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beautifulpersonpeach · 1 year ago

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I feel like the ot7 "love all members equally" became such line pushed from some of the fandom in response to solos acting up and attacking anyone who they thought/think doesn't support the member they stan. It was almost a direct response to the "fake ot7, you're a ot6 or x member anti" that has become such a copy paste attack, so it almost became a copy paste response.

A world where each solo work is as equally supported or successful was unrealistic to anyone not too caught up in stan life. Taking member popularity out of the equation, even Bts songs perform differently and have different success levels depending on the actual song type, the release strategy etc. I think some people forget that despite army being massive they are not a hive mind for one, but also Bts have a lot of fans who aren't actively engaged in online fandom life or stan culture. Casual listeners, people who consider themselves fans, but don't spend any time online in kpop spaces, general music fans who like them. People like to put all their success on fandom, which yes Army play a massive role in, but they end up being very dismissive of the mystical gp people talk about so much. Bts have general music fans as listeners. If army was singularly responsible for everything then every bts song would perform as well as if not better then the previous and we know that in itself isn't true. It was the goto after Dynamite and Butter to treat anything not reaching those levels as a failure. If we can acknowlege their own group songs perform less well (well less well by chart watchers anyway) by being a korean ballad over an upbeat pop song, then that also extends to their solo releases as well. Infact most music artists have songs that hit and songs that miss charting wise despite having their own fanbases to help push them.

It's also perfectly normal for people to have preferences. Nobody loves each bts song equally. People prefer different genres and will act accordingly. Personally I'm more rapline biased so I naturally prefer and listen to their solo music more. On opposite side I've never really connected with Taes solo music prior to chapter 2. Does it mean I hate him? No it just means I have a musical preference.

People criticise army for being brainwashed and mindlessly supporting everything whether they like it or not, then criticise army for not being brainwashed and letting preferences show.

I guess my point is that we can't say Bts have broken through beyond kpop meaning getting on the radar of non kpop fans and then try and pin everything about them at this point onto only their kpop fandom. There's a difference between being a stan and being a fan and Bts don't just have stans they have fans. Look at how wonderfully diverse army can be from race, gender, age etc and you think all those people are sitting on twitter or tiktok? That every single butt that fills those stadiums also has an online stan account? It might come as a shock to solos, but even people whe might like one members solo music won't automatically develop a hatred towards their group and other members because general music fans are not hyper competitive in that way.

It's like Yoongi talks about people seeing the world in black and white, when most people are grey. Stans, certain factions of army, solos etc they see things about Bts, the members, Army and achievements in black and white, but there are many Army or general Bts fans that exist in the grey area and the grey area isn't a hive mind so people need to stop expecting the actions and results of one.

Anyway sorry for my rant, it's not directed at you bpp because I feel like you'll understand what I'm saying. I've been thinking about it for a while and its a topic you've been discussing recently, so it just came out.

***

Yeah, I get what you mean and agree for the most part.

I'll copy-paste what I said in the replies earlier:

"The notion of ‘equal in every way every time’ is a mantra that actually comes from solo stans, that ARMY started mirroring back because in group systems, nuance isn’t well communicated. The reality is that while all the guys are equally responsible for the group’s success and should get similar support over the course of their careers, the nature of that support will likely change depending on year/era/concept etc. It requires us to focus more on ‘equity’."

I don't really blame the fandom because I understand it's easier to say 'treat the members equally' when what you actually mean to say is 'Recognize all the members contribute equally to the group and should get your support if you claim to support BTS within your means, preferences, and ability, no matter how that support looks like. Also, 'support' doesn't mean interloping their team and management to push your own preferences on them if what you see isn't what you like.'

BigHit has always seemed to highlight different members or sub-units of members in different eras, rather than equal focus on all seven all the time. It's like the line distribution discourse: they select different members to use in different ways depending on the song. Someone doing only adlibs could just as much to add to the quality of the song as someone with half the lines. Like I've said, BTS is a team, a utility tool, or a room of weapons that they all decide on strategically using to elevate the whole group from time to time. From my observation it was:

JK + rapline - 2013

Jimin + rapline - 2014 - 2015

Jimin + Jungkook - 2016 - 2017

Taehyung + Seokjin - 2018

Seokjin + OT7 - 2019

Jimin - 2020

Taekook - 2021

JK / OT7 or Chapter 2 - 2022 till date

It doesn't mean the other members were being 'mistreated' during those times either despite the akgaes of those members being absolutely convinced this was happening. BTS is just continuing in Chapter 2 a pattern they've showed throughout their career. All the members' debuts have been of outstanding quality and have been some of the best releases this year. It's clear the members ideas drove the music, concept, and presentation, and they're all reflecting on how to improve based on the feedback they've received. That to me is the most important thing in Chapter 2, and why I simply cannot force myself to be worried for them. That also would not have been possible under a company that's looking to stifle them or limit their potential. It's simply not how these things work here. Jungkook and Seven is the weapon they've decided to use this time and I hope they're successful.

"People criticise army for being brainwashed and mindlessly supporting everything whether they like it or not, then criticise army for not being brainwashed and letting preferences show."

Like I keep saying, it's a myth that people in the fandom are being coerced to support everything BTS releases. The fact is everyone here does what they want, and the overwhelming support BTS gets is because they have that many fans who genuinely like what they put out and want to support it. The results frankly speak for themselves and many narratives from multis, mantis, akgaes, and other k-pop stans, haven't matched the reality for a long time. The only reason it's still spread is two reasons: copium and hate.

It doesn't surprise me that the fandom is in this state tbh. I did a poll three months ago asking when people joined the fandom, and it showed ~60% of the responders joined after 2020. And many of these people are in jikook spaces (given I posted the poll on my blog) so I'd assume many could be very heavily biased to one or two members, and that's usually a pre-cursor to becoming a full-blown akgae unless someone actively de-radicalizes themselves. The only limiting factor for that transformation, is time.

I've been getting an ask from an acct for months asking the same thing. It's like they copy-paste the exact same ask into my inbox at the same time every week. I've never replied. One time they slipped up and posted the ask without being anonymous, so I saw their profile. This person was asking me why people in the fandom hate Jimin, how there were many OT6s, how they think I'm one myself, how they didn't understand how someone as sweet as Jimin would have people dislike him much less hate him. I looked at that person's profile, saw their following list filled with self-avowed PJMs whose blogs were more about 'Tedros', 'Payolakook', 'arrogant, selfish, stingy Yoongi and Namjoon', 'useless Seokjin', and 'sweet j-hope' (I'll come back to this), than anything about Jimin, his words, and his art. In fact, j-hope who was initially lauded on one blog as Jimin's only true friend in BTS (it doesn't escape me how he's had the furthest debut time from Jimin), was a fave until someone pointed out how he 'hogs' the dancer position in BTS and that he actually released On The Street close to FACE, and then Hobi became an asshole too according to those PJMs lmaooo. Like, these people just have such a simplistic, juvenile approach to BTS that I'd assume they were children, if not for the fact we see the same thought process play out in our politics - the realm of so-called adults.

Looking at that account's posting history, it was clear this person likely wouldn't think of themselves as a solo stan. Maybe just someone with a heavy bias who 'doesn't want to be in an echo chamber', or feels interacting with that part of the fandom is necessary to properly support their bias, or who wants to see frequent updates related to their biases; but it amused me how they could not draw a connection between their actions, their tolerance of hate towards members they don't think are as important/talented/etc as Jimin, and the state of the fandom towards the member they like. Like, do they think they're the only 'heavily biased ARMY' who casually scrolls pages that treat their bias like a god but nitpicks and tear down other members for real and perceived slights? Do they not see how they are creating the very problem they're observing? A lot of people are comfortable with supporting relentless 'criticism' or flat out hate thrown at other members (maybe even a member that person also doesn't like), but then act surprised that someone else in the fandom is just as comfortable with that mindset towards their bias. These people are mirrors of the exact same behaviours they say they hate, just towards the members they don't care about.

It's one of the most curious, hilarious, cognitive dissonances I see in these parts tbh.

But anyway, unless there's something drastic that splinters the ease with which people like this can stay and move around in the fandom, the situation will only worsen towards a full implosion. And if JK indeed gets a nomination, I'll be very happy. For many reasons. But the tantrums and resulting chaos will be a pain. If he doesn't get a nom, the heaving sighs of relief from the fandom too will be a separate problem loool. And then, *gasp* another k-pop act snagging the nomination and/or winning? Might as well become a prepper and plan for Armageddon.

Fun times ahead for the Purple Bloods! :)

#I still haven't responded to that person #expecting the same ask on Saturday morning #like clockwork #lol #bts #bts chapter 2 #keep streaming #jimin #jungkook #jikook #taehyung #yoongi #namjoon #hoseok #seokjin #bts army #bts fandom #fandom behaviour

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tirorah · 2 years ago

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Growing Stronger One Failure at A Time: Smile PreCure and Its Dark Sequel Novel

Long-time readers of this blog know that, aside from Strike Witches, there’s one other media property that holds a special place in my heart: Pretty Cure, the magical girl anime for young girls who love to watch fictional young girls kick ass and do cute things. Airing almost weekly since 2004, each season (bar a few sequels) completely changes the setting, cast and motif, allowing for incredible diversity in stories.

Smile PreCure is the ninth season and served as my gateway into the franchise. It is, for better or worse, a consistently average show, with engaging characters, a by-the-numbers plot, and a lot of funny nonsense. That last part is especially important: Smile aired in 2012, the year after Japan was devastated by the Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami. Smile’s lighter tone and goofy antics were designed to cheer people up.

Indeed, Smile is so relentlessly optimistic, so bright and so colourful, that even my younger self’s teeth and retinae had a hard time keeping up. But it did exactly what it was supposed to do: in a period of my life when I wasn’t feeling my best, I sat down to watch it based on mere hearsay and it made me Ultra Happy. To this day, it remains one of my favourite shows of all time.

In February 2023, I decided to watch Smile for the fourth time—the first in years—in the hopes of recapturing that magic. And while doing so, I found out about something else: nowadays, there’s more to Smile than the anime.

Between 2015 and 2016, Toei released six PreCure light novels that were explicitly written for its now-older fans. To my utter fortune, not only was Smile one of the seasons to get one, it also received an unofficial translation to English by a team of devoted fans. Naturally, I gave it a read.

And I thought it was incredible, despite its faults!

Why? Because it builds so well on the characters I know and love. Because it’s given me a deeper understanding of Smile’s theme. And because it accomplishes that by taking this group of happy-go-lucky girls and ramming them straight into the harsh reality of adult life. Which is also, despite appearances, an essential part of Smile’s story.

[Spoiler warning: If you haven’t watched Smile PreCure and think you might want to, now is the best time to acquaint yourself with it. I spoil important plot points throughout this post.

If you’ve already watched the anime and want to know why I love the novel, you can read on for a bit. I’ll give you another warning once we get into spoiler territory for it.

If you’re unfamiliar with both, but want to give me a chance to explain why I think they’re great, read on!]

Life As an Underdog

It’s well known among PreCure fans that Smile makes poor use of its fairy-tale motif; it’s one of the areas where it falls short of its potential in a big way. But its theme is a different story, and that’s best felt in its character writing. As ivanhobe once said in his Worth The Watch series (which I highly recommend): the main characters of Smile are underdogs.

See, PreCure characters are always good at something, whether it’s a hobby, a potential career or a facet of their personality. While I’m sure this doesn’t happen to literally every character, there’s a tendency to inflate this aptitude to such a degree that the character becomes incredibly competent in their chosen field, far beyond the skill most fourteen-year-olds are capable of.

In contrast, Smile is the story of five girls who have talent, but who are not the best at whatever they put their minds to. They’re also shockingly prone to failure. This affects how we view their struggles; when they fall short and experience disappointment, or regret, or lose confidence in themselves, it’s believable to the viewer because they’re relatively normal girls who still have much to learn.

This is why episode 22 works so well. The group is faced with a choice: continue into the den of evil and possibly die, or abandon their magical friends and return to a peaceful life on Earth. They don’t want to do the latter, but the former legitimately terrifies them. Although we as viewers know they’ll succeed in the end, the danger is very real to them, and that makes it all the more heroic when they each independently decide to go through with it anyway.

This is the theme of Smile PreCure: keep smiling and keep doing your best, even if you’re sad, even if it’s hard, and your efforts will lead you to a shining tomorrow. The Smile girls were brought low, but they never gave up completely, and they earned an unknown but happy future in return. That’s where the anime left off.

In the light novel, that future has become reality. Ten years have passed since Pierrot’s defeat and the girls are now 24 years old; a time for budding careers and working toward your dreams. But reality can be hard, even unfair, and not giving up never gets any easier.

I had won an honourable mention only once; a bittersweet start to the goal of opening my path of becoming a writer to the world. After graduating from vocational college, I eventually became busy focusing on real-life one day, and any time to write fairytales disappeared. I couldn’t keep putting my faith in the power of imaginative stories.

– Miyuki

The above passage is emblematic of why I so viscerally connected with this story. I was in my young 20s when I first watched Smile, recently graduated into a job market that was unfavourable to me for several reasons. I was unemployed for a long while and found myself stuck in a rut that I had trouble envisioning a way out of.

Back then, Smile was like a shot of rainbows straight into my arm. I was much happier for weeks and was downright inspired by some of the episodes. While I didn’t suddenly turn my life around because of it, it did give me something I truly enjoyed like few things before it or since, and I’ve always been thankful for that.

Now, on my fourth watch and my first read of the novel, I’m in my early 30s. My situation has improved quite a lot. But I’ve also had to endure my fair share of challenges, the most emotionally intense of which is a trio of losses that I suffered over the past couple of months. That’s why, even though I’m a happy person in many ways, it’s harder to feel like that right now.

Grief makes you fragile. I’m…tired. Sometimes I’m sad, or I wonder if another blow will come soon, and I become afraid of what it would do to me. Other times, I’m just unable to have as much fun with something I love compared to a few years ago, or even a few months ago. This is why I started my rewatch of Smile in the first place; it’s my go-to laughter therapy.

But in the novel, I found a different type of relief: catharsis. These cheerful young girls, whom I all adore, had grown up…and they were struggling too. Some of them were successful, some of them less so, but all of them suffered from time to time, because that’s how life works. As I read each chapter and came to realise what these characters were going through, I felt…represented in a sense. Seen, maybe. Understood.

The way I understood them.

Emotional Baggage

[Beware! Spoilers for the novel below.]

But I know now that I’m an adult: there’s no such thing as a perfect person. If anything, once you’re grown up, you’ve got even more worries. More failures. The stuff that makes you wanna cry piles up like a mountain.

– Nao

Another of Smile’s interesting writing decisions is that the main cast is static, rather than dynamic. By and large, they don’t get any big arcs and the status quo is never upended. Smile is much more concerned with developing the characters rather than growing them. To compensate, all of them have strong personalities from the start, and those personalities completely carry the show. It’s Smile’s most impressive achievement.

But they have flaws too, weaknesses that can be turned against them, and this is what the novel plays with. Let’s take a look at each of our heroes.

Miyuki works part-time in a bookstore, and she’s not great at it. Still, she’s taken initiative to organise storybook readings for little kids, and sometimes she’ll read the one she made herself: The Greatest Smile. It’s her dream to have it published and to create more children’s stories, so they can be delighted and inspired by them like she was.

But having your story published is far from easy, and her attempts have so far resulted in failure. To make matters worse, the bookstore is now due to be closed next month, and there doesn’t seem to be a way out. Miracles only happen in stories, the manager says, and the scene ends before Miyuki can disagree with her—if she even does at all. It’s hard to keep smiling and dreaming when you’re not getting anywhere.

Akane still works in her family’s okonomiyaki restaurant. On the sunny surface, she’s doing great. But their customer base is stagnating, and despite many happy years of living together with Brian—both in the UK and now in Japan—Akane’s world is rocked to the core when she realises Brian’s vision for his future differs from hers.

She’s always been the most individualistic character, wild and free and boisterous. But sometimes this crosses the line into self-indulgence. It’s not something she does on purpose, just a natural consequence of what she’s like as a person. To her, nothing could be more perfect than running the restaurant with Brian by her side. But he has other dreams, something which is tough for her to understand and accept.

Yayoi is the most successful of the group by far. Miracle Peace really took off and ended up serialised, running for seven years. But keeping your ratings high is difficult and time-consuming. So, to be able to devote everything she had to its continued success, Yayoi dropped out of high school and set up a workplace in the city centre, chasing deadlines year after year.

It made her a lot of money, but money by itself doesn’t guarantee happiness. She’s horrified when her deadline causes her to forget the anniversary of her father’s death, and decides Miracle Peace’s story has to end, for her own wellbeing. But this leaves her adrift. Is being a mangaka truly what she wants for herself? How can she pursue her passion if it causes her to lose sight of other things she loves?

Nao was always the person whose personality flaws hindered her the least in daily life, the one who had the least to ‘learn’. That’s probably why her shot at her dream career was taken from her before it even began. When she saved Yui from an oncoming truck, Nao took the hit instead…and broke her leg. Although she was fortunate enough to survive, her leg suffered permanent damage and she had to give up football.

But this incident is a symptom, not the cause; her true enemies are stagnation and self-sabotage. She chose to stay in her hometown for university, despite a multitude of recruitment offers. She didn’t even move out to live on her own. Unwilling to move on from her family, unable to pursue her original dream, and burdened with a trauma that freezes her when triggered, she’s shrunk her world to a safe existence where her limits aren’t challenged anymore.

Reika’s path led her to share her wisdom with others. As a Language Arts teacher at her old middle school, her genuine interest in her students and her encouragement to seek one’s own path in life have made her quite popular. So, it’s all the more of a shock to her when a letter turns up in the school’s letterbox: an anonymous student accuses her of being unable to see into the students’ hearts, and threatens to leave unless she quits.

Her confidence as a teacher falters. In spite of all the internal progress she’s made, and all of her efforts to be a more charismatic speaker, she now faces proof that she has failed in her duty to listen. Someone’s crying out for help, she concludes, and she must find out who. But this means observing her students, analysing them as though they’re criminal suspects. It’s a loss of the intrinsic trust between student and teacher, and that makes her feel like a horrible person.

As you can see, each character is being punished for their flaws or personality traits in some way.

Miyuki is in a situation where optimism is simply not enough, and her attempt to put on a happy face ends up backfiring. Had Akane thought to look past her own ambitions, Brian’s plans might not have blindsided her so much. Yayoi lived the life of her dreams, but that life was utterly consumed by Miracle Peace. Nao’s problems are a direct result of her total devotion to her family and how she never grew out of her role in it. Reika is so steadfast in her path that she misses the warning signs of someone else straying from theirs, and it makes her heart waver.

Then, just when Reika has managed to recover her equilibrium, Joker appears.

A Story of Despair

Until now, I’ve completely skipped over the overarching narrative of this novel. It’s not subtle about the fact that something more is going on here. For starters, Miyuki doesn’t actually remember why she drew The Greatest Smile; she thinks she made it all up, and that she used her best friends as templates for the heroes. But the most disturbing thing is that she doesn’t even remember said friends to begin with.

There’s a haze clouding their minds. Whenever two of them encounter each other, memories of their non-Precure times at middle school resurface, like seeing them through fog. But when the other person leaves, those memories slip away and the encountered friend is gradually forgotten, the fog closing around them once again. This is the basic plot structure for the first three chapters: Miyuki happens to run into Akane, Akane into Yayoi, and Yayoi into Nao. And then the memory drifts to the back of their minds, doomed to fade away unless something triggers it again.

This is actually my biggest complaint with the novel: the first three chapters all explore the same concept and have roughly the same outcome. They don’t add new details to intrigue you every chapter, so the story isn’t pushed forward during Akane and Yayoi’s chapters any more than it is during Miyuki’s. And because the girls spend so much time separated from one another, the novel doesn’t flesh out the character dynamics between specific duos, an aspect that was already lacking in the show.

But in the background, hidden from the reader, plot was afoot. We see it in Chapter 4 for the first time.

Nao, absent-minded and troubled, inadvertently places herself into the path of an oncoming truck. The stressor triggers her and she freezes in place, helpless to avoid death. But someone pulls her clear: it’s Reika, her childhood friend! Unlike the previous three meetings, this one didn’t happen by chance; Reika specifically sought her out. See, it’s one thing that they don’t remember their best friends from middle school. But for Reika, missing so many childhood memories on top of that proved too suspicious to ignore.

In Reika’s chapter, it eventually becomes apparent that this isn’t the first time she’s snapped out of her haze. As it happens again, and more and more of her memories rush to the surface, she finds indicting proof: ever the organised sort, she’d made a note in her schedule to see Nao. It wasn’t just Nao, either; Reika realises she’s visited Miyuki, Akane and Yayoi as well. And the memories faded every time.

Although this doesn’t alleviate the problems I outlined earlier, it does help. First of all, it recontextualises the first three chapters. You’re prompted to wonder when Reika went to see her other friends, and if this had anything to do with their awakenings. And secondly, it utilises the childhood friendship between Nao and Reika more profoundly than the anime ever did. While we’re never shown if Reika’s actions had any effect outside of Nao’s chapter, it’s possible that they did. And if so, their years-long bond may have helped to save the day. It saved Nao’s life, at least.

Back to Joker’s attack. Although it’s not the first time he targets Reika—having taunted and tormented her in two dreams prior—he now goes on the offensive for real. Reika is getting too close to the truth: that this world they live in is a fabrication, not unlike the Ball of Negligence they were once trapped in. Only this time, instead of a carefree dream, their prison is a nightmare of never-ending struggle and disappointments designed to grind them down.

She escapes of course, fleeing through the Book Gate toward the Magical Library they once used as their secret base. Here, in the final chapter, the rest of the truth is finally revealed.

The entire premise of the novel was a lie. In truth, it’s only been a year since Pierrot’s defeat. The girls are fifteen years old, on the cusp of graduating middle school, and separation looms. Although Miyuki, Akane and Yayoi plan to attend the same high school, Nao and Reika have each decided on separate ones that align better with their interests. And so, they gathered in the Library to discuss their dreams and plan a graduation trip.

It was at that moment that Joker made his move. Although without a body, his fusion with Pierrot and his boundless hate for the Precure had turned him into some sort of immortal being with an immense grudge. He trapped them in the Library, locked away their ability to transform, and took Candy hostage. Then he challenged them to a game: to save Candy, they must navigate the stormy seas of adult life…alone, with not even their happy memories of each other to keep them going.

The True Meaning of Strength

Now, in true Smile PreCure fashion, Miyuki and her friends have overcome their hardships, get beaten down for a bit longer, and finally return with a vengeance. They transform as adults, their Precure forms more refined than ever, and a power boost to go along with it. But even with that rather typical return to form, the details are what’s truly important.

Joker has evolved into an even more dangerous form, as he managed to collect a considerable amount of Bad Energy from them during their captivity. And he shows them pictures of their lives as adults: downcast, lost, disillusioned, suffering. The insinuation is clear. Maybe it was only for one, intense moment, or perhaps it was a long-term bout of despondence, but whatever the case, each of them did fall into despair.

What’s more, Joker asserts that the stories they were trapped in weren’t of his own making; they were based on the despair within them, their weaknesses, their fears. These were potential futures based on who they are as people. And sometimes people fail, or lose sight of their dreams, or even give up.

And yet here they are, stronger than ever. Miyuki remarks that they’ve, ‘powered up just as much as we have become adults!’

This raises an intriguing question. Beyond the nebulous concepts of friendship and determination, what exactly fuels their powers? How did they go from only being able to use their finishers once, to spamming their elements at will? I always assumed they were becoming more accustomed to the rigours of being Precure, that they were getting used to the fighting and the energy expenditure.

But what if it is this act of ‘becoming an adult’ that drives their powers to new heights? The change in their outfits seems to suggest as much. Now, the simplest explanation is that Precure become stronger as they age, but…that’s not very fitting. PreCure is a romantic universe by nature, one where bonds and willpower save the day. Reducing that to the passage of time is entirely at odds with the spirit of PreCure.

No, I think it’s more interesting if we look at the other side of becoming an adult: maturity. Do Precure—or at least the Smile Precure—become more powerful as they mature? If so, then the question becomes: what does it mean to mature? That’s a complicated one, but I hope everyone will agree when I say that personal growth is a big part of it. Except, didn’t I earlier claim that Smile’s characters don’t really grow that much, if at all?

It's true. Smile mostly lacks character growth…in general writing terms. But in terms of the characters as people, each episode is a valuable lesson. As established before, Miyuki and her friends are deliberately written to fail, and they do so frequently. But they always keep going. They always renew their determination to never give up on what’s important to them. Whether they actually achieve their goal of the episode is irrelevant; what matters is that they experience hardship and keep at it anyway.

In this way, the theme of Smile PreCure doesn’t just shape the characters; it’s literally the source of their power. Every victory, big and small, becomes a source of confidence. Each memory serves as proof that they can come out on top one day, as long as they keep trying. This is why Joker’s game was so effective. They had to get back up on their own this time, without any help from the friends they came to rely on, and missing many of the memories that made them stronger, better people.

It was their toughest challenge yet, and they had to dig deep to overcome it. But ‘overcoming it’ wasn’t winning a fight, or achieving some sort of goal, or unlocking a nifty power-up.

It was a choice.

Even though each of their awakenings was sparked by contact with one of their friends, it still fell to them as individuals to find a choice to make, and then to commit to their decision. When they did so, they tapped into a wellspring of power within themselves that was completely divorced from external factors: a strength of character. And it was only then that they fully remembered who they were.

It makes perfect sense that the resulting power increase as Precure allows them to beat back Joker and write yet another victory for themselves.

The Treasure You Need

With this emphasis on choice and maturity, I see a lot of parallels between the progression in this light novel and the anime. See, both of them contain a basic but effective writing tool: want vs need. I’m far from a professional writer, but here’s what I know.

What a character wants is their initial motivation in the story: an external goal that will make them happy. But what a character needs is some sort of lesson: an inner realisation that will make them a better person. This want and need are usually linked in some way.

In the show, there’s a constant build-up and reinforcement of the group’s want, and it clashes with their need in a heart-rending manner.

The girls and Candy want to stay together forever, because the friendship that’s formed between them is incredibly precious to them. It’s the foremost reason why they fight so hard, and why they can keep getting back up no matter what. The importance of their want is proven to them on every occasion.

Then the finale hits, and suddenly it all comes crashing down. They receive a final chance to save the world…at the cost of losing their friend forever.

Smile treats this revelation with the gravitas it deserves. Miyuki and the others are devastated. To them, this is the ultimate sacrifice. Even though they can see the choice they need to make—and that it’s basically no choice at all—it still takes them a good while before they can accept it. The moment they commit, they choose to sacrifice their want in order to attain their need.

Even though Smile retcons this twist in its final moments, likely to avoid making a lot of children (and me!) inconsolable, the characters still made that decision and were at peace with it, no matter how excruciating it was. And that’s a true hallmark of maturity.

The light novel is less dramatic, but it’s an equally stirring continuation of this journey toward adulthood.

First, each of them is placed in a situation where they’ve (more or less) achieved their want: they all have jobs that they like or love, that they’re good at or at least competent enough to keep. For those who have yet to attain their dream profession, their current situation has the potential to lead them there. Yes, even for Nao; sure, she can’t play anymore, but she still loves football and being a coach fits her.

But there’s something holding them back from true happiness, and this is where their need comes in: there’s no such thing as a perfect life or a perfect person. They need to acknowledge that, no matter how hard they try, their future won’t always be bright, it won’t always be how they envisioned it, and they won’t always get what they yearn for. The choices they make during their individual chapters are how they embrace that need; they turn away from their want and become better people for it.

This is best exemplified by the ending.

Joker has been vanquished and everyone is safe once again. None of the girls seem scarred by their latest experience, but it serves as a potent warning: even if it was fake, even if it stacked the deck against them as much as possible, it was based on a nugget of truth. And they take that to heart. Rather than brush it off as an inconsequential trick, they take action that shows a newfound level of maturity.

On the day of their graduation, they ascend to the top of a hill on the outskirts of town. Their spur-of-the-moment goal: to find the treasure at the end of the rainbow. This is a futile endeavour, of course. Rainbows are optical illusions; they don’t actually exist as an object that can be approached. The treasure can likewise never be found.

But that was never their goal. They make the journey slowly, using only their own legs to carry them. No bicycles, no public transport. By the time they get there, the rainbow has long since disappeared from view. None of them care; walking there together was the true point all along.

Here, under a sky resplendent with stars, they bury a time capsule with The Greatest Smile inside: a collection of their precious memories, the source of their fortitude. Accompanying it is a letter, tailored to a more realistic future:

To our future selves who have become adults.

Hey there, how are you doing right now? Did your dreams come true? Is your work fun? You didn’t forget to smile every day, did you?

If you have opened this capsule and are reading this, then it’s most likely your heart is being troubled. You may have lost sight of your dream, and you may be facing discouragement. You may have even lost your smile, and you may have been stricken with sorrow.

But think back, remember that time. At the end of the day, you girls became the PreCure and saved the world. So be brave. You were all able to change the Story of Despair into the Story of Hope after all.

And, don’t ever forget. You all have irreplaceable friends who are there for you. Whenever you want to cry, think back to when you used to go to the end of the rainbow with everyone, and remember that day.

Somewhere in the twinkling and shining starry sky, you will surely find happiness.

– Hoshizora Miyuki

I view this as a more mature version of the show’s theme. It’s important to dare to keep dreaming, to keep moving forward and doing your best, even if you’re sad, even if it’s hard. And you need to accept that, inevitably, you will be sad sometimes, and you will find yourself disillusioned with your goal, or with life. Maybe you’ll lose touch with the people or the things you love…or maybe you’ll lose them altogether.

But you need to get back on your feet no matter what. And if you do that enough, hopefully, someday, you’ll achieve happiness. Maybe it’s not the happiness you set out to find, or maybe you took a long, winding road to get there, but if you manage to attain it, that’s your figurative treasure at the end of the rainbow. You can’t always see it, and you can never touch it, but it’ll still make you smile.

And that’s a lesson I hope to learn myself.

---

Thank you for reading. I hope it was as informative for you as writing this was for me.

#smile precure #smile precure light novel #welcome back to Thinking About Things Way Too Much: The Blog #smile precure novel

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blackbloodteeth · 6 months ago

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121 Soul ideas (Pt. 2)

Second half of the newer idea prompts I had stored for the March of Madness event. You can find the first half over here.

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61. Billy Goats Gruff AU, where Soul is just a troll who tolls the bridge, and Maka, Black☆Star, and Kid are simply boating to get to school down the river. Soul often follows the same routine of waking up, going fishing, and looking after the bridge, who he had been employed to by Medusa in exchange for being able to live there. When Maka ends up showing up alone and learns more about Soul after just talking to him, he eventually tires of tolling the three of them and lets them pass by for free. This leads to trouble when Medusa decides to raise the fee or he'll be evicted, making it too expensive for them to pass through safely. Now being his friend however, they help Soul move to somewhere better (and probably shove Medusa into the river), and help him go to school too. Trolls have always been feared for looking brutish, but he's never been more accepted now in his new group of friends.

62. Advent Children-inspired AU where Giriko was one of Soul’s ancient ancestors and is now trying to take him over due to his infected blood, eventually turning him into the One-Winged Angel.

63. Soul ends up being turned into a squirrel, and is now jammed between another squirrel being attracted to him and the local carnivores wanting to eat him. If you know, you know.

64. Post-canon AU where Soul and Maka have been pining for each other for a long while, but because Maka's working up the courage to finally convey her feelings to him ends up getting misinterpreted as her wanting to end their partnership for good (as Soul is still Kid's main death scythe), Soul in turn accidentally makes Maka think he doesn't like her back when he tries to tell her he's accepting of her decision. After both of them struggle with panic attacks and a fraying wavelength connection, Kid has had enough and decides to be the middle man to get them both to work through their misunderstanding.

65. During an assignment, Soul gets possessed by the spirit of nature dwelling there, and uncontrollably lashes out.

66. Soul and Maka get “arrested” by Spirit for trespassing in the woods (more just for going where he doesn’t like), and while Maka is outside the car arguing with Spirit, the sun is setting and Soul starts turning into a werewolf in the backseat.

67. DWMA hosts a scavenger hunt around campus, but because it was set up by Stein, things get progressively more tricky as it goes.

68. Soul and Maka are two different Vtuber streamers who unknowingly meet in real life.

69. The gang goes to a theme park and Soul wears a shark onesie to make things memorable, however he is secretly internally struggling with not being sure when to propose to Maka. Antics ensue over the trip, and eventually it leads to an accidental double-proposal between the two of them. Probably Soul Eater post-canon.

70. Soul gets abducted by an alien version of Wes and his exploration crew, where they prank about probing him but are only really scanning him normally to discover Earth's eco-diversity. Alien Soul was allowed to join on the expedition but he's not actually a part of the crew, and ends up freeing human Soul out of frustration and escaping with him to see Earth for himself.

71. Despite being the "Last Death Scythe" and many wanting to hear his story, Soul has refused any and all interviews for years, until a mousy woman who's dead-set on finally getting the scoop ends up convincing him to let her have a one-on-one.

72. I've always been intrigued by a Shape of Water AU despite never seeing the movie. Obviously Soul would be some kind of aquatic humanoid, but I also thought it would be fun to play with having World of Horror inspirations where Maka slowly turns into a fish person.

73. Based on an old story outline I made many years ago, where in this case Soul would be an orphaned satyr that lives in the woods and ends up wandering into human territory, finding and meeting Maka inside a library. In the original version the deer child had a strange necklace and a small bird friend, and he had been noticing the woods being steadily chopped down, eventually leading to the humans being attacked by the creatures of the woods out of wrath and the deer child being killed in the skirmish, but I kind of like the idea of a more simple and lighthearted story. Maybe I'll revisit either version someday, who knows.

74. Wes ends up Kishinizing (perhaps spontaneously) and Soul faces him alone to try to talk him out of leveling the entire city, however Wes wants Soul to be as free as he is and tampers with Soul's Black Blood, making it grow out of control.

75. Soul has started acting weird lately, and eventually he climbs up somewhere high and doesn't move before he begins to shed out of his body like a cicada.

76. An idea I call The Dark Woods Anthology. It contains multiple stories that seemingly don't connect at first until the reader starts to notice that each character is being picked off one by one. It becomes especially obvious when during Soul's story he is actually aware of what's happening (no one else is able to remember, and his behaviour is quietly foreshadowed in the background) and has been trying to get everyone out, however the Dark Woods comes to claim him too.

77. One-shot idea I had that also would've had art, but I hadn't gotten around to it. In the art piece it shows Soul, who is a Darkrai, looking up at the Soul Eater moon with the text "This world… It's strange." In the one-shot, it then follows up with him jumping down and finding a young Maka asleep in her bed. He makes sure she's not having any bad dreams before he sets off to find where this world's Soul is, as he needs him to be able to return home to his own world. It isn't mentioned, but because Soul wasn't born in Death City, Darkrai Soul ends up stuck looking for him for years.

78. A story idea I call the Midwestern Blues, which is a lighthearted slice of life with a side of strange happenings. It of course takes place in Midwestern America, and features a Soul who has frequent nosebleeds, a Maka who seems to somehow always be in all of his classes, and an urban legend about the corn field clowns that may or may not be true.

79. When Maka finds Soul is gone from his room but still hears his piano playing, his door then suddenly turns into the Black Room door and she ends up walking inside, surprising Soul in the middle of his song.

80. Naruto AU. Soul is secretly a fox (in reference to the manga's pilot) but still has a demon inside of him that turns him into a beast if it starts to leak out. Tsubaki takes Sasuke's role, who is focused on avenging her clan from her brother. And Maka is like Sakura in that she is fiery spirited and her hair turns pink when she gets worked up, while also having an arc about getting stronger much sooner in the story.

81. In parallel to early in the series where Maka had burned her hands, Soul ends up burning his hands pretty badly and often needs Maka's help doing things while he heals.

82. Soul has a secret, but turns out so does Maka. Initially thought of Soul having webbed fingers and toes in reference to what inspired this, but the base premise works well regardless.

83. Soul is a half-demon who enters a church to atone for something unspecified, and willingly inflicts pouring holy water on himself, which due to his nature only burns him. The church goers are freaked out by him and view him as a monster, but the head priest welcomes him in with open arms, as he sees that Soul is lost and not malicious.

84. Older one-shot idea where Soul ends up turned into a rabbit by a witch, with his instincts taking over as the witch then sends her hound after him. He's constantly running and hiding from both the hound and Maka, until eventually she manages to approach him slowly right as the hound finds him as well.

85. Reader-insert story in the style of a dating sim where Soul is one of the romantic options, however things steadily grow more strange with his off-putting behaviour. The twist turns out to be that he's trapped inside this medium by something else, and is just wanting to escape and get back to Maka.

86. When Soul becomes weakened and loses his appetite, Maka searches for something to help cure him.

87. Soul moves to Death City, but has to disguise himself as a woman to live there. It's not really an issue as he found a way to physically transform his appearance, he just lives on the edge of being found out and the daily absurdity of the city.

88. A dark Jekyll and Hyde AU, where the Black Blood causes Soul to struggle with a dark version of him that is steadily taking him over more and more.

89. A light Jekyll and Hyde AU, where after a keyword is said, Soul will turn into a fuzzy monster with an uncontrollable desire to fight crime.

90. Soul and Maka adopt a puppy.

91. Soul is secretly a half-monster that has to sleep in the bathtub so his skin doesn’t dry out, and contact with water changes his form to be less human. Him and Maka discover someone like him is plotting to flood Death City and change it forever.

92. Soul is a necromancer in a world where all witches and sorcerers have to use different sets of rules for their magic, and his is to only speak through rhyme (including rhyming off of what other people are saying). Maka starts getting sucked into his rule-set and must use her knowledge of poetry to defeat him. He mostly uses monster and animal bones, and has a bone instrument.

93. Soul takes Maka along for a test ride on an upgrade to his bike that allows him to easily traverse the sands of the desert, however he ends up sucked into a pit and gets taken to an ancient ruin filled with giant ants.

94. Soul has been living like a rat in the homes of giant monsters. Maka is half-monster so she is larger than usual but instead of eating him or capturing him, her curiosity leads to wanting to befriend him.

95. The Wall: Having been discovered as a weapon in the side of the US that demonizes weapons, he risks everything by stealing his brother’s ID and riding towards the wall that splits the country so he can make it to the other side of freedom.

96. Soul is a kid who finds out he’s a weapon and decides to trek to Death City himself with just his wits and a bag a McDonalds' cheeseburgers.

97. Soul is a standoffish guy who believes in intensive self-discipline because wanting something too much makes his beastly ape form come out, however despite how hard he’s worked to control it, everything starts to crumble when Maka enters his life.

98. Soul and Maka got abducted and end up paired together as an experiment, however because they’re both weapon and meister they use their newfound ability to escape and trek through the magically corrupted environment together to find civilization again.

99. Before modern era. Soul is a demon weapon without actually understanding what he is, but uses his power to sneak off into the night and eat the souls of people up to no good. While the tales of what he does has spread through where he lives, no one knows his secret, until Maka shows up and threatens to expose it when he can’t shake her off his tail when he flees after taking another criminal down.

100. After Soul gets injured to the point most of his body gets destroyed, he’s put in a machine that will let him regenerate it back, but it’ll take a long while as he sleeps throughout it. Through their connection, however, Maka is able to enter his dreams and the two frequently communicate with each other there as he heals.

101. Soul sits on the roof of a tall building after a scathing review with critics judging his new music composition as "unoriginal" and "a mess," and he decides then and there that it’s time for a career change.

102. After him and his friends are invited to a formal get-together, Soul smells something wrong without really knowing what it is and learns that his tea was poisoned.

103. Based on a game I saw once. Soul crashes his bike(?) on the way to see Wes in the hospital, and while trying to repair it, he finds out that whatever made him veer off the road is still lurking in the woods with him.

104. Amnesia (video game) AU. Soul gets separated while the Black Blood returns due to saving his life and the ensuing amnesia it causes because of this.

105. Where the Wild Things Are AU. Soul became king of the beasts when he was a kid, but instead of returning home he continued living there, growing up as one of them. He has political tensions between the witches and DWMA, and is one day visited by Maka who uncovers his weapon heritage.

106. Soul is offered a deal that he will know every language but can’t use English anymore, which he immediately accepts. He makes it work.

107. Soul gets hired as a nightguard at an old Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria establishment, which turns out to be him having done so to investigate the missing children’s case many years after they occurred.

108. Another FNaF AU. A young Maka sneaks into the back curtain to find Foxy, which contains the soul of Soul, who is friendly to her.

109. Soul is a scruffy dandelion that travels on the wind but can’t ever escape Oni, who is a much prettier-looking flower. Maka finds both growing in her garden (as Soul frequently regenerates) and finds Soul to be rude and standoffish, while Oni is a smooth talker and tricks her into being more approachable. This leads to trouble when Oni spreads across town, putting Soul and everyone else in danger.

110. Soul and Maka are gate guardians that take the form of hound-like creatures. Maka tells truths while Soul tells lies, but after tiring of someone trying to bruteforce their way through the password process, Soul hits 'em with the “I tell lies.”

111. Soul is a shapeshifting fox with multiple tails who people want to capture for his magic. Maka is a mouse-like college student who ends up finding his true form, and a rock that for some reason can talk like a person.

112. Soul and Maka come across another person who had been attacked and infected by Crona. This was originally an idea I had with an AU version of my characters, where the infectee ended up really sick and his partner, who has some precognitive abilities, is really defensive of them "starting a fight" with him. The two end up accepting help from DWMA though (partly because they're homeless teens), and the infectee's partner ends up realizing Medusa is the witch that was there during the attack.

113. Soul was raised by his aunt, and thus had never really met his direct family, so he doesn't find out he has a brother until he goes to DWMA and discovers another weapon like him there.

114. Old writing idea of mine. While Maka is working through her cafe night shift, she notices a man in a plague doctor mask sitting outside in the rain by himself.

115. Soul is a gravekeeper who ignores the gossip and rumours about him, and doesn't mind the occasional ghost or spirit. One night, however, something in the wind gives him an usual feeling that something's about to happen.

116. Soul is a solitary man, born with ram horns, that people call a sheep wolf because he also has sharp teeth. Maka meets him and finds out about his horns.

117. Soul gets infected with the "cuddle bug."

118. Soul who was cursed to have a magnificent wizard’s beard. He’s not even old.

119. Post-canon idea where on a whim, Soul and Maka decide to cross some things off their bucket list after getting some time off.

120. Soul has gotten much better at cooking than when he had started out, and him and Maka end up packing each other’s lunches.

121. One-shot idea where Soul's mother used to sing the Hush, Little Baby rhyme to him when he was kid, and when it reaches the line about buying a looking glass, the memory cuts back to the present with him staring into a bathroom mirror.

#rambles #soul eater #soul variant #soul evans #maka albarn

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jbaileyfansite · 2 years ago

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Jonathan Bailey interview with the Evening Standard (2021)

There are worse places to conduct an interview than a park, and at least it’s only drizzling.

The only problem is that people won’t leave Jonathan Bailey alone. Which is to be expected, of course: he’s in Bridgerton, the most-watched original Netflix series in its history, viewed on 82 million accounts in a month since it dropped on Christmas Day. Wait. Did I say people? I meant dogs. They snaffle at his heels and rub against his legs while the humans remain impervious. This is because, devoid of his mutton chops and tailcoat, the 32-year-old actor looks a world away from Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, brother of Daphne; lover of Sienna; friend and foe of Simon, Duke of Hastings.

Today he’s dressed in a nylon jacket and sporting very different hair. ‘Bit of a spoiler for season two — I’ve had a light perm,’ he smiles.

And even if Bailey had spent the past two months in full regency costume, fame would have eluded him until lockdown eased and the usual signifiers — being hassled in restaurants, endless selfie requests — were back on the table. Until then it lies in wait, preserved in aspic.

Having spent lockdown thus far on the East Sussex coast staying home like the rest of us, Bailey admits the disconnect is confusing. ‘I feel like I’m being gaslit on a global scale,’ he laughs. ‘Even today, just meeting and talking to actual people who have seen the show feels weird. To me and all the British cast, it feels like Nasa. Netflix launched this spaceship, and you get launched into space. It’s a brilliantly traumatic thing to experience. The launch only happens once, and then it’s about tethering yourself and working it out. I think that might take a while.

‘The isolation of lockdown has been incredibly hard for everyone, but the isolation of feeling like you can’t inhabit the experience that other people are experiencing around you, while being locked down and not being able to see your friends…’ he tails off. ‘Presumably all it will take to shake it off is a big dinner, or even just having a few pints and going out.’

With a slew of TV parts under his belt (Broadchurch, Crashing, Chewing Gum, W1A) and an Olivier award for his role as Jamie in Company (2018), Bailey isn’t exactly an ingénue. But Bridgerton is one of those rare TV programmes that has bestowed fame on a global scale.

Produced by Shonda Rhimes and adapted from the historical novels of Julia Quinn, Netflix’s genre-busting costume drama reached the top 10 in 189 countries, thanks to a sharp script, lavish costumes and racially diverse cast that saw actors of colour inhabit the highest echelons of 19th-century society in a way that had never been seen on screen before. That this high society is presided over by a black woman, Queen Charlotte (Golda Rosheuvel), might be diversity divorced from any historical context, but the alternative — another costume drama inhabited by white people — has never felt more wrong.

Bailey auditioned for the part in 2018 while appearing in Company, sending off a tape to Rhimes’s production company, Shondaland. ‘I got offered the job on my 31st birthday, 25 April 2019,’ he recalls. Filming started in July 2019 and ended in March 2020, narrowly avoiding any impact from the pandemic.

‘For me it feels like a lockdown anyway when I’m working, so it’s a long time since I can remember normal life.’ Has he been he a banana bread-baking stereotype over lockdowns? ‘I made more than banana bread,’ he laughs. ‘I started with banana bread but went on to cinnamon rolls, although they looked like turds — terrible. But I made amazing hot cross buns.’

The million dollar cliché: what did he learn about himself? ‘I feel more complicated than I thought I was,’ he says. ‘And then I’ve been affirmed by certain things. I did a lot of cycling between lockdowns, in Cornwall and around Italy last summer — pure recharge, pure perspective. Nature is so important. I know everyone’s saying that, and that some people can just keep going flat out, but I know I need to recharge. And I love a bath. I’ve had weeks where I’ve had a minimum of two a day.’ He suddenly looks horrified. ‘Actually, that’s awful. Don’t put that, ’cause it’s wasting water.’

Barely has ‘what did you miss the most?’ escaped from my lips and he exclaims, ‘Theatre! Not just theatre, but the possibility of theatre. But then, I’ve been watching really brilliant theatre creatives smashing it on TV instead.’ He points out that Bridgerton cast members Rosheuvel, Ruth Gemmell, Adjoa Andoh and Luke Thompson are all regulars on the stage. ‘We should be proud in Britain that there’s a massive crossover between theatre and TV. It’s not a semi-permeable membrane: it’s all one talent pool.’

Could the Government be doing more to support theatre? ‘Absolutely. It’s just the people who are making the decisions; if it had been someone who loves theatre, and understood the importance of it, this would never have happened. There are certain things in life where you go, “That’s a marker”, and the [2019] government campaign about Fatima having to retrain in cyber was one. That was a wound that will take a long time to heal. And the other marker of a moment is Ruth Sheen’s performance in It’s A Sin [the veteran actress had a cameo as a hospital visitor who took Keeley Hawes’ character to task in the final episode]. The last year hasn’t been about Christmas and Easter. It’s been about markers like those.’

Bailey has been described online as ‘openly gay’. I point out that no actors are ever described as ‘openly straight’, and he laughs. ‘I’d say I’m not openly gay. I’m just gay.’ Although he is wary of discussing his sexuality for the sake of it. ‘Then it becomes a commodity and a currency. I knew that I wanted to be visible about my sexuality, because in all the territories that Netflix goes out in, there might be a boy somewhere that goes, “Wait, what?” Which is what I didn’t have when I was young. All I know is that I’m happy to keep working really hard and if there are opportunities for representation, and to make that point, then that’s something I’ll always strive to do.’

Like just about everyone else, he loved It’s A Sin. ‘It was an incredible way to talk about an awful pandemic, and an absolute tragedy that so many people will be triggered by it. In Ruth Sheen’s character, you have a heterosexual woman who is mother to a gay son, challenging another mother. I found that rage incredible. The gay fantasy isn’t just hanging out in bars and meeting men. The gay fantasy is to have guardian angels of allyship.’

He’s hesitant to say whether he agrees with director Russell T Davies’ assertion that gay people should play gay roles. ‘It’s a big old conversation and one I’ve spoken to Russell about, and many other actors. But it’s really hard to give a sound bite to sum up.’

I tell him I don’t want a sound bite. ‘It’s about redressing the balance of access to roles. There just aren’t that many gay roles, so when straight actors go to take that space up, it’s eliminating the chance for other [gay actors].

‘We know there has been a history of needing to be closeted to succeed and be famous, especially in acting. And the idea of not being able to believe heterosexual relations and narrative, if you know one of the actors is gay… everyone should be able to play absolutely everything. But let’s blow away all the cobwebs, and one of the hang-ups and shadows of the past is that we need to be a lot more open to the idea of sexes playing different sides. There have been amazing performances by straight people playing gay and by gay people playing straight. It’s a moment to think about that, and I think Russell’s point was that there’s a vitality and a joy to It’s A Sin because he cast gay people in gay roles. That’s completely true. It’s not a bad thing to own your narrative.”

He is glad not to have received any flack for playing a straight role such as Viscount Anthony. ‘Bearing in mind the internet is a place where anyone can say anything, there hasn’t been anyone who’s had any animosity, or challenged it, so that’s good. Yes, I’m looking forward to gay actors playing gay parts, but for me it’s so important that everyone at home can see a bit of themselves on screen, to allow them to feel heard and seen, and also allow them to have aspirations.

‘Good actors can do anything, and there’ll be amazing writers who are willing to write for everyone. If there are people who don’t have access to creating their own TV shows or telling the stories they want to tell, then absolutely, everyone has to make space for them. That’s not just to do with gender or sexuality. It’s to do with race, religion and everything else.’ He pauses. ‘The idea that someone could read that and go, “God, that’s just a woke viewpoint,” I find really funny. It’s just basic sense, isn’t it?’

Another dog — this time a cockapoo — launches itself on Bailey mid-flow. ‘We have a family cockapoo. I looked after him in Lockdown 1,’ he says. ‘That was a real baptism of fire. He ate a sock. A full sock. It was a Muji sock. Stripy. And then it came up again three days later.’ What’s he called? ‘Benson, after the village I grew up in.’

His sounds an idyllic childhood. Brought up in Oxfordshire, he eschewed drama school for an Open University degree. Neither his parents nor three older sisters have anything to do with acting, but his interest was sparked as a child after watching a production of Oliver in the village hall. He joined the local drama club and also pootled around at the back of the class while one sister did ballet. ‘I wasn’t really invited, but I remember having Velcro trainers and just squeaking in the back and trying to do some pliés. I stopped dancing aged 12 because of the inevitable narrative — peer pressure. Ballet became a euphemism for something else.’

Was he the sort of kid who always got the lead in the school play? ‘I did play Jolly Roger in Jolly Roger,’ he smiles. ‘But then I was taken down a peg or two when I played a raindrop in Noah’s Ark. You win some, you lose some.’

With Bridgerton likely to run for many more seasons, and Viscount Anthony’s storyline taking centre stage in season two (now that sister Daphne is married off, the plot will focus on his own romantic life), Bailey’s newfound fame isn’t going to dissipate any time soon. He has mixed feelings. ‘You work and strive to be an actor and you can get better at it and enjoy it. But you can’t be good at fame or enjoy it. Some people do, some people don’t. It’s a different cocktail for everyone. There are suddenly opportunities available, which is brilliant, and I’m incredibly lucky. But then I realise this is when people say it’s about saying no, because what you say no to keeps you on the path.’

What also keeps him on the right path is the role itself. ‘Bridgerton is actually delivering on changing the bar, and the standard, of representation. Because of that, I’ve had amazing messages from people who have been able to talk about their sexuality, or people who have seen themselves or their children in the Duke of Hastings [storyline]. For me that’s the thing that’s always going to ground [the experience]. It’s a candyfloss juggernaut theme park ride — like multiple sensory overload.

‘So thank God for family. Thank God for friends.’

Source

#jonathan bailey #jonny bailey #interviews #interviews:2021 #evening standard interview 2021 #i just love this interview so much

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saintbobtail · 2 years ago

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It’s reasonable to be curious about the inner workings of our bodies, especially the parts we have little (or no) conscious control over. But overall, I don’t think this would be a good idea.

A) The reason doctors only order an MRI when they expect an abnormality is because bodies are Very Fucking Weird. Sometimes they grow things that really are of no clinical significance that will never affect a person’s quality of life, and it’s just Weird, but not a Problem. However, understandably, when an incidentaloma - meaning a mass that does not give a patient any symptoms whatsoever but found only incidentally when imaging for a separate issue - is found, naturally the patient and doctor will feel anxious and want more extensive investigation. Unfortunately, investigative methods are not all benign - x rays and CTs give off radiation, biopsies are painful and may require going under anesthesia (which for the record is also not completely benign, there’s a reason anesthesiologists are highly paid to maintain a patient’s breathing, circulation, etc. while the patient is under and can’t maintain those functions themselves). Ultimately, even after extensive investigation, incidentalomas mostly don’t show any cancerous or any other troubling activity. Meaning that for most people, going down the pathway of (random MRI for shits and giggles) -> (we found something weird, let’s investigate!) -> (welp I can’t tell you what it was, but I can tell you it’s not a disease, and clearly it’s not giving you any symptoms, so we’ll just leave it alone) wouldn’t produce any satisfactory answers, and just give them extra doses of unnecessary radiation and/or surgery. I’m sure if we MRI’d everyone on Earth, there’s a few people who could benefit from early catching of a slow growing tumor or something, but is that worth all the harm to the rest of the population?* *There are a few diseases which are so common that it is worth imaging the entire population, no matter the harm to people who don’t ultimately have the disease, no matter if the patient in front of you is asymptomatic at the time. You might have heard of mammograms and colonoscopies.

B) They have plenty of regular brains to compare to. Literally every research project that uses human subjects have control (regular) humans to compare to. QED every research project involving brain MRIs therefore compare to regular brains…Not to even mention the amount of imaging that comes up normal. Sure, doctors only order MRI when they suspect an abnormality, but that doesn’t mean an abnormality will actually show up there. I’m just one bitch, and not an experienced one, but honestly I’ve seen way more CTs and MRIs come back normal than I have seen them come back flagged as abnormal (and that’s even for the patient displaying possibly suspicious neurological symptoms, can you imagine how much more boring and normal the MRIs would be for patients who don’t have symptoms?).

So yes, giving everyone an MRI would be very scientifically interesting and give us so much unheard of depths of information - it would absolutely show incredible and fascinating diversity - yes, we have no idea how common are these harmless brain tumors - but in the end, would the new knowledge actually affect patient outcomes?

i think they should give everyone one free mri. just so we can see what the fuck is up with our brains

#if a brain tumor is harmless why does it even fucking matter #like I understand this is just a matter of interest and curiosity for most ppl but like #if something is harmless…and by definition it won’t affect your life…then it doesn’t matter…#ppl really be out here trying to strain our already collapsing healthcare system even more #I do think there’s merit in wanting an MRI while you’re ‘regular’ to have a baseline to compare to in case you develop something later #but believe me every other ho in the ER gets CT’d #by the time you’re 80 I’d be shocked if you had never gotten a head CT before

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mandyjane-lifedesign · 10 months ago

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Subtle Red Flags in a Relationship and How to Tackle Them and How to Tackle Them

"The greatest relationships are built on a foundation of friendship, trust, and mutual respect." — Anonymous. Every relationship often starts off feeling dreamy and full of affection. But as time goes on, it's normal for couples to face challenges. Arguments and differences can arise. And quite honestly, these are all a natural part of any relationship. These help you bring closer to each other and build trust. However, if these problems happen more often than ever, it's important not to ignore these issues. Otherwise, it might lead to a breakup. Recognizing red flags and addressing them is crucial. Remember, maintaining a healthy and strong bond in a relationship requires time and effort. It's about working through the tough times together and keeping the lines of communication open. Having said that, in this article, we will learn some typical problems that arise in relationships and provide tips on handling them successfully. Mistrust Trust is essential for a strong, healthy relationship. When mistrust creeps in, it can quickly damage the bond between partners. This often happens when one or both partners start doubting the other's intentions. Unresolved issues and lingering doubts can lead to suspicion, causing feelings of anxiety, anger, and frustration. The Solution: It is important to examine what's undermining the relationship's security. Reflect on what might be causing these doubts. For example, if you think that your partner is not showing enough affection or keeping up with the promises. In that case, you can openly acknowledge and discuss each other's feelings. This way, you’ll be able to understand each other’s concerns and come up with a mutual solution. Lack of Appreciation Everyone needs to feel appreciated, especially in long-term relationships. Over time, partners might take each other for granted, forgetting to acknowledge the little things. This can lead to petty arguments, a lack of excitement for important events, emotional distance, and sudden reactions. The Solution: Show your partner how much you value them. Regularly express your love and gratitude by sharing emotions, exchanging gifts, or giving surprises. In short, have conversations that make them feel cherished and recognized for their support through both good and tough times. Intimacy Problems Intimacy not only means feeling emotionally close and supported in a relationship. It is more about physical closeness, which plays a big role too. A lack of this connection can lead to problems with intimacy, making you feel distant from your partner. Other things like busy schedules and parenting responsibilities can also affect your intimate life and strain the relationship. The Solution: To tackle intimacy problems, consider exploring new experiences together, like role-playing or experimenting with various forms of touch in the bedroom. Many couples have also tried introducing new things such as handcuffs, real whizzinator xxx, and lubes to strengthen their intimacy. You can make time for such shared activities. Remember, couples who enjoy time together often have stronger bonds. If needed, don't hesitate to seek advice from a counselor for additional support. Differences in Core Values Falling in love doesn't guarantee that you and your partner will always see eye to eye on everything. Differences in social, political, or religious beliefs can be common and sometimes lead to frequent arguments. The Solution: It's possible to navigate these differences. Communicate openly about your diverse viewpoints and strive to understand each other. You don't have to agree on everything; recognizing and respecting these differences is often enough. Remember, every couple encounters challenges, but they don't have to give up on your relationship. Constant Arguments Arguments are a part of any relationship, but it becomes a problem when the same issues keep causing fights. This repetition can make your relationship feel like it's not progressing. It’s often because these arguments are actually about deeper issues, such as not feeling respected and understood or having different needs. The Solution: Focus on the root cause of these repeated arguments, not just the emotions they bring up. Understand the deeper issues behind these fights and discuss them with your partner to find a way forward. Excessive Control in Relationships Controlling behavior in a relationship can be as harmful as violence, but it's not always easy to recognize. What might seem like protectiveness, jealousy, or traditional values could actually be controlled. Signs include your partner tracking your activities, frequent criticism, cutting you off from friends and family, or forcing their decisions on you. The Solution: Be aware of these red flags and consider if they can be resolved. Open and honest communication can lead to understanding and resolving these issues, especially if your partner is open to change. But, if they are not, you must give yourself a priority and know it’s time to walk away from the relationship. Final Thoughts These practical tips are here to deepen your connection and rekindle the spark. Don't let your relationship stagnate; take the initiative now to infuse it with variety and excitement. Read the full article

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lutnut215-creative · 2 years ago

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Anomaly Earth Lore - Part 1: Introduction and Quick Summary

When you flip a coin, it creates a completely different universe, as strange as that may sound. For every action that may have different outcomes, every single outcome is written into being in a different universe. But some changes are… different. They don't have anything to do with a conscious choice, but with the general way the world works. Some might have different physics, others might have evolution take a different path. Anomaly Earth is one of these worlds.

Anomaly Earth’s geography and climate are quite similar to our normal planet’s - a giant ball of rock and water careening through space at Mach 87 around a giant glowing mass of hydrogen and helium. However, Anomaly Earth does have a single geographical difference to our own - a web of lines that circle the globe, unseen by the human eye. This web is called the ley line network, and near spots where these ley lines intersect (“hotspots”), there’s a stronger connection to the powers that bind the universe together. As these powers can be used to bypass the normal laws of physics, the scientific field focusing on them is called “metaphysics,” though the common term is “magic.”

In the time period when humans began to develop full sapience, so did many animal species, some being "elementals" that formed of pure magical energy, or mana. At the same time, near ley line hotspots in Europe and Asia, a lizard species known as dragons was fundamentally altered by the magical energies being radiated - they would end up growing horns, more mammalian traits such as naturally growing hair, and more. Over time, more dragon species would pop up - the most unique being the Dragonkin, who could take on a human form in order to live in human colonies without suspicion, and the Mentali, who had been formed from dragon-cheetah hybrids interbreeding, the two species’ traits blending together and drawing in traits from other feline and dragon species to create an entirely new one. Outside of this, though, history largely continued the same - the only difference being that in the Middle Ages a kingdom of dragons had been formed somewhere in what is now Austria, and was sieged in the middle of the Crusades out of fear that the dragons were demonic in nature.

Fast-forward to the year 2022, and society has progressed the same as on our own Earth in most respects. However, the various species on Earth have led to more diverse ways people go about life, and unfortunately, more levels of discrimination towards both race and species. Magic is also a key player in the differences that Anomaly Earth shows - metaphysics is a valid branch of science, as mentioned before, and magic is a common ability many can use, though some lack the requirements one must have to learn. Despite the common use of magic, technology has progressed just as quickly, and the people of Anomaly Earth still commonly use devices from companies such as Apple, Google, Microsoft, Samsung, Nintendo, etc.

However, a company named Aspentech has been making the rounds recently. Aspentech is an oddity among most companies - pricing their devices far cheaper than others of a similar sort, focusing less on excess bells and whistles and more on actual utility, for those who are less fortunate than others. Aspentech's humanitarian approach naturally extends from its origin - a subsidiary of a research lab being run as a way to pay the researchers, inventors, and interns there. And it's all headed by a man driven less by profit and more by a passion for science, the world around him, and the people living in it. A lot of Anomaly Earth writing focuses on this lab, the Aspen Institute.

I will be releasing the Anomaly Earth lore in bits and pieces, so as not to create a single, massive post. Part 2 will focus on the basics of magic and metaphysics, Part 3 will focus on the various species of Anomaly Earth, Part 4 will dive deeper into the Aspen Institute, and Part 5 will focus on the various characters in the Anomaly Earth lore.

Part 6 will be exclusive to this blog, focusing on how NSFW content manifests itself. The first five parts have no NSFW content, so they won't be given the labels.

#worldbuilding #lore #oc #writing #creative writing

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domandragon-creative · 2 years ago

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Anomaly Earth Lore - Part 1: Introduction and Quick Summary

#worldbuilding #lore #oc #writing #creative writing #anomaly earth lore #anomaly earth writing

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ifeveristoday · 6 years ago

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I know they’re still in development/talking stage about the Buffy revisit series, but there is one solid gold wish that I want to have happen: do not value style over substance. The way Netflix/cable has changed tv production values in the past twenty years-episodic TV looks better and richer now than it did in the nineties and eighties (which seems to be the big spring where all present ideas come from - but that’s because Millenials and Gen Xers are creative leaders now) but the glossier and more advanced special FX gets, I don’t think the story writing basics have kept up. Especially if they’re going to revisit Sunnydale in the hs years again - I don’t want them to Riverdale it. What makes Buffy special are the characters and the lore of it, along with the specific California-ese of the language and dialogue. Updating it so there are more poc leads is definitely a step in the right direction but I hope they avoid the pitfalls that the original show had such as fridging and tokenism.

#i’ve been on a fridging rant lately #but that’s due to me realizing how much popular media has made it acceptable to kill off women #so it can lead the men into arcs of self discovery and redemption #it’s 2019 i would very much like the narrative to change #let the women live #let there be platonic relationships between men and women #let gay people exist like straight people and not as special unicorn plot devices #not every villain needs a redemptive arc #let characters be mentally ill without it being a metaphor #also actions not just witty words #be inclusive and not Inclusive #diversity only works if you show it as a natural normal part of life #accurate representation matters

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mcmansionhell · 4 years ago

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Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response.

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car.

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake.

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

“Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light.

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house.

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers.

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.”

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.”

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that.

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging.

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic.

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.”

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs.

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better.

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.

If you like this post, and want to see more like it, consider supporting me on Patreon!

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#architecture #design #fiction #las vegas #underground house

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acourtofsnakes · 4 years ago

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A Helping Hand - Bucky Barnes x Reader (f)

(Gif: @sebastianruinedme )

Summary: After a stressful week, you try to wind down with some personal time but nothing quite hits that spot. And a certain Super Soldier may just be more than willing to help you.

Warnings: 18+ Smut - Masturbation/toys, Oral (f receiving), fingering, neck play, arm/hand kink, dirty talk, a faint Dom theme if you squint, swearing – honestly, Bucky should just be a kink in himself.

Word count: 5k+ words full of hot playtime.

A/N: This is just filth, to be honest. I was feeling a certain way after watching episode 3 of TFATWS and seeing that scene with Bucky cleaning his hand and… ideas happened, and this was born. There’s not really a plot… simply enjoy.

Smut under the cut!!

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal

Part 2

There was something to be said about the advancement of toys in recent years.

There were hundreds of them. All different types. For all different things.

Rabbits, waterproof vibrators, pulsating and pounding ones, ones that felt like oral, handsfree vibrators, remote control vibrators – the list went on.

You had a lot. Tucked in a drawer of your dresser in a pretty box that just made you go all tingly in the knees every time you saw it.

You were proud of your collection.

And boy, did you love them.

They never let you down, ever.

But unfortunately, tonight was just not one of those nights.

It has been a tough week.

Not only had you taken a beating in training yesterday, but you were also late for an appointment across the city, which resulted in being yelled at by Fury.

You really regretted decided to help him when he needed it.

There wasn’t a lot going on lately, so you offered to help Fury when he needed it.

Usually, you were on his food side.

Yesterday, not so much.

Everything seemed out to get you, and after the shit show of the week, you just wanted to treat yourself. So, you’d holed yourself up in your room on your floor of the compound, had a long, luxurious soak in the bath, and then decided to work out your anxiety and tension with one of your many, many friends.

And for the first time in a while, they just weren’t hitting that spot.

Literally.

You groaned, throwing the third toy - this one a rabbit that was one of your most trusty companions - on the side of your bed.

For the last forty minutes, you’d been dancing between three different toys and your fingers.

You’d tried being on your belly, your side, and your back. You’d even tried a pillow.

But nothing was the right pressure on your clit, no toy or finger felt deep enough inside, and you couldn’t hit that spot inside without getting a wicked cramp in your wrist that forced you to stop.

You sat up, every nerve in your body wound to a knife edge, leaving you frustrated and tempted to throttle someone.

Or get someone to throttle you.

Preferably whilst pinning you to a wall... or a desk.

Or anywhere really.

You just needed something, anything to get out this frustration and give you the release you’d been desperately chasing all night.

It wasn’t even a case of hovering on the edge - you couldn’t even get there. The fire and heat just stayed a kindling ember in your belly, and never reaching that explosive fire.

After getting up and downing a measure of whiskey whilst watching the rain, you decided to try a last-ditch attempt with a different toy.

This one was a curved vibrator, with a thicker rounder head for supposedly perfect pressure on your g-spot.

Simple, straight forward.

Surely, if none of the others had done it, this one finally would.

After settling back on your bed, you took a little more care this time, even going as far to light a few candles to add an ambiance to the room rather than have it pitch black with the sounds of the rain.

You worked yourself up this time, building it slowly, teasing yourself with brushes of your fingertips over your throat and breasts, setting your skin ablaze.

You pushed yourself to the edge a little, and then worked over with your vibrator.

Until ten minutes later, when you literally launched the vibrator across the room and it hit the wall with a resounding thud, that echoed your hiss of frustration. “Fucking hell.”

A shit week, a shit day, and you couldn’t even fuck yourself well enough to be able to wind down and get some sleep.

There was a sudden knock and then Bucky’s voice echoed through your bedroom door. “Darlin’?” There was a slight hint of his Brooklyn accent peeping through at the end, stirring something within you.

You startled, sitting bolt upright and your head snapped to the door, “Bucky?” You had the good sense to lock the door, but still. He was right there.

His shadow moved beneath the door, and you realised he was leaning against it, “Is everything alright? I heard banging.”

Well, no not really. I’ve been trying to get myself off for the last hour and nothing appears to be working and I’m sitting here naked whilst you’re the other side of my door calling me Darling in that ridiculously hot accent that shouldn’t even be that hot. But hey, apart from that, everything’s great.

You slid off the bed, padding across the room after dropping your toys back in their drawer, glaring at it as you passed. You slipped a robe on before making your way across the fluffy rug to the door, “Yeah, I’m okay...” You unlocked the door, tugging it open.

Bucky was leaning against the doorframe, all broad shoulders, long lines and soft smile.

His searing blue eyes were instantly locked onto you, a smirk playing on those gorgeous lips.

He cocked his head, standing there with his arms crossed, and you noticed that for once, he wasn’t wearing any gloves. Just a simple long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans that hung sinfully close to his hips and... no boots. Just socks.

Like he’d taken his shoes off before waking into your apartment.

Ever the gentleman.

His arm was bare, the soft light of the hall bouncing off of the black vibranium and sparking the gold. You’d always loved his arm. The sheer power of it, the way you’d seen it shatter a man’s ribs instantly and tear through a brick wall like it was made of glass. The same hand that tickled behind the ears of a stray kitten in Prospect Park and test the ripeness of plums at the market.

You wanted that hand around your throat.

Eyes the colour of the Arctic sea roamed over your body, from your slightly mussed up hair to the flush along your neck that disappeared in the dip of your dressing gown. “Mm... are you sure about that?” He tilted his coyly, a smirk playing on his lips and you had a feeling this expression had been one of the trademarks since the 40’s.

You narrowed your eyes at him, more than aware that he was seeing far more than you wanted him to, “I’m fine.” You turned from the door, leaving it open for him to come in, “How comes you’re up on my floor, anyway?” You peered over your shoulder at him as you padded across the room to the drinks cart.

Yes, there was a bar on your floor, but why couldn’t you have a cart in your room? Tony hadn’t even needed to ask when designing it.

Bucky walked in, his footfalls silent like a cat, that training never quite leaving him, “I couldn’t sleep. No nightmares, just restless.” He added the last part quickly, in response to the concern that tightened your expression.

It was nothing unusual, Bucky coming up here to your room.

You often found each other after nightmares or rough days, seeking comfort and distraction from the darkness that lingered.

Some days and nights, you went out, needing an outside diversion from the thoughts.

Other times, you stayed in, watching films, talking, training or just... sitting quietly, knowing that the other persons presence was enough protection and reassurance. Words weren’t needed… just company.

You handed him a drink, plopping down on the end of your bed and you watched him sink into the couch opposite, “Anything you wanna talk about?”

Since everything with the War, Bucky was working on fitting back into a routine, into ‘normal’ life - or what could be considered normal for people like yourselves.

He was undergoing his mandatory therapy sessions, and they seemed to be helping him.

He was back in contact with Sam, and the pair even worked a few jobs together now and then, even if they did bicker like an old married couple - it provided great entertainment when you tagged along.

He leant back on the couch, settling his left arm across the back. He always looked at home on your floor, relaxed, like his mind could shut off a little. “Nah, I’m okay... Thank you though.” He shot you an easy smile again, one that he probably hadn’t used in.... decades. “What about you? Why are you up so late?”

Mimicking his shrug, you kept your expression neutral, making sure your eyes didn’t drift to that certain drawer, “Rough week. I was reading to try and drift off.”

“Mmmhm...” Bucky’s hummed response told you instantly that he did not believe you one bit. “What were you reading? Cosmopolitan’s best guide to toys?” That shit eating grin graced his face and he motioned gracefully with his left hand... to the corner of the room.

The vibrator you’d launched was sitting on the floor, nestled in the rug, the soft mint green silicone practically a beacon.

Okay.

Okay…. So. There were two ways you could respond to this.

Either play it off, deny it and change the subject.

Or…

Turning back to him, you shrugged again, “Oh, I’ve read that back to front. And made a few additions myself.” You cocked your head, a faint flutter in your belly as you awaited his response.

The barest flicker of surprise danced across his beautiful, rugged features before dissolving into something confident and smouldering. “Well, it looks to me like their guide isn’t true to review tonight. Something tells me you’re having a little bit of trouble.” His voice had begun to lower into a deeper, the natural roughness of his voice coming out.

It stoked that fire within you, warming your blood and curling low in your belly.

“And if I was? What would you suggest to help?” It was almost impossible to remain sitting still as the atmosphere folded and changed. There was one obvious route to your back and forth… and you wanted it.

Wanted… him.

And if you were honest, you had for a long time now. There was just something about him that you’d always been drawn to, a simmering tension that settled whenever you were together.

Bucky rose from the sofa in a fluid movement, walking toward you slowly, casually, but with the grace and prowl of a wolf eyeing up its next meal – you.

And fuck, you wanted him to devour you.

He slid his hands into his pockets, feet silent on your wooden floor, “Well… I would say that as wonderful as your toys may be… they’re just that. Toys. They can’t… feel what you like.” His eyes burned through you with each of his steps. “They don’t hear the noises you make when they hit the right spot. They don’t get to see the way your body reacts, the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip because it feels overwhelmingly good.”

He was close enough for you to smell his cologne, and that only added to the growing wetness between your thighs as his filthy, beautiful words.

Bucky stopped in front of you, removing his left hand and touching his fingers to your chin to tilt it up to face him, “They can’t know the little things… the deeper angle, that extra finger or sweep of the tongue… they can’t make you so wet that it runs down your thighs and they can’t make you arch off the bed as you shatter into starlight…” He sighed softly, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “I’m afraid they just… can’t make you come the way a real person could.” He applied a little pressure to the underside of your chin, and you rose to your – unsteady - feet instantly, putty in his hands.

Holy fuck, Bucky Barnes had a mouth on him.

Your teeth had indeed sunk into your lower lip, and your breathing had grown shallow. It was an effort to keep your thighs firmly locked together… Because you were just as wet as he had said.

The dark flame in his eyes told you that he knew the reaction you were having to him. He brushed a cool thumb over your lip, then tugged it gently to free it from your teeth and at the same time, he leant his head down to your level, “They can’t make you come like I can, darlin’.” This close, his warm lips brushed the shell of your ear, his voice reduced to a husky rasp that only further drew out that Brooklyn accent.

The soft moan that left your lips was almost pitiful, but you didn’t care, “Shit.”

You breathed the word, earning a deep chuckle in your ear before Bucky pulled back, only enough to see your face, “You want me to help you? Give you a helping hand?” His words were low and seductive, but he was looking between your eyes, making no more moves until he knew you wanted this.

If you changed your mind, he would leave right now, and say no more about it.

That very thought pained you.

Something had always hovered between you both… and maybe now was the time to let it out. You shared a few kisses on nights out and he had featured heavily in your fantasies night after night, wishing your fingers were his, the toys were him….

You met his eyes, your own clear and sure and you kept that gaze as you parted your lips. Then swept your tongue along his thumb and tilted your head down just enough to take it between your lips. The vibranium was smooth, cold and it felt oddly delightful on your tongue. “Make me come, Bucky. Prove to me you’re better than the toys.” Your voice was low with need, a soft pleading note for him there as you gazed up through your eyelashes.

The Arctic blue of his eyes deepened to near midnight, his pupils blowing out as he watched you talk around his thumb, your tongue sweeping over the metal and he almost purred, “Oh, baby, you won’t need toys when I’m done.” And then he was on you.

He gently pulled his hand from your face, instead placing it lightly around your neck, the heavy metal settling on your collarbones and that alone drenched you.

He looked between your eyes, checking one final time and then his mouth was lowering onto yours, his lips warm, plush and ever so inviting. Instantly, he licked a teasing line along your lips, which you would have parted for him without the request.

Bucky’s tongue slipped past your lips, sweeping against yours in hot strokes as he explored every corner of your mouth.

He tasted divine, and even more so when his thumb lightly tipped your chin back and he traced the tip of his tongue along the roof of your mouth, licking over the ridges and showing you exactly what that tongue could do.

A groan left your lips, and you slid your hands up his arms to those shoulders, those gorgeous broad shoulders that all you wanted to do was dig your nails into them and use for support as you rode him.

A deep curl of delight and joy was unfurling within the heat in your belly, because you needed this, needed more of him and his hands and his tongue and his words… and you were finally getting it

Hell, he had only just started kissing you and you already could have fallen apart just from that.

“Why have we not been doing this all the time?” Was the only thought that your already fuzzy mind could come up with as he pulled away slowly from your lips, only to begin pressing hot, open kisses against your jaw that were all teeth and tongue. He seared a path to your neck, kissing all over until he found that particular spot that made you whimper and arch into his body.

Bucky laughed low against your neck, the sound vibrating, “Oh, baby, you were struggling, weren’t you? I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already a mess…” He used his hand on your throat to tilt your head to the side, before biting at your skin, sweeping his tongue over the hot and sucking a deep mark there.

A slight whine rippled in your throat, fingers pulling as his shirt and your chest pushed against his, the firm heat of him making your nipples tighten, especially when he pushed into you.

Bucky slipped a hand between your bodies, tugging at the cord of your dressing gown and it slipped from your shoulders, leaving you bare and open to him.

He licked down your neck, his tongue smoothing over the shape of your collarbones and then down your sternum to your breasts. He butterfly kissed the soft flesh, then almost delicately sucked at your rleft nipple, lifting his vibranium hand to squeeze the other, “So beautiful…” He mumbled it half to himself, his dark mussed up curls soft against your skin.

One of your hands trailed up the back of his neck, slightly tangling in the hair at the base of his head and you pushed your chest further into his mouth, “Tease.” The word was a soft gasp, your eyes closing in pleasure and your lips parting.

He chuckled, pulling back to blow a cool breath on the wet skin, watching your nipple harden and then he moved to give the other the same treatment, “Oh, I’m a tease, am I? I can stop if you like.” He grinned around the delicate skin, just slightly grazing his teeth as he tugged your nipple and then he continued his trail of kisses down your body, slowly sinking to his knees. “I don’t think you’ll ask me to stop though, darlin’.” His right hand grasped your ankle, and then he ghosted warm fingertips up your leg, past your knee and then pausing at your inner thigh, at what he felt there, “No. No I don’t think you’ll ask me to stop at all.”

The cocky bastard grinned once more against your stomach, before dipping his tongue inside your belly button.

“Bucky…” You couldn’t hide the whimper in your voice, nor the way your hips rocked forward in a plea. It was almost painful how much you needed him to touch you, needed to feel his lips and his tongue.

“Shhh, baby, I know.” His hands slipped up your waist, as soothing as his gentle coo against your belly button and then he brushed his lips lower and lower… and then finally, he pressed a soft butterfly kiss to your pubic bone.

A low groan tore from his throat, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he saw you, swollen and positively dripping for him, “Oh, darlin’, look at you…”

The sheer desire and awe in his low voice caused heat to flush along your cheekbones. You weren’t shy by any means, but the almost primal admiration in his voice was something you’d never heard before, the pure want and desire to make you feel good and worship you.

Bucky admired the sight before him for a single moment, before lifting his eyes to yours and then he dove in, immediately devouring you like he was starving. His deft tongue slipped through your slick folds with ease, and he moaned again at your taste, at your smell, everything.

He pressed his tongue flat against you before sucking at your clit, with such an intensity that you almost choked. It was a simple movement, but it shot electricity through your body and made every single nerve stand on end.

He let that coil of energy begin to build, and then he licked back down, his hands sliding down to palm at your ass cheeks before digging his fingers into your skin, pulling you in further so he could bury his nose against your clit and his tongue – fuck, his tongue pushed inside of you, hot and heavy. It just felt so, so good, his nose putting pressure on your bundle of nerves, his tongue pumping inside you.

Your hands flew down to his hair, winding through it to keep him there, keep him doing that, to keep him fucking you with his tongue, “Buck-”. You weren’t sure what you were begging him for, only that you just needed to say his name, needed to do something.

Your hips began to rock in time with his thrusts, and you became aware of it only when Bucky’s muffled moan reverberating through you.

He liked it, no... he loved this, that you were grinding against his face as his tongue worked inside you, tasting parts of you no one else had ever gotten right before.

“Fuck, Bucky, keep doing that – I’m-” You cut off with a high moan, your head tilting back as you rocked into him faster, chasing down that high that was so tantalisingly close. It hadn’t taken long, you were so worked up from your failed attempts that you were already there.

Bucky’s began to lick and suck you with new fervour, his head moving in time with the jerks of his hips, feeling the way your walls were tightening around his tongue. His fingers dug harder into your ass, and you felt the silent command almost, Come.

And you did.

You cried his name out to the sky, every nerve in your body winding to near painful tautness before you shattered on his face, your first orgasm ripping through you.

Bucky didn’t stop, working you through it and drawing it out further and further as he lapped up every single drop you gave him, moaning himself like it was the most tantalising thing he had ever tasted.

He stopped only when your grip released on his hair, the sensitivity of your nerves almost painful, your legs shaking like crazy and he lifted his hand from between your thighs, his lips and chin glistening. He rose from his knees, nudging you back onto the bed and instantly crawling up your body, “You have no idea how good you taste.”

You whimpered slightly, catching your breath as you watched him crawl up you, eyes burning like sapphire fire, his tongue licking slowly over his lips as he savoured you. Words were beyond you, desire still coursing through your veins and you were a little in awe at how quickly – and hard – he had brought you to your first orgasm.

Bucky grinned devilishly, “That won’t be your last.” He lowered his mouth back to yours and as you tasted yourself on him, you grew instantly wet for him again.

His body brushed into yours and you felt how painfully hard he was through his jeans, the sounds and taste of you getting to him of course.

Your fingers had barely brushed against his restrained length when he shook his head, nipping at your lower lip, “Oh no, baby, this is all about you.”

You ignored him, palming him through his jeans and he moaned lowly before his eyes flashed, his hand suddenly back on your throat and he moved his hips away so you couldn’t get to him. “I said no.” It was almost a snarl, “This is about you. Not me.” His hand tightened just slightly around your throat, making it that little bit harder to breathe and your eyes rolled back at how delicious it felt.

It was a huge kink for you, the idea of someone – of Bucky - taking control, being in control of your body even it was just for a little while. You didn’t need to think or do anything. Only feel and be at the mercy of his touch.

You relented, legs falling open for him and you tilted your head back, searching for his lips.

Bucky granted you the kiss, a slow, languid kiss at first that was all simmering passion and tangling tongues, the taste on you still lingering on his lips.

He palmed your breast again, tugging and squeezing the flesh until he scratched his nails lightly down your ribcage and belly.

Yes, yes-

He wasted no time, no more playing and his fingers slipped lower, circling over your clit with a delicious pressure that had you instantly moaning into his mouth.

He toyed with your clit a little more, before gathering your wetness and then sinking two fingers inside you, pushing all the way into his knuckles, then drawing back out slowly.

As he withdrew, you moaned long and slow into his mouth and he began a steady rhythm. Pushing and curling his fingers inside you a few steps, then circling and pulling at your clit, ever so subtly switching it up with each pass so you couldn’t predict what he would do.

It felt amazing, but… there was something still missing. It still wasn’t quite enough to send you over that final edge… it wasn’t what you’d been fantasising about.

No, it was his left hand. That dark, golden vibranium hand that was currently seated around your throat.

The knowledge of what it could do, the sheer power in it that could easily crush your windpipe or shatter your jaw with a single flick of his wrist.

That is what you needed.

Those cool, powerful fingers inside you, working you over – that was the best toy.

It was like he could read your mind somehow, or the way your body sung to his tune. He lifted his head, looking down at you with those searing blues and he cocked his head, a slow grin lighting his gorgeous face, “Oh… This-” he scissored his fingers inside you, stretching your walls and ever so slightly brushing up against that spot, “isn’t quite what you want, is it, darlin’?”

Holy Christ, he was going to destroy you before you even got what you wanted.

You looked up at him, panting, hips rocking to the slower thrust of his fingers and you shook your head.

Bucky swore softly, panting himself and he squeezed your throat once before lifting his fingers, “You want these, don’t you?”

Instead of answering him, you ducked your head, taking his three fingers into your mouth and immediately gliding your tongue around them, up and down in slow, dirty strokes.

The effect was instantaneous. Bucky’s hips jerked slightly against yours, his mouth parting as he watched you suck his vibranium fingers, hollowing your cheeks, eyes rolling back in your head like… like it was something else entirely.

He groaned, swore again and then almost ripped his fingers from your mouth and from between your legs at the same time.

Your entire body mourned the loss, feeling empty, clenching around nothing but mere seconds later, he plunged those three vibranium fingers inside of you, slick with your saliva and how unbelievably wet you were.

It stung a little, but only added to the feeling as your hips rose off the bed, “Shit, shit-”

They felt… like the best toy you could ever imagine. Smooth, cold, and hard enough that you could feel every faint ridge of the joints as he slid them in and out. You reached out, grabbing his arm with one hand and the bed with the other, needing something to hold onto as instinct took over. Your hips rode upwards, back arching as you rocked his fingers in deeper, feeling them in your spine almost. It was better than you could have imagined.

Bucky dropped his head to your chest, spreading his mouth over your breast and his other arm slid over your hips, pinning them to the bed so you were forced to take it. “You wanted this, baby… You take it.” He bit down on the soft flesh of your breast before smoothing his tongue over it again, working an alternative rhythm to his fingers and thumb again, so that your brain couldn’t keep up with which one to follow. It knew only the waves of fire singing through your veins.

Time may have very well dissolved, because you could only feel pleasure, tinged almost with pain.

The thick, hard stroking of fingers as they stretched and wrecked you.

The circling, hard-soft-hard pressure of his thumb on your clit.

The bite of his teeth on your breasts, neck and chest, followed by the wet press of his tongue.

The way he couldn’t help his hips slightly rocking against your leg.

This was almost like a fever dream, expect your brain couldn’t have come up with something this mind melting. Not even if you were really, really worked up.

The noises in the room were absolutely sinful. The unrestrained cries and moans from your lips, Bucky’s groans and his filthy words, the wet pump of his fingers inside you – it was obscene, filthy and completely, painfully mind-blowing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Bucky, please-” You had no idea what you were begging for, but every single nerve and muscle in your body was coiling tighter and tighter, your hips jerking against his arm as he pinned you down, forcing you to take this, to feel everything he was doing with no relenting. Tears were beginning to blur your eyes and the pleasure he unleashed upon you was almost painful.

Bucky somehow moved his fingers harder, deeper, the ability of the tech in his arm allowing him to do so, “Let go, baby, come on, let it go for me..” He dropped his head, biting down on your neck and he pressed his fingers against that spot inside you, flicking your clit with his thumb and then it all just snapped.

Waves and waves of hot fire flooded your body, dragging you up to the stars, further. It ripped the air from your lungs, made you half scream his name in a never-ending prayer.

It just didn’t stop.

Bucky kept moving inside you, drawing out every single second of your mind-shattering orgasm, letting go of your hips so you could grind them into his hand. “That’s it, baby… Look at you, so beautiful like that…” His praise spurred you on, making you feel almost like a goddess as you flooded his hand.

He stopped only when you slumped back onto the bed, sucking in deep breaths as you tried to piece yourself back together.

Better than toys indeed.

A little while later, you stirred from a light dose to see Bucky lounging on your couch again, cleaning the grooves and metal of his fingers with a soft cloth.

The sight of him concentrating, taking such care and detail with the clean-up, the cleanup from the mess you had made, had you instantly wet again. “Bucky.”

He looked up, hearing the low thrum to your voice and a smirk crossed his lips.

You had a favour to repay for his helping hand, after all.

#well #that happened #i am not sorry #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #arm kink

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yasminbenoit · 4 years ago

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“A Romantic Partner Won’t Complete Me, Because I Was Born Complete”: How Identifying As Asexual & Aromantic Brought Me True Freedom & Happiness | Yasmin Benoit for British Vogue

There is a phase in our lives where everyone seems asexual and almost everyone seems aromantic. It wasn't until puberty kicked in that platonic relationships seemed to take a backseat. My peers stopped wanting to play together and started wanting to 'date' each other. That was when I started to realise that there was something different about me. I didn’t seem to be experiencing the same urges as those I was around. I chose to go to an all girls school in the hopes that – in the absence of boys – everyone would stop caring about sex and dating. It actually had the opposite effect. There was a sense of deprivation in the air and the heightened desire to project their sexuality onto anything and everything.

Therefore, my lack of interest became even more obvious, and it became a not-so-fun game to work out the source of what should be troubling me, but hadn’t been until that point. Having a sexual orientation isn’t just natural, it’s essential. It’s part of being a fully-functional human being. And to be romantically love and be loved by another is the ultimate goal. It’s part of being normal, which made me both abnormal and puzzling. When your asexual, people think there’s something wrong with your body. When you’re aromantic, they think there’s something wrong with your soul. Even for a teenage girl who internalised all of Disney Channel’s “be yourself” messages, it’s never nice to have people publicly debate your supposed physical and psychological flaws.

My nickname in school was “hollow and emotionless.” I was a joker with a decent amount of friends, but I was lacking something crucial, the kind of love that really mattered and the kind of lust that made life exciting...so I was practically Lord Voldemort with braids. I sat through the regular DIY sexuality tests, having my peers show me graphic sexual imagery, have very sexual conversations in my presence, and ask me inappropriately intimate questions to gauge how far gone I truly was. These tests lead to the development of theories, most centred around me having some kind of mental problem. After a while, you start to wonder if everyone knows something you don’t.

When they said that I must have been molested as a child and “broken” by the trauma, I wondered if I had somehow forgotten about sexual abuse that actually hadn’t happened. I looked at some of my own relatives with suspicion, the same people who would later ask me if I didn’t experience sexual attraction because I was a pedophile. It was suggested that I was “suffering” from my “issues” because I was socially anxious and insecure. The suggestion that my ‘issue’ was pathological stayed with me for a long time, but not as much as the widely accepted theory that I was mentally slow. Unfortunately, that one stuck. I was referred to as “stupid” and I started to believe that was the case. It would impact my experience in education for the next eight years, long after I realised that there was a word for what I was.

Asexual.

I first heard the word during one of the near-daily sexuality tests that I was subjected to. I was asked if I was gay, to which I said that I wasn’t interested in anybody like that – men or women. At fifteen, I was asked, “Maybe you’re asexual or something?” but it wasn’t quite a lightbulb moment. How could it be when I had never heard the word outside of biology class? After an evening of Google searching, I realised that there were many people with my exact same experience, complete strangers whose stories sounded so strangely similar to mine. I also stumbled across the word ‘aromantic,’ but at the time, I didn’t understand the need for it. "Wouldn't all asexual people be aromantic? A romantic relationship without sex is just friendship with rules,” I thought.

Either way, my discoveries showed me that I wasn’t alone, but that only half helpful. I now had an identity that no one had heard of or understood. Most didn’t believe that being asexual or aromantic was a real thing, and I doubted it to. I had been taught to after years of armchair pathologisation. If asexuality was real, why did no one tell you that being sexually attracted to nobody was an option? What if it was just an internet identity made up to comfort people with all of the issues that had been attributed to me? I didn’t have to go far down the rabbit hole to realise that asexuality, like many non-heteronormative identities, had been medicalised. What I had experienced as just the tip of the iceberg. As someone who hadn’t been prescribed drugs I didn’t need or subjected to unnecessary hormone tests, I was one of the lucky ones.

My activism would be my gateway to the community. Despite being the ugly friend at school, I ended up becoming a model while in university. I decided to use the platform I had gained through my career to raise awareness for asexuality and aromanticism. It gave me the opportunity to encounter a range of asexual and aromantic offline, it was then that I learned the significance of having an aromantic identity. There are many asexual people who still feel romantic attraction, as well as aromantic people who still feel sexual attraction. They have their own range of experiences, their own culture, their own flag, and like the asexual community, I was relieved to see that they are just normal people. These intersecting communities are not stereotypes. They weren’t just thirteen year old, pink haired kids making up identities on Tumblr to feel special. They were parents, lawyers, academics, husbands, girlfriends, artists, black, white, young, old, with differing feelings towards the many complex elements of sexuality and intimacy. Most importantly, they were happy.

I am proud to be part of both, and I know that while being asexual and aromantic, I am a complete person and I can live a perfectly fulfilling life. Since meeting members of my communities, I’ve become more open about my identities in real life, and a reaction I’m often met with is sympathy. “You must feel like you’re missing out,” “I can’t imagine being like that,” “It must be hard for your family,” “Do you worry no one will want you?” “How do you handle being so lonely?” “You’re so brave and strong,” “What will you do with your life now?” Even in 2021, a woman who isn’t romantically loved or sexually desired by their “special someone” is perceived as being afflicted with some kind of life-limiting condition.

Asexuality doesn't make undesirable or unable to desire others. It is a unique experience of sexuality, not a deprivation from it. Even if it was, there is so much more to life than what turns us on and what we do about it. Romantic love is just one form of love, neither superior nor inferior to any other. Being aromantic doesn't mean that you can't love or be loved, it does not mean you are void of other emotions or capabilities. I am not lonely with my friends, family, co-workers and supporters. I feel confident not when someone wants to date me but when I meet my goals and form worthwhile connections with others. My success isn't determined by whether someone will want to marry me someday. What we want out of life is our decision alone, our sources of happiness should not be defined by our ever-changing, culturally relative social standards. The love of a romantic partner won't complete me because I was born complete. Feeling sexual attraction to others won't liberate me because my liberation is not dependent on other people.

Valentine's Day is on the horizon. It's an occasion that amps up the focus on (and the pressure to achieve) a very specific type of love and sexual expression, one that is actually alienating for people inside and outside of the asexual community. During a pandemic where many relationships have been strained, tested, formed or distanced, it's important to keep the diversity of romantic and sexual feelings in mind. Many expect me to feel annoyed or lonely during this time of year, but I actually feel empowered and excited by the way sex, romance and love are discussed more deeply around this time. These conversations are constantly expanding to become more inclusive for everyone, and that's what we need to see all year round.

https://www.vogue.co.uk/arts-and-lifestyle/article/asexuality-and-aromanticism

#yasmin benoit #valentines day #british vogue #asexuality #aromantic #aromanticism #aroace #asexual #this is what asexual looks like #thisiswhatasexuallookslike

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luckyspacerabbit · 3 years ago

Text

drell diaspora meta <3

as told by me! a mixed diasporic chindo (chinese-indonesian) :)

preface: bioware failed to flesh out Drell culture and heritage to my satisfaction so I wrote this meta for both my personal reference and because I wanted to represent Thane and Drell as people who suffer from a history that invokes parallels between real world colonization/imperialism, as well as portray his personal conflict with this accurately because it's very painful and I think gets naturally overlooked by people who lack this background!

Contents:

The Family Unit

Food

Music

Customs

Hanar Intervention (honestly read this bc I think it's the most important section!!)

1. The Family Unit

Size: They're small by necessity: as in there is no room on Kahje to support. This is a bit of a complicated topic. Drell families are likely to lose their children to the Compact giving them incentive to have more than one or two but it’s probably very expensive to provide for them. I can see a lot of cultural tension here. There are pressures in either direction. There's a lot of sadness too. It makes every child extremely precious.

Values: Independence is an important quality-- but not to a fault! Because family units can be taken apart at any time, being able to take care of yourself is a survival skill. In addition, spiritedness is a closely held value-- To make up for the loss of large family trees and ability to be in close quarters (due to the constant coming and going of family members) it becomes very important to showcase your passion-- whether to each other or about any matter of things in life. Overall, spiritedness is most important! caring and wanting to improve upon yourself as well as self-discipline and hard work.

A.N: Probably because, as evidenced by Thane’s dialogue, they've come to view what happened on Rakhana as like, self-inflicted or weak of spirit ( :( this has me extremely messed up. The whole situation is based on Colonialist propaganda honestly so this conflict to me is so personal and painful to watch in real-time because you can see it very plainly in Thane and you can tell he carries that generational trauma)

Carrying on: The ability to be vulnerable is not as important as the ability to show that you care, which can come from action or words, but usually, this means vulnerability and passion go hand in hand. Finally, homecoming is very important. Everyone is so scattered all over the galaxy, time together is time that counts. Bonding circles (An old tradition) have become “Bonds,” a colloquial name for annual family gatherings.

Read on Under The Cut <3

2. Food

Drell are born with a full set of teeth but they can’t be that tough yet. There must be specific dishes for each age to celebrate. That means as they age, softer meats-> harder foods are part of a traditional practice to track development! (Age 1 Birthday Food: Beetle Based Dish, so on till age 16/17)

Rakhana Diet: I also think that on Rakhana insects would have been popular! Because it’s an arid world and it would have been a very nutritious and accessible source of protein. It also strikes me that their recipes may have been very paste-based because it’s an easy way to flavor things when food is scarce! Also, paste flavoring like sambal (spicy chili). Other Foods:

Eggs? Eggs. It’s just a lizard thing but also! Really simple and easy to make.

Desert fruit! Water-based fruits that are similar to cantaloupe and citrusy things like calamansi.

On Kahje: Their diet must have to shift, so lucky they’re omnivorous.

Probably fish. Likely the main source of protein there.

This is off topic but I think that eating kelp runs as a joke for Drell on Kahje because of the similarities between their colors and striping. I don’t know what kind of joke. But I wonder if Drell teens will order fried kelp and point at each other like “cannibal”

Sauce…………. Dark sauces…...

You can tell the difference between a Kahje Drell and a Rakhana Drell (If they are still in existence? Most likely but very hard to find) based on their fish opinions

Raw fish consumption is normal on Kahje but Drell are not technically “built” for that diet so they may get sick with overconsumption! It must be well cooked to avoid illness.

3. Music

There's a natural inclination to communicate verbally due to their distinct biology.

Drell anatomy (throat) allows for unique sounds and trills

Highly present in language and utilized in music (On Rhakana there were probably dialects that incorporated certain clicks and trills as part of the “alphabet” just like irl, but I imagine those that can still speak it are very limited and it must be passed down or retaught through preservation efforts)

Rhythmic dance and music to tell stories and legends! Especially of great creatures that transcended into infamy. Like a big old serpent that through storytelling became a mythical dragon type of thing.

Clothing/Robes, loose-fitting and comfortable to work in Arid environments and allow for movement (tight ass clothes not the norm ashdjfk esp for dancing, Thane’s just a career man who thinks he looks good and he lived on Kahje so--)

4. Customs

The Pursuit of Life a.k.a Perah (I made this term up)

It's a cultural value centered around making the most of life through boldness. Seizing the moment because not every Drell gets the opportunity to call their life their own— this is in reference to both the compact and the death of Rakhana. Therefore if you ARE lucky enough to have ownership over your own life, you must not squander it. There are a number of purposeful benefits to Perah, such as:

Leading Drell off of Kahje (avoiding Kepral’s)

Giving Drell an “Adventurous” reputation due to far journeying and mixed work

A lot of Drell are able to form community ties outside of the home due to this norm! Because a lot of them have long and wide and journeys across the galaxy to share with each other and cultural commonality, they have an immediate kinship with each Drell they meet.

Puppetry/Masks

The Drell face is shaped like a mask so it only makes me think there must be culture-specific dances or plays utilizing masks in order to tell traditional stories and celebrate moments of life

There seems to be a lot of reverence and appreciation for the different and diverse, including animals and other species, leading me to believe that there are masks based on different creatures!

5. Hanar Intervention

Loss of Population: Effects

Destruction of the family unit, disjointed/fractured because of the Compact and limited living space on Kahje

Death of Rakhana leaving entire generations and specific regions behind, permanent severing between sects of Drell society

That means the inability to read certain texts as well as languages dying off between generations.

The disappearance of traditions, including many religions

Loss of understanding of Drell language and terminology

A.N: Thane is a rare case with access to high reading material and close ties to “hidden” communities/pockets of people; Most Drell do not know the meaning of Siha due to Hanar assimilating via Enkindlers

Most also do not know about traditional religion! I imagine these pockets must be so small. Thane probably had to work very hard to recover this knowledge which goes to show his complex relationship with his heritage.

It’s likely that there are factions of Drell who attempt to preserve and celebrate their culture despite being uprooted.

Possible rebellions/isolationists who reject the Compact which has mixed reactions by the majority of Drell community, not limited to shunning and disownment (:/ bc these things are sadly complicated)

A.N: Thane comments that it's an honor to fulfill the compact, which naturally implies it's shame to reject it. Let your imagination on the consequences of that rejection sink in.

A misconception is that Drell like to adopt whatever culture they live in but it's more like most of them lack the access to return and reclaim their own roots or have been shamed out of it

#WEEE #that was fun #meta #mass effect #drell #hanar #thane krios #long post

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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hello lovie how u doing? sorry for bugging again but I was thinking.. how about reader lil jelly of the DEAs new secretary hitting on Javi but he's not giving a shh and reader go to the office for a visit with cinnie and kisses javi like out of nowhere and he gets ?????? and she's suddenly shy

Covetous (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: see above

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: jealousy, flirtation, language and innuendos

A/N: HI I hope this was what you’re looking for!! I hope it’s clear enough that reader is insecure and not demonizing Javier or Luisa... you’ll see. Enjoy!

Javier naturally attracts attention. You’re not quite sure what it is about him that does- or rather there are so many things about him that you don’t know which one it is. Is it the tight shirts that show off his broad shoulders and thick arms? His commanding aura? The sex appeal he radiates like humidity on a hot Colombian morning?

You love him more than anything. How can you not? He gives you all of his love, and expects nothing in return from you. His love is a passionate and all-consuming one; Javier fears commitment, but once he’s in, he’s all in. He’s the strong and silent type, but he melts with you, allows himself to be soft and gentle.

You know Javier would never do anything to hurt you. He can, has, and will go out of his way to protect you, especially with the danger of being the DEA agent’s girlfriend. That doesn’t lessen your anxiety, the fear that some poor judgement lapse on his part will lead to a broken heart. You know the man’s past. You’d be lying to say you weren’t a little scared.

When he started mentioning Luisa, you’d brushed it off and frowned. Javier is an adult. He can be friends with whoever he likes. Plus, she works with him. He can’t exactly ignore her. You didn’t know much about the woman other than the fact that she was young and pretty, as Murphy had told you. She was intelligent, a skilled worker as their receptionist. The only reason you had to dislike her was the little demon inside your head named Jealousy. Hell, you’d never even met her.

Javier mentions her in passing, just something she did at work or something funny she said. Never anything to be suspicious, and you know deep down that your Javi would never do something like that. He’s a good man, he loves you. You know it’s irrational, that you have no reasoning at all, but you can’t help but feel insecure when he talks about her.

Javier works ridiculous hours. He doesn’t have time to do much other than work and work and come home to you and do more work on the couch. He loves you for that more than anything: you understand it. You understand the busy hours and that he doesn’t often have the energy to do much when he gets home. You just sit next to him and quietly rub his shoulders, pressing kisses to his skin while he grinds out some paperwork. You don’t always understand what he’s doing at work, but your outside perspective often offers valuable ideas. You’re not just a girlfriend to Javier, but more of his partner. You are his other half, his comfort and relief and love in his hectic life.

If he’s being honest, Luisa bugs the shit out of him. She’s a smart girl, really, but her job is not as an agent. She likes to think she is, but she doesn’t have the training or knowledge to do so. She’s a go-getter, and Javi admires that, but it’s just another problem on his endless pile of them.

The most annoying thing is her flirting. Javier is no stranger to flirtation, obviously, and in any other situation he’d love to play along; she’s pretty and funny and a good conversationalist, but Javier, of course, only has eyes for you. He’s given her signs to back off, clearly, but she hasn’t picked them up. He’s tried to be more blunt, but nothing works. She is dead set on Agent Peña, and she’s a determined little thing.

You don’t visit Javier at work often. It’s rare that you get the chance, since you’re busy yourself. Usually, you’ll coordinate a day with Connie to bring lunch for the boys and sit with them for a while. They obviously both enjoy it, other than the mockery they receive from the other men when you leave. You love doing it, preening under the attention of your boyfriend and laughing at his annoyance with the other men. You’ve been there enough to know some of the other agents, and you know plenty about them from Javier’s annoyance at them at the end of the day.

Planning a day to surprise Javier at the office is fun. You usually do it when you know he’s extra stressed, when he could use the diversion and a little break in his day. That’s why you decided on it last night. Connie has the day off, and she insisted she’ll help you cook something to bring into work; Steve has been a mess lately too. They need it. She was right.

With a fresh tray of cookies out of the oven, you sigh and climb onto the couch to knock on the ceiling. You rap three times; moments later, two come back in response from Connie. It’s easier than using the phone, Connie suggested one night while you and Javier steadily got the Murphys drunker and drunker. It was funny to you at the time, but she was right. You smile remembering it as you put some cookies into a container and walk out of the front of the apartment building.

Connie is in a cheerful mood today. It’s probably because she has the day off; normally, she’d be asleep at this hour, thanks to long night shifts. She chats with you as the two of you drive to the embassy together, humming along to a song on the radio. She tells you all about Steve, the latest recipe she found, her new favorite grocery store. You smile and nod, mind elsewhere. Her blonde head bobs along to the rhythm as she finds a spot and parks.

You are irrational, you remind yourself as you walk in. You know and trust and love Javier. Luisa is nothing to worry about. Then why do you have a painfully tight grip on your container of cookies? “Hey, you’re gonna crack that,” Connie chides and swats your hand. “You okay, babe?”

You shake your head and smile it off. “It’s nothing. Guess I’m just excited,” you chuckle and loosen your grip on the cookies, though your spine is rigid as a board.

There’s a desk and at the front sits a woman, slightly younger than you, writing something in a book. She looks up when she hears the two of you enter through the lobby deeper into the building. “Hola. Soy Luisa, bienvenidos. Necesitá-“

That’s Luisa? She’s sweet, you frown. You’ve been all worked up over this? She’s cut off when Steve walks past. “Woah, hey ladies,” he chuckles as he sees the two of you. He wraps an arm around his wife and kisses her forehead. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Connie shrugs, beaming up at her husband. “We just thought we’d bring you lunch.”

“I made cookies,” you offer weakly, holding up the tupperware. You’re surprised it isn’t shattered into plastic shards on the ground by now.

“Hell yeah,” Steve smiles and snatches the cookies from your hands. “Luisa, this is my wife, Connie.”

She nods. “I could tell,” she chuckles, gesturing to the blonde hair and blue eyes. Who else would she be around here? “And you are?” She asks, turning to you.

“Ah, that’s Peña’s girl, remember?” Steve says for you, which makes you breathe a sigh of relief.

Her smile becomes tight-lipped and passive-aggressive. “Ah, yes. Wonderful to meet you,” she tells you, turning back to her books immediately. “Steve, you will show the women back then?”

He nods. “Thanks, kid.” He steals a candy from the jar she keeps on her desk and leads you back into the bullpen. He and Connie talk about their days, and you trail behind, nervously tapping your fingers against your sides. Now that you don’t have the Tupperware to clutch, you fidget until your heart warms at the sight of Javier. He’s hunched over his desk, shoulders straining against his tight shirt. He’s rapidly banging out a report on a typewriter, and your smile becomes a little bittersweet with how hard you know he’s working.

He’s a jumpy man, but scaring him is your favorite thing in the world. You hold a finger to your lips to the Murphys, telling them to be quiet, and they nod in agreement. Silently padding up behind him, you cover his hands with your eyes. “Boo,” you squeal.

“What the fuck?” Javier jumps, rapidly pulling the hands off his eyes and spinning in his chair. His hand hovers over his weapon, but his anxiety fades when he sees it’s you. “Hijo de puta… cariño,” he smiles softly, laughing a little. “What are you doing here?” He asks as he stands, pulling you into a hug.

His face is all the reassurance you need, his smile and his arms squeezing you making you grin. “We brought you lunch. Wanted to surprise you,” you tell him as you break away, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Got a spare minute?”

He sighs and sits back down at his desk. “Can you give me five? I need to finish this report then I’m all yours.”

“Fine,” you sigh teasingly and kiss him on the head. While he types, you and Connie set up the desks, arranging chairs and plates on top of piles of cluttered papers. Javier’s handwriting is messy, you notice as you look at a folder of information, but legible. Hurried but still nice, looping and arcing.

“Hey,” Javi booms playfully and startles you, snatching the folder from your hands. “That’s classified.”

“That’s about as classified as your dick is to the Colombian population of women,” Steve snorts.

“Stephen!” Connie gasps and scolds, smacking his arm.

It doesn’t matter. You and Javi are laughing, falling onto each other and giggling at the joke. Steve sniggers under his breath, trying to avoid Connie’s wrath from the rude joke.

Straightening up, you take a sip of your water and try to collect yourself, though you’re still chuckling softly. “Does this mean you’re done?” You ask him hopefully.

Javier sighs and signs the bottom of the paper. His signature is beautiful and classy: J. Peña. “Now I am,” he smiles at you and tucks the file away in a desk drawer. “What did you bring us to eat, hm?”

The four of you converse over the meal, waving forks around aimlessly to make your points. The Murphys talk on their own, chatting about plans for the night. The meal is clearly finished and Javier cracks open the container of cookies, winking at you. You know he loves them, adores the little fluffy things. You smile and snag one from the tupperware before he can. He frowns. “I wanted that one.”

“Poor baby,” you tease and cup his face, taking a bite from it.

There’s the clacking of heels on tile approaching before you hear it: “Agente Peña!” a feminine voice sings. You roll your eyes, completely missing the way Javier rolls his too. “Javi?” She asks as she gets closer, about to round the corner.

God, you can’t stand that she calls him that. He’s only Javi to you and the Murphys, to those who love him. Your rational brain is far out of the window, possessed by jealousy as you do the only thing you can to, what, stake your claim? It doesn’t matter. Javier won’t be mad with the tiniest bit of affection. Your other hand cups Javier’s face too and you kiss him.

He’s used to kissing you. The two of you do it all the damn time. He’s just not a big PDA man; never has been. He prefers to keep his passion in private. But he doesn’t care, and cares even less when he knows Luisa is watching. He kisses back, rolling your chair closer to his and cupping your face too.

Luisa huffs at the sight. “Guess you’re busy,” she scoffs in English.

You break away only to find her walking away, and you can’t help but smirk. At least now she knows that Javier is truly committed to you, if she even caught a glimpse of the way he kissed you back. “What was that for?” Javier asks.

“Because I love you?” You chuckle and kiss him one more time, soft and quick.

He knows exactly why you did it. He doesn’t ask again. “I love you too, cariño,” he chuckles and rests his hand on your thigh.

Taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

#javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña

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cherrynojutsu · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 7/?: Catalysts

Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often, despite the frustrating paradox that is the male endocrine system’s apparent determination to make him do so. He finds it feels… empty, after. Like there’s supposed to be something more, but instead there’s just whatever is situated above his head to stare at while his breathing levels out, an interminable abyss of silence and stars, or tree foliage, or apartment ceiling. Impulses and feelings of a sexual nature are probably normal for anyone his age, but in the past, satiating desires like this has made him feel guilty, given the context.

When he's not plagued by nightmares rife with gore and blood and bodies, or the occasional aching memory, his subconscious takes the opportunity to bombard him with dreams of a suggestive nature, having deduced somehow that it’s the most effective method to get him to… tend to things.

This variety of dream customarily involves pale pink hair, multifaceted eyes, and soft fingertips, branded into the part of his brain that controls his most base instincts with a hot iron.

He notes begrudgingly as he gazes at plain plaster above him, brows furrowed, that ostensibly, it works well enough, if the intricate mess of thoughts and feelings in his head and on his abdomen are anything to go by.

Sasuke would never admit it to anyone, but Sakura has headlined exclusively in nearly every sexually-charged dream he's ever had, and resultingly the majority of his sentient thoughts while indulging outside of dreaming, too. When they were Genin, it was innocent enough; he had reasoned that, being the main girl his age he associated with, it made sense his inadvertent dreams, beyond the scope of his control, involved her. He'd shaken it off in those early days as the by-product of the developing hormonal cocktail that is the pubescent masculine mind, and ignored the part of himself that kind of had a crush on her even then. Or definitively more than a crush, after the Chunin Exams and the hospital and jealousy.

He had tried convincing himself of the same thing at fourteen, once he'd left the village and had attempted to sever all bonds. It didn’t work, though; by that point he knew better, knew what the feeling he was trying to squash actually was.

Which meant it didn’t work at fifteen, either.

Nor sixteen, and definitely not seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

All of that has been wholly indecent on its own in the past, causing him to feel shameful every time it happens, and even more ashamed if it’s a rare day where he’s weak enough to act on it, a day where he wakes up mere seconds from an edge rather than minutes.

But this morning, he woke up on the tail end of all of that with the addition of freckles , of all things to fixate on, and he just knows he's never going to forget about them now, that they’re branded into his grey matter in perpetuity. Freckles just above the interior of a shoulder, eight of them, a small scattering he had been pressing his lips to, listening to a softly whispered Sasuke-kun, reaching around her with his only arm, so he could make her say his name like that again.

It is far from the first time he’s touched himself to the thought of Sakura, but it is the first time he’s indulged since they’ve been… together.

Except this time felt… different.

Less like an unrealistic reverie he should try to abstain from and more like an eventuality. Less guilt, too, or rather, almost none, because he’s in a relationship with her now, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have feelings like this regarding her. Not that he is anywhere near ready to do anything about them, because he absolutely is not; he’s not certain he even comprehends that level of vulnerability, to touch another person and allow yourself to be touched by them, though he badly wants to, someday.

No, Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often… but he did this morning, when he woke up teetering just on the precipice, fantasizing about tiny tan flecks seen and unseen, and he’s trying to work through how he feels about it, this guilt surrounding the fact of not feeling guilty like he ordinarily does, as well as the lingering curiosity he’s struggling to force down regarding how many other freckles Sakura has.

Even moreso, he yearns for soft words that he has often thought may be sentimental to the point of being utterly quixotic. It's why he doesn’t typically submit to this kind of inclination in the first place; it’s meaningless on one’s own, he secretly thinks, though he has nothing to compare it to. No sense of connection or true lasting fulfillment like he imagines there must be, for people to talk about it the way they do; just pleasure that's there for a blinding scattered second and gone the next, with nothing tenderhearted or meaningful in the moments following as his vision refocuses and he picks up the pieces.

He stares at his ceiling, an aporia of longing and complicated compulsions ricocheting in the hallways of his head, or perhaps from his skull to the roof and back again, an absurd push and pull that leaves him with more questions than answers.

Has she ever thought about him the way he thinks about her?

What would it sound like, Sasuke-kun, when she’s like that?

Is it okay to feel like this, now? To think about her in this regard?

Sasuke is accustomed to not sleeping well - it comes with the territory of his lived experience, an unfortunate fact of life he’s somewhat learned to deal with - but during the mission to Sand, he'd slept fairly restfully, though in short increments of five or six hours. That's apparently the tipping point of how long he gets to go without being sojourned by some variety of vision in the night.

He eventually makes his way to the shower, using torrid water and soap to double cleanse what’s left of his mess. That's a big contributor to his consternation, too; it's so embarrassingly messy that it’s impossible to imagine ever doing anything like it with her . He flips the dial to cold after he’s bathed for the better portion of five minutes, because serpens caput is still burned into his retinas, and he’s hoping against hope to freeze it out of himself like he has tried to do with shame in the past.

It doesn’t work; it just induces shivering, algidity overwhelming the senses but doing nothing to distract the mind.

He shoves his face into his book after, desperate for the distraction a proverbial fiction featuring an old fisherman can provide and thinking once again that he needs to acquire a lamp. Anything to get the thought of pressing his lips to her freckles out of his head, because he’s pretty sure if he keeps thinking about it, he’ll have to take care of things for the second time today, and then he really won’t know how to feel.

So when a banging erupts on his apartment door shortly following eight, followed by a shout of, “TEME! I'm here, let’s go!”, all he can think is finally, because he knows it will at least get his mind off of this strange lack of guilt and a curiosity he’s not ready to unpack yet. The book helped, but he thinks he needs the challenge a fight against Naruto can provide to truly leave behind this level of prurience. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look her in the eye when they meet at three as they planned, otherwise.

Sasuke shoves on his sandals and grabs his chokuto before opening the door. “So you finally showed. Thought you'd sleep all morning.”

Naruto’s eyes narrow, indignant and already launching into a retort. Good. Maybe he’ll get some iota of order knocked back into him, enough to put compelling constellations away for the time being.

XXX

Sasuke feels monumentally better by noon. It’s another draw, an absolute whirlwind of swinging limbs that made it impossible to focus on anything else. He didn’t take joy in it necessarily, and he suspects Naruto bruised his ulna bone to the extent it almost cracked, but it helps, the diversion of pain; the tinge he feels when he moves it is a welcome hindrance. They’d stuck mainly to taijutsu and clashing weaponry, so physically, he’s pretty exhausted.

They’re resting in the dirt, making a valiant attempt at rehydrating. It’s moderately hot for this time of year, barely on the cusp of mid April, but it’s seeming like the Konoha heat will be returning with the same vengeance it always does. A small trickle of sweat sinks its way down his back.

Sasuke feels nearly normal again. Or normal to the extent he generally feels, anyways. He gets the urge to do something good - to tip the scale, so to speak.

"...The cutting board works. Thank you." It’s not what he’s most thankful for right now, but it’s a nice thing to say as substitution.

His friend grins at him. "Welcome! It was all me, by the way. Hinata-chan didn't even help me pick it out!" Naruto scratches his head, downing more water. He’s moving rather slowly, as if he is sore, too; Sasuke thinks perhaps he came close to beating him this round.

They stare upwards for a while, soaking in the sun as clouds roll lazily by. Birds fly overhead, finches and song sparrows twittering their selections, collecting materials to build more nests for this new season. It’s another effective distraction, one that fills him with a sense of nostalgia, replacing his earlier sense of compunction regarding the mystifying concept of physical love and the whims that accompany it.

Naruto speaks up after a bit. "Ne, teme, wanna go to the market with me? Hinata-chan asked me to get some groceries and some stuff for the backyard."

Sasuke glances at his teammate and contemplates. It can't hurt. He did want to pick up potatoes to make actual curry with, and he could get some other things, too. He'll still have time to shower before he meets Sakura at the hospital.

"...Sure."

Naruto takes longer to rise than he does, shuffling carefully as if he is in pain, but once he’s standing, he seems fine enough, stupid grin slapped on his face at Sasuke’s agreement to go with. They set off in the general direction of his building so he can drop off his weapon first. He gets dirty looks sometimes, walking around, though it’s not nearly as bad as when he first returned and it doesn’t bother him on the same level that it used to. When he’s with Naruto or Sakura, he gets less of them, but he can't imagine a sword strapped to his back in the market will do much to help his reputation.

Naruto doesn't allow the easy silence to last. "Y'know, teme, it's really good to have you back in the village. It feels like everything's finally coming together. We'll have to do some fun stuff this summer. And also in the fall!” Gears are turning behind cerulean eyes, and he adds, ”...Hmm, and the winter, too!"

"...Yeah." He stares at the mountain, thinking about what cherry blossom trees look like in summer and fall and winter. It will be nice to see the one across the street change colors throughout the seasons. Or the one on the hill, where they're going later today. He has seen their like numbering in the thousands, scattered everywhere on his journey - he’s highly cognizant of them, for obvious reasons - but he hasn’t been granted the privilege of watching the same one through the whole of a year’s growth cycle in a long time.

"Sakura-chan seems really cheery lately, too. Can't imagine why." The second sentence is said flippantly, without any real conviction, as if Naruto knows exactly why.

Sasuke glances at his teammate, neck warming and heart skipping a little at the mention of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that Sakura is happy from secondhand sources; it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once. Maybe not all his impulses are complicated in nature enough to require dissection, as he was accustomed to doing when he was away; spending time with her is one, and he's been indulging it often.

He briefly entertains the idea of outright telling Naruto that they're together, then, but the dobe is moving on before he comes up with the words. "Well, anyways. Wanna spar Monday morning, if neither of us get a mission by then?”

That’s… specific. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to him, after all; he’s sure it’s no coincidence that Naruto is asking about the exact time period Sakura is busy training with Ino, probably as aware of her schedule as Kakashi is. Their old sensei might have told him, he supposes, or maybe Sakura said something; Sasuke wonders when he last saw her.

“...Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

The response he gets is a slug on the left shoulder, but it’s not overly hard. Sasuke narrows his eyes in response more out of habit than any real malice. He sees as Naruto’s hand retreats and slips out of a fist that words are written on his palm. He didn’t notice it throughout the morning due to their hands constantly being locked around weapons or thrown in punches, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes; it's likely a grocery list.

Naruto leans against the brick downstairs while Sasuke drops off his sword, and then they head to the main market area as the dobe chatters. It’s fairly busy, it being a Saturday, but it’s not intolerably so; most people are busy eating around now.

Sasuke is completely unsurprised when Naruto beelines straight for the noodles; naturally he would be out of them. He takes the opportunity to procure a blend of wild rice. Thus far he only has white and brown in his own pantry, and he’s been trying to eat it often. He's always liked rice, but it’s high in calories, too, an easy way to try putting on weight. Another variety to choose from would be beneficial.

He trails after his friend to the baking supplies next, where Naruto examines containers of flour and sugar. Sasuke concludes Hinata must bake, because he’s confident any cookie prepared by the dobe could not possibly be edible. While his teammate is occupied, Sasuke turns the corner and procures a half dozen eggs, a large bag of potatoes, and two different varieties of tomatoes. The extra five pounds of weight held in the crook of his arm doesn’t do wonders for his bruised bone situation, but it’s not wholly unbearable; he’s fairly used to dealing with pain.

“Hinata-chan said to go to the gardening stall on the north end,” Naruto says once they’ve paid and exited the building, so they begin a course in that general direction. “She said they have the best perennial bulbs; that means they come back every year!”

Sasuke twitches, surprised he can even pronounce the word perennial if he’s lived this long without knowing what one is.

“Anyways, she wants to plant some, uh…” His voice trails off, and he peeks at his hand, where Sasuke now sees the names of flowers written in feminine writing that has to be Hinata’s.

Of course. Like he could spell the words, let alone read his own sloppy handwriting.

“Iris, phlox, and uh… echo-na-na-chee-ah.”

“Echinachea,” Sasuke corrects dully, giving him a withering look.

“Sure! That! She wants to plant those in the backyard, kind of line the house with them, since the front is looking pretty nice now. She said to get bulbs; they root better. They might bloom this year, but if not, they’ll for sure come in next year!”

“...And she entrusted you with this?” Sasuke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Naruto just laughs, utterly unphased. “Duh, that’s what the list is for, teme. Hinata-chan is super smart like that. Putting it on my hand makes sure I don’t lose it!”

They meander to the northern edge of the market, past the congregation of other stalls selling seeds and garden starters. It's getting towards the end of planting season for Fire Country, but there is still plenty to choose from here, allegorical gates of green swinging open in salutation. They pass some tomato plant starters, already starting to climb their cages, but Sasuke decides against it; his hand is full presently, and the bone still kind of hurts, and none of them are red heirloom tomatoes anyways, being smaller variations like plum or cherry or grape. He likes all tomatoes, honestly, but if he was going to grow one, he’d just want the one of a favorite to worry about. Repotting a starter would also require a planter, which he doesn’t have; another thing to carry.

The stall Naruto leads them to is probably the nicest one there, judiciously laid out and everything labeled neatly with precise calligraphy. The few tables the vendor has are overflowing with perennial starters, but Naruto goes to the three vertical displays of seeds and bulbs, so tall they are at eye level with both of them. They’re filled to the brim with diminutive packages, printed with large pictures of the flowers they contain the beginnings of, along with genus names and common names in smaller text. The blond examines them, surveying his hand, then the display, then back to his hand again in scrutiny.

Sasuke watches, resisting the urge to sigh and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hmm… I guess this would be a lot easier if I knew what any of these looked like. Gonna have to read them all.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and steps forward to point to the section of iris bulbs to start with. He gives him a minute to work out which colors to pick, observing the throng of people entering and exiting around them, young and old and in-between.

Phlox are next; he directs his teammate to the appropriate section, where there are quite a few options of hues. Naruto examines them as if he is making a grand decision transformative in nature, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm… She likes blue and purple. Maybe I should…”

His own gaze wanders as he tunes Naruto out, taking in pictures of begonias and caladium on plastic shiny in the sunlight, before his vision locks on the far display.

He wanders over to it as if his body is moving of its own accord.

There are several varieties of lilies, he learns as he scans the packaging, oriental, trumpet, and what is apparently called nerine. White nerine lilies had been the variety his mother grew, lining their yard with curved porcelain petals, clusters emanating from many single stems.

He sets his groceries at his feet to free up his hand, picking up one of the packages to read the instructions on the back. His arm aches as he does so, but he couldn’t care less.

Nerine lily bulbs require good drainage. If there are still puddles in the prospective planting area 5-6 hours after rain, locate another site, or amend the soil with organic material to raise levels 2-3 inches. Nerine lilies also require soil that is somewhat gritty, though it also must be organically rich. Adding compost may increase nutrient content.

In spring, choose a location in full sun. If you are in a hotter region, site them where they will receive morning sun and afternoon shade, and plant the bulbs with an inch of the slender top above the soil surface. The top of the bulb is the area that looks like the stem of an onion. Install bulbs 8 to 11 inches apart for a massed look.

Nerine bulbs develop foliage that gather sun rays and strengthen the plants during the spring and summer months. Flower stalks develop in the fall. Provide water when the plants are actively growing, and very little when they are dormant.

You may cut the final flower stems to display decoratively. This will not hurt the plants and the cuts last long periods of time indoors. After they finish blooming for the year, cut off any remaining flower stalks. Your plants will rest for the winter months before sending up new growth in the springtime. Over time, nerine lilies will form clumps. They like to be crowded, so don’t feel pressed to divide them unless flower production begins to decrease. Clumps can then be dug, split apart, and moved to other parts of the garden, or shared with friends.

When Sasuke looks up, deep in thought, he notices Naruto searching for what he assumes is echinacea, flitting stiffly at random between the first two displays and scratching his head. Wordlessly with the package of lily bulbs still in hand, Sasuke points to the bottom right corner of the first, where several color selections are.

“Thanks, teme!” Naruto plows back to the specified stand and stoops down comically slowly, though Sasuke barely sees, gaze drawn pensively back to the packet he was examining.

The memorial stone has decent drainage, aside from the occasional hard rain like last weekend; that will become less common as the weather warms, and one or two monsoons a summer never drowned his mother’s lilies. Shade in the afternoon could be an issue, though. There’s a large oak tree on the west side that might cast some protection over it, but he only ever visits under the cover of night, so he’s unsure. He would have to examine the trajectory in person to gauge.

He considers the market bag the groceries were handed to him in earlier, studying it closely.

Carefully, he puts the package back where he found it, though his eyes linger on it. He’s no gardener, not like Sakura is, and besides, his arm hurts.

XXX

He’s leaning up against one of the blue columns outside of the hospital when Sakura emerges at three, sprightly as ever. She’s holding the two journals and the medical text from their first trip to the library; she said yesterday that she needed to return them, but there shouldn’t be any new ones she needs to check out just yet. He hadn’t stayed terribly long after they’d finished the tenmusu because he needed to shower and write his mission report, but they’d made plans to swing by the library and journey back up the hillside to read together again. There was also mention of possibly picking up food afterwards, to take to her place. Hazel Wood must be in her tote, hooked around her shoulder.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets cheerfully. “Whew. It’s getting warm out already.”

“...It is,” Sasuke comments before he extends his hand for her texts, his own already held there, a silent offer to carry them for her.

She blushes as she passes them to him, sliding them into his hand. His eyes drift to the freckle on her cheek, and he wipes his mind blank by sheer willpower alone as they head east. The books aren’t as heavy as the groceries had been earlier, so it doesn’t hurt as much, but he's wondering at this point if the bone might actually have a small crack. He thinks he should ask her to look at it; maybe later, at her apartment.

“My balcony days may be numbered by now, at least until the fall comes,” Sakura observes as they meander.

He contemplates. “...Do you sit out there often?” It is so utterly befitting of her that he thinks he can picture it, her reading out there, surrounded by plants. He wonders if she ever admires the night sky. Their team had stargazed sometimes, on missions that first year as Genin.

Green eyes settle on him from his right. “I like to, when it’s nice out. A lot of times in the summer it gets too hot, though there is an occasional night when it’s cool enough. Fall is really the best for it. You can see the changing leaves from above. Even if it's a chillier day, it’s pleasant with some tea and a blanket in the evening."

He debates for a long moment, but decides against bringing up stout squirrels or chestnut-flavored everything or Naruto slipping on a leaf.

“...It sounds nice,” he comments simply instead, wondering if he’ll be invited to sit with her on her balcony, once fall arrives. They would have to sit kind of close; the space doesn’t seem very big from below, and it's cluttered with greenery.

Sakura smiles up at him, a look that says she agrees with his assessment.

Then, she offers softly, "You can sit out there sometime with me, if you'd like."

His neck warms; all he can do is nod and avert his gaze elsewhere, an abundance of something tender and sweet flaring to life in his belly.

Returning the books barely takes two minutes; they’re wandering towards the outskirts of the mountain in short order. Sakura sprawls in the same spot she did last time, so he takes up the same position, too, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, stable and strong.

And then his eyes catch on another freckle she has, this one near her elbow, and all he can think about is the slightly textured consistency of his ceiling, and whether the impulse to press his lips to her skin without guilt was an okay thing to feel.

She reads and he more contemplates than reads for about an hour, sprawled beneath the scant amount of shade provided by this tree that has lost its petals, trading them in for florets of a greener variety. It’s pleasant, once he can drown his inner disarray of thoughts. He eventually gets through a sliver of his book, though turning the pages is a little cumbersome, tinged lightly with pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait until later to ask her to examine his arm.

Sakura finishes her own book, though she keeps the pressed petal between its pages; she must have gotten through more of it while he was on the way to and from Suna. She just reclines there, after, looking up at the sky with her arms at her sides, near exactly the relaxed pose she used to lie in when they were younger.

Sasuke finishes the passage he’s on, and marks his place with the petal she’d plucked from his hair last week, before pointedly setting the text aside and following her eyes to the azure. Fluffy clouds are floating by as the sun inches closer to the west horizon, pushed steadily by the breeze.

“How is Ichika’s recommendation?” She questions.

“...Interesting.” He genuinely is enjoying reading it, despite his aberration.

Her head angles towards him, lying against a gnarled root at a slightly different angle. Her expression is curious, like she’s encouraging him to elaborate.

“Simple, but heavy with metaphors.” He considers for a second, then adds, “You might like it. Poetic.”

Full lips twist upwards. “Maybe I’ll read it next. Her recommendations are usually pretty apt; she gets a good read on people.”

“...How was yours?”

“Hmm.” She pauses, as if thinking it over. “A girl and her mother who get caught up in some bad luck. They inherit an estate - that’s where the title comes from - and supernatural things start happening. It’s kind of a story within a story situation; the grandmother they inherited the house from was an author, so they start going back and reading her writing for clues.”

“...A mystery.” It seems like she’ll read any genre. Mysteries would probably entertain her; she’s always liked to solve things.

She laughs, music to his ears. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It was pretty good. Well written; better than the last one.”

There is a pause.

“...Maybe I’ll read it next,” he echoes, her same words from earlier.

Green sparkles at him, amused before she shifts back towards the firmament.

“...Sounds like a book club.”

It is the most Sakura joke. He huffs a ghost of a laugh as more gauzy clouds drift idly by. It is peaceful, sitting here underneath the same sky as her, observing in easy silence through branches with fresh emerald buds.

And then Sasuke flexes his forearm, shifting slightly, and it still hurts. He considers; she probably won’t mind.

"...I think Naruto cracked my arm bone," he finally confides.

She turns to him, expression fluctuating immediately into one of disquiet, pink brows knotting closer in concern. He blinks and she's standing already, walking over and sitting cross-legged in the nearest open space, an indent in gnarled roots that she navigated through and found a place in as if it were nothing.

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds it out for her to inspect once she’s seated, and she gently rests her fingertips on his forearm.

"It’s from this morning?” Sakura asks, looking concerned in a way that makes his heart thump a little. Or maybe it’s from her hands encircling his skin.

He nods; she must have deduced that they trained earlier. She prods gently before threading green chakra beneath his skin towards the bone, probing for a break.

She frowns. "Oblique fracture in the ulna, though it's very slight and non-displaced.” Her gaze flicks up to him, and all at once, it’s the exam room again, him hyper aware of how close she is to him even though this is clinician Sakura. “I’ll fix it; you really shouldn't have been carrying anything on it."

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to him carrying her books earlier, because he’s thinking about the groceries from the market, which were definitively heavier. Her proximity and the aroma of tart berry and the freckle on her cheekbone are all incredibly distracting. Especially the freckle. He peers at her fingers, glowing verdant, and notices one on the inner portion of her right wrist, too.

"...Sorry." He says finally, flicking his eyes back up to her nervously after a long minute is spent mending marrow back together. She inclines her head back down to his arm, apparently accepting his apology for not mentioning it sooner. It's an odd sensation; he can feel the crack fusing from the inside out, ataractic chakra seeping into the diaphysis to fortify.

He feels like he should clarify, so he adds as she works, eyes fixed on her face which has settled in concentration, “I thought it was just bruised at first.” She nods as if that makes sense, working on it for another minute or so without glancing up.

He hopes she's not mad at him. Sasuke shifts his gaze downwards, something in him sinking.

“Flex it, then bend, please,” she requests, not moving her digits; she must need to feel the arm move to determine if it’s healed. He does as she asks and it’s notedly improved, no lingering pain.

“It’s better. Thank you.” He looks upwards just as she does, hoping the jade will still be soft on charcoal.

It is, startlingly so, and she’s flushing all of a sudden, dropping her hands from his arm and rising to her feet a step away, as if she, too, just realized how close they were. It's different here, daylight and not part of their routine like her entryway is becoming.

“You’re welcome,” she says somewhat hastily, complexion darkening. He’s not sure he’s much better; his neck is warm, and he remembers very specifically where each of her fingers had just been on his skin, like the ten points of contact are singed into his epidermis, and likely his grey matter, too.

As he tries to force his pulse to even out, Sakura adds, softly, “You could have just come in with him.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “...What?”

Sakura blinks, countenance appearing as if she is sorting through a problem in her head. Pink dissolves back to her normal coloring.

“Naruto came in with a slipped back rib, earlier today. I assumed it was from sparring with you.” She rolls her eyes, then. “He went and got groceries before coming in; he had them with him. Luckily nothing chilled; he had to wait for a bit.”

"...He didn't say anything about his rib." Now the slow rising and crouching is making more sense.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a second as if something has become clear, but she only replies, "Ah. Of course."

"...Wouldn’t shut up?"

"...Yeah." She turns away slightly, cheeks stained anew for some reason; it makes him curious what their third teammate babbled to her about. "He said as I was kicking him out that he was going to plant flower bulbs with Hinata this afternoon. He showed me the ones he picked. It’s good timing; the perfect time of year to plant some. Pretty soon it'll be too warm."

He lets those words drizzle slowly into his being, a little gentler than a summer monsoon.

"...Our next Hokage can't pronounce echinacea," he eventually tells her.

She chuckles with mirth, a sweet sound he finds relieving; she must have gathered he was present for that endeavor, now, and she can't be too mad at him if he can still make her laugh. Sasuke inwardly hopes she doesn’t gather that he also got groceries; he doesn’t think she’d be very impressed. It was kind of stupid to do that with a questionable arm, in retrospect.

"No," Sakura acknowledges finally, appearing highly entertained. "And he didn’t know what a perennial was until this morning, yet he’s planting an army of them. Probably without reading the directions."

They look over the village together for a lengthy moment in which he considers text printed on the back of a white package.

Then she says his name, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. "Sasuke-kun.”

He angles to her, and sweet jade is on him again, ebbing seafoam cresting as the late afternoon sunlight hits her.

"Thank you for telling me about your arm. In the future, please come to the hospital, if I'm working. You can wait in my office, if you’d prefer. I don't mind; use the window.” Her expression changes to troubled, and suddenly she is no longer the clinician version of Sakura; everything is tinged with something more, something that burns him in its intensity. “You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts. Even if you think it’s nothing. Please tell me."

Oh. She’s not mad, just worried. Heat grazes his ears, and he swallows, staring down at his forearm.

He wants to be close to her. He really does.

"Okay,” he agrees, and means it, carefully meeting green.

They head down the hill together to seek dinner before the rush hits, deciding to go to the yakitori stand she mentioned when he first returned. She chatters about how Naruto wants to have a bonfire in his backyard, once summer’s here and everything is planted.

“...He’s excited about his yard,” Sasuke comments after they’ve ordered, leaning against the wall of the exterior waiting for their takeout. He requested his without the sauce, since Sakura said it’s on the sweeter side for yakitori.

Sakura grins, and she’s really pretty, shadows of a nearby tree dappling her skin, cheeks still red because he paid. It’s only fair; she’s been feeding him. “Yeah, he is. I’d like to see their flowers and garden in the back, eventually. I’m sure once they’ve got it how they want it, they’ll have all kinds of get-togethers back there. Last year we carved pumpkins at their place, instead of at Ino’s and Sai’s; there’s less mess to clean up if it’s outside. He said today that you should come this year.”

“...What?”

She blinks as if remembering something, then smiles sheepishly. “So I never mentioned this, because it happened after I…” She flushes, and she looks away for a second. “...After I sent a letter for the month already, but Sai learned about this artistic thing they do in the Land of Woods, a couple years ago.” Her gaze shifts back to his. “They hollow out pumpkins and carve designs into them, in late October. Warding off evil spirits as they go into the cooler season or something; they put them on their doorsteps with candles in them so the carvings light up the night. It’s odd, but I think it’s become a tradition now. It’s fun, once you get the hang of it. We roast the seeds with salt and Hinata bakes pumpkin bread.”

That sounds entirely odd and completely characteristic of Sai; he supposes there is the artistic angle to consider. Sasuke passed through the Land of Woods three separate times, but never in the fall. “What kind of designs?”

She smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh; his expression must be that of one who is exceedingly perplexed. He supposes it’s not an expression he wears often. “Well, they’re supposed to be scary, I think, but we don’t really do well at making them that way. They’re more funny or decorative. Sai makes pretty good ones, I guess, mean faces with sharp teeth.”

“...What do you carve?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I tried a leaf, the first year, and a crescent moon the second. Sai and I teamed up to carve one for Kakashi-sensei, too, last year; a scarecrow with a cat.”

A crescent moon is not at all what he would have guessed she’d gravitate towards; he thinks immediately of the Six Paths Yin Seal that once adorned a hand he no longer has. Then he comprehends the final part of that sentence.

“...A cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, he got a cat.”

“...His summons are dogs.”

She giggles. “Yeah, Naruto and I thought it was weird at first, too, but he does kind of seem like he’d be more of a cat person overall, the more we thought about it.” Sakura shrugs. “He’s in the village most of the time now, being Hokage, so I guess he thought he could be around enough to take care of one? They’re more low-maintenance than a dog would be. I usually get tasked with feeding it and changing its litter, when he travels to watch the Chunin and Jonin Exams.”

Momentarily, he wonders if Sakura knows what’s under Kakashi’s mask; their old sensei allowing her into his space in his absence may have given her opportunities for some form of low-key reconnaissance on the matter.

Then his brain seizes on another notion, one that’s far more amusing, because she said she teamed up with Sai, and that can only mean one thing.

“...What does Naruto carve?”

Sakura’s grin widens as if she perceives exactly what thought he’s just had. She probably does; she knows him well. “He’s terrible at it. His never look like anything; just orange mush. He loves it, though, and Hinata puts it on their front step anyway.”

He snorts. Figures.

A bell dings, so they peer back in, and sure enough, their food is ready. Sakura steps forward to collect it, thanking the worker, but as she turns, she pauses.

Sasuke follows her gaze, and sees none other than their third teammate in the street, walking their direction and waving emphatically. He’s wearing a different pair of pants, knees absolutely covered in dirt and grass stains.

“Oi, teme! Sakura-chan!”

Sakura glances up to him before swiveling towards the road, their food in hand; Sasuke trails close behind, pushing apart the hanging banners of the stand as he steps beyond the threshold of the restaurant.

“Naruto,” Sakura greets when they’re out in the open.

“...Dobe.”

“Looks like you’ve planted everything,” Sakura says more than asks, gesturing to his pants as evidence.

“Hehe, yep, all of ‘em! It was work, but it will be worth it, later in the year.” Naruto scratches his head, grinning. Sasuke lets those words sink in, too, drenching dead roots.

“And now you’re getting Hinata yakitori as a treat?” Sakura pushes, seeming incredibly amused.

“Well…” Naruto looks away bashfully, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah. Gotta repay her somehow. She has good ideas. I just follow her lead.” He looks back to them, then. “Did you tell teme about all our awesome plans?”

Sasuke’s focus falls to Sakura, who is flushed, biting her lip in a smile.

“I may have started to.”

“Well, good, because our yard is going to be totally the best, and if he thinks he’s getting out of it...” the dobe points at him accusingly, “Then I’ll kick his ass!”

Sasuke scoffs. “As if you could.”

Sakura shakes her head, pink locks fluttering with the motion. “Always with the physicalities... Anyways, I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.”

An uncommonly stretched pause passes where blue eyes zero in on the food container Sakura is holding, before they travel up to the two of them.

The grin shifts to something remarkably tender.

“...Yeah. I’m sure it will be.” He says it with the utmost confidence, like he is as certain about it as he is about the sun rising tomorrow, and Sasuke gets the sense that he is no longer referring to gardening.

The moment passes, and then Naruto is punching them each on the shoulder respectively and sidestepping away towards the yakitori stand. “Anyways, gotta go, so I’ll catch ya later! I’m guessing you have plans of your own.”

Sasuke blinks as their teammate disappears into the restaurant, ears burning a little. When his vision travels down to his right, Sakura is blushing a dark red. She meets his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

They turn to go to her building. The entire way there, Sasuke considers everything in the beginnings of a green that seems endless, nurtured by people from all walks of life. He has been noticing it this whole time, since his return, but now he's thinking about how dull it would be without it, whether it’s dirt roads or lifeless grey granite. This is not the wilds, where seeds sprout unabated. Here, one must put in the work to grow things, find suitable locations and till the soil.

When they reach Sakura’s apartment, his eye lingers on her plants as he follows her inside. She sets the takeout on the table by her window. A shadow of a leaf from the jasmine above them is cast hazily out of focus on her left cheek.

“Would you like any sauce with yours? I could make some teriyaki sauce quick, or I have lemons I’ll be cutting up anyway for mine.”

“...Lemon?” Citrus complements chicken, he knows, but he understands that to mean she’s planning on putting it on hers, over top of the yakitori sauce.

Her lips curve upwards. “I like it on other things, too. It’s good on yakitori.”

So Sakura slices a lemon and it sits on the center of the table between them as they eat. She drizzles her yakitori with three of them, and he takes the other three. The chicken is pretty good, tart with the citrus and seared alongside green onions. It’s still warm, as it wasn’t a long walk to her place at all, a convenient sort of sustenance.

“...What else do you like lemon on?”

She chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “Hmm, a lot of things. Fish, even ones that are usually served with lime. Pork. I like it on vegetables, too. Salads, pasta, rice. Most desserts that include lemon I like, as well.” She pauses again, and adds, “Lemonade, if it’s homemade.”

No wonder they’re always in her fridge. “...And tea.”

His heart flips at the way she smiles at him.

“...And tea,” she agrees.

They watch the streets fill and empty from her window, finishing the meal in a companionable reticence, smelling faintly of citrus rind and shadowed by greenery from above.

He helps her prepare decaffeinated sencha after, trying not to stare at the freckle on her cheek. He’s pondering this morning further, the notions of impetus and yearning, and also the way she says his name, but this time uttered softly under a cherry blossom tree with an invitation into her office, if something hurts.

Sakura cares about him. A lot. Sasuke knows this, has known for years, but it’s the actions of her affection, the way she expresses it purely and simply as if it’s a true north cascading through her veins, that has inched its way into his bone marrow, engraved on the latibule he carved inwardly to avoid dry swallowing life’s more bitter medicines.

As she stirs sugar and honey into her own cup, she asks, “Care for a chess rematch?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he nods his assent. It’s time to test something.

They arrange the board together at her table. The first round, Sasuke cautiously plans every move, surveying alternating squares and attempting to predict what strategy Sakura will employ. In some instances, he mirrors her, moving a rook a turn after she does, shifting a pawn out of imminent danger, and so on. It’s a very involved way to play, requiring attentive calculation of each move.

It’s a prolonged match that he eventually loses with a final sweeping motion of her remaining bishop, but it’s fairly close.

“...Again?”

She grins and wordlessly starts setting up the pieces she has captured, so he begins to set up hers. It’s an interesting task, a message of opposites, her setting up his dark figures and him setting up her light ones.

The second round, he simply follows his instincts, negating planning ahead farther than a couple of turns. If he gets an impulse to shift a pawn one way, he does. If his gut tells him to move the knight into her territory or to retreat a rook, he goes with it.

It drags on for the better part of an hour, and ends in a stalemate.

The smile she gives him is breathtaking, a broad and warmhearted validation.

“You’re good,” she comments, jade eyes dancing with joy. He gets the impression that it is not often she gets forced into a draw. He wonders who else she plays with. It can't be Naruto, but maybe Sai or Ino also play.

“...So are you.” He is somewhat reassured now. His impulses used to be ruinous, stemming from anger and anxiety and loss, but perhaps his journey helped in that regard. He just needs to make sure they're rooted in the right things, whether it be logic or affection, and then the major task becomes to feel rather than to overthink.

When he kisses her good night in her entryway, another movie watched and plans for tomorrow later, he doesn’t reach for the freckle the first time, though his hand twitches with the longing to. It’s treasured, this tender pressing of lips that feels like dipping a toe into still water. It is imbued with both of her hands resting on his shoulders again, ten fingertips that have him in her grip more than she could possibly fathom.

He studies her eyes when he pulls away, staring down into soft depths of viridescence. He will drown in them someday, he thinks, slowly but surely working up the courage to wade into the deep end.

The second time he kisses her, he lets himself graze her cheek to truly appreciate the difference, allowing acknowledgment of the impulse, compelled forward rather than backward as if bound by some metaphorical form of northern star situated on the rise of her cheekbone.

Sakura leans into his touch once more as she did yesterday, but this time, she brings up her own hand and delicately lets her fingertips rest atop the outside of his, as if she encourages the caress, thumb brushing against his knuckle as his lips gently brush hers. Her other hand stays resting on his clavicle, a tender embrace, osculant in a way he has hoped for countless times, inclusive of this morning.

It is exactly what he needed, a catalyst of encouragement comprised of a heat that is gentle, coaxing, but still brands him all the same.

Maybe it's okay to want to skim her freckles and more, to allow the affinities he has to breathe. They’re together now; it stands to reason they'll one day venture into territory more uncharted, if he can concede to that kind of vulnerability. Not that he’s anywhere near ready for that - he’s not - but his instincts don’t appear to be all disastrously calamitous. Touching her cheek is something she clearly welcomes.

Sasuke gave in to darker tendencies once. Perhaps it's okay to give in to lighter ones; nothing grows in the absence of light, after all. He brushes a thumb across the high point of her cheekbone once more with her hand encompassing his before they part, embracing a new habit prior to whispering good night.

The way she smiles up at him, skin aflush and glimmering eyes, is everything.

XXX

He inspects the stone and the soil surrounding it for a long while, heavy-heartedly trying to ignore the encyclopedia of names in favor of envisioning what it would look like with lilies surrounding it. Less lugubrious, probably. The trajectory of the tree’s shadow would touch the stone in the evening, he sees, now that he’s here in person. He only ever haunts this place after nightfall when there's less chance of someone happening upon him. He wishes it was more secluded for that reason; maybe healing happens in the sunshine, and that’s why he still struggles with coming here after so many years, creature of the night that he is.

Evenings with Sakura feel like healing, though, and they linger after hours consistently. Maybe next time he’ll visit his dead kin at twilight, a brittle sort of compromise.

He'll see if the impulse still grips him tomorrow, and then decide. He knows his mother would like them. Itachi would, too, although it never feels like he's here, not the same way that it feels like the rest of them are, the air weighted with an accursed brand of perfume pouring outward in all directions.

White lilies may be able to touch the light in his stead for the time being. Even if they don’t grow, he at least will know he tried, and there is always next year. By then, he may have the capability of asking Sakura if she would help him; she’s clearly a capable gardener, and there should be less sediment, if he puts in the work.

By the time he leaves for his apartment, a thin layer has loosened.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #i said chapter 7 by the end of august and we cut it kind of close but we made it B)

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