#but when it'a gone

[queenlucythevaliant]

"Love" from Disney's 1973 masterpiece Robin Hood, one of the most beautiful and romantic songs ever written, popped up in a Super Bowl commercial??? I'm screaming???

[catcatb0y]

No, but fr it's so hard growing up chronically unloved and romantacizing every little thing because it's the only way to feel scraps of affection, and then getting to the point where you undoubtedly realize you were obsessing over grains of salt. Realizing I'm the only one who cares about these things is so draining lol.

[thegratefulsouth]

If we were only friends, would it'a

hit me in this moment, quite so much, your flesh easin' in mine, your shadow o'cloth barely distractin' us. Takin' turns to roll the same damn near breath in an instant. Got swept up by some mist that doesn't exist, except between us. We were close, so close, our hearts alignin' an' I'd a'never known it was too much for me then, if we were only friends, if my hands hadn'ta stopped working like my breath in that moment. And we both know, back then, I ain't had the sense in women enough to think for a second 'bout what I could be startin'.

So when you smiled that way, your little tease and said those things, I was already flakin' an' backtrailin', thinkin' mistakes were ahead a'me. 'Cause I didn't want you to see that in me. 'Cause I'd never felt quite that way an' I couldn't understand it for the life o'me. S'why I was so quick to protest, believed you were jokin' when you said what you said. And why I put up that wall and we laughed and my knees quaked with intensity.

If we were only friends, you wouldn'a

leaned that way against my cell for me, when I came back. I feel that now, seen it time and again, others couplin' up around us, that way they move in the beginnin', like you did. Still, I could be imaginin', was just a sliver of a momen'. Was oblivious then, why you did it. Just saw it. You pushin' yourself, your ... yourself forward, like that, for me. It's the only indication, unspoken, of a spark you wanted somethin' more, that I've ever seen.

Noticed it though, locked it away with the good memories. Why else would I 'ave

driven myself into you? That same way you arched to me, like I'd wanted to, for so damn long, to find some chance to meet you like that, in that way. If we were only soulmates without any other needs?

And we were so damn close to startin' somethin', 'fore you were sent away. All this time and events but still, we never got back what never was, and shoulda been. Was never the same with us for such a long time, tryin' a find you again

and you me

with things happenin' the way they did, you runnin', an' me railin' against the wind, tryin' to square up wrongdoin's.

And when that stopped for awhile, I'd lost almost everythin'. Would I 'ave even gone away if what you did hadn't hurt? Not your fault, you was just livin'.

But if what we had was enough, nothin' more'an solidarity? Would I a'stayed away so long? 'Cause that hurt, too, to see you bein' another you, see you finally bein' all the things you needed to, havin' things I couldn't give you, 'cause I didn't know how to.

Would you 'ave tried so hard to push me away, set me up, settle me down with someone who didn't carry the baggage we had, who didn't doubt themselves and every scratch o'hope we'd gathered in the before times, that still haunt the sleepless hours.

And if we were only friends, would I 'ave tried so damn hard everyday to change an' grow for you, show you the man of honour you said you wanted

'til you threw it back at me. 'Cause y'know that's all I want to be, what I want you to see in me. I need you with me. Wish I could make you feel what I feel.

If we were only friends would I 'ave taken every chance I could, to look at you, drink you in, let each stroke and pulse, and touch, each heartbeat win. Just give in

no matter who else was noticin'. So I could live.

All this best friend shit, will I ever admit to you, what I, in waves tell others in every other second word, with my eyes, with my silence an' my breath, while I scream inside, and threaten and hide from you?

What I wouldn't do, and believe me I would, I will, if somethin' ever happens. Same as you'd do.

This ain't platonic Carol, ain't no cheap romance neither from the dollar bin, not like them ones you been readin'.

It's fuckin' special what we have, and I want more.

And I'll love you with my dyin' breath, and after, the way Rick said, as walkin' dead, even though we ain't them, not yet, not close. There's more. Will always be more.

We'll always be more than that.

TGS

Companion piece from Carol's perspective

Still images AMC and #1 unknown, #3 businessinsider.com, #4 riveralwaysknew

[sunny-mercya]

Cold Coffee

James Maguire x Male Reader

Fandom -> Derry Girls

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist

The once streaming hot coffee mug—which was scorching when poured into the silly with faces of cartoon characters decorated grey coloured mug—had long gone cold in James hands, who didn't really drank from it anyways—only taking minimal sips from it—but not that he seemed to realise at all, too focused on the boy before him.

When James had strutted down the old creaky squeaky stairs of the [Surname] household, on such faithful sunday morning—having spend the whole weekend over at [Name]'s—and making his way into the crowded kitchen, he literally had thoughts—sending prayers to the Lord above—that he perhaps had died in sleep and this is now an afterlife looping dream.

Seeing you in your baggy oversized shirt—with another row of some cartoon characters printed on it—and the short, orange in colour, pyjama pants, just took James breath away for a moment of minute—making him sucking in a breath.

James had seeing you in many clothes before—from school uniforms, sportswear, daily wear, swimtrunks to even only clad in boxers and their white school shirt—which was because of Mrs.Quinn, who wanted some more dark clothes to wash and demand from the whole squad the uniforms without room for arguments—and he also had seeing you in these pyjamas the whole weekend.

It's just, maybe it's the sunlight—which peeked through the windows and slight open curtains—which makes you look so fairy like, James wasn't sure if that's the right word to use even, so breathtaking in his eyes—that he had to gulp.

»Jamesie! Goo' morning! Ya slept'a wella? I've make us some coffee, well actually'a Dad did, but I'mma put sugar cubes and milk in it'a so I do have helped.«

You gave James his mug of coffee, once he had taken a seat at the small kitchen table—saying a quiet thanks to you, which sounded more like a meek whisper and you couldn't help yourself but to tease him just a bit.

»Don'tcha be shy now, James, it'a after all just'a mere coffee« you said, chuckling a bit when seeing your boyfriends confused face and slight flushed cheeks.

»I ain't scared of some Coffee?« still James eyes the mug with caution—as the amount of sugar cubes in it, a few swimming on top, looked dangerously high of upcoming future diabetics.

»Behave ya two. I ain't wanna funny business from ya two under my roof.« the voice of your dad, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, had spooked James just a bit.

Now, despite your dad—who James and the girls were allowed, more like granted permission, to call Francis—being 1.80 in height—having the body shape of either an professional boxer or dock worker and the appearance of a pup owner (he does have quite the tattoos and piercings and that certain kind of scowl)—and looking like some scary guy to be feared off, he's in actuality a friendly man.

»Giving wee smooches ain't funny business, dad.« your bottom lip jutted out, creating a slight pout—and James, asking internally for the Lords forgiveness of his sinful thoughts on such a holy sunday, really wants to kiss you now.

Francis had half a mind to tell his dear precious son, that those “wee smooches” are indeed counted as funny business—especially with when it comes to the english fella, his son is having as a boyfriend now—but decided against it, not wanting to upset [Name], knowing well how affectionate his son was.

So instead, Francis only raised his eyebrow and glared half heartedly in a joking manner at James, before taking a plate of pancakes and venturing into the livingroom.

~~~

When Michelle came over around the late afternoon, letting herself in with the spare key—she and the rest of the squad has gotten one, in terms of emergencies—to drag James back home—well her mother said he could stay till Monday morning, but Michelle needs her partner in crime for whatever Erin seemed to have planned tonight—she narrowed her eyes in motherly disappointment, once discovering James on the couch and with a sleeping [Name] on top of him.

»Ya really wanna get booted outta this household, don't you Jamesie?« Michelle hissed it annoyance, hands stemming onto her hips.

»Please, for the love of our Lord, explain what you mean with this, would you?« James annoyances spiked as well, coming out in a hushed whisper.

»You get all English handsy with [Nickname], don't corrupt him with your english gayness. Christ, if Francis see this, he banns you forever from this household.«

»[Nickname] has drank two whole mug of overdose sugary coffee and passed out on me as soon as we started to watch some Cartoons and that had been hours ago.«

»Oh. Well, that makes sense. Next time you tell me that sooner, asshat. By christ, was I worried there for a second.«

James looked at Michelle in disbelieving exhaustion, sometimes wondering why the girls are like this.

»Well, don't bother to come home tonight anyway. I'll tell Erin and the others you're making sure, [Name] doesn't collapse on the coffee. We're don't need ya ass anyway. Bye!«

Michelle was out of the house, before James could even think of a reply.

~~~

When you woke up some hours later, the first you did was smooching James faces with kisses over and over—getting up from him, stretching your body and proclaiming that it is time for pancakes now.

James face erupted into a shade of redness, when seeing your exposed belly and your kisses have ascended him into a putty mess beneath you.

»James?«

»Yeah?«

»I love ya«

And James thought, while replying you back—getting up from the couch himself and into the kitchen, kissing your cheek—that he too loves you, just how lucky he was to have you as his boyfriend.

And James also thinks, thanking the Lord sometimes for it, his mom leaving him in Derry—was the best thing to happen.

[mslanna]

What about Raphael monologuing and/or being his smug self only to be surprised by "his" little mouse interrupting him by grabbing the collar of his clothing and dragging the cambion in to a kiss before she says something like 'You talk too much' or 'I got the gist, thank you' and gracefully striding off before he can even think to react? (your choice if Tav does this when it's just her and Raphael or if she pulls this stunt in front of a group of her companions who would likely be left there stunned for a few moments as well)

What That Mouth Do? (talk… 😩) (also on AO3) (Part 1 of the series (What That Mouth Do? / Do that Mouth Mouse / Two Can Play That Game)

Breaking into the House of Hope hadn't been the smartest of all ideas, Tav had to admit. But so far things had gone okay. As Raphael's favourite client, they had not expected any resistance. After all, what was in the House worth stealing? Apart from their contract of course. But that contract wasn't even for their soul. It didn't matter.

On the other hand, how could Tav pass up a chance to see how their benevolent devil lived? They wished they hadn't because the feast they remembered was now rotten and stinky. A madwoman was blabbering in their ear about getting freed. There was no helldusk armour lying around.

What was lying around was an incubus which, fun, but not what they had come from. But better than nothing and with a little imagination, it was Raphael's red skin and sinful teeth sinking into their body.

Also Haarlep was a lying liar who lied, starting by claiming to be an exact copy of Raphael. A lie that saved Tav because Raphael could have gotten their soul for sex that good. As things stood, Haarlep took Tav's form and promised future fun.

In the end, Tav only took the gloves of Giant Hill strength for Helsik. An easy enough steal and they did leave gloves in their place. No harm done, right? Raphael would find good use for the gloves of the tyrant.

The last thing Tav expected was for Raphael to turn up just as they were about to leave. At least they had already changed back into their own clothes. The debtor outfit lent by Hope was fugly, nothing they wanted to be seen in by their favourite devil.

Raphael was not alone. Flanked by Korrilla and Yurgir, he launched into an enraged speech immediately. He laid it on pretty thick for one pair of gloves and an Ersatz-fuck. Tav wondered if that mouth was good for anything beside spewing words.

"…kittens and blah blah blah…"

Tav tuned out and just listened to Raphael's voice. It'as a nice voice even when he was angry. But he could come to the point, please? He could have the blasted gloves back if they were so important. Not that he mentioned them in his ongoing speech.

Tav dropped their maul with a sigh and walked over to the monologuing devil. Though all eyes were on them and wary, Raphael did not interrupt his lecture. What a twat.

Shaking their head slightly, Tav clasped his face between their hands and, before he could react, planted a heavy kiss on his lips. For a moment Raphael's mouth still moved, then he became very still.

Tav retracted, first their tongue, then their head but kept his tightly between their palms. "You talk too much."

They breathe a second kiss over his lips before using the still open portal to return to Baldur's Gate. At some point, they'll have to retrieve their weapon. That will be – fun.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

First time I am using this and I am a lil unsure about it but you are one of my favoured writers out there at AO3 so here goes nothing:

#stucky Imagine a mute horny Bucky Barnes Post Hydra who tries to get 'lovesick and a lil dumb(when it comes to Bucky)' Steve Rogers to understand that he NEEDS... I just loved the thought of that slightly frustrated dynamic

Aw, you're real sweet. Thank you! Welcome to this side of the internet, lol, and thanks for sending an ask my way!

As for your idea--

YES!

I love this concept. It actually reminds me of two fics I've seen floating around:

"covert op" by mcwho

*this fic is more casual, almost a crack fic

"Beauty Lifts from the Dark" by the1918

*this fic is much more serious and contains omegaverse, pregnancy, and dealing with brain damage. But I think it relates to your ask still, so, check it out if you want!

Bucky isn't entirely nonverbal, and it's clear when he does speak that he is perfectly capable of both clear speech and clear thought. He just... doesn't seem eager to speak unless it'a necessary, and even then, it isn't eager, per say. More reluctant. Short sentences. Sometimes, just a single word or two. Information that can't otherwise be gotten across.

And Steve's not ever going to pressure him to talk more. If Bucky only ever wants to, every now and again, answer "yes" or "no" or tell Steve what he wants from the restaurant they're ordering from (as opposed to just pointing at the menu when they have physical or digital copies) then Steve can live with that. Steve will relish in simply having Bucky back with him. It's more than enough. Even if he does miss that smooth talking motor mouth he used to have. Sometimes. He can live without, though.

It's fine.

Sincerely, It's all good.

Steve can live with Bucky now being a quiet person--nonverbal, even. So long as Bucky is okay.

Sure, Bucky seems to have some trouble putting his emotions into words, but, hey, between growing up in the time they did, being told men couldn't express emotion, and all the emotions Bucky is feeling at any given time because of all he's gone through... Steve feels as if that's fair.

Bucky's therapist sometimes sends Steve emails--she knows he worries--and assures him that progress is being made, and, yes, Bucky does speak to her during their sessions. (And, no, don't take that personally, Steve. Bucky's connection to him is just as strong as it's always been, even if their conversations mostly consist of Steve motoring on and Bucky listening.)

Outside therapy, though, Bucky's just not too interested in speaking.

Sometimes it's a mental block, sometimes Bucky is too consumed by memories, sometimes Bucky didn't sleep enough or had to many nightmares, sometimes he's just exhausted, sometimes he wants to but can't, and sometimes he doesn't want to; there's a whole plethora of reasons Bucky can't or won't speak.

When it comes to voicing his need for... y'know. He wants to but can't.

He can't speak about how fucking wound up he feels these days.

An itch always under his skin, in dire need of a good, hard ranking with his fingernails to sate the urge. Electricity that just won't stop crackling, instead only getting worse and worse and worse. It sizzles and spits, vibrating through his veins whenever Steve looks at him, no matter how quick the glance is. Whenever their skin happens to brush--finger tips flirting as they walk, shoulders knocking in their little hallway, feet under the table, sitting too close together on the couch. Whenever Steve makes a suggestive sound, moaning about food, stretching in the morning or after a particularly good workout, or whatever. So many tiny things leave Bucky aching.

Desperately Bucky wants to just fucking spit it out, but his brain and mouth won't let him. The words get trapped in his body and bounce around, feeling it throughout. And. still. he. can't. say. it.

So, he sits. He stews. He waits.

He gets tired of waiting.

Bucky is a goddamn sniper, and he gets tired of waiting for his stupid boyfriend (is Steve even aware they're dating (again)?) to bring it up to him.

It.

Sex.

Bucky knows Steve wants it, too--he sees him looking, and more than that, he can feel Steve's ravenous gaze on him, following him like a predator eyes it's prey, but he never pounces. They have countless hours alone, there's only a few select people that are brave enough--stupid enough to come and see Captain America and his ex-assassin boyfriend. People who are especially loyal to Steve, either people that are like Steve (Sam) or like Bucky (Nat). So, it isn't like they have many interruptions.

So, the only conclusion is that Steve is stopping himself for some reason.

Fucking whatever. Reason. Steve's never had good reason. For anything. Bucky remembers that well. It might've been the first thing Bucky remembered about him.

Bucky assumes that the reason has to do with his inability to say the words. Fuckin' Steve--he always wants to, "talk it through," begging with those big blue eyes of his and the picture-perfect pout of his pink mouth.

Can't they just--

Just.

Do it?

What does a guy have to do to get some fucking dick around here? The more Bucky waits, the more he stews, the more frustrated he gets. He is not like food, stewing, and getting tender and soft, he is starved.

Apparently, a lot. Apparently, a guy's gotta do a lot, even though Bucky knows they're both frustrated. Steve might not show it, grumbly and stalking off when he can't get what he needs, but he's in the same place. Talking is hard. But that's gotta be it. That's gotta be the thing to give Steve the all clear because Bucky has tried everything else--

Skimpy clothing.

He figures the more skin he shows, the harder it will be for Steve to resist. But Steve is stubborn. Whatever he's waiting for, he doesn't get, and after an initial period of staring, jaw on the floor, cheeks pink, and eyes unblinking, following his every movement, he scrapes his eyes away and... doesn't look at Bucky anymore.

Nooo

Bucky tries to get his attention back when he's forcing himself to look away, but Steve has, at some point, mastered the art of looking just over Buckys shoulder instead of into his eyes.

Ugh.

Bucky will stare at Steve, trying to telepathically communicate, throw out your fucking morals and fucking ruin me, I know you want to, I am--I was very well acquainted with caveman Steve. Gimme that guy!

When it doesn't work, Bucky slinks away and growls, clenching his fists. He punches his pillow because he doesn't want to make Steve call someone to repair their wall (again).

Damn you, Rogers.

Showering multiple times a day.

Even when he hasn't gone to the gym, Bucky will take it upon himself to shower twice, sometimes three times a day. He's desperate, okay?

And there's nothing that should break a man like lounging around in a towel that's barely clinging onto you and nothing else for hours at a time, all exposed and wet. But. Steve isn't a fucking normal man, now is he?

Even when, with a towel low, low, low on his hips, Bucky brushes his fingers through his wet hair and then drags his hand down the side of his neck to his shoulder and tilts his head to the side to crack his neck, showing Steve the cut of his jaw, the curve of his exposed throat, and his hair. All things that Steve used to be obsessed with, or seems currently obsessed with. Even then, Steve doesn't do anything.

Once

ONCE he shifts in his seat, crossing his legs, and puts a pillow conspicuously over his lap but other than that-?

Nothing.

Bucky gets their couch, the armchair, and his own damn bed wet with all this lounging he's doing. Bucky, just to spite him, jerks off in the shower, rough and unashamed, leaving the bathroom door wide open, the water not hot enough to steam up the air. If Steve walked past, he'd be able to see everything.

If Steve sees, he doesn't comment. He doesn't turn more red than usual. He doesn't squirm more. He does do anything.

Bucky wants to growl at Steve. He wants to bear his teeth. He wants to roll over on the floor and show Steve his tummy and his expose his neck. He just needs it so bad. But none of those animalistic displays are productive. So. He doesn't. (See, Steve, the therapy is working! Ha!)

Fine.

Wordlessly, obscenely tonguing his cutlery during meals.

Bucky discovers that he doesn't have a gag reflex anymore with a spoon, sitting across from Steve at their dining room table--he doesn't want to remember where or when his gag reflex disappeared to. So he doesn't think about that. Instead, he just thinks about how Steve stares at him with that spoon in his mouth and his tongue flicking over the silver. Breathing so hard that his nostrils flare. Then, promptly choking on his own food, turning red from arousal and embarrassment and trouble getting oxygen.

Serves him right for not diving over the table and eating him for dinner instead, Bucky thinks.

Hmmph.

Intentionally eating with his fingers even when it doesn't really make sense.

Licking his fingers.

Holding little bites up to Steve to feed him, fingers in his mouth.

It all fits together, all the little things Bucky has started doing with food, trying to show Steve how bad he wants to be devoured himself. And when Steve stands his ground, it just escalates and escalates. Bucky goes from eating a little more thoughtfully, trying not to just hoark everything down like an animal, the serum demanding all too many calories, to basically fellating his food. More focused on getting dick than getting nourishment.

God, he's starved for it.

He's so fucking frustrated that he might just cry.

Would that get Steve to fuck him? If he broke down and cried and pawed at Steve's dick, would Steve finally break and fuck him until he was crying good tears. So far, anytime tears come out of him, he gets all of Steve's attention, but... it's mother-hen attention. Bucky doesn't want his back rubbed. He wants his hole pounded.

Jesus Christ.

Steve has a thick fucking skull. He just thanks Bucky for feeding him. He tracks the movement of Bucky's fingers and tongue and doesn't say anything. Anything at all.

Dammnit.

Bucky has to look away, desperate, frustrated tears burning in his eyes when Steve continues to not understand. He digs his fingernails into his palms and taps his fists softly against his thighs when he wants to punch something.

Grr.

It'd be amusing how much Bucky is grumbling and growling and feeling grumpy if it weren't so fucking irritated. He needs Steve.

Forming a sudden lip balm obsession, constantly re-applying it.

Steve likes his lips--he watches him when he talks, when he performs unspeakable acts on innocent food eats, when he licks his lips passively, when he's just sitting, watching TV.

Steve likes his lips.

So, he might as well give him something to look at.

Shimmery or glossy or matte lip balm. Flavored or not, scented or not. Bucky tries it all. He applies it without show or with an immense show. Testing Steve. What makes him react the most? What does he like to watch Bucky put on? What does he like to see Bucky wear.

Steve bites his own lip sometimes, watching. Steve swallows. Steve clenches his jaw. Steve sighs. Steve does nothing else. Steve doesn't put his fucking hands on Bucky.

FUCK.

Bucky's temper has run out.

Fuck this.

"Fuck me--" Bucky hisses, voice rusty, eyes narrowed like it's a challenge, and before Steve can even ask if he's serious, if he's absolutely sure, Bucky is there, beating him to the punch, "'m sure," he forces the words out, not because he doesn't want it but because words are still fucking hard. Not as hard as Bucky himself is, pressing tight up against Steve, crowding him in, and lowering his voice to an almost inaudible tone--impressive considering the both have enhanced hearing--"please?"

"Bucky," Steve murmurs, full of emotion, swaying into him, weak, as their their lips collide bruisingly.

Steve gasps. Bucky gets full body chills, tingles, shaking with it.

Y-e-s.

Every moment of this, the longer it draaaags out, the more he's on board with this. Kissing. Kissing. Lips sliding together wetly. Steve moans, and it feels like gold, liquid gold, sliding down Bucky's throat, and pooling deep in his belly. Inside him. He tastes Steve.

The way he moans.

God.

The way Steve bites Bucky's lower lip, the way he licks into his mouth, the way their teeth hit together accidentally when they get into it too much. Grasping as each other. Kissing.

JesusfuckingChrist.

Bucky is red-hot, glowing like molten metal. And every time Steve touches him, sparks fly. He's so affected that it's like Steve is the craftsman hammering soft metal, Bucky, changing its shape with every powerful strike.

Steve presses him harder into the wall. Punching the breath out of his chest. Tilting his chin up, fingers strong and demanding on his skin, and knocking their foreheads together. Eyes locked.

The hunger in Steve's eyes.

Christ.

Bucky's never felt so wanted.

Oh.

It makes him weak.

It feels like he's melting into the wall, fuck it, worse, like he's melting into the floor, knees weak, clinging onto Steve, breathless, soundless, and soaking in every wave of pleasure, barely keeping his head afloat in the ocean.

Steve's hands paw at him.

Bucky's mind whites out.

He rips Steve's clothes, unable to control himself. Steve moans, "yes-" drawn out and hot when Bucky's metal hand bites into his hip. Finally, finding purchase amongst the desperation.

His own clothes are torn off. Bucky arches into every pop of seams ripping, cloth, not clothes because it's now useless to cover anything, falling away. Leaving him naked, chest heaving, blood boiling, mouth agape, not a sound coming out. He's so overwhelmed. He can't breathe. He can't think. He can't--

He can't.

Steve is splitting him open.

Ah. Ah!

Steve is biting his shoulder, carving a space out for him inside his body, spit slick, burning alive with the stretch, burning alive--

Steve is alive.

Bucky is here with him and alive, too.

How-?

How is this real? It doesn't feel real. Too good to be true.

And this is--

This is all he wants forever.

Steve inside him; heavy, hot, throbbing, and fuck.

Oh, God.

Every thrust is better than the last. Hard. Deep. Bucky's jaw has dropped wider than he thinks is possible. His entire body is trembling. Vibrating. This is how he dies. Split open. Steve moaning and groaning and fucking whining, lips pressed hot and wet to Bucky's cheekbone. Sweat in rivers dripping down his skin.

Desperate.

Oh. God.

Bucky is sure his body is making a dent in the wall. Every thrust is brutal. It's exactly what they both need. Bucky's fingers are digging bruises into his flesh. His nails might be drawing blood. It feels too good to notice, though.

They're both feral.

The first audible sound that is ripped out of Bucky is a pant.

Then, a gasp.

Punched out of him by Steve.

Other than that, the evidence of his pleasure is almost entirely physical, shaking, drooling, limp, yet pressing back weakly whenever it's possible, too. It's not really verbal. It's certainly not loud. Somehow, it's very reminiscent of their days in the past, when they were always worried about getting caught because of the whole, y'know, being-gay-is-illegal thing. So, it doesn't bother either of them, just like old times, but caught up, at the same time, in the furious drum of now, now, NOW.

BUT

The near-silence from Bucky of is shattered all at once when as he's about to cum, dangerously close to the edge, his prostate getting beaten in the most idea way possible, bringing him to tears--Bucky lets out a rusty whine.

A whine.

High and needy and feminine. Coming out of his big, heavy chest. The antithesis of what this man should sound like. A pathetic little whine.

Fuck.

It's hot.

It works its way under Bucky's skin and under Steve's skin. Twinning. Tied together. Caught up in this mess.

Jesus. Fuck.

Bucky is too close.

He can't.

Yet, it only gets impossibly hotter when as he cums, entirely uncontrollable, there is nothing that could ever stop him, Bucky jerks and quivers and moans. Loud but wordless. Incoherent. Animal. Feral. This guttural, guttural sound of pleasure. Pleasure that's been ripped from his overwrought body.

He keeps cumming with Steve's answering bone deep groan of his name. It sounds so good to hear.

But Steve doesn't go soft even when he orgasms. He doesn't stop fucking Bucky either. He fucks Bucky through their orgasms. And Bucky's moan turns to helpless whimpers, but he clenches on. He's not going to let Steve stop. No.

No.

Keep going, keep fucking whines and moans and wordless sounds of pleasure from him.

Please.

Steve hears him loud and clear.

I hope you enjoyed 😘

[v3nusxsky]

Nightmares

—————————————————————————

Tw— mentions of past sexual abuse Language?

Prompt~ reader who teaches English and Larissa have only recently made there relationship official to the rest of Nevermore.  Reader has issues sleeping.comfort Larissa

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had not hand an uninterrupted night of sleep for weeks. At first you could hide the tiredness with a bit of makeup and a coffee. But slowly and surly it was taking it'a toll on your body. The dark circles that seemed to have permanently taken up residence underneath your eyes were harder to hide. People were starting to notice how irritable you were at the slightest things. As a teacher you were known to be quite calm and relaxed yet today especially every little thing caused a reaction that you most definitely were not proud of.

You'd snapped at a newer member of Nevermore for scraping his chair on the floor when getting yo to sharpen his pencil. In another class a girl was coughing and it just got on your last nerve.  Everything seemed to be magnified by a 1000 these days. Just like the headache that was currently wrecking havoc in your temples. Eyes burning as you attempted to go over the lesson plans for your next class. The 3rd years consisted of a few well known interesting individuals. One of those were the raven hair pigtailed up start that had been causing your girlfriend, no end of grief these days. The same grief that had you hardly seeing the goddess that was the principle of Nevermore. You're relationship was no secret, you shared quarters with Larissa yet still you hardly saw her. You went to bed before her and when you woke she was gone. It seemed to be a pattern that was inevitable and not likely to cease anytime soon.  Although that meant your nightmares were a lot easier to hide from the other women due to her having such a hectic schedule.

The bed always felt so much cooler without your own personal hot water bottle. Oh how you longed to just fall asleep safely cocooned in your loves slender arms. Laying curled up on your left side you stole a quick glance at the bright red numbers reading 23:00 hours. Exhaustion soon overcome your body like a cloud of darkness.

Chest heaving, you blinked rapidly trying to place which version of hell you had been transported too tonight. The persistent thundering knocks on the door was what made you realise. It was her. Back to a time where you knew no difference. Back before Larissa. You could feel your heart rate picking up even more as if that was actually possible without causing a heart attack. Only when the door barged open did you full understand what you'd be dealing with. The ranting of the other women sounded all muffled as the fear washed over you in tidal waves. If possible it seemed to be worse than when the actual event happened. At least then you didn't know the fresh hell that would be unleashed in this room. It wasn't long before the nightmare was reaching its climax.

Shockwaves of pain. You could feel it radiating through every bone,muscle, tissue and cell of your body. You'd said no. You knew that. But you knew it was pointless. She'd take what she wanted no matter what. She owned you. Controlled every fibre of your being. Why would she care if you consented. To her you were hers, to use, to abuse, to do whatever she damn well pleased. Tears flowing freely down your cheeks breathes struggling to come out steadily as she took what she wanted. Not only was it not something you wanted you couldn't escape. To her your prey. Tied up being used and abused and tonight she even had a knife to your throat. One simple threat was sneered at you rendering you motionless and deadly silent. "Move or make any sound and I'll cut you. There's no pain quite like this in the world being forced into something you clearly don't want to do. It wouldn't be the first time or the last this would occur. A sob wretched it's way through your body only angering the forceful attacker above you causing her to bring her knife down and create a vertical gash on your wrist. Resulting in a blood curling scream.

Bolting upright you could defeat the tear stained tracks down your cheeks, the sound of the blood curling scream your body had just released seemed to be echoing through the darkened room. You're breathing was rapid and messy. The steady pattern it should have had was gone. The tale tale signs of your panic attacks were running havoc all throughout your exhausted body. Although you know you should try to sit up right you couldn't help but bring your knees to your chest. Head resting atop your knees eye's screwed shut, you tried to quiet the uncontrollable sobs as to not waking the women that must have joined you at some point during that shit show of a nightmare.

Too far gone into panic mode you don't register the click of the lamp switch, the room bathing in a soft yellow glow. You don't register your girlfriend's face going from sleepy to concern in a matter of seconds as she blinks the sleep from her eyes. Only wanting to help she reaches out to touch your shoulder only to flinch back like she was burned with your response.

"Don't fucking touch me!" More uncontrollable sobs worked their way through you. "I said no! Get off me! Get off-get off- get off me! You're hurting me... please stop... it hurts!" Full blown hysteria was not something Larissa had to deal with in your relationship but the guilt overwhelmed her. She only wanted to help and she unintentionally made it worse. You were quite clearly in pain. What could she do when you're being tortured by your own mind?

"Y/n? Darling? It's Larissa honey your safe" she whispered unsure if you could here her as she moved to sit in your direct view. Hands resting on top of her thighs so you could see them. "Honey? It's okay. I'm here. No one is going to touch you I promise. It's just your Rissa. You're safe. You're okay." All Larissa could do was repeat the mantra hoping to break through the attack.

"R-ri- ss-a ?"you gasped out sucking in desperate breaths. Your attack seeming to have reached its peak but coming down that mountain would be no easier than the climb up.

"That's right darling, your Rissa. You're okay. You're safe with me. My love can I touch you?" She outstretched her arms just slightly to indicate that she just wanted to hold you. You nearly knocked her backwards with the force you went barrelling into her arms with. Strangled sobs still escaping your lips seemingly increasing in volume, your body shaking uncontrollably as you clutched onto your girlfriend like she was the last life raft in the middle of the ocean.

"Oh my darling girl. I'm here. Focus on my heart beat okay my love? Try to breathe with it." She watched you as you attempted to take some shaky breaths in the rhythm of her heart beating. A soft gentle touch up and down your spine. Nose buried into her neck, you started to feel your breathing return to a slightly more human level.

"Good job little one. Such a good girl. You're okay honey. I have you. I won't leave you okay?" Was what she had breathed into your ear, rocking you slightly as you both waited for your breathing to become fully regular.

Pulling back slightly, you peaked up through your lashes in an attempt to reassure yourself that she was really here. Only to realise you'd been spotted which only spurred you to go back into hiding. For comfort or what it embossment over your breakdown?

"Little one, why are you hiding from me? I promise you I'm here your safe and I'm most definitely real." It was as if the shape shifter possessed mind reading abilities as the latter of her statement was whispered so softly into the night you hardly caught it.

It wasn't long after that which had you curled up in the arms of the women who quite literally owned every piece of your shattered heart. Although you knew the older women had no idea what had caused such a strong reaction from you, you were relieved she had not tried to force answers from you. Maybe that's what caused you to revel what you'd seen.

"It was her. Again. She god Rissa she well she hurt me. Rissa I said no. She didn't listen. I she said she owns me and I - I don't want to be hers. I want to be yours. Only yours." Absentmindedly tracing the scar she had left on your otherwise perfect ivory skin. "I'm sorry for waking you. Normally they aren't as vivid and I can deal with them. Are you upset with me? I can sleep else where till regain control again if you wish? I don't want to anger you." The anxiety of the situation causing your voice to tremble and a whimper to escape you. God how pathetic if she wasn't going to kick you out of bed, she sure as hell would now.

Smooth pads of her thumbs wiped the stray tears still falling as she encouraged you to look into her eyes. Being met with only love and concern you could feel your body relax ever so slightly. "My little one, I don't want you to go anywhere else I promise. I'm not angry with you my love. Don't worry about waking me either I'd stay up all night and hold you if it meant you never felt pain like that ever again." She paused briefly trying to phrase the next part of her speech correctly. For a principle who dealt with public speaking more often than most, this was extremely difficult but she needed to get every word perfectly spot on.

"Little one... she's not here and she never will be anywhere near you again. I'm so sorry for what she did my little dove you didn't deserve that. You're the purest angel I've ever met. Quite frankly, I can't believe you're mine. I don't know what I did in this life or my past ones to deserve you but I'm so glad I did it. I would never hurt such a sweetling as yourself. And honey you aren't hers. What she did was not you being hers. That's abuse my love. However you can be mine for as long as you wish. I'll only take what you give me darling. You're mine as much as I am yours. Okay my love?"

"You can have my heart... I'm sorry it's in pieces but I want you to have it." You mumbled ducking your eyes to avoid her loving gaze.

"It's a good job we have art classrooms in Nevermore then, im sure I can find some super glue to ensure your heart is whole once more. And I promise to keep it safe for as long as you allow me to have it. Will you have my heart my darling girl?"

"med nöje min älskade" (of course my love) you whispered as you moved to press a sweet kiss to her lips. Exhaustion clouded your mind, you didn't even realise you had spoken another language until the sound of a gasp filled the room. With a small chuckle a kiss was pressed to your head as your lover whispered "oh little one the things you do to me, we must try to sleep again do you think you can?"

You knew Larissa would keep you safe. So you nodded slightly snuggling deeper in her arms allowing her comforting scent wash over you. It wasn't long till your body finally gave into the exhaustion. This time you drifted into a dreamless state. Almost as if Larissa was acting as a knight fighting of all evil.

It wasn't the light peaking through the closed curtains that stirred you. No. It was the hushed tone of your girlfriends whispers into her phone. Your curiosity had you listening in as Larissa informed the other person, who you assumed to Marilyn a close friend of you both, that you and the principle were taking the day off.

"Marilyn... she's exhausted, mhm yes up most the night more poor little dove..... mhm I will.... Yes thank you.... I'll be sure to tell her.... Okay goodbye miss Thornhill."

Once the arms returned over your waist you once again was pulled into the realm of sleep. This time a smile tugging at your lips. You may have gone through some rain but you'd now found your sun. And hopefully together you could create a rainbow.

Word count~ 2227 😳

*Authors note~ the longest one shot yet, if anyone has experienced anything like reader just know it's not your fault and I'll always have open messages to be a listening ear. I myself have experienced something similar so I just want you all to know this is a safe space*

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

Also explain it though.

The Avatar State gives the Avatar the bending abilities of all the past lives. That's why they are so powerful in the Avatar State: they have the bending experience of 180 master benders at their disposal. It's why Roku could suddenly lava-bend in his temple, how Kyoshi seperated Kyoshi Island from the Earth Kingdom, and why it'a a HUGE problem that Korra lost access to her past lives. Every single Avatar before that is lost, so the Earthbending Avatar after her will only have Korra to take advice from. Korra herself now has no one to take advice from. She's.... a lot of things, but not special enough to weigh up against the collective experience of 180 master benders and diplomats / bureaucrats / generals. Heck, who will you take spiritual advice from, now that the entire world is being roamed by them? No Kuruk, no Yangchen, no Aang. How will you actually decide when and where to go? What to do? The only advice you can get is a past life that was known, notorious for her brashness.

It's suddenly also very dangerous to be the Avatar now. Aang could very much use waterbending / earthbending / firebending in the Avatar State even when he had not mastered them yet.

How will the Earthbending Avatar defend themselves from grave threats only knowing Earthbending and Waterbending in the Avatar State? Against someone like Zaheer, Ming Hua, Toph Beifong? What if someone locks the Avatar's active chi paths again? There's no one in the past lives that can give your bending back, because those past lives don't exist anymore.

It'll be much easier to kill this Avatar in the Avatar State because their Avatar is the most unimpressive, inexperienced and weak SINCE AVATAR WANG. Luckily Korra can energybend and metalbend as well as use seismic sense, but the art of lavabending and lightningbending, something past Avatars could do, is not something we saw her do.

So that 180 lifetimes of mastering those sub-bending styles, that give you a VERY distinct advantage in battle, are gone. Heck, firebending and airbending experience are going to have to be COMPLETLY relearned.

So yeah the Avatar state is a defense mechanism but in its current state ( with Korra as Avatar and connection with lives severed ) it is in its weakest state since the Avatar cycle began.

Many people still don't know how the Avatar State works bruh

No, Aang is not controlled by the other Avatars when he is angry.

Rise of Kyoshi explained that the Avatar State is 1) a defense mechanism and 2) the past Avatars aren't just acting through the current Avatar; when you don't have control yet, the Avatar state is very dangerous since the Avatar can't handle all the amassed power.

You might as well ask "Which Avatar wanted Aang to nearly kill Katara and Sokka when he learned about the air nomad genocide?" That wasn't Aang or a past Avatar. That was his uncontrolled grief triggering the Avatar State. He didn't have control, nor did the other Avatars

When Kyoshi finally mastered the Avatar State, it wasn't just all the other Avatars amalgamated. Kyoshi heard them, and was aware of them, but was perfectly in control of her own actions and choices.

It's the same with Aang.

[thepiinkpages]

Sooo, I decided to review these two book at once because in my humble opinion they should've been one book.

I enjoyed book 1, but I had a harder time with this one. The main reason I'm struggling is because there's been very little movement in the plot or relationships. Yes, we know where the illness is coming from now, but throwing another mate in the mix just muddies up the water.

Her wolves have mistreated her and ignored her, so no, I don't believe they deserve her. That bedroom scene at the end irritated me though. I mean, why wouldn't the door be locked? Why would the wolf princes interfere when they don't want her. Why would the new hubby go from romantic to acting like she's an object to use? While Tara showed a little backbone, I feel like she still is too submissive. I don't understand why she can't at least use words to stand up for herself. It seems she doesn't realize that the treatment she's received from her coven, and now the wolves, is wrong. Why? She witnessed other people in her coven being treated well, so why wouldn't she know what acceptable treatment is? I have to agree with some of the reviews from the first book about her naivety and extreme innocence. She's a 20 year old young woman. She's been educated. Whether or not she has social interaction with other people or not, she has to know something about the birds and the bees. The extremeness of her "innocence" is pretty unbelievable.

I want to say my favorite ML is Garrick however, deep in my toxic heart I know it's Drogo *insert sigh here* even though he's the one that treats her the worst I CANT help myself. It'a a problem, really.

Here's some quotes, unfortunately it's only one this time:

"...Is it weird having seen everyone naked? It must be if all the ladies know you guys are hung like horses..."

Hope the next book is better.

This is more of a rant than a review to be honest. So many questioning things happened in this book that had my head spinning.

The guys don’t give a shit about her for 2.5 books until she walks away from them and all of a sudden they realize she is their mate and now they can overlook everything and move past their issues? I can suspend belief like any good reader but this was complete BS. There was no transition time, it went from compete assholes to we love her in moments. Then when they state they are going to grovel forever we get a couple a sorry exclamations and then she immediately sleeps with all three! Immediately after they say sorry! Like within moments of them apologizing and her saying they don’t deserve her she has major body betrayal and then afterwards forgives them completely because of the mate bond. That is not groveling! Which leads me to my next rant on the horrific spicy scene with her wolf mates!

Also, the fact that she loses her virginity to a man that is decribed as a 'monster' and has a 'monster size' is absolutely crazy. How on Earth can she do that without proper care? On addition to that, how did she lose her virginity not even a day ago and then have sex the next day with all THREE of her mates?? What makes it so much worse is that in all the ways that scene could have gone down the author chooses to have her take 2 guys in her vag and then another in her ass all at the same time with no anal prep?!? Seriously they all just climb on her and insert themselves. Don’t worry he spits in his hand first so that must be good enough lubrication right?

This series makes me feel so many things. Not all things bad though. I like a good groveling man so I liked that part. Throw everything else away though. I still don't understand how they beat the witches that quickly. I was expecting at least 3 chapters of them fighting but it was over in a paragraph... wasn't the mother suppose to be a powerful ass witch? What happened to that?

Because of the anticlimactic ending on addition to everything else, it makes me rate this book a 3.5.

Here's a quote:

"...Thank you for your beautiful smile. Thank you for the gentle way you;ve been with my father. Thank you for making our lives brighter just by being in them..."

Trust me ya'll, that's the nicest thing her 3 wolf mates said to her in the majority of all three books.

[notafunkiller]

did something happen? I'm lost

Sebastian's shippers fans love double standards a lot.

The most recent example is how they praised AW for being at the Dior event (even though Dior is pro-Israel) but she is such a pro Palestine activist, right?

Or how she tagged in her recent story the A lister a day after Variety posted this article (I was shocked when someoen sent me the story and told me it'a performative activism indeed)

"Hollywood Publicist Fuels Controversy by Telling Staffers to Refrain From Working With Anyone 'Posting Against Israel

Ashlee Margolis, founder of the Beverly Hills firm The A List, wrote an email to her staff about a new mandate to hit “pause on working with any celebrity or influencer or tastemaker posting against Israel.”

The company, which is a fixture on red carpets and is at the forefront of brand integration with celebrities, works with such companies as CAA, UTA, Lede Company and Wolf Kasteler Public Relations."

For example, if Alejandra or Margarita had done this, they would have gone full crazy with threats (the same people who praise AW).

If Alejandra would have posted the parade story with that description... end of the world.

No, I do not want people to send AW threats (I made it clear I am against hate), but the shippers playing the good fans card for "liking her" (aka projecting onto her since they objectify her) is crazy! Especially since she is friends with Jared Leto and still follows him + she follows Armie H, stalks women, people from films sets said she is rude, Chris Martin's fans complained about her behaviour etc.

She can be however she wants, but Sebastian's fans keep posting her content under his tag sometimes or send me dms how I must be ashamed to hate such "an angelic creature" (I quoted) bc I am jealous.

No, I just do not like double standards.

[lozmastermm]

My problem with RE's artistry, in terms of character designs, is it feels like someone heard about Frank West just being an average guy, and, without seeing him, decided "Ah, Black Sweatshirt and jeans, generic hair style" and called it a day.

Just because we have the technology to make stuff realistic looking, doesn't mean you should design the most mundane aspects of life into your creative work. It can, but it's RE.

I don't have a clue what Ethan looks like unless a picture is directly in front of me, and even then I forget the second he's gone. Maybe we shouldn't design characters to look like people you pass by in real life but don't notice? A character design that defies object permanance by being so forgettable and boring. Impressive.

It's like Leon in RE2's intro with the jacket. Like man, have fun making something. Forgettable and it should've been something. Anything but what feels like filler work.

Chris, Leon, Claire, Jill, simple outfits but stellar design. Harry Mason, James Sunderland, Frank West, simple, but memorable and iconic.

Fuckin...Ethan and his daughter? Who? All I remember is average pedestrians. Personality be damned, a Grey Circle ain't a character, it's an object given a personality without the visible showings of someone with it. Vapid and existentially boring.

Don't get me started on the degredation of UI. Went from an actual FULL Screen of Artistry to...white lines in the center...My god.

It's also why I'm not interested in 7 and up. Snowy place, boring cabin in the woods with Average Pedestrian characters. Meh. Imagine if Chainsaw Massacre was just a normal dude in normal clothes but with a bloody chainsaw. No personality. Just situations and a story that plays At you and not with you. Gameplay is probably great but I get bored So Damn Fast. Gameplay matters as much as artistry, otherwise, Tetris wouldn't have changed visually from it's Text based format. What doesn't matter and RE7+ proves time and again, is that Graphics are meaningless if you have no creativity guiding it.

Realism was just about the last thing RE needed. It was always sharp visually but character designs were cartoonish. Even RE's remake followed suit. This is because these are Silly Stories with varying measurements of seriousness. The RE8 DLC wears the skin of that but refuses to really work with it. Instead, pushing further on SH-like elements because the last unique idea visually that they had was Uroboros.

Artistry has never been more dead for RE characters, but world design for games like RE2RE and even some parts of RE3RE show there is a real detail oriented team that's either hamped by the company/CEO, or themselves incapable of truly making anything without it having basis in reality. Or to put it simply: Crisis ain't great, it has always been a technical showcase first, everything second, and Artistry Dead.

RE7 felt like a technical showcase based on stealing SH:PT's hype for a series they went creatively bankrupt on decades ago. So inherent that the shift to first person makes you ask, wh- why resident evil?

Why Resident Evil at all? Nothing taking place feels remotely in the same universe. Somehow managing to take Alone in a Cabin in the Woods and make it feel absolutely nothing like it. As you explore the question comes up "Why Resident Evil if you're not doing Resident Evil?"

It'a artistically not the same series. It's story and characters rapidly departed from the series. Nothing is RE. It's one of those games. It'd done worse and be regarded more honestly had the title been anything else. On it's own, these are okay games. But with RE a Dead Series, it feels good when a company known for poor quality products and rabid anti-consumerism actually put out something...Not Bad!

But the hype is gone. They overdid it with DLC for the remakes and were anti-consumer while at it. They basically gave up on a real plot for the series with the DLC and practically immortal main character. Then sneaking microtransactions into RE4RE, all I can ever really ask when I see any designs for modern RE, is "Why Resident Evil?" and outside of marketing, I don't see why at all.

I find it pretty cool, albeit equally frustrating, that this series has had so many iterations and forms. It went from fixed camera survival horror, to BtS fast paced shooter, to FPS horror. I give credit to Capcom for not being scared of change, but ya have to remember, this is Capcom.

RE4 changed the genre and they got lazy with RE5 (Bugged ending boss, shorter, poor partner AI) and their brilliant idea was RE6 in it's entirety. That killed the series because while everyone loved RE4, they didn't want it to be the direction. RE5 showed they were ready to milk it, and RE6 killed the series.

No news of anything RE for years. Suddenly PT comes out, and Capcom, realizing They Cannot Be Creative, just steals the concept, within months, have a demo out.

While appreciation of change and growth is there, let's be honest, none of RE's changes, outside of RE4, have been honest creativity. Just the usual 3-A format of "Constantly Regurgitate." RE4 was successful, so 2 clones come out very lazily. PT was successful and SH had been a dead series since SH4. Steal from them because marketing and it works.

Imagine if companies were like in the 2000s under, and they just told their creative team to make a good product. Now it's so railroaded and forever never innovating. Capcom's consistently shown they're creatively bankrupt and anti-consumer.

So, when I see Ethan, for that moment of Allowed Object Permanence, all I see is nothing. A pedestrian, a background character, not an average joe, but filler. When I see the UI, I see a total void of any creativity or care. When I see the cutscenes, I ask, what is this? Until Dawn?

[marlokrilo]

the past of crown quest

i listen as the clock ticks watching its arms move just one more line of code it'll all be over soon my head hits the table in a weirdly delirious state when i start to wonder if all of this is real

as i step onto the island the smell of grass it hits my nose i hear somebody shouting footsteps, really close

as if i willed myself away i find myself stuck in a maze it's all so dark a single torch in my hand the single light spark i run around aimless aware im being chased this is the end i feel my heart beat

then it changes again now im back outside but this time the others are above me in the sky gliding with their wings slicing with their swords oh, what horror, i gasp as i fall off the platform

i open my eyes to the brightest light i've ever seen in my life it'a fire burning so alive in the furnace and oh my people rushing, materials piling we must be foraging! one last item left on the board so i rush out to find it

after collapsing on the cold hard floor i wake up in front of a big door hearing bows shoot, arrows whoosh this isn't anyones dream to wake up here as one passes my head i almost scream until someone screams shush and i only let out a whimper when i get shot

my eyes flutter open memories of my past life too, awoken and all the blood is gone i say bring it on i see a mirror, in pieces, broken so i pick up all the bits and as i put them back together one accidentally ends up in my wrist

one endless track of ice burning lava, adding spice so many colours whirling around tell me, someone, what's this place all about invisible paths unsafe tunnel shafts puzzles and speed, what am i doing here oh why, knowing my past, did i expect this one to last

as i run i reach a place at first glance i stop and think it's safe until the ground falls out from underneath my feet i let out a shriek and run as i scream my hands feel cold and i think someone hears my call as the lava beneath is warm, warm, warm

suddenyl im standing in front of everybody heavy gear in my hands shield and sword up there's a man with a notepad i squint my eyes in the darkness and decide mine must be that perfect score so i leap in

i slice with my sword and i dice with my axe the pressure cranked up to the max i wipe the sweat off my forehead and focus on looking ahead my goal is to get out of here, crown on my head the metal clangs are sharp as the arrows hit my shield of silver and im too busy to see, the knife in my back as my body goes limp with its last shiver

i feel around touching something warm i jerk up and hit my head on my lamp it lighting up above my head as if i had an idea i take a breath and clear my mind as i realize where i am

i am home sat at my desk safe and sound my body said i needed rest but it took me to where i needed to get this dream was the best so i gasp audibly - this was my odyssey.

[endmysuffer1ng]

on love

Loving someone, whatever classicficaton I might prefer to give it, happens more than I realize. My small actions of holding the door for someone, passing on fare in a jeep, or even a gleeful grin as a silent greeting, can be easily rooted to love. For me, it's easy to think of this as my way of appreciation for anything that occurs, my acknowledgement of someone's existence, that entropy aligned for me to have the opportunity to be present in their life.

But more than that, my ways in expressing love are all rooted to my character. The ways I was raised and the environment I grew up in, even though I don't think of them as fondly, gave me every reason to be how I am today. I personally think I am not the best person, not even average, but I'd much rather focus on ways to make it different for other people in how they see me. It's just a guess, but I hope their receptions are positive.

Now on a slightly different topic, love languages have been a fad of every platonic small talk and considered a test for people on assessing their characters and their abilities and traits. It can be aligned with the golden rule, giving people ideas on how you'd want to be treated, in the assumption that you aren't a total hypocrite. Love language is just expressions for others, how you carry out yourself towards other people, and how you want them to treat you back.

And there lies a problem of supply. In a sense, love is a resource, and it could run out. When the amount of love given is not matched, one is left with not much love to give. At its minimum is towards the self, but when one goes empty, in simple terms, love is gone. A person low on love might only shut out anyone and anything for themselves, while a person out of love will be a husk out of anything. Their sense of identity which is deeply rooted in self-love is minimal, and couldn't end well in any way.

Now's the part where I'd preach to make people give out love as much as they receive, but this is just a hyperbole. It's never that easy to measure love, especially when there are times where they aren't received, and since it's conceptual, could vanish in thin air. I would assume that it would take alot to take unreceived love back in for future use, but it's not impossible, though I wouldn't put it on the person to be that strong.

One other way is that love can be given and taken in some twisted manner. It could be in the giving, or the receiving, but it can also be corrupted. The ways it is expressed also comes in the mix, and suddenly you're left thinking the wrong things. I must say, in my experience, I doubt much of the love I got from my parents, as much as done for my sake, has just twisted how I see things, and is probably the sole reason why I struggle in assessing how people see and treat me, as well as how I see and treat people. It was all up to me to manually adjust and assess how I felt like I should really think and feel, taking into consideration how I was treated.

Love is sweet on it's core, but it'a never really that simple. Many aspects go with it, and it's bright pink suddenly becomes all sorts of colors, emotions, feelings, and a lot more. It can turn into obsession, hate, lust, and so many things that just doesn't paint the pretty side of it. But I'd like to think that on its negatives comes positives as well. Though I wouldn't list them because I'd rather have you realize all the good things that love gave you.

[harpersheroes]

VALAR'S CHARACTERIZATION KEYSTONES: TOP 10

aka, 10 things (media, characters, quotes, lyrics, etc.) that form the fundamental aspects of who valar is. it'a a long post.

ONE. "prayer for peace", by saint francis assisi.

lord, make me an instrument of your peace: where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. o divine master, grant that i may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love. for it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned.

TWO. samwise gamgee, from the lord of the rings.

SAM: I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something. FRODO: What are we holding on to, Sam? SAM: That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.

THREE. this quote, by marianne robinson in "gilead"

“Love is holy because it is like grace--the worthiness of its object is never really what matters.”

FOUR. melvin blevins, from old gods of appalachia

marcie had risen from the table and was about to head into the kitchen when she looked up suddenly. “melvin,” she said shortly. melvin was on his feet faster than most might credit a man of his size, following marcie to the door. outside, they could see someone making their way from the road to the front steps […] [marcie] turned the porchlight on, and stepped out to peer into the gathering dusk at four people walking up the path to the house. melvin lingered inside the door, just behind her. […] marcie turned cold eyes to eveyln, who still stood on the porch untouched. “you should go. i think your flock has gone astray, and if you don’t wrangle them, i will.” “miss walker, i swear i never—” melvin stepped in before marcie wrangled anyone. he hadn’t seen miz walker this angry in a long, long time. he held his hands up in a peacekeeping gesture. “you need to get on now. with or without them. get off miz walker’s property. now.”

FIVE. galahad in this exchange, from "galahad" by grant piercy

ARTHUR: “But this is not a time of woe; there is peace and plenty for all. There is enough to eat. There is shelter and safety for everyone. This city remains open for anyone who would need succor.” GALAHAD: “Then why are they crying in the street, your grace? Why do they starve and die? Why do the knights protect the lords and not the commons? Why do they petition you and the court by the hundreds? Why are the streets full and the gutters overrun? Why am I here, my king?”

SIX. "the guardian (ellie's song)", by shawn james

so i've become the bringer of death / a lover of life / the one who guards from the dark of the night / i'll be the hammer of war / justice and mercy don't live side by side / so in retribution i abide / i'll tip the scales to justice's end / but can it make amends?

SEVEN. this quote from "the setting sun", by osamu dazai

this i want to believe implictly: man is born for love and revolution.

EIGHT. the ninth doctor, from doctor who

NINE: just this once, rose: everybody lives!! DALEK EMPEROR: all hail the doctor, the great exteriminator! NINE, with his hands on the delta wave: i'll do it! DALEK EMPEROR: then prove yourself doctor: are you a coward, or a killer? NINE, taking his hands off the delta wave: a coward, any day.

NINE. this quote, from "crush" by richard silken

love for you, it's larger than the usual romantic love. it's like a religion.

TEN. this post from leneemusing

i would take your nightmares if i could i would become every broken thing inside you i would become the glass inside your lungs if it would grant you one peaceful breath

[surewellstairs]

Being thrown into a new place and for so long being supportive and trying to keep everyone propped up

Now when I need it everyone decides they need a mental health break for months or even years

I know people have called me strong. But why is it whenever I need someone to offer to hang out or maybe make a suggestion on what to do for the evening, I get nothing?

Why do I always have to be the one proactively chasing? I've met tons of people and the only thing I've learned is that folks just take. Theyre selfish.

Self care gets twisted into some excuse as to not be a good friend or to shirk off obligations... why is that ok for people to do but not me? Why am I selfish for wanting some attention when I'm feeling rotten?

I agree, you can't help someone when you're underwater. But you should at least try to help someone who's helped you, not because they were looking for something out of it but because theyre supposed to be your friend.

I guess its just easier to ignore everyone else though.

I feel like an idiot. I feel like I'm wasting my life and my time, and for what? I don't know anymore. I think people just expect me to be a certain way because it'a normal, thinking they don't have to contribute at all. Because they never had to before.

Am I making myself miserable by slowly feeling bitter about this day by day? Absolutely.

But you all know. It's easier to say all the right things than to do the things you need to to help yourself.

Ive been living in a delusional fantasy world most of my life and now that everyone's gone off someplace cuz they're tired of playing pretend, I'm forced to confront this reality alone. I think I always knew this day would come. But I didn't know how I'd go about it.

This July will be about a year of perpetually feeling this way. I don't know what to do. I'm sad and angry. It's not fair. Life isn't fair.

Wish I knew how to make new friends but the same thing will just happen again and again won't it? It always does. I know it's not always the case, but I sure feel the fool for believing things could be any better.

Fuck dude.

A lot of my thoughts have so many conflicting feelings right now it would sound hypocritical to put them all together.

I wish I could get away with being the brat who always has someone offering to make it better. Constantly. Day by day. I wish I had someone I guess who played the role I played in in so many other people's lives.

Wouldn't it be nice. Or maybe I would just be annoyed. I don't know.

Ugh.

[kilibaggins]

We Can Do This | Nathan Young

Nathan Young x Reader

Not Requested (requests are open!)

Summary: Nathan has noticed you're down and asks you what's wrong, leading to the comfort you needed.

A/N: i knew i wanted to write something with nathan in it, and then i realized i needed comfort half way through, so this was born!

Warnings: cigarette smoking (not by reader), negative feelings/mental health, and i think thats it? tell me if theres anything else <3

Words: 825

"What's wrong?"

You jump and look up to see Nathan, his hand brought up to his lips with a cigarette between his fingers. He has a bruise on his face and you wonder what trouble he's gotten into since two hours before, when you last saw him.

"What do you mean?" You ask, trying your best to hide the pain you're feeling.

"I mean, I saw ya pouting from all the way over there," Nathan says, pulling his cigarette from his lips and gesturing towards a bench across the community center parking lot. You've been sitting at this bench for about ten minutes now, delaying the time so you don't have to go back to your suffocating, lonely, apartment. You just know it'd make you feel worse than you already do.

"I'm fine, Nathan," You lie. Nathan rolls his eyes and takes another drag of his cigarette before sitting next to you. You can smell his cheap cologne and the cigarette smoke the moment he's closer. He puts out the cigarette on the bench's armrest and puts it in his pocket. A habit he picked up from having you scold him all the time for littering.

It makes you smile.

"Ah, there's that smile I know and love," Nathan teases, poking your side. You playfully snack at his arm and roll your eyes before your expression changes again.

Nathan sits there in silence for about two minutes. A record for him. Before speaking up again.

"Seriously, from one criminal to another," he starts to say and you scoff, "What's bothering ya?"

"Why do you care? Since when have you, of all people, cared about what's making me upset?" You say, a bit harsher than you meant to. You see a flicker of emotion pass over his face but it's before you can read it. Hurt, maybe?

"Listen, I might not be the most socially correct, but I can still care, alright?" He says, putting his hands between his knees and rocking forward once before sitting still. You've started to notice that as something he does when he's nervous or upset. You hate that you could have made him that way.

"I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry," You say and he shrugs.

"Now, what's wrong with ya?" He asks again, sitting back on the bench and pulling another cigarette from his packet. He needs to slow down, he's already down to five and he just bought it recently. You sigh and look down at the ground, the only solid and stable part of your life at the moment.

Nathan moves next to you, dragging your attention away from the ground. He's hanging his head over the back of the bench, blowing smoke into the air.

"I'm upset," You say, not explaining, and he turns his head to you, mid-drag. He puffs out the smoke and his leg bounces up and down.

"Why?" He asks and you hesitate.

"I don't know where to begin," You say and he huffs.

"The beginning, I would imagine," He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. It works for a second before your reality sets in once again.

"It'a a lot," You warn.

Nathan looks from you to the stars a couple times, before speaking up.

"Tell me," He says suddenly.

And so you do. You explain your issues to him in as much detail as you'd like. You let your true emotions show. You let yourself feel what you've been hiding and you let go of your pain to another person. Nathan nods along, trying his best to listen and grasp what you're saying.

When you run out of things to say, or get too tired to talk about stuff more, or you just don't want to talk anymore, his cigarette is gone. It's out in his pocket with the other one and he's holding your hand.

"I'm not good with words," Nathan says, and you look at him thoroughly for the first time since you started ranting. He's frowning, a look that you hate to see on his usually beaming face. "But I do know that I'm here for you. And I will continue to be here for you, because that's what we do for each other, yeah?"

You nod and he smiles at you.

"We can do this, alright? We can make it through this situation, and then the next, and then the next, because baby we are superheros! We have powers! We are stronger than any other normal person on this planet, and I can guarantee you that after the crap you've been through? You can make it through this too."

You squeeze his hand and nod, not quite knowing what to say. You look up at the stars and take a deep breath. You still smell his cheap cologne and the cigarette smell, but you also smell fresh air and a faint smell of flowers.

"We can do this."

And for once, you believe it.