#at least give us space to talk about it????

[transhumanisticpanspermia]

Okay yes but who or what is saying that.

Example above, The Good Place - relational forgiveness plays very little role in the story across all 4 seasons. Where present it isn't really related to the overarching "reform of moral evaluation" that the series culminates in.

The one everyone likes to get mad about, Steven Universe - goes to great lengths to explicitly disabuse the viewer of any notion that forgiveness is a prerequisite to growth. In case you didn't catch it the first time around, there's an entire epilogue miniseries that drives home the point that Steven still dislikes the reformed antagonists and doesn't really 'forgive' them, even though he works with them on improving. It's a professional relationship.

You could make the strongest argument that this notion appears in the one from our childhood everyone talks about, ATLA re: Zuko, but even there he has to get very far into the personal journey to become a better person before anyone he wronged even considers working with him and trusting him, let alone forgiving him. Forgiveness happens but it's not a prerequisite, it's a something that some of the people he hurt choose to provide him after he works on himself.

This post was about media and IRL, and similarly, I do not see many people going around saying "the first step of becoming a better person is apologizing." At least, not in spaces that have reasonable levels of contact with the world outside the computer. It happens in some insular hyper-online groups but that's because those are the groups where everyone is trying super hard to give each other adult onset moral OCD. Venture out into the spaces IRL where people work on self improvement and you'll find frequent admonishments not to malinger looking for forgiveness. In the 12 step program, apologizing and making amends doesn't even come in until step 9, you aren't supposed to expect forgiveness, and you aren't even supposed to attempt apologizing/amends-making to people it would ultimately hurt.

I wouldn't assign any credence to this "pushback" beyond projection. People always want excuses not to take difficult but good advice, and "I have a preconceived notion that you're asking the impossible [i.e. finding forgiveness from those I've wronged]" is a great projection you can use to tune out that advice.

the concept and idea of “you can always start trying to be a better person” is extremely important to me both in media and irl and i continue to be deeply deeply disturbed by the trend on this site pushing that these ideas in media are bad writing or even morally reprehensible

because theyd rather someone stay terrible or just straight up die than become a better person 

from a compassionate point of view it’s deeply distressing and from a pragmatic point of view it’s outright frustrating

it’s fucked up. 

[adarafaelbarba]

Rafael Barba for the only one bed square?

Bed Share and Conferences

✨ Covering the «One Bed» square of @storiesofsvu ’s holiday bingo ✨

warning: alluding to smut going to happen, but nothing explicit.

When the announcement for the annual seminar was made. Especially considering it would be held in Florida, and you’d been chosen to go again to give a talk.

However, that quickly soured when everyone got there and the hotel manager announced that the hotel had been overbooked, and people coming from the District Attorney’s office in New York, that being your place of work, would have to couple up and share rooms. Throwing a quick glance over at some of the girls you were closest with proved futile as they seemed to be coupled up quickly, either with each other or with their office crushes. Which in the end left you with the very grumpy, Rafael Barba, your boss.

Room given, the staff offered to get everyone’s luggage upstairs as compensation, and you all made your way to the first meeting of the day, a talk given by someone from a law firm in D.C.. And for the most part, throughout the evening, you kind of forgot about the whole mishap. It wasn’t until later, when you and Rafael made your way upstairs to your given room that the horrors awaiting you revealed itself.

«Where’s the other bed?! Or at least a decently comfortable couch?!» You exclaimed, having entered the room first. All the air left your body, feeling deflated, and like you’d been robbed by the exciting time you were going to have here.

Rafael swore behind you. «I’ll see if there’s a way we can get another room—»

«It doesn’t help, sir, all the other rooms have been taken, and it’s too late to find another hotel.» You’d hate to admit it, even to yourself, but having to share a bed with your very attractive, albeit grumpy boss, for the next few days would for sure fuel some late night fantasies for when you got back home to New York. Trying to be civil about it though, you turned to look at him. «We’re both adults, this doesn’t have to be awkward, sir.» You said, trying your best to smooth him over.

«You’re right—doesn’t have to be awkward at all, y/n.» He still seemed on the fence though, however, seeing as you both had to get up early in the morning for the next full day of talks, you both got ready to turn in. Rafael was kind enough to let you use the bathroom first.

— 

The first night seemed to go off without a hitch, so did the next one. By the last night in the hotel, you’d both gotten to a workable routine. That was until you both stumbled back to the room, laughing over some jokes said over one too many drinks at the hotel bar.

You dropped your heels which you’d carried from downstairs, next to you and started pulling the dress zip down. «Could you help me get the zip?» You asked, turning your head to look behind you where Rafael stood, pulling his tie loose. As soon as you locked eyes with him however, you could see the hunger in his eyes. «Sir?»

He cleared the space between you in just a few quick strides, pulling you in for a messy kiss, his hands going up and down your body. As you made out, you could feel him dragging the zipper down behind you, then his warm had was on the soft skin of your back, pulling you even closer to his chest. 

«So soft for me, cariño.» He murmured against your lips, «I’m going to have some fun with you.»

Tagging:

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[just-a-small-obsession]

Boundaries

Summary: Soldier boy and healthy boundaries don't exist, loud crass words and heavy touches are all he knows. Inserting a strange woman that he can't crack or get into his bed makes his gears turn.

Paring: Soldier Boy x Autistic!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language, slight Angst, Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy, OC Soldier Boy?, Rocking as a form of stemming, the use of the word retard, Slow burn.

Authors Note: Might have rushed this! I'm debating whether or not to make this into full-on fanfiction, so I hope this one-shot gives you an idea of what I want the dynamic to be between Soldier Boy and the reader.

Enjoy!

***********************************************

Soldier Boy's Pov

To say that she was a tough nut to crack is an understatement, a young thing like herself sitting next to America's first and only golden boy and not throwing herself at him like a bitch in heat was unusual. I look back up at the TV at the show that she turned on, not understanding what I'm seeing or just not caring in the first place. We aren't that far apart from each other on the couch, she's in cross legs while I'm spreading my legs wide just to give her a slight hint to look at the jewels.

"you must a lesbian."

She looked taken aback by my words.

"no"

"You telling me that you got a golden cock right next to you and you don't want to ride it like a cowgirl in the rodeo."

She moves away from me to the other side of the long couch and stares at the TV once more ignoring me. I sigh, being asleep for as long as I have and not getting any action makes a man do crazy things.

"That made me uncomfortable, please don't say things like that to me thank you." She said bluntly, not once making eye contact.

"I'm making you uncomfortable. listen I'm not going to touch you if that's what you're worried about, if I wanted to fuck I could go out that door and head to the corner and get a nice hooker."

"Apologize" another word she said to me without looking me in the eyes. Fuck people these days don't look at people when they talk to each other anymore. "I'm not apologizing," I tell her point blank. "you should", Silence. it was quiet after that, I'm not going to start a fight with some little girl over a little joke. Again, one tough nut. not going to lie I'm starting to find it pretty appealing. looking at her, she's actually nice to look at. Sitting with her and watching this show was better than listening to the cum guzzler complaining about whatever the British fucker wants. Having them leave me with Miss Sit pretty must be the best they have for a babysitter, I don't need a fucking babysitter I'm a grown-ass man. meeting her for the first time was quick and short, a simple wave and hello was from her and she went to sit with the others.

Catching my eye from the TV was her starting to rock back and forth on the couch, 'What the fuck is her deal is she some mental patent or something'. Her eyes were still glued to the screen as she continued to rock her heart away.

It was annoying, Fucking annoying. She was shaking the whole couch for fuck sake. "Hey stop that" I was ignored.

"I said stop that "

"Hey do you hear me, I stop rocking"

I was once again ignored. I clench my hand in a fist and slam it onto the couch cushions.

____POV

I don't know why but he's angry, I feel it radiating off of him was it because I told him to apologize to me after being rude and nasty. Butcher always told me to make sure if I'm feeling uncomfortable I should always say that I am. I don't think he's all that bad, Hughie always says that he's a dick and a danger, I agree with the first notion but dangerous? I don't like that he takes up a lot of space, he spreads his legs so he touches my legs and I hate it. We have a whole couch and he chooses to still touch me. At least my show is distracting me from him.

I feel the couch move heavily, like a smack of some sort. It startles me and I look at him confused. "Yeah?" what else is there to say?

"I've been talking to you and you won't stop this fucking rocking bullshit"

"What are you talking about?"

"you're rocking, fucking rocking can't you feel!" I shake my head, what is he talking about I'm just sitting here trying to watch my show in peace. "fucking stop!" He yells and grabs me harshly.

Shrinking my body I try to get away from him, why is he grabbing me like this! "L-Let go of me!" I squeak, surprisingly he does let go of me after I ask him to. I curl up in a ball at the corner of the sofa.

" There, was that so hard"

Soldier Boy's POV

Do I feel bad for grabbing her, yes but am I happy that she stopped that stupid shit, also yes. The hotel door opens to reveal tweedle dee and dumb.

"Fucking finally" I walk to Butcher and grab the case of beer out of his hand and place it on the small table. I look and see that she has left the sofa has her purse and phone in hand and walking to Limpdick.

" I want to go home now hugie"

"Are you okay?"

"I want to go home now please." With a nod, they both leave the room and close the door behind them. Taking a swig butcher looks at me pissed.

" The fuck happened here mate?"

"She's the one doing her freaky bullshit, she's got something wrong with her head that one."

"She's different is all, nothing wrong with that"

"Fucking rocking back and forth, that normal for you"

"She does that to calm herself down mate, she does it all that time with us. just let her ride it out." I laugh, "Grabbing her sure made her stop, it was fucking annoying me." Butcher walked towards me and grabbed my shirt collar. "you cunt" "Get your fucking hands off me" I push him away. After a while Hughie is back, he looks at me with a pissed-off look butcher had not too long ago. I'm sitting back on the couch and Hughie sits next to me.

"You can't do that to her"

"Do what? scare her? Show her manners"

"Being a dick and not respecting her boundaries, you ass"

"Boundaries what the fuck does boundaries have to do with this"

"Listen I don't know what you called people like her back then but now, she is what you call being on the spectrum, autistic."

"You mean a retard right?"

"Jesus Christ no, and don't say that!" the kid freaks out and sighs as he puts his face in his hands. "She just does things her own certain way, okay, she has her own boundaries, and grabbing her like that was one of them."

"What you telling me I scared her?"

"No, just made her anxious and confused. She doesn't like being touched that much really." well fuck, now that weak little shit got me feeling bad. I didn't want to make this a big deal it was just a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. Christ, it's not like I wanted to make her feel that way. I sigh and look at the kid, "Fine, I'll apologize to her when she comes back tomorrow."

********************************

Tomorrow came and Soldier Boy was in his normal stop on the sofa watching the shit on the TV he didn't even like. She was supposed to be arriving at the hotel in a short bit and he was getting ready to possibly say sorry for the first time in his life. The door opened and she came through with headphones in her ears and a phone in her face. She places her purse on the table takes her headphones off and turns her phone off.

"Hi" quiet as a mouse.

"Hey, sorry about yesterday" Ripping it off like a bandaid. she nods her head and smiles at him.

"Thank you," she says and sits down in the same spot she did the day before crosses her legs, and looks at the TV, Soldier Boy watching her with a softness blooming in his eyes. Boundaries, Boundaries he can learn.

************************************************************************

@mochminnie

@sl33pylilbunny

@pumpkincandlesoup

Still felt like I rushed this, but I wanted this out before I forgot about it in my drafts. I just to see if I even liked the vibes of this.

[luxcuriousao3]

Continuation of this angsty Ghoap blurb.

-

And so they fall back into rhythm with each other, at least on missions. They’re as deadly and efficient as always, bantering on comms like usual. But a certain sense of wrongness lingers when they’re on base, no longer avoiding each other or even refraining from tumbling into bed together—but Ghost notices it nonetheless. Johnny isn’t constantly at Ghost’s side anymore, bothering him with his endless chatter and poorly hidden desire for attention. The look in his eyes when he does talk to Ghost is less intense, too, less painfully open and bright. More befitting of a soldier speaking with his superior. When they fuck, he no longer tries to linger in Ghost’s room, doesn’t even wait for Ghost to get a towel for him, just stands up and limps over to the toilet to grab it himself. At first, Ghost is glad—his sergeant got the message loud and clear, and didn’t even throw too much of a fit about it. They can remain in this limbo of close-but-not-too-close. Ghost doesn’t have to give this up, give Johnny up, in order to keep them both safe. And Johnny doesn’t even seem upset anymore—yeah, he’s a little more distant, but that’s a good thing. He was reaching the edges of what Ghost could tolerate anyway, and now things are back to a blessed normal.

Except that the longer it goes on, the more Ghost misses how things were before.

The silence that used to be filled with Johnny’s rambling starts to feel oppressive, the space at his side where his sergeant should always be is now glaringly empty. The grins Johnny gives him are still large but don’t look quite the same. The shine in his blue eyes has dulled just a tad, no longer so blinding that they make Ghost feel like the centre of their own tiny universe.

Ghost has no right to miss them, all the little things he’d taken for granted before. He knows that. But just like he knows he shouldn’t continue whatever it is between him and Johnny, he does so anyway.

He never says as much, of course, but the next time they fuck, Ghost doesn’t roll off of Johnny right away once he comes. He lays on top of him for a long moment, pinning him to the bed so he can’t get up and run like he’s taken to doing. Both of them are sweaty and breathing hard, and Ghost watches Johnny’s dark brows furrow in confusion as the seconds stretch on. He starts to shift underneath him, like he’s about to push Ghost off of him, out of him, and Ghost, he—

He snaps, a little bit.

That’s the only explanation for what he does next, sinking his teeth into his sergeant’s shoulder and holding on, like a dog with a bone. He wants to break Johnny’s skin, to taste blood and scar him, to tie them together in a way that no amount of distance can ever erase.

Instead, he gets an elbow to the face and a furious Scot cursing him out in something just to the left of English.

“Ye fookin’ bawbag!” Johnny shouts at Ghost, who’s nursing his bloody nose on the floor, arse naked. The other man is standing, now, one hand pressed to his shoulder, the other gesturing angrily in his direction. “Wha’s yer fash? Cannae jus’ fookin’ bite me like a bloody beast!”

Ghost stares up at Johnny, heart racing in his chest like he’s just run twenty klicks through enemy territory. His ears are ringing, Johnny’s words echoing in his mind. His sergeant is so close to the truth. Ghost is nothing but a beast, a dog on a tight leash. Price points, and Ghost attacks. It’s been that way since he was reborn in the ashes of his old life. He snaps and snarls at anyone who gets too close, wears his mask like a muzzle to keep everyone at bay. But Johnny has never feared him. Not like he should.

And now Ghost is faced with the consequences of his royally fucked up head and cold heart once again. He gives Johnny a careless shrug, getting to his feet.

“Got carried away,” he offers as a lame sort of explanation, voice thick from the blood dripping into the back of his throat. He carefully feels his nose. Not broken, but it’ll bruise like rotten fruit. “You got me good. We’re even.”

Johnny stares at him for a long moment, too many emotions flickering across his face for Ghost to name them all. But he does recognize anger—anger and hurt, and his chest tightens at that. He doesn’t want to hurt Johnny, keeps his distance so he doesn’t hurt him. Regret settles heavily in Ghost’s stomach. This is what happens when he gives in, when he allows himself to get too close. This is what he’s tried so hard to avoid.

Because Ghost doesn’t know how to love, how to be gentle or treasure someone like Johnny deserves, like Ghost knows he wants. This is the most he can give him. Not love, never love, but a violent sort of possession that could look like love, in the right lighting.

And Ghost knows his sergeant. Knows how stubbornly loyal he is, how self-sacrificing. He will never walk away, never retreat entirely. He’ll growl and snarl right back at Ghost, he’ll put up a few flimsy walls of his own—but he’ll still let Ghost hurt him.

Ghost doesn’t want to hurt him.

“Yer a real bastard, LT,” Johnny snaps, snatching his clothes and hurriedly pulling them on, not even bothering to wipe away Ghost’s come trailing down his thighs or his own staining his hairy stomach. Ghost watches him, wonders if this is it, if this is the end. Hopes it as much as he prays it's not. Can’t find the words to make it official, so he supposes he’ll have to wait and see.

But Johnny doesn’t say anything else, just leaves as quickly as he usually does, slamming the door behind him. And Ghost—

Ghost doesn’t know what that means. Can’t for the life of him figure out what he wants it to mean. Regrets leaving the choice in another’s hands, giving up control. And at the same time, relishes in the idea that he can pretend they’re still in limbo for just a little bit longer.

That he’s not ruined the one good thing he has going for him.

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

[mythalism]

i think, anecdotally, canadians love to use land acknowledgments and Diversity(tm) a bit more than americans do, and have a degree of always pointing at the us and being like "well at least WE didn't do anything that fucked up! we're so much more enlightened and respectful 😌". and so any acknowledgment that racism exists, or that necessary societal change is often only brought by unpleasant disruption, or specifically that indigenous people live in terrible conditions because of colonization, is bracketed with this type of "but it's very complicated, and who's to say if there's a solution? we're thinking about it really hard, and holding space, and listening and learning, and maybe we will get to fixing it in like 50 years if people ask nicely" rhetoric. and there's a degree of apprehension that "land back" is a call for ethnic cleansing of settlers (somehow, despite this being both physically not possible and not actually anyone's demand) and that any movement towards that will be bad and overly radical.

which maps directly onto how bioware writes elves specifically haha. they'll sympathetically show how they're oppressed and living under the boot of a catholic church-esque entity, but then... ahhh noo, actually they had a very problematic pre-colonization culture, and they're too impractically fixated on the past and that prevents them from moving forward, and the church employees are sometimes trying their best and making amends, and the demands of the elven leadership are just too out there and violent... so really, it's very complicated. maybe it could be better to keep the status quo and only have Incremental Change, forever.

(they sort of didn't do this in the masked empire, but as always they had to throw in a bit about how Rude And Mean the dalish are. plus the ridiculously evil chevalier lore of each one randomly executing a few elves as a rite of passage, and then never mentioning that aspect again bc i guess it wasn't relevant to michel's story. as well as the insanely underwritten premise of what briala and celene's relationship actually was. there's ~toxic lesbians~, and then there's "extremely rich and powerful white noblewoman calls her younger servant class gf ugly for being dark skinned, lies to her for years, has her family and then entire community killed, then tries to seduce her back when she gets angry and leaves" lmao. i think weekes was going for a tragic morally grey starcrossed lovers to enemies vibe, but to me it was more of a horrific one-sided exploitation that the author did not seem to realize they were writing.)

and in veilguard i suppose they tried to avoid the entire issue by mostly removing those aspects of the setting, so you no longer even have the somewhat well-observed depictions of oppression combined with Justin Trudeau Moments, it's just kind of empty.

anyway thank you for appreciating my very long ted talk! i left tumblr after the whole "popular bloggers mass reporting pro-palestine people for terrorism" thing (i can get that treatment for free irl, don't need that extra stress from the Fandom Webbed Site haha). i've just been drifting back to look at dragon age posts bc i was curious about veilguard. i didn't expect much from bioware but it was surprising that they just went even further into tone-deaf bizarre race allegories rather than reading 1 (one) nonfiction book in the years since dai, or hiring anybody from a different background who could weigh in. :')

wow this is seriously so fascinating and insightful and truly does give me a better understanding of both canada and bioware LMFAO so thank you so much for sharing seriously. you are welcome in my inbox for more ted talks anytime and now im just gonna leave this here to marinate on it further and hope other people read it because its fantastic. xoxo

[jarofstyles]

The Heart Of The Woods

Hi my loves! I wanted to give you guys a peek into our grumpy mountain manrry! He’s different to some that I’ve written before but I think you’ll like him if you give him a chance

Read the series ( 9 parts ongoing) and 220+ exclusive writings on our Patreon!

WC- 1.4k

Warnings- tiny bit of rejection, asshole h

He hadn’t been sure what he was thinking.

Hiring a housekeeper had not been on his agenda, but it put his mum at ease. Being far from her, up in his large cabin in the middle of the mountain, she had said she worried a lot about not only his well being, but about him overworking himself. His days started early, working on splitting wood, emails, driving down to deliver it, and all of that. His group of employees that worked on the lot not too far from his own place up the mountain were his main source of socialization and even they knew not to bug him too much.

Harry preferred to be left alone.

So why hire a housekeeper? It sounded okay at the time. Someone to keep the fire stoked and the house warm so he could come home and not have the house be cold for him and his animals, someone to cook and clean and… another body in the house. Make it less lonely. Maple was a good companion, Ash was too, but a dog and a cat didn’t replace human connection. Perhaps that’s why he had found himself feeling more irritated lately.

Watching the car pull in, he had to wonder how she could fit her belongings into such a small vehicle. Weren't women supposed to have a lot of stuff? The question was answered as she stepped out of the car, light wash jeans clinging to her thighs and pink sweater hanging on her form as she waved up to him. "Hi!" she grinned a tad bit too brightly for his comfort, jogging up to the wraparound porch. "I’m so sorry l'm a little late. I got lost at the turn- the split in the road? and I didn't have good service to call and let you know. I usually try and do that.”

She was rambling.

He grumbled, wiping his hands on his work pants. “Late's fine. I didn’t have any plans today, just don’t make a habit of it.” Glancing at her car, then back at her, he gave her a little bit of a look. “You got everything you need?” He wasn’t the best at socializing, famously, but she wasn’t aware of that yet considering their talk had mainly consisted of emails. It would be something she quickly found out.

“Oh!” Her chuckle was nervous as the man stood tall above her on the wooden porch, making her look up a bit at him. “Uh, yeah. I.. I kinda had to get out of my place in a hurry, so this worked out.” She smiled up at him before looking back to her car. “Did you want me to grab my stuff now or did you want me to do it after you give me the run down of what you want me to do?”

He sighed, stepping aside to let her pass. “Follow me.” He led her inside, shutting the door behind her. It was weird feeling someone else in his space. It had been a long time since he’d heard footsteps other than his own or his pets in the hall, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it yet. Leading her down the wooden hall, he brought her towards the main part of the house- a large step down living room he mentally referred to as the den. The stone fireplace was lit with the fire going already as he gestured to a chair by it. “Sit.”

Y/N was distracted a little by the skylight- and then the view outside. It was absolutely gorgeous. The whole place was. She had slightly underestimated it despite the size of the place when she had applied to work eyes but she would make it work. At least the view was great. She could see that there was a deck outside, the view of the mountains sprawling behind them sort of blowing her away. The awe only lasted a few moments though, when she heard him clear his throat. Oops. “Sorry.” She smiled nervously. “The view distracted me. You’ve got a beautiful home.”

He grunted, not really used to compliments. Small talk wasn’t his thing. He sat down in his recliner, stretching his legs out in front of him before resting his hands on his knees. “So, as your employer, I expect you t’keep this place clean. Cook meals, do laundry, that sort of thing.” He paused, looking at her critically. “M’not home most of the day, and when I am I’m usually in my workshop. It’s the building out to the side that you saw.” He clasped his hands together. “We don’t need to have a ton of interaction. I need you to keep the fire stoked, maybe feed Ash for me if I get back late. I don’t have a lot of rules, but I ask you to respect my space.”

“Uh, alright.” She nodded, taking out her phone to take notes. “I figured the normal house stuff. I…” Her body felt the cringe as she went to ask it. “I haven’t really stoked a fire longer than it’s taken to do a bonfire while camping so, if there’s some sort of magic you know to keep it going longer I’d love to know it.” The girl didn’t want to fuck it up. The man worked with wood. The last thing she wanted to do was waste it.

It did make her a little unsettled to hear the other part, though. “Um, and what do you mean exactly by not needing to interact? Like, you don’t want to see or hear from me?”

Harry paused, his gaze sharpening a little on the girl. He was used to being alone. He liked being alone. He didn’t want to come home to some sort of chatty roommate. “I mean exactly that.” He said gruffly.

“Oh.” She replied quietly, swallowing the lump on her throat. Her gaze averted when his sharpened on hers, looking towards her lap. He was a little intimidating and she felt embarrassed for some reason- but logically she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong. Didn’t mean her body knew that, though.

“O-Okay. I’ll make sure to give you your space.” Her head nodded, convincing herself it would be good for her. Maybe akin to rejection therapy. She had hoped for something a little different, but this was the escape she had needed- she couldn’t complain. “Can you tell me what kind of foods you like, or don’t, so I can make what you’ll eat?”

Harry grunted, his expression relaxing slightly at the mention of food. He hated being bothered with small talk, but food was something he could appreciate- it was part of her job, anyways. He could talk abojt that. “I like meat and potatoes. Steak, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, that sort of thing. Don’t bother with fancy shit. Just straightforward, hearty food.”

He paused, thinking for a moment before continuing. “And coffee. Black coffee. None of that fancy latte crap. Just straight up coffee.” He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “That’s all you need to know for now. You can start preparing dinner and I’ll be back later.”

“Oh! I… are you sure?” She stood up too, following him. “Where should I put my things?” Part of her felt a little nervous she had fucked up with how fast he seemed to want to get out of there, but she didn’t know what she could have done to offend him. Was this just the way he was? Probably. She shouldn’t take it personally- but part of her did, just a bit. “I don’t know which room I should set my things up in.”

Harry turned around, his expression still stern. “You can set up in the spare room down the hall. It’s the first door on the right.” He pointed down the hallway before continuing. “I don’t need any help with my things. Just worry about your own shit for now.”

Her eyes fell down towards the floor, nodding at his words. It must just be the way he was, she concluded. He didn’t bother saying goodbye as she heard the door close, the ticking of the large grandfather clock in the den the only sound until the start of his pickup was muffled outside.

Who the hell was this man? And what had she gotten herself into?

[hoiststowline]

into the mystery

part one prologue

Temptation floods a disorientated mind as to where it would be best to rest trembling fingers, other than numbly atop your lap as you survey the fast-moving scenery. Having not quite met Streetwise in its entirety, you fear he’d lose his cooler façade if you even as much as brushed his armrests. Such a reaction would be contradictory to his initial character, but a nagging voice chided that he didn’t give off that vibe, not at all. But as you encroached new territory, the outsider feeling never passed you by, understanding that any small thing you did could give them an untrue impression of yourself. Streetwise was friendly, overly so at some points, but you could not trust so easily, especially just hours after your heart nearly leaped from your chest. The trip hadn’t been very arduous, but curiosity got the best of you once you had entered the skirts of the forest, wondering aloud what this so-called talk was going to be about.

“I’m not sure of the specifics. Just wants to make sure you’ll keep your word and all that on-the-books scrap.” For some unreliable reason, that eased some of your rampaging nerves, sniffling quietly as he began to trail down a man-made path between the dense trees. “I tried to get you out of it, but he was pretty serious about at least having a quick talk. Don’t worry, he isn’t going to threaten you or anything.”

For some subconscious reason, you find you owe him thanks for trying anyway. “That’s okay,” You hum, straightening your shoulders before they deflate again, steadily losing your calm yet attempting once more to snuff it out. “I’ll just suck it up, get it over with, and we’ll all pretend like it never happened.”

Streetwise makes a noise of acknowledgment, but it isn’t a chipper one as if agreeable to your goal. Though you were very adamant about forgetting all of this after the chat with Hot Spot, he can’t find it in himself to agree, silently frustrated by your overall insistence. He wasn’t about to beg for you to stay, but he would voice that he wasn’t happy about your wanted departure. Admirable to your traits, he was growing fond of your company, be as little time you’ve shared as a gentle reminder of his outward irrationality. Often, he’s left to his own devices, finding it difficult to keep his head up when every desperate plan fails, not seeing a light in the never-ending tunnel.

“Right,” He drawls, dragging out each syllable. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Streetwise catches you shake off the confusion from a mildly exasperated expression, opting to push onwards without acknowledging his exchange, rightfully pensive. “So, is it just the three of you then?” You ask to avoid any unknown revelations; uncertain your already fast-beating heart could handle any more than three.

“No,” He doesn’t think it’s best to disclose such information, thinking if he spooked you enough, most of this would just be futile as the base was just ahead. “But the only bots here now are Hot Spot, Groove, and me. The others are elsewhere right now, likely completing their duties for the rotation. Hot Spot asked them to give us the space, he did not want you to be...”

He trails off, unsure what word is best. “Afraid?” You venture, a fair guess, but when you’ve realized what he just said, you balk, eyes wide. “More than three? How many?”  

“Doesn’t matter, at least right now,” The reply was a little too curt than he’s used to, but he must steer this conversation back on track and not flare your vacillation any further. “We’re here,”

Streetwise pulls up to an area that runs up against the side of a cliff, rock encasing a large clearing almost on three sides in one large swoop, a massive hunk of metal sheathed with greenery and brush as if to camouflage it. It was blended in well enough, most certainly from above, and you couldn’t think of a time that anyone risked it this far into the desolate wilderness unless it was an outstanding hunting year, a feat that hasn’t occurred in twenty-five years.

“Holy shit,” You breathe, a familiar fear crawling up from the pits of a nauseated stomach to settle in your throat, nerves high. “I don’t think I can do this.” Never thinking in the first place that you could, it all became glaringly real the instant he began to slow down, realizing here is where you would walk into a harsh unknown.

“Of ’course you can,” The wheels come to a halt, stopping just shy of the entrance as the passenger door on your right swings open, wordlessly beckoning you out of the cabin. “You made it this far. If anything, I’m sure Groove wants to say hi. He hasn’t really shut the frag up about you since last night,” He would never tell him what he just witnessed, for it would only boost the motorcycle's already dangerously encouraged ego, but you turn back to the center console, eyes just a tad brighter, less petrified.

“Really?” You swallow, watching the seatbelt retract across your waist to settle against the side of the seat, swinging your legs over to the right to exit. “I guess so…”

Groove truthfully had not stopped talking since his arrival back to base, unable to keep the secret to himself and running his mouth to his roommate, Rook. Then, who in turn was annoyed he wasn’t informed about it, wanted to meet you and discern every detail from beginning to end. “Because it was supposed to be a secret!” Streetwise had huffed, unimpressed with Groove’s inability to shut the hell up. But to be completely honest, in the least with himself, his processor was wide awake with play-by-plays of your conversations and furthermore, the one that was to come with Hot Spot. With the confirmation that he had done the correct thing in some strange roundabout way, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing with ideas of how to get you to collaborate, or at the very least feel less distressed.

When you’ve hopped out of the vehicle and taken a dozen or so steps forward, Streetwise moves his transformation cog slowly, converting from his alt-mode to his bi-pedal mode languidly but promptly. “Besides, we haven’t met yet. Officially, anyhow,”

At the loud thud, you hastily swivel around, looking straight ahead for the police cruiser only to find it was no longer there, anxious that what you had guessed was about to occur was truthful. In place of the car, your neck tilts further and further back until you meet a set of unguarded cerulean eyes mortified that, somehow, he was larger than Groove. While somewhere in your distorted thoughts, it made strangely perfect sense, as the car was much bigger than the motorcycle, you suppose at the given moment, unexpected disbelief got the better of you. Staggering, you take three steps rearward until you can collect your spiraling mind, palm raising to cover your rapidly beating heart.

Streetwise tilts his helm to the side, unsure as to why you still looked so startled and terrified, thinking this was far more rational than a talking car. “What’s the matter? I really have an uglier mug than Groove?”

Thinking he’s serious, you hastily shake your head in disagreement, before swallowing the incoming round of tears to stutter a comeback. “No, no! I just…Hi, Streetwise,” You decide on, going to say it was nice to meet him formally, you suppose, when he visibly deflates, as if patiently awaiting your approval.

“Good.” It was foolish of you to assume that the exchange would end there because the next sentence he utters has all the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright. “I’ll be sure to tell him you think he has an ugly face-plate,”

Gasping, you scramble after him, trying but failing to keep up with his long stride. “I didn’t mean it like that, I meant-”

“I know,” He laughs, pressing a few buttons until the panel slinks over with an automatic hiss, himself grandly gesturing you inside first. “Just kidding,”

 Taking his offer but demonstrating your hesitation, you shuffle into the expansive but uncannily well-lit space, eyes still glassy and a straining uncomfortableness running rampant. You have no expectations of the room, going to scan its contents when your gaze falls on a looming presence at the furthest wall, a full head and shoulder taller than Streetwise.

A shuddery exhale escapes you, hand coming to cradle your elbows as the mech at your rear takes in your horrified body language, unsettled by something. He follows your stare, finding your discontentment was from Hot Spot, the bot who’d sooner rip his servo off than cause you any harm, but you didn’t know that. The only idea you had of him was your own imprecise explanation of him, that and the short contact from the other night, at which he was arguably at his most overwrought, still not even toeing the line of being cross. Streetwise can only recall one time that he's ever seen him livid, even in all the epochs he’s known him, and that was when Blades did something careless that got him seriously injured.

Seemingly at your gulp, the figure turns around, eyes an intense crimson that gives off the impression he is nowhere near laidback, as Streetwise had so insouciantly called him. You cannot see his mouth, the same as you cannot see Groove’s eyes, but when you try to retreat, Streetwise had leaned down, prodding your back with a bent digit, escape route quickly seized from your line of sight. “Spots, this is y/n,”

To your dismay, he comes to a knee, still far too intimidating, a voice you would not associate with the bot rumbling from deep within his chest. “Hello,” It’s outrageously affable, not approaching any further as to give you ample room, only for you to close the outstanding distance whenever you felt the courage to do so.

Another round of tears brims to the surface, unable to do anything but offer a short wave in greeting. With a beat of silence, you fear this is all a setup, though you falter considerably when he restarts once more. “Streetwise, may I have a word with y/n in privacy?”

Streetwise pauses, digit still hovering above your spine as if to be a comforting notion, feeling his spark sink simultaneously. You seemed so scared, even if you didn’t understand you had no true reason to be, lest of Hot Spot, and it didn’t feel right to abandon you in a moment like this when he worked so hard to gain a sliver of your trust the entire ride here. Yet, Spots looks at him pleadingly, a soundless appeal to let him handle this, to get back on course without more unnecessary delays.

At his question, your shoulders jump to your ears, about to beg him to stay, but to your heavy dismay, he sighs behind you, standing up to his full height once more. “Yeah,” He can’t glance your way, because he knows the moment he sees your pleading eyes, he won’t be able to maintain his composure and abide by the leader’s request.

With a floundering stare, you watch as he moves down a hallway to your left, taps a button on a panel just right of the door, and disappears as the metal slides right back over. As if the snap of a finger, the only two that remain in the room are you and the daunting company just about thirty-five yards away, bowed, entirely still.

“I only asked him to leave because I fear I will be entirely transparent with you, y/n.” Hot Spot appears tired, an exhaustion present in his voice and frame that you had not perceived when meeting Groove or Streetwise. The boss appears to carry the weight and severity of the situation on his broad shoulders, a vast contrast to the optimistic attitudes the other two mechs had in your previous communications. You’ve yet to say anything, unconfident in how to approach him, but he carries onwards for the both of you. “I doubt that either of them has explained much to you, but that may be partially my fault.”

Injudiciously, you shake your head, sniffling some before finding your voice, albeit unstable. “No, I can’t say anything has been cleared up,” A hoarseness overtakes your words, causing you to clear your throat before continuing. “But why do you wanna talk to me? I swear, I won’t tell anybody, I hardly believe this is real and not a dream.”

You stiffen as he chuckles, sincere but soft all the same, a somewhat bolstering impulse. “Ah, well, though I must implore you to keep our secret safe, the intention of this meeting was not for that purpose,”

He speaks so gently, so carefully as if trying to console you all while having a simple chat, a multitasking clandestine. When you do not immediately reply, he tugs free one of his hands that was previously atop his knee, undoubtedly an awkward position for a mech so big, but remains inert. You shamelessly stare at it, surveying his every move, but only come to find he is extending a motion to you, vying to close the overkill distance set between your bodies.

It takes unfathomable courage to peel your shoes off the tile, eventually relenting and answering his call, notwithstanding unhurriedly. When you finally stand before him, swallowed by his shadow, you think he’s presenting a handshake as Groove did, but instead, ever so gently, he raises a finger to your face to push aside tears you had no indication were flowing freely, unbeknownst among the whirlwind. His touch is his featherlight as if used to being benign and dealing with rosy skin, but it all fades far too fast as his servo comes back to the perch he’d pulled it from.

“You have every right to be afraid.” That is almost validating, but you won’t proposition him the satisfaction of knowing that just yet. “But if I may be honest with you, y/n, we are in a very precarious situation. I don’t wish to implore such a heavy burden upon you, but if you would consider it, we may require your assistance every now and then.”

Blinking wildly, your hand comes to graze the cheek he’d just warmed, comprehensively perplexed. “Assistance? I don’t really follow you.”

Taking your riposte as not an immediate no, Hot Spot continues without a second thought, treading meticulous waters. “Our resources are cripplingly depleted. We have been on Earth for roughly three years with virtually no contact from our home, our mission is vaguely understood to us. If we do not find supplies soon, I am afraid we will have to enter emergency stasis.”

You don’t know exactly what ‘emergency stasis’ means, but the context clues are bold enough to grasp a quick conception. “But how can I help? This was all an accident, and I still can’t believe this is happening-” Stopping short, you pause to realign your tone as you wildly approach being loud and vexed.

“This is merely a…request, by no means an obligation,” Genuine, and effortlessly exhibiting that he’s not frustrated in your outburst. “Trust that I would not ask something of you if it was not my last resort. When Streetwise had disclosed to me of Groove’s misfortune, he did not see it as such. He saw you as a potential friend and ally, one that did not blow our cover the moment you spotted us.”

“What are you doing?” Streetwise freezes in place, leaning up against the door as Groove rounds the corner, apparently caught in the act of trying to listen in on the very lengthy conversation. It was entirely futile, unable to hear a single thing, audials strained greatly as Hot Spot must be whispering and your voice level was not loud enough to be picked up by his sensors. “Who’s in there?”

“Shut up,” He seethes, motioning him to be quiet, keeping his own voice at a hushed balance. “Hot Spot is talking with y/n, and-”

“y/n’s here?” Groove has no idea what stealth means, his shout causing Streetwise to lunge forward to cover the motorcycle's mouth with a servo before dragging him back over to the door, now in a headlock against his chassis.

The whole notion was causing your head to spin, feeling torn as you were in no position to deny them help, but feeling a demanding awareness of hesitance in immediately agreeing to do so. “I just need a moment to think about it…it’s not a no, it’s just a…maybe.” You decide, posture losing some of its left-over rigidity, thinking it best to go over your options, in the security of your own home and not here.

“Certainly.” He hums, overall pleased, an idea that sends a balminess to your chest, ambiguous as to why. “I thank you greatly, and I truthfully appreciate you even considering it. I will have Streetwise take you home.”

Alongside a deep breath, you nod, looking up at him with a small smile. “Sounds good.”

Just when everything began to settle, both Hot Spot and you advert your gazes to the door Streetwise had departed down, a lurid noise followed by a shout echoing, bouncing off the metal walls. You cannot see the blue mech’s mouth, but you could gather when he was smiling and when he was frowning, just by the lines beneath his eyes, and at this very instance, he was no longer pleased.

“What was-” You go to ask, but then the door slams over, meaning someone has pressed the button from the other side as Groove and Streetwise tumble out and clumsily hit the ground with a callous thud. Gasping, you can only stare as the cruiser keeps the motorcycle tangled in a stranglehold, Groove splaying a hand over Streetwise’s chin to try and keep him at bay, struggling to break free.  

“y/n, hi!” As if they weren’t wrestling each other, Groove perks up considerably when his optics fall to you just across the room. Streetwise immediately relents, realizing that they were had, trying to scramble to stand, but it appears he couldn’t quite shove the bot from him as in an awkward position.

Dumfounded, you wave hello, but Hot Spot vestiges, unenthusiastic. “I do not recall either of you being told to stand there,”

Eventually, Groove lands on the floor with an oof, having been successfully tossed off Streetwise’s lap with little placidness. “Yeah, about that. I-”

He’s interrupted, but he can’t say he’s galled about it, almost overjoyed to find you terribly suppressing laughter, and not like the sarcastic one he heard last night. It’s light, giggles grappling to break free as a palm comes to your lips, not even correctly covering them as top teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Sorry, sorry!” You try, but it’s futile, as a round of amusement erupts, the three of them staring at you mostly in incredulity, unconfident as to what you find funny, but they all relax when you provide some sort of explanation. “I just wasn’t expecting that, I- are you okay?”

When you look between the two of them, Groove is the first to recover, hopping to his feet and dusting imaginary specks off his plating, suddenly unable to look your way. “Yeah, totally fine.”

“All good,” Streetwise confirms, hauling himself back onto his feet. “So. Ready to go?”

You nod, a more permanent smile sticking on your face. “Yeah. I think so.” Turning briefly to address the still crouched Hot Spot, you wave tenderly, meaning the next sentence earnestly. “It was nice to meet you. I will get back to you, I promise.”

“Likewise. And I do implore you take as much time as you need,” He speaks so professionally, that you fleetingly wonder if he ever swears, but you’re charmed, nonetheless. “I look forward to hearing from you, either way.”

For some otherworldly reason, you know he means it. Proffering a thumbs up, you cross the floor over towards the exit, hands tucked within your sweatshirt pocket as Streetwise and Groove exchange a glance. Still not quite understanding your sudden shift in mood, the police cruiser shuffles after you, shrugging to himself as you wave goodbye to the white and gold mech on your way out.

“I wasn’t listening, just so you know.” Groove says trying to wiggle his way out of an incoming lecture, sensing it was a very high possibility. “I couldn’t hear a word you said. Was mostly getting my aft kicked that whole time.” Massaging at his side as if it would add to his unlikely story, a sheepish expression adorning his face.

Hot Spot only hauls himself off the ground, standing fully upright once you are entirely gone from immediate sight, his joints protesting harshly with audible creaks. It must’ve been no good on his junctions to hunch on himself like that but tried to make himself less unapproachable, for only your sake.

“I’m sure,” The leader muses, a sunnier air to his manner, yet addresses the motorcycle circumspectly, apathetic to his declination. “Although, I am shocked you did not fight Streetwise to take y/n home,”

“A definite brawl that would not be worth it, for starters,” He answers, a ghost of a smile on his face-plate. Firmly watching the exit after the door slides back over, alerting them both they had departed from the base, now outside. “And besides, I owe him one.”

“See? He wasn’t so bad, right?” Now out of earshot, the two of you now stand on the grass outside, yourself presenting a little less anxious, at least no longer quivering. Streetwise was right, he ostensibly always is, finding ways to relax your nerves even if you were doing the absolute most to keep them suppressed and not brought to the surface. “Makes Groove and I look like slagheads,”

“He was very nice,” You affirm, finding casual conversation no longer an insane feat. At a random bend of wind, you turn to the left towards the horizon, attempting to evade the strong squall. But by the time you turn around, the black and white sedan was in the spot Streetwise previously was, purportedly having not heard him. “But I don’t think he makes either of you look bad, you’re both cordial, in your own ways.” 

“I wasn’t looking for a compliment, but I will absolutely take that one,” He laughs, passenger door propped open. “So, you’ll think about it?”

While he hadn’t heard what Hot Spot specifically said, he understood generally what he was going to ask, just by the conversation they had the previous rotation. It was a crapshoot, they all somberly knew that, especially with how largely jumpy you’d seemed, apprehension high. Something had changed, even if only marginally, and though kept to himself, he was proud you were to the lowest degree of uneasiness around him. But he could blame that on the sole reason that he’s had the most communication with you, yakked your ear off and you hadn’t shied away from it, at least not today.

“I will.” You slide inside the interior once more, taking immediate notice of how every action appears to be equable, the seatbelt clicking over and the door swinging shut. It’s like he took a crash course on the subject after he drove you home yesterday, with actions more calmer and less forceful. “I promised him I would.”

“That’s all I could ever ask for. I appreciate you even thinking it over,” An engine turns over, and he begins back down the path from whence you came, somehow in a cheerier mood. “Now it’s time to hold up my end of the deal. To take you to the store, as promised.”

“Thank you.” Hushed, but not out of anything other than a sudden gradual tiredness that has overtaken your mind. You want to fill the silence but can’t find anything more to continue, your head tilting gingerly against the heavily tinted glass.

“No need for thanks, it’s the least I can do.” The interior dashboard alights with his words, and this time, you catch the rearview mirror as it slides in your direction. “I wouldn’t want to bother you any longer,”

“That’s okay,” Completely stunned by your answer, he isn’t given time to recover before you continue. “You’re not a bother. I appreciate all the precautions you put into this,”

He can’t find a singular word in his internal dictionary that would convey his truest reaction, other than a stammered cough and a mumbled reply. “H-hey, no problem. Anytime.” Wholeheartedly meaning it, every single word.

[firstelevens]

22 for sambucky? :)

22. things you said after it was over

It would be nice, Sam decides, if the people around him could acknowledge, just one time, that he's a goddamn professional.

Sure, they're willing to trust his tactical assessments and follow his plans in the field, and there's plenty of mentoring opportunities where they actively seek out his advice, but apparently that doesn't mean shit. Apparently, at the end of the day, Sam's team--and a number of people who aren't on Sam's team, which is kind of the problem--is convinced that he'll handle any given awkward situation with all the grace and professionalism of a thirteen-year-old.

Nobody has said as much, of course, but he can feel all of their eyes on him, their interest barely disguised as they watch him from across the jet. Whatever world-ending threat it is that demands the presence of both Team Cap and the Thunderbolts, it's been overshadowed by the mere act of Sam walking across the jet to sit beside his ex.

Bucky, at least, doesn't give him anything more than a glance of acknowledgment as Sam takes a seat on the bench. There's about a foot of space between them, and Sam is abruptly reminded of the time when there used to be no space there at all, when the furthest that either of them could bear to be was still near enough to orbit the other.

"Torres still thinks I'm the one who broke up with you and you're covering for me," Bucky says, by way of greeting. His jaw is tight, so different from the sweet smile he used to send Sam's way when he was about to either be very sweet or a complete nuisance. "You might want to refresh your team on intel gathering."

Sam snorts, but he doesn't feel particularly like laughing. "If Torres can't believe the truth when he hears it, we've got much bigger problems than how he thinks our relationship ended."

All he gets in response is a grunt, Bucky's eyes focusing back on the paperback in his hands.

"I'm not here to talk about Torres, anyway," says Sam.

"No?" asks Bucky, flat. "And I was so sure you were here to braid my hair and tell me that he finally asked you out."

Sam, a goddamn professional, ignores the jibe. "I'm here because AJ's twelfth birthday is next week, and Sarah says you still haven't RSVP-ed."

"What do you mean?" asks Bucky. "I told her weeks ago I couldn't make it."

"Yeah, that was the wrong answer," says Sam, crossing his arms. "It's AJ's birthday. Everyone he loves is going to be there. You're not skipping it."

Bucky's eyes narrow in irritation, and although it's directed at Sam, he still feels a rush of relief that it's no longer the closed-off expression he was getting earlier. "Is that an order, Cap?" he sneers. "You know I don't answer to you anymore, right?"

"You never answered to me to start with," snaps Sam. "And it's not an order; it's an invitation."

"I know I'm getting up there in years, so maybe my memory's going, but invitations are usually requests, aren't they?" asks Bucky. "There's not generally a right answer."

"Fine. It's not an invitation. It's a reminder," he says. "AJ loves you and you love him. He wants you at his party, and you wouldn't break his heart by missing it."

Bucky scowls, crossing his arms. "You sound very sure of yourself."

"Oh, I am," Sam says. "I already worked it out with Sarah and everything."

He can see Bucky trying not to take the bait, but after a long moment, Bucky's frown gets deeper as he asks, "Worked what out with Sarah?"

"AJ and I are going on a trip before his birthday to celebrate, just the two of us," says Sam. "The day of the party, I'll be on call, so I won't be there. For whatever it's worth."

But naturally, Bucky can't let anything be easy, so he gets all huffy. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, Sam. Why would you be on call during AJ's birthday party?"

Sam mirrors Bucky's scowl. He hasn't missed these arguments. "So we can fix the stupidest thing I've ever heard, which is you telling Sarah that AJ's favorite person can't come to his birthday party because it would be 'uncomfortable' for one person who's not even that relevant to the party."

"It's AJ's birthday," says Bucky. "His uncle should be there."

"And he will be," says Sam, with his fiercest glare. "Right?"

He watches realization color Bucky's face, slowly melting into wonder.

"Oh," says Bucky, softly. The look on his face, all tender, heartbreaking awe, triggers Sam's muscle memory so fast that his hands are reaching out to hold Bucky almost before he realizes that it's happening. He snatches them back as soon as he clocks it, but Bucky is clearly too caught up to notice either way.

"Yeah, oh," Sam says, trying for the even tone he'd used earlier. "So you'll be there?"

Bucky nods shakily, his eyes still wide. They look a little glossy, maybe, but Sam can't fault him for that.

"I'll be there," he whispers. "Thank you, Sam."

"Of course," says Sam, pushing off the bench seat. He clears his throat. "Be safe out there."

"You, too," is the immediate response. There's a drawing-in of breath, like maybe Bucky has something more to say, but nothing else follows, and eventually, Sam is out of reasons to stay. It's hard to pull himself out of Bucky's orbit all the same.

[stray-tim]

Stray lets himself be moved, leaning close all the while. The rambling on its own does not make much sense to him at first and his thoughts are racing, trying to conclude what is going on.

Jacyn is talking about his parents.

He acts young.

Younger than normal.

He still remembers him.

He does not seem to remember the bad ending of his parents.

Everything he says in regards to his parents is still alarming.

He does not seem to lie.

Maybe age regression with selective memories? Or some villain's plot he got caught up in? Or something entirely different?

Stray shakes his head for a second, to get his focus back. He couldn't just silently analyze.

"Sorry, I just spaced out for a second", he says with an easy smile, as he leans in and gives Jacyn a side hug.

His brother had asked for hugs, so he would deliver, while keeping an eye on his behavior. At least he seemed happy...

"Do you want to puzzle?", he asks with a nod to the clearly used box.

What's wrong? Wit ya? Ya don seem happy.??

I am! Don't worry, I just have a few broken ribs and minimizing moving sucks (๑ᵔᴗᵔ๑)⁠ゞ

[transsexula]

"Just ignore how every minority man is treated, because talking about it is basically like saying some women don't experience misogyny"

Never the point of this convo. In fact, you're literally making up a guy to be mad at. Why is it that a different minority talking about their own issues in their own space makes you feel this way? Why is it a minority making their own words to explain something they experience now an attack on you? Is it, perhaps, that you don't understand the experience and therefore project your own understanding of it onto everyone who speaks about it regardless of THEIR actual experiences?

I'll be the first to admit I don't know every fucking experience out there. I gotta trust my trans sisters when they talk about their experiences- same with any other identity I don't understand. Why are trans men not afforded this? We are literally an oppressed minority. Our bodies are constantly regulated and cracked down on and treated as freakshows. I feel like on some level, as trans people, others have to feel it and see it. Right?

Or are we just supposed to stay invisible?

[rouge-fauna]

I think you’re talking about these posts [here & here], I don’t know if there have been others.

I'm not gonna say what I did was right, you are correct I should probably just not respond to asks getting me to talk about other people. I will say for these two posts those people had already blocked me I’m pretty sure, so it’s kinda hard to talk directly to them in that case. And I was not doing so anonymously and had not blocked them so I wasn’t hiding what I was saying. I did not follow them, I am not part of the innitor community, and not that that makes it right but I do think it is kinda different. Though you make a good point, perhaps we should stop this pattern of responding to asks about other blogs and such.

Still, the biggest thing to me I realized, back in elementary school when I first dealt with this, was that honestly all the time we talk about people behind their back. Talking about people when they aren’t always in the room is kinda just inevitable and part of socializing, however I think the important part is how you are talking about other people. It’s when you are insulting them, talking negatively about them to people they know, spreading false information and so on that it becomes not okay. Hopefully that makes sense.

In these cases I merely focused on the lore. I didn’t insult them or talk shit about them, as a person, as a blog or say their takes were stupid or they are stupid or speculate about their trauma or mental history. I just talked about reasons why I disagreed, or saw things differently and why we might see things differently. They were also not the only ones I saw to say similar things so I think in my mind I was making more of a general discussion, not trying to target them specifically. I didn’t post beyond that about them. But you are right, regardless it was probably not the right way to go about things.

But just to be clear, if I am a hypocrite it is not my intention. I haven’t vague blogged anyone or meant to vague reblog anyone. I think this week is pretty much the first time I’ve ever been not naming, passive aggressively talking about blogs, and even then I’m not trying to insult them, trying to cancel them. I’m just expressing that before you go off about how I’m stupid and unable to have a discussion about it, the very least you could’ve done was give me an opportunity to try.

[transannabeth]

hi. for people who saw gatsby: an american myth. do you remember mckee asking nick for lunch. and then gatsby in like the next scene inviting nick for lunch. because i remember.

[anendoandfriendo]

"Fuck your online discourse" actually, no, we do think the halloween DID flag shouldn't be used but it's not because of some bullshit like "waah it's just a recolor" it's because the system that created that flag is a huge fucking racist and ableist last we checked, and we never saw ant kind of apology for being racist and ableist to endogenic systems. We never saw them stop being anti-endogenic or anti-Black (because let's be honest, Black endogenic systems specifically would be the ones most affected and hurt by this).

Like, we know people have forgotten by now, but we were THERE just before TPA became a thing, when systems like The Entropy System were fully mask-off in their bigotry (we call anti-endogenics facsists because of the personal experience of having the not-pleasure of seeing shit like the above link lmao), and such other things. We used to be very visible on Twitter as an endogenic system who's seen this shit but it was kind of taking over 99% of our focus when we were working retail instead of working at home, so we ended up tapering it away.

[anyoldfandom]

The problem with starting to think about the Pack more is the fact that now I want to grab Skalamander the same way I grabbed Bobo like. My house now. I want to use your character potential.

[lukazade]

Can't sleep have to say one last thing

This episode literally had a "sometimes closure is just letting something go" moment and I'm reeling about it I can't lie,,,, she didn't get "closure" with gummigoo when she saw him. She had to leave it at goodbye. You never get to see that rly, idk it was just nice. Some people just leave. It's not your right to force them to explain or bring things up that will open up a can of worms. Get closure by moving on without asking them for answers or to listen to you talk. Nobody is owing you their time or trauma, even when all you want to say is "sorry." Find it within yourself to close the door behind a person.

[blujayonthewing]

desire to roleplay authentically when my character has traits that can come across as difficult or frustrating vs irl intense fear and terror of ever being difficult or frustrating FIGHT