#every frame of this video is more insane than the last

[alexturntable]

personal space? they don’t know her

[byuntrash101]

still your biggest fan. – 송민기.

SYNOPSIS. your boyfriend is on the other side of the globe touring. somehow you fear the cheers of the fans will make him forget about you. so you decide to remind him you are still and will always be his biggest fan

or in which you find a novel way to use your lightstick and send the video to your beloved bf.

mingi x f!reader, smut, mdni

tags. etablished relationship, facetime sex, masturbation (f & m), BLACK UNDERCUT MINGI (!!!!!!!!), jealous + slightly possessive reader, but mingi reassures her (awwww), use of (unconventional) toys (wink wonk im insane pls stop me), pet names, multiple orgasms (f), praises, squirting. wc. 2k

a/n. this mingi has me feral and the concert videos got me in a chokehold. and it's only the first date i need help. also shout out to that one video of yungi saying they use the lightstick to "relax" at night. not proofread.

There was one thing that was absolutely certain about Mingi: that man loved attention. That man lived for the roars of the crowd. When he danced, he was electrified by the cheers of the fans. And you knew your boyfriend was made to be on stage. He enjoyed the attention of fans, hence the fact he was constantly body rolling, hip thrusting and tongue poking. He loved to see the thousands of people thirst for him, he loved looking at all the concert videos all over the internet. He laughed and giggled at the tiktok edits, at the twitter threads, at every comment more over the top than the next.

Usually you don’t mind, you even enjoy them too. You like seeing him happy and fulfilled in his job but today maybe you’re a little insecure. He just flew out to start the American leg of the tour and you’re left behind in this bed that seems so empty. You fear somehow the loud cheers will make him forget about you. You don’t want that. You want to remind him. You want to make sure that today when he goes to sleep the last thing he sees is you. 

You looked at the time, your eyes darted to the digital clock on your night stand. At this time he was probably already at the hotel. It was pretty late for you but you wanted to send him a little treat, you knew how Mingi loved when you sent him videos of you playing with yourself and today you might add a little twist. 

You didn’t have much time if you wanted him to see the video before he slept…

***

Mingi was spent, true. But he was still pumped full of adrenaline when he stepped out of the shower with the ends of his raven black hair wet, the longer strands of his undercut dripping down. He didn’t even bother stepping into his pajamas, the AC was off and this part of the world in July was pretty hot. 

He tucked himself in bed, still wide awake. He looked at his phone, a text from you from several hours ago when you went to bed. You were probably sleeping right now. He debated responding, fearing he would wake you. But he pictures you pouting when you’d wake up in a few hours without a response from him and he couldn’t bear to make you feel that way so he typed a quick answer. 

🎀 princess #2: hope the show goes well (ik it will because you gonna kill it cause you the best😌). i lob you. you know that right? dont forget about me ok? <33333333

👸princess minki (real): i could never baby i love you more. hope you have a great day and i miss you baby <3

then for a second the three little dots appeared and Mingi thought he hallucinated it. But then an other text appeared.

🎀 princess #2: i’ll always be your first and your biggest fan

Mingi didn't even have time to reply that he received a video file. He faintly gasped at the thumbnail. It was your legs spread out on his bed. The big play button in the middle of the frame though blocked out the most interesting part and he didn’t even breathe before he played the video.

He continued to hold his breath when he saw you rub your clit throught your white panties. He didn’t know how long you did played with yourself but your panties were completely see through. Your juices were sticking to your folds, the laces barely concealing you anymore. But still, he needed these damn panties out of the way. 

He wanted to see you. His hand found his cock on instinct, immediately palming his hardening bulge. And his prayers were answered. You pushed the panties to the side uncovering the most beautiful sight Mingi had ever layed eyes on. He exhaled a long sigh when long strings of slick connected you to the thin fabric of the underwear. How bad he wanted to be there, to stuff your soaked panties into your mouth while he thrusted his thick fingers into you. How bad he wanted to feel you twitch around him. How bad he wanted to hear his name fall from your quivering lips as he brought you to your peak. He wanted you so bad.

But then you grabbed hold of something, something that emitted light… The lightiny? Mingi’s jaw hung open when he saw you bring the handle to your center, rubbing it through your folds, coating it with your juices before bringing it up to your hard clit playing with a little, prying beautiful muffled sounds out of your mouth. Just to bring the handle down again, you took a firm grip of the rounded part and pushed the handle inside your trembling core. 

“Fuck” Mingi exhaled as he started pumping his balled fist around his now fully hard cock, he kicked the covers off him just to be able to jerk himself off without resistance. 

“Nghhh” you moaned quietly as you bottomed out. “M-Mingi are you watching?” As if you could see him, Mingi nodded vigorously, qmd you gave more purpose to the coming and going of his wrist. “Keep watching me. K-keep- fuck aaaah. Keep looking at me. I’ll make myself cum for you, ok?”

“Fuck yes baby I wanna see it all.” Mingi replied in a strangled breath, his hand going to play with balls, while his other hand held the phone incredibly close to his face. if he could have he would have gone through the screen and right into you. 

You started to slowly bounce on the lightstick. You were obviously already really worked up, your pussy was clenching down on the shiny copper handle and the light was perfectly shining on your hard clit, making it obvious that you were pretty close. Red and swollen, ready to explode. Just how he liked.

So you did. In a few seconds your thighs were trembling and your movement became uneven. You started to squirt small translucent spurts, one then two.

“Fuck baby you’re so fucking hot” Mingi breathed and pumped himself faster. 

You took the copper handle out and rubbed your clit in tight and fast circles, squirting more translucent liquid and soaking the sheets. Your center quivering around nothing. You slowed down with a sigh and the video stopped.

Mingi felt like he was going to sink into eternal darkness and despair if he didn’t see more of you right now. His cock was twitching in his strong fist, his cockhead was leaking so much precum he wanted you to see him too. He wanted you to know what you did to him.

So he pressed FaceTime. It rang once, twice then you picked up. You looked disheveled and short of breath. Fuck how fucking beautiful you were. Mingi wanted to kiss you all over this pretty face of yours.

“Why do you torture me?” he said a little more whiny than anticipated. 

He was so cute with wet hair and his eyebrows meeting on his forehead. He flipped the camera to show you his swollen cock, hard, red and leaking. You bit you lip at the mouth watering sight.

“I just wanted you to remember me. That's all.” you started, your hand finding your folds once again. “Remind you I will always be your biggest fan”

“Fuck how could I forget about you? Are you insane?” he breathed out, his voice sounded strained, in pain almost. You could only imagine how worked up he was and this urgency in his tone compelled you to find a new angle to the video call. You balanced it on the covers and your wet pussy and the mess you made came into view again.

“Fuckkkk” Mingi sighed again, trying his hardest not to be too loud. San was next door and the last thing he wanted was for him to bring up his little intimate session with you tomorrow at breakfast. “You’ve made such a mess. I usually hate it but God I’d give everything to sleep in the wet spot tonight”. You saw him jerk himself off faster, his thumb spreading the precum all over his tip and dragging it down his shaft. Squeezing the head the bring out even more and repeat it again. 

“Please show me again” he didn’t intend to sound so desperate but it couldn’t be helped because he in fact was that desperate for you. “Please show me how you fuck yourself with the lightiny”

“O-okay” You brought it back and stuffed it inside your clenching little pussy with a sigh, your other hand spreading your lips apart, making sure Mingi had the first raw VIP view of the show. 

“Fuckkkk” he whined again. “You’re so fucking nasty for me, doll”

You chuckled, knowing your little scheme had worked. You knew right now he was only thinking of you. Completely pussy drunk even though he was thousands of miles away.

“I wish it was you inside me right now, Mingming”

“Fuck me too baby” he said strangling his cock tighter, more precum oozing out again. He was close judging by the way he kept on twitching in his own hand. The sight urged you to bounce harder on the handle of the lightstick, your pussy clenching around it, gliding so smoothly in and out of you while your other hand kept on abusing your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Baby I-I’m close” he said, a certain rasp about his voice that was only giving more weight to his words. His fist was frantically moving along his cock, now mainly focussing on his tip, making the poor thing absolutely miserable: all wet and beet red, close to bursting.

“M-me too” you said,  feeling the familiar knot in the pits of your stomach approaching its rupture point. The premise of your orgasm manifested itself in the form of an other small sprut of transparent liquid “Nggghh fuck-” you gasped. “I’m c-cumming again” you whined, rubbing your clit faster, in thighter circles. You ripped the handle out of you and one big squirt came out of your abused little pussy, joining the existing mess in Mingi’s sheets. 

“Oh fuck baby” Mingi couldn’t peel his eyes of the screen. “Fuck baby me- Fuck… Me too” He watched as your thighs became weak and as your pretty little pusy gushed out more and more fluids. You were the hottest thing he’s ever seen. And he couldn’t possibly take it anymore. He let himself go. He abruptly stop stroking himself just to let the first big rope of cum sprout out of his slit and crash over his stomach. You moaned louder at the sight. He kept on stroking again, milking more delicious cum out of his twitching red cock, completely repainting his stomach with thick and white cum, grunting as his hips involuntarily thrusted upwards until it all stopped.

When he had caught his breath he approached the phone to show his stomach and scooped some of his spillage between his fingers. 

“Look what you did to me? Just cause you got a little jealous of the fans?” he chuckled.

“I did that?” you said appalled, “No you did that! Stop making me jealous and it won't happen again” He flipped the camera again and you couldn't help but to smile mindlessly at the screen. He was a complete wreck, sharp eyes half lidded, bottom lip swollen and red from being bitten and strands of black hair sticking to his forehead. This haircut made him ridiculously hot. A mischievous smirk pulled at his full lips.

“Or…” he trailed off. “I don't this stop and you make me dirty sexy videos after every show”

“Yeah” you said, sarcasm tinting your voice. “Let's see you do that! We’ll see how it goes when you came back” you challenged him. Your smile sent shivers down Mingi’s spine. He loved you but you definitely could be scary sometimes.

“You know what, I changed my mind. I'll just behave and you can reward me when I get home.”

want more? try my fic facetime ♡

SYNOPSIS. mingi has a small favor to ask you real quick.

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[cheolism-archive]

THE MONSTER IN THE CLOSET

✿ — incubus!xu minghao x reader ❀ — summary: there's nothing the demon in your closet loves more than when you fall asleep. inspiration from dpr ian's "don't go insane": that's when the lights turned on and you were just a lie. ✿ — wc is approx. 2.5k ❀ — genre: smut, incubus x reader ✿ — warnings: an incubus is a demon that has sex with someone while they are sleeping. as such, be mindful that this fic has themes of dub-con and somnophilia; it is stated minghao cannot have sex with the reader unless they give consent, though they are still sleeping. possessiveness, jealousy, innocence kink, dark!minghao. fingering, body worship. if you do not like, do not read. ❀ — rating: 18+. minors do not interact. ✿ — note: cameos by seungcheol n ian ^^

he watches as you prepare for bed. you’re so cute about it; you’re wearing those fluffy pajama bottoms that warm your legs and trap heat between your thighs; your sleep shirt hangs loosely from your frame. you adjust your pillows and push back the blankets before climbing in, humming along to the song playing from your phone speakers. 

you straighten out the blankets and pull them back over you, fitting them snugly around your form. no matter -- he can fix that later. for an hour he waits, watching. you watch some video on your phone, giggling softly every few minutes, brushing your hair back away from your face. 

eventually, you set your alarm and push your phone to the corner of the bed. you stretch out, humming. then you pull up the blankets all the way to under your chin, concealing your body from him. again, no matter; that can be fixed. 

it’s one of those nights where you fall asleep quickly. he watches as your breathing evens out, watches as your body fully relaxes back into the sheets. your face smooths out, sinking into a beautiful sort of innocence that makes his heart hammer in his chest. 

you’re completely asleep

minghao moves from the closet, though he doesn’t press open the door and the floor doesn’t protest beneath his weight as he moves to your bed. he’s been in this apartment long enough that it’s accepted him as part of itself. it does not reveal him from behind the closet door, does not squeak beneath his bare feet as he walks. minghao is part of the apartment, now, just as it is him. 

if he has his way -- and he will -- you will follow suit. 

you’re cute, he thinks again. your jaw is slack from sleep, and every few minutes your lashes flutter like butterfly wings. he wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

minghao reaches, and -- there it is, there’s your dream. you’re running through a department store with someone he doesn’t know -- and again he reaches -- ah, a high school classmate you haven’t seen since graduation. minghao watches as you grab a stuffed elephant off of the shelf. it’s a vivid violet. you turn to talk to someone and this time it’s just a face your dreams have conjured up. you look back to your arms, but the stuffed elephant had somehow fallen from your grasp and onto the floor. you reach down and pick it up, squeezing it. 

how cute. 

minghao couldn’t help but chuckle. you were so adorable, so innocent. your daydreams, though out of his realm of control, are ones he often finds himself enamored in. your daydreams are filled with a quaint house with flower boxes underneath its windows, of a lawn with green grass and a bird feeder so you can watch the cardinals and sparrows.

the last one daydreamed about a penthouse apartment and gucci purses. they hadn’t been as simple as you, as innocent. they weren’t as delicious to take. 

minghao kneels onto the bed, the blankets shifting beneath him. you have the weighted blanket you got for christmas thrown over your duvet. his fingers twitch. minghao likes the weighted blanket just as much as he likes those fluffy pajama bottoms, likes how it traps heat, likes how drowsy it makes you, likes how much easier it makes it for him to take control. 

minghao settles on your thighs. he can’t see the shape of you due to the blankets, but it was fine. more often than not you end up stumbling into the bedroom half naked or, delightfully, entirely naked, and he can just get his fill of you then. 

he pushes his hands through the blankets. just as he had presumed, your body is warm. he doesn’t yet push through your pajama bottoms. instead, minghao takes his time. he runs his hands down along your arms, grabs your hands and pushes them up to be level with your shoulders. 

your dream shifts according to his touch. there’s a man, now -- minghao wrinkles his nose in disgust. you never dreamt of him, of course; you couldn’t see him. you never have seen him. you can’t dream of him because you have never seen him. he can influence your dreams, sure; can fuck your cunt and your dreams will follow suit. your dreams will respond to what’s happening to you, but because your eyes are shut and you’ll never ever see him, he’ll just have to deal with the fact that as he smooths his hands down over your arms that you imagine some tall and handsome man with thick dark brows and plump lips. 

he hovers, dropping his face in front of yours. he takes you in. he tries to remember the exact color of your eyes, tries to imagine what they would look like as he bears down on you. 

minghao hums, voice dark and deep. “how’s this feel, angel? hm?”

you sigh in your sleep. your lashes flutter. you turn your face, unknowingly, towards him. 

“this okay?” he trails his fingers down over your stomach. “this all okay, sweetheart?”

you hum, a slight noise. 

minghao huffs. “you have to be clear with me, angel. it’s been months of doing this -- you know what you have to do by now.”

your dream shifts. the man shifts. he’s broad and lean, tanned skin and black hair that hangs around his face. he’s covered in tattoos, from the base of his neck to the tips of his fingers. he’s pushing down against you, large hands running over your body. 

your dream self mirrors your real self. you arch up into minghao’s touch, another sigh leaving your lips. softly, like the kiss of an angel, you breathe out a sweet “yes”. 

his body hums, coming alive. he can feel adrenaline and power sink into him, can feel his cells and blood come alive and throb. you’ve given your consent for the night, given your consent to be his. 

which means he can take. 

minghao lets out a breathy moan, and then he’s tucking his face into your neck. your skin is warm and smells like your body soap. he moves his hands along your body. he brushes past your sleep shirt, feeling your tits. he cups each of them, holding their perfectly heavy weight in his hands. you’re so warm all over, and your tits are no exception; they’re slightly sweaty from the heat trapped by your shirt and blankets. minghao shifts your tits in his hands, fingers brushing against the soft skin of your under boob, relishing in the velvet feel, in the heat. 

some nights when you don’t want to fuck he just does this. just holds your tits, let their weight ground him. just pretends. pretends he wasn’t trapped to this bedroom, pretends your innocent, wide-eyed looks were for him and no one else. 

but you gave your consent, and so -- 

and so his hands eventually smooth down your torso. he lays along your body, just feeling. some nights you get impatient when he does this, when he feels you for ages before fucking you. tonight, however, you sigh and seem to bloom beneath his touch. 

his little flower, minghao thinks. his little precious angel, his sweet little flower. 

minghao moves his hands further and further down your body. your knees shift beneath the blankets, knocking against him. he reaches -- you are faintly aware of there being pressure in your cunt, aware of the want that thrums through your body and seems to electrify your cunt, despite being asleep. 

his hands press against the hem of your pajamas. minghao runs his hands along the furry fabric. in your dream the man is pressing between your legs, hands smoothing over your bare thighs. 

minghao pushes between your thighs. you move just enough for him to fit, but it’s tight. no matter. he likes it when you’re tight. 

he slides one of his hands between your thighs. fuck -- if it was warm beneath your tits it was practically a heavenly blaze here, heat trapped and that electricity in your cunt, that lust, bubbling out and into him. 

you shifted again, thighs squeezing tight around his hand. he can feel it when you clench them, knows you’re clenching your cunt to try and alleviate some of that pure want. 

“poor angel,” minghao murmurs, “filled with so much lust. so sweet and innocent, so fucking needy.”

he sinks his hand forward, and then his fingers are pressing through your pants and underwear and sliding between the lips of your cunt. you were absolutely soaked, drenched in your pussy juices. minghao wonders if you would be humiliated by how wet you are just from him touching you. 

minghao pushes his hand just so, two of his fingertips slipping into your cunt. immediately you’re clenching, hips grinding down and searching for more relief. 

minghao drops his head against your chest, muffling his laughter. no one has ever been as reactive to his touch as you. he loves it. he adores you. 

he moves his free hand to your cunt. he doesn’t move his fingers in your cunt, keeping them just barely in your hole. you’re getting desperate -- he can feel it, can feel the desperation begin to color your soul and your dream. but then he presses his thumb against your clit, against that slick little bundle of nerves, and your mouth is dropping open and a loud moan bubbles out of your throat. 

minghao laughs, not bothering in being quiet. you won’t wake up anyways. you’re so loud and needy despite this all being, to you, a dream, despite him not being something tangible to you. he wonders what you would be like if he could really touch you, wonders if you would scream and cry under his touch as easily as you moan and whimper now. 

for a few minutes he just watches, eyes greedily taking you in. in real life, on your bed, your hips shift minutely, not enough to fuck yourself on his hand but enough for your clit to slide against his finger. in your dream the man is teasing you, fingertips just barely fucking into your cunt, and you’re so desperate. 

it’s so sweet. you’re so sweet. minghao wishes he could just have a bite --

he slides his fingers into your cunt entirely. your pussy is warm and wet and even though he’s never stepped foot into heaven he knows it’s not as good as your cunt. you squeeze around his fingers and he wants, desires, lusts, yearns so much. 

your pussy walls are tight around his fingers, clenching down. he knows, instinctively, were your core is. minghao fucks into your cunt with his fingers, striking that spot every time, his thumb flicking against your clit in rhythm. 

and fuck, you’re so cute. you’re whining in your dream, whimpering; small moans escape your lips in real life. your thighs are tight around him, and your cunt begins squeezing down on his fingers so tightly that he can barely move them --

and he wants so badly for it to be his cock in your cunt. 

minghao withdraws his fingers, slides three back in. your head tosses against your pillow. in your dream you’re moaning loudly, high and keening. you’re so beautiful and perfect, lust coursing through your veins and seeping out your cunt and minghao feels high, feels your want seeping into his veins and power stirring in his gut. 

you give him power like no one else; you deserve a reward. 

minghao pushes your thigh up and over his shoulder, fingers pressing into your flesh. he presses his face against your pussy, breathing in. you smell so wonderful here, too. he just wants to bask in it, wants to keep his face here, against your pussy, for millennia. 

he doesn’t, though. eventually minghao runs his tongue up your cunt, from where his fingers are wedged in your pussy hole still to your clit. you shiver underneath him. in your dream you’re begging for the man, hands twisting in the sheets. 

it’s a curse, sometimes, he thinks. minghao thinks it’s a curse that he can see how you’re reacting to his ministrations in your dreams, can see how you whine and beg and cry. he can see how you would react to him. but he can also see how even though you’re asleep your body, your real body, the one that’s asleep, still responds to him, pleasure so great that even subconsciously you’re seeking him out. 

minghao sucks at your clit, tongue rubbing against it. you whine softly, head turning against your pillow once more. your whines are so cute, you’re so cute. 

he moves his fingers in and out, in and out, of your pussy as he sucks at your clit. you push against his face. he can feel your walls flutter around his fingers, he can feel, knows, how your orgasm is beginning to build and build. the desire in you is so thick that he can taste it, both literally and figuratively, and it seeps underneath his skin. 

minghao begins kissing your clit the same way he would kiss your mouth if he could. he mouths against your clit, runs his tongue over it and suckles. in your dream you’re becoming frantic; on the bed you’re desperately clenching around his fingers, trying to grind down, trying to reach it, trying to throw yourself off the cliff and fall into the ocean, trying to chase your orgasm. 

you’re so beautiful, minghao thinks. he wants you, he wants to so fucking much. he wanted you last night and wants you tonight and tomorrow night and every night for the rest of your fucking life, he wants to devour you and trap you, wants to feel your flesh in his hands and your pussy juices on his tongue for the rest of eternity, he fucking wants --

there’s a loud banging noise as one of the stupid neighbors drops something in the apartment above you. 

you flinch -- you, on the bed, flinch, and then you’re awake. 

minghao is flung from your dream. he can no longer touch you. he’s still thrumming with power, from the lust your body had given him, but he knows it’s not enough, knows that he’s still so fucking hungry for you. 

he wants to fucking kill those assholes in the apartment above you as you push back the blankets and toss your feet over the side of the bed. you’re frowning, and he watches as you tilt your hips downward and rut against the bed. 

“oh,” you say, blinking. minghao watches from the bed as you stand, going to your dresser. he knows what’s there -- knows the vibrant gel dildo you keep -- and he thinks for a split moment that this isn’t so bad, that he’ll at least get to watch you fuck yourself. 

but then you hum and move past the dresser and into the hall, where he can’t follow. 

and minghao seethes with rage at your orgasm being ripped from his hands. your lust gives him power and your orgasms even more so, and beyond that he just wants to see you cry as an orgasm comes over you. 

he stands up from the bed, bare feet against the cold floor. he walks back to the closet, sinking into the darkness. 

ah, well. he’ll just have to try tomorrow. 

[generalluxun]

Marinette and Clumsiness

So I reblogged the snarky 'clumsy in fiction' post and tagged it ML, but I don't think I've ever posted about it before and I want to, because my take isn't just skin deep on this. It goes all the way to the S5 finale.

Marinette *should* have been Clumsy in ML, not 'fiction clumsy' where she drops things and the laugh track plays, but actually bad at agility. Give her dexterity. The girl sews and crafts relentlessly. Give her nimble fingers, but terrible feet.

Why?

Well the obvious is 'Then it's a real trait and not your 'get out of Mary Sue free' card, but it goes into more than that.

Adrien is agile. He's a top tier fencer. If she is not it is a way they can complete each other. Allow Adrien to be not the best at dexterity based things. Marinette beats him at video games. The last time he tried to thread a needle, Nathalie had to cut his hands free.

Romcom gold, and narrative elements that are useful- because they can carry over to superhero mode.

Sure the Miraculous can compensate to a degree, but have this divide matter because the degree of precision needed is also more. There are tasks they need each other for, let this stand out. Notably- Ladybug should never be much of a fighter.(good vs humans/thugs/wacky monsters but not in a straight up fight) She's the thinker! She plans things, punching is a big part of Cat Noir's role.

The show kind of falls into these roles, but it also subverts them whenever push comes to shove. Reflektdol was a perfect opportunity for Lady Noire to actually struggle defending Mr. Bug as much as he had to struggle planning. Instead she just does everything better. 😩

So I mentioned the S5 finalé and why is this relevant? Because if we let this clumsiness/weakness stand it can reframe the finale fight into something actually much more sympathetic to Marinette/Ladybug.

The decision was already made not to have a clean 'happy ending', so we could skip the girlbossing and up the dramatic tension. Marinette isn't going in with a plan. She's responding to a chance encounter she really can't escape. She may have more power but she doesn't have her partner -Her shield.

The battle with Monarch could have been a struggle-in-retreat for Bugganoire. Every exchange Monarch throwing overwhelming power at her and Bugganoire using her wits and lucky charms to narrowly escape only for Monarch to throw something new at her.

Have taking the fight down to the lair be Monarch's doing. Have it symbolize in the moment how his own carelessness opens up the ones he loves to hurt.

When Bugganoire drops an elevator on Emilie this time, we've established she's overwhelmed, cornered, and desperate. She's at her wits end (and considering all she's been put through, zero people can blame her)

Begging Gabe to stop(he still has half the Miraculous) and trying to reach out to him can be framed a trying to normalize a world that has just gone insane from her point of view. Marinette ~~before the end of season 5~~ believes in people. Clinging to that in a desperate hour makes sense. Letting her guard down makes sense because she *has to* in order for the world to still make sense to her.

And so when she's betrayed and all else happens... her cavalcade of poor choices ALSO make more sense. She's making them not as a top-of-her-game girlboss but as a hero who just faced insanity and hasn't had time to pick up the pieces because the world(and her loved ones) need her.

All this- from just letting Marinette be clumsy.

[quickcharlie]

Denis Villeneuve discussing Dune Part 2 in an interview with the New York Times today, including whether he will be reading any FeydPaul fan fiction lol

He explains why Lady Jessica’s face is so heavily tattooed, whether Paul considers himself the Messiah and what he thinks of those Javier Bardem memes.

This weekend, “Dune: Part Two” muscles back into IMAX theaters with the verve of Timothée Chalamet rodeo- riding a giant sandworm. After nearly two months in theaters, the film is the current champion of this year’s box office race, with a total take of more than $680 million. (It’s also available to rent or buy on some streaming platforms.) The film’s success is thanks in part to audiences that have returned over and over to get lost in the rocky warrens and spiritual reckonings of the planet Arrakis. One admirer reports he’s seen the movie 25 times to date.

That there’s so much to explore in “Dune: Part Two” is a credit to its writer and director, Denis Villeneuve, who boldly reshaped Frank Herbert’s complex and cerebral 1965 novel “Dune.” Villeneuve split the book and its themes into two films: “Dune: Part One,” released in 2021, focused on the political struggles between two families, the Atreides and the Harkonnens. “Part Two” delves into religious fervor as the two surviving Atreides, young Paul (Chalamet) and his mother, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), ingratiate themselves with Arrakis’s Indigenous desert tribe, the Fremen, by allowing the locals to believe that Paul is their Messiah — a prophecy that, if it comes to pass, will mean the slaughter of billions of victims across the galaxy.

Villeneuve has yearned to tell this story since he was a in . His devotion is palpable; every frame feels steeped in monkish contemplation. Yet, he’s also a visual dramatist who doesn’t want audiences to get tripped up by too much exposition. His scripts give only passing mention to core concepts like spice, a psychedelic dust that powers everything from space travel to Paul’s clairvoyant hallucinations.

Though Villeneuve doesn’t want to overexplain, he was willing to provide some answers in an interview via video where every question about the film — even silly questions! — was on the table.

Does Chalamet’s Paul Atreides actually believe he’s the Messiah? What’s the meaning of Jessica’s face tattoos? Villeneuve also got into the erotic lives of his desert dwellers and the extra narrative weight he threw behind Paul’s Fremen love interest, Chani, played by Zendaya. As Villeneuve said with a grin, “Chani is my secret weapon.”

Here are edited excerpts from our conversation.

The last time we spoke, you weren’t sure what to make of the sandworm-shaped “Dune” popcorn bucket. It went on to be so popular that it sold out in cities before opening day and is being resold online for around $175. What do you think of it now?

I thought that the bucket was an insane marketing idea. I laughed so much. It is so out there. I don’t know who designed it, but they’re a bit of a genius. I’m at peace with the bucket.

In this film, Javier Bardem’s character Stilgar is reduced to a guileless follower of Paul Atreides, who Stilgar believes is the new Messiah. His conversion is tragic. But also, Bardem’s awe-face has become a funny meme, and the second time I saw the movie, people laughed at almost every line he spoke. Did that reaction surprise you?

No. I am very happy when you say that he is a tragic figure. For me, he is the most tragic figure of all. The idea to bring humor to Stilgar was to make him lovable, to feel the humanity in that character. He’s not an austere figure, he has a big heart. But his beliefs, his faith, his reactions bring humor — and that is something I love about making a sci-fi film, because I can talk about that without offending people because it’s a fake religion. I designed all the prayers myself, so I know it’s fake. I find Stilgar very funny. And when people laugh, I’m happy because that was the intention.

Someone makes a dig that Stilgar has found a savior again. This is not even his first time? All his life he has been raised with that dream. So I suggest that every time a guy comes from outside with a lot of charisma, he hopes he’s found him. Like in the Bible, we have tons of prophets before Jesus came.

The arc of “Dune: Part Two” is Paul accepting that he must become the Messiah — and get billions of people killed. Does he truly believe that he is the Messiah? Or does he just decide to let the Fremen believe that he is? I don’t think he believes that he is the Messiah. I think he feels the burden of the heritage that the Bene Gesserit [the mystical sisterhood that Jessica belongs to] have laid among the Fremen, and he sees the potential to use that religious power to survive. Paul is warned that no man can survive drinking the spiritual water of life. But as that’s part of the lore of a planet seeded with manipulative propaganda by his own mother, I have to ask: Have other men actually been drinking the water and dying? Have they been scared off from trying? Is the warning just a setup for a magic trick?

There are people that have tried it in the past and died. In Frank Herbert’s world, femininity is a power. I think Herbert was fascinated by motherhood, by the power of creation. I love this idea that the power is held by women. It’s something that was ahead of his time when he wrote it and I tried to put the focus on it. You say so much with Jessica’s costuming. In the first film, her look is immaculate and baroque. This film begins with her in rags, but she finds another path to being dressed and treated like royalty. And she gets a lot of tattoos on her face. Why did she get so many more face tattoos than the outgoing reverend mother?

She’s trying to play on the symbolism that was put in the prophecy. She’s supposed to be the mother of the Messiah, so I wanted to bring the idea that she was like the pope of the reverend mothers on Arrakis. There’s some kind of madness in writing elements of the prophecies on her face. Frankly, I think when you drink the worm poison, it affects your sanity — and the same with Paul. I like the idea that we feel she’s going too far. Jessica is already pregnant when the first movie ends, and she’s still pregnant at the end of this film. Which means you had to condense this massive story into less than nine months because her body is a time clock. The idea was to compress the book so that Paul will feel the pressure to get the Fremens’ trust, to start gearing up — but not to succeed, not to have the time to create a real war. Time is against him.

Because in the book, this takes years. Long enough for Jessica to give birth to a very unnerving daughter, Alia. We glimpse Alia as an adult — she’s played by Anya Taylor-Joy — but you skipped over seeing her murder people as a toddler. Was it hard to decide no “murder toddler”?

I think pregnant women look tremendously powerful. To use that power was very exciting. And usually when you see a pregnant woman onscreen, she’s always giving birth. To avoid that moment, to stay in the state of being pregnant, I thought was very Frank Herbert-like. I was going away from the killer toddler, but I thought that was more fresh and original. Honestly, it’s one of the things that I’m proudest of in the adaptation. Speaking of female power, let’s talk about Chani.

Chani is my secret weapon. Frank Herbert was sad to realize that people saw the book as a celebration of Paul Atreides. He wanted to do a cautionary tale against messianic figures, a warning against blending religion and politics. I wrote the second movie trying to be more faithful to Frank Herbert’s intentions than to the book. In the book, Chani is just a follower. I came up with the idea of her being reluctant. She gives us the critical distance and perspective on Paul’s journey. I wanted to make sure the audience will understand that Paul becomes a dark figure, that his choices are exactly what Chani was afraid of. He becomes the colonizers the Fremen were fighting against. And then the movie becomes the cautionary tale Frank Herbert was wishing for.

Paul makes a choice at the end that will go on to kill billions of people. That’s so large and theoretical that it’s hard to grasp. But you structure your climax so that in that moment of betrayal, he’s also betraying the love of his life — a betrayal we understand.

He betrayed her in many ways. But the big thing for Chani is that it’s not about love. It’s about the fact that he becomes the figure that will keep the Fremen in their mental jail. A leader that is not there to free the Fremen, but to control them. That’s the tragedy of all tragedies. Like the Michael Corleone of sci-fi, he becomes what he wanted to avoid. And he will try to find a way to save his soul in the third part.

But “Dune Messiah,” the book your third film is based on, picks up 12 years later with a reunited Paul and Chani. How far did you feel you could push her anger? Because at some point, she’s going to have to forgive him. That anger is tremendous. I don’t want to reveal what I’m going to do with the third movie. I know exactly what to do. I’m writing it right now. But there’s a lot of firepower there and I’m very excited about that decision. In the spirit of no dumb questions, Chani says that Paul sand-walks like a drunk lizard. Which means Arrakis has booze?

Actually, there is spice beer. In the book, there are Fremen parties, even some orgies involving spice. I didn’t bring that into the movies because it’s PG-13.

Body fluids have significance to the Fremen. Spitting is the giving of water, a sign of respect. But tears and vomit are a waste. So what is kissing?

As long as you don’t lose your humidity, you can kiss. It’s an exchange of fluids — an act of love, when you think about it. Fremens love to kiss.

What about the, um, other romantic fluids? You cannot have sex outside, for sure. But they are very sexual. I suspect that all sexual intercourse happens in environments that are protected from losing moisture. When they are in their sietches [or caves] underground, those are sealed. You don’t need to wear stillsuits inside them. We can deduce from that there is no problem to have sex in a sietch.

By the way, who decided that Fremen was pronounced Freh-men and not Free-men? All the pronunciations, I took them from recordings of Frank Herbert’s voice. Frank Herbert used “Freh-men,” which I love. It makes it less on-the-nose.

You kept two major characters out of the first movie and only introduced them now: the princess Irulan, played by Florence Pugh, and the Baron Harkonnen’s nephew Feyd-Rautha, played by Austin Butler. The princess is the first voice in the books, the first face onscreen in David Lynch’s “Dune” [1984]. What made you sure holding them back was the right move, despite three years of fans asking, “Hey, where are they?” When people ask me what was the biggest challenge in making those movies, it’s writing them. In order to make this adaptation, we have to make big, bold decisions. One was that the first movie should be seen from Paul’s perspective. I wasn’t able to do that entirely because I had to go to the Harkonnens’ side to introduce them so that the story will be clear, but I tried to find an elegant simplicity in the story structure. And I wanted, frankly, to keep some firepower for the second movie.

Why is Feyd-Rautha’s gladiator scene in black and white? And what are the splats in the sky above the dome?

Frank Herbert explores the impact of ecosystems on cultures, on humans. How it influences the way we evolve — our biology, culture, technology, mythology, religion. The psychology of a tribe is linked with their environment. If you want to know things about the Fremen, you observe the desert. I wanted to have the same approach to the Harkonnens. They killed nature. It’s a plastic planet. One thing left was sunlight, but instead of a sun that reveals color, it kills colors. When you are outside, it’s all black and white. It gives us ideas about how these people perceive reality, politics, violence in a binary world — it brings the idea of fascism. It also gave me the opportunity to bring images that remind us in our memories of World War II and the Nazi regime. So it’s an idea that I had as I was writing. Then I had the idea to have strange fireworks in the sky that will look like Rorschach drawings. It’s a nightmarish celebration. The perception of a dome is not accurate. It’s just that the fireworks reach a certain altitude and then they explode. But it’s true that it looks like a liquid that falls from the sky.

Forgive me if I am not being fair to sadistic, psychopathic Feyd-Rautha. But all of the gladiators were supposed to be drugged for his happy birthday massacre. The one who secretly isn’t puts up a worthy battle. So I assumed that Feyd-Rautha isn’t that great of a fighter. But at the end, he’s the only warrior who is Paul’s equal?

It’s a show. You see that the Harkonnens are very cruel and their society is very paranoiac. His opponent is known in the books as one of the great fighters, Lieutenant Lanville. I tried to show that Feyd is excited to have a real opponent. He has a code of honor, he respects the effort, and he has fun with it. That’s the idea I tried to convey — he’s not a coward.

Audiences might remember that the Bene Gesserit wanted Jessica’s child to be a girl, that Timothée Chalamet’s Paul Atreides was supposed to be female. And they specifically bred Feyd-Rautha to be a male. Were they hoping these youngsters would mate?

Yeah. They are trying to increase the potential of humanity by breeding the best specimen of each tribe or family. A baby between Feyd-Rautha and an Atreides daughter would have brought peace between Harkonnens and the Atreides, and created an über being.

Will you read any of the internet fan fiction spawned by the idea of Timothée and Austin hooking up?

[Laughs] But you know, we approached their fight at the end like some kind of symbolic union. The way their bodies get close to one another, there’s something animalistic, an intimacy, I was looking for.

I rewatched the first film again recently. It opens with a quote in another language: “Dreams are messages from deep.” I love that quote. It feels like how a film resonates, too. But it wasn’t until I had subtitles on at home that I realized who said it. Of all the important characters and cultures to establish, you gave that major moment — the very beginning of your franchise — to an anonymous Sardaukar from the murderous imperial army that we’re cheering to see get killed. Why?

I love your question. The Sardaukar are the dark side of the Fremen. I thought it would be interesting to have a tiny bit of insight that they are not just tremendous warriors, but they have spirituality, philosophical thought. They have substance. Also, their sound was designed by Hans Zimmer. I absolutely loved how it feels like it’s coming from the deep, from the ancient world. Frank Herbert said beginnings are very delicate times. By starting with a Sardaukar priest, I was indicating to the fans that I was taking absolute freedom with this adaptation, that I was hijacking the book. But you also deeply love the book. So when you make these bold changes, do you feel like asking Frank Herbert for forgiveness?

Yes. There’s so many darlings that you kill. An adaptation is an act of violence.

“There’s so many darlings that you kill,” Denis Villeneuve said of filming “Dune,” a book he loved. “An adaptation is an act of violence.”

[project-sekai-facts]

Regarding your post about censorship: I'm like 90% sure most of this is not censorship (they left the entirety of buddy funny as it was. I refuse to believe "partner" is where they draw the line). I've played tons of Japanese video games in official English; the usual standard for translation is, in practice, that it shouldn't be obvious it wasn't originally written in English. Imo, this is the actual difference between "the miles i fell in love with is so cool!" (Not grammatically incorrect but not how actual people speak) and the official. As for it having romantic connotation to begin with, lol you said you got that from looking it up but Google the same thing in English and you will still get only romantic advice because it just assumes you're asking when the appropriate time to say I love you in a relationship is.... It could've been a joke, or a gay allegation, an anime way of speaking, or even nothing. How would you know which? I absolutely do not mean this in a rude way and I'm really sorry if it comes off like that but. I don't think you can comment on the connotations of words or level of casualness without speaking the language yourself.

Same with minoharu; it's (unfortunately) not canon. If she actually said "I love you!!" Regardless of dictionary definitions, it will be read as a romantic confession by most players, and you often say the game likes ambiguity so I take it that's a no. "I like you!" Is rather an awkward thing to yell in english, though. So "you're the best" is what they substitute.

(Please don't blame the translators for stuff this insignificant tbh. Some things in early game may sound clunky, but they've really smoothed out over time in terms of word choice sounding natural (...event names notwithstanding). I've done translations between my first language and English for fun; if you linger on every last word and it's connotations, you will go /insane/ reallyyy quickly. Imo no two words in different languages have the exact same meaning, connotation, use case etc. Ever. Differences of this level are utterly inevitable when games have so much text.)

Anyway. Thanks for all the effort you put into this blog, it's a fantastic one and it's not my intention to be harsh, if it comes off like that please just delete this ask. Don't feel bad about something some stranger on the internet said.

to be honest I don't think it's all censorship either, i just kinda went off on a tangent about things getting removed in translation and i did put in the post reasons why these translations actually are valid (aside from Toya woao because they did leave that one in the card name so it was a deliberate choice to remove it from the story, thereby also removing the reference in the card name). That Asahi post is old and I have done more research into it since, because my JP isn't good so I've gotta make up for it somehow, and literally every dictionary definition and anything I can find for that word frames it as romantic. For the extra mile I checked Japanese dictionaries for languages other than English. I found one thing saying it can be used for an idolisation, but even in that instance the way it's framed in the story is still done in a way that could be viewed as ship tease. In other words, it's probably romantic. Even if he's just talking about the character and not Tsukasa, it has a romantic reading and removing it was a deliberate choice. "The miles i fell in love with is so cool" might sound a bit rough, but it could have still been translated to keep the original context no problem. You could've just done something like "well of course it was cool. i fell in love with miles for a reason" or "it was so cool! as expected of the miles i love". the thing is with writing for a game like this is sometimes people need to say things that in real life you would probably just say in your head. the POV character for this event is Rui so we can't just take a look at the thoughts of the characters, which is why what they're feeling needs to be conveyed through text even if it sacrifices a bit of the realism. especially in a visual novel styled game like this because the characters are limited to a 2D model with limited movement and expression. if this was an anime you could probably get more leeway with what they say because you can convey the character's feelings through various other means (eg: the animated MVs that don't have any dialogue but could convey a story and emotion much better than looking at the in-game version of the scene with no dialogue). Don't worry I don't think you came off as rude and I know I shouldn't really talk about a language I don't speak but I hope the research can at least kind of make up for it.

Minoharu isn't canon I know but it's very obvious that what Minori feels for Haruka goes into romantic territory, whether you like the ship or not. And sure, if you put "I love you" most people would probably read it as romantic by default, but that hasn't stopped the translators before. "You're the best" honestly is a valid localisation that still conveys pretty much the same meaning I just find it odd that "I love you" is removed here, a flashback scene from a point in time where minori and haruka didn't know each other, but is translated with accuracy in multiple interactions between An and Kohane in present day. If Minori and Haruka don't know each other it's slightly less likely that people will interpret it as romantic and slightly more likely that people will interpret it as a simple idolisation but with An an Kohane actually knowing each other and having a close and affectionate relationship the go-to is probably gonna be romantic (which isn't wrong considering the events of BFST and Wishing for Your Happiness, but still sticks out that they left this in here but change it for another couple with heavy romantic subtext).

I'm not blaming this on the translators, they're just doing their job and obviously with localisation you've gotta lose stuff, it's just that some of these are very specific things to cut (eg: any indication of Asahi feeling romantically towards Tsukasa's character and ambiguously Tsukasa himself is completely absent in the official translation). I'm blaming this on the higher ups at sega who get the final say on what is and isn't included in the translation. You can't translate everything directly because languages don't all work exactly the same, especially english and japanese. obviously due to these differences, you're not going to be able to translate everything directly and localisation is necessary (regardless of language) to make it accessible and easy to read for an audience outside the country of origin. but there are gonna be questions raised when a scene is localised to keep the same meaning as the original text aside from one line that removes notable queer subtext. because if they can keep the rest of toya's speech in line with the original but they specifically remove the part about him wanting to stay side-by-side with akito forever and change it to wanting to perform side-by-side, despite the fact they left in the "now on and always" part in his card name, that was removed from the story intentionally. they kept what asahi says to tsukasa with the same meaning as well, but any indication of asahi feeling romantically towards the other is completely gone. the issue is that sega seems to be intentionally removing queer subtext from the game.

don't worry anon this wasn't harsh, and localisation is something that actually interests me and i've read into quite a bit, so i enjoy the opportunity to talk about it. and thank you as well!

[corporatefrog]

╰┈➤ Welcome Back to the Channel part 29; like and subscribe

✧.* featuring yn setting up for their newest youtube video when a few unexpected guests arrive : ̗̀➛ notes - this is the last chapter! thank you guys so much for joining me during the journey of this story. I haven't finished a fic in years so it feels so good to write that final line. I left it pretty open ended to be ready for extra chapters in the future!! I could say a bunch more about how thankful I am for people reading this story and how much it's help me work through the past month but i'll let the chapter do that :) tags - college au, superhero au, smau

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Okay. Let’s do this. 

“Hey guys! We’ve got a really special video today!” I greeted with a beaming grin, micking a high five with the camera. So far so good. “We’re going to be doing an interview I’ve been waiting to make for a long time…” I paused for effect before moving to the side, revealing today’s special guest. 

“Say hello to Mysterion!” I exclaimed with applause. I’d add some cheering effects while editing but without it, it sounded a bit empty. 

Looking back at Kenny, a laugh burst from my mouth at the expression on his face. He’d twisted his mouth into some semblance of a smirk but with the mask he looked cool and suave and more like he’d just smelled a three day old diaper. 

“Dude, what is that face? You look fucking stupid.” I said between laughs. Kenny frowned, giving me a side eye. 

“I’ve got a reputation to uphold!” He whined, gesturing to the dark hooded costume, “You don’t get it because you just started using your persona-”

“KENNY! Just say my social security number too why don’t you-” The frame shook as I lunged forward to stop the recording before any more secrets were shared on camera.

It had been about a few months since I’d started working with Butters and the guys would not let me forget they had seniority in the hero/villain world. Every chance Clyde had, he reminded me that he was there when they fought Cthulhu. Of course, Kyle was close behind to say that Clyde had done absolutely nothing during that fight. But that was followed by Kyle reminding me that he was sent to hell and was there during the eldritch battle.

I’d been worried when they found out that they’d stop talking to me altogether. I wasn’t quite sure why. They’ve known about Butters being Professor Chaos since they were children and I see him and Kenny hang out more than he hangs out with Kyle and Stan sometimes. He even hangs out with Craig and his group on the weekends. 

The only thing that’s been hurt by my employment at Chaos LLC is my intel source. Wendy stopped giving me insider details about hero movements if they related to Professor Chaos so I haven’t been able to cover as much of his antics but she was still queuing me into other run-ins with minor villains and typical South Park oddities. 

Last week, fucking Slenderman showed up. Like a tall faceless dude in a suit and tie Slenderman. Just standing in the park. He did kidnap Butters which led to an interesting rescue mission. And the video coverage was insane. Marble Hornets could never. 

I didn’t want to trust it at first. I’d spent a month waiting for things to suddenly change. For everyone to turn on me for being a minor inconvenience at best but Craig still asked me to help him with his stats homework at Tweek Bros and Stan still invited me to whatever random board game shop he was visiting that week. The only thing that changed was sometimes we ran around the city in (if I’m being honest) ridiculous costumes and blew off some of the steam that comes with being a college student at Garrison University. 

The entire college almost shut down last month due to Dean Garrison being convicted of tax fraud and publicly attempting to assassinate the President in order to avoid charges. Without anyone to lead the college and the name now permanently connected to an elementary school teacher turned assassin, the only option seemed to be shutting the place down. That was a rough month. The university was literally on the verge of closure and I still had to write a 10 page research paper. What kind of bullshit is that?

Yeah but it was a paper about The Bachelor so was it really work?

Anything that involves citing in APA is work. 

The routine of my new normal set in pretty quickly. Well, as ‘normal’ as things can be when you’re friends with superheroes in South Park. I went to my classes, made videos for my channel, then I’d meet up with Butters and ruin a few people’s day a few times a week. It was scary how easily I fell into the routine. I’d wake up and say good morning to Stan as though he weren’t shooting tranquilizer darts from a nail gun at me a few hours earlier. Certainly not a sentence I ever thought I’d say. 

Looking back on the past two years, I see all the chances I had to end up somewhere else. If I’d gone to a different university and never set foot in South Park or if I’d chosen a different apartment and never ran into Clyde on my first day there I could have led a completely different life. Even in the moments which dragged on my mind, they all led me here. And the feeling of comfort that comes along with that thought makes every struggle worthwhile. 

There’s nowhere I’d rather be and here. Attending a university with an idiot dean, living in an apartment building with my closest friends, and now helping someone I care about get the revenge he’s due. Oh, and making youtube videos about all the stupid shit that happens along the way.

I restarted the recording, giving Kenny a warning glare before saying the intro again. This time, he kept a normal face which made it much easier to not think about how just a few months ago, I was freaking out at the idea of talking to THE Mysterion. 

Granted, now we’ve seen THE Mysterion vomiting in a toilet at 2 am after eating his taco bell too fast so the shimmer has faded. 

“So, Mysterion,” I started, glancing at my list of questions I’d prepared for the interview, “You’ve been the longest running hero in South Park history! How does it feel to be coming up on 10 years as South Park’s Guardian Angel?”

Kenny hummed as he mulled over the question, “It’s not an easy job-” A knock on the door cut off his answer. I looked over at Kenny with a confused expression. He mirrored my confusion but couldn’t offer an idea on who was interrupting our interview for the second time. 

I paused the video before heading over to the door, looking through the peephole. Toolshed’s signature belt gave him away instantly. He shifted from foot to foot as he waited, tapping his hands against his thighs. 

What the fuck?

I opened the door, leaning against the frame while I deadpanned at my neighbor. 

“What’re you doing?” I asked, looking at him from under my eyebrows. 

Stan flashed a sheepish smile, “Well, I heard that you were interviewing Ken-” He paused, glancing down the hall both ways before correcting himself, “Mysterion today and I was thinking I could join? I haven’t gotten an interview yet after all.” 

“You haven’t gotten an interview because all you’ve done the past three fights is stand in the back with a power drill looking lost.” I pulled up my phone and held it up for Stan to see the footage from the past three hero conflicts. While Kenny and Craig dove into the fray, Stan could be seen in the background, searching through his utility belt for the right tool for the battle. By the time he held up his weapon of choice, Craig would be throwing the final punch.

“Okay those videos are rigged. You got those from the Craig fan accounts.” Stan protested. 

“You’re really reaching now bud-” 

“Is there still time for the interview?” A voice shouted from down the hall. Kyle’s door flew open with him rushing out soon after. The kite strapped to his back caught on the door frame, sending him tripping and falling into the wall across the hall from his door. I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face while the sound of Kyle cursing and tripping over his own stupid fucking costume filled the hallway. 

“Dude what are you doing?” Stan asked, crossing his arms as though he were the one being put upon by the appearance of the Human Kite. Kyle righted himself, brushing imaginary dust off his costume. 

“You said you were going to try and get in on the interview and after my last one-” He gave me a pointed look as though I were the one who chose his stupid name in the first place, “turned into me being berated for an hour and a half.” 

“Yeah but you already had one. It’s my turn now.” Stan whined. 

“Actually, it’s my turn right now.” Kenny said, suddenly appearing behind me at the door. I jumped to the side, holding a hand over my chest to keep my heart from jumping out at the shock. 

“Jesus fuck man. I need to put a bell on you.” I muttered to myself before addressing the slowly growing group of complaining superheroes, “None of you guys get to decide whose turn it is to be on my channel. I set up this interview with Kenny a month ago and we’re finally getting to filming so if you want to have ‘your turn’ you need to fill out the form and join the queue like everyone else. I’ve got Craig and Tweek lined up for next month then Tolkien-”

“How the fuck does Tolkien get to go before me-”

“Because he filled out the fucking form Stan? I literally just told you.” 

“Okay, well I just think it would be more interesting to have Toolshed on before Tupperware.” Stan looped his thumbs through his utility belt, kicking a foot at the ground with a frown tugging at his lips. He looked up at me with pouting eyes, blinking rapidly as he tried to change my mind.

No way this 20 year old is pouting in the hallway right now. 

I blew a breath out of the corner of my mouth, averting my eyes from the pouting college student. I better not regret this. 

“Okay, fine.” I started. Stan’s posture immediately improved as he straightened up and began to walk towards the door. Kyle followed suit with a borderline giddy smile of his own. I held up a hand to stop them, “But this is a one time thing, okay? Don’t go telling the others you can just bug me into doing a video with them because I know Clyde can and will be the most annoying motherfucker to ever exist until I do an entire series about him.” 

Kyle and Stan nodded rapidly, heads moving in sync as they agreed to whatever would get them in the video. I was about to move aside and let them in when Kenny sucked in a breath. 

“We weren’t supposed to tell other people about this?” He asked. When I turned to stare at him, he plastered an awkwardly large grin on his face. 

“Who did you tell?” I asked, holding my breath out of fear for what he’d say next. Kenny paused, eyes moving across the ceiling as he thought over the question. That’s never a good sign. Then he began counting on his fingers, mouth moving in silent words as he continued to tick off different unknown names. 

Letting his hands fall with a shrug, he looked back at me with the still incredibly awkward smile, “Only like a few of the guys-” 

“MUAHAHAHA, THIS IS WHERE YOU FALL MYSTERION!” Butters came barreling in through my balcony doors, fists raised to the sky as he posed in the living room. The four of us turned to look at the villain. 

“False alarm, Butters. Apparently this was a lowkey thing.” Kenny said, pointing to me with his thumb as though I were the buzzkill in the situation. My jaw dropped as I turned to Kenny, appalled that he had the audacity to claim I was ruining our private interview I’d spent a month planning. 

Butters’ arms fell back to his sides, tinfoil of his gauntlets scraping slightly against his belt, “Awe geez, and here I was ready for a scuffle.” He said, scuffing the toe of his boot against the floor in a similar pout to Stan’s from moments before. 

Why am I friends with a bunch of toddlers? 

Before I could address Butters’ appearance, my apartment was flooded with the rest of my friends all clad in their hero costumes. Tolkien waddled behind Tweek and Craig, turning sideways to get through the door with Clyde following close behind. Soon my apartment was filled with arguing superheroes and one very boisterous villain, all trying to figure out how to fit themselves into the frame. 

I squeezed myself onto the couch between Kenny and Clyde, feeling like I should at least have the original planned video guest in the middle of the frame. Voices overlapped as Stan tried to shove Kyle over, pushing Tweek and Craig further to the side. The cacophony of sound bounced off the walls and made the air buzz with the rambunctious energy. 

Normally the noise would send me spiraling, overstimulated by the different sounds all pulling me in different directions, but the noise around me calmed the normally racing thoughts in my mind. I’d spent so long sitting in front of this camera, reading off new stories of the people who now shouted my name to grab my attention from opposite ends of the couch I’d gotten off Facebook Marketplace. The once deafening silence which filled the moments between takes was replaced by shouts to move over and accusations of stepping on their kite string. 

It was the best noise I’d ever heard. 

“I’m starting now! Everyone shut up and follow me lead!” I announced, stabilizing the camera before returning to my spot with a smile.

I smiled for the camera. I smiled at the thought of the views a video with all of South Park’s heroes would get. But I also smiled from the overwhelming happiness that came from being surrounded by my closest friends. 

“Hey guys!” I greeted, raising a hand to mimic a high five with the lens,

“Welcome back to the channel!”

taglist [reply to be added]: @sula0kin @lacuna-at-dawn @anglettecolours @cocolena@sukisprettyface @feverish-dove @sweetadonisbutbetter @hand-writxen@mishstuff@sophtophie @triphovia  @lacunaanonymoused @inkedintothepaper @toodeepintofandoms@mmmaackerel @sillybilly-123@n0tangeliccc@sophtophie@inkedintothepaper 

[mochidoie]

from die for you...

lee haechan x fem!reader wc - 4k genre - fluff, heartbreak angst, unrequited love, dorky!haechan warnings - mentions of alcohol

Dying for someone is dramatic, insanely impractical, lacking in logic. Nonetheless, Haechan would do it without any ounce of hesitation or thought. You just had to say it.

Haechan is a complete hopeless romantic. He’d do anything for love, even if it meant dying for it. You, the interest of his love, deserve every ounce of it that he could offer. He would die for you. 

You are perfect – head to toe. Your laughter rings a sweet tune in his ears. He sees it in your eyes– that spark of passion and all of your aspirations. He craves your touch like no other, it drives him absolutely insane. You are his first love.

Haechan genuinely feels a love worth dying for, all you have to do is ask. Ask him to be honest, ask him to lie for you, ask him to be everything you’ve ever wanted in life. He’ll do it all. All you have to do is say the words.

“Hyuck, are you still there?” He catches your wrist as your hand comes into his view. If only you could feel his pulse racing at this connection. Haechan had been so lost in his imaginations with you that he carelessly forgot the midterm that you two were originally studying for. 

“I’m here.” He reassures, but in a tone that says more than him being alert about the exam. You tsk at him, waving his hand from your wrist. You flip through the pages of the heavy textbook with ease. 

“You should be here.” You point at the page number at the bottom corner of the page and the title of the chapter. The sigh unknowingly escapes your lips, you’re disappointed in him for daydreaming off when you’re in the trenches with this upcoming midterm.

“You’re supposed to be the one helping me study, remember?”

“Right. Of course, I know.” Haechan tries to regain his composure.

“We’re not even on the same page.” Though he is most definitely over analyzing your words, he can’t help but feel you meant something more with that statement. 

“Now we are. Trust me, I won’t let you fail this.” His encouraging smile does make you feel slightly better. This is your first college midterm and it already feels drastically different from high school. You’re lucky to have Haechan as a study partner. He seems to grasp the material much better and faster than you ever could. It’s almost as if his brain is working double to make up for the lack of retention in your brain. 

Haechan has been your friend since sophomore year of high school. You two were more acquaintance level when it came to a friendship, mostly chatting in classes you two shared or in groups with mutuals. It wasn’t until you both realized that you were going to the same college did you two grow closer.

Haechan has always been notably smart. He was in the top 10 percent of your graduating class and set the test curves in math and science classes. His impressive intelligence earned him a full scholarship and many awards during graduation. Nonetheless, Haechan is a typical dork. His collared striped shirt is neatly tucked in, without a fail. He wears his bangs down and bluntly cut over his eyes. Natural body scent is his choice of cologne and he refuses to switch out his glasses frames for trendy ones since trends never last.

Haechan is slightly awkward around other girls or new people and he has trouble holding eye contact with anyone. In his free time, he can be found in his comfortable gaming chair and clicking furiously at his mouse, yelling into his headset when he loses a game. Or, he could be found in a library studying up a new subject that interests him. 

He shows no romantic interest in anything that breathes. The only things that excites him are numbers, books and video games, sometimes stocks. You have never seen him interact with any other girl besides you.

His best friends include Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun. These four were practically inseparable, practically all dorky clones of one another. 

However, their dorkiness made them easy to approach. They were not intimidating, they mostly kept to themselves. All of them usually seemed disinterested in drugs, parties, alcohol and girls. If even asked if they’ve ever had a crush, they would all quiver and cringe at the thought of a romantic interest. 

Little did you know, though. Haechan gazes at you with longing eyes, endless daydreams of you swirling around his head. He bites his tongue though, holding back his dying confession. While Haechan doesn’t believe he’s the ugliest guy in the world, he lacks a lot of confidence in himself. A big reason why he doesn’t pursue anyone is because he’s afraid of rejection and solidifying his insecurities. 

He knows he’s a nerd, at least he’s self aware. Nonetheless, there isn’t anything that causes him to change. Perhaps, he has fallen too far into his own comfort to come out of it. He needs something to propel the change, yet he doesn’t know what. 

“None of this is making any sense.” A heavy sigh falls from your lips again, probably your fifth one since you two turned the page. “I’m losing it. My concentration.”

“Did you want to stop then?” You wished Haechan would just end it or make the decision on his own. “I’m good with either option.” But you can’t blame him for taking your thoughts into consideration.

“Let’s just stop. I have to get ready for a party tonight anyways.” You shut your dusty textbook and begin packing your things.

Haechan follows, “oh. What’s the occasion?” 

You laugh slightly at his innocence. “When did people in college ever need an occasion to throw a party?” Haechan frowns, but notes how you’re correct. He does believe he is one of the rare ones with a life outside of alcohol and drugs. 

“What I meant is if you’re celebrating anything in particular?” 

You try to remember why you and your housemates decided to get drunk on a random Friday night in March. It finally clicks and you almost jump out of your seat from excitement. “Julie finally broke up with her boyfriend!” 

“The one she had been dating since middle school?” Haechan inquires, genuinely surprised that your housemate gained the courage to break up with her horrible boyfriend. Despite his lack of romantic experience, Haechan can tell when relationships aren’t healthy and what bare minimum standards are.

“Yes!” Your favorite attribute about Haechan is that he remembers the details about things you say. It’s actually quite thoughtful and it is a main reason why you began looking for that attribute in other people you meet. “He is out of her life for good! We are celebrating this victory, care to join us?”

Haechan always feels bad when he declines your invitations to parties, but it really isn’t his scene and he really does not enjoy being surrounded by drunk people who can barely keep themselves standing. Nonetheless, your eyes and smile are so tempting. They remind him of the lengths he’d go for you..

“Julie finally dumped her boyfriend and now, the Lee Haechan is finally coming to one of our parties!” You squeal so happily. He could only wonder how he can keep you grinning like this forever.

He couldn’t hold back a smile himself, “okay, don’t be so dramatic. I’ve come before! Your housewarming.”

“That’s because I deliberately asked you to come with me to party prep and forced you to stay when the party began.” You rolled your eyes and swung your backpack over your shoulder. “You were halfway out the door before I dragged you back in and told you to take a shot with us.”

“Right, so my point stands. I have been to one of your parties before, whether voluntary or not.” He chuckles, really cracking himself with how you essentially proved his point with your counterargument.

You knew how to be playful with Haechan and didn’t shy away from teasing him when others have a tendency in protecting him against harm’s way. You treated him so freely.

“You just always have to be right, don’t you?” You slightly pinch the fabric of his sleeve and he jumps at the touch. You giggle to yourself, satisfied by the tiny reaction you were aiming for. “It’s BYOB, so bring something you’d drink because I won’t be surprised if drunk me makes you finish it on your own.”

Haechan gulps, “that sounds very threatening.” You’re already walking to the parking structure to your car. He watches as your fading figure disappears and makes his way back to his own.

Haechan exhales a huge sigh that had filled his lungs. His hands grip the steering wheel loosely, replaying the moments with you from earlier. He can’t stop thinking about the way you tuck your hair back during a difficult problem, or how many times you were cutely distracted by something on your phone. He could live with these memories on loop in his head and be the happiest person alive. 

Is this what being in love with someone feels like? He thinks that it has to be quite close.  Haechan can still remember the day his feelings for you began and how strong they slowly grew.

You were always around him – in his classes, friends of friends, passing by in the hallways — it was hard for him to shake these feelings. High school was honestly a blur for him because of his expectation and pressure to get into the best college and graduate with honors. 

A secret he still holds for himself is the reason behind his choice of college. Haechan never had the courage in high school to grow closer, he just never found a logical reason to do so without feeling as if he was coming off too strong. Nonetheless, the month that college acceptances came out and everyone started announcing where they planned to go, Haechan was the only one left undecided.

He was accepted into major prestigious private universities and the best of the public school system has to offer. These were colleges that classmates cried when they got rejected, dream colleges all just handed to Haechan on a silver platter. All the while, Haechan was struggling with moving on from his first love.

He knew it was dumb, actually ridiculous that he would follow a girl to college. But somewhere, somehow, some part of his mind wanted to act irrationally for once. So, when he heard your choice of college… he found it in himself to accept the full scholarship and join you. 

Now he had the opportunity to grow close. 

Everyone was baffled by the decision, clearly not knowing his reasoning behind it. He refused to tell a soul, even his best friends. While this college was still a great school, there were others that were better. But Haechan only wanted you. 

He wanted college to be something different. He can lose himself in numbers and books all he wants, but nothing completes him as much as spending time with you. No more missed opportunities to be with you.

Unlike many others who are confused with their feelings, Haechan was only ever certain about you. You were incredibly lovable, there wasn’t a single person you came across that could dislike you. Your laugh is infectious, it’s one of his favorite quirks about you. Your heart shares its space for so many others– generous, kind, considerate –you are the exact person he’d fall for.

He is so grateful to be a part of the same lifetime as you. Somewhere, somehow, you two crossed paths and he couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were a mark in his brain that he couldn’t wash off. He can’t imagine a world without you. That is how far his love for you spans. It’s unimaginably catastrophic. 

Haechan walks into your lively apartment, hands gripping the neck of two soju bottles and sweat already forming in his pits. The nervousness settles into his stomach as he maneuvers his way around warm bodies to find you. He has been to your apartment plenty of times before, so it feels much smaller when it’s full of people.

“Hey!” A firm hand lands on his shoulder. He spins around to see you grinning ear to ear and a shot of clear liquid in one hand. “You made it and you brought soju!” 

You pat his head, almost too lovingly. “I’m proud of this character development.” Giggling, you hand him the shot and hurry to pour yourself one as well. “Let’s take one together.”

“I just got here, y/n.” Haechan feels the gag in the back of his throat already. He takes a whiff of the mysterious liquid and almost chokes at the putrid stench. “Tequila.” He grumbles.

“You won’t suffer alone.” You smile and hold up your tiny glass for a toast. “Bottoms up!” You say as you throw your head back and take the alcohol like a champ. Haechan hesitates, admiring you in the darkness and rainbow lights.

He feels like he’s seen this scene before, whether in his dreams or imaginations. The way your hair falls back, the rim of the glass barely touching your lips, the wince in your facial expression, you really glow underneath it all. 

Haechan quickly catches up with the shot, knowing that a lingering stare will need explanation. The burning liquid runs down his throat and he has to hold himself back from anything coming back up.

“That is rancid.”

“It’s cheap tequila.” You laugh, already three shots in and feeling something hazy in your system. A group of individuals walk through the door and you’re quickly being pulled away to greet them. He can feel the disappointment crawling up his chest, but he knows better than to cling onto you at a social event that you’re hosting.

He looks around the room at unfamiliar faces and feels rather jealous at all the people that think they know you. They won’t ever know you how he does. That is one thing he is absolutely sure about. 

“Did you invite the others?” Your voice surprises him from his monologue. “Why’d you come alone?”

“They’re on their way. Jeno and Jaemin were held up at their biking club meeting.” Though you weren’t explicit about whether or not that invitation was extended to his best friends, he knew they were always welcomed. It came to the point where Haechan stopped inviting them around so he could spend more alone time with you. 

You nod, opening the soju he brought and pouring you both a shot. You are oddly quiet in contemplation. “You know… now that Julie is single…” the silence between the two of you feels thick in this stuffy apartment. He can’t tell where you’re going with this. “Why don’t you try giving dating a shot? She thinks you’re her type.” 

He is taken aback, clearing his throat nervously. You have never brought up romantic interests with him before. His throat closes up, not picturing that this is how the conversation would be. “How am I her type? Her boyfriend was completely different from me. He’s dumb, I’m smart.”

Haechan pushes his glasses up on his nose and waits for your explanation. He’ll be honest with himself: it did intrigue him that someone found interest in him. He has never really had that before and it has hindered his confidence. 

“She’s into that nerdy, good boy type. A guy that gets no girls so they worship the girl they end up with.” Haechan almost chokes on his spit upon hearing your explanation. You can’t be serious. He looks over at your unwavering expression and sighs, you are most definitely serious. 

“You think I’m a good boy type?” Haechan didn’t know why that part stuck out the most to him. He was fine with being a nerdy guy and he knew the worshiping was just nonsense. However, the good boy type seems a bit unwarranted. 

“Yeah, the only rule you break is probably your personal curfew. You don’t drink often, you don’t do drugs, you definitely don’t sell them either. You’re good, Haechan. A nice, good boy type that is kind.” Hearing you describe him in this way puzzles him greatly. He didn’t know you thought of him this way, not that he would ever initiate that conversation himself. 

He doesn’t say anything. For a moment, he is too shocked to even process what you just said. He isn’t sure if he should feel offended or slightly flattered that you have considered him romantically. 

You peek over at the silent boy, feeling a bit guilty at how ruthlessly shameless you were just being. You gently poke at his arm. “It’s not a bad thing… to be good.” 

He shrugs, “but Julie isn’t my type.”

Your eyes light up with wonder and curiosity, “you have a type? Since when did you ever think about a romantic interest?” 

Haechan feels sheepish, knowing that he is treading into dangerous waters the more he speaks. “I don’t know. I just know that she’s not.” 

You read his closed off demeanor and think that it’s best to not edge him on. Haechan has always been secretive or cold when it came to topics on relationships and romance. Nonetheless, you brush it off as it seems like something he doesn’t want to talk about. 

The conversation of his romantic interests does make you wonder… after all these years, was there someone out there that caused his heart to flutter the same way that math did? The thought of someone making Haechan doe-eyed and lovesick is a sweet and innocent thought. You could only wish for the best person for him.

Jeno, Jaemin and Renjun enter the scene, rather uncomfortable from the minute they step inside the apartment. “Hey….” Renjun barely mutters throughout all the noise. His hands are deep into his pockets and his shoulders are up to his ears.

These awkward, clueless boys. You run up and give Renjun a big hug, causing him to shudder and not reciprocate the gesture. “What took so long?”

“Jeno was interested in one of the bike locks our senior brought to show us.” Jaemin chimed excitedly, as if his mind was still on the impressive bike lock. “Long time no see, y/n.”

“Yeah, Haechan keeps saying you’re all too busy for me now.” You sigh. Jeno and Haechan take a quick second to exchange glances before nodding in agreement. 

“Yeah, more hands on work now.” Jeno rubs his hands happily with a cute grin. “So, how long are you going to hold Haechan captive for?” He playfully pokes at your arm. 

“Oh, not for long. You’re all free to go if you don’t feel comfortable staying. It was just nice to see you in a different setting.” Your gentle smile showed guilt in making Haechan come to your parties when they were completely pushing him out of his comfort zone. Yet, you still don’t understand the lengths he would go for you.

Before Haechan is able to say goodbye, you’re being dragged away by Julie into some dark corner. Haechan rolls his eyes annoyingly at how popular you are. “Ready to go, bud?” Jaemin asks the unmoving boy. 

“Just give me a moment, I want to say goodbye.” 

“Aw, so romantic.” Renjun snarks, bitterly and sarcastically. “Make it quick. I parked in a loading zone.” His face falls flat, meaning serious business.

Renjun, Jaemin and Jeno disappear from the party as if they never arrived. Haechan makes his way around warm bodies to find you, but the darkness hinders spotting you with a naked eye.

He spots Julie in the hallway with a facial expression of glee chatting with you. He is ready to interrupt, but the conversation catches his attention and he stops around the corner to eavesdrop, “well, what did Haechan say?”

His heart is practically in his throat. A part of him does feel slightly guilty for rejecting her, but he can’t deny the feelings he has for you. “He said you’re not his type.” You are so blunt with the statement, like there is no ounce of empathy in your voice.

“Are you just making that up?” Julie always had an edge in her tone when she spoke. 

“Why the hell would I make that up? That’s all he said.” 

“Yeah, that’s a shame. I’m sure we all know who his type actually is.” That matter of fact answer causes panic to rise in his chest. Haechan seriously needed to leave. He shouldn’t keep listening, but his feet are stuck to the ground. 

“What are you saying?” He wants to barge in now. Stop it all now. 

“You really don’t see the way he looks at you?” Julie sighs, “he would practically die for you.” 

In that very moment, Haechan feels his entire world collapse. He never wanted you to find out this way. Haechan had imagined the perfect confession – one where he could still save his ass if you rejected him.

He doesn’t know how Julie knew, but she had been the observant type. He would’ve never thought that you’d find out through her of all the people in the world. 

“He’s a good friend.” You’re in denial. Haechan could already tell from your response. 

“Yeah, he is. But he is also in love with you.” The frustration in Julie’s voice definitely indicates her envy has been festering for quite some time now. His knees go weak, losing his mind as you continue to deny her accusations. 

“Why are you being so in denial about it?” Julie retorts. “Don’t want it to be true?”

“I don’t. He is nowhere near my type at all.” You gulp. “I could never see him romantically and I don’t want to. I like how we are now.”

Haechan cannot stand to listen any more. It’s as if an iron fist smashed his heart into tiny pieces, beyond repair. While it felt unfair that you had to hear it from Julie, it felt ten times worse hearing your rejection.

Because Haechan knows. If he had been the one to confess directly to you, you would’ve sugar coated your confession. So, a mixture of emotions flood into his system. He’s rushing out of the party without a goodbye and his heart left on your living room floor. 

Dying for someone is dramatic, insanely impractical, lacking in logic. Nonetheless, Haechan would do it without any ounce of hesitation or thought. He would change the weather if it would make you happy. Haechan would adjust time if it meant he could spend more of it with you.

You just had to say it. 

He wishes he could take your rejection without a heavy heart. He had to have weighed the consequences of this outcome – he couldn’t guarantee that you’d feel the same way. He had to know that. His logical side would not let him sleep without acknowledging that possibility, as much as his heart believed you felt the same butterflies he felt.

So why can’t he stop the pain that is stabbing him in the chest? Why do tears blur his vision the more he replays your voice in his head?

He can remind himself all he wants on how your feelings are not obligated to be reciprocated. Nonetheless, this gut wrenching heartbreak has him spiraling out of control and losing himself in it all. 

He will never forgive himself for how much he loves you. You never wanted that love to begin with, yet he allowed himself to love you like you were his lifeline. Haechan will never forgive himself for being so hopeless.

He will never forgive himself for dying for you like he is now. Killing the feelings he hopes he will never feel again for you. Haechan would die for you, even if it meant that he would never feel this love for you ever again.

...to heartless: read

[flakytartart]

Someone more well-spoken than me PLEASE explain why Kingpin from Into the Spiderverse is expertly designed. When I watched it in theatres people laughed every time he came on screen + all reaction videos I've seen laugh too and it's SO ANNOYING

Whenever I see Kingpin I think he was designed to be big because he's intimidating and to play around with shapes. Like he makes some pretty interesting silhouettes!

(I screenshotted that last one from a reaction video - on this frame they were literally calling him a blob. That is not a blob bro)

I also feel like it's meant to represent that he's a man completely overtaken by darkness/overwhelmed by his past...his head (mind) is almost always framed by black nothingness

Am I insane for thinking there's more going on with his design other than just "haha he's big"? I don't want it to be true but also lmk if I'm thinking too hard about an obvious joke

[shen-the-hopeless]

Listen, I don’t even know where to start. Maybe with the fact that every day I wake up knowing I’m going to see him. Freaking Kai. My alt goth co-worker who looks like he walked straight out of the kind of Tumblr aesthetic board that destroys the self-esteem of every woman under five foot five and over 150 pounds. Which, guess what? That’s me.

How can someone be so perfect and so unattainable at the same time? It’s like God—or, I don’t know, Satan—crafted this man to ruin my life. First off, let me paint you a picture. He’s not just hot; he’s unfairly hot. Like, his face belongs in some K-pop music video where he’s smirking at the camera while the rest of us peasants are crying into our Starbucks cups. Even with that stupid COVID mask he always wears, I’ve caught glimpses of his face, and oh my god. It’s almost cruel how symmetrical it is. His jawline could slice through my depression, but it doesn’t. It just deepens it.

And don’t even get me started on his hair. Messy? Sure. But not messy-messy like mine after three days of dry shampoo and regret. It’s the kind of messy that screams, “I spent two hours casually looking this good without even trying.” Whether it’s loose, framing his stupidly pretty face, or tied up in this devastatingly nonchalant ponytail, it’s perfect. How does he do that? It’s infuriating.

And his fashion? Jesus Christ. He wears these loose black sweaters that slide off his shoulders like he’s trying to kill me. Who even does that? Exposing just enough shoulder to make you think about biting it—sorry, what?!—but not so much that he’s trying too hard. Then there are those choker necklaces, the Hot Topic chain pants he literally DIYs, and his knee-high boots with all those buckles. Every time he walks past me, it’s like he’s stomping on my last shred of dignity. He looks like a goth anime husbando brought to life, and I can’t even function in his presence.

And the kicker? He’s quiet. He doesn’t talk to anyone unless they talk to him first. He just sits in the break room reading Tomie or My Dress-Up Darling, minding his own perfect little business, while I’m over here shaking like a chihuahua on a caffeine drip. He’s the literal embodiment of “speak softly and carry a big aesthetic,” and it’s driving me insane.

But here’s the real problem: I’ve never spoken to him. Not once. I can’t. Because every TikTok, every stupid Reddit thread, every piece of content I’ve consumed has drilled into my brain that men like him don’t want women like me. And honestly? They’re probably right. I’m not delusional. I’ve seen those videos where guys dodge eye contact with girls who look like me, scared they’re about to be asked out by someone “below their league.” I’ve heard the stories of men freaking out because some unattractive chick dared to confess her feelings. I can’t risk being another one of those cringe compilation clips.

And let’s not even talk about logistics. Even if, by some miracle, Kai found me attractive—which, let’s be real, he wouldn’t—I have nothing to offer. I wear the same ratty clothes to work every day because I’m $10,000 in debt and can’t afford new ones. I don’t shower every day because what’s the point when your dream guy doesn’t even know you exist? I don’t brush my teeth every day because, honestly, it feels like a waste of time. I don’t even have a car! What am I going to do, ask him out and then take the bus to our date? Yeah, that’s hot.

So instead of trying to talk to him, I just… stew in my misery. And the more I see him, the more I realize something horrifying: I actually kind of hate him. Like, how dare he exist in the same space as me and look that good? How dare he make me feel things I haven’t felt since I discovered Astarion romance fanart on Tumblr? How dare he remind me, every single day, that I’ll never be good enough for someone like him?

It’s not fair. I probably love him more than I love Ezra Miller or Timothée Chalamet, which, judging by my Pinterest board vibes, is saying a lot. And yet, I’m stuck here, just existing in his orbit, unable to do anything about it because I know—I know—that the moment I open my mouth, it’s over. He’ll see me for the desperate, broke, ugly loser I am, and he’ll never look at me the same way again. Not that he looks at me now, but you know what I mean.

And the worst part? I can’t stop obsessing over him. It’s like a sickness. Every time he walks past me in those stupid boots, or adjusts his choker, or flips his hair, it’s like he’s adding another layer to this toxic little fantasy I’ve built around him. I don’t even know if he’s a good person! For all I know, he could be a total asshole. But does that stop me from imagining us bonding over Final Fantasy VII or co-oping Baldur’s Gate 3? No. No, it does not.

I hate him. I hate that I love him. I hate that he’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a guy, but I’m nothing he’d ever want in a girl. And I hate that I can’t even blame him for it, because if I were him, I wouldn’t want me either.

So yeah. That’s my life now. Trapped in this purgatory of unspoken lust and self-loathing, all because some goth anime god decided to grace my crappy workplace with his presence. I hope he’s happy. Because I sure as hell am not.

[chipped-chimera]

Okay. Gamedev nerd here gonna throw in some inputs. Also neuroscience nerd because it's actually relevant here, believe it or not. (This is long so buckle up)

No game needs to run faster than 30 fps

So this one is a funky one. Whether frames are 'detectable' or not to the human brain, comes down to exposure. Human brains are amazingly efficient at sifting out what I'll call 'junk inputs' - floaters in your eyes (that everyone develops eventually), the phone you chronically keep in your back left pocket to the point you're slapping your body going 'where's my phone?' only to find it exactly where you left it - the same pocket as always. Your brain got so used to those inputs, it's filtered them out because they're deemed 'not important' to be constantly shoved in your experience of reality.

Up until maybe the past 10ish years, most media that we've been exposed to has run at about 30fps. Our brain is used to this and makes it indecernable. As tech has improved, allowing for higher fps rates, you can now be more exposed to 60fps - in fact 60fps has been the broadcast standard for quite some time. If you get used to the higher frame rate, your brain grows to EXPECT this frame rate in order to efficiently throw out the junk information (the pauses between frames) so anything below that threshold becomes noticeable.

I run a pretty beefy PC with a high quality monitor, and it's gotten to the point where I can now distinguish whether something is running less than 60fps to the point I start fucking around in graphics options because I feel like my game is lagging slightly. Sometimes I will consciously run at 30fps if it's more stable for various reasons, but I do notice. 60fps comes across much smoother to me now, whereas 30 has this barely perceptible jitter - that's because my brain is no longer used to filtering out those junk signals.

So with regard to this - it is true that games COULD only run at 30fps, but it would have to be literally EVERY GAME to stay imperceptible to the user. It'd also have to be every video, every film, every piece of media we ever consume in order to REMAIN imperceptible.

Studies have been done on this and while 60fps has been accepted as the 'upper limit', it's uncertain if that will hold. Current data suggests 75fps might be the last noticeable threshold before diminishing returns. Ultimately this comes down to the user and what kind of monitor they have available, and what that refresh rate is capable of. After all, we don't see reality in FPS. End of the day, more frames = closer experience to a frameless reality = smoother experience. Now since I'm talking about the tech component, that brings me to -

No texture should be bigger than 2k

While for the most part this would have been a yes ... the fact is tech is changing. Or honestly has changed. Like yesterday. 1080p, once known as your 'HD' has not been 'High Definition' since maybe the mid 2010s. Your average phone screen - arguably the thing that most of us are exposed to on the daily - if it has been built later than 2014 is likely to be running a 2k to 4k definition screen. If you ever wondered why text looks so damn crisp on your teeny tiny mobile phone, but not on your monitor - this is why.

I upgraded to a 2k monitor last year after my ancient, literally pre-hd Cintiq drawing tablet of 15 kilos made the death knell of glitchy buttons. She had dead pixels. She was 12 years old. She was my beloved, glass topped art workhorse I had gotten as a high school graduation present that I'd slap the side of and say 'don't make em like her anymore'. But as good as she was, the difference between her and even my basic 1080p monitor was noticeable. After doing some reading, and a lot of that reading was saying '4k is now the standard' which sounded INSANE but now they're putting out 6k/8k resolution screens, I decided it'd be more cost effective to just get a screenless drawing tablet and a better monitor. I could always upgrade the screen, therefore keeping my tablet in action longer.

Hooking up that 2k monitor for the first time, last year, when this was considered literally the 'lower end' of the current market? It was like I'd put on my glasses. But I was already wearing them. Everything was so much clearer and crisp to work on. It was VERY noticeable.

But what happens when you have a 2k monitor? Well now 2k is the baseline. A 2k texture on a model, displayed on your screen where it is close enough to be at full resolution is now noticeable if it's NOT 2k. You know when a character is talking on your screen and you're getting distracted by the pixellated quality of their armour texture? That's because the texture is no longer matching your monitor resolution. It has more pixels to fill, and if the information isn't there ... well that's how you get pixellated looking textures.

So what is a Gamedev to do? 2k resolution textures are NOT SMALL. Ballpark average for a single image might be around 2MB for 2k resolution with standard channels. If you need MORE channels embedded in the image, like an alpha channel for example - well that's more information for the image to hold, therefore more file size. Crank that up to hundreds of images - diffuse textures, normal maps are a bare minimum, add on other stuff like alpha masking, tintmaps - if you want a custom character creation system that's actually decent? Multiple armor options? Recolouring options? Textures? That's a lot of images already + a lot of file size and you haven't even put in the actual game yet.

So you've now got to get creative with it. This actually brings me to what made me want to write this post:

There’s zero excuse for Baldur’s Gate 3 to be 150 GB when Skyrim is 6 GB

I'm a recent modder, but I've had the privilege of messing with Baldur's Gate 3 and I intimately know exactly how their textures are formatted and used at this point - and they are the epitome of 'get creative with it'. So I mean it when I say you're lucky BG3 is JUST 150gb.

Anyone following me knows I have gone on about it before, but as someone who was trying to rebuild models in blender post launch, you'd know that BG3 uses a very unique texture system for character models to basically stretch these textures to the absolute limit while maintaining a high fidelity resolution.

This horrendous flow-chart-from-hell is me attempting to reconstruct this system (and this is maybe only half of it). While it's likely since been cracked by someone else since I last looked at it, the best I could do was get close.

Here's how BG3 textures work: they are not your typical 'baked into one diffuse texture' image thing we're used to for most games up until this point, where you've basically flattened the skin out into a 2D picture with all the colour information.

What Larian has done is make everything grayscale, and most of them work like layering masks. For those familiar with digital art, this would be your transparent layers layered on top of each other, with or without effects. For an even more basic analogy - think of stencils, on top of each other, until you have made a composite image. This means, instead of making a texture for every single skin colour available in the game it's now only three pictures -

These three pictures contain stupid amounts of information however, because while we see a composite image, actually you're looking at 3-4 images PER IMAGE. Because in reality, this is what it looks like -

This is my reconstruction folder of separated images to reconstruct in blender. Each contains a layer of information - how much freckles to put in the face, where the ambient occlusion goes, the vein amount yadda yadda. Remember what I said about 2k images being big? Larian managed to reduce that to three out of a potential seventeen. And while an absolute pain in the ass to reverse engineer in Blender shaders, honestly I was kind of giddy at the genius of this.

It's actually what makes the entire game really flexible and modder friendly, because once you understand how it works the engine is SUPER versatile when it comes to being able to recolour things. You can share these textures across multiple models and make them look completely different by altering the value of each colour, per layer, per texture.

So if we were to extrapolate this onto the old 'flat diffuse texture model', I'll be generous here and say it's three images (eyebrow/makeup masks + flat diffuse + normal map a.k.a. the thing that adds microdetails like pores and shit) at a very modest estimate of 2MB x the 350 skintones available in the character creator?

That's 700 Megabytes - because to get the colour for each one, you now need a separate image for each one. Sure that sounds 'small' but that's just faces, and only ONE face! For the character creator. Then you have your multiple face options with different textures. And multiple races. Then there's hair. Tattoos. Armor. NPCs. World textures etc. It adds up and it adds up quick. Instead this means they can use just 3 images, for one face in the character creator for all 350 skin tones. That comes down to a measly 6 Megabytes.

Even then they cut corners where they can. There's a reason there's so many upscaling mods available for BG3 - some textures aren't 2k. So to say that they're somehow at fault for not making their game smaller while maintaining the current visual fidelity is honestly doing Larian a major disservice. These Devs scrimped and scraped for EVERY inch of room they could possibly get out of their textures, and I've seen it. I'll say it again for emphasis -

We are lucky it's ONLY 150gb.

lower poly counts > high poly counts

Okay so as a Gamedev-student-turned-modder, I agree. Most gamedevs will agree too - because they're likely already using the smallest polycounts they can within the restrictions of current generation consoles (which are always less powerful than PC) and while maintaining the baseline fidelity of likely at minimum 2k textures. I spent 3 months learning how to make 'Real Time Hair' for games a.k.a. hair that can be rendered real time as you play the game, as opposed to engine heavy simulated hair you see in CG film. If you don't want your game to turn into a frame-sink slideshow you have to keep the polygons as low as possible. And it is actually really, really hard to get nice looking hair with volume while sticking to this. If you wondered why so many hairs in game tend to be super straight and flat - this is why. It's easier to obscure a lack of volume when you're basically constructing a cardboard cube. Once you start distorting layers, like with curls for example, you're more at risk of exposing that this is just a really thin mesh.

This is the hair I built. It looks great - but it's about double to triple the standard polygon count for most of Cyberpunk 2077's in-game hairdos. I only went with it because it was a personal mod and I knew my PC could handle it. (And even then, it's still more modest than some mods out there - I've checked).

Super low poly can work too! But it often affects style in turn. There's no point putting a 2k texture on what we associate with 'low poly' models, but that's a completely different game at this point like Zelda: Wind Waker. The unfortunate reality is, if you're going for realism in your game, the faster the frame rates, the bigger the textures = the closer to literal reality it feels, and the more current your tech needs to be.

There's a bit of a psychological phenomenon around this. I vividly remember sitting cross legged on the carpet of the library as a mere 10 year old listening to my computer science teacher go off topic to gush about the 'realistic graphics' of a game that'd just come out with the boys in the class.

For context, I am 31 this year. That game? Halo. The first one. No not the remaster, the literal, first, potato-ass looking Halo.

Also remasters are a fiddly metric to measure by - often what can be done to improve the game is limited by the engine, which is also probably a dated engine. But also using a tiny resolution image to compare larger resolution improvements in textures is not going to make a discernible difference. (And also arguably the technical skill of the Game Developer and given I call Bethesda 'Bugthesda' my bar ain't very high for them but that's my personal opinion.)

End of the day, the fact is this:

Whether a 150GB game looks any different from a 20GB game comes down to a lot of factors, and the majority of them come down to what you're running. For some people yeah! Below 1080p at 30fps will run absolutely fine and look great! And there are plenty of low-poly games with smaller graphics that do really well - a good game is a good game!

But as tech evolves, things change - and so do industry standards. The current 'standard' definition television? 4k. So what might not be noticeable to you, might be very noticeable to someone else.

And Gamedevs are aware of that. They are also keenly aware of the fact people complain about filesize, and you bet whatever size you are presented with (unless you know that company to be notorously incompetent coughs loudly in Bethesda and arguably whatever the fuck the sims 4 team is doing atm) that is the smallest size physically possible that they can present you with on launch day after way too many crunch hours.

Be nice to your Gamedevs guys. The majority of developers are out there just wanting to give you a fun experience and tell a story. And I think that should be appreciated.

here are my biggest gaming hot takes:

- no game actually needs to run faster than 30 FPS

- no texture needs to be bigger than 2k, and most don’t need to be bigger than 1k (save for megatextures). A good chunk should actually be smaller than 1k

- lower poly counts > high poly counts

Once you pass a certain threshold, it doesn’t even affect the style of the game that much, and you’re just using exponentially more power to get exponentially smaller results

Like, for example, the original Skyrim was 4 GB. The remaster is 22 GB. That’s five-and-a-half times more space for the exact same content! The graphical improvements are honestly negligible, especially when you consider the massive leap in storage and RAM used.

These sorts of things just hit diminishing returns so quickly— My eyes can’t tell the difference between 1k and 4k textures.

We have so many fun ways to get the maximum mileage out of every pixel and every polygon. It’s sad to see those techniques slowly trickle away from big-budget games!

Even as storage space becomes less and less of a concern, there’s something satisfying about keeping everything as small and tidy as possible

[tobeabatman]

personally i don't really think one is better than the other but as a woc i've felt far more accepted in body neutrality circles than modern body positivity circles- this used to be different but the last couple years have really changed things.

woc specifically, more so than literally any other demographic, are constantly faced with either fetishism or straight up rejection of both our bodies and our features. we're taught from a very early age that we're either sexy or we're disgusting, ugly, or wrong. body positivity, despite being well-intentioned, can sometimes reinforce those views in some poc. we have to love our bodies, we can't look at them negatively, we can't think negatively about how we look, every negative thought has to be challenged, we are hot, we are beautiful. once again, we're placing an emphasis on the way that we look instead of who we are and giving power to the idea that being "beautiful" or "attractive" matters at all.

neutrality does the opposite- maybe we don't like our bodies, maybe we don't like our faces, maybe we don't like our skin, maybe we don't like our weight, our fat distribution, it could be anything. or maybe we love them. maybe we're pretty, maybe we're ugly- either way, it means nothing. bodies are just bodies, nothing more. social attitudes towards my features, weight and appearance hold no relevance to who i am as a person. the way i feel about how i look has no impact on who i am. it doesn't matter how my body looks or how i/anybody else feel about it, because all it is is a body. it's just a vessel and literally every single other thing about me is far more important and interesting than how that vessel looks and how i decorate it. i don't have to love it and i don't have to hate it, i don't have to be positive or negative about it, it's still going to function the same regardless, because that's what it exists to do and the way that it looks doesn't matter.

to be honest, i really do like body positivity as a sentiment but the entire community as of late (not targeted at you, you seem lovely) tends to reek of white woman tears. the amount of times a white body positivity content creator has somehow brought poc experiences that they cannot begin to understand into their arguments is insane. it'll be a video response to a tiktok comment with a white blonde woman on screen and somehow she finds a way to call the commenter racist and start using woc experiences (especially of black women) to argue her own persecution and cement her own victimhood. on an objective level, yes, fat people, especially fat women, are treated unfairly and persecuted. fatphobia exists and it is a massive problem, and yes there are links between fatphobia and racism. but when white body pos creators and advocates are bringing racism into their arguments, almost framing it comparatively or implying that they somehow can connect with the poc experience solely on the basis of experiencing fatphobia, it's nothing more than implicit, insidious racism in my eyes.

i get why they do it, but my experiences do not exist to further a narrative, they do not exist to platform white people and they do not exist to be trivialised in order to prove a point which can be proven without dragging them in.

i think that sometimes (not always) the idea of diversity within a community tends to lean closer to tokenisation than actual inclusion. this isn't a criticism of you as a person, just of the wording of the post, but really often i see people talking about how a community isn't diverse enough and doesn't have enough poc as if we're some kind of quantative measure for a group to say "see! i'm not racist!". at the end of the day, genuine inclusion matters far more than diversity. if a community welcomes poc with open arms but doesn't have much involvement from poc, that is inclusion. we have the option to become involved but we are not forced or pressured to become involved because we aren't seen as special trophies for groups to collect. when a group welcomes poc with open arms and defines themselves by how nice they are to poc and how many of us are involved and how they're so superior to other groups for doing the bare minimum of allowing poc to exist within their space, that's racism. diversity and racism can coexist. a lot of us feel repelled from becoming engaged in body positivity solely because of how white women specifically brand woc experiences as their own and pat themselves on the back for sharing a space with us. our experiences are not theirs, and even if they coexist they are still not the same and not a topic for somebody else to speak on to better their own situation.

ofc other poc will disagree and that's completely okay, i don't expect everybody to feel the same, but just my two cents.

”I think that sometimes (not always) the idea of diversity within a community tends to lean closer to tokenisation than actual inclusion. this isn't a criticism of you as a person, just of the wording of the post, but really often i see people talking about how a community isn't diverse enough and doesn't have enough poc as if we're some kind of quantative measure for a group to say "see! i'm not racist!”

I totally get that lol. Honestly the reason I brought up POC is because I was afraid that (other white) people would blame me for not being diverse enough if I didn’t lmao. You have to mention racism in any discussion about diversity or otherwise you’ll get persecuted by performative white activists (although you guys are the judges of whether I’m one of them as well lmao).

I think we fat and disabled people are generally more critical of body-neutrality compared to other marginalized groups, because our experiences and marginalization does differ from e.g skinny able-bodied POC, despite all of us facing oppression for the ways we look.

(Anyway for everyone who didn’t see my original post: I’m not body-positive or body-neutral. I don’t think one is better than the other, either.)

Everyone have an amazing day! And call me out on any bullshit whenever you guys want to. I could have missed the point of this commenter totally.

Byeee

[d8tl55c]

oo almost missed this one

agree with prevs- especially, "i havent experienced the same horror from tdl" in that it's about how they're framed to me.

TDL is almost disconnected from what he does. it's what he's good at, and he clearly cares about doing his best, but there's something missing behind those invisible eyes. the way he still carries himself like a happy kid going about his business making his plans better and better while TCO is constantly bombarded by moral implications and sentimental flashbacks. TDL does some messed up things (potentially a LOT of messed up things, we still don't know how long their attacks lasted) (but specifically i was thinking about how he executes Red and kicks the slowly deleting pile of code that remained), but he's not trying to cause maximum suffering. he just wants everyone less important to him out of his way, like they're annoying NPCs. he lets the remaining CG fight him but he doesn't let them flop around helplessly and realize all is futile and grovel at his feet, he takes the fight in close and wipes the floor with them as fast as possible, getting rid of them the instant they stop being a cute little diversion. like seeing how fast you can kill a wave of enemies in a video game, or when i meet a lizard in rain world and im not in the mood for messing around and so perform the optimal moves to stab-rock-stun it repeatedly. there's a disconnect. there's a lack of ...malice, i don't know what else to call it. even if i do the most terrible thing i can think of and pin a green lizard to a wall to watch it squirm and flash as if terrified of being unable to escape the incoming rain i know im dealing with a simulation, where i can act out a cruel thing upon a simulated creature that was never alive. it's a coldness that comes from disconnect: i think that it is not a person.

Victim on the other hand is actively hunting for fear. and absolutely connected to those they hurt. everything they do is calculated to let cho think he has a chance, and definitively rip that hope away in the most unsettling ways possible. slowly approaching, only revealing the danger when it's too late to stop it, letting tension build every time until cho feels forced to act first. their "fight" has no purpose other than to make cho squirm. Victim is fully aware of the person they are dealing with, and they are leveraging that fact to break him.

i think im missing something- this is my first time thinking about this this hard so ima reiterate one of the things i was trying to get at: how they choose to fight.

stick figures fighting is "[just what they do]" as stated once before kinda like that on an AvG ep., by alan, so them choosing to express themselves that way isn't abnormal. it's how they choose to go about it.

what we see of dark in action tells us that he is brutally efficient and seems to have no feelings whatsoever about the people he kills (it gives, "...does he know they're people too???" vibes).

what we see of victim in action is viscerally creepy and confusing from what we expected and shocking, and we see that they know what they're doing. they're doing it on purpose. they get upset when their machinations are interrupted, not just because they lost control but maybe because they know they almost had him- it's WEIRD and i still don't know how to write them because of it. i recoil from what they have become and i can't decide whether to see them as completely insane or so outside of my knowledge of kind and reasonable people that. i. idk. i guess they just suck? i have no idea where to place them and i suppose tdl frolicking through the fires of his own making oblivious to whoever might be choking in the smoke is more enticing somehow. sometimes humans do cruel shit for fun, or a purpose they think is right and have tunnel vision around, and they can grow out of that, it happens all the time. i want to understand, but i have no idea what kind of creature victim is. ;;

Random thought: does anyone know why the Ava fandom is more forgiving to TDL than Victim? I've been thinking and they're very similar really (both harmed TCO and TSC in a quest to defeat Alan)

I'm just curious because they're seen as two completely different characters

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . HANMA SHUJI ; — you basically emptied your bank account to finally see your favourite band BONTEN in concert, although the bassist wants to make sure you have a night to remember.

warnings: f!reader, bassist!shuji, band!au, other members mentioned, exhibitionism, some choking, biting, backstage scenes, this was written with pure hormones so it’s v messy + wild. note: i am back and as crazy as ever <3 i’ve had this in my drafts 4 months plz forgive me !

fuck, you’d waited too long for this moment — to finally see them, be in their presence and be able to admire your favourite band up close, this close. but nothing could’ve prepared you for how pretty BONTEN actually were, all those interviews and fan videos barely did them justice with the true beauty they exuded on stage, in their domain.

you’d basically scraped the bottom of your savings for this ticket and you didn’t regret it one bit, you’re so close you can see the glisten of sweat along the lead singer mikey’s chest beneath his low cut shirt. rindou mans the drums while his brother ran takes the keyboard, violet rays and handsomely, teasing smirks everytime they clock a particularly pretty thing losing their mind in the crowd.

lead guitar is a particularly unpredictable one, pastel pink mullet in contrast to the rest of sanzu’s sharp features but it suits him you think, frames his bright eyes despite the dark grin that accompanies his scarred cheeks — he was pretty, proven by his even more crazed fan base — he liked it though. although as pretty as the rest of the group are, they’re not why you’re here though, he is.

hanma shuji, bonten’s bassist and fuck— is he a force to be reckoned with, black kanji across his skin and you don’t think sin and punishment have ever looked as good as they do when they’re paired with his smirk and black and blonde hair. there’s temptation in his amber gaze and you swear you feel electricity lick at the base of your spine when you meet it in the crowd, watching the way his grin tugs even wider as his long fingers toy with the strings.

its those same fingers that are working you open now as he presses you against one of the speakers in the back, you’d heard rumours about how bonten in particular liked to fuck with their groupies, maybe that’s why you’d opted for a particularly short skirt for their gig — but fuck, were you feeling lucky when you’d been invited back stage to ‘meet the band.’

you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from the set or the particular expertise of hanma’s fingers pressing into you that already has you so wet, every loud squelch from your pussy seems to echo even louder than the last as you shake and every whimpery, sweet little whine only makes the bassist over you hum out a laugh as he nibbles on the shell of your ear.

“oh you’re a big fan, ain’t ya, babydoll? should put this pretty face centre stage, the crowd would love you.. yeah?” his voice is a honeyed, low drawl and you swear it only makes you feel even better when it’s accompanied by his lips smearing along your skin.

you can feel the still damp graze of hanma’s hair along your neck, still wet with sweat from the set as he accompanies the next particularly deep kiss of his fingers with a searing bite of his teeth along your pulse point.

you could cry with how insane he feels already, embarrassingly so as you grab and scratch at his shoulders — trying so hard to swallow down the pretty little moans that he’s pulling from you so easily. he had a reputation for being an adrenaline junkie, seeking out thrills — but you didn’t think that also included him fucking a fan behind some flimsy curtain when he has a perfectly secluded dressing room.

your head drops back as you feel hanma’s free hand curl around the base of your throat, squeezing lightly before he’s pulling back to let his dark, lidded gaze sweep over your already fucked out features.

“don’t fuckin’ hold back on me, fuck sake— you’re already this wet, don’t make me pull those pretty sounds out of you.” he grits despite the way the corners of his lips curl into something dark, taunting when he pulls his fingers out of you with a click of his tongue.

“im all tired from my set, babydoll. you gonna help me out?” hanma goads, teases as he lets his eyes drop to his belt and the particularly noticeable bulge in his pants — chuckling when just the loss of his touch pulls a sweet little whine from your pouty lips.

you know what he wants, and you’re so eager to give it to him — to reach forward and let your fingers work eagerly with the buckle of his belt until you’re able to peel back the layers. a quiet little gasp falling from you when the weight of his heavy cock finally presses bare against your thigh.

you’re basically fucking begging him to just hurry up and fuck you already when you send him a doe-eyed look, thighs twitching when he rubs a few sticky circles into your clit before hes pushing himself closer to you with a growl. your ears feel like they’re ringing with want as it drowns out the footsteps of the staff and leftover fans that still shuffle around on the floor, begging to get a peak at the members backstage and you feel like a fucking vip with the view you have right now.

hanma’s slender fingers in sin wrap around the base before he’s letting his head roll back with a few rough strokes of his palm, pinning your hips against the rough surface below you as he leans over your figure to rub his cock along your slick folds.

you’re fucking soaked, feeling the first silky grind of his cock split through the petals of your cunt before it’s catching on your clit, making you both gasp and moan at the wet tacky sound that follows before it’s drowned out by a swooning, loud cheer from the leftover crowd outside. you jump slightly as it rings, but relax when it’s followed by a particularly smooth voice, most likely belonging to one of the haitani’s as they entertain the leftovers, basking in the way they’re basically begging to be dragged backstage — to be in your position.

you feel hanma’s palm press hard against your throat when your legs curl around his waist, bringing your attention back to him as you pull him close. he pushes you so deep against the speaker your back arches as he finally splits through your folds and sinks into you with a shameless, low groan — chuckling at the way you’re already twitching around him, taking him so well he’s already considering dragging your sweet little pussy around the country with him.

“wanna show ‘em all how well you take me? you’d break their fragile lil hearts, such a selfish lil thing.”

© 2023 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[duuhrayliegh]

Hello, darling! I was wondering if you could right some Bucky x reader, where the reader worked along Sharon during Civil War and she meets Bucky. Then she runs always with Sharon and meets Bucky again in Madripoor and continue their story. I hope that makes sense. Thank yooouuuu✨✨✨

hey babes!! yes i absolutely can! i kind of gave more background than i meant to making it way longer, but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i do want to continue this story and most definitely will be so be on the lookout for the other parts of it lovie <3. i hope you still enjoy it even though it isn’t quite what you asked for yet :)

A Friend of Yours

FATWS SPOILERS

warnings: not much, canon lvl violence, some suggestive stuff closer towards to end, language, i think that’s it

word count: 6140 i went a bit overboard, it’s fine i’m totally fine

a/n: i got this request and then didn’t stop writing all day. i didn’t get anything else done all day. i got home at like seven-ish? and i’ve been sitting on the floor of my bedroom just writing this fic (for context it is now 12:47 pm where i’m at)

check out A Friend of Yours - pt. 2 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 3

p.s.: this is the first fic that i’m writing with an actual ‘x reader’ i’m so proud

xoxo ray

ray’s m.list

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

You grew up with Sharon, the two of you were best friends from birth it seemed. Honestly, Peggy raised you more than your own parents did. When Aunt Peggy got Sharon her first thigh holster, she got you one too. You enlisted together, moved up the ranks together, everything. So, it was of no shock to anyone that after the fall of SHIELD, you both moved together into the CIA’s Joint Terrorism Task Force.

You were inside the hotel with Sharon, Steve and Sam when the bombing on the UN took place. The look of unbridled fear that fell over Steve’s face as they announced Barnes as the primary suspect was heart wrenching. You weren’t able to watch it for long because your phone was already ringing off the hook.

“Look, you need to get me more information, and now.” You gritted into your phone speaker before quickly hanging up the phone and turning to a crestfallen Steve who was still watching the news casting. Sharon ended her phone call and turned to you.

“We have to go to work.” A few short hours on a jet later, you and Sharon were coordinating the operation. Close by, Steve and Sam were awaiting new information. Steve had this insane plan to find Barnes before the whole rest of the world did. Like that’s going to happen, it took the world 70 years to find Barnes. Of course, Steve and Sam are going to find him in about half that time.

You followed the blonde woman into a busy coffee shop and up to the counter. She slid a manila folder over to a well disguised Captain America. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everyone thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it’s just noise, except this.” Sharon was talking quietly, trying to not draw attention to the fact that she was committing a serious offense.

“We have to give the briefing, like now Shar, so we have to go.” The two of you pushed off the counter and you turned quickly to say one last thing. “And you better hurry. They’ve given the order to shoot on site.”

You left the shop quickly and made your way back to the white tent, passing the redheaded spy who was watching you like a hawk. A look of understanding crossed her features as you kept a calm facade. She fucking knows, how the hell could she read you that easily?

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

The next time you saw any of them, they were exiting the back of an armored prison van. It was no surprise that his eyes flitted over to his best friend from childhood. You glanced over at Barnes, who was strapped in all different ways, and your heart hurt for him. You tried not to pity him, you know you would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist from Aunt Peggy about it.

Bucky must’ve felt you looking at him because his steel blue eyes locked with your pair. This was the first time that you’ve ever actually seen the man in person. It was startling, in a good way. You grew up going to the Smithsonian and hearing Aunt Peggy’s stories about the great James Buchanan Barnes. You never thought that you’d get the chance to meet the man you did a history report on your freshman year of high school.

“Y/N?” Sharon’s voice cut through your thoughts, recalling you to reality and out of your past. “We have to go. We’ve been assigned to monitor Steve and Sam while they’re here.” Sharon was clearly not a fan of this, which made you laugh loudly.

“Oh, score! We get to babysit Captain America and the Falcon!” You spoke in an unnecessarily upbeat voice and then clapped your hands together. “Our dream job! Let’s go, Shar!” She stared at you for a millisecond before slapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s go, you fucking dork.” You followed her through the office building into the control room where you observed Tony talking to Steve. Apparently, the conversation was not going well because both their faces held angry glares. Eventually, Tony left the room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and that can never be good.

“How you doing, Cap?” You asked as you less-than-gracefully plopped yourself into the chair across from him. He looked over at me and released a heavy sigh.

“Honestly, Y/N, not that great at the moment.” He looked at you with his iconic mom Steve stare. Wow, so that’s what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that. Sam walked in and sat next to you. You drowned out their conversation as your gaze focused on screens outside of the glass office.

The video feed of Barnes in his metal cage was displayed on a TV screen. How is this considered humane? Obviously you knew that the CIA had pushed boundaries in the past, but this was just insane. “Are those restraints really necessary?” Sam seemed to be just voicing his thoughts, not expecting a response back.

“Well, he is considered an international terrorist, so yeah, they’re kind of necessary.” You said quickly and then muttered under your breath, “No matter who thinks that it’s excessive.” Steve’s gaze met yours and he was about to speak when Sharon walked in and dropped a paper in front of Sam.

“The receipt for your gear.” A scoff sounded from Sam as he glared at Sharon.

“‘Bird costume’? Come on.” Always quick to defend your best friend.

“Hey, we didn’t write it up.” It came off snappier than you had meant it. Sharon shot you a look, signaling you to back off. You raised a brow at her as she leaned over the table to the intercom buttons.

The audio from Barnes’ evaluation echoed through the glass room. Everyone around you was unsuspecting the four of you listened in. The psychologist was talking to Barnes, who seemed incredibly closed off. Who could blame the guy though?

“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The psychologist paused for a second, looking down and off to the side. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.” The caged man spoke for the first time.

“My name is Bucky.” His voice was rough from not being used. A look crossed Steve’s face and he turned to Sharon.

“Why would the Task Force release that photo to begin with?” Sharon’s body turned to face the man speaking to her. Her brows furrowed while she answered.

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Your head tilted, trying to follow Steve’s train of thought.

“Right. Good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” Oh shit.

“You’re saying someone framed him?” You wanted to believe it with every fiber in your being.

“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” Sam reminded in a calm tone.

“Yeah, you didn’t bomb the UN though. That turns quite a few heads. Especially if prominent people like King T’Chaka end up dead because of it.” You made a good point, but there were still pieces missing.

“That doesn’t guarantee that they would find him. It guaranteed that we would.” Sharon and Steve began examining the room around them. Your attention returned to the audio emitting from the intercom.

“You fear that,“ the doctor paused, “if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.” He glanced down again and moved his hand to swipe something away.

“Guys?” You pointed to the screen as the doctor held up his pointer finger.

“We only have to talk about one.” All of the sudden, the screens went dark and the lights flickered off. Secretary Ross was yelling at technicians to get his video back. Tony was speaking to his AI, Friday, about locating the source of the outage. Steve and Sam tensed at the thought of what could be going on with Barnes.

“Sub-level five, east wing.” was all Sharon said as the pair ran off. You looked at her and threw your hands in the air.

“What the hell do we do now, Shar?” She glared at you as she started reasoning with you.

“They’re stronger than we are. If they can contain whatever the hell is happening down there then great. In the event that they can’t, we’ll be up here with Natasha and Tony to deal with it.” You nodded quickly as you both ran out of the room.

You quickly followed Natasha, Tony and Sharon to the main level of the building. Clearly Steve and Sam were unsuccessful in containing the situation because Barnes could be seen through the glass, fighting his way to his destination.

Tony stunned Barnes with a previously concealed Iron Man glove. Barnes started towards Tony and quickly attacked. After Barnes bested Tony, it wasn’t long before Natasha rushed the man alongside Sharon. It wasn’t hard for Barnes to throw Sharon across the room. Natasha took the opportunity to launch herself onto his shoulders, which caused Barnes to slam her into a table with his metal hand wrapped around her neck.

She mumbled something to him as you kicked his ribs, releasing his chokehold on her. He stumbled backwards, his hard gaze landed on yours as he approached. Your eyes locked on his as the two of you traded blows.

They weren’t the same eyes as before. Those eyes were soft and remorseful, these were hard and unattached. There was no emotion behind the pair staring at you. The fraction of a second that you were analyzing his eyes in your head was enough for him to catch you off guard. His metal fist landed in your rib cage. The opposite hand jabbed at your face, busting your lip and sending you flying backwards.

You hit your head on the concrete below, making your eyes roll back. The wind left your lungs and you gasped to get it back as Barnes and T’Challa fought in the background. It was a few minutes later that a concerned Sharon made her way over to you.

“Are you okay?” You looked her over as she did you, checking for any severe injuries. You offered a small nod, not wanting to shake your head too much in fear of a concussion. “Let’s go check in with Ross.”

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

“And how the hell did Rogers and Wilson even know where to find Barnes?” Ross’ voice boomed through the office. No one said anything, not wanting to incur the wrath of Secretary Ross. “I’ve already allowed Stark 36 hours to find them and bring them back here.” Ross turned to you and Sharon standing in the corner of the room. “If they contact any of you, report it immediately.” Rounds of ‘yes, sirs’ bounced around the room, then chaos ensued as everyone got back to trying to clean up this mess.

“Carter. Y/L/N. Elevator now.” He raised two fingers to point toward the elevators before walking into one. It was just the three of you in the enclosed space. He clicked the button for the ground floor. “I know you have some kind of connection to Rogers but do not let that cloud your judgement. The both of you are CIA agents first.”

“We understand, Secretary.” The elevator doors opened again and you went to step out when Ross stopped you again.

“I mean it, girls. This is your job on the line here.” You and Sharon shared a look before continuing walking. Did he just call us girls?

“Do you think that was supposed to be intimidating?” You laughed under your breath as you went out to the parking lot. Sharon sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably.” She looked at you over the top of her car. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Where do we start?”

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

Getting that fucking shield and bird suit wasn’t easy. They had moved it from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre to the US Embassy to await transport back to the States. It made it easier but still damn near impossible to get. Thankfully, you and Sharon are good liars. Skills of a misspent youth.

The two of you walked in the front door and displayed your badges. “We’re here to pick up Captain America and the Falcon’s effects.” The man behind the counter didn’t even question it. Man, they need better people at the Embassy.

“You’ll have to sign some paperwork saying you picked it up.” There it is. You both flicked a brow and Sharon held her hand out for the clipboard. Small scratches from the pen in her hand were echoing throughout the empty building.

She handed the clipboard back to the man behind the counter. “Okie dokie, just pull your car around to the side of the building and we’ll get you loaded up.” He shot them a small smile and turned around to file the papers.

“That was easy enough.” You whispered to Sharon as you left, not wanting your voice to carry. You walked to your car that was parked in front of the iron wrought gate. Pulling your car around to the side of the building, you popped the trunk. The gear clad Embassy soldier carelessly tossed Sam’s suit inside before gently placing the shield on top of it.

“Hey, if there’s a scratch on that suit, it’s coming out of your paycheck buddy.” You held your pointer finger up to the man’s unimpressed face.

“Y/N, let’s go. We’ve got to get these to the jet or Ross will have our heads. Remember it’s our job on the line here.” What Sharon said made you laugh big while hauling yourself back into the driver’s seat of the car. As you pulled out into the street, Sharon was typing away on her phone and pushing it to her ear.

“This is a secure line but I don’t know for how long, so don’t talk just listen.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “We want to help. Meet us under the bridge on Route 6. We’ll be there in two hours.” She ended the call quickly and threw the phone outside the car. Glancing over at you, she nodded and sighed again.

“We’ve gotten this far.” You had one question burning in your throat that you were afraid to ask.

“Where do we go after they’ve gone?” She looked at you and she was biting her lip, something she only did when she was incredibly stressed.

“I don’t know yet. Do you have any ideas?” You smiled and thought of the one place that you wouldn’t be followed.

“Yeah, I’ve got one, but it’s rough.”

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

The drive to the underpass wasn’t a hard one. You had beat the boys there so you and Sharon were sitting in the car. You had the radio playing softly in the background.

“Who the hell do you know in Madripoor?” You laughed and shrugged.

“I’m supposed to tell you all my secrets for free?” You shook your head and shifted in your seat to face her fully. “I was tasked with tracking some artwork down there. One of my assignments when we went through initiation for the Agency.” You picked at the holes in your jeans. “I thought it was just all fake stuff, but I researched it more and more. Turns out, the underground artwork dealing is really lucrative over there.”

Sharon stared at you in amazement. “What did you do, Y/N?” You smirked.

“I haven’t done anything.” You held her gaze, “Yet.” She released a small laugh and her mouth hung open a bit. “I may have a warehouse out there.” You squinted one of your eyes, and leaned forward. “And the apartment above it.” She was going to say something when an old ass blue Beetle pulled up behind you.

“Now how the fuck did they all fit in that tiny ass car?” You both laughed as you stepped out of the car with big smiles on your faces.

“Not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.” Steve walked up to Sharon and they began talking as she popped the trunk, revealing their gear. Your attention was on the men in the car behind them. Barnes was stuck in the back away from cameras and Sam was lounging in the passenger seat. Your eyes met Barnes’ again, they were back to the remorseful pair you saw the first time.

“You know he kind of tried to kill us.” You waved your hand in gesture to the man in the car.

“Sorry, I’ll put it on the list too.” He glanced back down at Sharon, who had migrated closer to him. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

She nodded, “I know.” Then the most awkward kiss in all of kissing history took place. Your brows shot up then furrowed quickly, a small wince overtaking your face. They pulled apart and traded more words. Sharon began walking back to the passenger side of the car.

Steve turned around and you looked back at the two men in the car. Both of them were wearing proud, smug grins. Steve threw his head back as if he was berating them.

“About damn time, Cap! She’s been pining over you for God knows how long now.” The windows were down in the Beetle so the other two heard you shouting at their friend.

“Y/N!” Sharon was a bit embarrassed.

“What? It’s the truth, Shar!” The two of you began bickering like an old married couple as you started the car again. Steve got all he needed from the trunk and shut it quickly, slapping it twice. You began driving off with Sharon giving you directions to an airport on the opposite side of the country.

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

That was the last time you saw Steve. Last time you saw anyone for a while. You had been dusted in the Blip. Sharon had followed you to your apartment in Madripoor. The two of you were able to figure the city out pretty quickly. Learning the ins and outs of the island, where to go, who to sell to. One afternoon, you and Sharon had been surveying a Van Gogh piece for your gallery when you flew away. In the middle of a fucking deal, what perfect timing.

Five years later, you were reunited with an even more successful Sharon. “I kept your room the way you left it.” She said as she led you through your shared home. “I figured that you’d be back and you’d be pissed off if I fucked with anything.”

You smiled at the woman gratefully and hugged her. Neither of you let go for a while. When you did, she started filling you in on everything. She had continued to split all her profits and had been depositing the money into your account. “Even if you didn’t come back, I could’ve used it if I needed to bug out. Win-win.” She explained with a smile.

The two of you had about six months of getting back into the groove of things. It was quickly cut off by a ping of your phones one day. A look of confusion and anger crossed her face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” She locked eyes with you and told you to get your gear.

“Where are we going?” She threw her phone at you and you looked at the screen. As soon as you read the notification at the top of it you understood. Repeating your question from before, you tied the knots on your Converse. You followed Sharon to the Low Town side of the island.

“Now what the fuck are they doing here, do you think?” The two of you camped outside of the Brass Monkey nightclub, ready for whatever came your way. Deciding that you were too visible to everyone else, you moved to the building across from the club. Something is bound to go wrong and the first place they're going to get ran to is this dead end alley.

Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, Sam, Barnes, and Zemo got cornered in the alleyway. Sharon had decided to stay on the ground floor next to the door. You shot two of the assassins following the group of three and Sharon took out the final one.

You made your way back down to Sharon, who was still holding her gun up. “You cost me everything.” She focused her gun on Zemo.

“Sharon, wait. Someone recreated the super soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam remarked calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Explains why you guys are here and Selby’s dead.” Your brows shot up at that, must of been new information that she got while you were upstairs.

“Why are you here, Sharon?” Sam questioned.

“She was one of the ones who stole Steve’s shield, remember?” You stepped forward, raising your gun to gesture to the men in front of you. “And the wings, so your ass,” you waved at Sam, “could save his ass,” at Barnes, “from his ass.” You lowered your gun and stepped in front of Zemo, staring the man down. Your fist balled and you launched it at Zemo, landing a solid hit to his cheekbone.

Barnes grabbed your hand, twisting your body to slot against his with your arm bent behind your back. He leaned close to your ear, breath making shivers trickle down your spine. “I only let you do that because I’ve wanted to for a while now, so don’t get any more ideas.” Your breath hitched because of the proximity of the man behind you.

“Alright, give me my Y/N back.” Sharon said, lowering her gun to holster it. Bucky held onto you for a few more seconds than necessary and then pushed you towards Sharon as he released you. You scoffed, then shoved your gun into the waistband of your jeans. Sam and Sharon had already started their own conversation by the time you calmed down enough to face Barnes.

Sharon bobbed her head to you, an unspoken language between the two of you. After bringing them into your home, Sam began admiring the artwork in the first floor gallery. “Looks like breaking the law is treating you two well.”

“Before even graduating into the Agency, I had a place over here. Never had any intention on using it, but here we are.” You started, “Then, after having to flee Berlin, for you,” You shot a look at Bucky, “we figured if we had to hustle, might as well enjoy the good life. Do you know how much we can get for a real Monet?”

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monet’s.” Sharon shot him a look, about to defend us when Zemo cut in.

“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. All the classics.” Sam made a face of disbelief.

“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.” Bucky gestured to the gallery. Sam pulled his phone out of his suit pocket.

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” He was typing furiously as he spoke. Bucky passed him, soundlessly following you and Sharon to the upstairs apartment.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?” Once the five of you got upstairs, Sharon began walking them into her office, telling them that they needed to change because we were hosting clients. It didn’t take long for the men to switch outfits. It was refreshing to see Barnes in something other than combat gear or a torn Henley. Sharon followed you in the office, making a remark at Sam while he apologised.

“Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy.” She said as you plopped yourself on one of the plush chairs across from the couch, holding a clear glass full of whiskey.

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo added quietly, since when is Zemo informed? Sharon glazed over his comment, opting for asking about the new Cap while filling a glass for herself.

“Don’t get me started.” Barnes spoke for the first time since being downstairs. You narrowed your eyes at the man.

“Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” You swung your glass to Zemo, “Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” His gaze darted over to you, nose wrinkling at your comment.

“Do you know who I am?” He tried to be intimidating but it was just funny to you. You were taking a drink to moisten your throat to fire back a witty comeback, when Sharon spoke for you.

“Oh trust me, she knows. She did a report on you freshman year of high school.” You started choking on your drink as Sharon smirked from the couch next to Barnes. His brows raised and a smug smile graced his face.

“She did now?” Clearly he was a different man from the last time you saw him. Meeting his eyes for the fourth time ever, you were surprised with what you saw. There was almost a hunger lingering behind his eyes.

“Most definitely. I don’t even know how many times she went to the Smithsonian to see the exhibit about you.” You glared at Sharon, who continued to talk, unbothered by you. She raised her own glass to her lips, speaking into her cup, muffling her words.  “Honestly, think she developed a little crush.” Barnes’ eyes never left your face, his mind racing.

“Wait, so the entire time you were helping me and Steve, you had a crush on Tin Man?” Sam interjected, wanting to be included in the conversation. You rolled your eyes and gave a subtle nod to Sam. The action wasn’t missed by Bucky.

“Which is why I think it must’ve been really hard for you to ask him of all people for help. They comin’ down real hard on you out there?” You asked Barnes with a smirk and a head tilt towards Zemo. “I know he fucked you up real good, triggering the Soldier, Barnes.”

Sam laughed beside him. “Dude, that’s basically what you told Walker.” Barnes threw a glare at Sam, who had clapped a hand on his metal shoulder. The conversation dissipated after your comment, guess you killed the vibe.

Sam turned to a relaxed Sharon, “We need your help.” Her body tensed, neither one of you was ready to throw yourself back into enemy territory. “I can get your name cleared.” He dangled a huge bargaining chip in front of her face. You knew Sharon was eager to get back to the States. She misses her dad. It was unfair of Sam to use that as a way to gain her favor.

“Haggling with someone’s life like that isn’t okay, Sam.” You said quietly, focusing your gaze on the glass in your hand.

“It’s not like that, Y/N.”

“Yes, it is, Sam.” You said firmly. “You can’t just say something like that. I know you’re an Avenger. That’s great shit, but you need to realize that if you can’t deliver on your word, we go to jail or worse. You know that.”

“I don’t trust charity, Sam.” Sharon said from beside Barnes.

“All right, a deal then. You help us out, and I get your names cleared.” Your nostrils flared and you shook your head. Sharon agreed, blinded by the possibility of seeing her family again. You don’t doubt that she thought through all the outcomes, it just wasn’t the route you would’ve taken.

“We sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, and enjoy the party.” She got up, exiting the office.

“Try to stay outta trouble, boys.” You said placing your glass on Sharon’s desk as you left. “We’ll see what we can find.”

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

You were standing next to Sharon when the three men joined the party. Leaning over to Sharon, you told her you were going to get a drink from the bar. You pushed your way through the crowd, planting yourself on a stool in front of the countertop. Nodding your head at the bartender, they passed you a bottle of club soda.

“Not drinking tonight?” A raspy voice questioned over your shoulder. You turned to face the owner as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Already had my fill. And technically, I’m supposed to be working, Barnes.” Your eyes met with his again. You couldn’t tell if it was the light in the room or if it was just him, but they were a deeper shade of blue than before. He leaned his weight on his elbow that was resting on the bar top next to you. He was so close you could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves.

His eyes roamed your face, stopping on your lips as he spoke. “You know you can call me Bucky, right?” You made a face, bringing your bottle to your mouth. He watched intently as your lips wrapped around the opening.

“We’ve never had a single conversation before today. And the first time you actually met me, you twisted my arm behind my back because I punched the dickwad standing next to you.” You took another sip and his eyes drifted down to your throat. He watched as it bobbed when you swallowed.

“So, yeah. I’m going to call you Barnes.” You leaned closer, “I’ve never been given permission to call you anything else.” You could tell you struck something. Something that he didn’t even possibly know about. His face heated and he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Um, okay. Well you can call me Bucky or if you want, James.” Your brow quirked and you pulled back to take him in fully.

“How many people have you let call you that since you got your free will back?” Your tone was serious, but your face held a smile.

“None, doll.” His eyes ran over your face again. “I just want to hear how it’ll sound coming from your mouth.” One of his metal fingers came up to rest on your bottom lip as your smile grew.

“James.” You whispered, just for him. What he was giving you was a privilege, one you were going to revel in. One corner of his mouth tugged upwards.

“Again.” He growled as his finger remained on your lip.

“James.”

“Again.”

“James.” The party around the two of you faded away. In your reality, it was just you and the man in front of you. A peaceful place, where nothing could change what was happening right at that moment.

Of course, reality is a bitch. And you never got what you wanted. Your jaw clenched as soon as your phone pinged. James dropped his hand from your face as he read the text with you.

Found Nagel. Meet us outside and if you find Bucky, tell him too.

You scrunched your nose and bit your lip. James’ hand was quick to pull your lip from your front teeth, before resting there for a second as he studied your face. He stepped back quickly, nodding his head for you to follow him.

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

You don’t know how the hell Sharon managed to find him, but she did. You were in a shipping yard for storage cars. “Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam said as the five of you weaved your way through the containers.

“With a bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” She glanced down at her phone in her hand. Nodding toward a red container, “Alright, he’s in there. Container 4621.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out five earpieces.

“We’ll keep watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” You said as you watched everyone situate their pieces. Sharon turned around and began walking down an aisle not far from the container Nagel was in. You stopped James before he could go anywhere.

“Hey, be careful.” His eyes met yours and they were back to the normal steel blue. “Don’t forget who you are, James.” Something flashed behind his eyes, but his face showed no change.

“You too, Y/N. Don’t make me come out here and save your ass.” His eyes flicked down quickly and a smile spread quickly. “I mean, not that I would mind.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, turning and walking down the aisle Sharon did.

“So,” She was leaned against a rusted container with a smug smile. “You and Bucky, huh?” You groaned and stood next to her.

“I don’t know, Shar. Neither one of us should be in a relationship. Especially since we’re both Enemies of the State, well one of us is, the other one was.” You turned your head to look at her. “What do you think about all of this?” She opened her mouth to speak when you both heard something ricochet off a metal wall.

She raised a finger to her mouth and crouched down before pressing that same finger to her earpiece. “Guys, we have company.” She took off down one end of the aisle and you down the opposite, ready to attack from both sides. There were three men walking towards Nagel’s container, you shot a look down to Sharon and she nodded.

She came from the back with a baton, whacking the last guy once in the knees and once in the head, disarming him. When the front man turned to help his comrade, you did the same move to him with your own baton. You both continued trading blows with the men. You had effectively taken out the first man, using his thigh to latch yourself to the third man’s shoulders. Situating yourself to use your body weight to flip him over, definitely knocking him out.

“Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go now, boys!” You yelled to your earpiece as you watched Sharon fight off another opponent.

It wasn’t until the gunfire started that Sharon said something else into the piece. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” You both split off, out of each other’s view, battling your own demons. You were currently dealing with two of those said demons, when a third approached from behind. Locking you in a chokehold as the other two continued punching your ribs.

One of the hunters was suddenly ripped away from you. Punches were landing and groans were echoing through the alleyways. You threw all your body weight forward, throwing your assailant over your shoulder. Two gunshots rang out and then a third one, which landed a bullet hole between your aggressors eyes. Your head whipped around to face James, whose arm dropped back to his side.

He walked towards you, putting a hand on your back leading you to where Sharon and Sam were standing. Zemo pulled up in a blue convertible car, “Supercharged.” was all he said. Sam pointed his finger at the man in the driver’s seat.

“You’re going back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” James sighed heavily, his shoulder sinking with the action.

“He’s right. We need him. And there’s two of us, and at least twenty of them.” James got in the front seat, leaving the door open for Sam.

“Fine. But if you try that shit again--”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo raised his hands in surrender. Sam turned to Sharon.

“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” You leaned over the open door to talk to James. He looked at you with a sad face.

“Why don’t you come back to the States with us?” He tilted his head. “We could clearly use your help, doll.” You smiled at that and licked your lips before responding.

“You know we can’t. Not yet anyway.” He placed his finger back on your bottom lip, maintaining eye contact. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me, James. That I can promise you.” He smiled and dropped his hand back to his lap.

Sam climbed into the seat behind James. “You’re not going to move your seat up, are you?” James smirked before replying.

“No.” You watched as they drove off, desperately wanting to see James again already.

You turned back to Sharon and the two of you began walking back towards High Town. “I think you should go for it.” 

[hyunjilicious]

a helping hand [henry cavill] - part 2

A/n: I’m sorry it took me so long. I don’t like how this part turned out, at all, but I rewrote it 3 times and I can’t even think about these scenes anymore without getting annoyed. I’m just happy it’s finished and that I can start working on part 3 (that is, if you like this one enough to want to keep reading lol)

Summary: After you post on onlyfans a video starring another man, Henry decides to take matters into his own hands. (cameo: Steve Rogers) KINKY 4k

Warnings: spanking, daddy kink, dirty talk, mentions of smut and masturbation (male), humiliation/degradation kink, groping, mentions of porn and filming pornographic material, stalker-ish/obsessed Henry. (also tumblr crashed when I first tried to upload this so maybe that a sign this sucks)

You can read part 1 here!

-

The sight brought down a storm upon Henry's mind. He stood there, mouth agape, watching the screen, unable to believe his eyes. It was one thing to post videos of yourself on the Internet, but to have someone else take part in them was too much. At least for Henry. Still smart and composed, he realised there wasn't anything he could do about it, but nevertheless, he was determined to not let this shit slide for much longer. 

As much as he wanted to hunt down that man who dared put his hands on you, Henry gathered himself, took a deep breath and closed the onlyfans page. He was perfectly aware that just the right amount of you could get him to lose his sense of control and do things he'd later regret. Still, in desperate need to see you, he grabbed his phone, eyes scheming over your socials, only to see that the last time you had been active was 7 minutes ago. So, without much consideration, he started typing.

"You up?"

"Yep. Finishing up an essay. Coffee in 30??"

Oh, and how deeply that hurt him. "Of course" he sent you, and then checked again the post you made at 3am. '...I'll go to sleep right now, edit it for you when I wake up...'

You were lying? Why were you lying to him? It drove him insane. Henry felt like he couldn't sit down anymore, like he had no chance to catch his breath. He couldn't think straight, so he wasn't really to blame for what he did next. 

Henry's fingers flew over the keyboard, accessing Facebook and logging into your account, desperate to see whether he could find out who the man in your video was. And it was as easy as it could've been, considering your last 5 conversations were with the girl friends he already knew about. But somewhere among them, he spotted an unfamiliar name - Steve R., and instantly clicked and opened the conversation. His blood started to boil when the multitude of emojis you sent reached his eyes, but he scrolled up, until he found the beginning of yesterday's conversation. 

It was started by you, and with a request. You were blunt and went straight for it, asking him with just one message to be in the video with you. There was no trace of your relationship with him on the Internet, so Henry had no idea regarding the nature of yours and Steve's connection. Judging by the way you addressed him, he could easily assume the man was nothing more than a fuck buddy. Even though it angered him, Henry kept his calm and decided to go about this with care. It would only be a matter of time until he removed Steve from your life. But for now, he just had to keep digging for information. 

Steve R.: "Exactly what do you need me to do, baby? Spank you? In front of the camera? Are you serious?" 

"Yes, Steve. Come on!! I know we haven't seen each other in a while, but still... 😇 when it comes to these things, you know me better than anyone"

Henry scoffed. Who the fuck was this guy?

Steve R.: "I know, baby"

Steve R.: "What's in it for me?"

Smoke came out of Henry's ears, and the fact that you acted so sweet and innocent made him want to smash his keyboard.

"Whatever you want! Just do this for me!!! Please!!!! 🥺😊😋"

Steve R.: "Ofc I'll do it, sweetheart. I got you"

"Thank you thank you thank you 😘"

Steve R.: "I should be the one to thank you"

Steve R.: "Send me the location and I'll be over there asap"

After that, your address followed and then that was it. Determined to dig deeper, Henry started to scroll up again, wanting to find out as much as he could about this mysterious man. He didn't get a chance to lurk too much before this computer alerted him of a notification, the onlyfans tab glowing orange. His attention was instantly won, smiling devilishly as he checked the content.

Posted 30 seconds ago, was the new video. Ready to kick back and enjoy, Henry pressed the play button, ready to go at it with an open mind. 

He reluctantly accepted the fact that there was another man in it with you, but he decided to enjoy it nevertheless. The video started, displaying Steve seated on the couch, thighs suggestively parted. He had a pair of black dress pants on, dangerously stretched over his massive thighs. A white, elegant shirt hugged his visibly sculpted torso, the top two buttons undone to show just a hint of chest hair. Quite a sight, but all Henry saw was trash. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a silver watch on his wrist and a pinky ring on, Steve patted his thigh, cueing your entrance.

When Henry saw you, he felt his breath reach a new, sudden level of difficulty. With the shortest of skirts barely managing to cover your ass and a mostly see-through shirt on your top half, you made your way to him in such an angelic way that Henry couldn't believe his eyes. 

You looked like happiness personified, and it came in such a painful contraction to what you were about to do, that it twisted Henry's mind in such a perverse way, his cock nearly twitched just by seeing you. 

When you were about to bend over Steve's thigh, he grabbed your chin and stopped you mid action, his lips slamming against your as his free hand lewdly caressed your ass. He flung the skirt over your hips, your flimsy underwear on full display. 

Attentive to the events unfolding on the screen, Henry found his cock, teasingly rubbing it over the material of his pajama pants. His mouth watered when he felt the sensibility in his tip, actually believing this would be easier than he initially anticipated.

"Are you going to be Daddy's good little girl, or do I have to make this fucking hurt?" Steve asked and Henry almost threw up. 

"Yes, Daddy. I'll be good" you mewled, wiggling your feet. 

"Let's see" the man menacingly chuckled, releasing a sharp slap against your ass that made you yelp out in pain.

At this point, about 30 seconds in that was, Henry was already losing his mind. It was as if you took a trip inside his dreams and decided to play out his fantasies. The only problem was that you did it with another man. It was next to impossible for him to keep this going.

"Can you count?" Steve taunted, his hand traveling all over the back of your thighs, your exposed ass and between your legs. 

"Yes, Daddy" you eagerly nodded and Henry almost threw up.

"I wouldn't be surprised if a dumb slut like you didn't know how to" Steve chuckled, "But it's ok, that's how we like our girls. Dumb and pretty"

"Thank you, Daddy"

Henry couldn't believe his eyes. He refused to accept the fact that a random man got to play with your innocence like that. You were his sweet little girl. And if until now he pushed through heroically, when literal yelps of pain started erupting from your lips as the blonde man slapped your ass hard enough to rock your whole frame, Henry's blood ran cold.

But no matter how hard the jealousy had hit him, the video was still pushing his limits of self control. It was still what he always wanted to see. When he reached inside his pants and grabbed his cock, a low grunt of early satisfaction left his lips. He once again found himself picturing you, willing to please him, but this time, he didn't get to go too far. The buzzing sound of his doorbell rang through his apartment, and he never stood up faster.

Cock still hard and completely visible through his pants, Henry slapped the pause button and minimized the browser, before springing to his feet and rushing to the door.

"Henry!" you exclaimed as soon as he came into view. He looked somehow tired, but it was easy to tell there was something else bothering him. "You didn't answer your phone" you pouted.

"Yeah, sorry" he shook his head, a few sweaty curls falling against his forehead. "I was busy with something. What's up?"

You raised your eyebrows and pointed to the door of your apartment, "You said you'd come over? Coffee? Remember?"

"Oh, shit, yeah" Henry cringed, rubbing his forehead. "I'll be over in 10 minutes, that ok?"

"Sure" you beamed, completely oblivious to the way he just tried to get rid of you. With utter nonchalance, you pushed your way past him and strolled into the kitchen.

"You wanna wait here?" he muttered.

"Yeah... Is that a problem? I can leave..."

"No, no" Henry eventually sighed and rushed over to you. He cupped your cheeks and kissed your forehead. "Wait here, I'll be right back"

And that was what you did. You silently sat down, grabbing a bag of chips you found laying around, and settled to wait. And maybe, a few seconds passed where nothing devious came to mind, but as time ticket itself away, boredom got to you. First you stood up, and padded to the hallway, looking around. There was almost nothing new over there, but it still felt so homey you absolutely loved to inspect every detail. The TV in the living room was turned off, a couple of pizza boxes on the floor and his DVD cases laying around - absolutely nothing interesting.

You sighed and plopped down on his couch, folding your legs under your body, ready to flip through the channels on TV until he'd decide to join you. Nothing seemed of interest, being bombarded with news and fishing programs. "Old man" you thought to yourself, before opening up the menu in search for something less depressing. A wave of nostalgia hit you when you came across a Spiderman marathon, and you were done for. Maybe one full episode passed until Henry walked out of the bathroom, but you were nowhere near ready to leave.

"Look what's playing!" you beamed, pointing to the screen. Henry raised his eyebrows in amusement, his shoulders shaking as he softly laughed at your unusual choice of entertainment. 

"Are you serious? Cartoons?"

"Yes!" you scoffed, extending your arms and gesturing for him to join you. Although reluctant at first, Henry agreed to sit and watch the show with you, but not before brewing some coffee first.

When he returned from the kitchen, two steaming mugs in tow, you shuffled to the side and welcomed him on the couch. He brought you close against him, draping his arm around your body. With your head resting on his shoulder, you sipped your coffee, eyes glued to the TV. "You seriously never watched these as teen? You were 11 when it came out."

"I did" Henry laughed, rubbing his hand up and down your side, "I was in love with Felicia Hardy"

"MJ was so much better!" you shook your head disappointed, "You have no taste"

"No need for that" Henry threatened, his fingers exploring their way down your body. The way he trailed his hand across your hips and thighs made you squirm, smiling to yourself as you shuffled closer to him.

Henry was more than happy to reciprocate, kissing your forehead and squeezing you tighter. 

And just like that, you didn't care about Spiderman anymore. You flung your leg over Henry's lap, all but crawling on top of him. The episode was still playing in the background, but none of you was paying attention anymore. Henry wrapped his muscular arms around your frame, eliciting a soft moan from your lips as you pushed your hips down against his thigh. His hands traveled lower, exploring your body with delicate but greedy strokes. 

As you let yourself get carried away with absolutely no worry in mind, Henry knew exactly what he was doing. And considering how easily you let your guard down, he had you right where he wanted. 

When you hid your face in the crook of his neck, your nose rubbing across the slope of his collarbone, Henry's right hand found your ass. You froze for a second, but his gentle caress helped you relax again in an instant. With his lips against the top of your head, he allowed his fingers to sink into your flesh. Your whole frame stiffened as you gathered a handful of his hoodie into your fist.

"What's wrong?" Henry cooed, grabbing your chin, "You ok?"

"Yep" you whimpered, and then winced again as he squeezed your ass once more. "I'm good-" you lied, cupping the side of his neck into your palm as you crawled higher up his body, your lips right against his ear. 

As weak as he was for you, Henry stood his ground. If you wanted to play this game, he'd do it, but he wouldn't let you win.

"Does this hurt?" he asked, roughly groping your ass.

Jumping slightly from the pain, you still managed to shake your head, blurting out another lie. "... no"

"What about this?" Henry teased, grinning widely as he shoved his hands inside your leggings, under your panties. 

The urgency of his touch made your eyes open wide, your back arching as you tried to push yourself off of him.

"Does it hurt, darling?" he continued, keeping you in place with ease. 

Defeated, you sighed and lowered your gaze, "A bit" you mumbled.

"Just a bit?" 

"Henry-"

"Did he fuck you good?" 

Your mouth fell open. "What- no, I didn't- we didn't do anything-"

"Didn’t do anything?" Henry grinned, his perfect teeth showing as he proudly pried information out of you.

"I just... fuck-" 

Seeing no way out of this one, and eager to stop hiding, you pushed yourself back. Henry's hands left your body as you sat beside him, and he watched you curiously, patiently waiting for you to word your thoughts. "I just filmed a video for my page, that's all" you bowed your head.

"What kind of video?" Henry questioned.

His demeanour was so relaxed, he was right in his element, unlike you, who were riled up to the extreme. "A spanking video-" you cleared, awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. 

"Did he spank you good?" 

His hand found your hips again, and you leaned into his touch, nodding your head yes as you were too embarrassed to actually word your answer.

"Then show me" 

He was dominant and stern, and even if you wanted to, you felt like saying no wasn't an option. Henry didn't wait for your permission as he grabbed your waist and pulled you up to your knees, chuckling softly to himself when he saw you shyly smile down at him. 

His fingers curled around the waistband of your leggings, forcefully pulling them down your thighs. "Come on" he urged you, softly guiding you to lay down across his lap, your ass barely covered by the pinkish and slightly unflattering underwear you had chosen for the day.

Henry's breathing picked up at the sight, and so did yours. You watched him over your shoulder, his fingers tracing over the bruises Steve left on your bum the night before. 

"Henry-?" you whimpered, the anticipation building up in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear. 

"Yes, darling?" he cooed, leaning down to the side to kiss your cheek. His stumble tickled your skin and you whimpered when his hand made its way between your legs.

You felt his fingers against your opening and involuntarily clenched your thighs around him, hiding your face in the cushions of below your head.

"Tell me" Henry pushed, teasing your folds and clit over your underwear. 

"Nothing, I-" you cried, making him chuckle.

He loved giving you a taste of your own medicine. He straightened himself up and grabbed your ass into his hands, squeezing until you yelped out in pain. A soft laughter of approval escaped his throat as he bent down and pressed his lips to one of your cheeks, applying lingering kisses over each and every single bruise. 

The way he took control of the situation and handled your body, turned you on to no end. For whatever reason, being exposed like that for him, waiting for any kind of judgement to leave his lips, you were getting more and more riled up by the second. You were done for. You did your best not to moan with need, but little did you know that was exactly what kept you from being thrown onto the floor and fucked into oblivion. Just one single sign was all you needed in order to break his self control, but you didn’t have it in you to do it. 

But he didn’t say anything, instead just keeping you on your toes as he had his way. You were dripping through your underwear, and judging by the bulge in his pants that pushed up against your belly, you knew he was on the same page as you. But again, he didn’t allow things to go further. Everything about this moment pointed in the right direction - the teasing, the touching, you were all but whimpering in his lap, but he cut the moment short with a sharp slap against your ass before he helped you up. Henry acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened as he pulled your leggings back up, but this glare became colder when he found your eyes.

He bent down and spoke into your ear, "He could've done a better job"

Completely under his spell, you bit your lip and furrowed your eyebrows. "I don't think I would have been able to take any more"

"That's not what I said" Henry shook his head.

"Look at you being an expert" you teased, relishing in the fact that he seemed eager to keep things going. 

"All I'm saying is that if you had asked someone else-" Henry laughed, stroking your cheek, "Things would have turned out much more different"

"Oh" you pouted, ready to tease him further. "Who should I have asked-"

Just when you started getting comfortable and confident enough to push things further, Henry's phone rang. "I don't have to take that" he shook his head when he heard you stopped talking.

"Just see who it is" you giggled, slapping his shoulder.

Before doing so, Henry grabbed your chin and kissed your forehead, his touch drawing you in like a magnet as you leaned into him when he pulled away. With a sigh, you eventually crawled off his lap and then your face fell with disappointment when Henry showed you the screen of his phone. 

"Yeah?" he huffed after picking up, his boss being the last person he wished to talk to right now. 

You watched him closely as he listened to whatever the man was saying, and almost whined out loud when Henry frowned annoyed.

"I'll call you back in 5, ok?" he asked and after a couple of seconds hung up.

"I'm so sorry-" Henry sighed, turning to you, "I gotta go take this, there's a problem with one of the radars, I need to go see if I can fix it remotely"

"Sure thing" you shook your head. "But please tell me you don't have plans tonight"

"I don't" Henry leaned towards you and again, kissed your forehead. As much as you loved the sweet gesture, it was now more than ever that you craved something else entirely. 

"And please don't forget about me again" you giggled, grabbing his biceps and stopping him from leaving without a promise.

"I won't" he sighed, "I'm really sorry about that. I'll make it up to you"

"However I want?" you beamed and licked your lips.

"Absolutely" Henry smiled, sweetly embracing you before walking you to the door.

You had his word now, and you were planning on making it count. There was no way either you or Henry would act as if nothing had happened, and you couldn't wait.

Once alone and seated at his desk, Henry opened up the text editor associated with the code he wrote months ago. When his screen was flooded with errors and his chat popped up with three different messages asking for help from his colleagues, Henry all but yelled out loud in frustration. Not only did he wish to be with you, it was also Sunday, one of his days off. But he couldn't just text the pilot of the plane whose radar went berserk and tell him to wait. So he got to work, determined to get this done as soon as possible. 

But unfortunately, that 'as soon as possible' turned into 3 hours of continuous work. He didn't even stand up to go to the bathroom until he made sure everything was on point. It was about 4pm when the program started running smoothly again, and seeing how he had a few more hours to waste until he had to see you, Henry decided to make the best of them, by getting a head start on his tasks for the following day.

Productivity flowed through his fingertips as he solved the first issue he had been assigned for the day to come, getting ready to start working on the second one when a call caught his attention. He didn't recognize the ring tone, and it only dawned on him that he was still logged into your facebook account a couple of seconds after it stopped ringing. 

Still curious, Henry switched the tabs on his computer, noticing that the chat with Steve, which he left open hours ago, showed that there was an ongoing video call. His jaw fell. Henry tightened his hands into fists, fuming with anger. First as you for doing this, and then at himself for allowing you to believe this was an ok thing to do. He knew there was no way to eavesdrop on your conversation even if he had the password, but that didn't mean his curiosity died down. No, it only grew stronger.

He felt lost for a minute, but then he thought of something. On his dresser, right next to his winter gloves and under his favorite jogging hat, laid an extra set of keys. Henry remembered the day you gave them to him, saying something along the lines of 'I feel much safer knowing that if something were to happen, you could always get to me, Henry.' and then remembered how you stuffed them in his pocket, and kissed his chest before stepping back. Such different times. 

There was no trace of hesitation inside his mind as he grabbed the keys and made his way out of his home. He passed the hallway in less than a second and pressed his ear to the door. It was perfectly quiet, and through the peephole, he couldn't see any light. You weren't in the kitchen or living room, so he felt confident enough. After putting his phone on vibrate, Henry ever so gently pushed the key inside, turning it inside the lock with the most meticulous movement his wrist could muster. The sound of the door knob being turned was so faint he barely even heard it, but his pulse skyrocketed when he heard the click that signaled the door was finally open.

With small, careful steps, he made his way inside. The entire apartment was dark and quiet as he made his way in, stopping just outside your bedroom as the relaxed, deep voice of a stranger became audible through the wall. “Trust me, sweetheart. Just relax, I got you. You’re all tense, I can see it from here. You know I have more experience with this than you do, just do as I say”

With one hand on the doorknob of your bedroom, Henry was ready to put an end to this whole charade. He knew he might regret it later, but he didn't care. The image of a so called friend, pushing you to do anything that you seemed to have clearly stated your discomfort about, flipped a switch inside his brain. There was no stopping him because no one, no one got to push you around like that. Not while he could do anything about it.