#how utterly INSANE this piece of information makes me

[owlinks]

when i randomly remember that gable would've taken the morning star's hand

[beanghostprincess]

I don’t have many Op friends I can talk about this with but one of my top ship tropes is when it’s established that Luffy is slow on the uptake regarding people’s relationships and even HE knows someone is in love and pining. Like, to make a point at how utterly obvious it is. Sanji cuts food for Usopp into little bite sized pieces? Luffy just asks him something that indicates Sanji and Usopp are in a relationship and the cook almost chokes. Nami tries to write a letter and is getting visibly frustrated at not finding the right words and he just looks over her shoulder like „Say Vivi I said hi!“. He witnessed Shank and Buggy finally meeting at laughtale and there is just a bunch of „I WOULD HAVE FOLLOWED YOU!“ „I never wanted you to leave!“ „YOU WERE A COWARD!“ „Why does that matter now?!“ „BECAUSE I ALMOST GAVE UP MY DREAM FOR YOU!“ and Luffy just looks at this insane display in front of him while his idol does a homoerotic sword vs dagger fight with a clown and just „Are you seeing this shit Zoro?“ like… congrats . You’re being such a lovesick idiot even Luffy is like „Damn bitch you got it bad“

Honestly, this is extremely in character and pretty much not far from the truth. Luffy, despite being a dumbass, is a very perceptive person when it comes to people's feelings. One of his best traits as a main character is that he's empathetic to the point of knowing how people feel or what they want without needing to know the background or the rest of the story. I actually hate when the fanon perception of Luffy gets simplified to "he's an idiot" because yeah, he might be reckless and stupid and he's very silly, but he's emotionally mature to a sickening extent. Savior complex much? (Not that he wants to be a hero, god forbid, he would hate that. I just mean that his constant need to save everyone so nobody he cares about dies on him or gets hurt again has made him really aware of his surroundings and people's feelings). And, well, tbh he has always been like that. Very honest and perceptive, I mean. He might be a bit slow when catching up to some things and he might not know why people feel what they feel sometimes, but he knows what they're feeling. Get me? Like he might be aware of Nami being mad at him, for example, and not knowing why, but being aware that he has to do something to change that.

What I want to say with all of this is that Luffy noticing romance within the crew is extremely canon because he knows how his friends act, and if he notices changes in a person towards someone else, he might be stupid but he's not that oblivious. Like, he knows something's up. And to him the whole concept of pining is so stupid because if you feel something, just let the other person know! But then again, his relationship with Zoro is just different from that, and not everyone can have a devoted long-term marriage without saying a word.

And his reaction towards people pining would be hilarious because the guy would be exhausted from the crew having crushes and not doing anything. A Sanuso trope I love is Luffy going to Usopp like "Hey, confess already because Sanji has been distracted lately, and if he stops cooking because he is sad and pining for you I will be very mad" and he says shit like this and goes away and leaves Usopp alone with that information as if it was the most obvious and normal thing to do. But, you know, Luffy gets things done around here, at least.

[emotionaldisaster909]

Oh, joy))

Just had a fight with my father

Who’s completely lost to the propaganda, because he is extremely easily influenced

So i showed him those videos from Kyiv

And he says

“Answer this: Why won’t Zelensky sign a peace treaty?”

And I ask him

“Answer me this: Is this an excuse to kill innocent people???”

On which he says that every day everywhere people die whether you like it or not

So I ask him

“Are you serious??? Are you insane??? Are you fucked up????”

And he spilled alcohol on me))0

And called me a piece of shit

Who doesn’t understand anything

And who’s opinion doesn’t matter

Now))

This is exactly how our government looks on it’s people

He speaks their words

Because he listenes to their propaganda every single day from every device

From multiple devices at once even

Has been for years

Now.

How am i supposed to change minds of thousands of brainwashed people in my country

If I can’t even change my father’s mind

What am I to do

I can’t even hate him

Because I know that he literally has an official mental disorder

Which made him believe all kinds of liars - cultists, medical frauds - for as long as I remember

What am I to do?

What am I to do when people say that it’s not just Putin’s war, that russians must pay, that Russia must be bombed in return

Aside from the fact that the majority here is agains the war

But, just as in Hitler’s Germany, we are forced to keep our tongues shut

Which we don’t

And we get beaten up, arrested for bigger sentences than rapists and murderers

Used to instill more fear in people’s hearts

And to tell stories about “foreign agents” who were sponsored by “The West”

Should we start a civil war?

Should we kill people who are just too naive and bombarded by all sides by levels of propaganda Goebbels would look up to?

And

As a journalist

Believe me when I say that this propaganda is WICKEDLY smart

It uses all the methods known to history of information in a rapid fire speed

It even turned around my own desire to not see things “one sided” into the decision not to see anything at all in fear of being lied to

Which is dumb

But should i be killed for this?

I just kept listening and talking to people

Different people in my job

And a funny thing about a tattoo artists’ job

Is that there are many soldiers getting tattoos

Good thing is, many of them come and tell us that they quit, that this war is pointless, that it’s just our government making money from it

But some don’t

Yet when I talk to them

They

Talk like

People

Not some monsters

Just people

But they truly believe

That they’re doing a good thing

That they’re fighting to free the oppressed

That they’re fighting to protect their people

Or to avenge their fallen comrades

I

I might be just too naive and empathetic myself

But

I don’t want them killed either

I don’t want any deaths

Haha

I want a third path

Hahaha

Yeah, I might be too influenced by the ideas of a fictional character who is also called stupid and naive for his views

But

I don’t know

The only people I want to be punished are those who rule this machine of war and hate

And not only from our side

But

Maybe it was also told to me by propaganda

But i don’t think that American government wants this to stop too

I think I saw it in english media as well that US government is known for profiting on wars all around the world

Forgive and correct me if I’m utterly wrong

But in that same post that said that the entire russian population supports war

Was said that we could’ve stopped it

We

Tried.

Before the arrest of Navalny and soon after our opposition had the biggest rise in this century

We had so many mass protests

They were all brutally suppressed

Young men, women, literal kids and, I shit you not, literally VETERANS, GRANDPAS AND GRANDMAS who ALREADY LIVED THROUGH ONE WAR were BEATEN AND ARRESTED BY POLICE FORCES which are supposed to PROTECT THEM

After the arrest the oppression of opposition has strengthened

We lost our leaders and organisation

Protests began to lessen

Yet with the declaration of “The Special Military Operation” people ROSE AGAIN

And the same thing happened

But worse

So many brutal laws were adopted

All to ensure not a single negative word or movement against the government

So yeah me and my family might be soooo fucked for what I’m writing right now

I’m really not so sure if tumblr is safe

I’m riding on sheer hope for a fluke

But

I just

I am so sorry for keeping my eyes closed for so long

This app and talking to people here is what made me open them

What let me express my rage and made it boil to the point where I couldn’t shut up anymore

I don’t know if I should post this or not

I don’t know.

I might not

Will it make a single change?

I know a way of doing this safer and for a longer time

Actually

It would even be more influential

Yeah

But I wish there will be time

When I can no longer be afraid

And when my words will be heard loud and clear

Along with all the voices of those

Who stand with the free world

For peace and love

And

Hualian)

[yuseirra]

It's so weird. I keep listening to Fatal and this guy loves Ai so much. It's still something I can interpret as love, and is this the right way feel about it? Why do I still feel like Ai's chosen the one that'd treasure her when I'm so stern about moral values and feel like someone who's done wrong should be sufficiently punished in fiction if needed? Why do I still feel this isn't that unhealthy? This feels like intense longing from someone who's so lonely and hurt driven to the point of being utterly broken?

He misses her so bad. It's so painful. What is the point of making an originally good person like him suffer so bad? This is wrong. That's so horrible. It feels really bad... I sense these enormous, overwhelming feelings, and I'm still not sure if I can dismiss this only as pure insanity because this happened because he really did care about Ai. Is it that it's got overridden and taken advantage of? Fatal is so weird because that whole song screams.. of this feeling of becoming tainted and madness, the whole melody feels like it; yeah, I can see that, but..

I actually see what the story is doing as a whole. I think I have a good idea of how this is going to be wrapped up and why they made this choice, but as I always say, I'm not the one responsible for forming the story and having crafted these characters so I can't say it for sure.

If what I anticipate does come true, then this can be a really meaningful piece of work. I want to believe in that. But it's so hard to hold out on that and see these pointless sufferings in the process. Aqua's hate should not have been directed at this guy. This character...I think he needs love. If just one person was kind enough to him, he could have lived with that, and he just didn't have that, it's so unfair.

I think I can sense what this character is feeling you see, it's what's made me draw so much about him and Ai,

in that case, I see why the writers and staff cared enough for him to give him two songs, but if I'm wrong on this, I just don't know.

I think I will have the answers.. by December? I hope so.

I would like to believe in my feelings and go on because, in terms of feelings, I know what this is, what's being displayed doesn't entirely make sense, the only consistent things I can read about this character are the feelings and his state is really, really, really bad. They are so depressed on the near verge of death, they are so weak... If someone is feeling this despaired, maybe they can turn into something different but I'm not sure about that, I can't determine that, I need more information to piece things together, but I can say, this is a really huge feeling they're feeling, and I sense a lot of sorrow. It's so weird...

It's different from what I feel from seeing the comic, you know. You know how sometimes you act and you feel the sort of feeling your role may feel. Or when you read a work and you can get a sense of what a character may feel. I've been good with these. It's what I rely on...this sounds really dumb, I know, but... I feel really sad when I try to match up my feelings with what this guy may feel. With this level of sadness... I just don't know what to make of him but it's really reasonable for him to have this sort of feeling too, since someone who cared for died. They don't exist anymore... can I even sympathize with him? Am I supposed to? It's not.. actually insanity I feel as the core, it's sadness. Everything he does seems to stem out from that sort of feeling, "sorrow" is his core. so I can't help feeling pity when he's this... horrible mess right now. But what did he even do? we never even got to see that. Why is he like this? It's actually really painful to try and sync up with him, I do that when I draw characters, and I had to back out several times from getting too deep because it hurts. I'm adjusting my level of doing this with this character time to time because what he's going through is really intense. The same with other characters in this comic, had this happen with Aqua and Ai too, that's why I'm so impressed with how this comic builds its characters, the characters in this manga are suffering internally so realistically, you can actually feel their emotions if you try really hard haha. It makes it really intriguing, that's how I was drawn to it in the first place. Do you have these things happen to you, do? I certainly cannot be the only way who has this happen, I am sure!

The reason I keep talking about him is because. the information that is presented doesn't connect with each other.

Still I feel like I can sense what Ai saw in this guy. Then he should be saved; I want that to happen. And if the way I see it is correct, it actually will happen. I don't know how but by the end of the series, it will. I sound like I have little base, don't I? but I'm usually right with these, I had something like this happen lots of times, so I think-and hope-I'm being so this time as well!

[desultory-novice]

<Surprise! I turned it into a post!>

Do I ever cry working on this stuff?

Oh yes. Ohhhhhhhhhh yes.

I'm a very emotionally focused writer who really gets into the heads of the characters I write for, and I often feel the things I have them go through very strongly. (And I've absolutely shed completely real RL tears over the things I write. No shame here.)

Just in that little piece there, I myself can FEEL the tension beating around me as the Master Crown tries to pressure Marx into standing down by using Magolor as a bargaining chip and casting really vile aspersions on Marx's motivations. (Even as the crown itself is only thinking that way because it has fed off the souls of countless villainous kings in the past.) I feel a tingling in my hands when Magolor "wakes up" and starts screaming. And I feel a heaviness in my heart as Marx doesn't know how to tell Magolor the truth and wonders (without saying it aloud) if he was being selfish for bringing Magolor to the surface just so he can have his friend back.

...Sometimes, I do worry my work may come off a little too...strong, for that reason. Should I muffle the emotions a little? Will my writing ever upset people past the point of “feelsy” entertainment to become just plain upsetting?? 

There are many different reasons to write. To inform. To persuade. I'm big on writing as a tool for teaching lessons. Both ones you want to emulate (treat others as you wish to be treated, etc) and ones you very much don't. (Be careful what you wish for, etc.) But I also see stories as having value for their use as a form of emotional expression. (And emotional discovery/instruction.)

We writers don't just want to be running faucets all the time. Pouring out so much emotion it floods the page until everyone is wet and unhappy. But I've heard it said that even when you write solely "for yourself" there will always be SOMEONE out there in this vast world who feels the same way you do. And if you wrote that very personal thing out of some kind of “need” - that other person may very well “need” the thing you wrote too.

I've been saved from some sad places in my life by some incredible stories. And some of those stories took very depressing turns. Sometimes, it was the depressing stuff I resonated with the most. 

Just having a character tell another, "...I get sad sometimes" can make you think, "Oh man! That's me...!" Other times, a character :cough: may have have had an evil god turn their life upside down, body-snatching them only to destroy everything they care about, driving them insane to use as a pawn in a war of angels and demons centuries later :cough: and you go "...Oh man. That's me..."

I've never had the angels and demons thing happen to me. But I did resonate strongly with a character like that. That resonance helped me process some things in my life and grow from them. Some find that what is most real to them is NOT in the 1:1 accurate-down-to-the-pores depiction of reality, but in the abstraction, the simplification, and the fantasy.

There's a section in Scott McCloud's "Understanding Comics" that talks about how we as humans respond to caricatures. Heck with it. I'm just going to paste it here because I don't think I can explain it better...

Replace “cartoon” with “fiction” in general and you have my thoughts.

I've never been possessed by an evil crown, but I've worked really hard to achieve something I thought I wanted only to have it backfire on me and leave me feeling devastated and hurt.

I've never had an alien entity puppet my body against my will, but I've felt like no one could hear the things I was saying and that nothing I did had any affect on the world around me.

I have made vague, weak, passing attempts at things like confessional webcomics about my life experiences. But what I found is that I don't really want to write domestic, true-to-life stories about what it's like growing up autistic in a time when people thought you had to be utterly non-verbal and unable to tie your shoelaces (I loved tying shoelaces) and also really good at the piano (I'm not good at the piano, but I'm learning) to be “autistic.”

And other times I want to write about lives that aren't my own. Lives that I can only dream of. Of exploring galaxies and casting magic. Of running an army or fighting against one till your last dying breath. Of suffering so deep it makes life seem not worth it. Of euphoric joy that reaches back to heal even the wounds of past lives. Of being the one to stand up to save an entire planet, or of just being in the right place at the right time to protect my loved ones.

...Of accidentally building a soul-saving theme park in hell and of helping someone that seemed completely beyond help. ^^;

So, I write these fantastical :cough: fan-fiction :cough: about characters that I think themselves are possibly/probably representative of some broader things, ideas, or situations. (Kumazaki happily admits that Kirby is a vessel for the player to put their own feelings and experiences into) 

Or are just admirable and super cool and I want to dress like them and wear a cool red tophat and cloak and walk around with a cane with my crew of noble thieves and equate my experiences to theirs and vice versa. Because that’s okay too!

...And I occasionally cry doing it.

[blossoms-and-petrichor]

yes the depiction of internalized, implicit, and institutionalized bigotry was insane to me. brilliantly done honestly.

The advertisements were some of my favorite depictions because it shows how ingrained the fear of some nebulous "monster" was on their culture. You can fight the "monster" and if you do your a hero. Board games, food, media.... it seemed so harmless to everyone BUT Nimona because she could see how this messaging brainwashed LITERAL CHILDREN into thinking killing an "other" was okay. I know Nimona was a really good trans allegory but what also comes to mind is racist messaging affecting children and shaping what they think is okay and not.

Ballister's microagressions and slow understanding were done really really well. So was his panic at every new piece of information--breaking down what you've believed for years is not easy, especially when being good enough to be accepted by the very people kicking you down is ingrained into you.

It was refreshing to watch Nimona's glee at being utterly herself. She knew she wasn't a monster but the pain of others seeing her as such affected her. It's a nice change of pace from queer-monster allegories also thinking of themselves as a monster. It was the rejection she hated, not her own identity.

I also loved the whole thing where the queen wanted commoners to perhaps become nights but a) only if they are "worthy," a much higher standard than literally any of the born knights (classism pull-yourself-by-the-bootstraps vibes) b) anyone can become a hero...and oppress a different group (monsters). diversity win! the lower classes can now hurt a group who's literal existence questions the authority of the Institution. instead of questioning the institution, they can be a part of it.

My only critique is that the actual reason Ballister's arm was broken shouldn't have been removed. Would show the idea that someone "good" like Ambrosius can still be affected by the messaging of the institute and do cruel things. Here his culture's discriminatory beliefs' affect on him is a lot less apparent and makes it seem like the director was just a bad egg rather than it being an issue of the institute as a whole. In the end, while some of the messaging is dismantled (open communication with the rest of the world), I wanted even more of a grayscale view of how an institution controlling the flow of information affects even "good people"

also the way that the nimona movie showed that hate is a taught behavior?? the way that gloreth, the hero worshipped for slaying monsters, was fully accepting of nimona until her mother told her what to believe? until that generational bigotry was passed down? the way the director’s motive wasn’t even power like most evil government figureheads in media, but rather a fear of monsters destroying the kingdom because that hate had been instilled in her too, like it had in gloreth? the way ballister was also indoctrinated into hatred of “monsters” until he was just as outcast as one? because only then was he willing to change and learn?? and how even people with good hearts and good intentions like ballister and ambriosius and even the queen herself are still capable of perpetuating bigotry and unnecessary violence when they don’t take the time to understand or learn about the “others” they supposedly hate????????? i need to lie down

[ecsundance]

As We Speak: The Cruelty of Censorship

I have never been a huge fan of documentaries as I tend to find them a bit slow paced and jam packed with way too much information that I won’t be able to fully process until I read up on an article written about it. However, I have seen so many documentaries at this year’s Sundance Film Festival that my opinion on them has slowly started to shift. As We Speak, directed by J.M. Harper, was an absolutely game changer for me and whilst the theme of the film is something beyond interesting, I believe what truly sparked my interest was Harper’s unique and innovative style of documentary. The film follows Kemba, an up and coming rapper from the Bronx, and his journey in trying to find out why the rap genre and its lyrics is being criminalized on a global level. We watch as he travels to different cities across the country and even gets the opportunity to travel to the United Kingdom to see how drill music artists are being closely watched by government officials. As viewers, we are introduced to a handful of different characters who openly share what their experiences have been with this ongoing issue with outlawing song lyrics. 

I found the structure of the documentary to be so unique and unlike anything I had ever seen before. Harper makes sure to include several interviews that cover the basis of information needed, whilst also managing to incorporate narrative elements and archival footage. I felt that the narrative pieces implemented in the film aided so much in the viewer’s experience when it came to processing the information, as well as allowing Harper’s creative expression to flow freely. The cinematography was so insanely beautiful, I felt myself completely captivated by some of the shots while also keeping in mind how heavy the subject being explored was. In my opinion, Harper did an amazing job at putting together a film that discussed the harsh reality of some of these rappers whilst also highlighting the beauty of the genre and the stories of these individuals. 

As I mentioned earlier, the main idea for this documentary is the criminalization of rap lyrics and how they are able to be used in court by prosecutors, even if there is no concrete evidence to pinpoint the accused. A detail I found particularly interesting is the fact that some of these lyrics are completely taken out of context and rearranged in a way that makes the accused seem guilty. It absolutely baffles me how any of this is even legal, especially knowing that the majority of minority groups have different lingo that a person not associated with the culture could not possibly understand. In the film, the use of the phrase “make a killin’” is used, which quite literally translates to “to earn a lot of money in a short time and with little effort”, yet in the case of a particular rapper, it was perceived by the court as him saying that he had an urge to commit murder. It honestly feels so utterly ridiculous to type that out that it is baffling to think that this is an ongoing issue that has been going on for so long. To think that artistic expression can be criminalized, knowing that the first amendment right in the United States depicts the freedom of speech. 

I could honestly write about this subject matter and As We Speak for so much longer, but I think that the film does a way better job at covering the information and showing the truth about what is unfolding within the music industry and the drill music genre in general. J.M. Harper is such an incredible director and storyteller, I would recommend this film to everyone that is unaware of the criminalization of rap lyrics, especially with how little people know about it.

-Manu Delgado

[cheesecakezyum]

hey, hru? i just found your blog and tbh i really love it and your writing, it’s just so good! so can i request the mayor realizing that he likes the reader, and how he would confess? thanks! <3

Anyone Can Change, If They Try Hard Enough!

Ooh! Sure! We all love some unhinged old men am I right or am I right?

My hiatus has been so long simply due to some financial, family and more personal issues I’d rather not discuss publicly. Writing doesn’t pay my bills after all! Maybe I should make a Kofi or personal commissions? Most likely not— I’m just here to have fun. Anyways, I’ll be back to writing the multitude of prompts that have been given to me over my hiatus. To think that my last post had me at 150 followers, and now I’m almost at half a thousand now! I’ll try my best to make it up to you within the upcoming months as well as a Christmas special piece on Ao3! Stay tuned my lovelies <3

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♡- I wouldn’t say what he feels is love at first sight. Quite the opposite truly. You, being a known rebel against the Lady Bone Demon throughout the period of time the world was in utter disarray.

♡- He was truly and utterly devoted— in any way, shape or form; His goal was to stay by her side for the rest of eternity if granted such a gracious opportunity. Why ask for anything more?

♡- One of his duties? Taking care of the foolish mortals who dared to disobey the new world. That was where he initially met you. Someone who had daringly risked their life to let a family of four flee. You jumped in front of them! You don’t know what had happened to them after, but it didn’t matter. They had more to live for than you did in your brisk opinion

♡- As foolish as the mayor believed you to be, he did nothing but cackle and unceremoniously take his leave. It was hilarious! Why would you would risk your life for these people? It was utter nonsense!

♡- A small part of him admired your bravery, no matter how insane it seemed. The mayor was reminded of his own loyalty to his lady.

♡- The act had left him in your thoughts, so utterly long until he was ripped away from any bone demon powers he had once attained in a massive quantity. One minute he was fighting the monkey king, and the next?— forced to give out information to the very same people trying to stop their plan to rewrite the world as the simian took his very place.

♡- He was able to get away, as easy as it was when the scums just left him there. The only problem was, he had nowhere to go. Battered and bruised, the old mayor of the city would stick out like a sore thumb! There was only one option.

♡- He had to find you. Maybe because he showed you such mercy, you’d repay him with a safe place to dwell until things died down? If anything, you’d even get on your knees and kiss his shoes! Yes yes, that’s the plan.

♡- It took a few days for him to find you, but once he did? Ohhh, you certainly looked different than you did during the ‘apocalypse’. You dressed quite nicely! Formal wear similar to his! He never noticed you worked right in town hall; the place he dwelled most being undercover. Who knew?

♡- Back to your situation, you had moved to a much better area; Close but not exactly in the heart of the city you once did! Due to many losing their homes, you had opted to stay in a friends condo she had for rent, which was practically spotless! It was way better than the now ashes of your former home. You finished up settling the last of your boxes in the living room before hearing a clean three knocks at the door.

♡- You didn’t like who you saw. Not one bit. It was the mayor of the city, monster, the very same one who threatened to obliterate a family simply asking for mercy? He looked like an utter mess.

“Well hello there ci!—“

You had shut the door before you could hear any more. Had he been stalking you? What was his reason for such an intrusion.

You heard his muffled voice on the other side, but instead chose to preoccupy yourself with better things than an old, no— ancient man outside your door. You weren’t a young hot shot either! Being in your late 30s has proved to you that you were simply gaining maturity.

Something was just, off about him.

♡- By evening, you had realized that he was still at the door— waiting with his usual eerie smile. What had even happened to him for someone with such power to come here? If he really was a threat— destroying your home would’ve been a piece of cake.

♡- You made stew, and what you didn’t expect was your body to move for you.

The man was no longer waiting by the door, instead seated in a gentlemanly manner alongside your exterior walls, you had lifted a hand. What were you doing?

“Hey….are you hungry?”

He looked up at you, the very first time you didn’t see his face with forced glee.

♡- Maybe you did have a death wish.

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I have the horrible ability to turn simple prompts into ideas for full pieces of work. Anywayssss, thx for reading!!

[monsterkisserlove]

Bad Luck Charm: Chapter Two

Veronika just has the worst luck imaginable. So what could go wrong when she tries to correct this luck with a spell… Well, we’ll find out.

TW/CW: Blood mention, death/murder mention, cursing.

Pairing: M Demon/F Human

a/n SFW but will become NSFW as the chapters go on, those chapters will be well marked though. However, under 18s DNI! This blog and these fics ain’t for you.

Chapter One

“Hello, morsel,” they crouched, closing the distance in one graceful move, the smell of burning charcoal and earth filling her senses, “now how can I help a delicious thing like you?” 

Veronika stayed silent, mouth agape as she took in the imposing creature barely a breath away, utterly shocked at what just happened. 

The demon tilted their head, waiting for her answer as she drank in the image of the creature before her. A muscular physique emphasised by the slim, almost obscenely fitted black trousers, a shirt only half buttoned up, black tattoos curling and dancing over the exposed plum coloured skin.  

Bright golden hoops along both of their pointed ears, abstract against the blackened tips and silky hair.  

Their long, swaying tail almost hypnotic calming her just for a moment before she snapped back to the insanity that was currently happening before her eyes. 

And then she panicked, gasping as she scrambled backwards away from the monster she’d summoned, chest heaving as she thought about the consequences of what she’d just done.  

No one summoned demons anymore, if this was what she’d managed to do, every magic user knew that you did not summon demons. Not only was it very illegal, nearly every single person who’d bought a demon to this plane would meet a very grisly fate. 

This was a luck spell!  

Demon conjuring took far more effort and specialised components, not just some old pennies and a handful of chamomile! 

Throughout her rambling internal monologue, the creature had not moved an inch, eyes still trained on her panic-stricken face. 

The witch was frantically trying to remember anything she knew about demons, which wasn't a lot seeing as the last known summoning was over a century ago that ended with the brutal murder of an entire city of people.  

That was the tale that every witch or mage were told when they started learning how to wield their talents, the dire story of one man’s desire for power and control that ended in the blood bath of hundreds upon hundreds of people. A story about how that now abandoned place was a great scar of deep, unending evil. 

Suddenly a piece of vital information came to her from a hidden recess of her mind, a brief memory of a short lesson regarding what to do in the very worst situation possible. 

Do not break the sigil circle.  

Do not let them free. 

Making to scramble back further away from the circle and the thing in the circle, Veronika went to stand so that she could put considerable distance between them but as she did, her luck failed once more and she fell backwards. One leg curling underneath her, hands behind her palm down on the wooden boards, and her other leg...  

That leg had kicked out and shoved her heel through the ash drawn patterns and now sat between the demons' legs.  

Eyes glittering with tears, Veronika stared up at the figure as they stood to their full height and grinned down at the terrified witch, sharp teeth glinting in the pale moonlight. 

“How foolish,” the demon rumbled, “but I thank you for releasing me.”  

Stepping outside of the sigils and away from the witch, the demon cast a lofty glance around her living quarters and exhaled a barely concealed sigh. “I suppose this will do.” As they raised a clawed hand, Veronika hid her face in her hands, desperately trying to not think about whatever excruciating pain would come next.  

But aside from a quiet whoosh, nothing happened to her. 

Tentatively peeling her fingers from her face, the room was now bathed in a warm glow, every candle around the room alight.  

“So,” the demon started, “what is it that you desire?” Once again, those midnight black eyes fixed on her staring at, what felt like, directly into her soul and heart. 

Veronika stayed silent, curling up into herself, praying that this was all some sort of dream or hallucination caused by her own misfortune.  

Alas no, the demon cleared their throat, an eyebrow raised at the quivering mortal cowing away from them on the floor. When they were met with yet another wall of silence, the monster growled quietly stalking back towards the timid witch. 

“You summoned me, did you not?” They barked, standing above her and looking down upon her shaking form. “Do you wish me to rid you of your enemy? To gift you riches or eternal life?” 

That snapped her out of her petrified daze for a moment. The creature hadn’t said enemies, they’d said enemy. Singular.  

“En-enemy? I-... I don’t have an enemy?” Veronika whimpered out, the demons face contorting in confusion.  

“Well,” they started, “I’ve never known a friend to hex another friend. Aside from Golgarth, but they were quite the joker.” The demon chortled at the memory of their friend, shaking their head for a moment before staring back down at Veronika. 

“Wait-, what!? I’ve been hexed!?” She screeched, before clapping a hand to her mouth, seeing the demons face scrunched up in pain at the high-pitched squeal. 

“Yes... You did not know? Surely that is why you called me here?” 

Veronika tentatively stood from the floor, wringing her bloody, ash covered, hands and realised that the top of her head only reached to the middle of their chest.  

By Goddess, they were tall. 

“I didn’t even mean to summon you!” She burst out, allowing herself to fall back onto the sofa. Veronika was quickly becoming tired of this whole event and just wishing that the thing had killed her when it first stepped from the sigil.  

Staring despondently at her lap, she didn’t even look up when the sofa creaked and groaned beneath the weight of the creature seating itself beside her.  

“I do not understand, morsel...,” the demon began, “quite clearly you are a very powerful witch, surely you are the head of your coven? Not just anyone could summon me, Delth the Lord of the Midnight Realm.” 

Well, at least Veronika now had a name to go with the face and a confirmation that he was a demon, that and one from one of the deepest parts of the underworld. Fuck. 

That and she wasn't anywhere near ready to breech the whole ‘head of a coven’ and powerful witch bullshit he was spouting. 

“Look,” she grabbed the tome of spells from the floor where it lay and thrust toward Delth, “this was just a luck spell! I’ve been having awful luck and I just wanted to turn it around!” She exclaimed, simultaneously proud of her confident outburst and afraid that she may have just angered the demon lord.  

Delths’ long, sharp tipped fingers idly flipped the page, a sharp eyebrow raised at the increasingly less timid human woman beside him. “No,” he started, explaining himself clearly as though he was speaking to a child, “this is an ancient summoning rite. The scrap missing was most likely referring to the blood offering of the enchanter.” 

The demon took her hands, flipping them over to show the wounds that were pebbling droplets of bright, crimson blood upon her palms. 

“Your blood, the sigils and the deep, powerful intent is what brought me here.”  

Veronika snatched her hands away from Delth, curling them into fists as she scrunched up her face, overwhelming frustration flooding her whole body. 

“Now,” he started once more, placing a long-clawed hand upon her thigh and relishing in the sweet touch of warm flesh he hadn’t felt in eons, “your mistake of bringing me here does not negate the fact that I am here now. We are to make a pact, that is unless you’d like me to walk free within the mortal realm.”  

A bolt of panic shot through her, erasing her own self-punishment at the thought of a demon being released among humans. That would be disastrous, and not something she could have on her conscience.  

“No, no... I’ll make the pact,” the demon grinned, sharp teeth flashing in the warm candlelight, “but! I want to know what my end of this bargain is before I agree to anything!”  

If it wasn’t for the sharp curled horns, the imposing size of him and the generally frightening demeanour of the creature, Veronika would have said that Delth was pouting. 

It was quite sweet actually, despite the fact that he was most likely going to ask for her soul to devour and perhaps the address of a nearby convent if that hadn’t filled him up. 

“That is acceptable, however, little morsel,” he squeezed her thigh, claws raking gently against the softness of her skin, emphasising his point further, “the payments you make will entirely depend on what you ask of me. If I were to be asked to deliver coins, I would ask for something in return that I could use to make myself wealthy. If I were to be asked to grant power, I would then gain power over them, do you see?” 

The heat of his grip was distracting her to no end, the sensation almost making her forget that the hand causing a shiver to shoot down her spine was attached to the most dangerous creature in all the realms. But she understood, an eye for an eye and all that. Or more like a favour in return for her first-born child, she supposed. 

“Okay,” Veronika started hesitantly, “so if I were to ask you to remove this hex, tell me who placed it and then leave, what would you want in return?” 

Delth hummed to himself, thumb idly tracing searing hot circles into her skin, carefully thinking on his answer. “Removing a hex is easy work for someone of my kind, and tracing it will be just as easy, however I shall not be leaving my little morsel. Curing a malady such as you have upon you will require a cure in return.”  

A salacious smirk spread over his face, those sharp, glinting teeth making another appearance, his grip tightening on her.  

Veronikas’ eyes widened, frantically searching him for any injury or illness he may have, but she could see none, just the thick, powerful muscles beneath his tightly fitting clothes.  

“What do you mean you won’t be leaving!? And I’ve never been able to heal anyone before, I’ve only ever made things worse!” She admitted, afraid that if she’d said yes without disclosing that information, he’d expect her to heal him but she wouldn’t be able to and then she’d be in even more trouble than before. 

Quicker than she could blink, Delth twisted in his seat, one hand still firmly gripping her leg and the other had gone to grasp her jaw, thumb stroking along her full lower lips, claws scraping over her red, flushed skin.  

Delths’ monstrously handsome face nought but an inch from hers, swallowing her in those endless abyssal eyes, the smell of burning pine and a heady musk filling her senses until she could think of nothing but him. 

“Oh morsel,” the demon practically purred, the deep rumbling resonating in very bones, his long-split tongue wetting his lips, “I need a cure for boredom and it is going to be you.” 

TBC 

[buckyownsmylife]

fuckboy - chapter ix

The one where Chris only wanted to fuck you and you were alright with that.

Chris never promised anything more than what he had to offer: a release - and a good one at that. Recently widowed and new to Hollywood, you're eager to learn how to live the single life with the help of such a talented teacher. What happens when Chris is the one to start expecting more from the relationship than you are prepared to offer?

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“ … What are you doing here?” I blinked up in surprise at finding Chris at the other side of my front door, grinning at me while holding up a pack of beers. I didn’t even remember ever giving him my address, which begged the question how the hell he knew where I lived.

“I figured we could do something together. I’ve been bummed out at home for the last four days, ever since I broke up with Julie. I’m tired of being by myself.” He explained, already pushing into my home and making himself comfortable in my living room as I stood back and took my time closing the door and following in his footsteps, utterly confused.

Suddenly, he stopped, turning around to look me in the eye. “Not that I was sad about it or anything,” he quickly clarified, and I was still so far behind in the conversation it wasn’t until much later that I realized he was referring to his break-up. “To be honest, I just needed time alone to decompress from that fucking car ride. Talk about a nightmare!”

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, undecided of what I should say or if I should even say something. There were so many little pieces of information I was missing, I couldn’t even decide which question I should ask first so instead of panicking, I just took a deep breath, shook myself off of it and went with it.

“I can imagine,” I sighed, throwing myself at the couch next to him. He had already found the remote control and was browsing Netflix in search of something. “Uh, sorry about that? I had the best of time with Brie, though,” I teased, giggling at the way he narrowed his eyes at me.

“Not funny. You were the whole reason why I went through that nightmare, you should have been with me in that car!” Scoffing, I rolled my eyes at him despite the butterflies in my belly, the ones who made me slightly out of breath at the confusing emotions his joking accusation brought me.

“How was I the reason for your fight with Julie? I was minding my own business, in my cabin, when an insane horny man burst through the door and attacked me!” We both stared at each other furiously, until simultaneously, we started laughing.

“Insane horny man,” Chris repeated, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Attacked you. You loved taking every little inch of me and you know it,” he bragged and this time, I couldn’t hold back the shiver that went down my spine at his use of such dirty language in the middle of what had been up until then a fun, easy-going conversation.

And he noticed it.

“Oh, you do know it, don’t you?” He smirked, leaning over me and setting a hand on the arm of the couch against which I rested, the other on the back of the seat so I was trapped under his body. “You love being reminded of it. You love thinking about how it felt to have my big cock deep inside this pussy, fucking you like the little whore that you are…”

His fingers had slipped underneath my panties to find me wet and aching for him, but he didn’t seem to be in any rush to fill me this time. He pulled away, provoking a whine to leave my lips that only had him chuckling.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, patting my thigh. “I want to feel those lips around my cock.” My mouth watered at the perspective and I scrambled to take a position on the carpet in front of him, who had spread his legs just enough to allow me to stand between them.

How long had it been since I’d given a blowjob? I couldn’t remember, but I did miss it and knowing how heavy and perfect Chris cock was, I was desperate to memorize his taste, explore it with my tongue.

The second I wrapped my mouth around his member, Chris threw his head back and rested it against the couch, one hand flying up to gather my hair in a makeshift ponytail. “Fuck, yes…” He groaned, the sound going straight to my panties, leaving it even more soaked then they were with the little teasing touches he’d given me before asking me to suck him off.

“Take it,” he ordered, slowly starting to thrust his hips up so I’d accept more and more of his cock in my mouth, and I moaned at the feeling, loving how desperate he was being. “Take every single inch of me, slut.”

My body buzzed with excitement at the name-calling, the same way it did when he was degrading me but using sweet pet names at the same time. It had me pulling away from his cock with a pop, wrapping my fist around it so I could keep playing with it while I quietly asked, “Fuck my face.”

Chris’s mouth fell open, and he just stared at me for a while, jaw-slacked. “A-Are you sure?” Smiling, I refrained from giggling as I leaned over him to lick his head, keeping our eyes connected.

“You won’t be the first to do so,” I teased. I knew he thought I was some sort of nun for having only been with one man, but the reminder that I actually had a pretty active sex life with my husband didn’t seem to be well-received by him.

Chris’s P.O.V.

I tried to ignore the heavy, acidic pit in my stomach, wondering if this is what she felt every time I reminded her that we weren’t exclusive. Of course, I knew that was the case and although I hadn’t known about her being with anyone else since we started this little arrangement, the fact that she had been married was hard to miss since the beginning.

And still, it seemed like that was exactly what I did. Because thinking about her doing this for another man, one she had given herself fully to him, was enough to have my blood pumping fire in my veins.

“God, you are such a fucking bitch,” I snarled, getting up and pulling her by the hair to get my cock back in her mouth, and once it was in, I let go of all control. I fucked her face with all of the pent-up frustrations she had been building inside of me, even though she had no idea about it.

She felt so small kneeling before me as I held her back. Our eyes met and when I saw that glint of amusement, that glint of lust in hers, it was all I needed to spill in her mouth, shouting a “God fucking dammit” before I fell back against the sofa.

She was still between my legs when I was able to open my eyes again, and a relaxed smile took over my features when I reached out to smear the spit gathered around her lips before pulling her for a kiss.

And then, I remembered.

“Oh, shit! I forgot a condom again, didn’t I?” I asked, chest heaving as she sent me a puzzled look. “Back at the cabin, I didn’t use…” When she realized what I was referring to, recognition took over her features, and she waved a hand around dismissively, prompting me to stop talking.

“I took care of it,” she assured me. “Don’t worry.” And she didn’t look irritated or disappointed, but it didn’t take from the disappointment I was feeling at myself. I think she realized it from how I was unable to speak for a little while, and it was only after she assumed a seat by my side that I was able to explain.

“I’m not worried. I just hate the thought of you going to get plan B all by yourself because of a stupid mistake of mine.” My voice was serious as I ran my fingers through my hair, shaking my head at myself.

It took her placing her hand on my thigh to get me to look her in the eyes again. “I’ll invite you on the drugstore run next time,” she assured me, and it was enough to have me chuckling, amused at her antics.

I laid back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling while I took advantage of this feeling of relaxation coursing through me. I knew it had little to do with the orgasm I just had, and everything related to the woman who had gifted it to me.

“Do you have anything planned for tomorrow?” I questioned, and even though I didn’t turn to meet her gaze, I could feel the waves of suspicion leaving her as she eyed me. It made me chuckle.

“No. I’m supposed to record something on Friday but until then, I’m free.” A grin made its way to my face, just before I turned to the side to cage her against the sofa once more.

“Perfect,” I whispered against her skin, starting to deposit kisses down her jaw. “I can take my time.” It would be the first time I’d be able to do so. The first time I fucked her on one of our actual properties, hopefully, later tonight, in her own bed.

My hands slipped down her skirt to find her without any underwear, and I grinned just as she whined. “How are you still horny?” She asked, eliciting another chuckle from me as I pulled her dress over her head and leaned back to admire the sight of her naked body before me.

“I thought you were a fan of mine,” I teased. “Don’t you know I can do this all day?” Her laughs flowed around the apartment as I gathered her on my arms and directed her towards her bedroom.

It was going to be a good day.

[rockingrobin69]

Learning Curve

Four out of five dentists would recommend against reading this piece (1.7k). Think of your teeth! 

“Uncle Harry, did you know Uncle Draco is a weredragon?”

“A what now?” he frowned, tucking the duvet under Teddy’s chin.

“A weredragon. Like how dad was a werewolf, but with a dragon.”

Harry huffed a small chuckle. “I’m pretty sure he isn’t, Ted.” To be fair, considering all the things he’d learned about him since Malfoy adopted Teddy, Harry wouldn’t be too surprised if he actually turned out to be a weredragon. It won’t even be the most shocking discovery.  

“No, he is. All the best people are were-something, he said. So he’s a weredragon.”

Harry resisted the temptation to ask if he was a were-something, too. “All right then, menace, go to sleep. You can tell me on Sunday if you’d seen him turn.” He shook his head through all the begging, bargaining and trickery, until Teddy finally relented and closed his eyes. Harry chewed on his grin, pressed a kiss to Teddy’s forehead, murmured in his ear and left, silently closing the door behind him.

And then heading out with his usual gracefulness – accidentally knocking into the dresser with a big yelp, stepping over every creaking floorboard, smacking against the door because he wasn’t really looking ahead, he was looking for – ah. Malfoy heard him, it would seem. Standing at the kitchen doorway, leaning against it like some sort of model in a Muggle magazine, rolling his eyes. Harry noticed he was holding his breath.

“Care to join me for a drink, Potter?”

He didn’t know why he was nervous. This happened every night.

The thing is, Harry loved Teddy so much. So, so much, he even considered adopting him himself after Andromeda and all. But Harry’s stupid job was too stupid to allow it, and Malfoy was technically ‘family’. And so Harry came by every day – well, night, stupid job and all – to see how Teddy was doing. And then, every night, he’d run into Malfoy, who had no choice but to invite him for a drink. It would be wine, sometimes, or flavored butterbeer, or – and only once – straight up Ogden’s whisky. But mostly it’d be hot chocolate, which apparently was something Malfoy enjoyed, and something Harry seemed to find quite irresistible.  

Of all the new things he’d learned about Malfoy, this was perhaps one of the most surprising. He made the best hot chocolate. It was the perfect temperature, the perfect sweetness, the perfect texture. Perfection in a cup. Harry followed him into the kitchen, sat in his favorite chair (somewhat dangerously with the way Malfoy’s books were stacked so high behind his back), and turned his gaze to the fridge. Teddy’s newest masterpiece was magicked to the door, and even squinting Harry couldn’t tell what it was meant to be.

“A wolf,” Malfoy muttered as he laid a cup of hot cocoa before Harry. “Your godson is very talented, you know.”

Harry hummed into his cup, probably smearing his nose full of whipped cream. “Bet you I could draw a better one.”

He waited. Some nights Malfoy wasn’t in the mood. He’d be tired, or closed off, and they’d just sit there in silence and stare. Some nights he was restless, far too giddy to stay still, and they’d go for a walk in the forest. But tonight –

Tonight Malfoy was game. He scoffed and summoned two quills and some parchment. “Let’s see – five minutes, best drawing wins?”

Harry grinned privately to himself. There must have been something in that hot chocolate, because he couldn’t stop thinking about how he just loved spending nights at Wiltshire.  

*

“Uncle Harry,” Teddy asked one Sunday, sliding into his wellies. “Did you know that Uncle Draco had a pet a stag?”

“What?” Harry was busy arranging a beanie on his orange hair with his tongue between his teeth. “A pet stag?”

“Yeah, when he was a kid. I asked him why he likes them so much, and he told me. His name was Arold and he was very stupid, Uncle Draco said.”

“Arold?” Harry laughed, tilting his head. “Ted, you know Uncle Draco is messing with you, yeah? He never had a pet stag. You can’t have stags as pets.” Malfoy had peacocks, which he hated, and the eagle owl, which he loved, and that was that. No stags. Harry knew that. He picked up every single piece of information about Malfoy slowly, carefully, and catalogued it all in his head. Malfoy was afraid of hippogriffs (still) and very enthusiastic about nifflers. He wanted a kneazle really badly as a kid, but his mother was allergic to the fur. Harry knew these things, now. He even had this insane idea to get a kneazle for him and Teddy, a fantasy he liked to entertain from time to time. Teddy’s words brought him back to reality with his cheeks oddly flushed and his ears ringing.

“That’s what he said.”

Harry wondered why Teddy thought Malfoy liked stags to begin with, but he’d already ran outside and jumped into the nearest puddle, so the question had to wait.

Malfoy was in the kitchen when they returned, and Harry plopped down next to a steaming mug of hot cocoa. The clutter all around practically screamed we actually live here, and Harry felt the warmth of it in his bones. His eyes kept zooming from Malfoy, to Teddy, happily blabbering about the squirrel they’d seen on their walk, and something in him thrummed. We actually live here. The flavor of want was sweet and sadly familiar.

*

“Uncle Harry,” Teddy asked one night in November, a tired little bundle of curiosity that ached in Harry’s chest with affection, “What’s emveeos?”

“Huh?” Harry stopped at the doorway, eyebrows drawn.

“Emveeos. Like if I was emveeos of someone.” Teddy gave him an exasperated little look, a come on you should know this one when Harry simply shook his head. “Uncle Draco said he’s emveeos of me.”

“What? When?” Harry’s heart did a funny little leap. He still didn’t really understand the question, but apparently the mere mention of ‘Uncle Draco’ was enough to ignite this heat inside him.

“Because you always kiss me good night.”

Harry could only shrug, but the heat intensified into something near intolerable. “I dunno, Ted. Best to ask him tomorrow, yeah? You know Uncle Draco is better at these things.” Better at most things, really. Cooking, drawing, writing, teaching. He was just good at everything. Even dancing – Harry had seen photographs of a very sulky boy beautifully performing the tango, no joke. And he could make the best hot chocolate. And –

“Okay. Good night, Uncle Harry.”

“Good night, Menace. I love you.” Harry made sure to tell him that every night, even if Teddy was already asleep. It was good for him too, he thought, to get the practice.

That night there were mini marshmallows in the mug. Harry couldn’t help it anymore; he was so enamored with the – drink – it felt a little like an explosive device in his chest. He found a way to distract Malfoy for a couple of seconds while he covertly drew a vial of the cocoa, stashing it in his pocket. There had to be something wrong with it, a potion or something. There had to, or Harry was losing his mind. He’d lost enough things for a lifetime, he thought.

*

“No, Uncle Harry! Cookies first.”

It was the week before Christmas, and Malfoy was out on a last minute gift shopping trip. Harry and Teddy were in the kitchen together, in charge of lunch, though Teddy was more interested in sampling the Christmas cookies Malfoy had made. To distract him Harry suggested they try to prepare Malfoy’s cocoa – well, also so he’d have something hot to drink when he comes back, because Malfoy always suffered from the cold.

“Oh, Uncle Draco doesn’t like hot chocolate,” Teddy shook his head.

“But,” Harry didn’t know what to do with this information, which stood in stark contrast with everything he knew in this life. “He drinks it all the time with me.”

“No, no, he says it’s too sweet. He never drinks it.”

Harry felt utterly lost. The knowledge he’d collected of Malfoy was the foundation with which he was trying to build this – it was what he stupidly thought he could use to make a home. Hell, he’s been practicing – getting ready for – and all this time, Malfoy was lying?

When Malfoy returned Harry pretty much threw himself at him, boxing Malfoy at the door with all his shopping bags.

“You don’t like hot chocolate,” he said accusingly, and Malfoy’s eyes went big.

“What?”

“You don’t. And you told Ted you had a pet stag and that you’ve embossed him or something like that. But you don’t like hot chocolate.”

“I – “ Harry’s never seen Malfoy so flushed in his life, and was furious with how adorable that was. “All right. I don’t.”

“But you make it almost every night,” Harry contested. He felt a little woozy.

“Yes.” When Harry gave an odd grunt, he closed his eyes. “You like it.”

“So?”

“So…” Malfoy’s shrug was so painfully sad. “I thought you’d… come here if you…”

Harry didn’t wait for the sentence to finally come to a stop, it was taking forever. “So you just lied?” 

“No!” two grey eyes opened, sort of panicked. “I just – I’ve been trying, all right? all this time, to learn to… to get to know you. All these things about you, and then I saw how much you liked it when I made hot cocoa for Teddy and – I just. Want you to. Have. Things that you like.”

Harry couldn’t feel his tongue. His head was spinning. He didn’t know what to do about this, didn’t know what to think, didn’t know – he just didn’t know. Sadness was familiar, and losing, and being lied to, but – but this –

“Kiss him, Uncle Harry!” a little voice carried from behind him, and startled he caught a glimpse of blue hair. Hell. A quarter of his age, and Teddy was at least twice as clever. Harry leaned forward and did the only thing that made sense, and the kiss was solid enough to build on. Malfoy’s lips were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Hot chocolate, no matter how good, could never compare.

Wow, I really ran away with this one... Today was day 6 of my Seven Sins of Drarry one-shot collection, and was all about - Teddy almost had it: envy! Hope you’re ready to be good, because there’s only one sin left!

Day 1: wrath   | Day 2: lust  | Day 3: sloth  | Day 4: greed  | Day 5: gluttony | Day 7: pride

[notanotherinfjblog]

Do you think and if so why do you think INFJs often have difficulty listing steps for how to do an activity but can do the activity nonetheless? People with high Si seem to need all the steps to do the activity.

Hi anon! :)

Honestly, I think it might be related to Ni just being a very subconscious function. Ni needs the end point to fixate on and the rest falls into place by some mechanisms that we have no conscious control over. I'm not sure what kind of activity you're referring to, but I guess the level of complexity of an activity doesn't really matter as it's the same anyway, so let me give you an example. I remember how we did high jumping in PE class back in school and we were taught all the individual steps. How many steps you need to run before jumping, which foot to start running with, how to bend your back when jumping over the bar etc. Our teacher filmed us jumping over the bar to point out the mistakes in our technique afterwards and to tell us what to look out for and what to do differently. And I remember how strange it felt to watch myself on camera jumping over that thing because I wasn't there when I did it. Or that's what it felt like. For every jump, I lost consciousness the moment that I started taking the first step. Not in the sense that I fainted, my body did all the work as it was supposed to. My teacher even pointed out when I incorporated her advice into my next jump and did it better. But I had no clue how because not a single piece of sensory information had reached my consciousness during the entire process. It wasn't just sensory deprivation, it was sensory elimination. I didn't see or hear or feel anything. My body locked out my consciousness and only allowed it back in when I was already lying on my back on the mat after the jump. I've talked about this experience with several people of all kinds of MBTI types and unsurprisingly, the only one who didn't find it insane and utterly weird was an INTJ.

And if we extrapolate from this less complex activity of high jumping to more complex activities like baking a cake or writing a book etc., it's the same process, I think. Dominant Ni fixates on the end goal and just starts walking towards it, while the subconscious takes care of the rest, i.e. (if we keep this metaphor) the conscious mind is all eyes for the end of the road and nothing else reaches them, but the body automatically makes sure to stay on the path, to not walk into a tree, to go around the puddle, to stay hydrated etc., while the conscious mind stays blind to it all. And then the Ni-dom reaches the end of the road, looks back and wonders how the hell they got there. In fact, I always think that having a detailed plan I have to consciously follow holds me back immensely. You know how teachers often tell you to use this specific method to do stuff like writing an essay to give you a framework of individual steps like a common thread to follow. I don't know a single NJ that can work like that.

An SJ's mind is much more conscious of what they're doing and what they need to do. I always think it's funny when MBTI circles describe Ni as the future function and Si as the past function with NJs having detailed plans about the future, while the SJs live in the past because that's not what the functions are. Yes, Ni is oriented towards the future and yes, Si likes to keep their memories close, but the rigorous planners that watch out for every eventuality and make a detailed plan of every single step are the SJs, like you said. They need to prepare and they need it to go to plan. Some are more relaxed about it than others, sure, but before they do anything, they start making a mental list of all the individual steps. For instance, my mother is an ESFJ and every summer that I visit her, we make a day trip through the whole country (it's not that big) just following our noses. Despite the whole idea being "that road looks pretty, let's drive that way" and "I wonder what it looks like on top of that hill, let's try to find a way up there", she still makes a detailed list, a plan of action for everything and when we hit a dead end that cancels her plan, panic ensues. And when we get home, she can tell you everything about our trip in ridiculous detail, while all I remember is a general vibe and that the view was nice. To me, as non-Si-user, it always feels like she needs to make a detailed plan in order to know how to catalogue all of her memories so that she knows where to find them again. Memories are extremely important to her. She says, whenever she's had a bad day, she searches for a happy memory and relives it again and that makes her feel better. As an Ni-dom, memories are not that important and I don't need to catalogue them, so I'm more free to live in my mind and in the moment and not worry about the steps of a plan. My subconscious and my body will take care of them.

[sunmoonandeddie]

who you are and who you’ve been

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 8,490

summary: Sometimes love takes a little longer to find you.

warnings: SMUT.  Mention of past abusive relationship, drinking, swearing.

a/n:  Thank you so much to @zeilenkrieg for commissioning this and being so patient while I wrote it!!

“Mama!  Mama!  You here?”

You sighed as you looked up from your coffee, seeing your daughter coming through the living room.  She had on that pair of daisy dukes that she stole from your wardrobe—the ones you used to wear in the heat of summer, a white shirt tied to let the sun on your tummy.  You used to scandalize your own mama with that outfit… 

You had argued with her that she had worn the same kind of outfit back in the seventies, and that vintage was in.  But she liked to wear hers with cowboy boots and you preferred it with a good pair of sneakers.

God, you missed being young…  Your twenties had been absolutely wild, even if they had started out with that horrible pandemic in 2020.

You still washed your hands after touching almost anything.  An instinct that never went away.

That year and the couple years before had been… insane.  But at least it incited real change in the world.  The people had learned from their mistakes, at least for now.

History did have a habit of repeating itself.  Humans were fickle, forgetful creatures like that.

“Yes, honey bun?” You said as you stood up, moving to hug her.

At thirty-seven years old, she was the only good thing that ever came out of your marriage.  That, and knowing how to wash blood out of clothing.

The only problem was that by the time you’d finally left him, you had no friends left.  You were in your forties by then, with no family besides your daughter, and no friends left to speak of.  You hadn’t even had Facebook at the time to keep in touch with old schoolmates from university.  And by then, what was the point?  They were all leading completely different lives and probably hadn’t spared you a thought in at least a decade.

“When’s the last time you left the house?” She asked, her hands on her hips in a stance that reminded you so much of yourself that it scared you.

Now that… that was hard to answer…  You honestly didn’t think you’d be able to remember.  You got practically everything delivered, you worked from home… 

Shaking your thoughts away, you shot her a look.  “I’m fine right where I am.”

“Your doctor called and said you haven’t been taking your medication.”

“Fuckin’ snitch,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you turned back to the window, staring down at the now cold coffee.

Josephine rolled her eyes.  “He said you haven’t picked up your refill in over two months.”  She came over to stand next to you, staring out the window with you for a long time.  “Mama, you’ve gotta take your medicine…  You remember what happened last time…”

Ah, yes, the infamous incident.

Which was an incident in a long line of incidents.

There had been a… few times when you’d stopped taking your medication—either intentionally or simply because you had forgotten—and it had resulted in a stay in the psych ward at the local hospital.  It had happened far too many times for your daughter to not be in contact with your doctor so she would be informed if you had stopped getting your refills.

You didn’t blame her, of course.  But it did make you feel like a horrible mother.  One who couldn’t even take care of herself to the point where your daughter had to.

“Yes, I remember last time,” you sighed, staring at a cardinal.  “You know, my mama used to tell me that if you see a cardinal, a loved one who’s passed is visiting you…”

“Mama, I signed you up for a seniors’ social club.”

You blinked.

And then, you blinked again.

You turned to look at your daughter, disbelief written all over your face.  “No the fuck you did not.  I swear to all that is holy, Josephine Ann, if you signed me up for one of those… those… pre-death support groups, I’ll tan your hide!”  You gasped as some of your coffee splashed onto your sweatshirt.  “I brought you into this world, and I sure as hell can take you out of it!”

“You’ve been saying that since I was two,” She said, taking your arm and guiding you to sit down at the kitchen table.  “And it’s not a pre-death support group.  I feel like that’s offensive somewhere so make sure you don’t go running around the group saying that.”  Josephine used a paper napkin to dab at the coffee on your sweatshirt, muttering about throwing it into the wash and getting you a new one.

This was what you meant by your daughter taking care of you.

“Josie, really, I can get my own sweatshirt.”

“Doesn’t mean you gotta,” she said as she came back with a new one, helping you change.

Sometimes you felt like she thought you were a hundred years old.

“Honestly, mama…  I just want you to be happy…  You should have friends.  You shouldn’t be cooped up in this house all day, all the time.”

“What do I need friends for when I’ve got you?  And Danny?” You asked.

But you had been hit with the sudden reality that except for Josephine and her girlfriend, you were alone.  Completely, and utterly, alone.  Hell, they were the only people you had ever invited over to the tiny one bedroom you owned.

Repairmen didn’t count because they were there to do a job, not keep you company.

God, you had wanted more than this, once upon a time.  You had once had dreams, of maybe being a writer and making the New York Times’ Bestsellers List, of a husband who adored you and brought you flowers every Friday, of lazy Sundays eating waffles on the couch with the love of your life.

But life didn’t end up the way you had dreamed it.  There were no book signings or meetings with editors… there were no gardenias… and there was no smell of waffles and syrup.

And you’d made your peace with that.

Sort of.

Josephine’s arms wrapped around you as she rested her head against yours.  Like a mirror of yourself, she was, from her face down to her toes.

Thank god.  She didn’t deserve to have to look in the mirror and see reflections of her father.

“Will you at least try it?” She asked gently, her hand running up and down your arm, her freshly manicured nails tickling your skin.  “It’s not like a pre-death support group, as you call it…  It’s for seniors or people who are approaching seniority and are still active and want to go out and have fun, but maybe need some friends to do it with.  Please?”

And how could you say no when she wanted something so badly?

“Alright,” you said after a moment.  “I’ll go once.  And if it’s horrible, I’m not going back.  And I’m gonna tell Danny how you forced me to meet a bunch of strangers.”

She squealed excitedly, running off to your bedroom and going through your closet.  “Okay, the first thing the group is doing is having a first meeting at a bar, and we’re gonna get you all done up.”

Oh, good.  She was going all in.

“When’s the first meeting?” You asked as you sat on the bed, leaning back on your hands as you watched her.

“Tonight.”

Uh.  What?

“TONIGHT?!” You shouted in shock as you jumped up.  “What?!  You didn’t think to ask me about this a few days ago?!”

She snorted, picking out a few tops that you hadn’t worn in what felt like decades.  “I signed you up this morning, I didn’t know about it a few days ago.”

You watched in exasperation as she threw article after article of clothing onto the bed for you to try on.  “I don’t think I need to wear four pairs of jeans to a bar,” you said, beginning to pick up a few of the pieces.

Josephine gave you a look as she continued.  “Considering how long it’s been since you’ve been out, I think it’s fair that some of these might not fit anymore.”

Well, you had lost some weight…  Not necessarily in a healthy way, but she was right.

In the end, she ended up shoving you into the bathroom and forced you to do a full shower—which meant body and hair.

You hadn’t even gone to such lengths when you were going on your first date with her father.

She spent hours on your hair and makeup, chattering away excitedly about the vacation her and Danny were planning.  A South American cruise.

Josephine had never married, never had kids.  Never wanted to after seeing what her daddy had put you through.  It left a sour taste in her mouth, and even though it was legal now, her and her girlfriend hadn’t breathed a word of a wedding.

Though, you suppose they had a common law marriage at that point, if lesbians were included in it.

“Perfect,” she said as she got you to slip on an old jacket of yours that was a little too big.  “Come on.  I’ll drive you and pick you up.”

“Oh, honestly,” you snorted as you grabbed the purse Josephine had shoved all your things into.  “You’d think I could take an Uber.”

The bar wasn’t what you had expected when she had first told you that’s where the meeting was going to be held.  The last bars you’d been to had practically been nightclubs.

But this was… upscale.  Sophisticated.

Now you understood just why she had put so much work into making you look presentable.

It didn’t look like anyone else was there yet, even though most of the patrons were around your age, so you took a seat at the bar, the group’s site pulled up on your phone.

“What can I get for you, miss?” The bartender asked as he set down a coaster in front of you.

A snort erupts from your throat as you look at him.  “You always call women as old as me miss?”

“Oh, come on, you’re a catch,” he said, shooting you a playful wink.  “My dad’s single, you know.  If you were… looking.”

“Thank you, but I’m not,” you said gently, your cheeks flushed.  “Can I get a Manhattan?”

The bartender nodded, gracefully backing off the subject of you possibly dating his father.  And barely a minute and a half later, there’s a perfectly made Manhattan set on your coaster.

You’d barely taken a sip before someone came up beside you.  “Do you have Macallan’s 18 Year Sherry Oak?” A man asked.  At the bartenders confirmation, he hummed.  “Can I get a double on the rocks?”

The bartender dropped a large ball of ice into a glass before pouring two shots of whiskey over it and handing it to the man.

“Macallan’s, huh?” You said softly, your heart pounding.  Josephine had told you to make friends.  That was the whole point of this, even if the man wasn’t part of the social club you’d been forced into.  “You know your whiskeys.”

The tall man took a seat beside you, his eyes boring into the side of your face.  You hadn’t dared look at him yet.  “I’ve always preferred those who choose a Manhattan over a martini any day.”

“And why is that?” You asked, finally looking up at him.

And oh, you wished you hadn’t.  He was… stunning.  The very definition of male beauty.  His salt and pepper hair reminded you of the photos of the men in the forties…  The 1940s, that is.  Blue eyes so striking that you lost your breath, and broad shoulders that you knew would haunt your dreams.  He was wearing a glove on his left hand for some reason, but you didn’t linger on it too long.

But at least he was at least your age, if not a little older.  You’d die if you’d just sort of flirted with a twenty-something asshole who just bought expensive whiskeys for the sake of buying expensive whiskeys to show that he had money to blow.

“Martini drinkers think they’ll get some kind of award for their choice of drink,” he said, “as though choosing a drink that generally tastes like shit is some kind of accomplishment.  Unless you’re just taking a shot, a drink should taste good.”  He looked you up and down, letting his pretty blues linger on your lips.  There were faint crow feet at the corners of his eyes, but they just seemed to make him even more handsome.  “And a Manhattan doesn’t need a fancy whiskey.  It is steady and sure even with the cheapest five dollar bottle you can get from a gas station.  Someone whose drink of choice is a Manhattan is sure of who they are and what they want.”

You hadn’t felt this hot under a man’s gaze in decades.  “Really?”  Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you took another sip of your drink to buy you a moment.

“Mmm…”  He stole one of the two cherries from your drink, biting it off the stem.  You were transfixed as he slipped the stem into his mouth, sticking his tongue out about thirty seconds later with a perfect cherry stem knot on display.  “Really.  I’m James.  What’s your name?”

Butterflies filled your stomach as you gave him your name.  God, you felt like you were sixteen again and being flirted with for the first time.

His eyes flicked down to your open phone that rested on the bar, the social club’s page still up.  “You’re here for the meeting, too?”

“Um…  Yes,” you said, ducking your head.

“But, doll…”  He leaned towards you, a charming smile on his lips.  “You don’t look a day over thirty-five.  Are you sure you’re a senior?”

Blinking, your mouth hung open in a soft o.  “Are you planning on flirting with every woman in the club like this?”

James looked around dramatically, his gloved hand resting over his heart.  “A club?!  Is that what you call this place?” He asked, mockingly serious.  “Damn, what does that make all those dirty, gross places these young kids go to now?  Brothels?”

For some reason, you felt comfortable enough to shove his shoulder, surprised a little at the feeling of metal under his jacket sleeve.

For the first time, he looked a bit… uncomfortable.  He had flinched a bit, his bright eyes focused surely on his drink.  “Um…”

“You’re the Winter Soldier.  James Barnes,” you said curiously, your head tilting to the side as you looked at him.  “I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Mmhm,” you drawled, taking the cherry left in your drink and biting it off in a way that you hoped was alluring.  “Though, I gotta say, it is a bit awkward to meet the man I wrote two papers about in high school.”

Shit, his laugh was beautiful.  Everything about him was beautiful.  Like Apollo or something...

James’s head was thrown back in laughter.  His cheeks were flushed, his eyes squeezed shut.  “Did you actually write two papers about me?” He asked as he tried to catch his breath.  At your nod, he smirked, leaning in close again.  “What did you write about?  How devilishly handsome I am?”

You couldn’t believe you were saying this.  “I mean, I can show you the papers and actually let you read them, but they’re at my place.”

Before he could pick his jaw up off the ground, there were other seniors in the group coming up to greet you.  Your throat was dry as the Sahara as you turned to face them, plastering on a smile as you tried to ignore the heated gaze on your face and the way he licked his lips.

The meeting was… long.  Boring.

Or at least, that’s how it felt when you had James’s dark, sultry eyes on you the entire goddamn time.

Mind fuzzy, you vaguely remembered agreeing to come to the next meeting, and even signing up for a hiking trip they were taking the next weekend.

As you headed outside, you felt Bucky’s hand slip into yours, his long, calloused fingers intertwining with yours.  “So…  Am I gonna get to come over and… read those papers?” He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

God, you could practically feel yourself bursting into flames.  You weren’t gonna survive.

Thank god your daughter had forced you into a full shower.

But what about how dirty your house was sure to be?

“Um…  Y-Yeah,” you said as you turned to look at him.  “But, my daughter is gonna be driving me home…  I don’t want her to know I’ve got someone coming over.  She’s nosey.  Real…  Real nosey.”

“Of course, darlin,’” he chuckled.  “Here, why don’t I give you my phone number, and you shoot me a text with your address when you’re ready for me to come over?”

Your head was swirling as you got into your daughter’s car, your phone burning a hole in your purse.

“How was it?” Josephine asked nervously once you got about halfway home.  She couldn’t tell from the look on your face.  “Did you like it?”

“Hm?  Yeah.”  Swallowing, you shot a text to James with your name, telling him you’d text him when it was all clear.

“Are you gonna go again?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She seemed both dissatisfied and pleased by your vague answers.  At least you were getting out of the house.

Once you got home and said goodbye, it was a mad dash to ensure that your house was clean as could be.  Josie had put in some work while you’d been gone, it seemed.  She’d done the dishes and the laundry, as well as dusted.

Thank fuck.

You struggled for a solid twenty minutes to put fresh sheets and pillowcases on the bed, lighting two candles and placing them in a manner that you hoped seemed natural.

“Shit,” you cursed as you smelled under your arms.

Okay, quick body shower.  It seemed all that flirting had made you a tiny bit sweaty.

You turned the water to scalding and scrubbed your body down, exfoliating and using your best scented body wash.

And to be quite frank, you’d never shaved your lady bits as quick as that.

As you texted him your address and that it was safe to come over, you pulled on your clothing from the bar (though, you did put on nicer, matching lingerie underneath.)  By the time he’d gotten there, you’d downed two shots of tequila for a bit of liquid courage and had poured yourself a glass of wine.

“Hey, baby doll,” he said, a crooked grin on his face as you welcomed him inside.  His glove had been abandoned, and black metal fingers lined with gold glittered in the light.  “Woah…  You know, I wasn’t sure how your place was gonna look, but this is very… you.”

“Oh, really?” You asked as you offered him a glass of wine, which he gratefully took.  “How so?”

“I don’t know,” he chuckled as he swirled the deep red liquid in its glass.  “It’s cozy.  Sweet.”

Your throat was dry as you watched his adam’s apple bob as he took a drink.  “Um… so those papers…”

Bucky whispered your name, moving closer to you as he set the wine glass down on the counter.  “Baby girl, I’m not really here for the papers, am I?” He asked as your back hit the island.  “If I am…  If I am, then just tell me, and I’ll stop this.”  His slightly chapped lips ghosted against yours like the tease he was.  “Am I here just for the papers?”

“No,” you breathed out, before pressing your lips against his in a firm kiss at last.  His breath was minty and cool, with just a touch of the wine you’d been sharing, like he’d brushed his teeth before coming over just like you had.

Could it be possible he was just as nervous as you were?

But he was perfect?  Why the hell would he be nervous?

Your thoughts were cut short as he reached down, his hands firmly grabbing your ass as he lifted you up and set you on the counter.  “That’s a good girl,” he growled as he kissed down your neck, his hands working at your blouse.  “Couldn’t stop thinking about you during that whole stupid fucking meeting.  Just wanted to kiss you.  Just wanted to… to touch you.”  He pulled back, kissing you fiercely as his hands moved from your blouse to hold your face again.  “You gonna let me touch you, angel?”

A whine escaped your throat as you nodded, desperately yanking at his shirt.  Once it was off, you didn’t hesitate to run your hands over the broad planes of his chest.  He wasn’t quite as toned as you remembered from when you were younger, when you used to (occasionally) stalk (lightly) his social media accounts.  There’d been so many pictures of him on vacation with the other Avengers… all tanned and toned…

But you liked this better.  There was a softness to him now, a gentleness.

You were so distracted by his physique that you didn’t notice he’d gotten your shirt and bra off until the cold air hit your chest.  “Fuck,” you mumbled as his lips found your neck, trailing down to your breasts.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been kissed, let alone the last time you’d had such… attention.

Especially when his hands worked your pants off and he stood between your legs, moaning as his fingers tickled your thighs.  “You’re so beautiful,” he said as his lips wrapped around one nipple, suckling at it and teasing until it was diamond hard, and he moved on to the other.

Gotta be fair, after all.

“James…”

“Fuck, baby girl…  Never been with a woman as beautiful as you,” he growled, kissing down your tummy.  “You’re not making it out of here without orgasming at least twice,” he warned jokingly.  He was half bent over in front of the island, watching in wonder as he slowly pulled your silk panties down your legs and revealed your aching core to him.

“I-If you’re not comfortable standing like that, w-we can move somewhere else,” you stammered, suddenly growing self conscious.  What if he thought your pussy was weird?  Granted, you’d overcome thinking that when you were in your early twenties, after learning that each one looked different.

But he was born in the forties.

But that meant he’d probably seen an exponential amount of pussies!

Oh, god, there was no way you’d have anywhere near as much experience as him.  The only person you’d ever been with was your ex husband, and he wasn’t exactly the paradigm of lovers.

“Hey.”

You refocused with a shake of your head, your eyes meeting James’s.  “Yes?”

“You’re in your head,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly ran his fingers along your sensitive folds.  “There’s no need…  It’s just you and me, okay?  And you’re absolutely perfect.”

Your heart was melting inside your chest as you nodded, stealing a tentative kiss.  “Okay…  Just you and me.”

James nipped at your lower lip as he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.  “Come on.  I don’t want our first time to be on a kitchen counter.  Though I make no promises I won’t help christen every inch of this house after,” he said with a playful growl.

You whispered directions to your bedroom as he held you tight to his chest, his lips finding purchase on your neck.  “And here I thought you said the super soldier serum was wearing off,” you joked.

The man snorted as he pushed you up against the hallway wall.  “Trust me, doll, no lack of super soldier serum is gonna stop me from fucking you right,” he said, his voice husky and deep.

Before you could even open your mouth to reply, two thick fingers were slipping inside of you to slowly tease your cunt, his lips ghosting over yours.  “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed at the whimper that fell from your lips.  “Y-Yes.  Yes.  Please, I need more, James…”

James smiled into the kisses he’d been giving you.  “I’ll give you everything you want.”

“That’s a tall order.”  You threaded your fingers through his hair, shivering at the way his metal fingers dug into the plumpness of your ass.  “You sure you can fill it?”

He doesn’t respond with words, growling as he kisses you fiercely, carrying you to the bedroom.  You don’t have time to think before he’s crawling over you and kissing up your tummy to your lips.  “I need to be inside you,” He whispered as he stroked his length.

“Please…  Don’t wanna wait anymore,” you said.  Vaguely, you’re aware of the twinge in your knees from all the physical activity, and you knew you’d be sore as hell in the morning.

Fucking worth it, though.

James didn’t hesitate to line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.  When he finally pushed in, unison moans fill the air.

“I…  I haven’t done this in… so long,” you finally admitted as he slowly pushed in more, taking his time.  Eyes locked, your mouth fell open in a soft ‘o’ as he bottomed out, his hips meeting yours.  “Oh, fuck…”

“Then I better do a real good job fucking you right.”

You weren’t quite sure how long you two lasted, but you do know he manages to pull three orgasms out of you in the space of just a few hours.  There’s snack and water breaks in between rounds, his cool metal hand running up and down your spine to cool you down as you two whisper in the dim light of your desk lamp.

You can’t remember a time that you’d felt so at peace.

A spark had been lit inside your chest as you two laid there in bed, legs intertwined.  Both of you were quiet, his fingers moving to caress your cheek.

There were no words that needed to be said.

His sea blue eyes are sparkling in the dim light, and your hand runs over the sharp stubble that lines his jaw.  It had certainly marked up your neck.

“I had intended on asking you on a date,” he said quietly as his hand found yours, bringing it to his mouth.  Chapped lips kissed each of your knuckles like you were something precious, something to behold.  “I didn’t think the five minutes or so before the meeting counted…  But I’d still like to take you on that date, if you’ll let me.”

“That sounds nice,” you said, a grin twinging at the corners of your lips.

“Yeah?” He asked, sitting up a bit as his fingers brushed against your forehead.

“Yeah.”  A giggle escaped your lips as he playfully tackled you, starting yet another round as his hips rolled down against yours.

The next morning, you woke up alone.  The sheets beside you were mussed, though the space James had been occupying was still a bit warm.

Jazz music floated down the hall, through the cracked door, and you could vaguely hear the clinking of pans.

It took you a minute to gather the will to get yourself out of bed and find your robe, but you finally did it.  As your feet hit the ground and you pushed yourself to a stand, you winced.

You had been right about feeling it in your knees.

You forced yourself to walk smoothly down the hall, despite how much it hurt.  Embarrassing yourself in front of James was the last fucking thing you wanted to do.

He was in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove and humming along with the old jazz song playing on the Bluetooth speaker.  He had a pan full of pancake batter in front of him, a whole stack he’d already made on the side.

Standing in the doorway, you couldn’t help but grin as you watched him.  He’s so handsome… and he seemed so at home in your kitchen.  In your home.

Maybe he’d like to move in…

You shook your head, knowing that it’s already too much.

But the thought was nice.

Him in his pajamas, making coffee…  Him in your shower…  Him in your bed every night…  

Yeah.  It’s a really, really nice thought.

“Hi.”

James jumped, his eyes wide as he whirled round to face you.  “Hi.  I thought I had another thirty minutes before I had to go and wake you up,” he said.  “I’m making pancakes.  For you.  For us.”  His cheeks flushed, turning a bright red as he turned back to the pan to quickly flip the pancake.  “I hope you don’t mind that I used your flour and shit…”

“Oh, no, I…  I almost never cook,” you admitted as you moved over to stand next to him, watching as he made two more pancakes.

As he carried the huge plate to the kitchen island, he teasingly grabbed your ass and squeezed.  “Maybe I’ll have to stay the night more often, if only so you get a homemade breakfast.”

It was sweet, and domestic, and somewhat terrifying.

You hadn’t had a man do anything for you like this since you were in your twenties, when your husband was still sweet and loving.

But even so, this was somehow better than anytime your husband made his famous burritos.

Maybe because James’s cooking actually tasted good.

Your first date was to a movie, a drive in.  Something that’s designed to be vintage but really just looked cheesy as all hell.

But it’s perfect.  Perfect and cheesy and romantic.

Your only complaint was that he didn’t kiss you at the door when he dropped you off.  He pressed his lips to your cheek and whispered a goodnight, and that was it.

It took two more dates within the same week for him to kiss you again.

Bright and early on the next Saturday morning, he knocked on your door, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I figured I should make up for you having to be up so early with this,” he said as he came inside, kissing you quick before moving to put the flowers in a vase.

At this point, he knew your house almost as well as you did.  It felt good, when you two moved around like you were part of a team.

“Have you gotten your coffee this morning?” You asked, already pouring two travel mugs full of the good stuff.

He came up behind you, kissing your shoulder.  “I have, but you know I’ll never say no to more, doll.”

The rest of the group eyed you curiously as you got out of the same car, a few elbow nudges and whispers in the air.

“At least I know no old ass dickheads are gonna come hit on my girlfriend,” James growled in your ear, his calloused flesh hand squeezing your hip.

“Jamie…,” you whined, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.  No one had ever claimed you in such a way that made you feel so desired and… and worthy.

James made you feel worthy.

Which is something you’d only ever really gotten from your daughter.

It sent a bolt of arousal through you, and you were tempted to drag him back to the car so you could bring him right back home and do something about it.

Also…  Girlfriend?  Were you his girlfriend now?  Officially?

That just made you wanna find somewhere to fuck him even more.

But alas, you pushed the thought away as the lot of you boarded one of those white airport vans that took you out of the city to the closest state park.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out as you stared out the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass.  The morning air was a bit chillier than it had been lately, signaling the coming onslaught of winter.

Maybe Bucky would wanna make hot cocoa together… go sledding…  Would him, Josephine, and Danny would all come over for Christmas and New Years and—

Would he even want to meet Josephine?

Would Josie wanna meet him?

She had no idea that you’d found a—A boyfriend?

“Not as beautiful as you,” Bucky murmured against the shell of your ear as his vibranium fingers intertwined with yours and squeezed.  His stubble tickled your neck as he rested his head on your shoulder, watching the passing scenery with you.  “I’m really glad I met you, doll…”

“Me, too,” you said, grinning as you squeezed his hand back and leaned your head against his.

It was strange, falling so hard for someone so quick after everything you’d been through.

But you had a gut feeling.  One that you had never had with your ex husband.

James was a good one.  A really, really good one.

That reminded you.

When were you meant to tell him about all the shit you’d been through?

Despite the amount of time you had spent together already, you hadn’t found the courage for it.

Soon, you decided.

But first, you had to get through the damn hike.

Bucky was glued to your side the entire time, even though you were a lot worse at hiking than he was.  He would hold your hand, guiding you anytime there was a fallen tree or a creek.  His blue eyes were soft as he murmured encouragement, quietly praising your every move.

It was intoxicating.

So when you two fell behind from the group, watching them go around a curve and down a hill, you dragged James behind a large rock formation.

“Baby doll?  Darling, what the hell are you doing?” He laughed as you pressed a fierce kiss to his lips.

“Can’t a girl be spontaneous?” You teased as you dropped to your knees, ignoring the way a twig was poking into your left knee.  “Need to taste you.”

His eyes locked on you as you worked at his jeans, getting them down and off, his nails scratching at your scalp as he got a good grip on your head.  “Fuck…  Are you really this needy for me, angel?  Fuck, you’re so god damn gorgeous…  Look at you.”

Your heart pounded against your rib cage as you finally freed his length, a grin on your lips as you wrapped your hand around him and slowly stroked him.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back as your mouth wrapped around the head of his cock.  “Fucking shit…  Good girl…  Suck me off real good, baby.”

The group probably would notice your absence, not that you particularly cared.

Not when you had your man so weak for you.  And all you’d had to do was get on your knees.

His metal and flesh hands guided you to take more of him in, going at a slow pace so as not to hurt you.  He was so big there was no way you’d get all of him down your throat but what you couldn’t take in your mouth, you pleasured with your hands.

Pleasuring your partner like this was addicting.  You’d never felt the desire—no, the incessant need—to please your ex husband.  All you could think about was getting Bucky off, making him feel so good that he couldn’t see or walk straight.

You choked around him as you took him as deep as possible, your eyes glassy.  When you popped off, you stroked him as you moved down to carefully suck at his balls, fighting a grin as he gasped, his hips stuttering.  Before he could orgasm, you took him back in your mouth, wanting to swallow him down.

“Fuck, fuck—  Oh, shit…  Baby—  I’m gonna…  I’m gonna—”  Bucky broke off with a shout as he came, spilling down your throat.  His large hands stroked your cheeks as you swallowed all of it, barring the little bit that had gotten on your lower lip.  “You did so good, darling,” he cooed as he helped you stand, pressing you against the rock behind him as he kissed you.  “Are you okay?  I didn’t hurt you, right?”

“No, you didn’t,” you said, a faint smile on your lips as you helped him put himself back away.  “You were perfect, James…”

When you finally caught up to the group, a few of the others shot you knowing looks.

But Bucky just had a satisfied smirk on his lips, his hand tightly intertwined with yours even as you flushed in embarrassment.

“Once we get home, it’s your turn,” he whispered in your ear as you all headed back for the van.

Your relationship with James was… wonderful.

It was easy in a way you’d never had before.

Within just two months, he was living at your house almost full time, to the point where you’d been thinking about asking him to move in.

It was like you two were magnets.  Even when you both had work to do, you did it in the same room, slowly gravitating towards each other until you were sitting close, your foot running up his calf.

And he’d gotten you to start writing.

“It’s your dream, doll.  You’re never too old to chase your dreams,” he said one night as you two laid in bed.  His metal fingers were tracing shapes on your spine, a chill from the cracked window ruffling his sweaty hair.  “If you don’t mind me asking…  Why did you stop in the first place?”

Ah.

The conversation you’d been avoiding for so long.

Sitting up, you pressed your hands to your face as you tried to find the words to say.  “Um…  I was married before…  I know you know, but, uh…”  Your fingers fiddled together nervously.  You swallowed around the lump in your throat.  “My husband…  He wasn’t…  He wasn’t nice.  At all.”

Bucky immediately sat up behind you, his vibranium hand resting flat on your back to reassure you that he was there, and to give you something to focus on while you spoke.  He didn’t need to speak for you to know.  He was there and he wasn’t running.

“I married him young… and I had Josephine young…  He’d always been so… possessive, but I just considered it protective,” you continued, pulling strength from his touch to keep on going.  You needed to tell him this.  You needed him to understand.  “Then after Josie was born, he started getting violent.  He’d always been mean, but he’d never hit me until after I gave birth…”

James was tense behind you, slowly scooting over so he could wrap his arms around you, his legs resting on either side of yours as he held you.  He needed you close.  Needed to know you were safe in his arms and that man was long gone.

“Put me in the hospital a few times…  He at least didn’t do it in front of Josie.  That’s the one thing I asked of him that he listened to.”  You couldn’t help but snort as you slowly relaxed back against him.  “She always thought all the bruises and shit was just a side effect of how clumsy I am…  But she came home one day during college, to surprise us…  She walked in on him holding a frying pan above his head, about to swing again.  She jumped in between us and told him if he ever touched me again, she’d kill him.”  You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding as his lips pressed to your bare shoulder.  It was soothing, feeling his skin against yours.  “She moved me out of that house and into her apartment, helped me get the divorce, get back on my feet…”

“Remind me to tell Josephine thank you,” he said quietly as he squeezed you close.  “Thank you for telling me, doll…  I…  I can’t imagine how hard that was…  But he’ll never touch you again.  No one will ever touch you again if you don’t want it.”

“I know.”

He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.  “I love you.  So much…”

A peace settled over you as you rested your head back against his, allowing yourself to truly fall into him, to relax.  “And I love you…”

After that night, Bucky slept over at your place five to six nights a week, only going home to get more clothes and do his laundry really, even though you’d told him a million times he could do it at your place.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” he murmured in your ear one morning, pushing your hair away from your face.  “Time to get up…  I’ve got breakfast ready for you…”

Groaning, you tried to pull him down for more cuddle time, but he wasn’t having it.  He always woke up before you, too many years a soldier coming into play.  He’d go for a run and make breakfast before waking you up.

“Come on, doll,” he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips as he got you to sit up, your vision blurry from sleep still.  “Medicine,” he said, pressing your pills into your palm and putting a glass of water in your other. 

Ever since he’d found out about your prescriptions and how you had a hard time remembering to take them, he’d taken it upon himself to make sure you did, every morning and night without fail.

“What’d you make this morning?” You asked sleepily after swallowing your pills, letting him pull you to your feet.  His t-shirt clung to you as you followed him down the hall.  Your hand was tucked into his as you rounded the corner to the kitchen.

What neither of you had heard was the sound of the front door opening.

“Mama?!  What the hell?!” Josephine demanded, standing in the kitchen with Danny right behind her.  “Who the fuck is this?!  What is he doing here?!”

Oh.

Yeah.

You’d neglected to tell your daughter, afraid of how she might take it.

“Hello.  I’m James.  Or Bucky,” your boyfriend said as he held out his hand to you, clearly unashamed and standing his ground even though he was only wearing a pair of pajama pants.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Your daughter repeated angrily, ignoring his hand.

“Josie,” Danny began, trying to soothe her.

But your daughter was nothing but determined when she was in her protective mode.

Before you could open your mouth, Bucky supplied, “I’m her boyfriend.”

You felt a flush coming over you as she stared at the two of you, slack-jawed.  “He is,” you said, wrapping both of your arms around his metal one.  You were so nervous, you were shaking.

“When did this happen?!” She demanded, beginning to pace back and forth around the kitchen.

“Um…  The first meeting at the bar… for the club,” you said.  Seeing her so upset made your anxiety spike, and you knew James could feel it, could hear the way your heart rate increased exponentially.

Josephine whirled on you, her eyes—so much like yours—wide with disbelief.  No.  Betrayal.  “You’ve been seeing someone for almost three months and you didn’t tell me?”

“I…”  Tears pricked your eyes as you tightened your grip on Bucky’s arm.  This was not the way you wanted them meeting to go.  “I was scared… of how you’d react…”

At that moment, Bucky turned to meet your eyes, his forehead almost pressing against yours.  “Darling, I feel like this is a conversation you two should have alone, yeah?  So I’m gonna take—Danny, right?  Yeah—Danny to the living room with some coffee so we can get to know each other, okay?”

After a nod, and a squeeze of his hand, he got two mugs of coffee and led your daughter’s girlfriend to the living room.  You could see them sitting down from the corner of your eyes, but you were much too focused on Josephine.

“Mama, I—”

“I love him,” you said, before she could say anything more.

Her eyes were shining, locked on you as she waited for you to speak.  In her gut, she knew this was something you needed to get out.

“I love him more than I’ve ever loved a man.  More than I loved your father,” you whispered, your voice cracking.  “And I know…  I know you’re as protective as you are because you saw how he treated me.  You saw how much I hid that he was hurting you, but Jamie isn’t like that.”  Your fingers fiddled as you tried to keep yourself from pacing.  “He’s kind and adoring and gentle and…  and he loves me.  More than I thought anyone could ever love me.  And I know you feel like you need to take care of me and I am so grateful.  And I still need you.  Everyday.  But Bucky…  I love him.  I love him and he loves me and we take care of each other.”

Josephine reached out, slowly taking your hands in hers.  “He…  He makes you happy?  He takes care of you and you’re safe?” She asked, voice trembling as a few tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Yeah.  He takes real good care of me,” you insisted with a weak laugh.  “And I’ve never been so happy before, honey.  I promise.”

“Okay…,” she said, taking a deep breath.  “I’m still giving him the shovel talk.”

Bucky looked up as Josephine entered the living room, looking much calmer.  He wasn’t sure what you’d said, but it had seemed to placate her for the time being.

“Can we talk outside?” She asked him, keeping her chin high.

God, she looked so much like you.

He nodded stiffly, getting to his feet and leaving his mug behind as he followed her to the front door and out onto the porch.  The former super soldier watched as she paced back and forth, biting her thumb.  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

Josie stopped in her tracks, listening quietly.

“Your mama loves you something fierce.”  Nervously rubbing his hands on his pajama pants, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so nervous meeting a girl’s family.

Though, he supposed it was a bit different when it was meeting your girlfriend’s daughter.

“And I love her.”

Your daughter, your mini me, stared him directly in the eyes.  “I’m sure she’s told you about my father.  What he did.”

“She did.”

“So you know that if you put one fucking foot out of line, I’ll filet you?”

“I do.”

She eyed him for a long moment.  “What are you in this for?  What’s the long term?” She asked.  “I’ve heard of elders just… settling for someone because they don’t wanna be alone in their twilight years.  Is that what this is?”

Bucky tried really hard not to feel a little bit offended.  He wasn’t that old.  “I’ve been alive since 1917,” he said slowly.  “I have no doubt you know who I am.  But I’ve been alive a hundred and something years, and I’ve never met someone who makes me feel the way your mom does.”  His heart clenched inside his chest as he thought of you, seeing your shy smile in the mornings, how you clung to him when you went out in public, the sound of your voice as you read an excerpt of your writing to him, so nervous about what he would think.  “And I…  I can say that everything I’ve been through…  Everything I’ve ever been through was worth it, because I got to meet her.  And I get to be hers for the years I have left.”

She looked absolutely speechless.  “Good,” she said, coughing to clear her throat.  “Good.  I just…  I can’t see her get hurt again.  Not after everything.”

“Trust me, I don’t plan to,” he said, his mouth dry.  “I…  I actually have something to ask you about…  Been waiting to meet you to talk to you about it…”

Inside, you paced the kitchen and living room, going back and forth and back and forth, sometimes moving to the window to try to hear what they were saying.  But they were keeping it all very hushed.

“It’s gonna be fine, mama,” Danny said, standing up and moving to wrap her arms around you.  “Josie’ll see how much you two love each other, and it’ll be fine.  She’s just gotta have her protective moment.  You know how she is.”

Sniffling, you hugged her tightly.  “I shouldn’t have kept it from her for so long…  I was just so nervous…  They both…  They both mean the world to me.”  You paused, snorting.  “I knew you’d approve of him.  I wasn’t so worried about you.”

“Oh, please, the way that man looked at you?” She said, laughing as she kissed your forehead.  “Mama, there’s no way in hell that man would ever hurt you.  He looks at you like you’re his entire universe.”

Heart warm, you glanced towards the front door, wishing they’d just come inside already.  “I’ve never felt something like this…  But fuck, if the whole shit show that’s my life wasn’t worth it for him…  I wouldn’t change a thing, as long as it means I get to end up with him.”

You broke out of her grasp as the front door opened and they came back inside, looking relaxed and even… happy?  “Well?  You aren’t gonna kill him?” You asked Josie as you moved to James, heart racing.

“Nah…,” she said, giving him what seemed like a secretive smile.  “As far as dads go…  He’d be pretty nice to have.”

“What?” You said, brows furrowing as you looked between the two of them.

Bucky chuckled, winking at Josephine as he led you to the stove where breakfast was still waiting, making you waddle as his arms wrapped around you from behind.  “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, baby doll.  It’s all good.”

You still couldn’t help but feel like the two were planning something as he made your plate for you, cutting up your pancakes and filling up your coffee.  “Why do I feel like you two are gonna end up ganging up on me?”

“Oh, come on, mama,” Josephine said with a smirk on her face.  Her and Danny had made their own plates and joined you and Bucky in the living room.  “How could you ever accuse us of such a thing?”

“Yeah,” James said as he fed you a bite of pancake.  “How could you ever accuse us of such a thing?” He asked, before leaning in and stealing a kiss.  “I love you.”

You’d never felt more relaxed, surrounded by the people you loved the most in the world.  What you’d said to Josephine had been true.

“I love you more,” you said, leaning back in for another kiss.

You’d never been so happy.

[kenganparadise]

Saw your Yandere thing and was wondering I hope this is alright but what kind of Yanderes would Raian, Ohma and Agito be like ?

YES!! Thank you so much for sending me a request! I really hope you enjoy i actually had a lot of fun writing this!☺️😆 thank you so much for reading my rules/earlier posts before sending in a request.

Quick Reminder (I should have specified earlier)- I wont do any violent yandere (everything I write will stay consensual towards the reader) so no kidnapping, murder, or brutality towards reader. I much prefer to write about non-toxic relationships. But sometimes I’m a simp for a little spicy yandere🥵

⚠️WARNING TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS AHEAD⚠️

Raian-

• Raian is a possessive/Jealous yandere. He doesn’t like anyone coming near his Mate. God forbid someone flirt or stare at his S/O just a little too long. He’d snap.

• His S/O would see some gore indeed. Raian would murder people in front of them. But he’d also murder people in public or in front of other Kengan fighters. He’d do this just to send a message.

• He gets jealous VERY easily. His S/O never goes anywhere alone. Whether they’re accompanied by him or another Kure. No harm will ever come to his mate.

• His obsession can lead to madness. He would be the type to do things against his Mate’s will. He does what he wants. And he wants his mate all to himself and himself alone.

• He’d go through his S/O’s phone. Not because he thinks they’re cheating on him- he does trust them- but to see if anyone has made comments on their social media’s or if anyone has sent them private messages. He probably blocks a bunch of people.

• And he just wants to see what his S/O looks up. He wants to know everything about his S/O. Some valuable information could be hidden in their phone.

• His mate better kiss privacy goodbye. He’s like basically like a cat with bad separation anxiety. The only place he won’t follow them to is the bathroom.

• If his S/O asks for space that’s gonna be a big fat no.

• He’s got a thing for scent- I’ve touched on this before in my NSFW HCs- but he will steal his Mate’s clothing for the smell. He loves burying his face in their hair and breathing deeply.

• He’d prefer his S/O to stay home and be his cute little house Wife/husband/spouse. His missions are much much shorter. He wants to come home to his mate as quickly as possible.

• Out of these three I’d say this relationship is the most toxic.

Ohma-

• Ohma is a lovestruck/admirable yandere. He’s probably the best out of these three men. Out of the three this is probably the healthiest relationship.

• He’s sickly over affectionate. He can’t keep his hands or lips off his darling.

• I don’t believe his love for his S/O would drive him to insanity.

• The relationship would probably start out as friendship. Though Ohma’s feelings would have probably started immediately. He would grow more and more attached to his Darling. He’d want to grow closer and closer to them.

• Soon they’re one of the only people he hangs out with. He’s calling and texting them daily asking them to come hang out or out to eat.

• He’s finding himself doing things he doesn’t like or doing things he has no interest in just to see his Darling.

• He’d pick up on their hobbies for sure.

• They might notices that his hand lingers on their shoulder. Or that his hand brushes against theirs quite often when they walk together.

• Ohma can become desperate for physical contact with his S/O. They might notice that he stands much closer to them than he does with Yamashita or any of their other friends.

• Finally he’d ask them out. He’d be elated if they say yes. He’d have a big goofy smile on his face and a skip in his step.

• If they say no he’d be utterly heartbroken. He’d go into a depression. He’d snap easier. He’d get into a lot of more fights. He’d be angrier, darker, and moodier.

• His S/O would become his inspiration. Seeing and hearing them cheer him on fills his heart with so much pride and love.

• Out of the three I’d say this would be the healthiest relationship.

Agito-

• Agito is a lovesick/obsessive yandere.

• He has no experience with love. So when he falls for his darling he falls HARD.

• Suddenly this person is all he can think about. They are all he can see, they are on his mind 24/7. He obsesses over them. He becomes lovesick. His chest tightens when he think of them. There’s a lump in his throat when they walk past.

• I believe his love could drive him to madness. He’d wait for these feelings to disappear but they never do. They only grow stronger and stronger.

• The relationship would start off as an odd friendship. At first he’d watch them from afar. He’d study them and their mannerisms, the way they talk, the say they speak, their body language. Then suddenly Agito was around his Beloved quite often.

• but watching from afar becomes not enough for him.

• They’d be surprised. Why was he hanging around them all the sudden? An unexpected friendship would form.

• He wants to be as close to them as possible. He also has a collection of things they have. Maybe a item they dropped, something they had thought they lost but Agito secretly pocketed it.

• His prized possession of his is a sweatshirt they had forgotten. He sometimes cuddles with it at night, pretending that is was them and not a piece of fabric.

• Its canon that Agito is artistically talented. He would draw pictures of his beloved. He’d make sculptures of them. He has sketchbooks filled with their smile. They are his muse.

• He does not have the words to describe how he feels. He’s never felt this way before in his life.

• He’d have such a hard time confessing. At first he’s more than fine just being friends. But his bottled up feelings bubble over. Suddenly he CAN’T be just friends. He need more. He need all of them.

• He confides in his friends. He either goes to Metsudo or Okubo. Both give him shitty advice.

• He ends up just telling his beloved that he has romantic feelings for them. If they return his feelings he’d feel as though a massive weight has been lifted. They’re finally his and his alone. That thought alone is enough to bring a smile on his face

• If he faces rejection Agito would go into a deep dark depression. He feels as though all the color in the world has faded to grays. His heart twists in his chest. He feels pain. His battles become so much more brutal.

• The relationship is quite nice. Agito isn’t that needy at first. He is so gentle with them. His S/O intoxicates him. He wants more and more and more. He can’t seem to get enough.

[spectrumed]

20. talk to me

I talk. Quite a lot. I am a good talker. My brain talks to me. I know that the internet has been set ablaze lately discoursing about how the brain’s mental mechanics differ from person to person. Some have an inner monologue going on at all times, others don’t. Some are able to visualise information quite easily in their head, whereas others suffer from total aphantasia. Though, I am not sure if I am supposed to refer to aphantasiacs as “sufferers.” According to those blank-minded dorks, everyone else seems utterly insane when they go on talking about how just thinking about an apple makes them literally see the fruit right in front of them. I am sure that to those that have never experienced what it is like to feel like some big stormy cloud of chaos walking with two legs, what I would consider to be my normal level of mental functioning would to them appear to be utter lunacy. Not only do I have an inner monologue, I often have three or five of them at the same time. And quite often, at least one of them is being needlessly shouty.

When needed I am able to connect one of these rambling inner monologues straight to my mouth. My lips move, spilling out words in that typical stream of consciousness style that some time ago dominated the literary genre. Remember that? When nearly every new book that came out was written in a pretentious stream of consciousness style that made it practically impossible to keep up with even the slimmest of narratives? Well, I guess that I can’t be looking down on those writers, because what is this blog if not a burlesque feast of stream of consciousness diatribes. Still, what I am attempting to get at is that when I am expected to talk, I can go on talking for a long time. Perhaps even eternally, if not for the fact that I’d occasionally need to eat and drink, and that of course one day I would inevitably die from old age unless it were to turn out that vampires do indeed exist and they are absolutely desperate to see me continue talking. Surely, I am fascinating enough to get the attention of the blood-drinking fiends of the night?

I have, at times in the past, found myself talking too much. Not by intention, mind you, but I have been accused of the occasional railroading of conversations, or at other times derailing conversations, generally acting like quite the irresponsible rail driver. All conversation is narrative, and I all too frequently act like the sole author. But, y’know, it is easier that way because others are so damn quiet. And so damn shy. I’ve come to loathe shy people. Those mousy little irritants. No matter how many times I try to pressure them to talk, to make their piece heard, they keep on murmuring in that silent little hum that makes everyone nearby wonder if they have all suddenly gone deaf, or if it is truly possible for a person’s voice to be so truly lacking in volume. Speak up! Say something without spending five minutes first apologising for your mere existence. You are a human, a radiant spark of intelligence and ingenuity, not some pesky rodent that must hide away from sight in the stinking sewers underneath our feet. Don’t you have anything to contribute to this conversation? No? Then why should I feel guilt over being so awfully domineering? I talk too much? You don’t talk at all!

But, still, I’ve done work on myself. I aim towards self-improvement. I try to be more considerate, patient, and generally less of an ass. I seek to be liked, of course I want to be liked. It is often assumed that autistic people don’t aim to please, that we’re so deep in our own heads that if we come across as unlikeable, we don’t much care what you think about us. Of course, this is a gross misconception, just part of the wider plethora of misunderstandings that if I tried to dispel them all, I’d end up working on this blog 24-7 for decades to come. “But Fred, you can’t be autistic, you are a very empathetic person!” “Okay, maybe you are autistic, but you’re not like those other autistic people.” The way that much of society seems to labour under the impression that autism is in some way comparable to psychopathy causes me some concern. Certainly telling people to be more sympathetic with autistic folks is going to get an awful lot harder if the general conception of autistic folks is that we’re all a bunch of inconsiderate jerks.

I’ve put it this way in the past, conversations are like a minefield. All the little stuff, all the unspoken stuff, the subtleties of body language, the slight emotional timbre of the voice, the at times arcane context you must keep in mind before opening your mouth, all those things are the landmines. To some it is easy to spot these traps from a far distance. But to those of us who suffer a constant flurry of thoughts, those of us who at times can’t help but babble on, clumsily but enthusiastically, the probability is high of accidentally placing your foot somewhere it doesn’t belong. “Sorry, I know how that came across, but I didn’t mean it that way. I used the wrong word. I used a word whereas I shouldn’t have used no word, silly me.” Sure, it is true that autistic people can often accidentally offend others, but the thing about not seeing the landmines, you still feel it when they explode.

I have noticed, in the last few years, as I’ve gotten better at talking to others, less impatient and more concerned with what others wish to communicate, I am still scolded for talking too much. Believe me, I have improved, I go into conversations now actively monitoring myself, exercising a great deal of restraint, but effort has largely gone unrecognised. I know that, as a person, it is difficult to judge oneself objectively, and I recognized that I may come across as being somewhat conceited in this, claiming that others are wrong when saying that I talk too much. Though, the funny thing I’ve learned, the years I’ve spent living with autism, is that neurotypical folks, they sure don’t spend a lot of time thinking about others. Try as much as you might to make changes to your way of being, the odds of anyone picking up on it? Don’t kid yourself, this effort of yours simply won’t go recognised.

I don’t wish to bellow like some bore about family drama, but I had an instance recently of my sister constantly interrupting me in a conversation we had, declaring that I talk too much and I should just shut up and let her speak. And true, I do talk too much, but in this conversation I had barely gotten more than a couple of sentences out. We were all a little tipsy, so I am not going to say that any of us were at our peak performance, but it struck me how in my sister’s mind, it just wasn’t even a possibility that she was the one dominating the conversation. That she, the non-autistic sibling, was the one acting like the ass. No, no, the established narrative, the way these things work is that Fred is the one talking too much, so it is never wrong to interrupt Fred. The fact that we had found ourselves very much in the reverse positions didn’t occur to her at that moment. Because, of course, people never change, do they?

It is hard not to occasionally feel beaten down and bitter. Here you are, stuck between balancing your own output, with your willingness to hear from others. Here I am writing another blog post. How many blogs do I read? Do I subscribe to any other blogs about living with autism? I’m just some dumb puppet going on and on about my own experiences, expecting people to listen, but do I actually listen in return? If we are meant to have a conversation, it should go roughly fifty-fifty, right? A fair exchange of ideas, back and forth, like a dance. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. But how are you supposed to handle this great communion with people who either, a, don’t want to fully participate out of shyness, or b, actively refuse to believe you’re doing your best trying to do better than you did in your past? Should I talk, or shouldn’t I talk? What must I do to convince you that I am coming at this in good faith?

A consequence of living with some psychiatric diagnosis, whatever it may be, is that you will often find yourself working harder at improving yourself, at cultivating good mental health for yourself, than the majority of people without any psychiatric diagnosis. Want to find a real mess of a human being, someone barely able to keep it together? Don’t go looking for people diagnosed with mental illness, we’re the ones actually working on ourselves. And at times it feels unfair, to have spent so much time trying to rehabilitate these fundamental parts of your psyche, only to still get stereotyped. Only to still get told that you’re hopeless.

[evolutionsvoid]

Ho boy, where do we even begin with these things? How do I write this entry without going insane? No real clue. I have to say that I try my best to keep things fair for all the species I write about, regardless if I like them or not. No one is reading my work solely because they want to know what my top ten favorite animals are, they want information! So even if I despise a certain beast, it is my duty to share straight knowledge and facts without steeping it in bias and personal opinions. However, thinking about this species gives me a headache, and it only gets worse as I delve deeper into the details. So I ask for the dear reader to forgive me if I diverge a bit or get a little negative in some parts. I don't mean to do that, but I can't guarantee anything! Now on to the Boracund! The Boracund are a mammalian species, with their relations tied to pigs and boars. With a porcine frame, a signature snout and those nasty tusks, it is easy to see how the three are alike. How they are different should be pretty obvious too, unless all your ham wears armor. Covering the top of the body, tail and upper limbs of the Boracund is a hefty layer of boney scutes and keratin scales. This home-grown armor is surprisingly durable, as it can withstand blades and even deflect arrows! Obviously it is used for protection, though the Boracund tend to use this defense more for other Boracund! This is because of those giant tusks that the Boracund possess, which can easily slice through flesh and gore a hapless victim. Both male and female Boracund grow tusks, but it is the male's teeth that grow to such an impressive, and deadly, size. When your rivals carry around such weaponry, armor is pretty much a must! The habitats they should prefer are in temperate climates, and they tend to be found in forests and surrounding areas. They like forests that produce a lot of mast (which means the fruit of forest trees, for those who don't know), as it provides a steady food source and also lures in other tasty treats. Like many members of the pig family, the Boracund are omnivorous, eating pretty much anything they can get into their mouths. With powerful jaws, razor tusks and a big appetite, there isn't a whole lot these fellas won't eat. Fallen fruits and nuts are a common meal for them, as well as small reptiles, mammals, eggs, and even carrion. Their snouts and teeth can also aid in digging up roots and tubers, which they will also happily devour. They are also capable of downing prey with the help of numbers, as this species travels in sizeable sounders. They rarely go after creatures larger then them and tend to only take advantage of the sick or weak. It is said that predators who live in Boracund territory must be fast in dispatching prey, lest a sounder descend upon the injured target and devour it. With the ability to take advantage of many food sources, it is easy to see how this species is so freakishly adaptable. What an utterly wonderful trait.    

  During most parts of the year, Boracund travel in these sounders, with them usually divided into male and female groups. The females sounders will possess multiple mothers with various litters of piglets, who all live under the watch of a matriarch. The male groups, however, have little leadership to them, working more as a friendly crowd that enjoy the benefits that sheer numbers bring. Their time is either spent searching for food, resting in their home shelters or grooming. Their version of grooming and hygiene is taking mud baths, as it helps cool their bodies as well as remove parasites. Things change up for all these sounders when the breeding season kicks in. When it is time to mate, the males grow rather irritable and obsessed, their family groups dissolving as they search for viable sows. Driven by the season and hormones, they scour the land for females, barely eating or slowing during their pursuit. When they find a female sounder, they begin to mark their territory. The piglets and other young members of the group are attacked and driven off, though the ancient matriarch is quick to protect them if things get too violent. Crazed males that kill piglets can incite the wrath of the matriarch, whose age and experience often makes them powerful foes. As long as the male does not cross this line, then they may remain with this sounder and attempt to claim it. Since the first male that enters this sounder is rarely the last, they must turn to defend their claim from rivals. Other males will soon arrive and they will fight to be the top hog. These battles are brutal and bloody, with tusks and hoof leaving terrible injuries. Even decked out in armor, male Boracund get pretty mangled during these fights. When the breeding season comes to a close, all viable females will be carrying, eventually giving birth to four to eight piglets. With a litter that size, and with that many females per sounder, you can see that this species has quite the population boom each season! Why, their reproductive rate is so high, its almost like you could harvest entire sounders and the population would bounce right back without hardly a stumble. How delightful. An incredibly interesting thing to note about the Boracund is that their breeding season can undergo a bizarre change every so often. A decade could go by with things going as normal, males running after females and what not, but then suddenly the next year will become something quite strange. After years of study, the consensus is that this unique breeding season is triggered by a high population of Boracund. When their numbers within an area reaches a critical peak, something in their bodies will be set off when the breeding season kicks in. This powerful change seems to only affect the males, if the females are involved then it is very subtle. When this switch is flipped in the males, their bodies undergo a terrifying transformation. Their armor darkens until it is almost black and their fur takes on a reddish hue. From numerous bony protrusions and pedicles that run along their body, velvety growths will begin to form. Much like the antler of a deer, these structures are growing something flashy and pointy, but it is rarely classy. They will grow all across the head and body of the male Boracund during the build-up to the breeding season, and you can already notice that they are growing agitated. The male sounders will break apart long before the season gets into swing, as they are driven into an angered state from the growths. Just as the season is about to start, the velvet will fall away, or rather be torn off in bloody strips. The furious males will rip apart this fuzzy sheathe to reveal a horrible dagger made of bone. What emerges from this gory ceremony is a beast covered snout to hoof in twisted, gnarled spikes. Bony jagged "teeth" now run on the outside of their jaws, while skewering spines line their backs. Bony spurs jut from their legs, while ivory wings sprout from their shoulders. The whole beast is now loaded with pointy bits and terrible weapons, which fits quite well for what comes next. Not only do their bodies transform, but so do their minds. It isn't so much a "transformation" but more of a "degradation." These males go absolutely berserk. The hormones in their body drive them to an even crazier state, which is further fueled by their gnarled bodies. You see, these bony growths aren't usually shaped to fit their bodies. Their formation is quite erratic, often leading to bony blades that hurt the very beast that wears them. I have seen a male Boracund who was so overgrown with these nasty things that they couldn't even open their mouth, the teeth-like formations grew around the jaw and forced it shut. Even then, its head was covered in gashes and bloody tears, as its attempts to open its jaw just caused its weaponry it dig into its own hide. Absolutely horrible! This pain puts them in a constant rage, and all this is directed into this bizarre breeding season. Now decked out in weapons and on the warpath, the males turn into rabid beasts that rip apart the countryside. They plow through the landscape in search of sows, but they are so blinded by their terrible state that they will literally throw themselves at walls in order to get to a female. What was once a fight between males to claim a group of sows has now become a bloody frenzy, with males shredding each other in the madness. Their battles seem to have no end in this state, they just tear each other to pieces. They lose any concept of surrendering or accepting defeat, they just throw themselves at each other until only one remains standing. Even the females aren't spared! Younger ones who do not have the strength to withstand such punishment can be butchered in the melee, slaughtered by the bloodthirsty males who have lost themselves to this agonizing frenzy. Eventually, the carnage will end and the season will finish. What males remain will lose their extra growths and revert back to normal, while the surviving females raise the new batch of piglets. This horrific breeding season is referred to as "Devil's Rut," when this species goes into this self-destructive state. It is believed that this event occurs to help regulate the population, only activating when their numbers reach a critical state. Too many Boracund could lead to all food sources being wiped out, which would leave them to starve. Reducing their numbers through this season, as well as cutting out those too weak to handled it, helps the population remain stable and strong. Thank goodness it takes years for such a thing to occur, right? RIGHT?!       I have to imagine that some folk have read through this entry and come to a realization. "Hey, Chlora," you may wonder, "you said this species likes temperate climates and lives in the woods, right?" To that I would say, "yes, I did!" With that confirmation you may reply "but I don't live near such a habitat, and yet I see the Boracund everywhere! Why is that?" This would call for a congratulations on my part, as you have read my entry and taken its word to heart. Thank you for your attention and mindfulness! Indeed, you have seen Boracund in a habitat I haven't mentioned and that is because, dear reader, THEY AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE! Boracund love temperate climates, they love forests! You know what else they love? EVERYTHING! Marshes, deserts, fields, grasslands, mountains, you name it, they stole it! Their ability to eat practically anything combined with their adaptable lifestyle and hardy bodies means they can live wherever they blighting please! There are populations of them scattered all across the globe, and every living thing that has to put up with them feels that presence! They strip the land bare with their feeding! They steal resources from other creatures! They tear up vegetation and plants that should have been safe from herbivory! They even chase predators away from their kills! They are a disease, and we cannot seem to freaking stop them! You slaughter a whole sounder of them and they just all pop back after the next breeding season! They reproduce so quickly and they don't go down without a fight! This isn't like the pig farm, you can't just round them up and give them the axe! They are armored, they are vicious and they are cunning! Kill one and the rest scatter into the wilderness! Set one trap and they learn to avoid that area! It is maddening! And to make it all worse is the fact that they undergo that Devil's Rut. When that kicks in, they are a threat to everything. They become insanely aggressive and incredibly dangerous. Driven by smell and pain, they will go after anything they see as a threat or anything they think is a female. Pig farmers have talked about these wild Boracund attempting to break into their own pens to get at domesticated sows, as they mistake them for their own kind. The damages are insane, and that doesn't include the fact that they can maim and kill anyone who tries to stop them! Crops are ruined and trips into the wilderness become dangerous. If you live in an area that is undergoing Devil's Rut, do not let your children outside of the town! These things are dangerous and they will attack anything they come across. Keep your saplings inside and don't even venture out there yourself! Cities and towns lock up their gates during these ruts and many warriors have been hired to ward off these crazed beasts. Good thing this only occurs about once every ten years! Whoops, did I say "ten?" Because with their exploding numbers, it takes half the time to trigger a Devil's Rut in areas they have been introduced! HOW WONDERFUL! They are a plague wherever they have been introduced, as the ecosystem is not designed to handle them! "So if they are invasive," you may ask, "How did they get here?" SO GLAD YOU ASKED Due to their large size, signature armor and impressive weaponry, there are some folk out there that would see them as a beautiful hunting trophy. Look at those tusks! Look at that armor! Think of how much meat we could get off that beast! What a dream, they think, AND THAT IS ALL THEY THINK! They just want to be the cool guy who has a big devil pig stuffed in their study so they can show off to all their friends and be like "look how cool and tough I am!" And then all their stupid friends would think "gosh gee I need one of these crazy beasts in my domicile so that I may too show off how big and cool I am!" And when you get enough people thinking that, then you get the idiots who think "well, all these people want to hunt this big awesome pig monster, why don't I import some for easy cash!" And then they do, and they build a hunting ranch specifically for hunting Boracund so that they can fill their coffers with all the money these showoffs will throw at them and then use none of that gold to BUILD A DECENT FENCE! Nope, just some posts and some boards, that is enough to keep these monstrous creatures contained! Lo and behold, they break out and vanish into the wilderness, where they may breed like rabbits and infest countless habitats! NOW THEY ARE EVERYWHERE, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW!? Oh of course they are! They are thrilled! "I can just go into my backyard and kill one, all while wearing my bathrobe! What's that? Dozens of species are threatened and entire ecosystems are being ravaged by these things? Well, who cares? I get to bag me a pig!" Those gall-headed weeds don't give an ounce of care for the systems they rely upon for their wonderful hobby! What about all the crop damage?! What about all the people who are vulnerable to these beasts?! Not every town has the means to ward them off, and the damage and injury that occurs is horrible! Markets raided, people attacked! It is insanity! It has gotten so bad in some regions that people have called them "Pig Dragons!" OF COURSE THEY DID! NOT ONLY DO THEY DESTROY THINGS, NOW THEY HAVE TO BEAR THAT CURSED NAME! You want a dragon?! I will show you a dragon! You all laugh at me when I talk about the "Dragon's Pig Program," but if I can get that going then there is hope! What better beast to help harvest these monsters than actual dragons?! These animals are a hefty source of meat and hunting them is crucial! If I can convince enough dragons to turn their attention towards this species for a potential food source, then their populations could be easily reduced! I think it is a genius idea, but oh no all the fancy aristocrats are like "Dragons? Near my land? Unacceptable! Those ugly beasts will cause so much damage!" UNLIKE THE HOG MONSTERS YOU PEOPLE BROUGHT OVER! You cause this huge problem and then stick up your nose at every solution! Just because it doesn't affect you! Well you listen hear you overgrown, blight-filled piece of rot! If I ever get my hands on you I am going to take that fancy hunting spear of yours and*   *No further text is provided, save for mention by the editor that several pages have been removed. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian --------------------------------------------------- Behold! The long awaited Pig "Dragon!"  And by long awaited, I mean that I once offhandedly mentioned something about a Pig Dragon in a description I wrote years ago. I am sure no one remembers me naming such a thing, but my memory exists solely to torment me and couldn't let it go.