#but it still like. affects my productivity and shit

[skrunksthatwunk]

you'll never guess what people are doing in the silent section of the library

[formerprincewille]

Something that really sets Wille and Simon apart from other queer ships is that when we say their love language is physical touch, IT REALLY IS PHYSICAL TOUCH. And I’m not speaking of just sex. Over the course of the show, the amount of touching between them is astronomical. And that’s really something rarely seen in queer media. There may be moments here or there, but often times there’s a lack of physical contact unless it’s for “the plot”. Wille and Simon feel like a real couple in the way they’re always physically reaching out for each other.

[just-jammin]

...i think i have an internet addiction sort of problem

[undefeatednils]

Stuff in tags, don't want y'all to read an essay.

[milo-is-rambling]

Omg yesterday at my moms therapy I said how well I had been doing and feeling like I can actually handle life and my mom was immediately like “that’s because you’ve been taking your meds regularly again” and like completely brushed off any progress I had actually made and I had to be like yeah totally that’s it that’s why exactly when I haven’t taken my meds for a week straight in idk how long

[devotedlystrangewizard]

started post- sb you know what that means!! [insert repetitive & flawed 5 hour rant about the depiction of parents in ffxiv here]

[crescenthistory]

hey how are youu? I’m new here and I’m completely in love with your work especially with the Barty’s ones! I wanted to request the prompt c 11 (you are okay) with the 4 (near death experience) and if you could make it like part of the series of where they bicker all the time it would be perfect! Anyways I really enjoy your writing and I love how you portray my man Barty🤍🫶🏼

hi there lovey! thank you so much for being here and for your sweet words<33 i combined this request with another i received, i hope that is okay

other request: i headcanon barty as a person who has attachment issues (on the ambivalent side), in the way he loves too much his friends and lovers but at the same time is afraid of intimacy bc he also struggles with showing affection in a non sexual way. so my idea is that (gn)reader and barty have an argument because of their insecurities about trust and commitment, but AFTER they've been avoiding the conversation for too long. it could end very much extremely bad or very good.

you can find the other fics for this specific au here and here

Prompts: C.11 "You're okay, you're okay" & 4. Near Death Experience

Words: 6k

Warnings: not proofread, gn!reader (no pronouns used), use of y/n, reader and barty both have mental breakdowns/spirals, attachment issues, miscommunication, "oh shit! love is scary but i do love you so what now" moments, near-fall on the ice, potions accident, choking in a non-sexual way, infirmary, language, talk of death, injured!reader, heavy hurt but heavy comfort, happy ending

this isn't fun anymore

Your relationship with Barty thus far had been interesting to say the least.

After endless bickering led to an impromptu kiss to shut him up in the library, which in turn led to a heavy make-out session in a nearby cot, which led to a “how does it feel to be my girlfriend?” “I wouldn’t know” “do you want to?” “sure” conversation in the Slytherin common room, you somehow wound up being in an established, committed relationship with one Barty Crouch Junior.

To your friends’ flabbergasted shock, and, quite frankly, your own surprise.

Even more surprisingly so, you loved it – which scared you to no end.

As the weeks began to stretch into months, you felt as if you were losing your footing more and more in your dynamic. What was once flirtatious and intense has now become almost intimate and close. It stills you in your movements as you try and find your bearing.

Who are you to Barty when you are not in the mood to quip? Or even talk at all? Who is Barty to you when you allow him to just be Barty and not sparring-partner Junior?

All good questions to ask oneself, but not as productive to spiral over as you walk with him from Hogsmeade, a little stretch behind your boisterous friends.

There are two reasons for this. One is that Barty has somehow learned to read your emotions fairly well despite your inability to communicate them effectively, and he is now scrutinising your distracted facial expressions. Second, and perhaps most importantly, is that it is winter in Scotland.

In your distracting spiral, you step on a snow that covered a perfectly polished sliver of ice, and your foot slips out from underneath you.

You barely managed to squeak out a shriek, scrambling to retract your hand from Barty’s to catch you as you fall, before one of his hands is around your waist and the other on the back of your neck, stabilising your neck. His wild eyes stare into yours, mild panic seeping away to make place for a wicked grin.

“Careful, Treasure. Falling for me already?”

You roll your eyes before you let out a breath of relief, hands clutching onto his form as he is still holding you up in his grasp.

“You wish, Junior,” you scoff at him, albeit with a smile.

“Every night, on every star.”

You let him place you onto your legs, arm circling around your waist as a remaining layer of protection. You shiver, brushing off imaginary pieces of snow from the fall that did not occur. In front of you, your shared friends had stopped upon hearing you yell.

“Y/N, you good?” Lily called, concern etched onto her face.

At the same time, Sirius, ever the supportive friend, yelled, “Did Barty finally kill you?”

“Oh yes, Big Black, I am incredibly dead,” you yell back as Barty roll his eyes at you both and mutters something about on the contrary.

Regulus, in turn, says something you can’t quite catch over the distance, but you suppose it has something to do with your nickname for Sirius and its insinuations. Little Black did not enjoy being referred to as such.

The group waits up for the two of you to catch up, Barty enjoying taking his time with a lazy stroll.

“You mind picking up the pace, Junior?” Sirius grumbles.

Unfortunately, that only further encourages Barty. “Why would I? Got a pretty damsel in distress on my arm and all the time in the world.” 

You try and rip out of his arms at that, feigning offence at him, but he only holds you tighter. “How dare you. I am neither a damsel nor in distress–”

He cuts you off with a quick peck on your lips. “You are pretty though. Sorry, Treasure, had to shut the sod up somehow.”

You turn your head away from him with a shake, trying your hardest not to blush at his words or his actions. You bully Regulus too much for his blushing to commit such atrocities yourself. “Whatever you say, Junior, but you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“You don’t even live together,” Remus comments amusedly.

“Doesn’t matter; the sentiment still stands.”

James and Remus shake their heads at the two of you, while Sirius and Lily nod solemnly in support of you. The whole lot begins walking back the short distance to the castle.

Barty makes a comment of some sort to Regulus that both Black brothers and James quip back at, which starts another tireless spat. You are too zoned out to care what they are bickering about today, disappearing back into your thoughts recklessly, despite the dire consequences from last time.

Attachment issues was such a loaded term, you thought, and you didn’t like to think of yourself like that. Yet the fact remained that the longer you and Barty spent together, the more a part of your brain begins dry heaving and screaming. What began as pure fun, tingles along your spine at every back-and-forth, is becoming realer by the minute, and it terrifies you. Not because you cannot stand a relationship or fear being bound down – because you are starting to care for him. Genuinely, wholly, in a way that aches. You have always been one to shy away from emotional aches, and the fact that you now have to decide whether to withstand it or throw it away for another type of pain makes you lightheaded.

With his arm so securely around yours, with his laughter in your ear, you feel right. You feel content and whole. Why should that make sirens go off in your head?

Most of the time you spend with Barty is with others around, where you can’t fully access your emotions. In the Great Hall, if you eat by yourselves, everyone else is still there, when you walk the hallways or the grounds, there are always students and professors around. Even when you visit his dorm, which is becoming more frequent by the second, Evan and Regulus usually aren’t far. You almost wanted to keep it this way, ensure that Barty only sees the fun and open side of you, keeping everything else under lock and key. You almost avoid him when you are able to be alone just the two of you, because the implications are too vast for you to face them.

He has to know. He has to have seen. Have noticed that you keep pushing one front of you towards him and shielding the rest – and it seems like he enjoys that one, but at some point he must want more. Could you give it to him?

“Okay, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Barty’s whisper cuts through your thoughts as you step through the entrances to the castle, once more slightly secluded at the back of the group.

You merely hum in response, trying to pull yourself out of your spiral to look at him.

“C’mon, Treasure.” His drawl is teasing, but his eyes seem darker than usual. “You have never gone this long without insulting me somehow. What's up?”

“Maybe you’ve just been on your best behaviour today,” you say conspiratorially, putting on your mask expertly. “Haven’t needed to.”

“Now see, that is simply empirically wrong,” Barty guffaws at you. “Did you hear what I said to Reg earlier?” His raised eyebrow is giving you a silent cut the crap that you aren’t ready to face.

“I’ll be honest with you; I did not.” You look away, pulling your jacket further around you. “I’m just mentally preparing for Potions and Slughorn tomorrow, he said we should expect something big.”

“Should I be concerned that lying comes that easily to my girlfriend?” Barty asks, making you whip your head back to him. He is still teasing, but you really, really don’t like the look in his eyes.

“Should I be concerned that my boyfriend can’t take the hint to let something be?” You didn’t think about the words before you let them tumble, instantly getting defensive.

“No,” Barty says, stopping you with the hand on your waist, looking directly at you. “‘Cause I’m just checking on you when something is clearly wrong.”

“Since when do you check on me?” you say, realising your voice is uncomfortably close to a snarl. Barty does, too.

“Since you decided to take me up on my relentless flirting and enter into a relationship with me. You know, the kind where people care for and look after each other? Or is that not us?”

You stare at him for a second, as it uncomfortably settles into your bones that the odd look in his eyes is hurt. Confusion, concern and hurt. You’re at a loss for words.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” you settle on, feeling dumb but stubborn. 

Barty nods, looking away at last, small frown over his lips. “Well. Let me know when you do. Or don’t, you know, it’s whatever.”

He walks away from you, leaving you to stand alone, looking after him. If your friends realised you’re gone, they have likely assumed that the two of you are in some hallway together making-out. No one would come check up on you.

You trek back and sit down, just outside the entrance to the castle, trying to understand what just happened. Sliding down the wall, you watch as new snow begins to fall, large wet chunks flying through the air. You let them symbolically represent your tears as you keep bottling it all up.

That night, you go to your dorm in silence, telling yourself you’re thankful not to see Barty on the way there. You fall asleep watching the door.

Truth is, you had also been stressed out regarding Slughorn’s Potions class for the day after. As you wake and get ready, anxiety rages through your body for more reasons than one. He had been teasing the class for weeks, saying that you would be brewing some dangerous, difficult potion, allowed into the curriculum as a one-time exception for him.

Technically, this would have been no problem, however you are currently paired with McLaggen in Potions. The biggest twat I have ever seen, as Barty described him. While you didn’t have as intense feelings about him, you knew one thing for certain: the boy was absolute shit at potions.

The kind of awful that you really don’t want to be paired with for some exotic and dangerous potion.

Potions was one of the few classes you and Barty had together as your subject selections were relatively different. He would always walk you from your dorm, first class in the morning, soaking up every minute with you. Some of your best banter came from Potions class, often at McLaggen’s expense, for better or worse.

When you opened your door, you were not entirely sure what to expect.

What you found, certainly was not it, though.

“Regulus, what– what are you doing here?”

Regulus looked incredibly sheepish where he stood, weight leaned on one of his hips as one hand scratched the back of his neck. The other held something in it that you couldn’t quite detect as you took the awkward scene of him in.

“I, uh,” he starts, uncharacteristically inarticulate. “Barty said he couldn’t walk you today, but wanted to give you something for, um, your anxiety? About the class? Or something like that. Anyway, here.”

The tips of his ears were burning red at the humiliation of being caught in the middle of whatever this was. He reached out his hand and opened it to reveal a small potions bottle – ironic – with some purple liquid inside.

“What is it?” you asked, taking it tentatively and turning it over in your hands.

“It’s meant to make you calm down and relax– not that I think you need to do that, just, Barty wanted to give it to you.” Regulus winces at his own inelegance. “I got some from James the other week, he apparently has a bunch stacked up in his dorm with the boys, for God knows what reason. Barty asked for one for you. So, here we are.”

“I don’t really know what to say,” you trail off, looking between the potion and Regulus. “Thanks?” 

“I, uh, will tell him that then–”

“Gods, no,” you cut him off. “Don’t tell him that, he wouldn’t appreciate it.” 

As you seem to be thinking over a response, Regulus adds: “If it makes a difference, he said something to me about giving it to you on the off-chance that he was wrong and a massive wanker.”

You chuckle at that. “Well, he’s always a massive wanker,” you joke on reflex. “But you don’t need to act as an owl, Reg, I’ll thank him myself. And thank you for the potion.”

Regulus seems to let out a breath of relief at that, smiling a bit more comfortably at last. “Great, well, I’ll see you around I guess.”

You smile curtly and give him a quick nod before seeing him all but run off. 

Once he’s gone, you drink the potion and the effects are instantaneous. Your shoulders seem to loosen in places you didn’t know they were wound up, your breathing regulates and your heartbeat slows. A little too late, you mull over that this was James’s potion, and you probably should have been careful, given his track record in class. Nevertheless, the potion seems legitimate. 

With a bit more breath in your lungs, you walk off to class, alone.

Barty could not make up his mind on whether to drag his gaze away from you when it instantly gravitated towards you, or if he could let it linger.

The feelings warring in his chest felt impossible to map out. On the one hand, you had snapped at him when he tried to help, which was shitty – on the other, he still didn’t know what he was trying to help with or what compelled you to snap at him. What you were going through. Which honestly is on you, he thought, wincing at his own frustrations.

He was not one to dwell on small spats, but this was entirely unfamiliar territory to him. Barty didn’t do relationships, at least he didn’t think so before you came in like a freight train consuming his being. It was fun to finally have someone properly challenge him and do so with a beautiful smile on their face – the perfect situation for him. It was fun, until his heart began to hurt when you weren’t near, until it was your laugh that ran through his head, guiding him away from a spiral. Until he realised he was not just down bad for you as Dorcas teased, he was something much, much worse.

And he had no idea how to handle it.

His infatuation with you was all-encompassing, a burning passion and loyalty that characterised having Barty’s affection. He knew it, as did all his friends, but when it is with you, he doesn’t know how to handle it. With a friend, he could snog, even shag, them at a random party and it wouldn’t matter for either of them. With you, that first kiss, first anything, was so much more important. With a friend, if he pissed them off enough, they would just cool off without him for a while and then the slate was clear. With you – he had no idea what he would do if you disappeared. Would you come back? He was acutely aware that this was a dynamic he didn’t know how to explore.

Now, it seemed like you needed his support, but wouldn’t accept it. Didn’t want him near it.

He had to respect that, he thought to himself. So, he did his best to tear his gaze away and leave you be.

With the amount of times your eyes met, he knew he wasn’t being successful. He paid no mind to the fact that you did not avert your eyes, either. 

His feet were tapping relentlessly on the ground, his eyes flicking all over the Potions classroom to keep them from you. Barty was losing his fucking mind and he had no idea what to do about it.

“Mate,” Evan cuts off his distracted mental monologue that Barty himself couldn’t really make sense of. “Would you bloody cut it off? I’m trying to not kill us here.”

Barty does not dignify him with a response, but tries to calm his skittishness, albeit not overly successfully. He zeroes in on Slughorn and his peculiar facial expressions as he, a bit too excitedly for 8 in the morning, continues his explanation.

Something about a healing potion that is so particular that if brewed even slightly wrong, it becomes one of the most effective poisons in the world. Something about corrosive to the touch. Something about bezoars healing.

Barty settles his gaze on the bowl of bezoars Slughorn had on his desk, just in case, with a bad feeling in his stomach. He wondered if you felt the same.

As the pairs set to attempt the feat of making the potion correctly, Barty’s eyes drifted back to you, happy to leave the work to Evan – who in turn was happy to work in the silence without his constant chatter.

Your shoulders were relaxed, though your brows were furrowed together as you reread the instructions for the thousandth time. He wondered if you had taken the potion he sent to you with Regulus, he wondered if it helped you. While he knew in his bones you were lying about it being what bothered you, he still could never be too sure. He wanted you to feel safe, whichever way he could ensure it.

He knows what that’s called, which is why he is freaking out so to speak. 

You kept shooting dirty looks at McLaggen whenever he tried to help, keeping him at arm’s length from the potion, fueling the boy’s frustrations. Barty was quite certain he had seen you threaten him with your wand at one point when he tried to stir the potion. He couldn’t blame you.

McLaggen, as incompetent as ever, was trying to make himself useful by reading the instructions aloud to you, though his exaggerated enunciation was more distracting than helpful. Barty withholds a snicker as he can tell you are silently begging him to shut up. The frustration on your face was palpable, the tension between you and your partner practically humming in the air. McLaggen, ever oblivious, didn’t take the hint.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to–?”

“I’m sure,” you snapped, not looking up from the cauldron.

From across the room, you felt Barty’s eyes on you again. His gaze had become a constant presence, burning into your skin. Even when you weren't looking at him, you could feel him there, lingering, watching, waiting. It was maddening, but also strangely comforting. You knew you had to talk together soon, but you still had no idea how to communicate your feelings, if you even dared to.

You had to snap yourself back into it to remain in control of your little situation at hand.

McLaggen, frustrated by being sidelined, huffed and crossed his arms. “It’s just stirring! How hard could it be?”

“Apparently, harder than you think,” you muttered, casting him a side-eye. The potion was already starting to smell off, and you knew he had messed it up.

McLaggen’s face flushed in embarrassment, and before you could stop him, he reached for the ladle, his ego clearly bruised.

"I'll show you–"

“Wait–”

It happened in a blur. His hand snuck past yours, clumsy and wild. It knocked against the cauldron’s edge, sending it tipping over. The thick, boiling liquid surged out, splashing across the table – and onto your leg.

The pain was instant, white-hot and searing, like your skin was being eaten alive. You screamed, recoiling as the potion sizzled straight through your pant leg, immediately finding flesh.

The room seemed to freeze for a moment, everyone turning to see what had happened. The smell of burning skin filled the air as you stumbled back, falling over your increasingly immobile leg, eyes wide with shock and pain.

The world around disappeared from you as you were consumed by the burning, not even able to hear your gasps of pain.

For that moment, no one did anything.

No one but Barty – Barty moved.

Without hesitation, without thought, he lunged across the room. He grabbed the entire bowl of bezoars, eyes never leaving you. His body collided with McLaggen, shoving him aside with a force that sent the boy slamming into the wall behind, just barely avoiding the poison himself. Barty didn’t even glance at him; his focus was solely on you.

Somewhere in the back Slughorn made a sound of shock and disappointment that Barty blocked out.

He dropped down beside you, taking your shaking upper body in his arms. "You're okay, you're okay," he muttered in your ear, as he cradled your jaw with one hand and opened your mouth with another. With two quick, precise fingers he shoved the bezoar as far down your throat as he could, arm circled securely around your waist for when your body convulsed in response to the intrusion. "You're okay, I've got you," he continued to mumble, as if to himself this time, as he looked at you frantically.

Your body's trembling and your small gasps of pain faded, but your leg was still searing painfully and you still looked completely out of it.

Barty’s heart lurched – he had never seen you like this. Never seen you so vulnerable, so hurt.

“Barty–” you gasped, your voice breaking in panic.

The classroom had erupted into chaos around you – students scrambling away from the spill, Slughorn’s booming voice calling for calm. In it all, Barty's eyes kept looking you over, almost like he was itching to give you another bezoar just in case.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, quieter this time, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the pain subsiding slowly. Barty's hands remained around you, grounding you essentially in his lap, keeping you tethered to the moment.

“Someone fetch Madam Pomfrey!” Slughorn’s booming voice cut through the heavy air as he rushed over, his face pale with panic. “Quickly now! That potion– oh dear–"

McLaggen stood behind him, mouth agape in shock and horror as almost all other students had lined up by the walls, putting distance between themselves and the potion. Everyone except Evan, who remained by his desk, grip tight on the wood as he looked in horror and concern.

Barty ignored him. He ignored everyone. His only focus was you – your shallow breathing, your wide, panicked eyes. He didn’t even realise that his hands were shaking until you whimpered softly, and he felt his control slipping further.

“I’m taking her to the infirmary,” Barty said through gritted teeth, not waiting for permission.

Barty scooped you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he stood. The weight of you felt so fragile, so wrong. You were supposed to be strong, biting back with sharp quips and rolling your eyes at his antics. Not this. Not in pain and trembling in his arms.

“Now, now, I’m sure Madam Pomfrey can come here–”

“No,” Barty said, his voice dark and dangerous, leaving no room for argument. “I’m taking her.”

“Mr. Crouch– wait! We should–” Slughorn tried again, but Barty was already moving, carrying you through the rows of desks and out the door.

His steps were quick but measured, and you were too disoriented by the pain and the shock to protest. Your head rested against his chest, the steady beat of his heart the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“Hang on, Treasure,” he murmured, his voice rough and shaky. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be alright.”

You weren’t sure when you closed your eyes, but by the time you tried to open them again, you were in the infirmary.

Your mind was swimming through a haze of pain and exhaustion. The world felt heavy around you, like you were dragging yourself up through thick water. At first, you weren’t sure where you were – the sterile smell of potions and the soft rustling of sheets felt foreign, disconnected.

Then you shifted ever so slightly and the sharp sting in your leg brought it all crashing back.

The classroom. The potion. McLaggen’s bloody idiocy. The burning, searing pain as the liquid had spilled across your skin.

Barty.

Barty was sitting at your bedside, his usual composed demeanour shattered. His shoulders were hunched, his face tight with worry, and there was a wildness in his eyes that you had never seen before. The sight of him like that sent a pang of emotion through you, more potent than the lingering sting of the potion burn.

You swallowed thickly, your throat dry. “Barty…” Your voice came out in a cracked whisper.

His head jerked up, his eyes locking onto yours in an instant. For a second, the relief that washed over his face was so overwhelming that it almost broke you. He moved closer, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached out for your hand, stopping just before touching you, as if he wasn’t sure if he should. If he could.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign of how you were feeling. “Are you… does it hurt? Are you in pain?”

You blinked up at him, your mind still foggy as the events of the day came rushing back in fragments. You remembered the burning pain, the panic that had clawed at your chest, and – Barty. Barty holding you, his voice in your ear, telling you that you’d be okay.

And now here he was, sitting beside you, his fingers twitching with the urge to touch you but holding back as if afraid he might break you further.

"I–" you tried, but your voice cut off, throat hoarse from the bezoar you were increasingly remembering. "I think I'm fine."

Barty just looked at you, still searching, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. What an unfortunate theme for the week.

“It’s… it’s not as bad now,” you managed, your voice hoarse. The burning in your arm was still there, a dull throb beneath the bandages, but it was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. “What happened? After… I don’t know if I really remember…”

Barty swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain his composure. “Pomfrey patched you up. You passed out from the pain.” He paused, his voice thickening. “It was bad. You could’ve–”

He cut himself off, his fingers curling into fists as he looked away, his throat working visibly. “It was a close call, Treasure.”

At his words, you realise how hard you were fighting the tears, the bottle you keep your emotions in clearly shattered by your impact with the floor.

"I'm alright," you whispered, to which he just nodded, beautiful face stained by a frown. Yeah, yeah, you thought you could hear him mutter.

"Barty?" you called softly, hoping for his attentive eyes to be back on you – they were in an instant. "Thank you."

"I would do anything for you," he whispered. "I just need you to be alright. I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Your eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. "You did nothing wrong Barty. You– you did so good."

Barty leans his head on his fists curled up on your bedside. He was still slightly trembling. "I thought I lost you."

His words hit you like a physical blow. You could hear the desperation in his voice, the crack in his usually cool exterior, and it made your chest tighten with emotion. He wasn’t just worried – he had been terrified. You could see it in the way he refused to meet your eyes now, as if he was still trying to gather himself, still fighting the lingering fear.

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of him like this, so undone, so vulnerable. It was strange when he was always the one so sure of himself, always the one in control. His usual composed mask had crumbled, leaving raw emotion exposed underneath. You wanted to kiss it better. You wanted to see more.

It was strange, you thought, lying there in the infirmary with a dull ache all throughout your body. Strange how, in moments like these, everything else – the fear, the confusion, the uncertainty – seemed to fall away. All that was left was Barty, his presence consuming every inch of your awareness.

"Barty..." you whispered again. When he looked up at you, his eyes were red-rimmed.

You simply turned your hand laying near his over. An open invitation.

He accepted it immediately, intertwining his fingers with yours and kissing the back of your hand so sweetly it hurt you.

"I thought–" you start, voice breaking from emotion this time. "When it happened, all I could think about was you. How sweet you are with me even when I'm terrible, how stupid it is to let my emotions get in the way of that. I didn't even get to say sorry to you and–" You take a deep breath. "I wanted to. I'm sorry, Barty."

He was shaking his head, cheek against your hand he was holding as it looked at you intensely. "Absolutely not. Apology accepted and then rejected. I don't want you to be sorry."

You try to interject, but he sits up, leaning on his elbow onto your bedside so you are at eye-level. "Nuh-uh. I won't allow it. Thank you, and I'm sorry too, but no."

"Will you at least accept the sentiment that I never meant to hurt you?" you whisper through a tired smile.

"Of course. I hurt myself. I was confused and scared and– shit, this feeling thing is so bloody hard for no reason." You laugh slightly at that, wincing when it pains you. "I hated feeling like we weren't a team."

"Me too," you whispered, not trusting your voice. "I didn't want to fight, I just find it so difficult to trust. That I can, I don't know, show you everything and not run. Because I don't know what to do with myself if you do."

Barty's grip on your hand tightened. "I won't. I swear to you, I won't. That's what scares the shit out of me. How ridiculously much I care about you. What am I to do with that?"

A few tears spilled down your cheeks before you could stop it. His hand instinctively shot forward to wipe them away, frown deepening.

"Can we be scared and confused together?" you asked weakly.

For the first time since you woke up, you saw a smile grace Barty's face, clouded only slightly by his teary eyes. "I reckon we can, Treasure. I– I just need you."

You closed your eyes, triggering the release of a few more tears.

"You'll never lose me," Barty continued, pressing his forehead back against your intertwined hands. "I swear. I don't care what fight we have or how unsure we are. You're the only person who–" He stopped, his breathing hitching as if the words were too heavy on his vocal chords. "I need you."

Your heart clenched painfully at the raw emotion in his voice. The cool, confident Barty you were used to wasn’t here right now. This was a Barty who was terrified and loving, who was stripped bare of all the usual bravado and snark. It made your chest ache in a way that was so full of feeling that it was almost overwhelming.

“I need you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes locking onto yours again. There was something so vulnerable, so intense in his gaze that it nearly stole your breath away. He leaned forward then, hesitating only for a moment before his lips brushed gently against your forehead, lingering there as if he was grounding himself in the feel of you, the reality that you were still here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured against your skin. “I promise.”

For a moment, the weight of those words hung in the air, settling into the space between you. And despite the pain, despite everything that had happened, you felt a small flicker of warmth spark in your chest.

You brought your free hand up to the nape of his neck, guiding his lips from your forehead to your own, kissing him as softly as you could muster. His kiss was careful as he tried to pour as much emotion as possible. All the things you could not say yet, but cared for each other in spite of.

When you parted, you rested your foreheads together and you let out a shaky breath, your heart slowing as the adrenaline finally began to fade.

You opened your eyes to find Barty already looking at you with a slight smile – the look in his eyes was positively lovesick.

With the ease Barty's touch awarded you, you let out a half-choked laugh, relief expanding in your chest, which in turn widened his smile.

"What's so funny?" he asked, a teasing tone finally making it back into his voice.

"I'm just thinking about how ridiculous we are," you laughed, squeezing his hand. "And dramatic, Merlin's beard."

Barty huffed a laugh in return, shaking his head at you. "You knew what you were signing up for when you got with me. Theatrical is my middle name."

"Oh, so you admit it now, do you?"

"Only for you."

You gaze into his eyes and you realise – Barty is not the only one who is lovesick.

"Tell me now," you said, teasing tone finally back in your voice. It made Barty's heart soar, but not as much as your next sentence. "How did you trick me into falling in love with you, Junior?"

"I trick you? Love, I've been heads over heels for you since the first time you insulted me. You're the one who should fess up."

Barty's grin threatened to tear his skin apart as he shook his head.

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” He shifted closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that made your heart stutter. “You’re impossible not to fall for.”

“Good,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Because I think you're stuck with me now.”

Barty leaned down, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead, and when he pulled back, his eyes were alight with something that looked an awful lot like hope.

“Stuck, huh?”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t get cocky, Junior.”

“Too late, Treasure.”

“In that case," you started, trailing off as if you grew uncertain of yourself once more. Barty's hold on you remained steadfast. "Can you stay? Just stay here with me, until I'm dispatched?”

“I’m not leaving,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles in a steady, grounding rhythm. “I’ll stay as long as you want. You've got me.”

You felt yourself relax into the bed, your eyes growing heavy with exhaustion, but for the first time in a long while, the tightness in your chest had eased. As your eyes fluttered closed, you heard Barty’s voice again, soft and filled with so much emotion that it made your heart ache all over again.

“Sleep well, my love."

[freaksun]

eddie doesnt let anyone touch his hair. ever.

it reminds him of his late mother, who had the same gorgeous untamed curls. She used to comb his hair when he was little, being ever so gentle and taking her time brushing out the knots.

his father made him feel less-than for just about everything about him, including his gorgeous mane. Called him awful names and always told him to ‘cut that fairy shit’ when it grew too long.

so, ever since she passed, and his father went to jail, hes been growing it.

unfortunately, she never taught him how to take care of it, she’d always just do it herself. So, he doesnt put product in it, he doesnt cut it, he doesnt even brush it. And, stubborn as his mama, he doesnt let anyone else touch it either.

then you come along, happy and sweet, always loving to everyone. he falls in love with you so fast he hardly even notices. you certainly dont either.

one hot summer day you’re both in his room, you on his bed, him pacing, frantically explaining some sort of nerdy campaign idea. you dont know, you havent been listening for a while, too distracted by the way he keeps wiping sweat from the back of his neck. you cut him off rudely, he doesnt mind

“hey eddie?”

“sweetheart?”

“whens the last time you got a haircut?”

he freezes, silent, which is very out of character, dude never shuts up.

“uhh. like a few years ago. why?”

its your turn to be quiet, suddenly all coy. he finds you absolutely adorable as you stare at his floor, trying to find a way to ask him without startling him. as if he were some wild animal, which, he basically is.

“just.. immm noticinggg its kinda matted in the back…”

you try to sound the least accusing as you can. he doesnt seem offended but you can tell hes thinking.

“well, yeah, i. i guess i just havent touched it since. well my mom used to do it for me”

you feel like an ass, touching on something you shouldnt have, making him all quiet and sad. you backtrack.

“jesus, eddie, im sorry i didnt mean to-“

“its okay angel, i know”

he sits next to you. you give him a nervous smile, still sweet, hesitantly reaching for his curls. you can tell he’s hesitant too, but he nods, granting you permission. you take a single strand between your fingers, twirling it.

“Its so pretty, eds. ..would you let me? take care of it, i mean?”

hes scared. but youre so sweet and youre asking so nicely. a part of him is scared if he lets you, he loses another part of his mom. but the other part is staring into your eyes and seeing nothing but genuine affection.

“i.. i guess you could.. try.”

his heart pounds in his chest. You absolutely beam, thanking him immediately and bouncing around the room, looking for a brush. he laughs, shaking his head. you watch as he rummages through his closet, before handing you a light pink brush. you think about teasing him for it but he already looks vulnerable. you smile sweetly instead, taking it from him.

“sit” you point with the brush. he does as you say, running his hands up and down his thighs in a self soothing motion.

“its okay eds, you dont have to be nervous.. ill be gentle i promise” he gives you an unconvincing smile. you return with a guilty one, downturned. you kneel in front of him, in between his knees, brushing his bangs with your fingers.

“we can stop whenever you want, okay?” his cheeks are bright red as he nods timidly

you move to sit behind him, and run your hands through his curls gently, admiring it. you take a part, hold it at the root, and brush gently.

“that feel okay? tell me if it hurts” ever so sweet.

“mm-hm” you can feel his nervousness. “you- you remind me of her, y’know”

youre pretty taken aback, but honoured nonetheless. you keep brushing through the mattes in his hair as you talk.

“Yeah? Wanna tell be about her?” youre not sure if its the right thing to say, but you figure he probably hasnt talked about her in a long time. you can practically feel his energy shift.

“she was sweet. loving and kind to everyone, like you.” you both smile. “and she was pretty. beautiful. i really miss her.” you stop, rub his back a little.

“i can only imagine.. im sorry eddie.” he turns to face you, smiling.

“s’alright sweetheart. thanks for letting me talk about her” he hugs you. you hug him back, tight.

“hows the ole hair going?” He asks when he pulls back, a joking tone to lighten the mood.

“good!!! ive gotten the mattes outta this chunk here, it looks good. your hair is really beautiful, eds” youre ecstatic and it travels to him.

“thank you. my mom had the same hair.” he smiles, turning back around to let you continue.

“i bet she was really gorgeous.” youre extra-extra gentle. He keeps talking and you keep working. He tells you about how she smelled, the softness of her voice, his favourite memories with her. he tells you about the last time he saw her. he tells you all the things hes been holding inside, everything he never got to tell anyone, never trusted anyone enough. and when hes done, his hair is untangled and soft.

you smile proudly, running your hands through his hair, marveling at your work.

“its done” he whips around, looking at you with wide excited eyes

“really??” you nod, smiling wide. he runs over to the bathroom to see for himself. You stand behind him, peeking over his shoulder in the mirror. Hes surprised, looks like he might even cry. you wrap your arms around him, leaning your head against his arm.

“do you like it? Its a little poofy, but you can wash it out and it’ll look be-“ he cuts you off by turning around and hugging you. he hugs you tight, lifting you up.

“thank you.” you can tell he really means it.

[muntitled]

𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 ♡

Summary: Taking care of your touch starved boyfriend proves to be more difficult than you initially thought...

Warnings: Established Relationship, Sickeningly sweet Fluff, Heated Making Out, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), Touch Starved!Wonbin, Groping, Dirty Talk, Choking, Daddy Kink, Slight!DDLG, Praise Kink, Fingering

Literally no one asked. But I just had to write something sweet and domestic

A melody that is equal parts romantic, equal parts horrifically tragic bleeds from the strings being coaxed by Wonbin's long fingers. You watch dreamily as he plays you a tune, while you both lay utterly defeated on the couch.

The Friday night lights scattered around the city, bleed in through the cracks in the curtain and your entire front is warmed by Wonbin's back. Your eyes had fluttered closed sometime in between his playing and so you would never know that his eyes were trained on you, as his head rested backwards and his fingers played away.

“Why are you always playing me some Orwellian shit?” You attempt to sound annoyed.

Your eyes are still closed but a light chuckle reaches your ears and you smile, satisfied. Wonbin peers down at his fingers, mindlessly dancing ober the cords as he says,“I think it was supposed to be romantic,” His voice is like gravel and thunder and your stomach warms inside you.

“Almost as romantic as two teenagers killing themselves for one another.” Your eyes flutter open as your fingers find their way at the tips of Wonbin's messy hair, “Would you die for me, Binnie?” his answer is grim in its intensity and instancy,

“Die? Probably not. But I would probably attempt to hurt someone very, very badly for you,” his gaze is still lowered to his strumming as he softly says, “not just physically, but there's plenty of other ways to hurt someone. I'd probably do that, instead of actually dying for you.”

You were forced to get accustomed to Wonbin's morbidity because it almost came as a by-product of his various other terrific attributes. He speaks with a near constant air of grimness that makes your irrational heart swell.

He continues his morose little tune until you cut him off quite abruptly, quite rudely when you say:

"When was the last time you did some hair care?"

That had probably been the very last question he expected to hear (and perhaps maybe even wanted to hear) so early into a rainy Friday evening. His limbs were laden with post-performance exhaustion and all he wished to do, was continue laying between your legs, his head cushioned by your breasts. He was in absolute bliss with your hand patting down his head nearly coaxing him into an early slumber.

It was the perfect way to end a stressful day, until you invariably decided to choose violence.

Wonbin cranes his head back slightly and he narrows his sleepy eyes as he groans out, "Is this your characteristically nice way of telling me my hair looks bad?"

You try to coax his head back down onto your chest, and he steadily complies as you try to pepper him with reassurances, "This is my characteristically nice way of telling you that you need some hair care."

And he concedes, almost immediately with a daft little shrug. He's not sure if it's the affect of the softness of your chest pillowing his cheek or the softness of your body underneath him but Wonbin chooses to see this as the universe gifting him with the possibility of being seated between your thighs while you weave your fingers through his hair to your heart's content.

The thought effects him in ways he did not anticipate and soon, he is turning his face into your chest and nuzzling into the cleavage. "When do we start?"

An obnoxious, borderline unladylike laugh pushes its way through youre throat as you try to shrug the boy off of your chest but to no avail. Wonbin's kisses along your cleavage are unrelenting and you release a breathless little chuckle. "I proposed that we do your hair-" You finally succeed in pushing his head back, "Not that you end up inside of me on the damn couch."

"Why can't you do my hair…” Wonbin turns to ease his fingers along the waistband of your sweats, “...After you let me inside.” He continues to splay wet, needy kisses along your chest.

While he distracts himself, you inconspicuously hook your fingers into the hair tie securing his raven hair back and you pull, letting his hair fall like a across his face while he continues to assault your skin with hickies. You're momentarily stunned by the sheer length of Wonbin's hair as he continues to lap hungrily at your skin, deciding to stretch his bravery and let his hand crawl up under your loose shirt.

"Your hair is so pretty, Binnie,"

"Your everything is so pretty, baby," He groans and you can tell from the low panting in his voice and the hand skimming the underside of your breasts that he is getting himself worked up.

While Wonbin shifts his weight on top of you so that he begins to straddle you, you're very alarmed but not surprised to find him already completely hard.

A very familiar, very distracting bulge pushing against your thigh brings you back to earth.

"I need to fuck you now," He affirms robotically with a curt nod of his head of hair spilling around his face.

"Down boy,” you shoot out a hand against his chest. Keeping him at arm's length. “We need to wash it now,"

"I need to fuck you now,"

"You're insatiable today,"

"You say this as if it's something new."

"Fair enough," you murmer, letting your head fall on the armrest as you watch your boyfriend seated above. His bushy eyebrows scrunch up until he's racking his fingers through his hair, attempting to detangle the web of raven locks and failing horribly.

"Hurry up, so I can tie this back up," he grumbles in apparent vexation. "I hate having it like this." You throw your head back as you wrestle to wriggle yourself up from underneath him but he stays put.

"Afterwards, you let me give you the most mind blowing orgasm you've ever had,"

"Afterwards," you grumbled back, using his distraction to knock his balance of kilter, "-you let me put some of my hair clips in."

He had been a grumbling, moody mess throughout the entire process. Washing his hair in the bathroom sink while Wonbin sat on a stool had been a nightmare filled with you having to swat away at Wonbin's hand whenever it got too bold and decided to attack you while you were hovering over him, letting the water wash the suds away. You were pleasantly surprised by just how much you were enjoying running your fingers through his scalp, stirring up the shampoo until it created a halo of bubbles on his head, all while you were humming steadily to his latest song.

"You're very pretty," Wonbin said suddenly as you proceeded to towel down his hair. Your heart squeezed with adoration inside its cage.

"You're very pretty, too."

Your reply released a whirlwind of butterflies scattering inside his stomach, threatening to climb out his oesophagus and spill out of his mouth. The exchange was perhaps so tender it almost felt unreal.

His eyes, as dark as they are, as endless as they are, bore into yours. You're still hovering above him, but the towel falls gently to the floor, and soon, you're being pulled into that spindly web that was the force of Wonbin's entire freaking aura and you're leaning in close.

“I have to finish up.” It comes out as a whisper.

You immediately know when your eyes flit down to his lips, thay you're already too far gone.

“Why are you leaning in then?” He whispers back with a lazy smirk spilling across his lips.

“Because you're making me,” whispering is all you're both able to do, in fear of shattering this incredibly charged energy between you.

“Am I?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head with his own eyes now staring up at your lips. He is feeling less apologetic for his unsavoury thoughts because Wonbin's has been forced to endure all of 5 minutes of you scrubbing at his hair, while your breast pushed right against his face.

Apologetic is the last thing he feels right now.

“You're a fucking tease,” he breathes out. And his large hand is slithering up the back of your neck until your lips are crashing onto his with a surprised yelp.

As your lips move in tandem with one another, Wonbin's hand never leaves your neck. Instead, he chooses to prolong the kiss by breaking away in short intervals. Never straying too far.

Wonbin's mouth is all encompassing. He slithers his tongue in almost conspiratorially and you gasp at the sudden yet swift intrusion. Both your tongues meet in a fiery, borderline barbaric kiss and you swear on everything you love that you could cum off of making out with him alone.

How utterly embarrassing that would be.

When the faintest moan slips out of your mouth Wonbin abandons all other inhibitions. He rises from the chair like lightning and you nearly roll backwards from the sheer size of him.

His heavy shoulders are bent down to keep your lips locked against his as he pushes you against the sink. With one more kiss, Wonbin spins you around until your front is facing the foggy mirror, and his front is pressed against your back.

He leans his head down, pressing his lips to your ear as he says, “Are you gonna let me in now?” His fingers slide against the waistband of your sweats and you immediately know what he means.

A wanton sound bleeds from your chest and you push your ass backwards, pressing it against the bulge in his sweats.

Wonbin's other hand finds the front of your throat as he cranes your neck backwards.

“You gonna be good for me, Princess?” He asks in a vaguely condescending manner as he juts his bottom lip out and gazes down at you, mirroring your pained, wanton expression.

“You finally ready to be a good little girl, huh?”

You couldn't stand his infuriating teasing any longer and so you make the daring decision to push your own hand into the front of your sweats- or perhaps you try to. Wonbin's hand locks around your wrist and squeezes until you're wincing in pain. His gaze is unfazed as he releases the grip on your wrist and pushes his own hand down your pants.

“You're so fucking stupid sometimes, Angel.” His words run like rain on the forest floor and your eyes flutter shut when his fingers push past your drenched underwear.

“You're fucking soaked, baby,” He croaks, keeping his nose nuzzled in your neck as he swipes his fingers along your folds. Wonbin soon loses himself the movements of his own fingers, until his bucking against your ass while muttering dirty nothings into your ear in a dizzying amalgamation.

“M-More, please-”

That immediately rouses him from his pleasure filled state. Wonbin blinks away the pleasure and straightens his slightly hunched frame.

“You want my cock inside you baby?” His eyes are trained on the side of your face while swiping his hands across the mirror so you could see the mess he's already made of you.

Your lips hang open and Wonbin's damp hair falls over his face as he towers over you.

“My good girl wants me inside of her so badly,” he whispers, almost robotically, as if he were chanting the words to himself as he pushes his hand in his sweats. As he begins to fist his aching cock Wonbin lazily brings his hooded eyes up to your reflection and you both watch each other through the mirror.

He looks so incredibly hungry and so you do nothing but comply as he places a hand on your lower back, forcing you over the sink.

“You're gonna be good for me?” He looks visibly pained when you nod slowly before allowing him to pull your sweats down enough to accommodate his cock at your centre.

“Tell me you'll be good,” his voice shook with the force of his own arousal and you could tell, from his voice alone, that he was already slipping into domspace.

“I'll be goo- fuck!” He's already easing to you with little to no preparation and from his shallow thrusts alone, you can tell how needy he is.

“Ah-fuck, you're so tight…”

Wonbin loses himself in the warmth of your cunt. He paws at your breasts, his fingers tweaking your nipples as he cock fucks you deeper and deeper. He breathes heavily as he pulls the hem of his shirt up, dead set on watching his cock disappear inside your wet folds.

And you watch in the mirror: his flat stomach glistening and moving in tandem with his needy thrusts while his hand swipes obliviously away at his bangs.

“F-Fuck you feel so good- You feel so fucking good, baby,”

You're clenching around him in the wake of his endless praise and your moans are amplified inside the bathroom.

“F-Fuck- Binnie-”

“Binnie?” He pants out with his fingers latching onto your hips, pulling you back to meet his furious thrusts, “Who the fuck's ‘Binnie’?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and your arms grow particularly weak when Wonbin hits that incredibly sensitive bundle of nerves inside you. You're so completely cock drunk but Wonbin holds your weakening frame up with his hand around your throat.

Wonbin's lips tickle your ear as he says, “You wanna call me Daddy, don't you?”

You're absolutely fargone, and you're muttering incoherently while he uses you. In a moment like this, you would say yes to damn near anything.

“It's too m-much, Daddy,”

He's shaking his head, big eyes boring into yours as he tuts in a faux baby voice, “It's just the right amount, baby,” His thrusts grow irregular as he gazes down at your fucked out expression, “Daddy's fucking you just right, isn't he Princess-”

“Daddy, I'm gonna-”

“It's okay, Baby,” His melodic voice succeeds in bringing you to the crevice of your orgasm and melt into him, “You're listening so well, aren't you?” His voice cracks as he spills his seed inside of you, “S-So fucking good.” Wonbin buries his face in the crook of your neck as he shoots his cum inside of you. The hand on your neck never eases away and you're still caught in throes of pleasure when he splayed multiple drunken kisses against the side of your head

“God you're such a good girl.” He whispers before splaying one final kiss to the back of your head.

You would always be terrified that one day, you would wake up and realise that this big hearted raven haired boy had been a fragment of your imagination.

Nothing but a dream.

A really, really good dream.

That thought, no matter how irrational, never left you without a wave of unease.

"Now I need to brush your hair,"

<3

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[fallenrocket]

My god, Cassian is just so young in season 1 of Andor. On this last rewatch, it kept jumping out at me everywhere. Especially at the start of the show, which makes sense--he goes through a pretty intense education over the course of the season and transforms before our eyes. But there's just so much in Cassian that comes from being young, traumatized, and desperate.

We see it in his moments of unabashed fear, like when he's stopped by the two corpos in the pilot, the first time he sees the TIE fighter fly past on Aldhani, or as the prison transport takes off for Narkina 5. Even when he tries to hide it, we can see it in his eyes, the parts of him that are still that scared kid from Kenari.

We see it in the chip he has on his shoulder, like the attitude he cops with Luthen in their first meeting: "I don't know you." He's not just guarded and distrustful, he kind of actively resents this guy trying to get too familiar with him. When he's scared, uncertain, or guilty, he tends to push others away, a product of having to fight most of his life and of losing many of the things and people he's cared about. I also think of him coldly telling Bix, "You won't have to worry about me anymore," at the end of their argument in "Announcement."

And yet, by the same token, he can also be surprisingly open and earnest in his affections. For me, this is most apparent in his scenes with Maarva in "Announcement." There, we see his naive optimism that the money he got from Aldhani can solve all their problems. He's so buoyant and hopeful and loving as he suggests running away, saying, "What do we need but the three of us?" Later in the episode, we see that same naivety when he insists, "We'll find a place they haven't ruined yet." But it crops up in other places too. On Aldhani, he chooses Clem's name as his pseudonym, even though he already realizes Luthen has a lot of intel on him and will probably recognize it--in that moment, his distrust of Luthen is outweighed by his desire to go into this dangerous mission carrying a small piece of his dad with him. Then there's that beautiful hug with Brasso in "Rix Road," especially those few extra beats past when you'd expect them to part. When he hugs Melshi in the previous episode, Cassian is rushed, on the brink of falling apart and not wanting Melshi to see. But with Brasso, Cassian needs that touch for a few extra seconds, and he's not afraid to hold on a little longer.

Most of Cassian's dumbest mistakes in the season are very youthful ones. He's an incredibly smart and observant guy, so he's not dumb very often, but when he is, it tends to come back to being young, traumatized, and desperate. We see this especially in the opening Ferrix arc: insisting on bringing an unsecured comm to his meeting with Luthen (oh my god, the way he bickers with B2EMO about them beforehand!) and trying to go back for the starpath unit when the shit hits the fan, even after Luthen repeatedly tells him to leave it. With the starpath unit, part of it is naivety--"What if it's just one guy left?"--and part of it is growing up poor and scrappy. This box represents more money than he's ever had at any one time, and he simply can't process the idea that his buyer would just leave it behind.

Finally, every now and then, Cassian has this subtle but impeccable "little shit" energy. We definitely see it when he messes with Timm in the pilot, deliberately goading him instead of trying to defuse the situation when he sees that Timm is jealous. It's a dumb, petty moment of cheap satisfaction that winds up with some intense blowback when Timm IDs him to Pre-Mor. And I love Cassian's refusal to give up on Kino on Narkina 5, always believing he can be brought into the fold no matter how many times Kino tells him to forget about it. It's a great reflection of how Cassian rejects the Empire's attempts to divide the inmates by pitting them against each other, but part of why he's able to keep at it is his annoying-kid tenacity. I love the scene where Kino brushes him off by saying how many shifts he has left and Cassian immediately responds with, "So...tell me what you know before you go."

It's simply wild to compare the Cassian we see in "Kassa" to the one in "Rix Road." He goes through so much in twelve episodes and really comes into his own, and it's fantastic to see some of the qualities he displays in Rogue One starting to peek through. He's already come so far in his character growth--I cannot wait to see how season 2 gets us from "Rix Road" to Rogue One!

Oh yeah, and Diego Luna is simply stunning. You can really feel how he traced Cassian's life backwards to this point, see how different the Cassian of "Kassa" is from the Cassian of Rogue One and yet still fully believe that this is the same character. All the little hints he drops, all the tiny moments where you can see Rogue One Cassian starting to gestate. It's such beautiful, brilliant work!

[emmyrosee]

Kageyama my man the love of my life (just don't tell Atsumu you know?)

He's so emotionally constipated my poor baby, and even if he navigates through his feelings a bit better when he's older it's… Still difficult, nevertheless he finds ways to share how he's head over heels for you. We know he's not the best at words when he hasn't had the time to think about it (if you give him a day or two he comes with some non intentional poetic stuff)….So I feel his way to express affection is through actions

He's your personal nail saloon artist, he's a bit wonky with the edges on that painting department but he uses the nail file with precision. It's also like he has magic hands or something cuz your nails never break after he starts taking care of them

What else? I feel he talks on his sleep, or at least mumbles. Not canon in what we see on the whole series but he has so many thoughts going on his head he HAS to let something out while he sleeps

Also, big hands, his hands are ridiculously large and calloused like you can't imagine….but they are incredibly gentle when they hold your face or when you feel him caressing your cheeks at night. Totally related I feel he's the type to wait for you to fall asleep so he can stare at you

Won't cry at your wedding, but you feel his gaze on you the whole celebration and it makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy

Tone deaf, I'm sorry but I feel he just sings with the same intonation he speaks (still joins you on karaoke and enjoys screaming when there's rock or something like that)

Knows shit ton of hair and skin care products…. Courtesy of Miwa

And I have more but like, I have my headcanons and fantasies all over the place I might come back to share them later 🥲

I. Want to eat him alive. This is so cute.

Kageyama is so emotionally constrained that if you do something nice for him, or even simply say “I love you” he’ll just pull you in for a kiss on the cheek or a small, shy smile. But sure enough, when your head is on his shoulder, eyes focused on the tv, it’s so much easier for him to whisper a soft “I love you” while he copies your stare at the television.

His nail techniques go so hard it’s crazy. He’s got all the oils to make them strong, he files them to the perfect length and style (even though he’s best at squared filing) to make them easy to use in every day life. He typically denies your requests for him to paint your nails, but sometimes, he gives in to those sweet puppy eyes and gives you a few coat of paint. Just please don’t tease him about flooding your cuticles, because he’s trying his best to learn for you.

HE SO DOES TALK IN HIS SLEEP, rambling about nonsense sometimes, then forming coherent conversations in others. One time, he grabbed by the shirt collar and yanked you close, whispering in your ear a fully verbalized “I’m pretty sure Sailor Mercury is in our basement. Or someone else. I don’t know.” You were awake all night hoping, begging, praying, that it was sailor Mercury and he didn’t see someone downstairs- and when you ask him about his dream, he shrugs and said he didn’t have one. LIKE BROTHER HUH??

BIG HANDS BIG HANDS BIG HANDS MAKE BRAIN GO BRRRRRRRR BECause imagine like when you’re just laying on your sides, looking at each other in the most love you’ve ever felt, and all he can do is bring a big hand to gently cup your cheek, thumb softly stroking the delicate skin of your under eyes. Your lids just barely flutter at the tickly feeling, and you nuzzle into the warmth of his palm, pressing a kiss to the calloused heel of his hand. He doesn’t say or do anything, barely even smile, as his blue eyes glaze over your face adoringly. Even until your own eyes grow heavy, you feel his on you, grounding you and keeping you safe.

AND TOBIO IS NOT A BIG CRIER BUT he feels things so deeply, you basically see his brain buffer, cogs turning as his eyes glimmer and shine as he gazes at you. You know his mind is flooded with you, your future, your life together, and he feels so excited to spend every moment he can with you. He can’t wait to marry you 🥺🩷

KAGEYAMA TOBIO HAS NO SENSE OF SOUND, WE LOVE HIM SO MUCH. He cant whisper, he cant sing, he’s only able to do so when he doesn’t think about it, he just has one solid tone as he tries to sing with you in the car. But he will belt out songs with you regardless, he wants to make you happy, even if he can’t sing to save your life.

GRRRRRRR I LOVE HIM SO MUCJ TOBIO MY SWEETHEART 🥺🩷

[mesetacadre]

Is the belief at all valid that ultimately there is nothing much we in the imperial core can do for the global south (i.e palestine) and that liberation is largely in their hands only? Was there any time historically where that wasn't the case?

Maybe I am just doom and glooming but it really doesn't feel like there is much we can affect (though I still attend protest and do whatever my party tells me to, I don't air out these thoughts because I don't think they are productive)

Primarly I feel like building a base here for when shit goes south is the only thing we can do

My friend, we can't forget that, while imperialism is committed outside of our reach, it is fueled, supported, and justified in our countries. National liberation movements fight in their own frontlines, and we fight in the rearguard. If you have the impression that any real progress is impossible from our position, that is a product of the very limited development of the subjective conditions in your country. You and I have seen a myriad of protests and encampments this last year, which have had overwhelmingly no material effects on the genocide, but this is not inescapable.

In Greece, where the KKE is a legitimate communist party in the eyes of a significant portion of the Greek working class, their organization in and out of the workplace is very capable. In the 17th of October they, co-organizing with the relevant union and other entities (small note because when this happened some tumblr users seemed to misspeak, this action would have been impossible without the help and involvement of the KKE, take a look at the US to see what trade unions do without communist influence), blocked a shipment of bullets to Israel:

And merely a week ago, they blocked another shipment of ammunition meant to further fuel the imperialist war in Ukraine:

The differentiating factor in Greece that is not present arguably anywhere else in Europe and North America is their strong and established communist party, even their presence exerts an indirect influence in the broader working class, communist or not.

So are the rest of us meant to sit in our milquetoast protests and watch on with envy at the Greeks? No, because these are subjective conditions, and we have control over them. Even if most actions we do don't achieve anything materially, we gain experience, and the base for a proper organization of our class is built up. It's not just building that base for when something goes wrong in our countries, it's building a better base for the very next mobilization, the next action, the next imperialist aggression. The student movement of the imperial core is better off now in terms of lessons to be learned after the encampments than if they hadn't done anything (and the utility of the encampments wasn't completely null anyway, some unis in Spain have ceased all economic and academic relations with Israel).

[bitchesgetriches]

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Repairing Our Busted-Ass World

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Starting from nothing

How To Start at Rock Bottom: Welfare Programs and the Social Safety Net 

How to Save for Retirement When You Make Less Than $30,000 a Year

Ask the Bitches: “Is It Too Late to Get My Financial Shit Together?“

Understanding why people are poor

It’s More Expensive to Be Poor Than to Be Rich

Why Are Poor People Poor and Rich People Rich?

On Financial Discipline, Generational Poverty, and Marshmallows

Bitchtastic Book Review: Hand to Mouth by Linda Tirado

Is Gentrification Just Artisanal, Small-Batch Displacement of the Poor?

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights

Developing compassion for poor people

The Latte Factor, Poor Shaming, and Economic Compassion

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Stop Myself from Judging Homeless People?“

The Subjectivity of Wealth, Or: Don’t Tell Me What’s Expensive

A Little Princess: Intersectional Feminist Masterpiece?

If You Can’t Afford to Tip 20%, You Can’t Afford to Dine Out

Correcting income inequality

1 Easy Way All Allies Can Help Close the Gender and Racial Pay Gap

One Reason Women Make Less Money? They’re Afraid of Being Raped and Killed.

Raising the Minimum Wage Would Make All Our Lives Better

Are Unions Good or Bad?

On intersectional social issues:

Reproductive rights

On Pulling Weeds and Fighting Back: How (and Why) to Protect Abortion Rights

How To Get an Abortion 

Blood Money: Menstrual Products for Surviving Your Period While Poor

You Don’t Have to Have Kids

Gender equality

1 Easy Way All Allies Can Help Close the Gender and Racial Pay Gap 

The Pink Tax, Or: How I Learned to Love Smelling Like “Bearglove”

Our Single Best Piece of Advice for Women (and Men) on International Women’s Day

Bitchtastic Book Review: The Feminist Financial Handbook by Brynne Conroy

Sexual Harassment: How to Identify and Fight It in the Workplace 

Queer issues

Queer Finance 101: Ten Ways That Sexual and Gender Identity Affect Finances

Leaving Home before 18: A Practical Guide for Cast-Offs, Runaways, and Everybody in Between

Racial justice

The Financial Advantages of Being White

Woke at Work: How to Inject Your Values into Your Boring, Lame-Ass Job

The New Jim Crow, by Michelle Alexander: A Bitchtastic Book Review

Something Is Wrong in Personal Finance. Here’s How To Make It More Inclusive.

The Biggest Threat to Black Wealth Is White Terrorism

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 2: Racial and Gender Inequality 

10 Rad Black Money Experts to Follow Right the Hell Now 

Youth issues

What We Talk About When We Talk About Student Loans

The Ugly Truth About Unpaid Internships

Ask the Bitches: “I Just Turned 18 and My Parents Are Kicking Me Out. How Do I Brace Myself?”

Identifying and combatting abuse

When Money is the Weapon: Understanding Intimate Partner Financial Abuse

Are You Working on the Next Fyre Festival?: Identifying a Toxic Workplace

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Say ‘No’ When a Loved One Asks for Money… Again?”

Ask the Bitches: I Was Guilted Into Caring for a Sick, Abusive Parent. Now What?

On mental health:

Understanding mental health issues

How Mental Health Affects Your Finances

Stop Recommending Therapy Like It’s a Magic Bean That’ll Grow Me a Beanstalk to Neurotypicaltown

Bitchtastic Book Review: Kurt Vonnegut’s Galapagos and Your Big Brain

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Protect My Own Mental Health While Still Helping Others?”

Coping with mental health issues

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Self-Care

My 25 Secrets to Successfully Working from Home with ADHD 

Our Master List of 100% Free Mental Health Self-Care Tactics 

On saving the planet:

Changing the system

Don’t Boo, Vote: If You Don’t Vote, No One Can Hear You Scream

Ethical Consumption: How to Pollute the Planet and Exploit Labor Slightly Less

The Anti-Consumerist Gift Guide: I Have No Gift to Bring, Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum

Season 1, Episode 4: “Capitalism Is Working for Me. So How Could I Hate It?”

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights 

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 2: Racial and Gender Inequality 

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[harmonictechnicality]

Grocery shopping with Steve Harrington should not be such an arousing task, but it is.

It so is.

Eddie swears on all of his calloused fingers that watching Steve strut down the cereal aisle with his little shopping cart is better than hand stuff.

Seriously. He always walks a few feet behind Steve, just to get the perfect view of that award winning ass (Eddie made him a trophy for it last Valentine’s Day - it’s on their mantle).

They’ve been together for what? Eight years? And it never gets any less sexy. Watching him reach for the granola bars on the top shelf, stretching his annoyingly tucked in shirt.

Eddie pretends to peer through imaginary opera binoculars as Steve reads over the nutrition label. Steve flips it over a couple of times because he always forgets which brand he likes better - the blue box or the red box. Eddie never reminds him that his favorite is the blue box because the whole charade is too adorable.

But once Steve figures it out, he tosses the blue box into the cart, and Eddie always lets out this rumbly throat sound at the sight.

Steve turns his neck to look at Eddie. “This again?”

“This always.” Eddie catches up to Steve’s side at the canned food section, slides his hand in Steve’s back pocket. “Never not this.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bends down to grab a few cans of chicken noodle soup. Which holy fuck, seeing his boyfriend at a 75° angle holding his favorite soup preference? Eddie might as well be packaged and placed on the shelf. Cause his mind is turning to liquid. He’s becoming a bowl of horny broth at the sight of Steve all domestic and bent over.

Eddie quickly flicks off his jacket because the entire store just warmed up exponentially. Global warming doesn’t have shit on Steve Harrington holding discounted canned goods.

Steve lightly smacks Eddie's arm. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’ll pull your self onto my self.”

“Really?” Steve snorts. “That was the best you could come up with?”

“Yeah well, the lower quadrant of my brain shut off the second I visualized your ass dimple in the middle of the bread aisle.” Eddie explains, untucking one edge of Steve’s shirt.

“Sorry for the inconvenience to your grocery-kink brain.”

“You should be.” Grocery kink. Steve with a shopping cart kink. Eddie has both, no doubt.

And it’s totally true. The bread aisle is usually where all hope is lost for him. Fluffy breads, kneading dough, squishy carbs all around them. Steve’s sides are just begging to be squeezed in that aisle (amongst other places). The deli employee outwardly gawks as Eddie pokes at Steve's waist, pinching any area of skin that he can get his hands on.

"Just making sure the products are nice and fresh!" Eddie shouts to the employee, hugging Steve firmly from behind. The poor meat-slicing guy laughs nervously before scurrying into the stock room. Honestly, Eddie should probably feel more sympathetic but it's so hard to focus on anything else when Steve kisses his cheek. Accepts his weird affections fully.

"These people don't get paid enough to put up with your shit." Steve is laughing as he says it though. Clearly not that bothered by all of the attention he's getting. That's part of the reason they work so well together. They're absolute attention whores, equally.

"Okay, cut it out." Steve wiggles out from Eddie's grasp. "You're gonna smush the sourdough."

Eddie freezes. Mulls over the consequences over the next thing he's about to say. "Is that an invitation?"

"Ew."

"You said it."

"You twisted it."

"How could I not?"

"You need help." Steve turns down the next aisle, still speaking as he stays on task. "Preferably the kind that involves a person with a legal pad and a couch that you can lie down on."

Eddie snickers, thoroughly loves it when Steve bites back. Makes the chase feel like it just started, even after all these years.

He keeps it together for roughly twelve more minutes, which is probably a record. Eddie also deserves a trophy on their mantle for that - he's gonna hint to Steve about investing in one whenever they get back home.

But the aisle where Eddie’s composure levels malfunction entirely, is the frozen food section. See, whenever Steve opens the door to get milk or eggs or whatever essential dairy item they need, a rush of frigid air blows out. Makes Steve’s already bitable skin all bumpy. His neck is covered in little chill bumps, all of his baby hairs stick up with his raised skin.

This is the only instance where Eddie mildly wishes he were a cannibal, just to give Steve a little chomp. A little nibble at his change in skin texture. Eddie's not even sure why the chill bumps send him over the edge but they do - every damn time.

“Baby, we’ve talked about this.” Steve says once Eddie gets him pinned up behind the corner freezer in the very back.

"There were no snoopy old ladies around this time." Eddie licks all the way up to Steve's ear, tugging gently around the edges. "I checked."

Steve huffs once before taking Eddie's face with both hands, kissing him deep. The rest of his body is cold from the surrounding freezers, but Steve's lips are warm. Hotter every time Eddie's mouth connects to his again. Steve still tastes like the nectarine samples they had back at the produce aisle. The taste drives Eddie to suck on Steve's bottom lip, drinking up any leftover flavor he can. Make Steve's natural pout even more plush than it normally is.

He untucks the rest of Steve's annoying polo - lets his hands slide all the way around, landing at the small of Steve's back. Eddie presses his fingers into Steve's skin, making him shiver. Causing more chill bumps to rise. Ones that he created this time.

They've kissed like this over a thousand times by now, but it always feels different. It’s a new kiss on a new day.

And Eddie couldn't give a single fuck if the deli employee or the snoopy old lady saw them making out next to the lactose-free cheese selection. He'd show off his stupidly gorgeous boyfriend everywhere, make a complete spectacle out of it every damn time.

Steve would let him do it too. Eddie bets that Steve would let him get away with a full anarchist uprising if he wanted. Which he does. Kinda. After they're done kissing, obviously.

They stop only because Steve lets his lips part and his fingers drag down Eddie's chest. And whenever Steve does that move, he's approximately thirty seconds away from moaning explicit words. Loudly too. Eddie knows all of Steve's physical indicators by heart now. It’s practically Eddie’s native language, he would speak only that one if he could.

Eddie takes the cue to stash all of his hormones away - goes back to dotting small pecks all over Steve's face. He needs to get Steve laughing instead of panting. It's safer that way. Eddie isn't trying to get arrested in a supermarket for christ's sake (although that would make one hell of a story for family reunions).

They're sort of blotchy, all pinks and reds, as they get to the checkout line. The cashier must think their complexion is permanently like this. Every time she’s seen them, they’re blushed-up like Vegas showgirls. Eddie is immune to the embarrassment of the situation. He's pretty sure Steve is too - he can tell by the way Steve is still leaning all over him while he fumbles to get his wallet open. All love-drunk and kittenish.

They head back to their car, and Eddie gets one last look at Steve's signature shopping cart strut. He sighs dramatically - crushed inside that he'll have to wait till their next grocery run to see it again.

"That's it." Steve says after Eddie sighs for the fifth time. "You're returning the cart."

"Why?"

"It's punishment for your ridiculous behavior."

"Rude."

"Necessary."

"Fine." Eddie snatches the handle and stomps all the way to the cart corral at the front of the store.

This is an outrage. Steve should know that his sexy cart-walking encore is the best part of Shopping Day. Seeing him walk further away before returning - always doing a little hair ruffle thing as he comes back. It's Eddie's own version of Baywatch and Steve is ruining it.

He slides into the passenger seat, slamming the car door to emphasize his anger.

"Steve Harrington, I'm so fucking mad at y-"

Eddie can't even finish his sentence before Steve's mouth is on his. It's a messier kiss this time, Steve is doing all the moving while Eddie tries to figure out what's going on. He pulls back, raising both eyebrows.

"I get it now." Steve answers Eddie's nonverbal 'what the fuck' question.

"Get what?"

"The shopping cart thing." Steve looks Eddie up and down. "I get it."

Holy shit. "Were you checking me out?"

Steve nods. Shrugs. Nods again.

"How much time do you think we have before the ice cream melts?" Steve motions to the backseat, tucking in his lips, hiding a smirk.

Oh. That. They're doing that.

"I'd say we have..." Eddie checks the nonexistent watch on his wrist. "More than enough time."

They haven't had desperate car sex like this since their first year of dating. It's so good that Eddie wonders why they stopped having desperate car sex.

For the rest of the car ride home, they're obnoxiously touchy-feely. Eddie's hand stays glued to Steve's overpriced jeans. The denim is much softer than any pair of jeans that Eddie owns. Maybe that's why they cost a fortune.

Steve takes one hand off the steering wheel whenever there's a straight shot - rubs his fingers over Eddie's knuckles. Bounces off his rings like stepping stones.

They're nauseating. If Eddie saw any other couple act like this, he'd throw tomatoes ate them. Taunt them mercilessly.

But Steve Harrington is the prototype that future scientists will use one day to build their genetically flawless human race. So Eddie is allowed to be as nauseating and revolting as he wants.

Their plan failed. The ice cream is completely melted by the time they get home. But who fucking cares? Eddie is dating someone with his same weird shopping cart kink and that's all he could ever ask for.

And besides, that just means that they’ll have to go grocery shopping again.

[miirohs]

kiss me more [c.s]

pairing: Choi San x GN!Reader wc: 0.7k cw: n/a an: i blame nyx (@yangkitties) and choi san for these fuckass ideas haunting my brain… live laugh love ateez yall

“Baby.”

You hummed in response, despite your eyes never straying from your mirror.

Once again you applied the red lipstick, frowning at how it looked on you. It didn’t look quite right. 

“Baby?” 

“Did you call me-“ You started, pausing for a moment as Sans’ arms curled around your waist, his face settling in the crook of your neck. “San?”

“What’s taking so long? Are you okay?” He questioned, leaning on your back as he gave your bag a curious look, looking at the products littered across your bed.

“I’m fine, Sannie.” You sighed, slightly agitated as you slammed the lid of the lipstick on the bottle.

“No, you’re not,” He murmured, grabbing it from you and turning you around to him. His dark eyes peered into yours, holding all sorts of affection towards you even as you actively shoved him away. You could’ve sworn staring at him forever would’ve solved all your problems.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong, please?” He looked at you, a slight pout forming as his lips.  “Nothing is going right for me today,” You sighed, picking up the tube and holding it up to his face, “this little shit isn’t working like it should and i really liked it.” 

“Is that so?” He chuckled, taking it from your hand and gently shaking it. “Bad lipstick!”

You gave him a small smile as he handed it back to you, a grin on his face as if he was wholly satisfied with having abused the small object in his hand. “Are you feeling better now?” He asked, leaning into your space once again.

“A little,” You admitted, rolling the tube in your hand, “I can’t quite tell what's going wrong though.”

“Look at me real quick baby?” His hands grabbed your face, bringing you closer to him. You could almost feel his lips on yours, closing your eyes as he ran a thumb over your cheekbone comfortingly.

“I have an idea that could help you fix it.” You gave him a curious look. “Kiss me as many times as it takes and I'll help you reapply if it doesn’t look good in the end?” He offered, head tilted as you opened your eyes in shock, gaping at him.

“San? I’d basically be-” He hushed you, bringing your hand up to his own face, warmth spreading through your fingers. “I said it’s okay, why are you hesitating?”

You nodded weakly, getting up. 

Standing between his legs, you leaned into him as he pushed up on his hands, unflinching as you got closer. He tilted his head as you got close, heart squeezing as he looked you square in the eyes.

“I think you look even more beautiful up close,” He cooed, scrunching his nose up as you pressed down on the bridge, leaving a bold red imprint behind. “I think that’s enough, don’t you?” You blushed, looking away as he gave you a mischievous smile. “No, I still think there’s some left… why don't you kiss me a little more baby?”

Cringing, you peppered his face in kisses as he sat there patiently, leaning into your touch with a proud look on his face.

“You… you look ridiculous,” You said, stifling laughter at his puzzled expression once you finally got a good look.

“You were supposed to tell me I look amazing,” A pout settled onto his lips again as he tilted his head at you, lipstick marking up almost every corner of his face. You could see how it lit up his face, happiness in his eyes as he watched you move around him.

“You know, it doesn’t look half bad,” You said, rubbing some of the smudged product away.

He didn’t respond, too busy memorizing the look on your face, taking in everything.

“Hold on,” He said, forcing you to pause as he pulled you into his lap, “You have a little something… right here.”

He ran his thumb over the corner of your lips, leaving a soft kiss where his fingertips had traced, following a path down to the column of your throat.

“Hey Sannie,” You hummed, looking up at him, “Can I have another one?” 

“Another what?” He answered in response, acting oblivious.

“You know what it is!” You groaned as he wiggled his eyebrows at you, completely unserious. You’d have to drag it out of him.

“Fine, but it might ruin your-“

“Oh just shut up and kiss me already.”

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

A Travis Martinez Deep Dive/Character Analysis

Let’s talk about one of the most (if not the most) controversial characters in Yellowjackets! I definitely feel like many of Travis’ scenes and actions are misunderstood, so let’s dive in to his character and understand why he does what he does.

General Information

Travis Martinez is portrayed by Kevin Alves. He is described as being 16 years-old in the first drafts of the scripts, although it is unclear if he is still 16 in the final product or if he was aged up to 17 like the rest of the main cast in the teen timeline. His introduction in the script describes him as “lanky, sullen, teetering on the awkward, hormonal edge of impending hotness, a sensitive kid doing his absolute damndest to pretend he doesn’t care about anything.”

Travis attends Wiskayok High School in the (fictional) town of Wiskayok, New Jersey. His family consists of his father, Bill Martinez (who is the head coach of the Yellowjackets girls soccer team at WHS), his mother, and his little brother, Javi.

Relationship with His Family

We get a very brief glimpse into Travis’ home life before the crash in the Pilot episode, but it does give us a few hints of the conflicts present in his family. We see that Travis’ parents seem to have a distant relationship, with Travis’ father attempting to give his mother a kiss goodbye and her initially being resistant to it, but giving in only when she sees Travis watching. Travis rolls his eyes at this interaction, telling us it’s a common occurrence. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m definitely getting the sense that Coach Martinez has had some extramarital affairs and that Travis’ parents are only still married for the sake of keeping the family together.

Travis confesses to Nat that Coach Martinez was “a shit dad” and that he “didn’t even like” Travis. I think, at least in Travis’ mind, he has never been good enough to measure up to his father’s expectations. We get to see a brief sample of what Coach Martinez's parenting style may have been like in his scene with Jackie, in which his version of a "pep talk" is telling Jackie all of the ways in which the other girls on the team are better than her. I have a feeling Travis' dad often took the same approach with Travis; a gruff, "tough-love" demeanor that only resulted in a deep sense of inadequacy.

This dynamic has affected Travis' relationship with Javi, as well. My interpretation of their relationship is that, while Travis does deeply love and care for Javi, he also harbors some resentment towards him for receiving more softness and support from their father. This resentment only grows when the plane crashes and Travis is left completely responsible for Javi. He's feeling the pressure of having to be an example of masculinity for Javi and his new role as a father figure for Javi, all while dealing with the grief of his father's death. He's overwhelmed and afraid, and therefore he takes this out on Javi, which we can see particularly in the scene where he makes Javi spit out the gum their father gave him.

Travis is likely replicating the harsh parenting style of their father with Javi; it's all he knows. But, underneath, Travis loves Javi; enough to put himself through the trauma of digging up his father's corpse to get a ring for him and to trek through miles of snow in sub zero temperatures for months looking for him after he runs away.

This is why it is so, so heartbreaking when Travis loses Javi just as he's learning to show how much he loves him. My heart breaks at the thought that Travis will have to come back home and tell his mother that his father and little brother are dead.

Toxic Masculinity

It’s no secret that Travis is deeply, deeply insecure. And, as is the case with many young men, this insecurity manifests itself through sexism, unhealthy stoicism, hostility, and anger. It is important to remember that Travis is a teenager in the 90s, a time in which the sexualization of women in media was rampant. The Third Wave of feminism was underway, and with it came an increase of misogyny and backlash from men. Sexist jokes and comments were the norm, and Travis was likely surrounded by them in high school. As a result, we hear him call the girls "idiots," we hear him compare them to girls in porn magazines, we hear him tell Nat she should stick to "folding laundry" and "sucking ___" (we all know how that sentence was going to end). There's no true excuse for it, it's abhorrent behavior and it's unacceptable no matter what time period this is.

However, if we look into Travis' past, we can definitely find an explanation. Much of Travis' behavior can be drawn back to his insecurity and feeling that he is not good enough. We know he was bullied throughout high school as a result of Bobby Farleigh's "Flex" comment and we know that he feels like his father never really liked him; that he never felt good enough for him. Another aspect of Travis' insecurity can also be linked back to the idea of masculinity that has been fed to him by society: the strong, macho, stoic ideal. And it's clear (especially in Season 2) that Travis just does not fit this ideal. He's soft and sensitive, and because this goes directly against what he thinks he should be, he feels shame and embarrassment in himself.

And what do men do when they feel shame, insecurity, and/or sadness? They lash out. Men aren't allowed to show vulnerability, so they instead replace it with a more acceptable emotion: anger. And we definitely see this in the way that Travis lashes out at the people around him. And to make matters worse, Travis is one of the only men out there in the wilderness, making him feel even more pressure to be the strong masculine figure society expects him to be.

Reaction to Trauma

The pressure Travis feels to be "manly" bleeds into his response to trauma, as well. Travis has just watched his father die in a brutal and gruesome manner right before his eyes, and now he's out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of teenage girls and a little brother to take care of. Most people would break down and cry.

Travis, on the other hand, is strangely apathetic. His only expression of emotion is anger. He snaps at Nat when she suggests that he help his brother, he yells at Javi and forces him to spit out the gum that is his only connection left to his father, he steals food from the others and blatantly insults them, and he essentially tells Javi to "get over it." Travis' coping mechanisms are clear: he distracts his grief with anger and he pushes away anyone that could possibly offer him support.

We see this again with another very significant trauma Travis endures: his sexual assault the night of Doomcoming. Travis is sexually assaulted by an entire group of girls, he clearly begs for them to stop (and they don't), and then he runs for his life and is almost killed. No one ever acknowledges this trauma and the next morning Travis is back to his usual ways, snapping at Natalie when she tries to emotionally support him and attempting to hurt her feelings to get her to stay away from him.

But it's clear, in both of these instances, that, underneath, Travis does care, and he is hurting. Despite him yelling at Javi, he wants to get his father's ring to make it up to him and support him. And when Nat doesn't budge and insists on helping him, Travis breaks down sobbing and admits that he "didn't want to" and that he is in love with her. (And in the script he even says that he wishes that Shauna had killed him that night, that's how strong his pain and shame are after Doomcoming!) Travis' hostile and abrasive behaviors are really a front he puts on to avoid being vulnerable, letting people in, and admitting to himself that he's struggling.

Relationship with Nat

Given Travis' tendency to push people away and hide his vulnerability, it’s not surprising that he forms a romantic connection with someone who mirrors his response to trauma: Natalie.

Their relationship starts off on shaky ground, marked by Travis' initial misogynistic remarks and even an incident where he points a loaded gun at Natalie. Despite this, Natalie is the only person who seems able to see through Travis' anger. Her own experiences with trauma—particularly the loss of her father—give her a deep understanding of what Travis is going through. Like him, she has developed a habit of distancing herself from others, driven by the pain of watching her father die and the lingering guilt of feeling responsible for his death.

This shared trauma—witnessing their fathers’ deaths and carrying the weight of guilt—creates the foundation of their connection. One pivotal moment that cements this bond is the scene where Natalie makes her first kill. Kevin Alves has explained that when Natalie and Travis kneel beside the dying deer and exchange a knowing look, it symbolizes the shared grief they both carry. In this moment, they are not just mourning the animal but, more profoundly, mourning their fathers together.

This scene serves as the emotional cornerstone of their relationship, which stretches over the next 25 years. Both Natalie and Travis are driven by guilt, shame, and self-loathing, and they both struggle with showing vulnerability. They have a pattern of pushing people away before anyone can get too close—a tragic cycle that defines their bond. They are trauma bonded and similar in all of the worst ways, which is what makes them so codependent and enmeshed, as they believe that no one else will ever understand them the way they understand each other.

Of course, Travis’ insecurity finds its way into his relationship with Nat, too. When Nat and Travis discuss having sex for the first time, Travis infamously asks Nat how many guys she has slept with. Nat immediately bristles, thinking that Travis is implying that she’s a “slut”, but, as the scene unfolds, we realize that Travis is actually just insecure about his own virginity in comparison with Nat’s sexual experience. He’s worried that, because of Jackie’s previous comments about Nat, sex with him won’t mean anything to Nat, whereas it would mean a lot to Travis. We can see how much relief he feels when Nat assures him that it does mean something to her, and “especially with him"; when she affirms he is good enough.

Travis’ tendency to get in his own head unfortunately makes itself known again when they actually attempt to sleep together; when Travis can’t get it up and runs out of the room. I think the script for this scene reveals a lot about what is actually going on in Travis’ head:

Travis’ feelings of inadequacy are spiraling here. He’s in awe of Nat and doesn’t feel good enough, and the pressure he’s putting on himself as a result is too much for him (and other parts of him…) to handle. As time passes in the wilderness and Travis lets go of some of his insecurity, we can see he becomes more communicative and releases some of his ego and insecurity as he discovers his spirituality (which we'll get into more in the next section).

Travis's love for Natalie is undeniable, but their relationship is inevitably toxic due to their shared trauma and self-destructive behaviors. After the crash, both turned to drug addiction as a way to numb their pain. Though they’ve tried to help each other stay clean over the years, their connection often pulls them back into destructive patterns. Every time Travis seems to be on the path to recovery, Natalie reappears, and she drags him back down with her again.

Javi’s death will create a huge, irreparable rift between them. It’s likely that Travis harbors deep resentment toward Natalie, not only for surviving when Javi didn’t but also for being a constant reminder of his lost brother. Yet, paradoxically, she is all he has left, and the thought of losing her, too, is unbearable. Despite their genuine love and care for each other, their relationship is fundamentally harmful.

Spirituality, Relationship with “The Wilderness,” and Development of a More Feminine Sense of Self

Season 2 marks a major shift in Travis’ character, and much of this is due to his newfound connection to Lottie. Travis’ desperation to find Javi makes him crave a sense of hope, and therefore makes him open to the idea of The Wilderness. Travis begins attending Lottie’s rituals, and expresses gratefulness towards her for the blood tea and reassurance that Javi is alive. As Travis becomes increasingly attached to Lottie and The Wilderness, we also see him become kinder, softer, and more vulnerable. Travis’ connection to The Wilderness allows him to release the societal norms and expectations that previously guided his toxic behaviors. He can let go of society’s idea of manhood and become a more authentic version of himself. We see that Travis has started to let himself show weakness, express emotion, and is much more open-minded and willing to consider other perspectives.

Lottie definitely becomes an important person to Travis in Season 2. I want to make something clear right now because I feel like it it very often misinterpreted. The writers have stated that Travis’ connection with Lottie is not meant to be interpreted as sexual in nature. Rather, Travis’ scenes with Lottie are meant to represent his spiritual connection with her and his need for guidance. The infamous sex scene between Natalie and Travis in which Travis has visions of Lottie present in the room is not Travis wishing Lottie was in Nat’s place, rather it is meant to represent the internal battle Travis is experiencing between his romantic love for Nat and his need for hope and spiritual belief. Lottie is being shown as a spiritual, religious figure in this scene. She’s not depicted in a sexual manner in Travis’ visions, but rather in a nurturing, holy light.

Nat and Lottie are directly opposed in this Season, with Nat representing pragmatism and Lottie representing faith. Travis is caught in the middle with his romantic connection to Nat and his faith in Lottie. While Nat tells him his brother is dead, Lottie tells him she knows he’s alive. Travis loves Nat, but it’s clear their differences in faith are creating a rift between them, and this rift is symbolized visually in their sex scene.

While Travis’ turn towards faith and spirituality does bring out a better, more likable side of him, it does, unfortunately, directly lead to his death in the adult timeline. While we likely won't get to see any more of Travis' story in the adult timeline, I am looking forward to seeing how he continues to develop in the wilderness and how his newfound spirituality and increasing disconnection with society will change him as a person.

Overall, while Travis can certainly be a deeply dislikable character at times, his development over the past two seasons has been fascinating to watch and he definitely has some hidden complexities that are starting to reveal themselves to the audience. Here's to Travis continuing to connect to his feminine side in Season 3!