnât 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. âNo, Iâm gonna go shower. Iâll see you later Bucky.â 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.
âââ
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, âItâs so good.â 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.
âWhat?â 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. âBarnes if you didnât pick with me every other day, I would think youâre in love with meâ 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. âOnce again, not denying it.â 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,âuh huh.â 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. âItâs rainingâŚ? Just wait, Iâll go with you.â you mutter, jogging to get your own coat. Itâs 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, âSo will you, someone has to make sure you donât slip.â
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.
âSure act like one.â
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.
âYeah, yeah.â you mumble, jogging not too far behind him. You can hear his hushed âhurry upsâ 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, âThank you.â 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.
âWe should go back, if I get sick, Iâm gonna kill you.â
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. âOh I will.â
âââ
You prayed you didnât get sick, really prayed. But with your luck, it was bound to happen. The next day, you woke up chest burning, and nose stuffy.
âIâm gonna kill him.â 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, youâre 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, âThanks.â 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. âIf I had the energy, I would -makes a stabbing motion- you right here.â 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 wasnât for his little dramatic episode you wouldnât be sick. You reach for your headphones instead met with air, you curse softly under your breath. âCan you go to my room, and grab my headphones, please?â 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.
âThanks hun.â
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 couldnât stop thinking about him. The way he held you, how he looked at you, something about it had your head spinning and youâre 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 admirationâit 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 wasnât just your head getting dizzyâŚyou 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. âNo shit, captain obvious.â 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.
âThank you.â
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. Youâve 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. âI think youâre going soft on me Bucky.â 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."
Itâs more than just soup, the thoughtfulness behind it warming your heart, heâll 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, âDo I have something on my face?â you say, as he practically stares into your soul, itâs 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? âIâm usually not sick, but thanks to somebody.â 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 Comedyâs. I donât 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. âYup.â you reply, popping the âPâ 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, âNot cool Barnes, theyâre real to me.â
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. Youâve never really seen it first hand, but you like to believe youâll experience it one day. Cuddling, romantic dinners, taking care of eachother when youâre sickâŚkisses, chocolates for Valentineâs Day. You wanted all that sappy love stuff. âI do.â 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, âI never got see that sorta thing growing up, always made me wanna experience it.â 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?"
âMy home.â
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.â 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, âItâs not just that, my parents never really showed their love for eachother. They didnât kiss, hug, hellâŚthey barely even talked to eachother. It affected me heavily growing up, I couldnât even stay in a relationship. It wasnât that I didnât like the person I was with, I just didnât know how to show them.â The confession was enough to fully break the walls youâve 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 theyâll 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, âFucked up. I know.â 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 entertainmentâthey'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 youâre in, the man whoâs currently holding you while youâre sick, the man you wished lips were on yours instead of talking.
âYou check off three of those boxes.â
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. âHasnât been checked off yet.â 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.
#fanfic#reading#writers on tumblr#bucky barnes#bucky fanfic#bucky x reader#james bucky buchanan barnes#bucky barnes angst#angst with a happy ending#emotions#emotionally unavailable#rom com#romantic comedy
191 notes
¡
View notes
Text
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 luckâtwo things we canât control.
The key to staying motivated is to develop an internal locus of control. This is when we believe that weâre responsible for the things happening to us and understand that we have control over the outcome. Itâs 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 youâve been told otherwise:
Be more aware of the choices you make and realize there is always a choice to be made.
Donât 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 youâve felt a lack of control and write down what could have been done instead.
Donât be afraid to fail; itâs 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 itâs fun. Although itâs good to have intrinsic motivation, this type is fragile and can be undermined when we start feeling like weâre losing autonomy over our choices.
Extrinsic motivation: This is what most people think of when they imagine motivation. Itâs when our motivation comes from outside of usâweâre doing something for a reward or to avoid a punishment. Itâs 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 donât, weâll 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 donât work out.
Identified: The reason youâre doing something is because it aligns with your idealized self. Itâs something that youâve 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 weâre constantly aligned with our higher selves. For example, you might regularly volunteer at a local shelter or organization because youâre 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 âwhy do you actually want this thing?â. 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. âex.
Like James Clear said, make your goal, system, habit, or whatever youâre wanting to accomplish more motivating or fun. Beyond that, start associating the reward with the challenge itself. If youâre 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 âI get to study for this exam and further my educationâ or âIâm blessed to have a body that works for me and allows me to exerciseâ. Itâs 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, youâll accomplish a lot more.
Donât 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 arenât easy journeys by any means, and there will be times when stress and feelings of being overwhelmed can paralyze you. In these moments, itâs 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. Itâs okay to take breaks and have rest days; in fact, I think itâs crucial.
Reward yourself often, even for the smallest achievements. Itâs 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
#self concept#Identity#self development#goal setting#self discipline#self improvement#self care era#self care#self love#glow up#positive mindset#positive thoughts#mental growth#mental health#that girl#good habits#itgirl#leveling up#habits#productivity#aesthetic#clean girl#self reflecting
490 notes
¡
View notes
Text
...Do you mind if I ramble about hypothetical worldbuilding around Keyblades in these trying times.
Keyblades are semi-living weapons. Theyâre forged from a piece of a personâs heart, and so act as an extension of the individual. They have âpersonalities,â in a way; some are mischievous and wonât always come when called, others are almost battle-hungry, others are gentle and may be harder to get to use offensive magic. These personalities are all reflections of their wielders, in some wayâthough they might reflect parts of them they arenât aware of at all. Wielders are responsible for listening to their weapons and becoming more in-tune with them so that they can use the blades properly.
Keyblades all of their own âvoices,â tooâa collection of sounds and impressions that vary in intensity depending on the situation. (ex. A Starlight Keyblade might have a âvoiceâ that sounds like crackling fire and crickets chirping and a cool night breeze.) Most wielders would describe these voices as âsingingâ or âhumming,â even if thatâs not exactly what itâs like.
Becoming a wielder and becoming more in-tune with your Keyblade can be very daunting, which is why most young wielders are started off with training blades. These blades are crafted by Keyblade Masters whoâve had years of experience both with wielding the actual weapon and with forging items. The training blades arenât âaliveâ in the same way that true Keyblades are, but they still have many of the same functions as one, allowing wielders to begin getting used to wielding one before they officially summon their own.
Wielders generally first summon their âtrueâ Keyblade in their final year of training, before they take their Mark of Mastery exam. This gives the apprentices a chance to learn some of the finer details of being a wielder under the watchful eyes of their Masters.
âLivingâ Keyblades tend to hum with energy, and even people who arenât wielders can sometimes catch the sound of their voice. âDeadâ Keyblades are almost eerily silent.
A Keyblade may âliveâ longer than its owner, though the length of time varies. Essentially, the Keyblade retains a piece of its wielderâmemories, an impression of the wielders heartâwhich will slowly deteriorate. These memories may occasionally manifest as âghosts.â
Occasionally, a wielder may inherit an existing Keyblade, rather than summon their own. Generally, this only occurs with very old Keyblades with a lot of symbolic meaning, which have been kept alive generation after generation by bonding to new wielders. (As such, these Keyblades have also continued to grow in power, as they continue to collect pieces of the new wielders they bond to.) Usually these wielders are meant to take up positions of power, and the Keyblade is bequeathed to them in a special ceremony. Their own Keyblades will often (though not always) remain dormant because of this.
(On even rarer occasions, wielders will pick up the still-living Keyblades of recently deceased loved ones and claim them as their own. The effects are not always positive.)
#kingdom hearts#...nomura really needs to give us something new to chew on#i need more enrichment in my enclosure#...also did i ramble about this already or did i just leave it in my worldbuilding document?#some of this FEELS like i've talked about it before but i genuinely can't remember#anyway. have. whatever this is
173 notes
¡
View notes
Note
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? Iâm not saying this to try to be offensive or aggressive, I just think the worldâs 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.
477 notes
¡
View notes
Text
"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 donât thinkâ it's hard to write without having some kind of emotional connection to the material. I've never seen any reason not to. Itâs 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 vĂŠritĂŠ,
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, âWhat is [Qimir] gonna say?!â And my wife, who is a huge part of my creative process, finally she said, âWhat do you wanna say? Stop thinking of it like you have to somehow tap into a different guy.â [...] I was like, âI 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.â There was a whole crew of people who believed in me, but deep down, I felt like, âI 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.â" - 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, âI want freedom,â 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 â it seems like this good thing, but like you said, there's this, âI 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.â Ultimately, what happens is â again, this is a father-daughter relationship â 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, âI reject what you have told me I need to do to make you proud, to follow in your footsteps.â 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.
229 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Escape Route - Rollo Flamme x reader
You're stuck at a party that you frankly don't give a damn about. And Rollo Flamme looks like he would rather do anything else than be here, so you grab him and bounce.
Rollo Week D5!
The music is too loud, the room is too crowded, and the entire air reeks of expensive perfume and bad decisions. You stand at the edge of the ballroom, holding a glass of some overly sweet punch you didnât ask for, trying to look invisible. Unfortunately, being at this stupid party is mandatory. Apparently, skipping it would have âreflected poorly on your reputation,â or so you were told.
You stifle a sigh. Itâs exhausting, pretending to enjoy social events when youâd much rather be anywhere elseâliterally anywhere. Thatâs when you see him across the room: Rollo Flamme, standing stiffly near the wall, his face an absolute masterpiece of discomfort. Heâs gripping a cup of coffee like itâs his lifeline, glaring at everyone in the room like theyâre personally responsible for his suffering.
The sight is almost funny. Almost.
You sidle up to him, leaning on the wall next to him. âYou look like youâre having the time of your life.â
Rollo doesnât even look at you. âI could say the same for you.â
You both stand in silence for a moment, watching the partygoers dance, laugh, and chatter away like theyâve got no worries in the world. Meanwhile, you and Rollo look like two people attending your own funerals.
Finally, you break the silence. âAlright, hereâs the deal. I need to leave this place immediately before I lose the last shred of my will to live.â
Rollo turns his head slightly, raising a brow. âAnd what exactly does that have to do with me?â
âI need an excuse,â you whisper conspiratorially. âA solid, believable excuse to bail. And you, my fellow sufferer, look like the perfect partner in crime.â
He gives you a skeptical look. âWhy do I have to leave with you?â
âBecause,â you say dramatically, âif I walk out alone, theyâll know I was just trying to escape. But if we leave together, we can say weâre conducting... uh...â You tap your chin thoughtfully. âA secret mission. Very important. Top priority.â
He rolls his eyes. âThatâs absurd.â
âExactly. No one would question it because itâs too ridiculous to make up.â
For a second, you think he might just ignore you and stay rooted to the wall. But then, without a word, he downs the rest of his coffee in one annoyed gulp. âFine. Letâs go before I change my mind.â
You canât help but grin. âYou wonât regret this, I promise.â
âThatâs doubtful,â he mutters, but he follows you toward the exit anyway.
The cool night air hits you as soon as you step outside, and it feels like being released from a prison. Rollo falls into step beside you, both of you walking with the same unspoken goal: get as far away from that party as humanly possible.
âSo,â you say, kicking a pebble down the street, âwhatâs your excuse for hating social events?â
âDo I need one?â Rollo replies flatly. âTheyâre crowded, loud, and pointless.â
You nod sympathetically. âPreaching to the choir. I swear, I spent half the time dodging someone who wouldnât stop talking about their parentsâ imported tea collection.â
Rollo snortsâan actual snort. You file that away as a win.
You glance at him as you walk, noticing how the moonlight softens his usually stern features. âDo you have to attend a lot of these things back at NBC?â
He sighs, pushing his hair back in mild frustration. âFar too many. Itâs exhausting pretending to care.â
âRelatable,â you mutter, and he actually smirks, just a little.
The conversation flows surprisingly easily after that. You talk about everything and nothingâyour shared distaste for crowded events, books youâve both read, the unfortunate experiences youâve had with overly enthusiastic party hosts. Rollo even lets slip a story about accidentally knocking over a punch bowl at a school banquet and watching it spill directly onto the headmasterâs shoes.
âNo way,â you gasp between laughs. âWhat did you do?â
âStood there and waited for the ground to swallow me whole,â he deadpans, but thereâs a small, amused glimmer in his eye.
The walk back to Ramshackle feels shorter than usual, probably because for once, youâre enjoying the company. When you finally reach the dorm, you turn to him, feeling oddly reluctant for the night to end.
âWell,â you say with a grin, âthanks for being my getaway partner. I owe you one.â
Rollo shifts awkwardly on his feet, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He clears his throat, eyes flickering between you and the ground. âActually... thereâs something I wanted to ask.â
You blink. âOh?â
He straightens his shoulders, as if bracing himself. âWould you... consider going out with me sometime? Officially, I mean.â
You stare at him, caught completely off-guard. Did Rollo Flamme just ask you out?
The vulnerability in his expression is subtle, but itâs thereâhidden just beneath his usual seriousness. And honestly? Itâs kind of adorable.
A smile tugs at your lips. âAre you saying tonight wasnât already a date?â
His ears turn the faintest shade of pink. âThatâs not what Iââ
âIâm kidding,â you laugh, cutting him off. âBut yeah. Iâd like that.â
Relief washes over his face, and for a moment, he looks... almost happy. Itâs a small change, but with Rollo, small is monumental.
You reach out and squeeze his hand, grinning. âYou realize youâve just signed up for more ridiculous excuses to skip social events with me, right?â
He exhales through his noseâa quiet, fond kind of exasperation. âI think Iâll survive.â
As you turn to unlock the door, you feel a sudden rush of warmth in your chest. Maybe tonight wasnât so bad after all.
Before you step inside, you glance back at him one last time. âSee you soon, Rollo.â
He nods, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in the slightest smile. âGoodnight.â
And with that, you slip into the dorm, heart lighter than itâs been in a long time.
It's a little shorter than usual because of the 1k event sowwy :(
Masterlist
#twst x reader#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#twst rollo x reader#twst rollo#rollo x reader#rollo x you#rollo flamme#rollo#Rollo flamme x reader#rollo flamme x you
149 notes
¡
View notes
Note
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.
207 notes
¡
View notes
Text
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.
#paganism#helpol#hellenic paganism#hellenic polytheism#polytheism#kemetic paganism#religio romana#roman paganism#mint in the moonlight#may be controversial oops#mint hot takes
102 notes
¡
View notes
Note
People shouldn't be too hard on Mon!
I absolutely love and is grateful of Freed's understanding and appreciation of the Jedi, apparent in the book, apparent in the interview he'd given for the book:
"For me, the excitement of the time period here, is that I tend to think of 'Star Wars' as a setting with plenty of room for grey area stories and moral ambiguity, but there are very clear lines of good and evil as well. There's no version of 'Star Wars' in which you look at the Emperor and go, 'Well, maybe he had some good ideas.' No, the Emperor is evil. And the Jedi and Luke at their best are good. Everything else exists somewhere in there. This is a period where the remains true but no one really knows that the Emperor is evil.
"As far as the public is concerned, this guy just won the worst war in living memory. The Clone Wars were this horrendous affair and Palpatine has put an end to it. Yes, he's declared himself Emperor but he's not the embodiment of all evil. There's not even a Death Star out there. On the absolute good side, the Jedi have sort of been tarnished in recent years. War scrapes away at the shining morality of any organization."
I think Freed really understands what Lucas meant when he said "The Jedi have been corrupted by this war."
...but I still don't hold it against Mon cause she's going through hell and she spoilerspoilerspoilerspoiler in the later half of the book. I think she's fascinating, wonderful, equally valid character with equally valid viewpoints as Bail within context of their own worlds and experiences in this novel.
The editor of the book said it best:
Bail â knows the truth about Palpatine, the Empire, and the fall of the Jedi. Caught between his commitment to truth and justice at any cost, and the duty he has to the daughter heâs been entrusted to protect.
Mon Mothma â a master politician, who believes â like so many â that opposing Palpatine is part of the regular game of politics. She doesnât yet realize, Palpatine stood up from the game board years ago, and sheâs playing against shadows.
Mon and Bail are allies, but not really friends (at this time). Padme was their link, and now, sheâs gone. Where does that leave them?
For Mon and Bail especially, the secrets Bail holds that he cannot reveal leaves a gulf between them. And what does it mean when they find themselves at odds with each other, over truths they cannot speak?
prev anon) I'm talking about their different mindsets and experiences and viewpoints born from those and I'm not excusing Mon's... *spoilers* anyway I hope you enjoy the rest of the book! It's so nice seeing an author like Freed, who usually writes non-force side of sw, handling the jedi with such warmth, understanding and awareness
This was such a reassuring message to get, thank you! I've been avoiding spoilers for the book as best I can, but I'm only a quarter of the way through it and I was wondering how the various themes were going to go, but Freed's interview quotes and your comments have made me glad that I'm picking up what this book is putting down, because that's exactly how I've been reading it. (And why I'm hoping to encourage more people to read it--though, I will give a warning that this book can be uncomfortably prescient about current events in a way that I wouldn't say Alexander Freed Is A Witch, but that can be very hard to read about if you're not in the headspace to deal with a lot of reflections of the dumpster fire we're currently in.) As for Mon, I hope nobody comes down on her for this, because as much as I scream, cry, throw up, etc., over Bail's scenes, in general I lean a bit more towards Mon's way of doing things, because I think her approach is her answer to the question, "But what can actually be truly achieved?" That she is looking at an incredibly shitty situation with only shitty options and asking herself what can she actually get done, what does she have a snowball's chance in hell of success with? And she knows clearing the Jedi's name at this point in time is not on the table, not when there are a million other things that might actually do tangible good for the galaxy. And I don't disagree with that! I love the Jedi more than anyone, but clearing their name isn't more important that, say, trying to stop the Wookiees from being classified as a non-sentient species! Clearing their name isn't important enough to blow all your political capital and having nothing to show for it when there are people who you can help, with a chance that will actually succeed! Bail's idealism isn't stupid, he's incredible and the galaxy needs a shining light like him, it's necessary for the bigger hope for the future, we can't make it through the dark times without bright, shining hope. So even when they don't always think positively of each other, I never get the sense that Bail and Mon don't understand that the other is doing what they think is best. They just disagree on what that is. And it makes sense! Bail knew and was friends with the Jedi! He knows the truth about Palpatine and how important all that Force shit is to what's going on here! Mon is operating with the idea that this is a political battle--and she's not entirely wrong, she's necessary to the recovery of the galaxy, too, just as Luke is necessary to save the day, so too is Leia, and I sort of see that reflected in Bail and Mon's approaches--one is focusing on the mystical and one is focusing on the political and I think both are important here. So, I have nothing but hearts for Mon Mothma and what she's trying to do for the galaxy.
And I don't see them as antagonists here, I see them as two people who look at each other with the understanding that there is deep love and compassion for people in the other, that they want this other person on their side not just for political alliances but because they care, and maybe they want to scream in frustration that the other person can't see what they see, but I don't feel for a second that this is going to end with them anything other than them as friends. Their scene in Rogue One implies she knows about Bail knowing a living Jedi, if not directly knowing about Obi-Wan Kenobi, which isn't something he would tell just anyone. I'm hoping for the same with Saw, there's going to be conflict about their approaches, and I love that that's clearly a theme/why these three characters were chosen as the pillars of this book, that each of them are shown to have their reasons why and that each of them serve a purpose. I scream/cry/throw up more about the Jedi because that's the most fun for me, but I am enthralled with Mon's chapters just as much, the political tightrope she's on, and I would encourage people to read for those aspects just as much as I would encourage them for crying about the Jedi. ANYWAY, EVERYONE SHOULD READ THIS BOOK FOR YOURSELF, I'm having fun with the snippets I'm posting, but the book is so much more than those things! It's one of the best SW for rounding out the characters and filling in the transitions between the movies and TV shows, but in a way that keeps the tension and emotional gut-punches despite that we know where it's going. ALSO, MON MOTHMA AND BAIL ORGANA ARE THE BEST, I'M WILLING TO FIGHT THE INTERNET OVER THIS
#lumi.txt#star wars#bail organa#mon mothma#meta#novels#novels: the mask of fear#(i wrote and queued this response before your later message btw so you came across perfectly well! <3)
105 notes
¡
View notes
Text
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.
#is it appropriate to tag this with#suomipaskaa#also finnish people seeing this and agreeing or disagreeing or wanting to add on to this#please do tell#I am curious about this and open to hearing various perspectives#as this is my limited generalized opinion after living here for a few months
109 notes
¡
View notes