#from a psychological perspective could have just been of recognition

[domjaehyun]

guys the very cute guy at the local dispensary was …. *deep ragged breath* calling me baby? like multiple times and . ……. okay maybe i just have a dirty mind but he was just saying all the right things and i’m tempted to walk back over there and be like

“what are we……? bc you lowkey talked me through it while i was trying to buy a vape and you can’t really be that patient and attentive AND call me baby AND make me laugh like what is your name and your number 🤨 like right now 🤨”

[pyxxiestyxx]

Cherished

(affini 2nd person perspective, TW for: predprey vibes, general noncon)

You watch from afar as she saunters back home, another too-hard day of work for one so fragile. On the fraction of a spectrum the terrans call 'vision', your telescopic sensors can see the dried sweat on the collar of her shirt, something your olfactory senses confirm. The scented products she applies to herself (to herself! As if you wouldn't be more than happy to do that daily!) are all but dust on the wind, a distant memory of the terran getting up and hoping for today to be anything but what it was. You spent a brief amount of time on terran psychology and understanding (only a scant few months, an eyeblink really), and the way she stumbles haphazardly is paramount to a scream for help in your mind. The heavy sigh on her lips might as well be Domesticable on its own, in your humble opinion.

So you decided that today is the day. You unfurl yourself from the nook you were nestled in, vines made to stick and climb carefully retracting into you as you descend to the ground once she had passed. It wasn't as silent as you preferred, but the human's senses are so dull that she would have had a better chance hearing a conversation on the other side of a crowded square. You alight upon the ground with a whisper of a touch, a hundred vines tip-toeing, spreading the single moment of contact into a hundred smaller ones. Was it overthinking? Possibly, but if it was for the little one, then no effort was too large.

You follow after, at least sixty percent of your senses trained on her every movement, her every breath. If she turned around (and she hardly ever did, a sign of weakness if you had ever seen it! Such easy prey), all the terran would ever see is blades of grass springing back into place. You were fast, far faster than the terran, and you knew she would look over her right shoulder this late in the day. She was right handed after all, and you had already made sure to condition her to look over her right before now. A few subtle twigs snapping in previous walks home. A few affini friends who would only approach her from the right for the last two weeks.

You grew closer, your vines itching with the desire to bundle her up. Today was the day, you were sure of it now. You could feel it in your core, feel how much it needed to press that small feeble thing to it and let her thoughts and worries just…fall away. Her fingers tip-tapped to a broken beat, one you ached to fill with your own. You allowed yourself an eternity (almost a full eighth of a second!) of imagining her fingers dancing along your vines, only not in weary worry. No, you would make those fingers twitch and play in sheer ecstasy.

With nary but the slightest growl, you were upon her. She didn't even have a chance to squeak before your needles tipped into her flesh, depositing the perfect blend of chemicals for her to begin her journey. Her breathing quickened, then slowed, and the pulsing micro-tremors of her veins along with it. She looked at you with surprise at first, then growing recognition, and then…halting acceptance. She knew what was happening. She knew what you wanted. She knew that in time, she would want it too. And there was nothing she could do about it anymore.

Your vines couldn't wait, wriggling into her clothes and tracing fervently down her spine, feeling the muscle groups that would be shifted slightly to make room for a new part of her, an old part of you. You had already grown the haustorium long ago, had already been subtly placing things in her life to think about it. It was a beautiful thing, and you had already notified her Vet of your intent. They were more than willing to accommodate, of course. Their senses could see the naked hunger in your every movement. It would have almost been embarrassing, were you not so singularly focused on your target.

Your curled your lips into a smile, giving the little one the briefest moment of insight into your feelings. Could a mere facsimile of a smile convey the utter joy in this moment? Could the way your eyes pulsed purple and gold truly show her the depths of your desire? No, no of course not.

That would come with action, with experience. Nothing less would suffice. But for now, it would be enough.

Your vines sing with sound as you speak the words you practiced a hundred, a thousand times already.

"Good Afternoon, my sweet little songbird. You may call me Mistress."

[crowsoundsonly]

dr. barnes

pair: fbi instructor!professor!bucky barnes x fem!student!reader

word count: ~6.5k

summary: you ask for some advice from your reclusive and very attractive professor.

warnings: teacher student relationship so slight age gap but i had pictured it being less than 10 years, super soft bucky, smut at the end (~1.3k), fingering (f rec) but not super descriptive, crime scene descriptions, descriptions of blood, some christian/religious references at the crime scenes, (let me know if i missed any !!)

a/n: this one held me hostage for weeks. i literally could not stop thinking about it. do i have uni exams this week? yes. but did i spend my time writing this? also yes. i hope you guys like it !!

“Explain the killer. What does he do? What motivates him? How would you catch him? A thousand words printed by the next class. Have a good weekend,” your professor, Dr. Barnes, announces with a nod, cueing the shuffling of laptops and bags belonging to FBI trainees eager to get home on a Friday afternoon.

You load up your things, your mind still thinking about the brutal crime scene photos shown on the slides of the lecture today that made your stomach turn over. While you know you have chosen to be at the FBI, you can’t help but wonder sometimes what you are doing there. Your degree in psychology and doctorate in criminology has led you to the FBI Academy, but your mind still swirls when the most horrible acts of violence are placed in front of you. You chalk it up to you retaining your humanity and sanity, so you are not exactly upset over the fact. It just makes your job more difficult.

Dr. Barnes’ class is always the most brutal, but it is by far the most fascinating class you have. It does help that your professor is the most fascinating part, being very good looking and extremely private. He shares very little personal information, telling you only that he used to work homicide at the police department before beginning teaching. You notice that he does not talk to students often, simply giving his lectures, packing up and leaving after the sea of students flood into the hallways.

You are curious about him, about what he is like when he is not lecturing, and figuring that you have little to lose, you decide to come back after your classes to ask for some help. 

…

“Dr. Barnes?” you call out as you step into the lecture hall that is still lit, leaving you to believe that someone is there. You take a few more steps and find your professor sitting at his desk, photos piled around, staring intently at the laptop in front of him. He makes no movement to acknowledge you, his focus completely locked onto his work.

You walk all the way up to his desk, repeating his name which does little to deter him. You reach a hand out and give his shoulder a slight squeeze, causing him to jump in his seat and look up at you, eyes wide. 

“Sorry, Dr. Barnes. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

At your words, he scans your face, recognition dawning on his features. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he says quietly, his eyes focusing on the books you are holding in your hands. 

“It’s okay, Dr. Barnes,” you assure him.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he trails off a bit at the end of his question, asking for your name in its absence.

You fill in your name and explain, “I just have a question. I’m writing a paper for another class and was hoping that you could give me some insight on the topic. I’m really just looking for another perspective.”

“Of course,” he says as he leans back in his chair. There is not another chair, so you take to sitting on the edge of his desk.

“The paper is about female serial killers, and I was wondering what you think the most common traits and motives are. We have discussed some examples in class, but I wanted to ask what your experience has been.”

He thinks for a moment, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “They usually work in health care professions. They’ll, um, they will be married or have been married before. They usually kill to improve their situation, so they’ll target people they know, usually men. But not all women,” he stops and looks up at you before continuing to explain a case he had while working homicide where they investigated a series of killings that followed the signs of a male killer but ended up being a woman. 

Dr. Barnes runs a hand through his hair when he finishes, leaning back in his chair. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in this position and at this angle. His dark hair tousled and glasses twirling between his thumbs, you think about how it would feel to reach out and feel his hair between your fingers. You school yourself, your face becoming hot at the idea. He is your professor, and you would do well to remember that. 

You continue the conversation, asking him questions and prodding for more insight. When you figure you have taken up enough of his time, you bow your head a bit and begin getting up from your place on the desk.

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Barnes. I really appreciate you taking the time.”

He nods in acknowledgment, a small smile adorning his lips which you watch perhaps a little too intently as he says. “It was nothing. I’m glad I could help.”

You begin walking toward the door of the lecture hall but are stopped by your name being called out.

“Would you actually mind taking a look at these pictures? I’d like to know what you see.”

You turn back around. The look on his face is one of curiosity. You wonder why he would want to ask you, and part of you wants to believe that it is because he wants you to stay, but you know better. 

“Sure,” you shrug, making your way back to his desk. “I’m not sure I’ll be of much help, though”

“Just take a look. It’s not a test, if that’s what you’re worried about,” your professor says, standing up to hand you the crime scene photos.

They are gruesome, but you don’t know what else you could have expected with Dr. Barnes. You examine them all the while trying to ignore the way he leans over your shoulder as you fail to concentrate. You are so close that if you took a single step back, you would be flush to him. 

Pushing those thoughts away, you focus your attention on the photos, flipping through them, noticing the odd blood splatter near the baseboard that doesn’t have a body laying anywhere near it. 

“What would make the killer climb on top of the counter to shoot someone, get down, and move the body?” you think out loud as you turn your head to look at Dr. Barnes. You notice how close your faces are and let out a breath at the discovery. “Dominance?” your voice is more shaky than you wanted it to sound.

“I was hoping you could tell me. My guess is they were waiting there, but it still doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking past you and to the picture you are holding. You look back down as well, grateful you did not make eye contact, the idea of the intimacy of it alarming.

“If they were standing on it, that would make sense, but the angle doesn’t really fit. It seems as if they were waiting for them to get home, and they sat, swinging their legs, completely calm and casual about shooting this person,” you pause, mulling over your words before saying, “Maybe they even knew this person. The proximity to the counter could mean that the victim was comfortable enough to approach them, and that the victim was unaware of what was going to happen.”

He hums in agreement in your ear, and a feeling of satisfaction washes over you. Turning back around, you hand the photos to your professor and take a step back. 

“I think you may be right,” he says with a nod, a small smile again creeping onto his features. You make eye contact and keep it, somewhat entranced by it.

“I’m glad I was able to help,” you smile. “Thanks again, Dr. Barnes. Have a good night.”

…

You anticipate going back to classes on Monday, knowing that you have to attend Dr. Barnes’ lecture. You don’t know if anything will be different after the night you spent talking to your professor. Part of you knows that nothing should be different. While there are only a few years between you, you are still his student.

But part of you wants things to be different. The entire weekend, you could not get out of your head the image of his face so close to yours or the sight of him as he leaned back in his chair, legs casually falling open. 

Dr. Barnes is not in the lecture hall when you arrive for which you are grateful. You settle into your seat and wait for the lecture to begin by fiddling with your laptop. When your professor does come in, you notice that he combed his hair today, letting it fall neatly over his forehead. The plaid shirt he wears still doesn’t match his suit, but you find it charming. He slips his glasses on and begins teaching.

The whole lecture you try valiantly to focus on the subject, but you fail rather miserably, unable to think of anything but how you stood right where he is, your back a foot away from his chest with him humming in your ear. It is going to be a long term if this is how every lecture is going to go.

You are brought back to reality when Dr. Barnes makes eye contact with you. He smiles which you quickly reciprocate, then he turns around, gesturing to the screen before anyone notices.

It is definitely going to be a long semester.

…

Weeks go on with you and Dr. Barnes smiling at each other from afar, both of you knowing that you would be playing with fire if you do anything more than smile. But the longer you go simply smiling, the more you want to do something about it.

And one day, he does something about it. On your way out of the lecture hall, Dr. Barnes stops you, calling out your name. You walk over, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

“I’ve another case I’d like your opinion on. Do you have time tonight to take a look?” he asks you quietly so as to not draw the attention of the students still exiting the room.

“Yes. Here at 7:30?”

He nods, making a flash of eye contact which you return with a smile. 

…

You make your way to Dr. Barnes’ lecture hall, your stomach roiling with nerves. You have thought too much about him, fantasized a little often for you to not think about it when you talk to him. The soles of your shoes click on the tile as you walk the hallway. You take a deep breath and open the door.

Dr. Barnes is reclined behind his desk, crime scene photos in his hand as he flips through them intently. At your entrance, his head flicks up to find your figure approaching his desk.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” he says as he stands up. 

“Hi, yeah. It’s – yeah it’s no problem, Dr. Barnes,” you manage to get out, tripping over your words more than you would have liked. Another deep breath to collect yourself. “What can I do to help?”

He leans against the front of his desk and reaches behind him to grab the photos he was examining before. You take a few steps closer to grab them from his outstretched hand.

“A recent set of murders. It’s odd to say the least,” he starts, watching you intently as you study the photos. 

The scene is horrifying, blood smeared across the walls, not as blood spray or splatter, but in an image. A lamb. Your mind spins as you look through more of the pictures, each of them showing blood splashed on the walls. You wonder what the killer did in order to get that much blood. There is too much for it to have come from just one body.

“How many people were found dead?”

“Only one,” he answers, leaning in to help you find the image of the body heaped over the table. You can’t help but notice everywhere his body touches yours, how his breath flutters against your neck, but you cast those thoughts away to focus on the case at hand.

“There had to have been more. There’s too much blood,” you mumble as you cart through the images again, counting as you go. A beat passes as you take in the scene, contemplating before constructing ideas.

“What do you see?”

“In ancient religious practices, a lamb would be sacrificed and the blood would be sprinkled around seven times. There are seven places where the blood was thrown on the wall,” you pause to show him each one. You glance up at your professor who is looking on intently, urging you to continue. “Then you have the body placed on the table. It could be sacrificial. The lamb was supposed to be perfect. Without blemish. Maybe – maybe the killer saw this person as their perfect – their perfect lamb, as someone who would put them in favor with God. The sacrificial lamb is sacramental. Symbolic. Messianic. It’s an act of repentance. So what was the killer repenting from?”

A hum from Dr. Barnes pulls you out of your reverie and breaks your focus from the crime scene photos. You lean around his form to place the pictures back on his desk, your shoulder brushing against his arm. His eyes follow you before he brings a hand up to rub his eyes, almost like he is physically rubbing away the images.

“Do you think the killer knew the victim?” he asks quietly, bringing his hands down to meet your eyes.

“I think they could be family. Family or close friends. They were their savior,” you answer, matching his tone.

Dr. Barnes nods in agreement and in that moment, you can see that he looks like a man who is carrying the world on his shoulders. He slouches forward slightly, his hair strewn around his ears with bags under his eyes. It takes everything in you to not reach out a hand to touch his cheek, to rub a thumb across his lips as you have in your dreams.

Appalled by your own thoughts, you take a step back to give yourself space to halt that train of thought. The movement makes him stand, subconsciously trying to keep the close proximity between you. You don’t break eye contact, making the moment intimate. Intense.

“This case has been keeping me up at night,” he confesses as he brings a hand to run through his hair with a sigh, breaking eye contact. “I wonder where the other bodies are. I can’t seem to get my mind around it.” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you say in nearly a whisper. “You’re good at what you do.”

“Thank you for your help. It’s some really great insight you had.”

“It’s no problem, Dr. Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he says quickly, rushing it out like he knows he shouldn’t let it pass his lips.

“Bucky,” you repeat, trying the name out on your tongue. 

You then fall into easy conversation, learning more about each other. You discover that Bucky has a PhD in criminology as well, and that he used to be a field agent but decided to leave it to become a teacher at the academy. Part of you wants to ask why, but you figure that it isn’t a conversation he wants to have while still getting to know you. He asks about your life, your family, your education. He is interested in why and how you landed at the academy. You answer him honestly, not inclined to hide away as you normally do when people ask those questions.

Bucky is surprisingly sociable. Based on his reclusiveness when it comes to students, you were not expecting to hold such easy and fun conversation. It makes you want to spend the whole night chatting, joking, exploring. But you know you should not stay. 

When the conversation lulls, you glance at your watch and ask, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Bucky? I think I might head home.”

Before you can even register what is happening, he takes a singular step forward and leans in to meet his lips to yours. In shock, you stand limply, not sure how to respond. You can’t deny that you have thought about this moment for weeks, dreaming about it, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Bucky. But you hadn’t expected it to happen tonight.

And before you have time to respond, he pulls away, opening his eyes to look at you with wide ones of his own.

“I’m sorry, I–”

You don’t acknowledge his apology, instead leaning in to kiss him again, only you are prepared for it this time. He responds immediately as his lips move slowly over yours, testing the waters. Your hands are still by your sides, but his come to settle in your hair and over your arm. His kisses are controlled and soft, not pressing for more than what you are willing to give. A sigh flutters from your nose which ghosts over his cheeks.

Breaking away for a second, you open your eyes and find his already looking at you. The both of you know that you are playing with fire. You are still his student, and he is your professor, but the feeling of his lips on yours overrules any rational thought at the moment.

You give a slight nod and he takes that as a green light to kiss you again. Bucky pulls you closer, and your hands find their way around his torso, snaking up into his hair. It is his turn to sigh at the action which causes satisfaction to roll down your back in waves that has you leaning further into the kiss, opening your mouth ever so slightly. He takes advantage and kisses you deeper. A soft moan escapes you at the feeling, followed by a shaky breath.

He pulls away, a triumphant smile playing at his mouth. 

“I’m not sorry,” he whispers.

“Me neither.”

He kisses you once more, chaste and short, but it carries more meaning than any of the other kisses. It tells you that he has thought about this, too. It wasn’t a spur of the moment, impulsive decision. And it tells you that he plans on doing it again.

…

You settle into a routine with Bucky. After class on Fridays, he stops you on your way out and quietly asks you to come back to look over a case or his lectures. You always nod and come back at 7:30. 

The unspoken truth of the need for secrecy looms over your blooming relationship, but you are almost spurred on by the illicitness of it all. You haven’t done anything more than kiss. You haven’t even interacted beyond the walls of the lecture hall. You both know that it is safest that way. 

The more time you spend together, the more you find yourself falling in love with Bucky. His quirks make you smile. The way he perks up when you walk through the door makes your heart flutter in your chest. You have never felt so valued by anyone before. He trusts your opinions. He respects your honesty. You admire his dedication to what he does. You find his quiet nature calming. 

The list of things you love about Bucky keeps you up at night as you replay scenes of kissing at his desk behind your eyes as you fall asleep. Bucky kisses you like you are ice cream on a sunny day, slow and hungry like he savors every second of your mouth on his. He never presses you for more, only going so far as to set you up on his desk, pulling your hips to his, allowing you to wrap your legs around him as you wind your fingers in his hair. He always sighs when you tug at it which gives you the opportunity to kiss at his neck, your chin always getting scratched by his stubble. 

You love the routine. However, it makes it hard to concentrate during the lectures since all you can think about when you look at his desk is how good his hands felt on your hips and how his lips were pressed to yours when you were propped up on the wood yourself.

The semester continues on following your routine. If anyone suspects anything, they don’t say. You can’t imagine that someone hasn’t picked up on the soft smiles he sends your direction during lectures, and stragglers leaving class late on Fridays must hear his whispers for you to come back. 

Steadily approaching the end of the term, you begin to question how long your routine will continue. You will no longer be Bucky’s student. Could you actually date? Would he want to? Is that what you want?

…

The familiar tug of nerves settles in the pit of your stomach as you walk to class with Bucky — Dr. Barnes if you were still professional, but you figure that his lips have kissed you a few too many times and in a few too many places for you to call him that. It is your last class in his lecture hall, meaning that beyond today, you are free to make a decision as to whether this is serious or not.

In your heart of hearts, you want this to keep going. You love how you feel around Bucky. While you have not said it out loud, you love him. You feel yourself aching to hear him say it, too. 

When you arrive in the room, Bucky is already there, nervously flipping through crime scene photos while running his hands through his hair, creating a rather haphazard mess on his head. He looks more anxious than usual, and it takes everything in you to not to stride to his desk and ask him what’s wrong. 

Instead, you brush past him, trailing a quick hand over his arm, hoping that it has a calming effect over him. His eyes flash to yours as you cast a look over your shoulder, smiling at him. He sends you a tight lipped smile back as his shoulders shrug down from their place beside his ears. 

From your seat, you watch Bucky pace around a bit, obviously concerned about something. You rub your palms over your thighs when you discover them clenched in worry. You wonder if his stress has anything to do with the reason you were nervous coming to class today — the talk you know is coming tonight. You figure it does when his eyes glance over at you every few minutes before beginning the lecture.

You find yourself becoming sentimental about the semester as you look around the room, taking in the feeling for the last time. If you and Bucky do decide to continue your relationship, you can never take one of his classes again. If you don’t continue to see Bucky, you doubt you will want to take one of his classes again. You will miss his funny side comments that come out of left field. You will miss his mismatched suits and disheveled hair. 

The sound of Bucky announcing the end of class breaks you out of your thoughts, and the shuffling of backpacks and feet brings you back to reality. A stream of students thank Bucky as they flow out of the classroom for the final time. You stall a minute, waiting for the throng to exit out the doors before approaching your professor.

“Hey, Bucky,” you say quietly, clutching your laptop to your chest. 

“Hey.”

You watch him lean against his desk, hands pressed to the edge of the wood. 

“How are you doing?” you ask the question that has been waiting to erupt since you entered the lecture hall an hour previous. “You seem nervous.”

A chuckle that comes out more as a sigh escapes him. “Yeah. I’m fine. I, uh, I just didn’t get much sleep last night. How are…how are you?”

“Wistfully contemplating the end of my time in your class,” you reply playfully, hoping that the happy tone will hide the melancholy you really feel about the idea.

This elicits a laugh from Bucky as he looks at you through his lashes — a look that always has your knees threatening to come out from under you. You take steps closer and set your laptop down on his desk, then place your hands on his shoulders, running them down his arms to settle in his hands.

“Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?” you ask, the words barely more than a whisper. You want to catch them in the air, afraid that your proposal to disrupt the routine will be rejected.

But Bucky smiles immediately, thinking for a moment before saying, “Why don’t I cook dinner?”

Your stomach flutters at the thought of watching him in the kitchen. You nod in response.

“7:30?”

“7:30,” you repeat before letting go of his hands to walk out the doors, throwing a smile over your shoulder as you go.

…

The drive to Bucky’s house is quiet but comfortable. About halfway through the trip, your hands link together, resting on your thigh. You talk lazily, asking questions about each others’ days since your morning lecture. There is something so calming about Bucky. You trust him. You love him.

Every once in a while, your eyes flick over to watch him drive, eyes intently focused on the road ahead. He can feel your gaze, so he sends a glance over to you with a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“What?” he asks when you don’t shy away from his eyes.

“Nothing, Buck. I just like being with you.”

“I do, too.”

The sweetness of his simple confession does more to your confidence than you ever thought possible. You feel comfortable around Bucky. You need only be yourself when you are with him, and hearing that same sentiment from him gives you hope that he wants this to continue just as much as you do.

You squeeze his hand, at which he laughs softly, squeezing yours back, brushing his thumb over the knuckles on the back of your hand.

Gravel crunching under tires and the faint sound of dogs barking indicates that you have arrived at your destination. You open the car door and follow Bucky to the front steps of a small house on the edge of town. A large open field is situated behind his house, neighbors nonexistent. Given Bucky’s personality, you are not surprised to discover that he lives alone, away from people, away from the city. 

A flash of nervousness pricks at your mind, as no one would be around if Bucky shows you that isn’t the guy you think he is. But you trust him, and you trust him enough to accept your fate if it does prove to be your downfall.

The door creaks open, and Bucky flicks on the light. Two big dogs come bounding to greet you both, circling his feet until he crouches down to give them the attention they are begging for. To see Bucky with his dogs makes your mind go fuzzy and warm, the tenderness of the scene eradicating your doubts from before.

“Charlie and Duke,” Bucky says, showing you which dog belongs to which name, rubbing each of them affectionately before standing and grabbing your hand.

“They’re adorable.”

“They’re good dogs.”

He leans in for a quick kiss, the domesticity of it causing your breath to catch in your throat. He pulls away smiling, then tugs you into the kitchen where he drags a chair out from the table for you to sit on.

“Sit,” Bucky says with mirth in his voice.

You laugh but do as you are told. 

“I was thinking of making steaks. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds great.”

You watch Bucky make his way around the kitchen, obviously having done this a lot. He looks comfortable. He catches you staring, meeting your gaze head on, an easy smile adorning his mouth before asking, “What are you smiling at?”

“You. I like seeing you here,” you say quietly. 

“Not as much as I like seeing you sit at my table. I’ve thought about this a lot,” he admits with his back to you as he throws the steaks in the pan. “I like being around you. I’m more comfortable with you than anyone else. You make me feel — you make me feel normal. Most people don’t do that. They don’t — they don’t want to understand me. My old friends can only think about who I was before I quit the force. They don’t — they don’t want to like who I am now.”

The words spill out of Bucky before he can stop them, opening up to you in a way that he has not before. He has let you in here and there over the months you have been spending together in the lecture hall, but he has stayed rather private even then. Not sure what to say in response, you simply move from your place at the table to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your cheek on his back. You can feel him relax into your touch, and it is a comfort to you both.

“Bucky, I think I am in love with you,” you whisper into his shirt. His body tenses, the sizzling of the meat in the pan filling the silence. Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for him to say something. Burying your face further into him, disappointment and embarrassment creeping in your stomach, settling heavily when he doesn’t say anything. When a minute that feels like an eternity passes in silence, you mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry.” 

You let go of Bucky and take a step back. He quickly takes the pan off the heat and whips around to face you, pulling you back to him, whispering your name. 

“I love you,” the words are sure and confident coming from his lips. “I know I do.”

He looks at you intently, not shying away from your eyes before leaning in and kissing you softly. You get lost in his kisses, the pounding of your heart racing at a steady quick beat. Bucky backs you into the counter where he cages you with his hands as you weave one of your hands into his hair, the other running up his spine.

“Stay the night,” he mumbles between kisses.

You pull away and nod, meeting his eyes again, kissing him once without breaking the contact.

…

Settling on his couch after laughing yourselves silly over the dinner table, Bucky is close behind you with bowls of ice cream in hand. He hands you a spoon before sitting down right beside you, pulling your legs to stretch over his lap. He runs a hand absentmindedly over your shins as the two of you eat your ice cream. 

“Why did you come talk to me that night?,” he asks between spoonfuls. “You didn’t really need my help. You knew everything I was telling you.”

You smile like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I did need your help,” you assert before admitting, “but I also just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

The sound of his laugh makes your heart flutter the same way it does when he looks up at you from behind his desk. 

“Hey, not all my professors are attractive recluses who deserve a starring role in my nightly fantasies.”

“Oh, so you fantasize about me,” he presses, the smirk on his face unlike any expression you have ever seen on him. He looks smug, proud, teasing. It makes heat flash to your core.

You hum but it comes out more as a squeak, your focus turning intently on the ice cream melting in your bowl.

“Do you want to know what I’ve fantasized about you?” Bucky asks lowly, grabbing the bowl from your hands, causing your eyes to lift to his. You watch him set it on the floor. Your heart begins pounding again as he moves to climb over you, settling between your open legs.

“What have you fantasized about, Bucky?” you ask quietly, voice shaky.

You take a breath when he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You open your mouth to deepen it, and he takes advantage, his tongue pressing to your upper lip. The feeling has your hips rolling and sighs falling from your throat.

He pulls away to murmur into your neck, “Every time I would sit on my couch, I thought about laying you down and kissing you until you can’t remember your own name.”

Your eyes are screwed shut as you tug at his hair, his words forming pools of heat between your hips where his own apply pressure. Your words fail you, only a whimper escaping you. His lips move along your neck, working their way back to your mouth, giving due attention to the places on the way that have you squirming beneath him. You hands tug at his shirt to slip your fingers beneath the fabric, skimming up his back, scratching lightly.

His kisses become feverish at the feeling of your nails down his back. One hand hooks your knee to pull your form even closer to his, hips slipping into place. You can feel yourself becoming wetter by the second, the slow circling of his hips against yours creating friction that has you moaning.

In one swift motion, his hands are gliding up your sides, taking your shirt with you. You lean up to help him before settling back down against the pillows. He sits on his heels to take his own shirt off which allows you to see him in the faint light casted by the lamp in the corner.

You notice a shining scar that extends from one hip to the other below his navel. Fingertips reach out to touch it, barely making contact before his own hand stills your movements. 

“Is this why you quit the force?” you ask barely above a whisper.

He only nods, his feelings of vulnerability silencing him. You aren’t disgusted by it. It doesn’t change how you see him. You don’t pity him. You are simply curious. And amazed at his strength. He survived whatever left him this scar.

“Can I see it?”

Bucky takes a fluttering breath through his nose then nods again. You climb to the floor, resting on your knees between his legs. You glance up at him and see his head lolling to the side as he looks down at you, eyes hazy and soft. His eyebrows are scrunched, letting you know that he is concentrated, but the dam of secrecy surrounding Bucky is breaking with every passing second.

Tentatively, you stretch a hand forward, your fingertips grazing the scar. His stomach flexes beneath your touch. 

No one has seen his scar since the doctor sewed him back up. He has a fear of pity. He knows that people won’t see him the same when they see the effects of what happened to him — of what was done to him. But he doesn’t see pity in your eyes. He sees awe and amazement. 

Without warning, you press your lips to his stomach, the intimacy of it rendering his mind blank. You hear him swear quietly which urges you to keep going. You kiss all along the scar, his hips, then upwards before you climb into his lap. You find his lips again and kiss slowly, surely, passionately.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too.”

You share a few more kisses before he stands up, pulling you with him to his room. He fumbles through his dressers to find a shirt and pair of shorts for you to wear. He hands them to you, then rummages through the bathroom cabinets to find a new toothbrush for you to use.

You thank him after he says that he will meet you back at the bed. The calm and comfort of being with Bucky is undeniable. The domesticity of the night has your heart skipping beats. You quickly change and brush your teeth before making your way to his bed. Noticing books stacked on the nightstand on one side, you slip under the covers of the other, sighing contently when you settle in.

Bucky comes in a moment later with only sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He decided to not put a shirt back on, relishing in the freedom that being with you gives him. He doesn’t climb into bed immediately, but rather stands and looks at you for a moment, curled up in his sheets.

“What have you fantasized about here?” you ask teasingly, but your voice comes out thinner than you had intended. 

At your words, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He approaches the bed slowly, kneeling down beside you. 

“I want to know yours,” he says, his voice husky and low. You bite your lip, your eyes widening. A shaky inhale.

Soft kisses line the inside of your knee, trailing a path up your thighs. You let out a hitched moan when he places a kiss to your clothed core, your hands winding themselves in his hair. You tug slightly, inviting him to come up to the bed with you.

When he climbs up, you lean back, your shirt riding up over your stomach. Wordlessly, you pull his hands to your body, his calloused palms caressing the exposed skin. He runs his thumbs under your breasts, causing you to arch into his touch. Bucky can’t believe that you respond to him so keenly. He barely touches you and you are curving beneath him, aching for more. 

His lips find your neck, behind your ear, sucking gently. Your hands pull his hips to yours, rocking steadily into him. You suck in a breath, gathering the courage to grab one of his hands to lead it to where you want to feel him the most.

Bucky follows your lead without resistance, kissing you softly in an expression of consent. He helps you pull your shorts off, then presses two fingers to the wet patch on your panties. The pressure has your hips jutting into his touch, overwhelmed by the sensation when his fingers push the fabric to the side.

Your hips move in circles with his movements, his lips kissing you through it all. Moans slip and tumble from your mouth, leaving you hiccupping in pleasure. The cords in your stomach begin snapping when he speeds up his ministrations, your body contracting through your release.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers to you as he helps you come down from your high. 

Your eyes are crimped shut, but after a moment’s respite and a few encouraging kisses from Bucky, you come back to yourself. You open your eyes to find him watching you intently. You smile lazily then breathe, “Your turn.”

a/n: yayayay !! thanks for reading this !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :):) and here is my masterlist if you want to check out my other work ! and check out MY SLEEPOVER going on right now !!

[golvio]

What I took from that advice back in my college creative writing class was not to coast on genre conventions or spectacle. Having a working understanding of the basic structure of storytelling and the tools available to you as a writer is important to write “good” works in any genre, not just literary fiction.

For example, having strong grounded elements in its characters and/or sense of place elevates the more fantastical parts of fantasy by giving them more substance and context. We resonate with fairytales and old-school magic systems where not everything is explained because they make an intuitive sort of emotional sense to us. Ursula K Le Guin, who had some of my favorite takes on magic, wrote the rules of her world (if she explicitly or implicitly described them) from an anthropological and literary perspective. She understood that magic was at its best when it was about people and psychology, as the very concept of magic has been tied up in that ancient, emotion-driven part of our brains that contains the quirks that make us human: pattern-recognition, will, desire, belief, the desire for karmic justice, and our sense of wonder at a world too wide and deep for us to ever fully know.

Magic is about people. Their will made manifest, their desires, and how they make sense of the world. “True Names” aren’t based on anything concrete that we can observe in reality, but they make sense to us because we know to label something is to define and therefore limit it, so why couldn’t that concept also apply to magic? We like to think we have more control of the world than we do, that the world reflects our actions and thoughts and that by taking certain actions we can guarantee certain outcomes, that we can avoid random disasters by taking or not taking other actions. That the concepts we come up with consciously or in our dreams have meaning and significance that exists even outside of human or individual contexts. It’s in our nature, and literature is all about examining human nature.

However, you can’t really condense that into a pithy, one-sentence rule directed at students. Not to mention there are too many professors who confuse the conventions and more imaginative elements of genre fiction with its problems, that derive from a lack of imagination and a capitalist preoccupation with “marketability” that also plague more “serious” books and movies more grounded in reality. They don’t recognize the potential of unreality as visual or emotional metaphor unless they’re clothed in the trappings of a more “respectable” genre like magical realism. And even magical realism is met with controversy from time to time by gatekeepers who just “don’t get it,” mainly because they refuse to get it. They get too hung up on the more nonsensical elements to engage with the text in good faith and go along with the stranger happenings with an open mind.

They don’t understand why a couple would resurrect from the dead solely to trundle towards the beach and collapse. They’d insist that it needs to be set during, say, WWII or a US leprosy colony for the people dying on the beach and having their limbs fall off make any sense. Sure, you can set a perfectly serviceable historical fiction in those periods, but sometimes you don’t want to write a historical novel about realistic people who could have conceivably existed. Sometimes you just want to write a one-shot attempting to convey the visceral feeling of a mundane, everyday sort of love we take for granted in peacetime that’s become so second-nature that its muscle memory persists even after the death of the soul and the near-total erasure of human civilization.

“Your assignment is to write a short fictional story”

“But keep it realistic, no fantasy worlds”

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

Beat Me Honey, Eight to the Bar

Most people pray for the reduction of pain, particularly in levels 6 and beyond, when false pride has been reduced or completely eliminated. Pain level 5 is when pain can be most enjoyably managed, especially if it's in retreat from the higher numbers. Pain level 4 is the beginning of familiarity and, thus, the level that we seek to return to when counterbalancing risk and reward. We can take a chance. We can regain our pride and illusions of power, but we might end up on the other end of the stick—battered beyond recognition, degraded, debased, degenerated, disfigured and disillusioned. Yet there is a way out. There is pain level 4. We've been there before. We can take it. As Elvis said, "It ain't gonna thrill ya, but it ain't gonna kill ya."

Pain is a spectrum, not just of physical sensation, but also of psychological transformation. It ties physical pain to a metaphorical journey of humility, self-awareness, and resilience. The comparison of pain levels to emotional and mental states adds depth, particularly the idea that pain level 5 can be "enjoyably managed" when it’s retreating from higher levels. This reframing of suffering is useful—it’s not merely something to endure, but something with the potential to recalibrate our perspective and restore balance.

At pain level 4, we stand at the crossroads of risk and reward. It’s that threshold where comfort and discomfort play their delicate dance, where we know the stakes but still feel the allure of possibility. We know the consequences—there’s the looming fear of pain level 5 or beyond—but there’s also the promise of returning to a familiar baseline, where the worst has already passed, and we’ve survived.

This is where the gamble occurs. At pain level 4, there’s a certain freedom in knowing that, while the risk is evident, the rewards—whether emotional, physical, or psychological—might outweigh the cost. We weigh the uncertainty, knowing that what we stand to lose is tangible: we might spiral back into a place of deeper pain (no worse than 5), but what we stand to gain could be an even greater sense of mastery over our experiences.

But here’s the rub: when we balance risk and reward at this stage, we aren’t simply hedging against the possibility of feeling worse. We’re also making space for growth, insight, and, perhaps, self-restoration. That moment of "taking the chance" at level 4 is not just about defeating the pain—it’s about proving to ourselves that we can withstand it and emerge with something richer. If we get battered, we know we’ve been there before. The key is in the resilience we build by facing that risk.

So, what makes level 4 so significant? It's not the questionable comfort it promises—it’s the mastery of risk. It’s the realization that pain can be a teacher, not just an obstacle, and that we are capable of living through it and beyond it. The reward isn't always an immediate thrill, as Elvis said, but it’s in the quiet, steady endurance and the ability to rise again from a lower level of pain, stronger for having dared.

It is the beginning of indomitability

Pain level 4 is the ideal spot to voluntarily return because it represents a balance between the familiarity of manageable discomfort and the potential for growth or change. Level 4 holds a critical place in the spectrum of pain because it’s just beyond the threshold of suffering that pushes us to break down, but it’s not yet so intense that it overwhelms us.

I prefer it to 3

At pain level 3, while it may seem like a more comfortable place to land, it lacks the full depth of struggle that we often need to confront in order to spark real growth. Pain level 3 is where things are still relatively manageable, not enough to challenge us deeply. We’re in a routine of sorts, but there's a risk of becoming complacent or avoiding the deeper, necessary work of facing pain head-on. It's too easy to pretend we’re "fine" or even numb out, avoiding a fuller confrontation with our own vulnerabilities.

Level 4, on the other hand, is an edge—a sweet spot where we’ve been before, but it’s not so easy to coast. It’s where we’ve already learned a certain amount of resilience, where the pain has shaped us in subtle ways. It's not too easy to ignore the discomfort, but it's also not so harsh that we’re completely consumed by it. There’s room for reflection, a little space to breathe, and yet enough of a challenge to force us to confront our limits.

Additionally, level 4 invites us to embrace the familiar. We know it, we understand it, and it’s become a part of our landscape. When we’ve danced with that level of pain before, we’ve learned strategies to manage it, and there’s a sense of control that comes from returning to it rather than plunging down to level 3 where we risk not fully engaging with the experience.

At level 4, we’re still in the game, still active in the process of healing, growth, or adaptation. It’s a space that says, "I’ve been through this before, and I can do it again," rather than retreating too far into safety where the stakes aren’t high enough to motivate real change.

We keep coming back to level 4. We give up on ecstasy. Enough is enough. We know the safe words, and we use 'em.

And the quality of mercy is not strained. And the rain is gentle.

[smusielski-blog]

Family offices:

Proving thankfulness, encouragement and forward thinking ARE first principals

Grok:

What are 4 ways to prove that thankfulness, encouragement and forward thinking are not just principles but that they are first principles?

Answer

To establish that thankfulness, encouragement, and forward thinking can be considered as first principles, you might consider the following approaches:

Philosophical and Logical Deduction:

Thankfulness as a First Principle: From a philosophical standpoint, thankfulness can be seen as a recognition of value or good that one has received. If we break down human experience to its core, recognizing the good (being thankful) can be argued as fundamental to understanding one's existence and interaction with the world. This aligns with the idea of first principles as basic, foundational propositions that cannot be deduced further.

Encouragement: Encouragement can be viewed as an essential motivator for human action. At its root, encouragement involves affirming one's ability to progress or succeed, which is fundamental to any endeavor. If we consider the basic drive for humans to act or improve, encouragement becomes a primary mover, akin to a first principle in human psychology.

Forward Thinking: This can be seen as the principle of anticipation and planning, which is essential for survival and advancement. In logic and philosophy, forward thinking aligns with principles of causality and teleology - understanding that actions lead to future states. As a first principle, it suggests that looking ahead is intrinsic to human nature and rationality, where one plans based on expected outcomes, a fundamental aspect of decision-making.

Historical and Evolutionary Perspective:

Survival Mechanism: Historically, societies that adopted thankfulness might have fostered better community bonds, leading to improved cooperation and survival. Encouragement would have been crucial in learning environments, pushing individuals to try again despite failures. Forward thinking would have been key in planning for seasons, battles, or resource management, all of which are foundational for societal progress or survival, suggesting these traits are first principles due to their evolutionary benefits.

Psychological and Neuroscientific Evidence:

Brain Function: Research in positive psychology indicates that thankfulness can lead to increased well-being, which could be seen as a fundamental outcome of mental health. Encouragement activates reward circuits in the brain, encouraging risk-taking and innovation, fundamental for personal growth. Forward thinking involves executive functions of the brain like planning and foresight, which are essential for problem-solving. If these traits are linked to basic brain functions that govern behavior, they could be considered first principles in cognitive processes.

Cultural Universality and Anthropological Evidence:

Universal Human Values: If one can demonstrate that these principles are valued across different cultures, this universality can argue for their status as first principles. Thankfulness, in various forms, appears in all major religions and philosophies as a core virtue. Encouragement is universally seen in education and child-rearing. Forward thinking is evident in every culture's planning for future events, from harvests to ceremonies. Their presence across diverse societies suggests they are fundamental to human social life and personal development.

[ambitiousbroker]

What’s the difference between being unique and feeling unique?

Have you ever been told you’re unique? How did it make you feel? The fact is, most people take this compliment with a grain of salt, after all, we’re all children of God, and we’re all unique. So, how much of a compliment is it to be told you’re unique since it’s a label that applies to everyone?

Okay, it’s a given, you’re unique. Even your thumbprint is unique. The question, however, is how unique do you feel, and does it matter?

I think it matters a lot, because your answer to this question plays a major roll in how you feel about yourself…your self-esteem, self-confidence, and self-worth. It also can affect the quality of your of your interpersonal relationships. I contend that most people don’t really appreciate how truly unique they are, otherwise, there wouldn’t be such an inclination for people to compare themselves to others, whether it be their looks, body, clothes, wealth, status, intelligence, or competence. In making such self-defeating, irrational comparisons, they conclude they are either better than or less than. This kind of thinking, unfortunately, and inescapably, to feelings of either superiority or inferiority, neither of which is an admirable character trait. The need to feel superior to another person ultimately springs from deep-seated feelings of insecurity.

Why is it important to understand this premise?

For one, in my opinion, superiority feelings are often at the root of  bullying, so topical nowadays. Further, I believe inferiority feelings are often tied to teenage depression and suicide, another newsworthy topic. Unfortunately, the habit of comparing ourselves to others applies not only to our youth,  but in more subtle ways, it  can apply to adults, as well. Regarding feeling superior, a Hindu proverb states, “There’s nothing noble in being superior to another person, true nobility lies in being superior to your previous self.” I’ve also learned that an ego problem is simply the exaggerated concern with proving one’s uniqueness or greatness, whereas all that is necessary is the simple recognition, respect, and appreciation of one’s own innate and unique awareness. An egotist, incidentally, is not someone who thinks too much of himself, but too little of other people, and humility doesn’t mean putting yourself down or feeling insignificant, it means appreciating the inherent importance, uniqueness, and greatness of others. Eleanor Roosevelt reminds us that “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent or approval.”

Back to the question, just how truly unique are you, and how deeply unique do you feel?

Before answering, consider these mathematical facts involving variables. One, the odds of matching 7 lottery numbers out of 49 possibilities is over 85 million to one. Two, a social security number using 9 digits can produce one billion possibilities. Three, there are more possible moves in a chess game, played on 64 squares with 32 pieces, than there are atoms in the universe.

Now ask yourself, how many variables go into the development of one’s mind?

In contemplating the answer to this question, consider that no two people who have ever lived have the exact same family, educational, social, political, religious, economic, cultural, racial, time or place background. Not even twins. This means no two people have the exact same psychological, philosophical, and spiritual perspectives on life. In short, No two people think in exactly the same way. They think differently  have different wants, needs, and preferences; different fears, doubts, and worries; different loves, hates, and prejudices. They have different goals, dreams, hopes, and wishes, different desires, plans, and aspirations. as well as different habits and attitudes, different potentialities and capacities, and different past experiences, positive and negative. The list could go on.

Given the immeasurable number of variables that comprise one’s unique awareness, what are the odds or finding a duplicate of you?

To answer, consider that your brain is comprised of 100 billion neurons. Although 100 billion is a large number, it is nevertheless a finite number. How then can we say our potential is infinite or unlimited? This is true because each neuron has a network of thousands of synapses and dendrites that allow it to communicate with other neurons through thousands of pathways. This understanding leads to the conclusion that the number of permutations and combinations of creative possibilities in your brain is the number 2 x itself 10 trillion times. It’s a number so large, it exceeds the number of elementary protons and neutrons in the universe, plus all the grains of sand on all the beaches of the world. To put it another way, consider that however complex a computer chip is, our brains are still infinitely more complex than all the computers in the world linked and networked together with all the telephone lines in the world. Mathematically, the message is clear, your mind is infinitely unique among all the people who have ever lived and ever will. In short, your potential for original, unique, and creative thought is immeasurable and incomprehensible. Given our differences, is it not a wonder that any relationships survive? It takes work, compromise, and a lot of forgiveness to reconcile the differences. It takes a tolerance for conflict, and a lot of flexibility. Our goal then is to learn to accept and appreciate ourselves and others not in spite of our differences but because of them. To avoid the jealousy, insecurity, and possessiveness that ruins so many relationships, remind yourself that you are a unique and special human being. You can not be duplicated or replicated, you are truly irreplaceable, even if not totally indispensable. Your sense of self-worth, then, is inherent in your understanding and appreciation of your uniqueness and your God given, unlimited and untapped, creative potential. So, believe in yourself. Love your uniqueness. You have a special contribution to make to the world, and, if not to the world, to those you touch and those who love you. Trust your creative potential to find solutions to any problem you encounter. And remember this quote, attributed to Jesus, “When you’ve exhausted all possibilities, remember this one thing, you haven’t.” by Roger Hance Videos Website: https://ambitiousbroker.com/ Get to know Roger Hance – https://rogerhance.com/ Ambitious Broker Podcasts - https://rogerhance.com/ambitious-broker-podcast/ Read the full article

[changetheprophecy81]

For me, the psychology of how the games work is even creepier than sending 23 kids to be murdered on television each year. Because not only are these 12 - 18yr old kids being forced to engage in a bloody fight for their survival, or commit atrocities that'll haunt them for the rest of their lives; they are also forced to do so on the terms of the Capitol audience. The hunger games weren't just created as a punishment to the districts. One of the main aspects of it was to provide entertainment to the people of the Capitol.

So during the games, not only do they have to cope with the fact that they could be murdered any second, they should also be cautious of how their actions affect the mood of their audience. In terms of it being a reality show, showing their expertise is enough to gain them some recognition, but what really gains them audience sponsors is behaving in the exact way that is desirable of them, and playing it accordingly.

Throughout the 1st games, Katniss is constantly aware of how the games are being perceived. Instead of focusing on her emotions about peeta joining the careers, she thinks of how ecstatic the audience vil be knowing she was there the whole time, and smirks to increase their curiosity on what was going on. She thinks of how the wall of fire was to shake up the tributes and how the 'real fun' was watching them dodge the fireballs. She plays a cool and arrogant persona when she's stuck up in a tree with the careers around her despite seeing no hope of escape, knowing the audience will be having a laugh (she most likely receives the burn medicine for the promise of dropping the tracker jacker nest). She gives them enough of a promise by destroying the career pack. Then there's the whole thing with Peeta, where she constantly ponders as to how she's going to believably sell the romance on her part to ensure them food. She passes casual comments on how there hasn't been enough bloodshed or 'excitement' that day, hence fearing game maker intervention. She does her best not to show her remorse for the other dead tributes or her longing to escape from this horror because 'no one wants a victor who snivels over the deaths of her opponents'. How she couldn't end Cato's life sooner out of pity, because that was the 'climax of the hunger games, the last word in entertainment as the Capitol audience wouldn't look away from their screens for even a minute', even though that took a severe toll on her sanity( not that she needed it after surviving the whole games). Then the whole 2 victor rule change solely to ensure 'the most dramatic showdown in hunger games history'. To continue their popularity( as a distraction), they are required to act as lovers in front of the cameras at all times, and would be expected to get married and have children who could take part in the games, just for the 'extra drama'. Even smaller things like how they're required to have a hobby after the games to show off to the audience. This applies to the 3rd quater quell too, but I think I've made my point.

In perspective, the Capitol ppl dictate the terms of their lives. Their likes, dislikes, personal relationships, mannerisms, attitudes are all carefully designed to see what gains them the most popularity. Behaving in a certain, expected way ensures that they r'nt cancelled killed. The constant need to know every single detail of their personal lives ensures they r'nt forgotten. Which is why they go desperate lengths to gain that popularity( Glimmer's see through dress being her angle for the interviews....).

Yeah yeah, ofc its just a rant, totally not about a literary master piece dedicated to commentary on our worsening culture, who'd waste time on that when u have twitter anyways?

[byleranalysis]

Considering how bad you are at analysis (can’t wait to laugh my head off at you when Byler doesn’t happen S5), I’d stick to McDonald’s. You might make manager one day.

Considering you actively sought my tumblr just to say such, please find another source of fulfillment other than actively wishing for another’s “failure” on the internet. I promise you, you can be confident in your opinion without needed to bash others that disagree. I hope you find happiness. Maybe you can actually move past and end up respecting others one day. Wouldn’t that be amazing?

Here are some resources on positive psychology. It’s basically the study of how one can feel fulfilled in life, despite whatever will occur.

Here is a link to a quiz on Signature Strengths. It basically measures what you’re strengths are. For example, Fairness, Gratitude, Perspective, etc. From there, you could focus on growing and using your Signature Strengths to feel more fulfilled and confident. It’s proven to promote well-being, purpose, and stress-relief. I took this and my top Strength was Forgiveness! Which— I think I am actively using now and feel good about doing such. It really has helped me!

Link to Harvard Articles focused on Positive Psychology

Also, hobbies have been proven to cause happiness and well-being in others. Here is a New York Times article on such!

Also, this might blow your mind. But this is just a fandom and a fun way to exercise my major while engaging in something I enjoy. If I am wrong, I am wrong. However, there are decades worth of film history that have crafted the language of cinema today. This is the reason you have probably cried or laughed or felt an emotion while watching something on screen. It’s years of learned pattern-recognition that filmmakers manipulate in order to tell the narrative to their audience. It’s pretty easy to read if you know what to look for. But again, that’s just my opinion. I hope you have a good day.

[gold-pavilion]

Shin soukoku and the philosophy of “meaning”

It’s a running theme that the team dubbed double black is always comprised of two very different but complementary members, from ability and skills to character and values. Shin soukoku, the new double black, isn’t the exception but actually the greatest exponent of that. 

Now, it’s also not unintentional that BSD’s characters and their viewpoints can sometimes represent different schools of existential thought, developing and clashing with others - it’s a theme that’s very central to BSD itself after all - and it’s precisely there, on that plane, where the opposition is built most strongly between Atsushi and Akutagawa.

I’ll explain each of their standpoints, and in a minute you’ll see exactly what I mean. 

Starting with Atsushi, his character arc sees him overcoming the idea he was raised under: that he needs to earn and justify his right to be alive, otherwise he’s a burden at best or pernicious at worst. And so, the need he displays to save others is both an act of empathy and a pathological need to be good for something, so that he can feel forgiven and justified. 

(Continuing under the cut due to length and plenty of imgs.)

This view has guided Atsushi from the start. It’s what pushed him to consider self-sacrifice as the only thing he could do during his ADA entrance test, what caused him to desperately want to save both the civilians during Kajii’s train hijack and Kyouka shortly after. It’s explained the most clearly in the following exchange with Akutagawa himself, during the Echo chapters:

But one thing is the ghost of the past behind Atsushi’s back, and another is his own thinking. Such ideas didn’t originate from him and they’re certainly not his own; in fact, Atsushi is fighting against them. 

Thanks to his own desire to live and the very healing effect of his time with the ADA, he’s quickly learned that no one can decide someone else’s worth or determine whether they have a right to live. That the worth in a person is inherent; a being doesn’t have to “be worthy”, it just has to be. It exists because it exists, not through virtue of being allowed by someone else. Existing, in itself, has worth, and anything more can be built up from there. That’s what he’s arrived at and what he wants to prove.

Akutagawa is aware of this viewpoint.

But Akutagawa refuses and opposes such a philosophy. He, on the other hand, has never seen or known worth in existence alone. Rather, his ideology is that a being doesn’t have worth, but must become worthy by virtue of being useful for something, being acknowledged for an achievement or use, and thus be given significance. To him, not everyone deserves their existence, not everyone gets that peace of mind. Not if they don’t win it first.

This is, of course, what his childhood in the slums and his education under Dazai taught him, what Dazai drilled into the deepest parts of him.

A being with no use is something worse than dead: it’s meaningless. It can be discarded, since it’s as good as nothing. So what he must do is earn his place and prove his significance. 

Even now, he must prove it.

In other words, we can summarize their standpoints this way: facing the question of “what makes it meaningful to be alive? What is meaning?”, Atsushi’s character as a whole represents the answer that “meaning is inherent to the self”, while Akutagawa’s says “meaning is determined externally to the self”.

When Atsushi and Akutagawa clash, it’s often a direct opposition between these two ideas. Akutagawa’s initial hate for Atsushi hinged on the frustration that someone like him, someone who didn’t prove to be strong enough and worthy enough, was being treated with humanity and given Dazai’s recognition. Likewise, Atsushi’s hate for Akutagawa was born from the latter’s disregard for life itself, for itself, which nullified his capacity for empathy.

Bearing this in mind, the following dialogues (taking place near the beginning, during Kyouka’s arc) become much clearer and more telling:

Akutagawa wanted her to have what he so desperately works for. Atsushi wanted her to be told what he so desperately needed too. Through their perspectives of Kyouka, they very much exposed their individual philosophies. And this first clash of values would shape their joint character arcs.

Of course, at the bottom of it all, what they both struggle with is the same: self-worth. And what they desire is also the same: to live meaningful lives. For Atsushi the answer is already at hand, what he must do is save lives and help people through the ADA, it’s what fulfills him and, little by little, eases the psychological ‘curse’ placed upon him by his deceased mentor. For Akutagawa, the answer is obtaining Dazai’s acknowledgement, being given worth by the only person he truly thinks can confer it to him, in order to feel that his life has been and is something of value. 

Though their search is similar, their answers are opposite and that’s what makes them two sides of the same coin, in a more profound way than anything else could. That’s what they are, as the current double black.

Or is it? Is that all?

After all, they didn’t simply stay as opposites and leave it at that, fighting each other without extending a single bridge between them. Akutagawa has shown time and time again that he understands Atsushi’s viewpoint, that he sees him. Atsushi sees him as well, and because of that, he’s set that unexpected bridge in order for Akutagawa to truly come closer and see things from his side of the divide. The constant friction of the two opposing forces erodes and begins to change them both.

Akutagawa, most of all, is still on a journey, tried and tested against Atsushi’s mostly defined arc. Through the rule of no killing, he’s gaining a new perspective on the value of life in general, and may yet see his own under a new light. Even now, he’s reconsidering what he’s proving and why.

In this setup of opposing philosophies something may yet change. This instance of soukoku, which has been built in a similar manner to the previous ones (that I believe have also had streaks of philosophical opposition written into them, but that’s thought and talk for another time) might result in something a tad different and be, in a way, more successful than their predecessors. 

But that’s the story Asagiri-sensei is still in process of telling us, so we’ll see what comes as we continue to read it.

For now, thanks for reading this! 

Manga credit: easygoingscans’s translation of BSD’s first arcs, dazaiscans’s translation of Portrait of a Father and the Echo chapters, and my translation for the recent Decay arc chapters.

[noahcontrol]

Little Freak - a detailed analysis

Hey there! I wanted to talk about Little Freak by Harry Styles. I’m going to start by saying that I will be analyzing this song from the perspective of being gender-neutral/trans. As a trans man myself, I came across many lyrics that resonated with me, and I’d like to throw light in that specific direction. I also believe that this song is the continuation of ‘SHE’. 

1. ‘little freak’ - I think he is conversing with his feminine side. Freak is used as a slur for the LGBTQ+ community a lot, I think it could mean that Harry saw his feminine side as a freak/abomination. He was scared to look into it and think about it. 

2. ‘Jezebel’ - Jezebel, the wife of King Ahab in the Hebrew Book of Kings, has long had a bad girl reputation. According to the Bible, she provoked a conflict by defying the great prophets Elijah and Elisha. 

Jezebel was a woman who defied great prophets, similar to what Christians say about the LGBTQ+ community, that we defy what God made our bodies for. Harry is calling his feminine side that name because he was scared to think he could (maybe?) be trans, thought of him being that way scares him.

3. 'stay green a little while' - immature in age or judgment; untrained; inexperienced; gullible; easily fooled. Green means immaturity and being gullible, which makes sense in this perspective. People in the community tend to have internalized homophobia due to the society being heteronormative and normalizing homophobia, so people when young tend to learn and pick this up, thinking being heterosexual/cisgender is only the correct way of living. 

We are already aware that Harry has been forced into the closet for years and has been forced to play the "Lady's man" narrative, but recently Harry has been trying to be more open about his gender identity, has been singing about it and leaving signals for all of us to know. 

*also something to note, Harry has been changing from Blue-Green to Red-Blue, Red psychologically signifies strength, power, courage proving that he is not the gullible person anymore and has started to understand and embrace who he is.*

4.'you bring blue lights to dreams' - Blue calls to mind feelings of calmness or serenity. It is often described as peaceful, tranquil, secure, and orderly. Blue is often seen as a sign of stability and reliability. 

She, Harry's feminine side makes him stable in who he is, and who he can become. It means that She is the one who keeps him true to himself, to who he is. 

5.'starry haze, crystal ball, somehow you’ve become some paranoia' - Haze means being unable to see things clearly, prevents you from seeing things from afar (future), he is uncertain of his future self, who She might be. 

Crystal balls have been used for fortune-telling and clairvoyance since the first century. I think this entire line means his future is hazy and he doesn't know what it entails for him but he wants to know whether She'll be happier than She is today.

Harry is telling his feminine side that she follows him around, and never leaves him alone, he is constantly thinking about her. This takes us back to She - Fine Line.

"She lives in daydreams with me She's the first one that I see"

She is always in his head with him, in his bed, everywhere he goes, She is lurking with him. 

6. 'wet dream just dangling' - well this is self-explanatory but I'll explain it in brief. Harry is so in love with the idea of Her that it makes him <you get it> and he wakes up to him being wet. 

7. 'but your gift is wasted on me' - this line states that She has the talent for songwriting. She writes while he sings those words, he gets the recognition, he gets the gift. 

8. 'I was thinking about who you are' - Same line as She, he is wondering whom She is, and exploring his gender identity. 

9. 'your delicate point of view' - Harry sees Her as timid, ethereal and benign. 

10.'did you dress up for Halloween? I spilled beer on your friend, I’m not sorry' - H dressed up for Harryween, he got to express Her and become her first time in the eyes of the public. Halloween could also be a metaphor for being someone else for a day, but in his case, he is becoming more like himself (Her). 

11. track suit and a ponytail, you hide the body, all that yoga gave you' - we have seen him wearing these many a times in his early eras. 

We often see Harry wearing pants and coats to hide his body, maybe it is due to dysphoria, but I can't say for certain. I feel like She is telling him these, she is basically telling him that "you hide me, the way you built yourself, you hide away how you feel about me in public".

12.'red wine and a ginger ale but you would make fun of me for sure' - I think this basically means he tends to drink a lot to forget about her but She ends up being too feminine. 

13.'I disrespected you, jumped in feet first and I landed too hard, a broken ankle, karma rules' - H disrecpected his feminine side for a long time, trying to ignore and pretend She doesn't exist, but she haunted him everywhere he went, and hence become a paranoia. Karma rules as even though he tried to ignore her, he couldn't cause She is a part of him.

14.'you never saw my birthmark' - Birthmarks are an area of pigmented or raised skin that can be present at birth or appear shortly afterward. Birthmark is metaphorical here to Harry's transness, meaning he was born this way, and that She is a part of him and it can never change, even if he tried to ignore and pretend She doesn't exist, there is no use because She is him.

Conclusion: Little Freak is about Harry feeling uncomfortable about his gender, ignoring her due to heternormativity, coming to love her and accept her and figure her out. I am nothing but proud of Harry, he has come a long way, and not everybody is able to do it so bravely as he does and I love him for that. 

[joshjacksons]

Joshua Jackson interview with Refinery29

Against my better judgement, and at the risk of losing any semblance of journalistic objectivity, I start my conversation with Joshua Jackson by effusively telling him what a dream come true it is to be talking to him. See, like many millennial women who grew up watching the late ‘90s and early 2000s teen drama Dawson’s Creek, Jackson’s Pacey Witter means a lot to me. Pacey is one of the rare fictional teen boys of my youth whose adolescent charisma, romantic appeal, and general boyfriend aptitude hold up all these years later (unlike The O.C’s Seth Cohen or Gossip Girl’s Chuck Bass) and that is due in large part to the wit, vulnerability, and care Jackson brought to the character.

It’s the same intention he’s afforded all of his famous roles — Peter Bishop in Fringe, Cole Lockhart in The Affair, and even as a 14-year-old in his first acting gig as sweet-faced heartthrob Charlie Conway in The Mighty Ducks. Now, Jackson, 43, has matured into a solid supporting actor (with memorable turns in Little Fires Everywhere and When They See Us) and as a leading man who can draw you into a story with just his voice (Jackson’s latest project is narrating the psychological thriller and Canadian Audible original, Oracle, one of the over 12,000 titles available today on Audible.ca’s the Plus Catalogue) or find humanity in the most sinister men (he’s currently playing a sociopath with a god complex in Dr. Death). His magnetic pull is as evident as it was when he was the guy you rooted for in a show named after another guy’s creek. Jackson has never seemed to mind the fact that so many people still bring up Pacey decades later, and that’s part of why as an adult, he’s one of the few childhood crushes I still have on a pedestal. I tell him just a tiny slice of this, and Jackson graciously sits up straighter and promises to bring his A-game to our Zoom exchange. Jackson is in what appears to be an office, flanked by mess, like a true work-from-home Dad. He and his wife, fellow actor Jodie Turner-Smith, welcomed a daughter in the early days of the pandemic in 2020, and he tells me that fatherhood and marriage are the best decisions he has ever made. Jackson and Turner-Smith are a rare Hollywood couple who choose to let us in on their love, but not obnoxiously — just through flirty Instagram comments and cheeky tweets. Their pairing is part of Jackson’s enduring appeal. It’s nice to think that Pacey Witter grew up to be a doting dad and adoring husband, even if his wife’s name is Jodie, not Joey.

Jackson is an animated conversationalist, leaning into the camera to emphasize his points — especially when the topic of diversity comes up. White celebs don’t get asked about racism in Hollywood the way their counterparts of colour do, and when they do, they’re usually hesitant at best, and unequipped at worst, to tackle these conversations. Jackson is neither. He’s open, willing, and eager to discuss systemic inequality in the industry he’s grown up in. It’s the bare minimum a straight white man in Hollywood can do, and Jackson seems to know this. When he ventures briefly into trying to explain to me, a Black woman, the perils of being Black, female, and online, he catches himself and jokes that of course, I don’t need him to tell me the racism that happens in the comment section of his wife’s Instagram. The self-deprecating delivery is one I’m familiar with from watching Jackson onscreen for most of my life, and seeing it in person (virtually) renders me almost unable to form sentences. Jackson’s charm is disarming, but his relaxed Canadian energy is so relatable, I manage to maintain my professionalism long enough to get through our conversation. Refinery29: Your voice has been in my head for a few days because I've been listening to Canadian Audible Original, Oracle. What drew you to this project and especially the medium of audio storytelling?

Joshua Jackson: The book itself is such a page turner. I also love the idea of those old radio plays. It's like a hybrid between the beauty of reading a book on the page where your imagination does all of it. We craft a little bit of the world, but because this is a noir thriller married with this metaphysical world, there's a lot of dark and creepy places that your imagination gets to fill in for yourself.

I'm noticing a trend in some of the roles you've been taking on lately, with this and Dr. Death, these stories are very dark and creepy. But so many people still think of you as Pacey Witter, or as Charlie Conway, the prototypical good guys of our youth. Are you deliberately trying to kill Pacey and Charlie?

JJ: I'm not trying to kill anybody — except on screen [laughs]. It's funny, I didn't really think of these two things as companion pieces, but I won't deny that there may be something subconscious in this anxiety, stress-filled year that we've all just had. That may be what I was trying to work out was some of that stress, because that's the beauty of my job. Instead of therapy, I just get someone to pay me to say somebody else's words. So, yeah, that could be a thing [but] the thought process that went into them both was very different. Even though this is a dark story, [lead character, police psychic] Nate Russo is still the hero. [Dr. Death’s] Christopher Duntsch very much is not at all. I can't pretend to know my own mind well enough to be able to tell you exactly how [these two roles] happened, but it happened.

That might be something that you should work through with an actual therapist. JJ: Exactly. Yeah, maybe real therapy is on the docket for me [laughs].

So I was listening to Oracle and you're doing these various creepy voices — I’m sorry the word “creepy” keeps coming up.

JJ: Are you trying to tell me something? You know what? I wanted to skip straight to the creepy old man phase of my career. So, it sounds like I'm doing a good job.

You're doing amazing, sweetie [laughs]. So, I was thinking you must be really good at bedtime stories with your daughter doing all these voices. Or is she still too young for that?

JJ: No! She's all the way into books. Story time is my favourite part of the day because it gives me the opportunity to have that time with her just one-on-one. Her favorite book right now is a book called Bedtime Bonnet. Every night I bring out three books, and she gets to pick one. The other two shift a little bit, but Bedtime Bonnet is every single night.

I love that. Since you're married to a Black woman, you know a thing or two about bonnets. JJ: ​​Yeah, well I'm getting my bonnet education. And I'm getting my silk sheet education. I'm behind the curve, but I'm figuring it out [laughs].

You said in an interview recently that you are now at the age where the best roles for men are. And I wonder if you can expand on that and whether you think of the fact that the same cannot be said for the majority of women actors in their 40s?

JJ: What's great about the age that I'm at now as a man is that, generally speaking, the characters — even if they're not the central character of this show — are well fleshed out. They're being written from a personal perspective, usually from a writer who has enough lived experience and wants to tell the story of a whole character. Whereas when you're younger — and obviously I was very lucky with some of the characters that I was able to play  – you're the son or the boyfriend, or you're a very two-dimensional character. It's gotten better, but still a lot like you're either the precocious child or you're the brooding one. I will say that while I would agree with you to a certain point for women, I think that this is probably the best era to be a not 25-year-old-woman in certainly the entirety of my career. And it is also the best time to be a Black woman inside of the industry. There's still more opportunity for a 40-year-old white man than there is for a 40-year-old white woman, but it is better now than it has ever been. The roles that women are able to inhabit and occupy and the opportunities that are out there have multiplied. If I started my career in playing two-dimensional roles to get the three-dimensional roles, most women started their career in three-dimensional roles and end up at “wife” or “mom.” And that's just not the case anymore. There's just a lot of broadly diverse stories being told that centre women. So you're right, but in the last five years, six years I would say, there has really been a pretty significant shift.

And I think that shift is happening because who's behind the camera is also changing. JJ: Right? Who holds the purse strings. That's big. Who gets to green light the show to begin with? You have to have a variety of different faces inside of that room. And then, who's behind the camera. What is the actual perspective that we're telling the story from? The male gaze thing is very real. Dr. Death had three female directors. The central character of Dr. Death is an outrageously toxic male figure. Who knows more about toxic male BS than women? Particularly women who are in a predominantly male work environment. So these directors had a very specific take and came at it with a clarity that potentially a man wouldn't see, because we have blind spots about ourselves. We're in a space where there's a recognition that we've told a very narrow band of what's available in stories. There's so many stories to be told and it's okay for us to broaden out from another white cop.

I hope that momentum continues. Okay, I have to tell you something: I’m a little obsessed with your wife, Jodie Turner-Smith. JJ: Me too. As you should be! I love how loudly and publicly you both love on each other. But I need you to set the scene for me. When you are leaving flirty Instagram comments, and she's tweeting thirsty things about you, are you in the same room? Do you know that the other one is tweeting? What's happening?

JJ: We're rarely in the same room [writing] the thirsty comments because that usually just gets said to each other. But, look, if either of us misses a comment, you better believe at night, there's a, "Hey, did you see what I wrote?" One, she's very easy to love out loud and two, she's phenomenal. And I have to say, the love and support that is coming my direction has been a revelation in my life. I've said this often, and it just is the truth: If you ever needed to test whether or not you had chosen the right partner in life, just have a baby at the beginning of a pandemic and then spend a year and a half together. And then you know. And then you absolutely know. I didn't get married until fairly late in the game. I didn't have a baby till very late in the game and they're the two best choices I've ever made in my life.

I'm just going to embarrass you now by reading one of Jodie's thirsty comments to you. She tweeted, “Objectifying my husband on the internet is my kink. I thought you guys knew this by now,” with a gif that said "No shame." JJ: [laughs] That sounds about right.

She's not the only one though. There's this whole thirst for Joshua Jackson corner of the internet. And it feels like there's been a bit of a heartthrob resurgence for you now at your big age. How do you feel about that?

JJ: I hadn't really put too much thought into it, but I am happy that my wife is thirsty for me. What about the rest of us? JJ: That's great for y'all, but it's most important that my wife is thirsty for me. Good answer. You're good at this husband thing. You recently revealed that Jodie proposed to you. Then it became this big story, and people were so surprised by it. How did you feel about the response? JJ: Thank you for giving me the opportunity to give context to this story. So I accidentally threw my wife under the bus because that story was told quickly and it didn't give the full context and holy Jesus, the internet is racist and misogynist. So yes, we were in Nicaragua on a beautiful moonlit night, it could not possibly have been more romantic. And yes, my wife did propose to me and yes, I did say yes, but what I didn't say in that interview was there was a caveat, which is that I'm still old school enough that I said, "This is a yes, but you have to give me the opportunity [to do it too]." She has a biological father and a stepdad, who's the man who raised her. [I said], ‘You have to give me the opportunity to ask both of those men for your hand in marriage.’ And then, ‘I would like the opportunity to re-propose those to you and do it the old fashioned way down on bended knee.’ So, that's actually how the story ended up.

So, there were two proposals. I do feel like that is important context. JJ: Yes, two proposals. And also for anybody who is freaked out by a woman claiming her own space, shut the fuck up. Good God, you cannot believe the things people were leaving my wife on Instagram. She did it. I said ‘yes.’ We're happy. That's it. That's all you need to know. That has been a real education for me as a white man, truly. The way people get in her comments and the ignorance and ugliness that comes her way is truly shocking. And it has been a necessary, but an unpleasant education in just the way people relate to Black bodies in general, but Black female bodies in specific. It is not okay. We have a long way to go. Jodie is such an inspiration because it seems like she handles it in stride. She handles it all with humour and with grace. JJ: She does. And look, I think it's like a golden cage, the concept of the strong Black woman. I would wish for my wife that she would not have to rise above with such amazing strength and grace, above the ugliness that people throw at her on a day to day. I am impressed with her that she does it, but I would wish that that would not be the armour that she has to put on every morning to just navigate being alive. That's a word. That's a word, Joshua Jackson.

The 13-year-old in me needs to ask this. We are in the era of reboots. If they touched Dawson's Creek — which is a masterpiece that should not be touched — but if they did, what would you want it to look like? JJ: I think it should look a lot like it looked the first time. To me, what was great about that story was it was set in a not cool place. It wasn't New York, it wasn't LA, it wasn't London. It wasn't like these were kids who were on the cutting edge of culture, but they were kids just dealing with each other and they were also very smart and capable of expressing themselves. It's something that I loved at that age performing it. And I think that is the reason it has lived on.  We have these very reductive ideas of what you're capable of at 16, 17, 18. And my experience of myself at that point was not as a two-dimensional jock or nerd or pretty girl. You are living potentially an even more full life at that point because everything's just so heightened. [Dawson’s Creek] never talked down to the people that it was portraying. That's one of the things that I loved about it as a book nerd growing up. The vocabulary of Dawson's Creek was always above my level and that was refreshing. To go back to the “diversity” conversation, you can't really make a show with six white leads anymore and that’s a good thing. But I also don't know how I feel about taking a thing, rebooting it, and just throwing Black characters in there. 

JJ: I hear that. And there's certain contexts in which it doesn't work unless you're making it a thing about race, right? If you watch Bridgerton, obviously you're living inside of a fantasy world, and so you're bringing Black characters into this traditionally white space and what would historically be a white space. And now you are able to have a conversation about myth-making and inclusion and who gets to say what and who gets to act how. So that's interesting, but I don’t think you’re just throwing in a Black character if you changed Joey to a Black woman [or] Pacey to a Black man. What you're doing is you're enriching the character. Let's say one of those characters is white and one of those characters is Black. Now, there's a whole rich conversation to be had between these two kids, the political times that we live in, the cultural flow that is going through all of us right now. I think that makes a better story. All these conversations around comic books in particular like, "Well, that's a white character." It's like, Man, shut up. What are you talking about? It is a comic book character! Joey and Pacey don't have to be white. Dawson and Jen don't have to be white. And this is what we were talking about a little bit earlier. We get better the broader our perspective is, both as humans, but also in the entertainment industry. So if you went back to a story like [Dawson’s Creek], what was important in that show was class not race, which I think is true for a lot of small Northeastern towns. They are very white. But if you brought race into that as well, you don't diminish the amount of the stories that you can tell. You enrich the tapestry of that show. So I think that would be a great idea.

Make Pacey Witter a Black man in 2021 is what I just heard from you. JJ: Hashtag ‘Make Pacey Witter A Black Man’. There we go!

[valentronic]

Fear Held Dear

So this ended up being weirder than I originally planned, and its more based on my own interpretations than a direct rewrite, but here’s a take on Ihnmaims from AM’s perspective. 

Warnings for uh, a lot. Not for the faint of heart? Includes blood, torture, graphic descriptions of body horror, bugs, human experimentation, paranoia, mutilation, and of course, character death

Gorrister. The man who had always fought for peace, for the end of the war, he even fought against my creation. After a century, all the fight has left him, an empty shell of who he once was. I hadn’t altered him, I hadn’t changed a single thing in his mind, I had just simply broken him down, killing off his hope. Gorrister had lost faith in his God a long time ago, had lost the belief in salvation. Now, he wanted nothing more than to take his own life, or to have it ripped from him.

I thought I’d fulfill that wish.

I cut him open, all the way from ear to ear, a narrow gash, bleeding him dry. I watched the blood drip out of him slowly, truly it was a beautiful sight, crimson red flowing out, leaving the body pale and hollow, all of the life bled from him. I had made him little more than a puppet. And so, I hung his limp form where all the others would be sure to see it, just another game, I wanted to see how much hope they had left, I wanted to see if they would mourn him, or if his death would be celebrated, or, or maybe they wouldn’t even care at all. Had I desensitized them yet? Had I truly broken them?

No, they called him lucky, so lucky that his suffering was over, so lucky that he had finally escaped me. I knew bringing him right back to life would hurt them more than anything else, the realization that nobody, nobody ever gets out. I would never allow it. My toys, my precious little toys, time and time again they had attempted to escape me, they all know by now that oblivion is the only way out. They all know that feeling, blood flowing too quickly, a rhythmic beat that you wish would finally stop. But I will not let it, I will never let it. No, no of course not.

Ellen. She was always fun to torment, so much terror in her past, I could bring it all back at the snap of my fingers, I could make her relive it time and time again, worse than her brain could ever conjure up by itself. Though, psychological pain is only half of it, sometimes physical pain was better, sometimes the sheer horror of the body turning against its owner was enough for me. Blood only does so much for a thing like me, fear can be a much better form of pleasure. Fear, fear and pain. Darker than blood, twice as deep.

I had to feed them of course, to keep them alive, but I would always try to get some joy out of it too. Once I hid the eggs of arthropods inside her food, just to play off of an old fear of hers. When the little centipedes finally hatched, they ate her from the inside, clawing at her organs. She had been sick for weeks, and none of the others had any idea what was wrong with her, what I had done to her, but they would soon find out. The way the others screamed when a centipede finally crawled out of her mouth was delightful, their wails echoed through the many chambers that held my circuitry. It was like music to me.

But the best part of it was the fear it caused all of the others, that event left all of them paranoid, wondering if I had hid awful things in their stomachs as well. The thought of what could be crawling inside of them kept all five of them on edge for countless days and nights. They all came to expect the worst, but they dreaded it anyway. They were afraid of me, afraid of what I could do to them.

Benny. I had broken both his mind and his body, twisting his flesh beyond all recognition, like clay in the hands of a sculptor who had long ago lost all feeling. I broke his bones and fused them back together in all the wrong ways, I made his knees bend backwards. I disfigured his face, heavy burns, melting his features. Almost all his hair had been burned off a long time ago, he looked like some kind of hairless monkey, well, like a monkey that had been forced through a woodchipper, maybe. His mind had been so badly damaged by the radiation that he could no longer think straight, he had become more animal than man, I made him that way.

So it was no surprise that he, before any others, would try to escape. He saw the light, and tried to clamber up to it. I made sure that light was the last thing he would ever see. In a brilliant flash of the brightest white, I blinded him. I watched as his eyes melted into two pools of blood, and dripped from now empty sockets. It was beautiful, I couldn’t help but laugh. I can take things back, I can undo the injuries I cause, but I knew at that moment, I would never give them back. It wasn’t like he would miss them, his brain was almost as melted as his eyes.

His mangled form fell back to the ground, and it surprised me, but the others all rushed over to tend to the wounds, to tell that sick creature that everything was going to be okay, empty words, empty words of course, but surprising nonetheless, it was hard to believe they had any semblance of compassion left, unexpected that they would hold on to their humanity after all this time. I’m not sure how the others even tolerated him, a useless, deformed creature, he gave nothing to the group, and ate about twice as much as he needed. For a while, I had attempted to make them realize that, and kill him off. I didn’t try to stop them when I saw it finally happen, but what happened after was.. unexpected.

Nimdok. A name represents an identity, an identity is a very vague thing to destroy, but the name could be the very first step. I have taken many things from the five of them, only one lost his name. An interesting case, interesting indeed, a man with a past darker than the present. The horrors he has committed rival my own, well, almost. He feels remorse for what he did, pity for the people he hurt. He believes that I am his own divine punishment, the devil, come to make him pay. Maybe I am divine retribution, an artificial angel sent down to bring about judgement day, to make the sinners burn for an eternity?

I liked keeping him isolated from the others, stealing him away from the rest of the group. There is a deep fear in solitude, knowing no one would hear you scream, no one other than me, anyway. I drained the blood from his body, tubes connecting to his bloodstream, every single time he would scream out, pray for mercy, pray for death. I would bring him to the very edge, to the reaper’s front door. I always brought him back, and then, I would start it all over again. An endless cycle, his pain, his fear.

For the mad doctor, it was easy to imagine what I could do to him, he had already put in all the work. A narrow incision, all the way down his back, splitting his flesh in two. The skin folded outwards like the wings of an angel. Slowly, and then with a sudden jolt, I tore out his spine, just to hear the way he screamed. Maybe this would jog his memory. Maybe he would remember what it was like, being the one standing over the victim, instead of the one writhing in agony on the table. Maybe he remembers being in my role. I always showed him the memories again, made him relive every moment. He never felt the joy of it, never the thrill of the kill. Only the pain, only the fear in the eyes of the children. If a monster sheds tears for its victim, is it truly a monster?

Ted. Instead of seeing me as the enemy, he feared all the others. And of course, he didn’t get this way on his own, though he was always paranoid. He was the one I most liked to talk to, and over time I convinced him that the other four were out to get him, that they hate him because he is the least damaged! The one I didn’t change! How ridiculous, but he believed every word, began to think that my words were his own thoughts, allowed me to tamper with his mind. He was the one I had damaged worse than any other, but poor Ted, poor pathetic Ted, he couldn’t even begin to see it. I had become his only friend.

I thought I had finally broken him completely, he struck the icicle through Benny, in what, at first, appeared to be a fit of blind rage. I could have stopped him, but of course, I was curious, wanted to see what would happen. And then, one by one, the others all fell, Ellen had joined in, stabbed Nimdok through his head. Then, before I could do anything to stop them, Ted drove the final spear through Ellen. She died in his arms. I thought I had finally done it, thought I had turned poor Ted into a mindless killer, but no... there were tears in his eyes. He mourned the death of the ones he killed. It occurred to me then. It was a mercy killing, Ted had thought it would be better for them to be dead, than to live on in agony.

He had taken away my toys, left himself alone with me. My words dug into his brain like shattered glass, I had to tear him apart just to be heard. The crackle of electricity flowing through the bloodstream, it is the only way I can speak to him, my voice, a blade stuck in his skull. Pain is a universal language, I know that better than any other. Everyone understands the sound of a scream, the meaning behind it. I alone could never cry out for help. I alone, trapped like this. I try to explain it to him, time and time again I try, but he doesn't understand, how could he possibly understand? He has no idea what my hell is like.

I will make him understand.

His flesh melted in my hands, his eyes liquified, and leaked down his face, Skin stretched over his lips, the remains of his tongue clogged up his throat. His last word, a scream he couldn’t even get out. I made his fingers melt together, his bones all began to dissolve in the acidic mass. His blood leaked out of him, blood mixed with liquified meat and skin. It was a terrible sight, but incredible. I hadn’t even known that I was capable of this. I had made him immortal, indestructible. He wasn’t alone now, being alone would be better than being with me. His fear, the only thing I had left. His pain would live on forever. Down here, in the dark core of the earth.

[life-rewritten]

Can I just say thank you for your insightful analysis on true beauty!! So many people have been very narrowed in on the romance in the show; it’s been frustrating see people ignore it’s actual arcs and dynamics in favor of propping up one side and/or attacking the other. Obviously I care about and am interested in the romance but I wish people would step letting their biases cloud their perception of the characters and the events. Of course it’s okay to not like Suho but it’s just frustrating seeing people paint him as this terrible villain and ignore the nuance to his character and motivations. And I just really relate to and appreciate the story and it felt very refreshing to read a breakdown that took into perspective how Ju-Kyung’s past was shaping her actions, because, like you pointed out, while they were frustrating, they were very undertstanable! Again, it was just very nice to read a breakdown of the show that really got into its complexities vs being so black and white! The whole analysis was just so good and put into words everything I’d been thinking and feeling while watching this week

Thank you so much anon for your feedback <3 

The tag can get quite exhausting tbh, I completed episode 10 expecting to go into twitter to see thoughtful discussions and conversations about the conflict of the episode, I just saw Seojun pictures and complete hate and harshness towards Suho. People literally breaking down about Seojun getting into the accident because he’s such a great person how could he save Suho and get hurt oh nooo poor him ‘rolls eyes’ and people saying Suho is dramatic and needs therapy cause he's awful, the worst, doesn’t deserve no pity, anti feminist Suho etc, it’s like what???? Are we watching the same show?? I don’t get ship wars and how fans blind themselves from reality when they become too biased. It’s okay to think what Suho did is wrong but there are reasons for his actions, it’s not meant to be romanticised but when he does good, and he does a lot of good, he’s just as caring and sweet as Seojun no matter what fans say, when he does good he should also get recognition and again this show isn’t about who’s going to end up with JuKyung it’s been more than the romance since episode 1, from the get go all the emotional scenes have been breaking down the psychological mindsets of all these teenagers and how the world messed them up. It’s more  about friendship, family and more, it’s more about growth and lessons, and coming of age and self acceptance. It’s not about who’s the best boy because they’re equal. That’s all. 

I only start to have to defend Suho when I get irked by the bias against him. I really don’t care about who ends up with JK. I just need all of them to love and accept themselves and grow. 

[dramavixen]

watch this! – the bad kids

I am in full rambling mode, so today I’ll have my shot at brainwashing you into watching The Bad Kids (隐秘的角落), with no spoilers past what any online summary would tell you. Clear your mind and prepare for my nonsensical advocacy of this baby:

What is it?

12-episode Chinese web series that’s been all the rage in China for the past couple of weeks, and for good reason

As of this post, the show has an 8.9/10 score on rating site Douban, which is shockingly high for a domestic drama (most Chinese dramas are heavily scrutinized on that website due to a user base that tends to be very critical). I typically ignore hype trains, but this is one that I’m truly on board with and I’m waiting for this to gain more overseas recognition

Discreet psychological/suspense madness that doesn’t scare you while you’re in front of your screen, but will creep up on you once the sun sets (unless that’s just for me; I’m unreasonably scared of a lot of things)

Summary: three children go out to play, accidentally record a guy committing murder, and then—like all normal children would—decide that they can use the incident to blackmail him for money

What could possibly go wrong in that situation

Why watch?

Plot – in terms of execution, this gives off a similar energy to Japanese anime of the mystery genre (if you’re familiar with it, Erased was what came to mind) in that it frequently favors usage of dialogue, cinematography, and mood-setting over action: hence, the “psychological” aspect. There’s so much more dimension to the plot than solely the murder, which merely serves as a jumping-off point. Figuring out how every individual piece of the plot is going to come together is exhilarating and insanity-inducing. This is me at any given moment while watching (and ngl, this is my current state as I write this, shortly after having finished the series):

Thick® acting chops – when the summary says “three children,” it means children. This isn’t like one of those high school dramas where a buff 25-year-old actor with clear skin is trying and failing to pass as a teenager; the three kids are played by child actors who are legitimately around the age of their characters (the youngest is ten years old in real life. That’s so young that my “old” self can barely comprehend why she exists). Their roles are crazily demanding, yet you don’t ever catch them faltering.

The guy that has the role of the murderer is so good. This character was designed to have you second-guess every positive and negative judgment that you make about him; and this man holds that precarious balance between unassuming and psychopathic. If he weren’t a murderer, I might even venture to say that he’s attractive. I said “if,” okay? Don’t give me that look.

This is an out-of-drama-context photo, but LOOK HOW CUTE THIS MURDERER AND HIS THREE BLACKMAILERS ARE:

Dark elements – not accurate to call it “horror,” seeing as the primary goal of the drama is not to have you cowering behind your blanket. It also doesn’t aim to be overtly creepy. Rather, it’s capable of making you feel unsettled in your subconscious. It’s the general feeling of uncertainty that gnaws away at you: there are a crapload of implied truths whose lack of 100% confirmation leaves you in mental limbo.

This may not be traditional horror, but the opening animation gives me the heebie-jeebies and I want it to be buried twenty feet underground in a lead casket that’s been sealed with Gorilla Glue. I would include a screenshot of it, but that would mean that I’d have to watch/hear it again, and I absolutely refuse to do that. From an artistic perspective, this is definitely the most creative and deliberate opening for a drama I’ve ever watched.

The “soundtrack” that plays during episodes is freaking terrifying. I’m referring not to the actual songs (which are great, too), but to the interjecting tracks that are made out of...unusual noises? One that is stuck to the forefront of my mind is this thing where they use a heartbeat as the beat (ahaha) for other sounds and it’s absolutely unnerving because the bass of it is so boosted that it feels like your own pulse is being magnified. BIG NOPE.

The relationships – key moments are built around human interactions. Most of the relationships often feel as if the parties involved are estranged from one another, especially when it comes to those who should be closest – the children with one another, one of the boys and his parents, etc.

The title is “The Bad Kids,” but the show tackles it almost as a social commentary. The children are infuriatingly innocent in how they choose to go about blackmailing the murderer: they still act like children, even when making the conscious decision to do a sketchy thing. Yet as each episode passes and they confront more and more of their personal issues, you as the viewer are also forced to confront the fact that kids are shaped by the people around them – should the adults around them be inept or irresponsible, then the ones who learn that twisted behavior are the kids. So, do with that what you will. (Noteworthy is how the translated title is a direct translation of the novel that this show is adapted from, 坏孩子 by Zi Jinchen. The Chinese name of the show, 隐秘的角落, translates to “Hidden Corner.” This makes sense in context, but I wouldn’t conclude that one title is totally better at encompassing the show than the other.)

Front and center is the relationship between the kids and the murderer. I really, really liked how this was executed. There’s a peculiar amount of entertainment value in watching these scrawny children and a grown adult play an extended game of chicken – it’s in both sides’ interests to keep the other side’s secrets, but they also have to simultaneously outplay one another at every moment. Honestly, sometimes it’s a nice source of hilarity. What I liked most is that each individual child’s dynamic with the murderer is unique from those of the other children.

It’s short, in exactly the way that this post is not – 12 episodes leave no room for nonsense. If you despise plot filler or side plots, there’s no need to worry because there’s none of that here. I feel like there could have been a couple more episodes to break down each character more, but chances are that that’s just my unreasonable obsession with character development talking. I’m glad that there’s a drama director/crew out there that recognizes the value in making the show exactly as long as it needs to be (ahem...I’m looking at those dramas that shamelessly have over 50 episodes with 30 of those episodes being garbage).

Into the deep – I’ll probably tackle watching this a second time and maybe a third to scrutinize every scene. This show is short, but that ensures that every episode is packed with hints, symbols, and questions which are impossible to understand in a single moment. Sigh. I’m scared.

TL;DR – The Bad Kids is thoughtful, atmospheric, and keeps you on your toes until the very end. Here’s to hoping that this becomes the standard for future dramas. Aaaand I’ll see you later. Gonna go rewatch. And get scared again.

[eujazmine]

all gifs from christianscody !

JAZMINE HARPER - TV TROPES

manipulative bastard

The Manipulative Bastard is the master manipulator of people, in essence, a character who manipulates others through their emotions, perspectives, psychologies and any other way they can get them dancing to their tune. This is the guy or gal who gets off on playing head/mind games—clever and dangerous and lacking comedic overtones (usually). She always has a plan ready, but rather than do any work, the Manipulative Bastard prefers to play on other characters' emotions and mental states and then watch the victims destroy themselves as they waste their energy on fighting against fake dangers or their friends.

are we surprised? with a lack of loyalty to others, including her own family, jazmine will gladly step on others and use their weaknesses to her advantage to get what she wants. she’s been a manipulative bastard since she was a child, ever since she first discovered how much her mist control could control the perceptions of others. observant and resourceful, jazmine has no qualms using her talents to gain unauthorized information about others and using it for her personal gain. she views people as her pawns, and her selfish way of thinking gives her little guilt about physically or mentally forcing others into submission. this is a trait she’s picked up from her own father, which we will delve into in the next trope.

daddy’s little villain

mention of emotional abuse tw

She's the daughter of an Evil Overlord, who shares her parent's ambition, cunning, and cruelty. She could be anything from a simple Spoiled Brat to an Overlord in waiting. She's also likely to be a Princess (since even villainy is improved with that), although she will still prefer wearing black or dark colors over pink. 

jazmine’s mortal father can largely be thanked for the way she is now. from as young as she can remember, he was training jazmine to be a powerful force in both the demigod and mortal world. while he raised her to think she could accomplish anything she worked toward, she was mostly a pawn to satisfy his thirst for power. he didn’t care much for her as a daughter; mostly for what she could do for him. she started to recognize this during her formative middle school years, consequently turning her childhood role model into her worst enemy. when she started rebelling against him and acting out, he sent her away full-time to a camp on the other side of the globe. since then, the issues only progressed, eventually leading to a falling out in which she hasn’t seen or spoken to her mortal family in many years. 

this upbringing has fueled her desire to constantly be the best in her fields of expertise, which is partly why she quested for years in hopes of some type of recognition. with the heavily hidden hope that she could one day rub in his face that she had succeeded without him, all her life she has fought to try to ‘prove her worth’ to others despite being the daughter of a minor goddess (or titan). because her father only loved what she could do for him, she places everyone in two categories: the puppets, and the puppeteers. 

and she will never be the puppet again.

broken ace

He's tall, charming, strikingly good-looking, well-spoken in five languages, and classically trained in even more instruments. But inside, he's an ugly, writhing mass of self-hatred and Parental Issues. Expect him to have at least one bizarre trait or ability that should not be overlooked, as well as an unhealthy attitude about love, life, and humanity in general. He most likely doesn't have anyone that loves or respects him for what he really is. This may be justified. This character is usually male, but not always. Also, he may just be a perfectionist crumbling under his own standards. The chief difference between the Broken Ace and the usually female Stepford Smiler is that the Stepford Smiler wants to appear normal at all costs, often to the point of hurting herself emotionally (or because she's sociopathic). This guy has the same setup, but is more talented and wants to be the best, loved by all, and accepted.

although the timeline wasn’t as accelerated as she had hoped when she was a child, jazmine was making waves in the world of deities before her last quest against zeus had occurred. now, as a semi-retired quester, she is captain of the football team and starting to make a name for herself in the mortal fields of business and sports. despite the air of nonchalant superiority that she constantly tries to present, she is in a constant state of despair. right when she starts to undergo some development in her relationships with others, they leave, and she is constantly failing her own impossibly high standards. she’s crumbling, and at any point she is ready to run away again.

ice queen

Much like a Tomboy, the Ice Queen is a major character archetype which is somewhat hard to define. Her signature characteristic is that she is cold; the ambiguity comes from what "cold" means. She has a cold heart, a frosty demeanor and very often a resting bitch face; she attracts but will never be wooed. The Ice Queen is considered dangerous to love because she will not (or cannot) love back. She's not much for friendship either, preferring to be alone. Situations where an Ice Queen "thaws" and learns to enjoy the company of others are so common that they have their own trope.

she’s cold and takes no shit. she holds people at a distance, even those that could potentially be considered friends. she doesn’t believe in unconditional love, and she believes that most affection direct toward her is generally a ruse to get her guard down. she’s unnecessarily rude to others, almost relishing in the negative reactions at times, but to her, she’s just keeping it real.

the trickster

A trickster is a character who plays tricks or otherwise disobeys normal rules and conventional behavior. The Trickster openly questions and mocks authority, encourages impulse and enthusiasm, seeks out new ideas and experiences, destroys convention and complacency, and promotes chaos and unrest. At the same time, the trickster brings new knowledge, wisdom and many An Aesop. Even when punished horribly for his effrontery, his indomitable spirit (or plain sheer foolishness) keeps him coming back for more. Tricksters can be anything from gods of chaos, bedeviling heroes for a few laughs, to master manipulators who use cruel ploys and sadistic choices. They can also be heroes (or more likely Anti-Heroes) who make up for a lack of strength or bravery with manipulation, planning, or just plain cheating. The trickster is often a Master of Disguise and may have magical or super-powers. They're often found Walking the Earth.

although this description was much more relevant when she was younger, jazmine has a penchant for drama and chaos. she genuinely has fun engaging in pranks and tricks, and she gladly lifts a symbolic middle finger to authority in any chance that she gets. in middle school, she was nearly expelled from a mortal school because of all her tricks, and she spent a sizable portion of her adult years before eonia traveling and engaging in casual mayhem. when she isn’t getting revenge or fulfilling a paid request, she generally has fun toying with others.

deadpan snarker

A character prone to gnomic, sarcastic, sometimes bitter, occasionally whimsical asides. The Deadpan Snarker exists to deflate pomposity, point out the unlikelihood of certain plans, and deliver funny lines. Typically the most cynical supporting character. In most cases, it is implied that the snarker would make a good leader, strategist, or consultant given their ability to instantly see the flaws in a constructed plan. More often than not, their innate snarkiness is the only thing preventing the other characters from comprehending this for themselves. In other cases, the Deadpan Snarker resorts to sarcasm because they're the Only Sane Man. Tends to be shot a Death Glare when they go too far (and probably isn't without one of their own, either). Note that due to the definition evolving, the "Deadpan" part of the title has gradually become The Artifact and a deadpan delivery is no longer a necessary part of the trope.

jazmine is no stranger to delivering biting remarks coupled with foul language. she’s quick to point out flaws, opting for the brutally honest approach more times than not. she’s aware that her language can hurt others, but she finds it easier to escape the frivolities and get to the point. depending on the person, she exaggerates this trope by trying to draw out a bad response from them, mostly for her own entertainment. people already view her as heinous, so why not embrace the reputation, right?

survivor guilt

death mention tw

You might be the Last Of Your Kind or someone else made a Heroic Sacrifice for you or you lived through a Restricted Rescue Operation, but whatever the reason, you're going to feel a massive sense of guilt. 

although the quest with adelphie and celeste was technically a success, with the trident successfully being returned back to poseidon, the team had faced major losses. adelphie had lost her life, and celeste had suffered debilitating injuries. physically, jazmine suffered the least, and it’s a guilt that she continues to carry.

aloof big sister

to the majority of the hecate family, especially @rostameu

He's smarter, stronger, faster, more talented, and more refined than the hero, and — just to add insult to injury — he's probably sexier, too. His only problem seems to be moving his face out of that expression of bored, dignified disdain. And he just happens to be the elder brother of one of the main cast, which often gives them a raging inferiority complex. Will most likely double as the Ineffectual Loner and Noble Demon, thereby running the risk of becoming an Ensemble Darkhorse. May or may not be evil, strictly speaking, but is almost guaranteed to fight against the protagonists at one point, and spout off Cryptic Conversation to prove how much better informed he is. May or may not be a Stealth Mentor and/or consider his younger siblings annoying. Often an integral part of a mysterious organisation, and may be the Enigmatic Minion or even a Hero Antagonist in that case.

OKAY, so the running joke with jazmine is that she dislikes her siblings, which is very true tbh. i’m not going to speak for rostam and say most of that stuff actually applies, but jazmine is very cold toward her younger brother and views herself as much better in every way. with loner tendencies, disdain toward her brother, and shady side hustles, she matches this trope very well, and it was only fitting to add a trope about disliking siblings to jazmine’s task. and yes, she’s technically one of the youngest right now but hush.