#because it's just as forgotten twisted and wrong here in real life as it is in Dragon Age

[seeminglyseph]

"Ask for the Slow Arrow, and I will help.

-- Felassan"

Hmm. Great. Great. Something I cannot be insane about to my normal level Dragon Age friends. Perfect.

Love not being able to be insane about Felassan to people. How do I not be insane about the Slow Arrow? I'm like. Playing this game slowly because, like. I'm Not Okay about this series, and part of it is like. Felassan's coming up so often in the codices, and if you didn't read The Masked Empire, probably that's damn meaningless but like. I did read The Masked Empire.

I haven't read all the books. I feel like I still desperately need to sit down and read Tevinter Nights, but I was hoping it would come out on audiobook, and then I got distracted.

But then the characters from Tevunter Nights showed up in Veilgaurd. And Felassan's notes are all over the Lighthouse, and my heart is breaking into a million billion pieces.

[blurredcolour]

IV. “I Trust You Know What You’re Doing?”

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

Struggling with the forced separation of your transfer and promotion, it does not take long for you and Bucky to plan a trip to London together. But even while you're on leave, the world around you continues to do its best to tear itself apart.

Warnings: Language, Grief, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [oral - f receiving, implied virginity loss, protected vaginal sex, condoms, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: Welcome to this massive installment. I have no excuses, only apologies. Also I only had the fortitude to proof this once, there may be more errors than normal, but I didn't want to delay it any longer - I will correct things as I find them. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

ETA: The image descriptions for the letters contain the text within to allow for a screen reader or anyone who cannot read cursive. Click the ‘ALT’ button to access.

Word Count: 8497

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Wycombe Abbey could not have been more different than Thorpe Abbotts if it had tried.

The private, or in a most confusing twist ‘public’ as the Brits called such institutions, girls’ school had begun its life in the 17th century as a manor house before being transformed into a much grander residence near the end of the 19th century. The school had opened in 1896 with only forty students, but that number had swelled to over two hundred by the time the building was requisitioned for use as the Headquarters of the 8th Air Force.

Stained glass windows, stonework, archways, and wood panelling now replaced squat concrete buildings and rough-and-ready Nissen huts. Though everything was just as drafty, so at least the temperature provided some familiar consistency to your new surroundings. As you descended from your quarters tucked away in some forgotten corner of the attic, down a set of precarious servants’ stairs, you nearly took a wrong turn – again. To your credit you had only been here three days and the maze of corridors and rooms further divided into offices for USAAF purposes was nearly unnavigable.

Chiding yourself softly under your breath that your office was to the right and not the left, as though the sharpness of your tone might really drive it home this time, you quickened your steps still hoping to beat to postal clerk to the outgoing mail box that sat on the corner of your desk. It had been more of a challenge than you were expecting to write the letter clutched in your hand, but the daily meetings that senior operations officers held at 1015, 1600, and 2200 were your responsibility to attend and record via frantically scribbled notes to be typed up in a more professional format later.

These were the meetings at which mission targets for the entire 8th were chosen. The strategic value of various locations was discussed alongside weather reports and aligning with the RAF’s Bomber Command for maximum impact against Nazi Germany. After the first meeting, it would be decided if a mission would even be conducted the following day, and each Division, Wing, and Base involved would be put on alert to allow them time to begin planning the operation. By the time the last meeting ended, the target and approach would be finalized, and the official field orders would be issued.

It made for a remarkably long day, even with breaks for meals, and though you were guaranteed every other Friday off because of this, by the time you crawled into bed near midnight, you only had enough energy to add a few lines onto the letter you had begun to Bucky as soon as you arrived. It made for a rather disjointed and rambling piece of correspondence, in your opinion, but you could not bear to keep him waiting any longer – not wanting him to assume you had forgotten to write and not knowing how long the thing would take to reach him regardless.

Dashing into the office you shared with Myrtle, a very stoic young woman with dark hair and thick eyelashes from Rhode Island, you exhaled in relief to see the post still waiting to be collected and added your letter to the pile. Unlocking your desk drawers, you began setting up for the day, hoping it would reach him quickly.

His reply arrived in your inbox just over two weeks later, near the end of September. Sliding it into your brown leather utility bag, you did your utmost to ignore its very existence throughout the first daily meeting, and your subsequent production of the official report thereof. Taking your lunch break a little earlier than usual paid off in that the line was much shorter at that time. You inhaled the mystery stew and rolls, hardly tasting them, before taking your letter outside to read in the rare afternoon sunshine.

It was short, and it was unspeakably adorable that Bucky did not write in cursive, but there was no lack of his personality in his response. It was as though the very essence of him had been distilled into the ink itself and you could not help the broad grin that bore its way into the muscles of your cheeks, making them ache as you read it.

Glancing quickly at your watch, you realized there was still time to send a reply before the second post pick-up but based on the length of time it had taken for this exchange of letters, it was unlikely another would reach him with enough time to plan for October 8 – your next Friday off. Worrying your lip between your teeth as you considered your options, you landed on a rather devious idea, one that quite honestly would have never come to you if not for the deep need to reach Bucky immediately. Vi had a telephone on her desk in the weather office, a number that you had access to given the strategic importance of weather to the senior operations officers.

Myrtle would be on her break for another fifteen minutes…you had not even realized you had made up your mind before your feet began to carry you back inside, up the stairs into the mercifully still-empty office. Digging out the directory, you found the number for Thorpe Abbotts’ weather office and took a shaky breath as you sank into your chair.

‘Keep it brief, keep it free of classified information. Worst you’ll get is a reprimand.’

The devious, deceptive voice in your mind was a new one, fostered, perhaps, by the rather carefree man you found yourself deeply entangled with, but it was not one you were about to disobey. Lifting the handset of your phone from its cradle, you cleared your throat as the operator answered.

“Norfolk 7315, please.” You tried your best to sound calm and collected as the line clicked and began to ring.

“Phillips.” An unexpected voice answered, and you gulped, knowing Ruth would be less likely to participate in some romantic scheme.

You greeted her in kind, trying to ignore the ache of loneliness as she gasped softly.

“I was hoping you might pass along a message for me?”

“To a certain Major?” You could hear the grin in her voice and felt the pressure on your chest ease.

“Indeed. October 8. I will arrange accommodations.”

“Your line should he need to reach you?”

Hesitating a moment, you ultimately decided to provide it as well, wanting to ensure he could in fact contact you if something came up. Or perhaps any of them could – should the worst happen.

‘Don’t think about that.’ You chastised yourself internally.

“You’re well?” Ruth asked and you smiled softly.

“I am, please tell everyone I miss them terribly.”

“Will do, have to go.”

There was a ‘click’ as she hung up and the line went dead but the lightness in your heart could not be extinguished.

Nine days later you found yourself waiting on the platform at Liverpool Street station awaiting the arrival of Bucky’s train from East Anglia. Given the proximity of High Wycombe to London, you had arrived much earlier that morning and checked into the hotel already, dropping off your small bag and come to wait for his train – well you assumed he’d be on the first train of the day, but as the carriages disgorged a sea of humanity and you had yet to spot him, your brows began to furrow in doubt.

You were about to fish the folded schedule you had picked up from the ticket counter to check the next arrival time when he was suddenly wrapping an arm around you, pulling you tight into his chest as you gasped softly in surprise.

“There you are doll.” Bucky sighed, dropping his bag at your feet to slide the other arm around you as he pulled back to nudge your cap out of the way and deliver a breathtakingly thorough kiss that you were not entirely sure was appropriate for the public setting you were in.

Not that you stopped him, you own arms snaking about his midsection to cling to him tightly.

Pulling back, his eyes raked over your features lovingly as you both inhaled deeply to fill your greedy lungs.

“Well, well 1st Lieutenant.” He smirked proudly as he lifted his hand to stroke the chrome insignia you now wore on your lapels courtesy of your promotion, leaving smudges of his thumb print.

“You are leaving my uniform in disarray, Major.” You chided playfully, unable to hold back you grin, even for a moment, to sell the joke.

His forefinger hooked behind the knot in your tie, tugging it out from beneath your jacket and pulling you closer – eliminating the last few inches of space that remained between your bodies.

“Good.” He rumbled against your lips before kissing you deeply, severely undermining the infrastructure of your knees.

The loud racket of the train cars as they shunted into one another jolted the pair of you apart, making you realize you were among the last few remaining on the platform as the now empty train left the station.

“Let’s get you checked in and your bag dropped off.” You murmured, clearing your throat as you unbuttoned your uniform jacket to straighten and re-secure your tie.

His hand slid into yours as the pair of you made your way out of the station and he happily followed you to a hotel you’d found near his station, knowing that he’d be here longer than you and it would be easier for him to find his way back to base this way. Sitting patiently in the lobby as he checked in and ran his bag up, you smiled as he returned to hold his hands out to you.

“C’mon doll, I have a whole plan.”

Taking his hands, you rose to your feet, raising your eyebrows curiously. “A whole plan?”

He leaned in to murmur against your ear, “you’re not the only one involved in planning you know.”

You pulled back quickly, eyes wide with a touch of panic. You were quite certain you had never told him just what your new position entailed, and there was no way he could simply guess it.

“Easy doll, your phone line.” He winked as he maneuvered your arm through his, turning to lead you out the front door.

Slowly exhaling, it clicked into place. Of course. Just as you were able to find Vi’s desk number in a directory, it seemed Bucky had been doing a little research of his own.

“Well, shhh.” You chastened him firmly, laying a finger over your lips, looking very much like an anti-slander campaign poster.

His hearty laugh in response did little to convince you that he took in the message.

“Now, how do we get to Hyde Park…” He murmured, pulling a crumpled leave guide out of his pocket.

“The underground.” You answered easily, leading him back towards the very station he had arrived at but this time down to the tube station entrance where the pair of you purchased your tickets.

His touch rarely left you – even if he was forced to release your hand, you could feel his palm pressed against your lower back as you made your way through the crowded subterranean space. You were glad to have him with you this time, not particularly a fan of this mode of transportation, but it certainly was an efficient way to get around London. Pressed close together on the train, you took the opportunity to simply gaze at him, basking in his presence after nearly a month apart, not missing the way his mouth ticked up at the corner cockily.

“Missed you too, doll.” He winked and ducked a kiss to your ear before guiding you off the train at your stop – once he had confirmed with you it was indeed your stop.

Blinking your way back into the light of day, you pointed at a directional sign guiding the way to Hyde Park.

“Perfect, now apparently there are…sandwiches!” He crowed and tugged you over to a sandwich truck that seemed quite popular based on the line of waiting patrons.

Your face was starting to hurt, driving home how infrequently you had found the opportunity to smile in his absence, making you squeeze his hand fondly. Bucky looked back to you quickly as he joined the queue.

“You really did plan everything.” You gulped quickly and he beamed proudly.

“Anything for my girl. What kind would you like?” He gestured at the menu written on the side of the truck.

By the time you reached the front of the line, Bucky was able to easily place your order, including two bottles of lemonade, insisting on paying. Opening your utility bag, you carefully packed the lunch away, earning a rather damp and enthusiastic kiss on your cheek as he snatched your hand to continue onto the park.

“May I ask what it is about this park in particular?” You inquired as the pair of you dashed across the road.

“You can ask…” His cheeky reply had you scoffing in return as you entered the canopy of trees, following a path further and further away from the traffic of downtown London.

Plenty of men in uniform seemed to be out, enjoying the nice weather with women on their arms. Women who, unlike you, enjoyed the luxury of being allowed to dress as they chose during their leisure time. It had been one of many reasons that nearly twenty-five percent of women had chosen not to remain enlisted during the transition from the WAAC to the WAC, the army requirement to remain in uniform even when off-duty. In all honesty, you had not really missed your civilian clothes until just then.

Watching the sheer femininity of those women as they swirled about in their colorful fabrics only drove home how drably olive and plainly cut your uniform truly was.

“You’re a million miles away, doll.” Bucky’s voice cut through the dark clouds that had gathered in your mind and you looked to him quickly.

“Sorry Bucky, it’s beautiful here. Like another place entirely.” You offered him a smile but by the way his eyebrow lifted slightly he did not seem to be entirely buying it. “Have the leaves started changing around the base yet?” You tried changing the subject.

He shook his head, releasing your hand to slide his arm around your waist instead, pulling you closer. “Seems everything will happen later here than back home.”

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing ahead and gasping a little at the glimpse of a sizeable body of water that seemed to be filled with rowboats.

“That’s why were here.”

You turned back to him to see a broad grin had overtaken his face and laughed in excitement as it was terribly romantic.

“If I had known, Major Egan, I would have brought my parasol.” You grinned and he snorted, squeezing your hip fondly.

“No need to put on airs, 1st Lieutenant,” he smirked, “the ride will be enjoyable all the same.”

“Bucky!” You hissed sharply, slapping his chest as he laughed deeply, ducking your head slightly as more than a few passersby shot glances your way.

“C’mon doll.” He chuckled and led you over to the booth beside the dock, paying the fee for a thirty-minute rental before the pair of you headed down to climb into one of the waiting row boats.

Setting your heavy bag on the floor, you carefully stepped into the rather unstable watercraft, settling on the passenger’s bench – denoted as such by the ornate ironwork arms. Bucky followed, seated across from you at the oars, his knees nearly brushing against yours, legs too long for so small a boat. Unbuttoning and sliding off his jacket, he tossed it and his cap to you before rolling up his sleeves and began to row the pair of you out onto The Serpentine, you now knew the small lake to be called.

“I trust you know what you’re doing?” You asked as he appeared to easily manage the oars, seeming at ease in the small boat.

“Mostly.” He teased with a wink before laughing at your slightly aghast expression. “Grew up on the shore of Lake Michigan, doll. Boats are like planes to me, easily managed.” He soothed.

It was difficult to decide which view to settle your eyes upon, the verdant green of the still-lush trees, the throng of boats around you, or Bucky working up a remarkably attractive sheen of sweat with his forearms on display as he propelled the rowboat through the water. A feathered fan would have been a very useful tool in that moment, to hide behind or cool yourself down, or perhaps both.

Belatedly, you realized that Bucky had been speaking this whole time – about events back at Thorpe Abbotts. Giving you the update about the people you knew, the trouble Meatball had caused with a farmer down the road, but he trailed off when he realized you were staring once more in dumbfounded silence at him.

“Doll, you’re going to give me a big head if you keep looking at me like that.” He winked as he lifted the oars from the water, letting the water sluice from the blades before tucking them into the boat on either side of you.

“Y…you’re good at that.” You replied lamely and shook your head. “Hungry?” Leaning forward for your bag, which was in all honestly a lot closer to his feet in the floor of the boat, you froze as everything tilted precariously in response to your movements.

Bucky lay a gentle hand on your shoulder to steady you. “Allow me.” Bending down slowly, he scooped up your bag and opened the flap to retrieve your sandwich and lemonade. “It’s sure tight in here, how did you even make this all fit?”

He tugged a little harder on the packet containing your lunch and your eyes widened in horror as, while he was triumphant, he also managed to send the three condoms you had tucked into your bag scattering to the floor of the boat. His eyes followed the distinct, square, paper packets and you could see his throat bob as he swallowed viciously.

“Doll…” His voice came out rough as a gravel road as he slowly raised his eyes to meet yours. “…been doing some planning of your own?”

“‘A WAC is always prepared.’” You quoted in a mortified whisper, struggling against the urge to lunge forward and hide the evidence, knowing it would only send both of you over the side and into the lake.

You watched another swallow ripple down Bucky’s throat before he offered your lunch to you, carefully collecting the offending items and returning them to your bag before he retrieved his own food.

“Would you mind,” He spoke after taking a rather ruthless and oversized bite of his sandwich, words muffled between slices of bread and chicken salad before he swallowed to start over. “Would you mind if, instead of following the rest of my plan, after these thirty minutes are up, I take you back to the hotel?”

Taking a thick swallow of your own, you shook your head slowly as you felt your cheeks heat up at the implications of that invitation. “I would not mind, no.” You clarified breathlessly and he nodded sharply, gesturing for your as-yet-unopened bottle of lemonade.

Handing it back to him, you watched silently as he lined the edge of the cap with the metal plate holding the oarlock in place, popping it off the bottle with one sharp blow of the heel of his palm.

“Thank you.” You murmured quietly as he passed you the opened drink, taking a deep sip as he repeated the process with his own, draining nearly half the bottle in one go.

Tilting your head back to take in the feel of the sun on your face, you slid your cap from your hair, adding it to the pile of his neatly folded items on the bench beside you, continuing to enjoy your picnic on the lake.

“You heard about Dye hitting twenty-five?” He broke the silence, sounding much more like himself again and you nodded quickly.

“Big news, everywhere in the 8th. Lucky crew all heading home – how did Lil take it?” You tilted your head curiously, raising your bottle to your lips, his eyes following the motion closely.

“Hm? Oh, she’ll be alright…they’re both good at letters.” He nodded, leaning back a little.

You knocked your knee against his affectionately. “Don’t sell yourself short you sweet man, I thoroughly enjoyed yours.”

His eyes flicked to yours quickly as a small smile curled his lips. “Yeah?”

You nodded firmly. “Yeah. Promise to give you more to reply to soon, phone was just necessary to make this happen.”

His hand landed on your thigh gently and he squeezed the flesh through your skirt. “Worth it. Just how long are your days though, doll?”

Your fingers played along the empty glass bottle, and you shrugged. “As long as they need to be.” You replied evasively.

“Mm, I’m going to get a better answer out of you than that.” He threatened playfully as he leaned forward to grasp the oar handles, swinging the blades back into the water and taking the pair of you on a loop around the corner of the lake before returning you to the dock.

Bucky climbed out first, taking his cap and jacket before helping you out easily, kissing you firmly as soon as you were on solid ground. “Let’s take a cab…” He breathed impatiently and you laughed, shaking your head.

“The cost would be astronomical, come on.” You affixed your cap on your head as he rolled down his sleeves and slid his jacket back on before the pair of you made your way back to the Underground.

Bucky’s body was practically pressed against yours the entire trip back to Liverpool Street station, seemingly unable to tolerate any form of separation. As you neared the hotel though, you looked to him slowly. “We should go in as colleagues…I booked us that way.”

He looked at you utterly confused, and you swallowed.

“We’re unwed, there was no way I could book us here together, and they will be none to please if they realize I’ve tricked them. I’ll get my key, you get yours, I’ll come to your room…”

He nodded slowly, arm reluctantly unwinding from around your waist before holding the door open for you to step inside.

“Thank you, Major.” You nodded, sliding your cap from your head as you stepped inside, heading to the counter to fetch your room key as he did the same, the pair of you walking up the stairs to the fifth floor together before parting ways so you could fetch your small overnight bag.

It was rather a waste of money, to book a room knowing you would most likely never sleep in it, but such things were necessary for women like you. Women who chose to go to bed with a man they were not married to in the long light of the afternoon. Taking a steadying breath, you left the perfectly made bed behind, walking down the hall to Bucky’s room and knocking on the door softly.

It promptly swung open to reveal a smiling Bucky, his jacket and cap long gone, along with his necktie, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He stepped back and gestured for you to enter his much larger room with a small brown paper wrapped packet clasped in his hand. Once the door was closed behind you, you let out the laugh you had been holding.

“I did book this under Major John Egan, I suppose they felt the need to give you a nicer room than a Lieutenant.”

He smirked and kissed your cheek, taking your cap and bag from your hand, then pressing the package into it. “Before I forget, again.”

“Bucky you didn’t have to get me anything, you came to see me…”

“Open it.” His eyes danced with anticipation, and you began to pull at the piece of twine holding the package closed, unfolding the utilitarian paper to reveal a brand-new pair of stockings.

You let out an audible gasp as your jaw fairly fell to the floor.

“To replace the pair that got wrecked when you fell.” He smiled, obviously pleased by your reaction.

“How on earth did you…?!” You trailed off, staring up at him in wonderment.

“A man never reveals his secrets, doll.” He grinned and let out a grunt as you launched yourself into his arms, kissing him fiercely at the thoughtfulness of his gift and in recognition of the sheer determination it must have taken to achieve such a feat in rationed England.

His fingers gently plied the items from your grasp, setting them on the bedside table, freeing your hands to latch onto his arms as he cupped your face gently.

“You sure about this, my beautiful girl?” He whispered and your breath hitched in your throat at the tender look on his face just inches from yours.

“Yes.” You nodded quickly, sliding your fingers into his hair to pull his lips back to yours greedily.

A pleased noise rolled from his throat and across your tongue as he coaxed your mouth open, his fingers shifting to make steady work at the buttons on your jacket before he unwound your hands from his dark curls to slide the garment off, tossing it in the general direction of the chair that held his. You could not help the giggle that bubbled up from your chest at that as you moved to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one.

The tug of his teeth on your lower lip quickly transformed your laughter to shuddering breath as you held tightly to the open sides of his shirt, feeling him tug your tie free from your collar before it joined the pile of clothes somewhere on the plush blue carpet of the hotel room floor. Your shirt and skirt were quick to join it, leaving you in your brassiere and slip, garter belt and underwear still hidden from view.

“You have a remarkable number of layers on, doll.” He huffed as his mouth descended along your throat to suck at the crook of your shoulder, installing a dramatic curve in your spine as you arched against him wantonly with a half-swallowed cry of pleasure.

“Y…you have almost as many…” You protested, tugging the ends of his shirt from his trousers before pushing it from his shoulders only to be met with his undershirt.

The sheer broadness of him had never quite been so very apparent and had you licking your lips as you struggled with the last barrier between you and his torso, your ID tags rasping metallically against his.

“Not nearly as complicated though.” He muttered as his fingers worked at the hook and eye closure of your bra until you felt the band go slack and he leaned back to slide the straps down your arms, making you shiver as your breasts were revealed to his hungry gaze.

Bucky’s heavy exhale fluttered against your collarbone, grown cool by the time it traversed the distance between you, and you shuddered slightly, looking to the side shyly. He leaned in to brush his nose against yours tenderly, pecking your lips.

“Whatcha hiding for, gorgeous?” His tone was gentle and had your eyes slowly sliding to meet his, an action he rewarded with a deep kiss.

He continued to distract you with repeated meetings your lips, each time with growing intensity as his palms slid upwards along your sides to cup your breasts. The meeting of flesh had you inhaling sharply through your nose, hands seeking anchor as your fingers twisted into his beltloops where his trousers hung open around his hips – yet again delaying you in your purpose of undressing him. As his thumbs honed in on your sensitive peaks, Bucky elicited all manner of noises from your throat only to eagerly devour them.

“D’ya have any idea how soft you are doll?” He sighed against your lips as he kneaded your tender flesh. “’Cept right here.” He smirked as he tugged at your nipples and you whined his name, pressing impossibly close against him, realizing he was anything but soft.

Your shimmies and writhes against him seemed to serve as a reminder of the greater purpose at hand and Bucky’s fingers ceased their torment, sliding down to your hips to divest you of your slip before beginning to work at your stockings. Toeing off your shoes, you pushed his trousers from his hips, letting gravity do the rest.

“So many hooks and straps and loops…” He muttered as his mouth dipped to the hollow of your throat, though his fingers seemed more than capable of stripping you down to only your underwear.

Seizing your hips, Bucky guided you back onto the bed, and you could not help the sigh at that flew from your mouth at the feel of a real mattress with springs and a duvet, drawing a broad grin across his face as he crawled over you, coaxing you to lay back.

“Precious women like you should always have luxurious beds like these. None of those stinking Army cots…” His hands slid beneath your spine to half guide, half drag you up to rest on the obnoxious mountain of pillows.

Staring up at him in awe, at a complete loss for words, you settled on pressing up onto your elbows to kiss him firmly, hoping to convey your appreciation physically rather than trying to summon speech. As his lips parted from yours to begin sliding down your body, you let out a slight huff of annoyance, earning a chuckle against your collarbone which rumbled through his chest and into your body. He lifted his head slightly as his fingers wove through the ball chain of your ID tags as he seemed to notice them for the first time.

“I always wondered if you ladies had these.”

You bit your lip to smother your grin as he never hesitated to say what was on his mind, a constant stream of commentary on the world around him, and rather than annoying, you found it utterly adorable.

“Are you laughin’ at me, doll?” He smirked and gave a gentle tug, pulling a genuine laugh from you, to which he responded with a brilliant grin. “Alright then, I’ll give you something to laugh about.” He bowed his head to drag the flat of his tongue across your nipple, your resulting whimper bouncing off the walls as he resumed his teasing of your opposite breast.

“B…Bucky…” Your eyes shot wide as his plush lips sealed around that tender peak, applying a positively euphoric suction that had you burying your fingers in his hair and pressing your body closer to his mouth in silent demand.

With careful precision, his knee slid its way between your thighs, applying coaxing pressure to each in turn until you provided enough room for him to settle between them. The feeling of his hard length slotting against your core with only the thin barrier of your underwear separating your intimate flesh had your jaw dropping open in a silent ‘oh’ – a revelation unto itself despite all the experiences you had enjoyed with him thus far. Undulating your hips against his experimentally, you shuddered at the ragged, abbreviated groan he pressed against your sternum, caught in the midst of traversing your chest. Thoroughly encouraged, you repeated the action, savagely gnawing on your lip as he bit off a curse before his mouth reached its destination and laved at your neglected nipple.

Nestling tighter against you, Bucky began to roll his hips against you in earnest, obliterating your ability to think and scheme against him at the blinding pleasure his combined actions induced. You could feel the smug angle of his lips against your abdomen as his mouth was trailing lower on your body, his fingers curling into the waistband of your underwear to peel it from your body. Shifting back to free the interfering item from your legs, he gazed down at you with almost black eyes, his pupils having nearly devoured his irises in his arousal, before stretching forward onto his stomach.

Blinking rapidly, you raised up on your elbows to watch him hoist one of your legs over a strong shoulder and then the other, shuffling embarrassingly close to the apex of your thighs.

“Bucky?” You squeaked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow up at you, his pink tongue darting out the wet his lips, nearly matching the flush that had painted its way across his cheeks and down his neck. “Yes, doll?”

“What…” You swallowed thickly as your throat clenched erratically.

“Making good on a promise.” He replied seriously before stretching forward to deliver a thorough kiss to your folds that fairly sucked the air from your lungs, an odd whistling sound echoing through you as you savagely burrowed your fingers into the bedding.

When his tongue narrowed in on that sensitive bundle of nerves, it was your turn to bite off a curse, slumping back onto the pillows as he hummed against you in what was surely mock sympathy as he most certainly did not let up, his efforts only doubling. As your hips began to jerk and writhe, he slung a heavy forearm across your pelvis to pin you in place, only shifting closer and tracing his forefinger around your entrance teasingly. It was all you could do not to kick and wail as you felt yourself becoming embarrassingly slick, the noises he was making growing ever so obscene and filling the hotel room.

“Fuck!” You whined against your palm as his finger finally sunk into your wet heat, its passage remarkably eased by your arousal, hips bucking hard enough to jar his arm slightly.

“Damn you’re delicious, doll.” He growled against you, lips smacking loudly as he began to suck at your pearl, finger working you open enough to add a second before beginning a demanding rhythm.

“Oh…oh...god…” You cried out in agony, too far gone to remember your desire to be quiet, feeling the tension of pending release growing ever closer under his amorous onslaught.

“I know, I know…” He soothed, only quickening his pace, hooking his fingers towards the front of your body, sending your back into a dramatic curve from the mattress, a tortured moan ripping from your throat. “Oh, I have to see that again.” He rasped and sought that precise spot with a ruthless single-minded precision until he was rewarded with not only the same reaction, but your strangled cry as your orgasm slammed into you with breath-taking force.

As you returned to earth from your visit to the celestial plane, the first sensation you became aware of was tender, damp kisses being pressed to your inner thigh as Bucky murmured soft words of encouragement to you.

“There’s my gorgeous girl, holy hell that was incredible, did you enjoy that half as much as I did?”

You managed a wordless noise in the affirmative that summoned him to your side, his lips feathering kisses up your jaw to your ear, the tickle of his moustache making you laugh breathlessly.

“Good?” He murmured and you nodded quickly, turning to look at his still-expectant face.

“Yes.” You cobbled together a verbal response, and he blessed you with a warm smile which you leaned in to press your lips against in gratitude.

“Good.” He swiped his tongue along your lips before suddenly slipping from the bed, making you raise your head in confusion.

Stalking over to find your utility bag amongst the sea of discard items and clothing, he proudly retrieved the three condoms that had announced your hopes and intentions for you by appearing in the rowboat, unceremoniously shucking off his boxers as he made his way back to you. You had held his length before, stroked it to completion, but that paled in comparison to seeing the full expanse of him in the light of day.

“My gorgeous doll, you might not say a lot, but you sure don’t mind looking at what you like.” He smirked unabashedly as he set two of the paper packets on the night table beside you, unwrapping the third to unroll the protective latex onto his cock.

Rather than letting his teasing words dissuade you, though they did cause your teeth to sink into your lower lip, you chose to allow your eyes to linger on his actions, rather fascinated by the whole process. By the male anatomy as well. Task managed, he was climbing over you once more, blocking the golden light of afternoon that was filtering in through the windows with his body, warmth radiating from his skin. He settled easily between your legs once more, still parted from his early activities as you really had not summoned the wherewithal to move yet, and stroked his length through the lingering slick gathered along your folds.

A broken sigh fell from his lips before they clashed with yours, not quite aligned, but the sentiment was still there, body shuddering as you slid your arms around him to cling to his shoulders. It was difficult to tell just whom Bucky was teasing as he continued to rut against you, the tip of his cock brushing against your overly-sensitive bundle of nerves, both of you huffing through your nostrils until at last he began to sink into you.

Tearing your lips from his, you sucked in gasping breaths at the feel of the foreign intrusion, appreciating the fact that his pace seemed to slow in response to that. Appreciating the pause he afforded you when his pelvis slotted snuggly against yours once he was seated fully inside you. Cracking open your clenched eyes, you gulped tightly as they were immediately met by Bucky’s, crowned by a furrowed brow, but flicking over your features studiously as if awaiting your instruction.

“I’m ok.” You breathed and he nodded, immediately seizing your lips in a kiss once more as he rocked forward, earning a ragged moan as your fingertips dug into the skin of his back.

His familiarity with this sort of activity had always been apparent, but was exceptionally obvious now as he slowly began the rhythmic push and pull to drive you both towards climax. The sheer intimacy of it was too much and yet it was not nearly enough, your body craving ever more, ever faster, with increasing desperation. The rare moments that Bucky’s lips were not on yours, they were filling the room with choked-off moans or statements of the filthiest order.

“God doll, you feel so fucking good around me.”

“So tight. I can feel how wet you are too, even with this rubber on.”

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t ya? You’re gripping on me like a…fuck I can’t think when you do that…”

His ability to even speak while experiencing such mind-numbing pleasure, rambling though it was, was fairly awe-inspiring. Your responses were limited to moans and whimpers and cries of his name as his supposition was correct – your orgasm was indeed imminent. All it took was the solicitous stroking of his forefinger against the apex of your pleasure to send you flying over the cliff into paradise, clinging to his body as you cried out in ecstasy.

A string of rasped curses mixed in with several sighs of your name heralded his release as Bucky finished not long after, rocking against you sloppily before sinking down onto your chest with a comforting heaviness. Stroking his back tenderly as he nestled into your neck, you grinned stupidly at the ceiling as you felt quite pleased with your choices.

The pair of you made good use of the rest of the condoms you had brought, with a short break for a meal Bucky procured while you took a bath. He returned with a bottle of brandy as well, finding you still in the bathtub. A lot of water ended up on the floor, a pile of water-logged towels your testament to the attempted clean-up. Eating in bed, you shared stories of your childhoods – Bucky’s about growing up on the shores of Lake Michigan, yours of the small two-storey house with its screen door and front porch from which you had watched your brother play with the neighbourhood boys.

You fell asleep in one another’s arms after the final condom was disposed of, the sun long set, but awoke sometime in the night to the unsettling sound of an air raid siren. Not as common in 1943, yet being as close as you were to Canary Wharves, the Luftwaffe still made the occasional bomb run. Startled to find the bed empty, you sat up sharply to see Bucky sitting in front of the window, completely naked, intermittently illuminated by the flashes of distant explosions and anti-aircraft fire.

“Sorry doll, didn’t mean to wake ya.” He muttered and you shook your head, sliding to the end of the bed.

“You ok?” You tilted your head, blinking into a particularly bright flash.

“Hmmm…” He replied noncommittally, turning back to the scene before him with a frown. “I’ve dropped a lot of those. Done a lot of killing.”

Swallowing tightly, you slid to your feet despite the way your heart was pounding in your throat, padding across the carpet towards him.

“Done your job, Bucky. Done what was asked of you.” You assured him, coming to stand behind him, setting your hands on his shoulders.

“If there’s any balance to all this, my ticket was punched a long time ago.” He muttered sullenly and it was your turn to frown.

Bending down to press a kiss to the crown of his head, you stepped in front of him to block his view, perhaps, hopefully, to block his darker thoughts as you shifted to sit on his thighs.

“Whatcha doin’ doll?” He quirked an eyebrow, mouth falling open in a silent moan as your fingers slid between your bodies to gently stroke his length.

“Lightening up.” You replied, invoking the words of your dead brother’s inscription.

It was impossible to think of a more important piece of advice or a more importance source in that moment. A young man who would never get the chance to spend one more time in his lover’s arms, who knew you better than anyone in the entire world. And you were most certainly going to follow it. You had to be up in less than three hours, to catch the first train to High Wycombe, and you would not pass up this moment with Bucky. The future was unknowable, your brother’s death had certainly taught you that.

Bucky’s fingers curled into your hips as his mouth descended onto yours greedily, clearly in agreement with your plan, despite the lack of remaining condoms. Shuffling closer, you guided his now fully hard cock into your body, your soft noises of pleasure colliding with his in the space between your parted lips. Working together, with plenty of guidance from his firm grip, you began to rocking your hips, using his shoulders for leverage. His head fell back to stare up at you in awe, jaw slack, adam’s apple bobbing viciously.

“Christ, I love you…” His face betrayed such vulnerability, lips trembling slightly, that you quickly lifted your hands to cradle his cheeks, even as your lashes grew suddenly damp.

“I love you too, John. So much.” You replied thickly, rather resenting the dramatic wobble in your voice.

The tiniest of smiles pulled at his lips before his face grew serious once more and he lunged forward to kiss you hungrily, hands anchoring your shoulders so he might thrust up into your body with a sudden need. It was all you could do to hang on, though pleasure itself still managed to sweep you away, leaving you only with the vague recognition of him half pulling out mid-release.

It was terribly difficult to leave him in that comfortable, if messy, bed a few hours later. He did not make it easy either, impossible to untangle from your body like an unwieldy piece of seaweed. Yet somehow you managed to make your trains and arrive at your desk at the appointed hour. Focusing on the task at hand with the pleasurable ache between your legs was altogether another challenge, forcing you to sit on first one hip and then the other.

You had just returned after the lunch break when your phone rang, your greeting barely out of your mouth before Bucky’s question came down the line.

“Did you know you know where they played yesterday’s match?” He asked flatly and it took you several seconds to comprehend that he was speaking in code and just what he was getting at.

You swallowed painfully. “Yes, I did sir.”

Of course you did, you were in the room on Thursday night when they had chosen Bremen as the target for yesterday’s mission.

“A lot of our best players struck out, you know. Buck included.”

He sounded utterly unlike himself, cold and distant, not the man you had left just hours ago in that hotel room in London. All the same, your heart broke for him, and for yourself too. You liked Major Cleven – this war was nothing but cruel.

“I’m so sorry B-Major Egan.” You corrected yourself quickly, eyeing Myrtle across the room.

“Well I hope you all pick a better field for tomorrow’s match because I’m pitching.”

You opened your mouth to reply as your heart dropped through the floor, but the sound of the handset slamming into the cradle resounded over the line before it went dead, giving you no opportunity to speak. To wish him luck or, heaven forfend, goodbye. You hung up your phone with a slightly shaking hand as a deep sense of dread threaded its way through your stomach.

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

Read Part Five - "I Trusted You!"

"Trust" Series Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @precious-little-scoundrel, @rubyfruitjungle, @storysimp, @mads-weasley, @xxanaduwrites, @bcon24, @fxxiva, @slowsweetlove, @hockeyboysarehot, @darylas

[centuryberry]

Imperial Harem Novel AU

Note: This wasn't really requested, but I've already summarized the Replanted AU, Abandoned Yue AU, and the Fae AU, so why not this one? This particular AU has a place in my heart - mostly because it's silly. Also because there was a plot twist in there that I never managed to address so I'm writing it out now.

Summary: When Wukong wakes up in a trashy imperial harem novel he'd been reading, he's horrified. Why? Because he's in the body of a character who shares his name - a tyrant king who causes a lot of pain and suffering to everyone including the female lead. Wukong decides that, since he's here for the time being, he was going to fix the other him's mistakes and leave the world better than he found it by the time he finds a way back home.

(Sounds easy enough as a concept, but Wukong can't act for his life and he has serious imposter syndrome. Oh well, time to spam the amnesia button and fake it 'til he makes it.)

Everyone Else's POV:

The Monkey King was a tyrant who either spilt blood or added to his large harem. He selfishly ignored the matters of the crown and contributed to the suffering of his people.

Queen RinRin is left to manage the throne's affairs on her own, frustrated by her husband's selfishness and destructive tendencies.

Consort Macaque is tormented by the endless string of lovers his husband takes. He grows resentful after so many heartbreaks and lets it out on the harem. Violently.

Concubine Shanzha heard the rumors about the king. She tries to keep her head low but she's somehow gained his attention. And she's scared of all the trouble that is going to come with it.

Unexpectedly, the Monkey King suffered a head wound and was bedridden for days. Perhaps it was an assassination attempt? No one knows.

It didn't matter because the Monkey King woke up without his memories. It caused a bit of chaos all around. Everyone expected even more trouble.

To everyone surprise, he didn't.

The king started to participate in state affiars. He was clumsy and inexpierienced, but he was still trying his best. RinRin finds herself charmed by this new version of her husband.

While he doesn't remember Macaque, the king has become far more considerate and had dissolved the harem. The consort's resentment and bitterness was all but forgotten.

While the majority of the harem disbanded, Shanzha had to stay because of her political hostage position. But...it wasn't that bad? The king was respectful and gave her a lot of agency. She could pray and shoot at the archery range when she pleased.

Everyone doesn't say it out loud, but they liked this new king better. They hoped he never got his memories back.

Wukong's POV:

He's freaking out y'all.

I mean, it's pretty obvious, but it still needed to be said. He was freaking out.

Wukong didn't finish reading the novel before he was yeeted into it. He got so frustrated that he tossed it away. He regrets it so much now.

Wukong is the sheer definition of faking it til you make it. He spammed the HELL out of his amnesia while he tried to get into the groove of his role as Emperor.

Wukong's initial goal was to survive and not have any one find out he was an imposter. Then, after seeing just how much the OG!Wukong fucked everything up, he took it upon himself to unfuck as much as he can.

Good news: Wukong is making more progress than he expected. He's taking some of the load off of RinRin's shoulders by participating in meetings; he's taking away the major stressor in Macaque's life by dissolving the harem; and he's trying to make Shanzha's time in the kingdom as bearable as possible.

Bad news: All three of them somehow took his actions as an invitation to start trying to seduce him. Don't get him wrong. They're all gorgeous and amazing - Wukong isn't blind - but he's not really their husband. He's just some loser who hijacked their real husband's body. So he puts on the "I don't know I'm dumb" vizor on and hopes to high hell that no one sees through it.

They eventually do, so Wukong elects to scream and run.

When Shanzha opened up to Wukong and told him about her life and of her niece, he cried. He was always a sucker for tragic backstories. Why didn't the novel talk about this?

Not long after, he requested demanded Shanzha's homeland to send over her niece. Shanzha was overwhelmed when he gave her the exciting news.

Since Wukong taking a ward was huge, the entire court were there to recieve Yue. It was actually the first time RinRin and Shanzha crossed paths. It was butterflies at first "hi" for the queen who was regretting not being more involved with the harem.

Shanzha and Yue's reunion was so tearjerking that Wukong had to take a minute. Then, it was revealed that Yue was actually Macaque's family too. The six ears kinda made it obvious. Plot twist after plot twist, why didn't the author of the trash novel focus on THIS?!

Wukong never saw a baby monkey before so he's practically exploding because of Yue's cuteness. He was super duper doting.

Wukong also saw a way out of the entire "making an heir" business, so he names Yue his heir and hopes that this stops his spouses from trying to jump him.

It doesn't. Wukong's "Baba" energy just made him even more irresistable. Sorry Wukong.

The three have also joined forces. Oh no.

The Plot Twist:

One day, little Yue blinks up at Wukong and asks him if he can pretty please take her to see the nearby waterfall together. When he does, Yue takes advantage of the waterfall being a natural white noise machine to talk to him.

Yue: "You're a transmigrator too, aren't you?" Wukong: 😮"Whaaaaaaa-?!"

Yup, Yue's a transmigrator. She also read the trashy novel - all of it. So she has all the deets, which Wukong begs off of her by helping her reach high places and giving her treats.

Everyone: Aww, he's so good with her Wukong: Oh wise senior, please share your wisdom Yue: Tell the cooks to make the Dan Dan Noodles extra spicy hot and I'll think about it

Yue also helps her fellow homie out by being a deterrent for romantic advances. Can't talk or do anything beyond PG around the baby.

Wukong tells Yue about his plan to run away after setting everything and leaving the kingdom to her and she bluntly tells him that it was a dumb plan.

Yue: "At least wait until I'm not a baby to abdicate."

Yue also (gently) breaks it to Wukong that he's stuck here. The him in his original reality is most likely dead.

So, after a bit of spiraling, Wukong approaches his spouses and tells them the truth.

It was a bit shocking and they (Macaque and RinRin) needed some time to come to terms with the revelation, but this doesn't deter the three of them in the slightest. They're all in love with this Wukong and want to spend the rest of their lives with him.

(By the time Yue comes of age, Wukong does accept their advances enough to give her cute little brothers lol.)

[cacoetheswriting]

you’re losing me

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader word count: 1.1k

summary: an exchange of forgotten items after the end of long-term a relationship.

content warnings: angsty angst, no happy ending (sorry), heartbreak, hurt / no comfort, mentions of marriage, eddie has commitment issues, minor use of pet names, adult language — also, this is very much unedited as i wrote it in one sitting, so excuse any & all mistakes, thank you! <3

“Here you go,” you say, arms stretching outward to hand Eddie a cardboard box. “This is everything you left behind at our— ehm,” you clear your throat, “at my place.”

Eddie hesitates for a moment, glancing between his packed belongings in your grasp and the sad expression on your face. You look tired, that much is clear. Sleep-less and puffy-eyed from all the tears you’ve undoubtedly shed as a result of his actions — or lack thereof.

The tremble of your lip alone causes his insides to twist. He’s never meant to bring you any pain, all though he knew that to be inevitable.

After all, a five year relationship coming to an end in one night is bound to bring pain.

“I don’t understand,” Eddie said, to which you replied, “I know you don’t.”

“I thought we were good,” it sounded like a plea.

You wiped the tears with the sleeve of your jumper. “How can we be good when you prioritise everything over me?” You questioned, voice breaking. “How can we be good, Eddie, when I give you all my best me’s, my endless empathy, and all you do is hurt my feelings?”

The brunette reached for you, but you instantly pulled back.

“You don’t want to get married.”

Eventually, Eddie drops the arm that was pressing against the doorframe above his head, and reaches for the box. His ring-clad fingers brush against yours gently as he holds onto the cardboard, an action that makes the air in your throat hitch momentarily.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” you mumble, hiding your hands in the pockets of your jacket. The imprints of his brief touch lingering on your skin.

A small, nervous smile circles your lips.

Eddie returns the expression.

“It’s okay,” he reassures quietly. “Thank you for even bringing this over, you didn’t have to do that. You could've called and I would’ve swung by our— uhm, by your place after my shift.”

“I just thought this would be easier,” you lie, the real reason being a lot more complicated. You really wanted to see him. To say you missed him, missed the life you two had, would be an understatement of the century.

Eddie nods, placing the cardboard box on the floor then kicking it slightly to the side — out of sight, out of mind. He glances around the trailer, hands now on his hips, before settling his attention back on you, not really sure what to say next.

He used to be able to talk to you for hours on end, about everything and nothing all at once. Town gossip, respective hobbies, work days, memories shared, his life before you, your life before him, the life you were planning to have together. No topic left unscathed. And now, whenever you bumped into one another, as rare as these meetings have been, he bites his tongue, afraid to say the wrong thing.

You do the same and it’s heartbreaking, really.

Especially because you still loved him.

— Deeply.

“I better get going,” you say meekly, breaking the silence that has surrounded the two of you. “Have a good day at work.”

“Yeah. Thanks, sweetheart.”

Jesus, fuck. Eddie bites his tongue, albeit a little too late, and instantly hates himself for letting the moniker slip. But you don’t react.

Instead, with one last longing look, you turn on your heel and begin your short journey down the concrete steps and dusty driveway. You can feel your ex-boyfriends eyes burn into the back of your frame, silently observing as you unlock the car and slide in behind the wheel, but you do your best to ignore his gaze.

Just like you ignored the pet name.

“Sweetheart—”

“And honestly, I wouldn’t marry me either,” it was a low blow, but the words escaped your lips before you got a chance to think about the repercussions.

Eddie said your name then with an over-exaggerated eye roll. However, that’s all he did. There was no rebuttal to your sentence. He didn’t argue or tell you how wrong you were. He didn’t offer any willingness to fight for you, fight for what was left of your relationship.

There was an ache in your chest. Slow, excruciating. The invisible walls were closing in around you, cutting off the oxygen, and as a result, your limbs seemed too heavy for your body. Like they no longer belonged to you. Almost alien.

It was hard to breathe. And all you wanted to do was scream for him to wake the fuck up because he was losing you. You wanted to scream and plead with him to do something, anything at all. Risk something, even though he’s already risked it all by not reacting the way you selfishly hoped he would.

Yet, Eddie simply stared at you.

And just like that, you knew it was over. Completely and utterly, over.

One hand on the wheel, you exhale. Eddie used to say he’d choose you no matter what, and now, not only did you know that wasn’t entirely true — because he let you walk away too easily, without a fight — your lives were also going to change and you were going to be heading in completely different directions, metaphorically as well as physically.

Key in the ignition, you’re about to start the engine when the sound of your name shifts your attention back to the person you’re trying to leave behind. For good, this time.

His tone, and the way your name falls off his tongue so effortlessly, as it’s done so many times before, is enough to make your heart skip a beat, and against your better judgement, you turn to face him again, rolling down your car window so he can lean his forearm against the glass.

Dipping his head to your eye level, Eddie clears his throat.

“I was wondering,” he begins, “The guys and I are playing in Indianapolis on Friday night, maybe you’d like to come?” He asks, then quickly adds, “If you’re free, that is.”

Your heart soars at his invite. You think to immediately say yes, because you’d go to the ends of the Earth if he’d only ask. But reality quickly clocks you in the head when you remember where you are, and why you’re here in the first place.

“You don’t want to get married, and I don’t want to settle any longer.”

Despite how much you still loved him, agreeing to go see him play would only bring more sorrow. It would tangle the two of you in an endless loop of sacrifices and that wasn’t fair.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Eddie.”

He tries to hide the disappointment by plastering a kind smile on his face, but you notice it regardless. Which of course you do. You’ve loved this man for five years before it all went to shit.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

There’s the moniker again. However, this time, he means to use it.

And when he taps his fingers on the roof of your car, retreating backwards, you smile at him one last time and say your goodbye, “I’ll see you around, Eddie.”.

as always, thank you so so much for reading <3

main masterlist

[veliseraptor]

Remembering my first introduction to Xue Yang and thinking about how methodical he seemed to me vs fanon version that is basically evil Wei Wuxian on speed.

No really you're so right he's normally calm and methodical. Just sometimes the universe tells him he fucked up and he's like "would you say that if I did this? *makes an utterly insane choice*"

ohhh this is something I have Thoughts on for sure. don't get me wrong! I think xue yang does have manic periods and will get into a mode where he's not sleeping for three days because he has a project to work on and sleep is boring, a-yao, leave me alone. but I think the degree to which xue yang is - prior to xiao xingchen's death - actually as unhinged as he's sometimes painted is...it's not pretending but it is playing up an aspect of his personality to make people uncomfortable or nervous or scared, both because it's how he makes damn sure he's not going to be forgotten or ignored (have talked about that elsewhere) and because it's what people expect from him, so why not.

(it also means people underestimate him and while I think xue yang has a kind of complicated relationship with that it is useful sometimes.)

I do think a solid 30% of xue yang's behavior is looking at what people expect from him, going "oh you are like a little baby. watch this" and doing worse. i.e. if people are going to assume he's basically a wild animal then he's going to be the meanest wild animal they've ever seen. I think the fact that he settles relatively easily into playing a role where that's very much not the case, where nobody is looking at him like that (or at least nobody who is in a position to look down on him, qingqing is too short), is somewhat indicative.

he has more control over himself and his behavior than most people realize; I think the perception (both in universe and in fandom) is that he's sort of a creature of id, driven purely by impulse and almost instinctual reaction, and I don't think that's actually accurate to what we see of him most of the time. he's certainly very clever, and good enough at what he does to attract the attention of powerful people. jin guangshan finds him valuable enough to alienate and anger another sect leader about it. give Xue Yang a puzzle and if he's interested he'll sit down and pick at it until he figures it out, unless it's too easy, then it's just boring.

it's also notable to me that when xue yang is angry at someone, he doesn't actually act immediately. he's very willing to wait and plan to figure out how to really twist the knife in someone. the choice to go after song lan's temple, and song lan himself, rather than directly targeting xiao xingchen, might be a practical one, but it's also a very deliberate and targeted attack that's aimed right at xiao xingchen's stated purpose: "you say you're here to protect people? look, you can't even protect your friend and his temple, and now they've suffered because of you." that's not, like, an immediate and explosive reaction, it's a very purposeful act that has thought and planning behind it.

now, does xue yang make impulsive snap decisions, frequently involving violence? sure. but the most notable of those is, I would argue, at the two absolute nadir moments of xue yang's life. the first one being when xiao xingchen finds out who he is and vehemently rejects him - xue yang's reaction there feels like much more of an instinctive lashing out, and it's happening because for the first time in his life since he was very young, someone who actually has the ability to hurt his feelings has hurt his feelings and it feels real bad! doesn't like that! so he reacts to make it stop, and then keeps going and pushing until xiao xingchen breaks, and then after that it's pretty clear to me that he sort of shocks back to reality and spends the next eight years going "no, wait, I take it back." or, well, trying.

and then also when he dies. when wei wuxian goads him about what he did to chang ping and the implications thereof regarding xue yang's own feelings of (unnacknowledged, unrecognized) guilt, xue yang absolutely loses it, gets reckless and careless and ultimately it's that, with a-qing's help, which gets him killed.

oh, wait, one other place I think xue yang loses control of himself and acts without really thinking it through, and that's killing a-qing. I have less textual evidence for this (though I don't think it's completely absent), but it's definitely my headcanon.

outside of those moments, though - aka the ones that get really bad - I don't think xue yang is as off the chain as he sort of...gives off the air of being. I don't know that I'd call him calm, but I would say that he has the ability, most of the time, to exercise at least a modicum of self control.

at least, before xiao xingchen's death. frankly, after that I think he does very much lose his mind a little, but, you know. I think that's understandable, under the circumstances.

[imvgincs]

[ TEARS/APOLOGY ] Sky & June

. 𓇬 𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖘 .

PROMPT: sender shows up at the receiver's door in tears and in need of comfort after a long day (or week, or month…)/ sender goes to the receiver's house to apologize to them for a past wrong-doing (specify if you wish!)

when the knock came rapping at june’s door, it didn’t seem out of place. not in a town this small. people showing up unannounced was just part of the rhythm of life. whether it was luce stopping by for a quick chat, max showing up for a late-night snack, or even the old aunties from down the street — the ones who had known him since he was a toddler — unexpected visits had a way of weaving into the fabric of his everyday. especially since june had always loved to share his cooking with anyone who’d stop by. so no, it wasn’t the knock itself that gave him pause.

it was the man standing on the other side of the door.

when june finally pulled it open, it wasn’t exactly the pink-haired skylar he’d expected. not the skylar he remembered — the one who’d run around the yard with scraped knees, always quick with a joke, his hair wild and carefree, like he hadn’t a care in the world. no, the man at his door now was… different. and yet, so heartbreakingly the same.

skylar was standing there, and his face — that face june thought he’d forgotten — looked so young again. his eyes, wide and glassy, shone with a kind of vulnerability june hadn’t seen since they were kids. that trembling lip, the one he used to tease skylar about, was back, and his eyes were brimming with unshed tears, threatening to spill over like some character from a studio ghibli film. and it hit june in the gut, like a punch he hadn’t seen coming, because that’s not how he remembered skylar looking.

there was something familiar and foreign about it all at once. like an echo of their childhood, twisted through the years. the contrast was almost unbearable — skylar’s grown face, still holding onto the same raw, unguarded expression june had seen when they were little, back when skylar cried over losing a favorite toy or when he’d found out santa wasn’t real. a soft ache tightened in june’s chest, remembering how his best friend had once been the one who wore his heart on his sleeve, always quick to show how he felt, always a little too loud with his emotions.

skylar, the golden boy of their town, the one who healed everyone’s pokémon with the gentleness of a saint — that skylar. and yet, now, this version of him was a shadow of the boy june had known. it felt wrong, in a way, to see this adult version of skylar in so much distress. it didn’t make sense. it didn’t add up. but before june’s mind could even catch up, skylar was spilling out apologies like a can of alphabet soup, words tumbling out in a mess, coating june’s heart in the rawness of them.

the instinct was so strong, june barely registered the movement of his own arms before they were pulling skylar in, patting the back of his head in the way he used to when they were kids — when skylar needed calming, needed grounding, when the world was too much for him. june had always been the soft one between them, the one who listened when skylar got upset about something, the one who would smooth things over with a hug or a silly joke. it was always skylar who wore his heart too loudly, too openly. and here he was, breaking again in front of him.

june’s chest hurt. his mind raced.

“skylar, i can barely understand you, you’re so all over the place,” he muttered, trying for disapproval but failing miserably. it came out softer than he’d meant. because in truth, he wanted to keep holding him. he wanted to keep fixing things, to tell him everything was going to be okay, but he didn’t know how. the last thing he needed was for gossip to start circulating. the town was small, and gossip was fast. the last thing june wanted was for people to say he was bullying skylar, the golden boy. he could already hear it — poor skylar, he’s been through so much, and now june’s being cruel to him.

june glanced over skylar’s shoulder, just to make sure no one had seen the scene unraveling on his front step. it was late, but in a town this size, that didn’t matter. someone always saw something.

“come inside,” june finally said, despite that little voice in the back of his head telling him not to. “are you drunk?” he didn’t know why that was the first thing that came to mind. maybe because it made the most sense, but it didn’t feel like it made sense. it was just the easiest explanation, the most familiar one.

skylar had never been good at swallowing his pride. and june? well, he wasn’t exactly an expert at that either.

[yanderefairyangel]

How one "love confession" can change your persepective

I made it no secret to anyone that I am not big fan of the Fell Xenologue's story, mainly cause of some of the twist regarding Rafal.

And while it's been very, very long since I have dissected by beloved old grumpy tsudere dragon, I remember that one of the main complain about him regarding "Nil"'s character dev was that the whole plot point about Nil finally becoming a dragon was thrown out the window because of the Rafal identity plot point. And while I initially used to agree with this, Op's post about love made me reconsider that idea. And then I ended up realizing that it was a wrong logic. All of this thanks to that one little sentence "Nil" told Alear in the DLC.

"I like you Divine one !"

Yep, that's this one line that made me reconsider the whole dragon plot point.

As OP noted, Rafal tells Alear he likes them twice. The first time is in chapter 3 of the DLC. The second is in chapter 5, when he revealed his plans.

In chapter 5, Rafal is obviously being ironic when he says

" That's not fair...even though I have always like you, Divine one !"

I mean, in case the dramatic animation and the tone didn't speak enough.

However, you might ask yourself why he tells Alear that he likes them. Well, this scene in chapter 5 is meant to echo the one in chapter 3 and in chapter 3... At first, I though he was just trying to get on Alear's good side but now...I think he actually is being genuine here.

This might seems contradictory with how Rafal is but don't forget. Rafal is not Rafal in this moment, he is Nil. And that's it. Rafal knows Nil as well as Nel does. When you talk to him in some maps after some battle and in the Somniel, he will tell you that Nil used to like watching the stars and he was used to sleep outside with Nil watching them, or talking about how Nil liked flowers etc. He knows Nil, he knows what Nil likes. Therefore, it is logical that he acts as if he liked the thing that Nil liked.

Rafal telling Alear he likes them is genuine because he truly believes Alear to be the kind of person Nil would like.

Alear and Nil are pretty similar : they are kind, sweet, friendly, caring. Rafal genuinely believes that Alear is a person Nil would like, that it is the kind of person Nil appreciate because Alear correspond to much of the things that Nil enjoys. Nil likes thing that a gentle person would like, so Rafal, from having noticed that Alear is just as kind and sweet deduced that Nil would like them.

By that token Rafal is completely impersonating him. Remember ? Rafal think he stole Nil's spot. He isn't just replacing him to preserve Nel, he is living in as Nil because he doesn't accept that Nil died instead of him. He wants to compensate Nil's life by followin what Nil would have like, what he would have wanted etc.

Therefore, the turning into a dragon arc isn't about reaching his dream... it's about Rafal wanting to fufill Nil's dream in his stead. He is Nil, therefore, he wants the same things as Nil wants to pay homage to his dead brother and only friend whom he think should have lived in his stead, whom he think should have been the one to survive and wait, wait a second ...

Dominique de Sade jumpscare.

Anyway, Rafal's desire for acknowledgement also pushed him to follow the same dream as Nil had, to fufill it for Nil, because he accepted to throw away his identity for him, he accepted to let "Rafal" die and to pursue Nil's happiness, to make Nil live through him.

Rafal might have forgotten his real goal, but didn't he said it himself ? Him wanting to protect Nel was because Nil's wish ended up becoming his own. Rafal also interiorized Nil's wish to become a dragon, his dream. This is why his transformation as a dragon that looks like Xenobron hits differently : pursuing Nil's dream ended up turning him like his father (I mean it in every possible way), his will to rivalize with Xenobron to prove his worth echoed with Nil's.

Him becoming a dragon is him granting Nil's wish.

After all, Nil himself cried because he couldn't become a Great big dragon like Nel and his father could. And considering that Rafal himself used to emulate Sombron seeing how in the Xenologue this version of Sombron seems to speak like in the main game; this reinforces this idea

However this also pretty much contrast to when Rafal turned into a dragon.

@elysianstars made this analysis of his Great Fell dragon

"And then he transforms into the body horror version of a dragon. When Sombron becomes a Great Fell Dragon, it doesn't look too different to his basic form, because he's showing his true self all along. Rafal, on the other hand, has a Great Fell Dragon form that looks nothing like his basic form, or any others of his kind. It's disproportionate, there's a huge pale exoskeleton weighing down his head instead of sleek black scales, and clusters of rock-like growths on his shoulders and tail, and his wings are just thin scraps of flesh between elongated fingerbones. It's like an expression of all his pain and alienation, bursting to the surface."

If you remember, in the Fell Xenologue, we are shown baby Nel and Nil talking with Nil saying "Why can't I turn into a big dragon like you and Father ?"

This means that in some way, Nil wanted to be like Sombron in seeking this dragon form. However, for Rafal to grant this wish and become like Sombron (that's litteraly what happens) it's actually a downgrade presicely because Rafal is not like Sombron, they are different. Their only common point might be the arrogance but even that is to be nuanced since Rafal's arrogance is mainly an act to compensate with his deep insecurity self loathe and self acceptance issues.

I keep repeating that in the entire Xenologue, we never see Rafal's true face, but only a mask he has to put and the game back this up pretty much.

Here is his face as Nil.

His expression is soft and kind, his eyes are less sharper then usual and rounder

However when he engage in battle agains the ennemy, his expression becomes stern. Nil is a kind person, so this expression fits with how he dislikes fighting.

In chapter 5 of the Xenologue

He bears an absolute cruel and sadistic psychotic smile

When he engage in battles, his pupill are even more diluted and his smile is even more cryptic

And once he joined you at the end of the Xenologue

His eyes have become sharper, he doesn't smile but stay composed instead.

When he engage in battle however, he smiles.

But this smile as you can see is completely different from the one he has in chapter 5. His pupill are more rounded and less diluted, his smile is more discrete. This fits more with what we know of Rafal's competitetive nature.

The difference between Rafal's different expression is notable. The only time where he ever shows the same face in those 3 different situations where he shows a different persona is when Rafal is gravely injuried

(If I showed you those pictures out of context I bet you would not noticed that in the one on the left Rafal is supposed to pretend to be Nil)

The only moment where some glimpse of Rafal's "true" face comes out in the DLC is when he is injuried and let his guard down

I also checked and from the moment where Rafal says "You can end me, please... big sis", the moment where he lets in the Xenologue is true personality show up we do not see his face. He is shown from the back and when he is shown from the front, he keeps his eyes closed. And when he is being overwhelmed by the pain again, you can see his expression is the same as when he is injuried.

In reality, even in chapter 5 he wasnt showing his true face, he was still embracing a personna and one that made him look like his father... Nil's wish. For Rafal, someone who despite his rather arrogant and grumpy nature is in reality a pretty selfless guy. He stayed by Nel's side pretending to be Nil for 1 000 years, as Nel herself said, without him, she might have drowned into complete despair and while she returned the care she received, Rafal never felt more alone then he used to be because he always felt that those feelings were directed at Nil and that he himself felt that he stole Nil's place and that he did not had the right to claim something that belonged to Nil anyway. He wanted to protect Nel and in truth he knew what he was doing was wrong even if he did it anyway but just hoped that someone, Nel, would stop him.

So if for Nil becoming like Sombron/a dragon was actually a sincere wish, for Rafal it's more of a curse since he isn't like Sombron and that's precisely how this Sombron is shaping him in his likeness even beyond death because of the spell he put on him that Rafal ended up committing those crimes that made him want to die before you beat him in chapter 6. As a result his Great Fell dragon form is how he views himself, as a monster and a deformed one. Dare I say 異形兵 ? Ultimately realizing Nil's dream of becoming a dragon is realizing Rafal's nightmare/decadence, becoming like Sombron is a fall for grace for him, leading to his redemption arc.

Kind of crazy how a simple "I like you Divine one uwu" can change your view on his character

[quicktimeeventfull]

death note fic prompt: Matt rushing to help Mello after the building explosion and Matt's inner turmoil of 'not enough truths to each other said, not enough time anymore' knowing that the clock is ticking to end Kira (especially before Near because of Mello's inferiority complex) - can be canon compliant or happily-ever-after :]

hello!!! thank you so much for sending this. it was very fun to write; let’s both pretend it didn’t take me literally an entire month to do so fvjjdf.

Monday night, six forty-five, three days shy of the new moon. That’s when you get the call. 

You’re lying on your futon staring up at the ceiling fan, trying to decide if you want to round out your shit day by ordering takeout you can’t afford or with a few handfuls of sugar cereal straight from the box. Or maybe you’ll just stay exactly where you are until you get tired enough to roll over and pass into sleep because you’re sure as shit not going to get up and fuck around with the hot plate or the janky rice maker which mysteriously trips your breaker half the times you plug it in, not after the shift you just had. Your legs hurt and your wrists hurt and your head hurts and there’s a brand-new oil burn across your forearm from where you’d tossed bowl of nuggets too fast into the fryer.

As a child you were snatched away with fairytale magic and trained to be the smartest and the bravest, swooping in to save the meek and the mild, but you failed and everyone else failed too, so now you stand over a grill for six hundred and fifty yen an hour and while away your nights in this single room apartment with water stains on the walls and a neighbour who shouts at odd hours of the night. 

You’re working up a real good ball of self-pity about your dogshit life, your ex-boy-genius life, a life that’s left you less like a has-been than a boy-who-never was when your cellphone rings.

You turn to look at it. It rings once, twice. 

No one calls you, really. There’s no need to answer. Still. You’ve got fuck-all happening with the rest of your evening, so why not. On the third ring, you snatch it up. 

And there it is. 

That voice. That old voice, which you have not forgotten. The last time you heard him, he had a little-kid voice, although of course you didn’t think of it at the time; you had a little kid voice, yourself, only just beginning to break. Still. Through all the years and all the changes, you know it like you know the pulse of your own blood. 

“Matt,” he’s saying. “I fucked up,” he’s saying. “There’s something really fucking wrong,” he’s saying, and this new voice of his, this adult voice of his, something in it twists and your stomach twists along with it.

You sit up. “Mello?” 

He laughs, sharp, and it turns into a cough and you grip the phone a little tighter, as if that would somehow allow you to hold onto him instead. 

“Yeah” he says. “It’s me. I … I didn’t account for — fuck.” He coughs again. It sounds, alarmingly, wet. “It doesn’t matter. I need you.” He says this like it’s obvious you’ll come, like it’s not even a question, and he’s right, because you’re already standing, already walking to pull a pair of jeans over your boxers and go wherever it is he needs you to go. “Where are you?” He tells you the address. It takes you a second. “Los Angeles?” “Yeah,” he says. “That’s where Kira … ” “Jesus. Mello. I’m not in fucking — I’m in Japan.” There’s a long pause, and then he speaks again, sounding disorientingly confused. “Japan? Why the fuck are you in Japan?” This is both a very good question and the stupidest one you’ve heard in your life. A good one because, sure, why are you here? It’s not like you have any connections to this country; it’s not like it’s been good to you. But it’s also a stupid question, because he expects you to be in America, so obviously he knows what he’s an arrogant bastard to assume — you’ve been following him, all this time. The only issue is that you have, apparently, done a shit job of it.

“Because —“ you start. “Because, fuck, Mello, because this is where Kira’s supposed to be. L said it on the television.”

There’s a long pause, during which you’re expecting him to — god, what, to apologize, to acknowledge that he called and you picked right up, that you were waiting for him this whole time, but he just coughs again, a liquid sound that makes you sick.

Something clicks just then, one of the news reports from the pack of them you’ve been running through every day, hoping for some kind of clue. 

One thing you can say about Kira: he made real good on his promise. Not a lot of crime left anymore. It’s easy to keep track of. You were trained for a more complicated world, a place where people killed and slaughtered and hurt and got away with it, no problem, right on national news. These days you spend, what, an hour or two every day and that’s enough to suck up all of it. 

You don’t have much of an opinion on this, one way or another. Maybe the ends justify the means and maybe they don’t — they always did with the faceless god you once wanted to be. The means are crueler but the ends burn brighter. It’s eggs and omelettes. No one’s scared to walk the night alone anymore, that’s what you think, but you’d still kill him if it came down to the wire and you don’t really care what that says about you.  

“Mello,” you say. “The explosion in Los Angeles — you have anything to do with that?” 

“A bit,” he says. “Yeah.”

Well, fuck. 

“How bad is it?” 

There’s another long pause. You can hear his breathing, ragged. “It’s not good,” he says, finally.  “I’m … I was inside. Got some burns. Hurts a bit. I’ve been thirsty.” Thirst means liquid loss; it means blood pooling into the damaged tissue. Thirst means death.

“Okay,” you say. “Fuck. I’m on my way. It’s a ten hour flight and I’ll get the first one out but you’ve gotta be somewhere in between. Can you get to a hospital?” 

“No. They’ll be …” 

“Yeah. Okay. Gotcha. Okay.” You could stitch him up if you were there — you’ve always been good at that.

Or maybe that’s just a little delusional of you. To assume that you could help just because you want to. To assume he’s in a state that some kid who learned his trade from an old man in an orphanage could fix.

You press your knuckles against your forehead. Should have gotten that takeout after all. It would have helped to have energy for this.

You breathe in. Breathe out. Finally you lean against the wall and look towards your ceiling fan again, watch it turn, demand of it that the movement settle you down. “Okay,” you say. “Listen. I’m going to walk you through what you have to do. It’s going to be just fine.” 

“Sure,” he says, and there it is, that stupid blind trust he’s always had and convinced himself he didn’t have. Mello always had more faith than you ever did; you figure that’s why Roger had eyes on him, near the end. You weren’t half as smart as him, sure, but the bigger issue, you think, is that you weren’t ready to leap for some letter on a screen.

“Alright,” you tell him. “Explain to me what exactly kind of burns you have.”

And you slump back agains the wall and you listen to him list off his injuries, these horrible things that happened to him, these things you’re going to have to fix long-distance. 

You think: you should tell him.

You should say it. Tell him how you’ve been waiting. Tell him how you’ve always — but, no. There’s no point to that. 

Because the thing is, you know he’s got something lined up that he’ll need a martyr for, but this part he could have done alone. Once he knew you weren’t coming in the next couple hours, he could have hung up. He can figure on his own that he’s got to keep his open wounds cleaned. No. He doesn’t need you, but he wants you. 

So it has to be that he’s aware. It has to be that you’re already telling him, as you’re explaining what he has to do to keep himself alive; it has to be that these are the sentences and these are the words, this is the unwinding of all those years he hadn’t called, of that night he’d left without waiting for you to press you lips against his and make that stupid, vapid promise. I love you, I’ll be here. If you said that now it would be trite, the words of a child — it would flatten out the complicated truth of it. 

Instead this will have to do. Your words, brusque and clear; the fact that he called you when he could have called anyone; the fact that there wasn’t, you’re sure, the slightest bit of surprise in your voice once you figured out who it was on the other end of the line. 

So, not yet. Not here, not with him sick and half-conscious, with you terrified and pretending so hard to sound otherwise. 

You’ll have to do your job right. You’ll have to keep him alive so you can say it all.  

[starseedfxofficial]

The Producer Price Index & Scenario Analysis: Ninja Tactics for Forex Traders If you've ever felt the whiplash of trading while financial reports drop, you've probably heard of the PPI (Producer Price Index). But here's where the real magic happens: combining the PPI with scenario analysis can turn your forex game from amateur-hour to behind-the-scenes pro. Today, we're diving deep into what the PPI is, why scenario analysis is its secret partner in crime, and how you can avoid common pitfalls that make most traders drop their pips faster than a bad sitcom plot twist. The Forgotten Indicator: How PPI Can Predict Price Swings Let's start with a quick explainer of the PPI. Think of it as that cousin at the family reunion who knows all the secret details of the event before anyone else does. In the world of forex, the Producer Price Index measures average changes in prices received by domestic producers for their output. Why does that matter? Because it's a leading indicator of inflation. And as traders, we love knowing about price changes before they happen. If CPI is like your favorite weather forecast app, then PPI is the meteorologist telling you directly, without the fluff. Now, when analyzing how PPI impacts currency pairs, the trick is to understand how this metric hints at inflationary pressures. For instance, a rising PPI often means future CPI increases, hinting at central banks tightening monetary policies. Basically, it's like watching your neighbor buy a whole pantry full of water bottles before a storm—you know something's about to happen, and you can plan accordingly. But here's where most traders get it wrong: they look at the PPI in isolation. It’s like trying to bake a cake with just flour—you're going to need some eggs, sugar, and a whole lot more to make it work. This is where scenario analysis comes into play. Scenario Analysis: Because Life Isn't Always Vanilla Scenario analysis helps traders prep for multiple outcomes, which is handy because the market has a habit of behaving like a teenager—unpredictable and dramatic. Imagine you’re analyzing PPI results, but instead of betting the farm on one outcome, you create different 'what-if' situations. What if the PPI jumps higher than expected? What if it drops? What if it stays the same but the market freaks out for no apparent reason (classic market behavior)? Scenario Analysis isn’t just another fancy term to add to your trading diary—it’s a game-changer. When used right, it allows you to adjust your position sizing, hedge your bets, or even avoid trading altogether if conditions seem too risky. Let's be real: sometimes the best trade is no trade, like not buying those neon-green shoes just because they're on sale (trust me, no one's wearing those). Why Most Traders Misinterpret PPI (And How You Can Avoid It) A common mistake? Traders assume the PPI automatically means currency strength. That’s a rookie error—kind of like assuming that just because someone wears glasses, they're smart (spoiler: glasses don’t guarantee genius). The key here is context: PPI data must be paired with the economic landscape, central bank sentiment, and other indicators. This is why scenario analysis helps you sidestep embarrassing blunders. It’s like having a GPS while everyone else is relying on outdated maps. The One Simple Trick: Turning Data Into Dollars Here’s the million-dollar move (no pun intended): take the PPI results, compare them with historical data, and apply scenario analysis for future planning. Let’s say the PPI is significantly up compared to previous months. Scenario one might involve central banks considering an interest rate hike. In scenario two, maybe the hike is delayed but communication channels start hinting at tightening. Scenario three? The market expects a rate change, but macroeconomic data from abroad rains on the parade. The real power move is to anticipate market psychology. Most traders will jump on early news, often misjudging the long-term implications. You, however, by pre-planning your scenarios, can move swiftly—not rashly. It's like being the chess player who knows three moves ahead, while others are still figuring out what pieces do. Hidden Opportunities: Why Scenario Analysis Levels Up Your Game The power of scenario analysis is more than just a contingency plan—it’s a creativity hack. It forces you to think through multiple layers of possibility, thereby expanding your awareness. What if you combine scenario analysis with cross-pair correlation? If EUR/USD reacts in one way to PPI, what could that mean for USD/JPY or AUD/USD? The goal here is to spot opportunities others miss because they're only looking at what's directly in front of them—like focusing on a single tree instead of the entire forest. Remember, every major move starts with understanding a small, sometimes hidden factor. And speaking of hidden factors... Real-World Examples: PPI in Action Take 2023, for instance. When the U.S. PPI showed a significant increase, traders who had scenario analysis prepared noted that this could lead to increased dollar strength against emerging currencies, but weakness against other majors if rate hikes created economic tension. Those who strategized in advance didn't just react; they anticipated and moved early—reaping better rewards and avoiding panic trades. A Quote from the Pros According to John Smithson, a leading Forex analyst, “Scenario analysis is akin to running simulations—you have to plan for what you cannot control, and control what you can plan for. Most traders lose because they fail to consider what could happen beyond the expected outcome.” This is where you separate the hobbyists from the pros. In addition, market strategist Laura Kim says, “PPI data can lead to premature euphoria or unnecessary panic, especially among retail traders. Scenario analysis keeps emotion in check, which is a superpower in itself.” Master the Art: Scenario Analysis Step-by-Step Here’s a step-by-step guide to get you started: - Gather PPI Data: Start with the PPI data release from reliable sources like government websites or major financial news outlets. - Consider the Context: Cross-check other economic data—are employment numbers up or down? Is consumer spending changing? - Create Multiple Scenarios: Develop a few possible outcomes based on different PPI results. - Assign Probabilities: Not every outcome is equally likely—assign rough probabilities to each. - Plan Your Actions: For each scenario, define how you would trade or avoid trading. - Prepare Emotionally: Scenario analysis is only as good as your discipline—prepare to stick to your plan even when the market goes wild. Avoiding Rookie Mistakes with PPI & Scenario Analysis Rookie traders love to go all-in on data releases, assuming the market will play out predictably. Unfortunately, the forex market loves to prank you more than a sibling on April Fool's Day. Scenario analysis, on the other hand, means you never rely on just one assumption. Think of it as financial kung-fu—using the energy of any possible movement to your advantage, rather than getting caught by surprise. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

[nvrcmplt]

[ATTENTION]: during an important conversation, the sender takes the receiver's face in their hands and firmly directs their focus on them. krasimir to tyler !

You are not Tylere.

It was like it was stamped from their mouth to his forehead, it was like it was needing to be branded because Tyler didn't even know his lashes were filling up until those hands softened their firm grip to smear aside the glassy look with warm thumbs. Tyler wasn't sure how much it was eating him alive, Krasimir's said it several times, he knows that, felt that - but something about the way they've slightly changed. Tyler was still agonised over it. His furrowing brows, the ring itching, twisting, thinking in silence when he's meant to be sketching out getting dry from the shower. Their sex life was still banging, don't get Tyler wrong - he loved those moments with Krasimir all the same, but to think that this was it.

This was the moment that it finally pushed the last of his worry, guilt, fear and anger for such a thing aside. His internal emotions towards his Great times ten, grandparent, a face, name and person he's never met outside those dreams or even in family albums. That man was almost nothing but a tree branch in their line, and it felt like they were almost here again. Taking back what they wanted from him, Krasimir was their lover once, but not any more. Krasimir's told him, Tylere's shown him - the seven days and seven nights, the funeral pyre for their last heart keeper. The rage, the revenge, the agonising loneliness - it was all there, but it wasn't at the forefront. How would Krasimir have time for that now? Tylere was never forgotten, but he wasn't the prime thing now. It wasn't cold of Krasimir, it was logical…

And now Tyler's very soul knew it.

As his lip wobbled, his head tilted into Krasimir's palms, and his own hands cupped the backs of the left and the wrist of the right. Just burying his face into the touch so solid and warm, so true and real to this and them. "Yeah…" Tyler didn't know how to respond, but it was just relief. As his shoulders sagged and his spine decompressed, how he felt the heat of his tears tingle down his spine and top of his head. "Yeah… Thank you." As he smiled through the release of a couple of tears that were swiped away - Tyler flinched. Not from his lover's actions though, they both could see it - as the ring fizzled and blackened, corroding away the gold it was into an ashen mess that fell from Tyler's finger. Well - part of the ring did.

It's emblem, remained, balancing without the golden band that made Tyler reach to catch it before it fell. "Oh shit." Staring at it for a moment though, he took a moment to believe what he just saw before he snorted, he'll deal with it later. Won't be hard to get Zayde to fix him up a new band to wear, but right now he huffed at the dramatics of it all to instead push himself into Krasimir's shoulder and hold onto him tight. "Thanks, Krasimir." For dealing with him even if it meant repeating something until this silly human believed it for real. "Pamper me more now? I'm fragile."

@avaere

[ear-worthy]

In Retrospect Podcast: A Look Back At Our Cultural History

Here's the deus ex machina when it comes to a retrospective look at a cultural event that happened during your life. You will most certainly think differently about it today than you did when it happened.

For example, disco music in the 1970s. I still love the music, but the platform shoes, and the patterned shirt featuring geometric shapes tucked into high-waisted pants with a wide belt.

What was I thinking?

So a retrospective look at recent cultural events is a superb idea for a podcast. There is already a terrific podcast with a similar concept called One Year. The podcast is about the people and struggles that changed America—one year at a time. In each episode, host Josh Levin explores a story you may have forgotten, or one you’ve never heard of before. What were the moments that transformed politics, culture, science, religion, and more? And how does the nation’s past shape our present? Right now, the podcast is covering the year 1955.

So I was excited when I heard that a new podcast called In Retrospect was coming out.

Each week on In Retrospect, hosts Susie Banikarim and Jessica Bennett revisit a pop culture moment from the 80s and 90s that shaped them, to try to understand what it taught them about the world and a woman’s place in it.

Here's the podcast's marketing pitch, and it's a good one, full of humor and snark instead of bloviation.

"Is there a cultural moment from your past that looks different in retrospect? Maybe it’s a scandalous tabloid story seared into your teenage brain or a political punchline that just feels wrong now. It might be a very specific red swimsuit that inspired a decade of plastic surgery (see: “Baywatch”) or the inescapable smell of an entire generation of prepubescent boys (Axe body spray, anyone?)"

The guest lineup on the podcast includes actor Pamela Anderson, Pulitzer Prize-winning cultural critic Salamishah Tillet, journalist and advice columnist E. Jean Carroll (gee, I wonder what she'll talk about), media studies professor at the University of Michigan Susan J. Douglas, and New York Times culture editor Maya Salam.

Co-host Susie Banikarim has run newsrooms at Vice, Gizmodo Media Group and The Daily Beast. She directed the 2020 documentary, “Enemies of the People: Trump and the Political Press.” She began her journalism career at ABC News, where she was a producer for Diane Sawyer and George Stephanopoulos, and went on to help launch Katie Couric’s talk show. Prior to that, she was a producer on “Wife Swap.”

Jessica Bennett is known for her work focusing on gender issues and culture. She was the first-ever gender editor of The New York Times, where she is now a contributing editor, and is the author of two bestselling books, “Feminist Fight Club: A Survival Manual for a Sexist Workplace” and “This Is 18: Girls’ Lives Through Girls’ Eyes.”

The podcast has a strong strategy for success because its first episode created a windstorm of controversy, repressed memories, moral relativism, gaslighting, and Hollywood at its sleaziest.

In a nutshell, the first episode was about the marriage of Luke and Laura on the soap opera General Hospital in 1981. The co-hosts explain that the wedding episodes actually had more viewers than the real wedding of Prince Charles and Princess Diana later that year.

I was there, and although I wasn't a soap opera fan, I knew about what was happening on General Hospital. You could not go to a party or family outing and not overhear discussions of Luke and Laura.

Now, here's the gut punch. Bankirum and Bennett then explain that when Luke was first brought onto the show as a minor, temporary character, he raped Laura at his nightclub.

What in the serious F***k? I didn't remember that.

I don't want to give away what happened from there, but the episode just bristles with plot twists, secretive cabals by GH producers, and a head-scratching sense that people in the 1980s were way too accepting of sexual assault. The co-hosts go on to explore the awakening of the American psyche about the issue of sexual assault, explaining that date rape was a recently uncovered issue that had been neglected.

You can listen to that episode here.

After that first episode, I was hooked. I waited for the second episode and when it came out it was…about the two co-hosts.

My first thought was: "This is like leading in the Indy 500 race and then pulling over to pick up a snack." This was a mistake. Big time.

The sad part is I had nobody to mansplain this to.

So I listened to the episode. My apologies to Bankirum and Bennett. The episode was funny, informative, and charming. First, these two women are wildly talented. For men, I'd equate them to Chiefs QB Patrick Mahomes. Second, the co-hosts have a strong Womance. They get each other, and that connection translates into the frictionless feel of the podcast and the excellence of their narrative.

On the podcasting mechanics side of the ledger, the show has a nice, bouncy, 80s-vibe intro music and the show uses music clips as a smooth segue. The sound production values are solid, the archival clips they play sound crisp, and the show's logo shows cleverness.

Their next episode just coming out now is about Pamela Anderson and her iconic, one-piece red swimsuit on TV's Baywatch.

Check out In Retrospect. New episodes are released on Friday. I guarantee that if you were around when the cultural event they cover is autopsied, you'll say two things. First, "I never knew that," and second, "what was I thinking?"

[betasuppe]

fucked up content fun!!!!! tell us more about it pleaase? 👉👈 -🎃

Ok it seems a few of you wanna know so sure! Gonna put it under the cut because it's a lot & there's maybe a bit sensitive material, including some bastardization of religious sancity thanks to two demons running a catholic church & whatever else then that entails lol. But, OK LET'S GET INTO IT, here we go...

So my general idea is that Ingo & Emmet are demons, who are two parts of one whole. Both can take on rather convincing human forms, but their natural state is a shadowy form made of sharp claws, deadly fangs, sinewy limbs & twisted horns. They were torn in two & forced onto the mortal realm as a punishment for something they cannot even recall. Neither can remember much of their singular life before, but they know if they gain enough power, they one day can return to their beautiful accursed realm.

But, as they are linked as intricately as they are, there's a balancing act going on between them - one must always appear human while the other takes on their demonic appearance. They can only switch between forms when they are both in agreement, but thanks to their linked minds, they can telepathically communicate between one another.

Also, the way they gain strength & can increase their power is by feeding off of human souls & flesh, as depending on the form they are in. In their human-esque shape, they thrive off of human flesh, but in their natural forms, they require souls to nourish them. Of course, they can eat other things, such as fruit and animal meat, but their species naturally lives on consuming humans alone. The more they eat, the strong they can become & their original plan is that one day they may be able to glue themselves together & return to where they came from. How fun, right? :D

Now for the twins in particular...

More often than not, Ingo maintains his true form & prefers hiding in the dark & living in other's shadows more than anything. When he's in his human facade, something about Ingo generally is... a little off. Though his eyes are gleaming with life & emotion and he's very well mannered & polite, the rest of his existence just seems... wrong. Something about him is incredibly off-putting, enough that people naturally turn their eyes away from him & even a gkance from him sets the hair on the back of their necks raising, though the humans may not even understand WHY. For whatever reason, Ingo just can't maintain a truly perfect human mimic, so he prefers to stay in the background & work in the miserable dark behind his other half.

Then, as can be expected, Emmet operates better in his human guise than Ingo. Although his eyes betray his cold, calculating nature at heart, his smile is always warm & welcoming and his form is passable as a real human in every other way. He's a great actor and people are naturally drawn to him and under Ingo's guidance, he's able to seem incredibly genuine, personable & sweet. Basically, Emmet acts as the pretty, friendly lure that pulls their victims in to the pair, before they descend on the person & feast off of them in any way they need.

At this point in their shared existence on the mortal plane, they've taken up the role as a well respected priest in the middle of a bustling city. No one remembers where they came from or what made their previous priest leave his role, but the populace think their religious father can do no wrong.

The pair has found a newfound sense of power in having foolish mortals looking up to them & they have found a sick sense of satisfaction in running their little show of welcoming in the struggling & the damned with love & grace, while slowly picking off those among the congregation that would be easily forgotten if they ever went missing.

Now at some point, you, a brand new member among their crowd, quickly wins the pair's attention. After learning more about their lonely & troubled newest prey, Ingo & Emmet find themselves intrigued & prepared to make you their next target. But after sitting there in the dark in the confessional separated only by a wall between you, something changes. They both listen to you talk about yourself, ramble about your struggles & loneliness through out your life, ending with you gently begging for forgiveness that you don't believe you should even be afforded. After Ingo's insistence - who ended up hiding in your shadow, watching your every word with unbreakable attention - Emmet speaks & easily grants you absolution of your every sin, and encourages you to return anytime you need support or guidance. You shake Emmet's hand heartily after you both step foot out of the cabinet, sending a strange wave of warm feelings over both beings, before promising to return shortly &... away you went.

After this maddening meeting, the two are left puzzled over how they're feeling & that their every thought has become so consumed by you. They assume it'll be a week at the very least before they see you again at next Sunday's mass, but they end up bumping into you at a local grocery store the following day. This time thought, it's Ingo who's in the human facade while Emmet is lingering about. Not too long into your friendly conversation, Emmet grows impatient & and he gives you a gentle shove from behind that has you toppling over into Ingo's arms. That familiar sense of warmth washes over them both, & they pass each other an intrigued glance. It's not long before they both find themselves becoming addicted to this delicious feeling.

After coming back to himself, the awkward moment is easily played off by Ingo, who helps right you back to your feet and ensures you're alright... all the while, his hand is still glued onto you. It takes a lot to finally break that moment & provide some space between you two, but Ingo forces himself back and away from that sweet feeling of comfort.

Once you both part ways, the two speak hurry to their home to speak their shared mind. There's some confusing part of their predatory nature that has them confused over if they need desperately to consume you or if they must have you in some other way & make you their very own.

Either way, they've spent many lives on this planet and have never felt this way ever before. They both agree to hold each other back from consuming any of you in any way shape or form until they can find another way their hunger for you might be quenched...

& so lol this leaves us with the thought of

"HM, I WONDER HOW IT'D BE TO BE ROMANCED BY YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD PRIEST - WHO'S ACTUALLY A DEMON & ACTUALLY ON TOP OF THAT, IS TRULY TWO SEPERATE BUT ALSO VERY MUCH SO THE SAME DEMONS -, WHILE THEY'RE DOING THEIR DAMNDEST TO SHARE YOU & STOP ONE ANOTHER FROM EATING YOU UP, QUITE LITERALLY."

Ok so a bit messed up, but I'm stuck on thinking about this now & I will NOT apologize for these dark & maybe a bit horny thoughts lmaoooooo

Please let me know your thoughts if you're liking this nonsense - I'm just gonna keep sitting here drowning in lovely, slightly creepy ideas of a demonic priest getting too touchy feely with you, while a shadowy shape is wrapping its tendrils around you, both kinda fighting for a hold on you uwu♡

[primofate]

Smile for Me (Part 3) Zhongli x fem!reader

Summary: Zhongli never smiled at you the way that he smiled at his memories of Guizhong. Thinking that the only way Zhongli would ever be happy is for Guizhong to come back again, you secretly set off on a journey to bring her back to life. But it comes with a price: Your life.

Warnings: pining, angst, one-sided (at first), hurt, angst again, drama, some Guizhong x Zhongli, hints of Xiao x reader, MAY NOT FOLLOW THE ACTUAL LORE.

Read: (Part 1) (Part 2)  (Part 4)  (Part 5)  (Part 6)

Zhongli jerks awake, his head half up from the pillow. He tries to remember his dream while sitting up, the sheets that were covering his bare chest falling and pooling around his waist.

He's silent for a moment. In a place where he's half awake, trying his best to rewind his memory of the dream.

"Welcome back, would you like some tea?" he has a hard time seeing the person's face. Like a smudged oil pastel painting. Just a blur. But he chuckles in the dream, as if he was familiar with them.

"You know my preferences," he simply says as he sits at the table.

"Hard day?" he's amazed how the person always seems to know when he's had a hard day. "...Yes, it seems that someone has damaged the ballista, the traveller and I inspected it,"

"... The ballista...?"

"The Guizhong ballista,"

"Ah..."

There was a small pause. He couldn't see the other person's expression but he gets a sense of loneliness, and he doesn't quite know why. Suddenly, she speaks up again,

"When's the last time you ever did something for yourself, Zhongli?" he's surprised, it was such a mundane yet difficult question.

"... Does drinking tea with you count? I quite enjoy it," he chuckles and the companion laughs, though it seems to be a bashful one.

"I mean it though, you're always looking out for others. The people of Liyue. Xiao. The traveller. I just want you to remember yourself too," he's struck with a tender feeling of gratitude. This person looked out for him. He feels slightly uneasy, because the person didn't include themselves in the list. He asks, tone carrying a playful tune to it.

"Pardon me for asking but you didn't include yourself in the list. Do I not look out for you enough, xxxxxxx?" he stops. He tries to say your name again but is only met with silence as his mouth moves. 

It's because he doesn't know it. 

He doesn't know who he's calling.

He doesn't know who's in front of him.

He doesn’t know your name and horror strikes him, yet he doesn’t know why.

You’re still standing in front of him, unmoving. Face still blurred. Not saying anything. The silence that hangs is starting to feel uncomfortable. 

He tries again. Opens his mouth. Lips move. 

But he doesn’t know.

In the dream, his usually calm and collected self starts to panic. What was this sorcery? Why was he unable to recall anything, anything at all about this person who seemed to be a good companion to him.

“Zhongli,” his head snaps up to look at your blurred face. “Zhongli, I’ll eat dinner with you,” his head starts to pound. “I’ll wait for you to come back,” and it’s as if something in him clicks. His eyes flutter wider, and his mouth opens to say your name--

Just as he wakes up. 

The longer he stayed awake the more that the dream blurred away from his memory. He wasn’t sure anymore if he was mixing up his memory, his dream, and real life. 

He felt as if it hadn’t been the first time he’s dreamt this.

In the end, he sighs, and decides to put it off. His eyes wander over next to him, Guizhong peacefully asleep and wrapped in the covers. Her long hair splayed out, the hairpin she always wore on the bedside table. Zhongli tenderly brushes some hair away from Guizhong’s face, and smiles. 

It seems like it’d been forever since he’s done this and then... again... he’s struck with a strong sense of unease. Why did he feel like that? Guizhong had been with him this whole time, hadn’t she? 

With many thoughts flitting in and out of his head, he manages to fall asleep. 

The next day as he awakes, drinking tea while sorting out papers, there’s a knock on the door. Guizhong had gone out today so Zhongli answers. 

It was the local painter.

“Master Zhongli!” The painter was a man who looked to be in his late 40s, he was youthful looking but you could tell his age by looking at the crinkles around his eyes. “Master Zhongli, here’s the portrait you’ve ordered to be painted a few months ago,” the painter had a canvas covered in brown paper, tucked under his arm. 

The canvas wasn’t too big, it was the height of a toddler just taking their first steps, and would probably be a little heavy on the hands, but otherwise manageable. 

“...A...painting?” Zhongli says, confused. 

He doesn’t recall asking for a anything to be painted. 

The painter, seeing the confused look on Zhongli’s face, continues “You’d said it was for a 500 year anniversary of some sort, and asked for it to be delivered... On this particular day," Zhongli reels back at the words, it feels as if something has hit him square on the head.

“You’ve been serving me for 500 years, it’s an occasion to celebrate, if you ask me,” Zhongli says and you just laugh under your breath. “It’s not a big deal,” but he insists that it must be celebrated. Or at least that he had to repay you with something for the help you’ve provided and so, when he asked what you had wanted, you simply and shyly replied. “A portrait, of you and me,”

The painter tears off the brown paper and reveals the painting. A beautiful rendition of you and Zhongli. He stands next to you, at least a head taller and you stand next to him with a sort of clumsy yet endearing smile. Your shoulders touch in the painting and yet... 

“Who... is this?”

Zhongli’s eyes are glued to your face on the painting. The way your lips curve up is so familiar to him. Your hair cascading around you and the simple yet elegant blue qipao that you wore.

He’s struck with the same panic that he feels in the dream last night. “I...I don’t recall--” and then he suddenly snaps up, turning to look at the painter. “Pardon me sir. You’re the one who painted this, yes?” The painter also has an uncomfortable look on his face, but answers. “Y-Yes, that’s correct. It was... Here. In this living room,” 

“Then could you perhaps tell me...this girl’s name? Was she a guest in this house?” Perhaps it was strange to ask the painter about this, seeing as, according to the painting, you and Zhongli were supposedly close. 

“...Sir...about that, you see...I... can’t quite recall who this girl is and... I don’t think I’ve seen her around at all,” 

And that’s how Zhongli knows that something’s wrong.

That’s how he knows that he must have been missing some piece of his memory because--looking at your face in the portrait again, that smile taunting him--it would be difficult to forget a face like yours. 

That’s how he knows that the twisting feeling in his heart is because he had forgotten something and someone important. 

And where were you now? Were you alone, and lonely and lost?

Things didn’t add up, and Zhongli was a man with strong instincts.

He remembers your face, but nothing about you. He grips at the portrait as flashes of you consume his mind. Like a reel of film. Your smile. Your annoyed glare. Your patience. Your tears. Your concentration. Your pout. Your frustration. Your calmness. Your patience.

Your selflessness.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what to do.

Suddenly the nights spent waking up and missing a part of himself made more sense.

It didn't even matter that Guizhong was next to him.

He realizes it wasn't her he was looking for.

He sends the painter off with some money, leaves the portrait on the table, and sets out to get a breath of fresh air.

He would figure something out. He had to do something about the missing gap in his mind and the gaping hole in his heart.

Taglist:  @larkspyrr @rim0na @sweeti-pie @l3mon-mxshroom @hai-q-haikyuu @tkshoki @kyquu @kimbapsana @leefletter @hentaje @tempehlust @rinnesy @hallohun @softlybeloved @volleybloop @ssalamanderr @ben6ett @rytszk @guilixi @reiluvbot @mondstadts-favourite-traveler @xxcrowfeatherxx @b-trld @mkazuyuh @shittyeditsofwhatiwant @ayra2452008 @simpingover @soft-like-sunshine @lnrchii @scheophi @fkng_kumiko

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[kidical]

yay creepypasta playlist masterlist w/ separate genres for all (100+ songs per playlist ^_^)

jeff the killer - loud, edgy nu metal. meant to replicate the playlist of a 13 year old boy wronged by his environment with suppressed rage. songs a kid who just discovered edge would think are the coolest things on earth, lyrics with excessive swearing, talk of death, murdering or breaking things - or songs about being wronged by others. heavy instrumentals that pack a punch and vocals loud, raw and angry. thats not to say the anger is unjustified. theres genuine hurt in there, even if his teenage angst has kind of exaggerated it.

ben drowned - loud electronic, experimental breakcore. meant to replicate a computer breaking down, freezing up and crashing because of an entity residing within it encapsulated in digits and coding. haunting voices belonging to a 12 year old, grieving his own life lost at the hands of a cult, lashing out and causing others harm as some misguided retribution for himself. lots of glitching sounds, cut off voices and variation in volume, minimal lyrics and mostly the voices in the songs are ghostly, unintelligible voices drowned out by the staticy, artifical sounds, but the bits you can make out sound desperate for help. some of the songs you can sense an intense anger and resentment from, while others sound more resigned and saddened. 

jane the killer - quiet, sorrowful songs from the traditional goth scene, reminiscent of graveyard poems. songs that are angry at the world, that sing about loss of loved ones and of ones own innocence. meant to showcase trauma and grief, repressed in favor of cold, hard revenge. a tone of voice so stoic it matches the unchanging expression on her mask, music detached from feeling and almost mechanical due to the electronic instruments, but despite that the lyrics are raw and come from a real place of anguish. this trad goth girl has nothing left to lose, and she wants her revenge and she wants it done in style.

sally williams - soft, delicate oldies music blanketed with the static of an old gramophone or an out-of-tune piano and the voices of singers long-dead. sounds like it could be played at a little girls tea-party, surrounded by friends and toys and drinking water in plastic cups - or possibly in an abandoned building, caved-in ceilings and debris covering a busted up radio the songs emit from as a little girl with blood dripping down her forehead materializes. the instruments can be lulling or haunting -  the songs have a worn-out innocence to them. though theres something sentimental about these old tunes, theres something not right here.

eyeless jack - loud instrumentals with soft vocals and vice versa. meant to sound a little creepy, someone whispering and wheezing in your ear and having the intent of eating your organs with their bare teeth. music that sounds a little like it belongs to a college student unsure about the path their heading, lyrics sound self-loathing and the singing and instrumental contradictory and conflicted, soft, whispered vocals cutting in through heavy drums and raspy screams suffocated by the gentle strums of a guitar. an odd mixtape for a demon, but it seems there might still be some humanity left there.

laughing jack - a dark kind of cabaret, music that sounds a bit like a worn down circus. tunes and instruments associated with the joys of carnivals being twisted, theyre becoming overwhelming and menacing, and the joy seems forced and disingenuous. the instruments seem a little out of tune, old with age and left to collect cobwebs.. with every booming sound of accordions, trombones and organs rumbling the earth it seems like the rusted screws holding the rollercoasters together get a little looser. loud and proud, but angry and loathing, a clown doesnt like to be forgotten.

ticci toby - high energy folk punk, it sounds full of anger specifically directed at authority figures. instruments being played aggressively and as fast as possible and lyrics about being pushed around, abused or ignored altogether being screamed by voices already hoarse with intense venom and rage. music created by and for individuals who are one bad day away from killing someone, ah, or in this case, i guess its too late.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hello! I don't know if you're still doing asks, but I was wondering if you had any disabled Stiles fics? Blind, deaf, paralyzed etc? If not thats okay but if so thank you so much!

AND

Hey! I just finished reading Cornerstone and Windows on ao3 and I was wondering if you knew of any other blind fics? It doesn't have to be Stiles being blind. I'm just curious. Thank you! I get all my favorite fics from you!

Here you go, Stiles with a disability.

Windows by dr_girlfriend

(28/28 I 83,017 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking.

Excerpt:

“You’re blind,” Derek said flatly, the anger draining from him so suddenly he felt almost woozy. His vision cleared, his claws sliding back into blunt fingernails.

“Thanks for the memo, genius,” the kid said acidly. “I can still fucking defend myself, so don’t take another damn step.”

“Fuck, I...I’m sorry,” Derek stuttered.

“What?!” The kid’s brow crinkled. “I mean — what?! You’re fucking sorry!?” His lips thinned into a harsh line. “What, is this some kinda Hallmark movie where you’re discovering the error of your ways because you don’t want to rob a blind person?! That’s fucking condescending, man. I’ll have you know that —”

“Just, wait.” Derek interrupted what was apparently the start of a convincing argument as to why he should rob the kid after all, feeling his head start to spin. “This is — it’s a misunderstanding. I’m — I’m not robbing you. You’re — you’re safe, okay? I’m taking three steps back. Just — just let me explain.”

“Explain why you came busting into my apartment? Yeah, go right ahead, man, I can’t wait to hear this epic tale.”

Cornerstone by Vendelin

(6/6 I 83,738 I Explicit I Sterek)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

***

Darkness Before Dawn by lanoirpapillon

(1/1 I 856 I Teen I Sterek)

"Due to the actions of the Alpha pack, Stiles goes blind. After the threat is gone, Stiles has to learn to live without his sight, and maybe Derek would make the perfect seeing-eye wolf."

Nothing is Over by CinnamonLily

(1/1 I 2,083 I General I Steter)

Stiles had the perfect life, until his mate died. Again. It's been nine months, and he's not doing well. In fact, he resents everyone else's happiness and has become a hermit on autopilot. Somehow, he's forgotten that Peter never stays dead.

I See You Better by theroguesgambit

(1/1 I 4,686 I Teen I Sterek)

He dreams, sometimes, of his last moments of seeing.

At the church in Mexico, Stiles is blinded by a Berserker. Derek uses his new wolf status to act as a guide dog, while Stiles adjusts to his new reality.

Clueless by HappyJuicyfruit

(1/1 I 4,748 I General I No Pairing)

After everything they’ve been through together, all Derek wants is for his pack to be connected with strong, thriving, pack bonds. And for the most part, its working. The pack is growing, healing, happy.

He just needs to figure out why Stiles hates him so much.

My reflection is not who I am but who I must hide by RainbowDuck

(1/1 I 5,235 I Not Rated I No Pairing)

The first 11 years of Stiles (no one will ever know my real name) Stilinski's life were more of less textbook. The next 3 were hell and if it could go wrong, it did. Stiles and her dad Noah move to Beacon Hills for a new start and it ends up being the worst and the best thing.

In Your Footsteps (I Will Walk) by cywscross

(1/1 I 8,873 I Teen I Steter)

It takes him months, but Stiles gave him a destination, gave him direction, gave him hope, and so he goes.

T: Tremors by brokenes

(1/1 I 9,477 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek tried not to think of hospitals and blood and hearts no longer beating and his legs, leaving it all behind, knowing that Stiles' no longer could. It took him seven years to stop leaving.

Wild Tonic by officerstilinskihale

(1/1 I 11,010 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles nodded and smiled again, his teeth flashing brightly and he signed something again, before looking frustrated with himself.

“You’re welcome,” Derek told him, feeling a wave of relief when Stiles’ face brightened. That would’ve been awkward if Stiles hadn’t been trying to say thank you.

“I had a really good time, so yeah. I’m glad you came with me,” he said, feeling his face grow hot. Derek wasn’t usually like this. He wasn’t confident. Sure, he had the looks and he could flirt shamelessly when he got hit on, but he always got shy around the people he genuinely liked, not that there was too many of those.

But Stiles didn’t let him dwell on that. He gripped Derek's arm, grinned cheekily and pointed at himself before lifting two fingers. It took a while for Derek to get it but when he did, he couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face.

Me too.

Show Your Teeth, Yellow With Desire by ItsMe_Basil

(1/1 I 22,883 I Explicit I Steter)

The man looked up when Stiles stepped into the room, eyes appraisingly taking Stiles in from head to toe before smirking.

"Hello, sweetheart."

Stiles felt his heart jump into his mouth, his breath hitching in his throat. The orderly hadn't stayed long, leaving the two of them alone.

"Peter." He breathed. "You're real."

where the Double Walker dwells by forestofbabel

(10/10 I 38,164 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek looked like he always did, perfectly groomed and a little gruff. Though, as Stiles glanced at him, Derek’s face was lax with surprise.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, sounding flummoxed.

“Dude, I know it’s been a while, but don’t be so surprised I’m hung over in the woods. It’s practically tradition at this point.”

Derek sniffed the air, eyeing him with distrust. “But, you can’t… I just…” he trailed it off like a question, taking a half step forward before pulling out his phone and dialing a number, eyes never leaving Stiles.

Complications by idareu2bme

(15/15 I 42,523 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek hadn’t meant to involve Stiles in all this --Stiles who was warm and pliable in his sleep, whose warm, brown eyes reflected light they would never again see, who had a smile brighter than the sun, and who could see Derek when others never did.

At least the Road to Hell is paved, I'm not good with Stairways by lady emebalia (emebalia)

(80/80 I 170,037 I Explicit I Sterek)

When Derek signs up on a BDSM dating site, he expects things to be straight forward. Turns out the road ahead has more unexpected turns than he thought. But at least Stiles comes well equipped for twists and turns.

Caretakers by em2mb

(14/15 I 277,924 I Teen I Sterek)

Now Lydia sees the white room clearly, Stiles sitting cross-legged on the nemeton in his lacrosse jersey, squinting at a chessboard.

That’s when Lydia realizes her vantage point makes her Stiles’ opponent — and she has him in check.

Her instinct is to push her own king into danger, but Stiles grabs her wrist. “Come on, Lydia,” he says dryly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Chess might not be your game, but surely you know that’s against the rules.”

Lydia tries to squirm away from him. “But you’ll die,” she insists, his grip tightening so much she’s certain his long fingers will leave bruises.

“Say it, Lydia,” Stiles urges. “Checkmate. Checkmate. Checkmate — ”

[jazzythursday]

I’m about to go into another very long Marvel rant/dissertation here— mostly for myself— that I started writing soon after the Loki Series finale so please feel free to just scroll past this, because honestly I think I kinda overdid this one. It’s jaded and overly dramatic even for me. You have been warned:

The last 4 Marvel movies/shows I’ve watched left me feeling so completely depressed and unsatisfied and hopeless about the future of popular entertainment and story telling in general, and I know I’m not the only one. The fact that fans are going into these experiences hoping for a good story and character arcs that make sense with prior characterization, and leaving feeling… empty is a very clear sign that their approach leaves a lot to be desired.

Infinite War had some valid reasons to end the way it did, because by having our heroes fall so much harder than ever before, it built up the tension and high stakes for the next film. But what does that do when Endgame leaves us feeling even worse? I wanted them to triumph and finally come together to be better. I expected there would be losses of course but not enough to negate the wins. Instead the characters were subjugated for plot, characterization was watered down, and we lost all the original Avengers besides Thor and Bruce (who was no longer even Bruce). Peter loses Tony, Thor’s previous loses are permanent, and so many other things that, in spite of loving a lot of the movie, mean I haven’t been able to stop being sad about it for literal years. And the amount of thoughtless destruction that seems to be at an all time high when it comes to character’s lives and disregard for properly exploring emotions just doesn’t leave much to be expected at this point. Far From Home was good. It was. I liked it a lot. The acting was wonderful and there were some really interesting themes they grappled with but I still walked out of the theater feeling like there was still so much detachment surrounding a lot of the decisions, a little too much thoughtlessness (that, and the gaping hole of Tony). I’m not going to talk about WandaVistion but I’ll say that I was invested until the start of episode 8, and finished episode 9 feeling drained and tired and sad.

Then we get to Loki, a show which has plagued far too many of my thoughts since I started watching it, and has crushed my hopes for ever truly being happy with a Marvel project ever again. Loki is a character who’s ostensibly felt alienated and unseen for most of his life, and that’s before finding out about his parentage. His first movie ends with his suicide attempt and subsequent fall into the void. His second takes place a year into working under Thanos and ends with him being taken away in chains (yes I know he’s the villain he’s done bad things etc. etc. but for the purposes of this I’m only focusing on his pov). Then his third involves his solitary imprisonment, his mother’s death, and his near-death (considering the likelihood that he was actually stabbed), although it does end on a lighter note with his acquisition of the throne. Then we get his redemption and reconciliation with Thor in Ragnarok, immediately followed by the utter tragedy that is the first 10 minutes of Infinite War, which I don’t think I need to explain.

So what I suppose I’m saying here (very very inadequately) is that after all of that, I can’t believe the proper story to tell in his first chance at being a main protagonist was one where he’s constantly degraded and beat up, convicted of things he didn’t actually do, given no focus on backstory or implied/established motivations, and labeled as a clown and a narcissist! His powers are weakened, he displays almost no recognizable mannerisms or competence, he’s held to a higher moral standard than every other character, shown no respect, and ultimately loses EVEN MORE. We’ve seen him lose and lose and lose and lose again. We’ve seen him die THREE TIMES, we’ve seen him redeemed TWICE. So who in their right mind thinks that the most compelling story to tell after all of that was to see him LOSE AGAIN?! And not only lose, but lose without any real triumph, dignity, or acknowledgment beforehand. Death to the author aside, reading the utter nonsense the team behind it have spread, it’s so clear that it wasn’t made in good faith. Whether in ignorance or true maliciousness, they just don’t care. They didn’t research. They didn’t try and see things from his point of view. They didn’t truly sympathize with him as a person while writing. They didn’t understand. And they truly, truly wanted him to fail.

I’m tired of feeling hopeless at the end of everything, of leaving the theater or turning off the TV wondering why I even bothered, why I even care when I’m just being strung along with as little consideration as an audience as my favorite characters. I wanted to actively see him strive to be better, not just be told he could be. I wanted to see him triumph over his demons, not forget them. I wanted to see him be the “master of magic” that every other damn movie has alluded to, and to use his powers effectively. I wanted him to be powerful. I wanted him to, if not win, then win on a personal level at least. I wanted to see him take agency in his life and PROVE EVERYONE WRONG! And, though it’s now bafflingly controversial to say, I wanted it to be told by an experienced and competent writing and directing team that knew and understood his character and were passionate about telling his story.

I would ascribe to the notion of “don’t like it, don’t watch” if I could but I care to much to not be affected by this obvious decline in quality and awareness. And I’m a relatively recent fan. I haven’t been waiting for Loki to get his moment in the sun for 10 years. I’M NEW HERE, and my heart breaks so much for fans of the original movies who have lost their love of Marvel or Loki because of the way it’s been handled. No one should fall further than they can climb up from, and I’m tired of watching loss after loss and never getting the release of gaining enough of it back. What’s the point of caring about these characters if the writers won’t? Of investing in a connecting cinematic universe if it lacks continuity? Of looking for clues and foreshadowing when there isn’t any and the only twists are random and pander to shock value? The way these pieces/characters are being created and interpreted is reductive and incompetent, and for once I’d like to watch something that feels crafted, inspiring, and gratifying to see to the end.

If some people like the Loki show we got, I have no argument against that, because my own opinion is just as subjective as theirs. Though, I’d like to think that if what I want is for the show to be better out of love for the same character, then what they enjoyed from the show can coexist in that. If anyone’s actually read up to this point, I have to admit I’ve forgotten mine. Mostly I just wanted to express my frustrations over how unfeeling and stale most entertainment, specifically from Marvel as of late, has been.

TL;DR: I care too much, waaay too much, Marvel cares too little, Disney doesn’t care at all, and I don’t know how to accept that.