#i could not tell you where man ends and woman begins its all case by case. love and peace man ✌ ☮

[peridyke]

being some kind of trans while also being a lesbian gets you doing some crazy existential philosophizing. like what is a man...what is a woman...what makes them distinct...these concepts both exist and don't exist in tandem...what does my exclusive attraction to the group known as women mean and how do I define it...and the answer is there's no hard answer its all just vibes

[cottonlemonade]

How You Met

word count: 950 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post time-skip Akaashi x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: one person being casually rude about your weight (it’s quick tho)

The taiyaki were still hot in the white paper bag, the smell reminding you it was almost lunch time.

Looking the street up and down for a bus stop or a waiting taxi you turned on the spot. A little ways up the pathway you could make out the typical black boxy shape of a Tokyo taxi and readjusting your handbag you headed towards it, only for a busy looking person in a suit to snatch it up before you could reach it, muttering something about how you would be better off walking for some exercise.

In disbelief about such rudeness you shook your head, pulling your coat a little closer around your chubby form.

You were sure another taxi would take its place soon enough and got on tiptoes to examine the traffic, on the lookout for one.

A mischievous breeze blew up your coat collar, making you wish you would have worn a scarf after all. Although April was right around the corner, the weather today was icy cold.

Giving up for the time being you headed towards a little flower shop you had passed just a few meters back to warm yourself.

A bell chimed when you opened the door. Pots with regular and more exotic house plants stacked on shelves along the wall, one display case behind the counter held the fresh cut flowers while another showed already bound bouquets in varying sizes and color schemes.

The woman standing behind the cash register called a friendly greeting and held the beginnings of a new arrangement at arm's length to check for possible improvements.

"What can I do for you?", she asked, putting the flowers down and folding her hands over a small pregnant belly.

"I would like a bouquet with peonies and… some eucalyptus, please."

The woman smiled and got to work, asking here and there for specifics in color or fullness.

She was about to come to an end with the simple coral and cream bouquet when the doorbell rang again and a young man looking remarkably like a substitute literature teacher entered the shop, a phone to his ear.

"Yes, father, I am getting flowers. I’ll be there soon. Oh, actually, I might be a while, there are quite a lot of people waiting."

You heard an angry voice yelling something unintelligible from the phone, when he simply hung up and sighed. He reached to tug at his collar like it was too tight and closed his eyes for a second, then, remembering he was in public, gave a bow to you and the saleswoman and apologized.

"Please take as long as you want.", he said, almost pleadingly.

He looked like he had a headache, grabbing his collar again.

"O-on second thought,", you began, turning to the owner that was just about to add the last eucalyptus branch, "I forgot I wanted more. Silly me. Uhm, could you make one with… hmm, those blue ones, some of the small greens, those white tulips, and lots of those light blues there, please? And then another one… with those yellow ones there, there and those, too, please." Your best friends would be delighted.

"Oh", the owner caught on immediately, "that was quite a lot. I don’t think I could memorize which ones you wanted all at once."

"No problem. I can tell you one by one."

The young man gave a small grateful smile at the stage-play-like interaction, letting out a “Thank you very much” under his breath.

As the shop owner wrapped up the first bundle of flowers at snail speed, you turned to the young man, wanting to cheer him up.

"So, where do you not want to go?"

Seemingly too exasperated to care about talking to a perfect stranger he said, "A blind date. Which, by the way, isn't actually blind but with a woman I have absolutely no interest in talking to about anything."

"Oh fun.", you said and trying to lighten the mood added, "Why not bring some flowers that say Thanks for coming, I don’t wanna be here?"

Everyone laughed, but the guy stopped after a second or two, looking at you for the first time, then turned to the florist.

"Can I do that?"

She thought for a moment, then slowly nodded, "I can add some candytuft, for sure and… hm, something really neutral for… and then… maybe I still have some butterweed. Yeah, I think I can do that."

You stayed even after your third bouquet was done, keeping the conversation going, joking around and glad when the young man gave a genuine laugh.

"Let me.", he said, sounding tired, when you drew out your wallet to pay for your flowers.

You shook your head, smiled and handed your card to the owner. Then you reached into the paper bag.

The buns in the meantime had turned lukewarm, but still smelled heavenly when you fished one out in a napkin and handed it to the woman - the other still in the bag you placed on the counter for a moment, grabbing a pen from your pocket. You quickly jotted down your name and number on the paper and handed it to him.

“And here. If you need rescuing from your blind date, send me a text and I’ll call you right away with some made-up emergency.”

Then you raised your free hand that wasn’t busy balancing the flowers with a “You got this.” and after a final wave you left.

Akaashi was still staring at the door for a few long moments after you had gone.

“You’d make a cute couple.”, the saleswoman mused and grinned when the young man blushed profusely, holding tighter to the paper bag.

[whinlatter]

something tells me you don't really like tonks, just a hunch xD

For the relationship ask if you're still doing it: harry and remus, molly and remus, teddy and adromeda. I would love to see what do you think <3

noooo i love tonks! i had a ball writing her and think that @evesaintyves’ rendering of her is one of fandom’s greatest gifts 😭 i just find it very funny that harry thinks she should low key get a grip. and as a clumsy young woman who should myself get a grip, i say: get off her case, hjp.

ok the remus + tonks/black extended family universe... hyped for this one. delicious choices, thank you anon. (i have a few more in the inbox i'm going to take a stab at but am trying to avoid spoilery ones or ones where i risk boring you all again by repeating old talking points, so if i don't get to one pls forgive me...)

right — to business. we begin with everybody looking at remus lupin waiting for him to put his crippling self loathing aside to write (1) singular letter to his dead friend's son:

i jest (to an extent). but i do think the entirety of harry and remus' dynamic is best encapsulated in one singular scene in PoA:

“When they get near me — ” Harry stared at Lupin’s desk, his throat tight. “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.” Lupin made a sudden motion with his arm as though to grip Harry’s shoulder, but thought better of it.

i know there's a very understandable move in AUs to imagine what would have happened if remus had raised harry - or, more often, if remus had been 'allowed' to raise harry by dumbledore. but looking past the whole plot-requiring-harry-to-be-at-the-dursleys thing, the truth is, canon remus lupin would never have put himself forward to raise harry, because of his own (not unfounded!) concerns about the precarity of his existence and the dangerousness of his condition. remus' sense of self - more specifically his fear of himself, and his very low self worth - consistently lead him to hold harry at arm's length from the moment he's introduced in the series until its bitter end. i don't think remus at all approves of the way harry is treated at the dursleys. but i can very much imagine that remus thinks it would still be better than the life he could have given harry if he ever had been called upon to serve as his primary caregiver. one of the most interesting implicit dynamics in the series is that harry notices this and does, to some extent, resent it (obviously the fact that he only ever calls him 'lupin' in his narration, though uses remus to his face, and also: 'Harry had received no mail since the start of term; his only regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed.') while the harry & remus fight in DH is about harry's view of what remus ought to do re tonks and the baby, it’s also harry coming as close as saying to remus: you're letting your own child down like you let me down. ('I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually... He had it coming to him,” said Harry. Broken images were racing each other through his mind: Sirius falling through the veil; Dumbledore suspended, broken, in midair; a flash of green light and his mother’s voice, begging for mercy… ‘Parents,’ said Harry, 'shouldn’t leave their kids unless—unless they’ve got to.')

molly and remus: i think this is a very, very underrated relationship! i know there’s a lot of molly-bashing around these days, especially if you’re a marauders and/or sirius and/or wolfstar stan. but i think it is very very overlooked that the person who looks after adult remus the most from 1995 onwards, and who shows him some of the deepest trust and roots for his happiness, is molly. for a man who has plainly known a huge amount of financial/food/housing insecurity, and who is so villainised in wider wizarding society, it is no small gesture for molly to not only provide for remus materially but also to trust him in a house with all of her children and encourage him in a romantic relationship he struggles to feel entitled to and worthy of. (i love sirius, but he is in no fit state to ‘look after’ remus in the last year of his life, and fandom’s continued unwillingness to recognise the importance of domestic/caregiving labour as a vital contribution to the resistance will never not be problematic af). remus clearly values and admires molly in return - the only time he actually ever entertains a parent/guardianship role is when molly is weeping over her boggart, crying onto remus’ shoulder (‘what must you think of me?’) and he assures her that if anything were to happen to her and arthur, he would be a part of the team making sure her children are taken date of (‘what do you think we’d do, let them starve?’) remus’ relationship with molly is often the more mild-mannered translator of her viewpoint to others (especially others with hot tempers), and mediator trying to find middle ground between molly’s protective instincts and the battle/ready instincts of others. (more grist to my sirius & ginny parallels mill — in DH, when a fuming ginny is desperately trying to sneak off to fight in the battle, it’s remus who appeals to molly and ginny to find the compromise of ginny staying in the room of requirement to know what’s going on but not actively fight, a mirror image of his role mediating the dispute between sirius and molly over harry’s right to know what’s going on at grimmauld in ootp…) molly accepts this compromise, a sign that she trusts remus implicitly (she never frets that a werewolf is living among her children in ootp onwards, and invites him to christmas readily even after months undercover with the pack) and also feels able to call him out (‘i’ve always said you’re taking a ridiculous line on this, remus’.) this is too long but basically — justice for molly and remus, unlikely buds!

teddy and andromeda: i weirdly think a lot about teddy lupin these days. i tend to imagine teddy as a very mild-mannered, affable, calm child, like who remus might have been had he not been bitten, with tonks' heart and sociability but also with something of remus' more philosophical disposition. i think he'd slip very naturally into a big brother role because, in part, he does see himself as having a responsibility to take care of people, and i think this would shine through in his relationship with andromeda. we know teddy was raised by his gran, and i imagine she feels enormously protective of him, perhaps bordering on strict in her desire to keep him safe from the harm that came to all the rest of her family. but i like to imagine teddy didn't act out against this too much, in part because he understands where it comes from and in turn feels very protective of andromeda. growing up in the aftermath of the war would make teddy as a child particularly aware of the grief and pain and the silences among the adults around him, and i think teddy would take any compensatory protective strictness on andromeda's part with good grace, and humour her for it. i like to think teenage/young adult teddy serves as the translator for any of his gran's more prickly edges, and that they have a very close relationship that both of them really treasure.

[earhartsease]

in case anyone wondered where Ursula Le Guin stood regarding trans people, we're sharing here a card we got from her back in 2010 - the context here is that we had a correspondence with her across several years, which began with us reading Tehanu whilst still cosplaying a cis man in England, and then writing her a somewhat Angry Male™ letter about the person Ged becomes between The Farthest Shore and Tehanu (his apparent powerlessness made us really uncomfortable, but that was mostly because of our abusive mother we now suspect)

she wrote back so kindly and patiently, and we ended up writing to each other a few times over the next years about Buddhism (we were ordained into a Buddhist cult at the time and had a Sanskrit name beginning with Padma) and about writing, as we had started writing a novel and realised that characters have their own stories, and writers aren't necessarily the ones steering the craft

and then us finally coming out to her as trans and telling her how much of this anger we'd carried towards women was because of not allowing ourselves to be who we truly are, and that it just dissolved as soon as we came out (note that this exchange of letters was during the year it took us to realise we were not in fact a woman but agender, which we did eventually tell her)

anyway her card reads:

Dear Padma - I wish I could read your name for certain, but anyhow I know "Padma" - your news is very good. I hope you thoroughly enjoy the odd experience of being a woman - people don't always make it easy. But isn't it great to have come out of the anger? All the best, Ursula

sadly we didn't get to write more after that, we could no longer get hold of the prepaid US international airmail letters she asked people to send so she could reply, so we never got a reply to our letter telling her we were agender after all - but we're so very grateful for her kindness and allyship, and that she had long grown past 2nd wave feminism by the time all this happened

then we got to be one of the people funding a documentary* about her, where sadly she died before its release, and we were at the UK premiere and wept when she talked about "getting angry letters from men" about her writing, and how people do grow and change and how she too grew and changed

we didn't really get to know her (different continents or we would surely have tried to meet her - weirdly we did meet her son Ted when we were both in our teens, as he was our best friend's penfriend) but we do love her

also we love the lil dragon on her stationery

*tumblr app is being a dick and won't let us add a link - oh, see https://worldsofukl.com

[unholy-alliance-of-preys]

This is an idea for a crossover fic for...

Acd Sherlock holmes and fnaf.

Yes. You read that right.

I planned out a premise and some characters, yet I can't find the right way to write it!

SO *clears throat* let me begin

DISCLAIMER: its not a nice case and it depicts child death, also the fnaf canon is not the same, things have been changed to make sense

A woman comes crying to baker street to beg the detective to hear her case, her child mysteriously disappeared while being and the "(idk how to name the restaurant)" a restaurant that has a very big dedicated zone for children to let their parents eat in peace.

The woman explains that her child was not the first one to disappeared under the same circumstances, he was the 4th of 5 in the span of 2⅕ weeks, both the owners managed to brush of the disappearances and to keep the restaurant open.

The mother tells holmes the thing that led her to him, when she went at the restaurant with the police one of the robot mascots kept staring at her, watching her every movement even when the robot was turned off she kept feeling eyes apon her. Everyone told her she was going crazy for the grief, even her husband! But she knew that couldn't be the case

So Holmes and Watson investigate on the gruesome, and paranormal case that Watson names "the case of the purple man".

It has paranormal stuff going on, Afton is of course the culprit

The victims are the first 5 missing children, those who possess freddy, foxy, bonnie, chica and golden freddy of Fnaf 1

Now, time for some background for 2 very important characters

Henry Emily:

Used-to-be single father of Charlotte Emily who was killed during a storm behind of his first restaurant. He is an engineer and architect and is best friend and business partner with William Afton

They built the fist restaurant in America where after a certain accident involving one of the animatronics (the bite of '83) they had to close, and decided to move to England to have a second chance. He is an honest and good man, but also broken from all the recent events

William Afton:

Used-to-be single father of 3, now of 2 (Micheal and Elizabeth) his other son died in "the bite".

He is a builder and specialized in robotics (?) he build machines usually used for plays or shows, but also for entertainment at his restaurants!

They used to use springlock endoskeletons but we all know how that played out... So now the 2 suits are stored on the new restaurant, and we all know what afton uses one of the suits for...

(Now, i know that the animatronics cannot be of the same technology of the 1980's but... I really don't know how to describe what i think they look like sorry 😞.)

For the ending i though it could be with Holmes and Watson discovering Afton a tad bit too late as he was just springlocked on his rabbit suit. Macabre i know

[raideo]

Issey drama anon here, please tell us about Romance Doll because I have not heard anything about it

also, have you heard of Quartet? I've seen like 50 gifsets from it and it seems legit funny as hell

UMMM WELL- I'll put my thoughts on Romance Doll under a break at the end because the movie is pretty nsfw and weird and yeah...

Quartet is on my list! I'm definitely going to watch it at some point, but I also really wanna watch Miracles! Honestly that one has been the most interesting to me from the beginning but my adhd is just causing me to watch whatever's convenient first, not the ONE IVE REALLY WANTED TO WATCH THIS WHOLE TIME. I still have to finish Koisenu Futari too... I stopped that one cuz I was watching it with someone and we had a long period of time where we couldn't watch it. And then also it's just VERY HEAVY as a person who happens to be demi who has gone through periods of feeling like I could be aroace in the past. It's so realistic and deals with the painful things as well as the funny things and I am scared to finish it bc I KNOW THERES MORE HEAVY SHIT TO COME but it's an amazing show AND I DO WANT TO FINISH THAT ONE TOO.

And on a completely polar opposite note: ROMANCE DOLL, LMAO

Ok so, this movie is very much one of those WEIRDLY REALISTIC stories where all the characters are so real and flawed and HUGE MISTAKES ARE MADE by characters and it's just such a wild ride. You probably haven't heard about it because its FUCKING WACK.

Without giving too much away in case you wanna watch it (netflix dropped it last monday, which is actually why I ended up watching it over the weekend at all, but it's still available to rent on amazon 🙄) Issey plays Tetsuo, an unemployed art college grad who is desperate for a job. His friend gave him a tip about this sketchy job opening but told him literally nothing else about it. He shows up and this old woman greets him and shows him around and he's a bit shocked to find out it's a shop that makes SILICONE SEX DOLLS. The woman is like "your friend didn't tell you that???" And Tetsuo was like "he literally just said there was a job here-" and she laughs and says "Some friend he is then!" Honestly I loved the old lady she's great, I wish I could remember her name I'm too lazy to go look it up rn.

Anyway so yeah, he takes the job even though the interview was super awkward and there's this gross pervy old guy who works there and he doesn't really care about the subject matter he just needs money (mood)

One thing and another happens (and a lot of me wanting to slap the old man into next tuesday, seriously he's the worst) and a little bit later Tetsuo meets the love of his life through some bullshit connection to his job, and they end up getting married some time after, but she doesn't know what he does for a living and ITS ALL VERY HARD TO EXPLAIN WHY HE KEEPS THAT FROM HER without spoiling things but just- the movie is wack, I really didn't like it in the beginning but it pulls a complete 180 and ends up being this weirdly emotional and AT TIMES, a holesome wholesome slice of life movie??

Don't get me wrong it doesn't sugarcoat things like objectification of women and there's some degree of realistic portrayal of that bc of the whole Tetsuo working at a sex doll shop thing, it is very true to life- how men can be gross even if they aren't going so far as assaulting anyone. It doesn't excuse it either it just presents it as it is, which is good I think. But then there are OTHER moments where the movie is very sex positive- so its a wild fucking trip tbh. Definitely don't watch it if you have sensitivities to the things I mentioned above bc bro omg the first half almost had me like "yeah I can't watch this" a couple times jfc.

BASICALLY by the end of the movie the message is that communication and being open with people you love (and not getting bogged down with anxiety and guilt) is important, because on top of not being fair to the people who are important to you, hiding things from them can eat you up inside and make you act irrationally and hurt them even more whether you realize it or not. And also, you never know how someone will feel about the things you don't want to tell them. Something that could be huge to you could be no big deal to another.

Its just a very interesting movie. I don't know if I'd recommend it, theres some NUCLEAR SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT CRINGE MOMENTS like oh my god i wanted to die- and like I said above, there's lots of intense subject matter and some not so pretty moments that a lot of people may want to avoid. Id for sure check one of those sites that gives content warnings before watching bc hoo boy...

But all that aside, once again Issey is an incredible actor and his range is apparent in this movie. I saw some like- borderline SLAPSTICK physical comedy moments that had me so surprised bc he did them so well but its so new and different from anything else ive watched him star in. Dude is just unstoppable tbh. He HAS 👏 THE 👏 RANGE!! 👏

Also you get to see him naked a lot. So there's that!

[sweetkakashihatake47]

Hello! First of all I want to say I love your blog! It is always nice to find someone to share opinions. I want to comment last anon ask and your answer. I agree with you 100%! But, many of my friends who claim to be very objective in their characters analysis of Naruto, and actually use the word “ship” in a negative perspective, always point me out that canonically Kakashi would never love Sakura romantically. They say that my interpretation is too occ and I’m transforming Kakashi to someone else, someone I like but it is not the one portrayed in the manga. I fell very sad when they say this because actually I really feel that their love potentially would really possible and not just for my headcanons but because I really saw some situation in the manga that makes me think so. I ship them basing on some hint I really got reading the panels, is not like put together people who never met each other. The only one I’m changing is Sakura because in my mind at a certain point she would see Sasuke as a dear friend and no more as a crush, and yes this is occ. What do you think about it? Thank you.

Hi Anon,

thanks so much for asking me! First of ...Naruto series is not an adult series ...rather one for kids young adults and Teens. So of course we do not see overly romantic or sexual scenes. God forbid! But....and there is a big but....! Kakashi would love Sakura romantically and here is why: Whenever I rewatch Naruto ..and I do it over and over again ..I am stunned again and again ..at how gentle and kind Kakashi is to Sakura. I kind of realized this ...when I began to write a FF for Reader and Kakashi ..where all scenes of Naruto classic beginning are contained in that FF..and there I realized the many occasions ..Kakashi seemed to be drawn to Sakura. And its an ongoing thing ...it does not ...end with Naruto . ..no no! I was literally stunned ...at how much ..Kakashi seeks the attention from her ...first I ...I grew jealous ..out of it! it was ..as if almost ..the reader stands in competition with Sakura ..when it comes to Kakashi. And its fact and canon. I could not believe it at first! In order to write the story as accurate as possible I had to rewatch. That is the beginning ..why I now am highly vocal about Kakasaku. Now ..if you watch it because of the fights and what not ..and are focusing on such things ..or the Jutsus and Chakras ..the arcs ..and the character growth ...you do not realize it. You have to watch it very closely ..and then ..you can see it what I mean. Or write a FF from the persepective of the reader who is part of the series...as in my case. Kakashi says of himself ..that he has many hobbies ..and the official characterization of him says ..that he has many hidden talents ...and that he is rather very domestic. This tells me ..that we dont see the whole personality of Kakashi in the series. When we see him ...being positively surprised of Sakuras strength in the seconed bell test ...and him thinking of the possibility that Sakura could be the better Kunoichi than a Tsunade ...I feel ...that is love and admiration! When we see him ..rescueing her ..over and over again ...not critizising her ....worried about her ...and in the end of fourth great Ninja war holding her ..standing by her side ..stroking her cheek ..touching her ...defending her against a Sasuke ...and it is all canon. He is sooo gentle to her. And to no other woman. That is the point. I feel Kakashi has hidden sides ...that is not shown in the series. We see hints of it. Him aproving of Asumas and Kureneis relationship , him loving to read Icha Icha ..who he himself describes it at one point ( Jiraya interviews Kakashi) as dramatic ..romantic and what not ..tells me ..that he indeed can be wonderfully romantic as well .I also feel ..that when it comes to love ...Kakashi has to have a deep connection to his love interest. He is not the man ..who is just struck down by physical attributes. The most important thing to him in a relationship ..I would say ..is trust and Teamwork. Everyone can be romantic in some way or another. It depends ..how you define romance. Romance can also be ..very simple natural things in our daily life. Next time ..you can go to your friends and let them read my answer to you here! SasuSaku for me ..is the irony pairing. Sakura in my opinion did not grow much...but ..with Kakashi on her side ...she would have! No doubt about it! Conclusion ...of course Kakashi would love Sakura romantically ..its all there ..and its canon! There are so many hints that point in that direction. I hope ..I could help you out ! 🥰

[ignorantarmiesclashbynight]

Oh, this is fun.

Rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

Thanks @goldheartedchaoticdisaster for the tag!

1. Integrity Compromised - The Mandalorian

It was Greef who recommended her. Of course he ‘knew a guy’. Or woman, in this case.

“An engineer of extraordinary talent,” Greef had said over the holo-com. And she would have to be, if she was going to be able to handle Mandalorian armour.

2. Loyalty, Divided - Uncharted

“Let’s try this again,” Sully said, stretching his hand across the table. “Victor Sullivan. My friends call me Sully.”

The kid smiled a little at that.

Friends. Don't suppose he has a whole lot of those right now.

3. Brothers and Sons - Red Dead Redemption 2

He watched his daddy hang.

A part of him hoped the old man would end with some kind of pride. Show some spine. Jut his chin at the sky and meet his maker like a man. But the bastard was whimpering by the end.

4. On the Road - The Last of Us

“Your watch is broken.”

She points it out as if he hasn’t noticed.

He almost laughs. Snorts air out his nose, but doesn’t bother to reply. There’d be no way to explain it even if he did. The watch’s face is cracked and the battery died long ago, but it would be like losing a limb to take it off. Some days the weight of it is all that keeps him in the world.

5. The Last Strand - Death Stranding

There’s so much he needs to tell her. So much he’s gonna have to teach her. But what the hell does he know? And where does he even begin?

He starts with the alphabet because even though she can’t speak and doesn’t even know what the fuck a letter is, he figures it’s a fundamental thing you’re meant to teach kids and she seems to like the rhythm and recitation of it as he walks.

6. Red Dead Whumptober - Red Dead Redemption 2

The wire sliced into his skin like a snakebite, its barbs latching on and pulling tight into the flesh of his thigh, his side, his arm, ripping tears into his brand new shirt and all. Dutch’d given him that shirt just last week and he’d be givin’ him an earful for bleeding all over it, too.

7. The Longest Dark - The Mandalorian

He did the math without really thinking. His navi-computer was programmed to sync with the Galactic Standard Calendar, based on the Coruscant solar system, but a little conversion in his head and suddenly the date, and its significance, was embedded in his thoughts.

He tried to shake it off. Nostalgia served very little purpose except to distract you from the present, and besides, there was no one to share it with, so what did it matter?

8.  Babysitting Cassie - Uncharted

Sam fidgeted at the front door, listening to the various noises of family life behind it. Little running feet; Nathan’s voice raised in a teasing kind of threat; that big dumb dog of theirs, barking its big dumb head off; Elena yelling at them all to stop fooling around, then giggling as she presumably got caught up in whatever game they were playing.

9.  A Normal Life - Uncharted

“Look, kiddo. I’d rather do a lot of things than eat my vegetables but you gotta do it,” Sam sighed, as Cassie pouted over her plate.

“They’re mushy.”

“They are cooked to perfection you tiny Gordon Ramsay.”

The pout deepened. “I’m not a gord-damn namsy!”

10. Blood Brothers - Uncharted

 Head for the lighthouse.

They were so close. Sam could see the top of the dilapidated tower jutting up above the cliffside. They were gonna make it. Of course they were. It’s what they did – scrambling and half-assing their way through situations that should have been the end of them. If the Drake brothers had a business card, By The Skin Of Our Teeth would be their tagline.

I have no idea who to tag because I am terrible at who the heck is who on here and Ao3 so if you wanna take this and RB please do!

[watching-pictures-move]

Put On Your Raincoats | Teen-Age Fantasies: An Adult Documentary (Spokeman, 1971)

This is a supposed documentary anthology porno where each segment explores supposed sexual fantasies of supposed teenagers, or in one case about supposed teenagers. I’m using the word “supposed” a lot because this very obviously isn’t a documentary, although I doubt there’s much here that would really offend the documentary ethics types. The fantasies here are pretty basic and often reuse the same performers, but I think it gets a charge from its sexual revolution context. People were beginning to get comfortable with the idea of articulating sexual fantasies, so it’s understandable that some of these aren’t terribly elaborate. I think the first fantasy, where a woman essentially desires a pleasurable sexual experience after discussing her past traumas, is quite poignant. (“I don’t wanna get hurt anymore.”) I wouldn’t call this especially naturalistic, but I was a little moved that the scene gives room for doubt, vulnerability and emotional rawness in showing how the character regains her sexual agency.

I won’t go through all the gory details, but the only fantasy I found to be a weak spot is the one where the old man fantasizes about teenagers. First of all, what the fuck. (Yeah, I know, it’s possible to have taboo fantasies and deal with them in a healthy way, and I think the presentation here is a lot less sleazy than it could be.) Second, I think it undermines the premise to break from the perspective of supposed teenagers. Third, the guy looks like he’s a hundred years old and wears a neckerchief and gives off grandpa vibes, which really undermines the potential spice in the scene. All that being said, I thought it was pretty funny when they shook hands at the hand. And the final sequence has Suzanne Fields fantasizing about you, the viewer, and suggesting that you masturbate along with her. The implicit appeal of the genre is made explicit, and the barrier between performer and viewer is dissolved. At the end, she tells you to come see her again, presumably at the next evening’s showing. “I’ll be waiting.”

Stylistically, this is very much an early ‘70s porno, but not a shoddy one by any means. But the real reason to see this is for the bookends with Rene Bond, who talks to you while sucking a dick. (Fellatio bookends make sense for a porno, but could you imagine if, like, a horror anthology had Rene Bond blowjob scenes in between the segments? There would be pandemonium in the theatre. Audiences hooting and hollering, honking their horns were they at the drive-in or brought in air horns, cats and dogs living together, etc.) If you weren’t already sold on Bond’s charms elsewhere, this will likely do the trick. Only she could make talking about and performing fellatio seem so wholesome. At one point she lets the dick snap back like it’s spring-loaded. At another point, she bets she can make the guy come in a minute, and while I didn’t use a stopwatch, it seemed close enough. Each time she finishes the guy off, she says she has to start over again, but doesn’t seem to mind all that much. As Parker Posey said in Party Girl, “One must imagine Sisyphus happy”, and with Bond it’s easy to do so.

[beansprouts]

barbie (2023) thoughts

spoilers under cut

Margot Robbie's acting was utterly incredible and worth the price of entry alone

My favourite scene was Ken's song and dance number, no notes. Ryan's gotten so much better since La La Land.

on the topic of Ken... let him kiss boys

Like for a film so couched in queer references and jokes, it could have used some actual gay text. It's 2023, let Ken be actually bisexual, not just subtextually.

On the other hand, though, aroace Barbie was important and powerful

Especially as a subversion of the default happy ending where the man wins the woman he has spent the whole film pestering

Most disappointing part of the film: everything about the Great (wo)Man Theory Ex Machina

For God to be Ruth the actual creator of Barbie, some middle-aged woman in a 1950s kitchen, who stepped in to tie up the narrative threads, totally undermined the film's attempt at a feminist message for me

Especially since Barbie apparently had to seek Ruth's permission to enter the real world.

would have strongly preferred if Ruth was framed less as god and more as a mother, parallel to Gloria's character arc with her daughter

also Ruth ('s ghost?) doesn't appear to have any actual agency at Mattel? Why is she stuck in the basement???

Speaking of Mattel in this film: you can't contrast the real world with the hypermaximalist Barbieland if all the Mattel employees in the real world are also cartoonish.

It's such a transparent way to avoid any actual narrative accountability for Mattel the company within the film and it rings really hollow

like this film is so brilliant at portraying the construction of gender (I feel like those essays have been written already, probably, so I won't bother explaining it here). But then you take off your Gender Lens and put on your Labor Lens and realize it's actually kind of regressive?

To be fair I was primed for paying closer attention to its treatment of class and labor because Barbie's journey begins with a song by Lizzo, who has been in the news for also (allegedly) fueling her narrative of female empowerment via labor exploitation. and that was so recent the film can't have known that. But we are in the midst of a labor movement in the US and that also makes this film's politics seem even weirder

Characters in this film are defined by their job. Both in Barbieland and in the real world.

We know Gloria is a mom, and she certainly has personality, but her other defining trait is that she plays with Barbies and then draws them... which ties into her identity as someone who works at Mattel.

Every other Mattel employee is so wholly characterized by their profession as Mattel employee it's a little ridiculous.

When the Barbies are freed from their brainwashing they remember their job titles as their senses of self: author, physicist, president, and in returning to that profession-self they are depicted as healed.

The characters who are dissatisfied with life in Barbieland are also the ones who don't have titles that equate to employment: (Stereotypical) Barbie, Beach Ken, Allan. You could make an argument for Weird Barbie as well

Mermaid Barbie's profession is Mermaid I guess

The film resolves the struggles of these characters by telling them to go find themselves. Literally in the case of Beach Ken. But through the film's language, that means constructing a self through capitalist labor. For example, Weird Barbie is given a political position with President Barbie. As Barbie enters the real world (where each named person is also associated with a job even to Gloria's daughter whose job is Student) this presumably extends to her.

It's this very capitalism-friendly (neoliberal maybe?) depiction of self-actualization through capitalist profession that feels out of place in a film that's otherwise trying to get you to read it as leftist

at least if you think the asides about consumerism or the interplay between emotion and logic were meant to be seen as commentary and not just jokes belittling radicalism

anyway if you liked the satirical and sometimes absurd vibe of Barbie but want something that commits to its kernels of commentary a little more, I'd recommend Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. They are like sibling works.

This post has come across as mostly negative but to be clear I did like the film. It's to its credit that there's enough of a philosophical stance being established to critique like this in the first place.

How many other comedies have a blue link to Siddhartha Gautama on their wikipedia page??

[adultswim2021]

12 oz. Mouse: “Prolegomenon” | December 18, 2006 – 12:45AM | S02E13

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! No post last night, and I’m sorry, but I had to give this one more thought. Really, I got high and thought I not only finished the write-up, but also scheduled it in my queue after I wrote a single paragraph and fell asleep. Whoops.

Okay, so it’s all been leading up to this, and this write-up will eventually cover what “this” is. But before I go into it, I wanna say that this episode led me to do some googling. I learned something that I possibly knew at one point, but had lost sight of: season 2 was supposed to have 20 episodes but was shortened to 13. With that, the series was also canceled, forcing Matt Maiellaro to plan some kind of conclusion where there might not have originally been one. I guess you can draw comparisons from things like Twin Peaks; David Lynch wanted to keep the mystery of who killed Laura Palmer unsolved indefinitely, but the network forced him to come up with a conclusion midway through season 2. Arrested Development had one of its seasons shortened, and I recall episodes from before that happening seeming to set things up that never got resolved. Could that be the explanation for the ending we got on 12 Oz. Mouse? Or could it be that it meant nothing the entire time? 

Okay, so it’s not really a hard ending. Mouse plays pinball for a lot of this episode, while a floating light speaks to him. We finally find out the true nature of Shark and Square Business man, and the Eyes, and Peanut Cop and the question woman. The finale confirms what I suspected (and half-remembered), and what most viewers paying close attention to the series should have also suspected: Cardboard City is a simulation. But when we cut out to the real world we see a big green mouse and we see his rodent friend skillet, real as this show is long. They don’t have human counterparts. They are still themselves in the real world.  It’s all the others that have human counterparts (or a different outfit in question woman’s case).

So what basically seems to happen is the people running this program decided that it was time to stop it and roughly reset everything, so the intense war our gang was in the middle of fighting  just sorta turns off, basically. Then, back in Cardboard City, mouse and his friends shake off the fact that moments ago they were fighting a war, and now they are not. The sky turns blue and cloudy. The team waltzes away, for a brand new day. The simulation is over, and a vague sense that maybe another will begin. It’s like a soft reboot, sorta symbolizing what episodic TV is supposed to be. They’re going to go do a different adventure now. Perhaps a… web adventure?

Yes, there was a webisode. Will I relegate the webisode to ephemera since it didn’t air on television? Or will I give it it’s own entry? Only time will tell (I will give it it’s own entry). The webisode was announced, and I think Matt Maiellaro was hopeful that the show would be allowed to continue in a new format. Not now, my child. Not now. So, I think he’s setting up some sort of meta contextual way to explain that the show can simply be rebooted into different configurations. Kinda like if Bugs Bunny was revealed to be in the Matrix, and it somehow explained how he could fight Yosemite Sam in medieval England, ancient Egypt, and the old west, and seem like they’re meeting for the first time every time. 

The whole DVD being cut together like a movie gives you the impression that 12 Oz. Mouse is a huge epic story that wraps up nicely, with purpose. No such luck. It really was sorta nonsense, I guess. I’m guessing Aspirin would have made another appearance in some other context in some other version of the show, and not be elaborated on. Eventually Aspirin is revealed to be a god particle, or something, just as some other weird concept is introduced to fixate on instead. It can go anywhere and everywhere man. It’s like Everyone Everywhere All Over The Place, At Once! or whatever that movie was called.

So the ending is a bit of a disappointment. I forgot that it was, honest. I only saw a few random episodes of this show before getting the DVD and watching the entire thing in one day when I was recovering from a hernia surgery and on Vicodin. I was recuperating at my parent’s house and brought a stack of DVDs from home to watch. I had just gotten Human Giant season one on DVD which had dozens of additional commentary tracks that were all hysterical. Vicodin notwithstanding, it became less-than-ideal viewing material while I was on the mend because laughing physically hurt. A LOT. This isn’t a compliment, and I’m sorry, but I switched to 12 Oz. Mouse specifically because I could capably watch it without hurting myself.

The ending feels sudden and the series feels cut-short. That’s because it was. There was a webisode coming, which was meant to kick-start a new short season. It didn’t. Years later there was a special and a third season, some of which I’ve seen. But, the show is enormously specific, and that’s a good thing. It’s obtuse and feels like a show you’re supposed to be watching at 1AM. You can get really into it, especially if you’re high. I get why people love this show. I get why this might be a show people enjoy watching over and over. I feel slightly compelled to start watching it again, even if it’s just for background noise. But the idea that it fulfilled some kind of narrative promise is a stretch. I guess I’m glad I gave it a sincere shot at trying to “get” it, and I’m slightly eager to check it out again, even, in it’s movie form.

Additionally, in its defense: many network shows with much bigger fan-bases are allowed to have overlapping serialized story-lines that sometimes go nowhere and are quietly replaced by different ones. I’ve tricked myself into thinking that 12 Oz. Mouse might be a meta-textual critique of storytelling on television; the ending can be seen as symbolic of a network stepping in and rebooting the status quo of a TV show that’s in danger of going too far up its own ass. Or, maybe 12 Oz. Mouse was only ever meant to be about the vibes, which it has in spades. Who knows. But you owe it to yourself to at the very least check out the pilot episode, “Hired’. Don’t feel too bad if you don’t feel like watching more. Don’t feel bad if you like the show but don’t feel like you “get” it. Just don’t feel bad about anything ever. Mouse would want it that way.

EPHEMERA CORNER:

[kitcatimezz]

Okay this is all very random, but I just finished Brooklyn 99 for the 2nd time this month (yes I know copoganda shit LET ME LIVE IN A SIMPLE FANTASY WORLD OF GOOD POLICE, BAD CRIMINALS, AND FOUND FAMILY OKAY) and I NEED to rant about it. I'm just gonna point out my favourite relationships in the show (not in order)

- I LOVE Jake and Holt's relationship. It's mentioned jokingly throughout the series, but Captain Holt really is the father figure Jake so desperately needed. When the series started, Jake was an immature manchild who would eat candyburritos for breakfast, be in crushing debt due to barely understanding how bills worked, and who ran on complete impulse at all times. Having gone through his parent's messy divorce, his dad being Da Worst and his mom seemingly absent, he had few people around to show him how to be... a functioning adult. And then Holt comes in. Already fully grown up to a comical degree, married, captain of a precinct, overly interested in classical music and globe collecting. Yet, he too had had his struggles, being a gay black detective in the 80's and 90's was hard, and we can see how hardened and serious it made him. Throughout the series, the two constantly put their back into helping each other out of bad situations, for no other reason but because they care about each other. Holt gives Jake advice and guidance, an example, but Jake also forces Holt to have fun, ending in Holt even cracking jokes sometimes, and also forcing him to face more emotions, like when he made the captain talk to his mom, or during fights with his husband. In the last episode, Holt tells him how he heard how Jake could deduce any case, except the one about growing up, and how, if he'd had a son that turned out the way Jake did, he would be very proud. That genuinely brought tears to my eyes...

- One of the few couples in anything life action, Jake and Amy. I won't dive too deep into it, but ahg they are the best. Sure, in the beginning it was the classic 'pulling pigtails is flirting' tactic, but even then all the teasing is genuinely friendly, like yes Jake might make fun of Amy, but it never crosses a line, and he's overall genuinely supportive and trusting of her. Even when he starts to like her while she's dating someone else, he's honest about everything without it ever making it her problem. I love how when they finally start dating, their characters don't change much. You know the trope of 'high strung woman needs to find a man to go loose'? This show says no and instead makes it that every nerdy type A thing Amy does is actually something Jake (and the others) like about her, in the same way that Jake can still be a goofball with her and still make it feel like they fit. I love how much Jake is willing to sacrifice for her, how it pushes him to grow, how they're always honest with each other, how Amy starts using Jake's catchphrases casually, how they make an effort to understand each other's interests. Their wedding was amazing, and having watched it as many times as I have, I sometimes notice them wearing identical rings, even in episodes where they're split up and don't interact, it's just casually there. I was genuinely invested in them wanting and eventually getting a kid. And then at the end, when Jake decides to be a stay at home dad to be with his ' little buddy', letting his wife now chief be their main income, sure its progressive, but it doesn't feel forced, it really fits in their arcs. It was so cute how they constantly reaffirm that they're a team together. It's just so cute bro, I want them to be my parents, please give me healthy standards for relationships!!!

- Also, Amy and Rosa are best friends!! There's one episode in the beginning where Amy tries to compete with Rosa over something, and Rosa tells her to quit it, they're the only female detectives around, they gotta have each other's backs. And they DO!! during one of the heists, Rosa joins on Amy's team and is all ready for all her dorky overpreparing, when Rosa gets impulsively married within a week, she counts on it that Amy can throw it all together in the short time. There's an episode where the two of them catch some criminal together, and it is so cooool!! And then in that last episode, how they cling glasses and say 'I'm glad I could spend my time here with you' before saying some genuine 'I love you's' in a completely platonic but such an important way. It just feels so genuine, how Amy so clearly admires Rosa's strength, and how Rosa's as tough as she is, yet still has that clear soft spot for Amy.

- Also Jake and Rosa! their episodes together are usually the best when it comes to the cases. With others, it usually centers around the relationships, but Jake and Rosa are so passionate about being detectives, the case is the core, through which they then learn some emotional lesson and connect. I love how they've been friends for years, yet it's never even considered that one could have potential romantic feeling to the other just because 'boy and girl'. They're just completely platonic and seeing them work and support each other is always amazing. I loved how supportive Jake was of her when she was coming out, how they're always super supportive of each other. And then in the last season when Rosa leaves the police to become a PI to investigate police brutality, while jake himself was still with the police. I loved how they handled the conflict between the two, while still remaining friends in the end.

- Also, Rosa and Charles! In the beginning, it was the lame 'guy pining after girl out of his league trope', and I remember watching it the first time and rolling my eyes at it. But then, Charles actually gets over it, and they become genuine friends. Like, they get genuinely close and casually laugh together and support each other and all that. I love how Rosa asked him as a bridesmaid that one time, and whenever Charles calls her 'RoRo'

- Also, Holt and Amy's! Yes Holt is a father figure to Jake, but he's something similar to Amy. At the start, Amy is completely desperate for any kind of validation from an authorised person, and she often tries too hard to please, they sometimes felt a bit one-sided. But over time she grows less insecure and at the end is able to casually have an argument with someone she seemingly worshipped in the beginning. I like how Holt often acknowledges that he intends to mentor her, how he's the first to see her dream of becoming Captain and is all ready to lead her to that, and how much she looks up to him.

- What else can I say, uh... Jake and Charles! I love how much Charles cares about Jake (sometimes a bit too much maybe) and you see Jake being a bit uncomfortable with this at times. And sometimes it seems to be kinda one sided, but then the next the two of them talk it out and we see how much Jake genuinely cares about his friendship with Charles, and it seems that he just has a harder time with casual affection like that.

- Also in the last season, Holt and Kevin!! I'd been waiting and anticipating a Vowel Renewal since that one episode, but I didn't expect a full season long arc of a failing marriage being picked up again because even though things are hard they love each other!! And then Amy and Rosa bringing them back together in the rain!! Holt being ready to give up his job, only for Kevin to say he never wanted him to sacrifice that much, how they're so willing to give for each other. It was so gooooodd!!

- Oh oh!! And PB and J! Pontiac Bandit, aka Doug Judy, and Jake!! The cop and the criminal who promises to help catch another criminal before going to jail, only to slip away himself in the last moment. Their friendship is so good and I understand its a one episode a season deal but Damn those episodes are always in the top and I wish we had more. And then how they ended it, how Jake 'accidentally' gave him a way out of prison after finally catching him.. I died bro. So cute.

All in all, love this show. Watched it at least 10 times. Will watch for another 30 or so!!

[d3nt4l-d4m4g3]

A few days ago, I emailed my former professor about a paper on women’s food practices in the middle ages. At least, that’s what I told him it was about, initially. 

But actually, I wanted to discuss heresy. This professor teaches a women’s rights course every year. Every year at the beginning of the class, he calls attention to why he, a man, is talking about women’s rights. He looks us in the eyes and says, no one else is doing it, and I’m sorry it’s me.

This man made us read the SCUM manifesto, Gerda Lerner, Maria Mies. He grazed the subject of the Lesbian Sex Wars, delicately, so gingerly, posing the question: “Can sex work ever be just work?”  And my  (all woman) classmates, generally mute—in a Women’s Rights class, they all seemed averse to saying the word “woman,” at all. Then one woman raised her hand. and she said, “Sex work is real work.”  A statement that, as I hope you know, is a deflection and a discussion killer.  

At the time I was non-binary. Hah. I submitted a comic at the end of the year of my final project. My thesis for that project was this: the very language female people have to use for themselves was constructed by the patriarchy. for example, the english word “vagina” comes from the latin word for “sheath”. so the vagina invokes the act of penetration upon its utterance. Whereas the word “penis” has no clear etymological root, implying that it is original while the vagina is constructed for him. Why should I carry the fact that I will always be a tool, the hole, of the human that is man? My solution, at the end of the comic, was to continue using they/them pronouns, to shield myself from the horror of being a wo-man, a s-he—an appendage of Him. 

I got a good grade. A stellar report. And it wasn’t a bad comic, for what I knew then. For my condition of blindness and deafness. I made a compelling argument, using sources from class.  But oh, how much older I feel now. I’ve always felt old but now I feel almost like I’m dying. Like I don’t have enough time to fix the world before I disappear. And women’s stories never survive. They are not surviving. networks spring up like mycelium and then every century at least they are burned. Witchcraft is in the air shared by women in a room of their own, and witchcraft is doused in gasoline.

I don’t have enough time to explain how the veil lifted for me. Maybe I forget the big moment. the days after were a blur of searching the no-no tags like radical feminist, GNC, gender critical. Amazed at the wealth of journals that these women linked to with real statistics showing that children are being sterilized for no reason. Mostly gay children. like me, a lesbian, who now lives in a house with three  “non-binary afabs”. This summer, one of these women, who I have known since freshman year, will start taking testosterone, a procedure I took up  for three turbulent months during my freshman year of college. I get to watch her become what I turned away from, knowing the experience fractured my sense of self to a point of  terror and estrangement. I get to watch her hide from her problems and cut herself off from womanhood the way I did for 3 years. I am not a woman, so do I not feel Woman’s pain, she is telling me, I told myself, when I was in a dream.  She has so many problems, she laughs. But trans is a separate problem that has nothing to do with those other problems. A coincidence.

 (For any trans people reading this, you may think: This transtrender fake-trans never-was-trans woman is treating these nonbinary people as if they were dead! as if they weren’t happy people finally living their truth! —well. I put my mom through the process of trying to convince her that I should have always been a man. and I did lose her, for months. For her it was the height of cognitive dissonance that I should want to go on a life-altering hormone to cure my lifelong social awkwardness and self-hatred and self-harm and depression. And I blamed her for not accepting my real self. I was basically made to shun her and my family because of transphobia.. It is disrespectful to anyone’s sanity and integrity for me to perpetuate that cognitive dissonance in this post.)

So I eventually got through to the professor. I knew because of the texts he had us to read for class. He is gay.  He has read all the theory, and lives by it.  And no (woman) student wants to speak to him. To bring the theory alive. They cannot breathe into it and it sits dead in his mouth.

Maybe it is because he is a man. because the presence of one man in a space of all women immediately sends up alerts.  lockdown. Certainly that is the case. Radical Feminists here: I know he’s a man. But I don’t have a woman. And I felt on the strength of the texts he’d given us that he would be my best bet. Maybe somewhere in the corrupted, rotting heart of my college there was a person who knew about thoughtcrimes and was thinking them anyway.

My professor starts with diversion. He starts by talking about my paper. I find it disconcerting that he starts that way. I worry that he won’t want to refer to my email. Where I say: I have woken up from a dream to the apocalypse—Does this man think I’m crazy? Chipper and kind of frantically, he lists off  primary sources of medieval nuns and women saints. for my paper.  Does this man think I’ve turned into a bigot?  Am I confessing lunacy, like a flat-earther?

But I steer the conversation to the meat at his first tentative encouragement. I tell him something like: “children, mostly gay children, a whole generation of gay children, are being sterilized. Porn is a symptom of late-stage capitalism—men’s ownership of women’s bodies. trans is an extension of this. I was part of this. I was in a cult.” I was shaking a bit. I don’t think I’d uttered those words out loud. They sound crazy. Some of the things I said did sound far-fetched. disorganized, remote. But I prayed that my professor would believe some of it, any of it. 

 What I will say is that he believes me.  Thank fuck, right?

He tells me something along the lines of this, vocalizing my fears: 

that all of academia is being scrubbed of anything that doesn’t support Trans.

And it is trans-identified female students and women who are reporting him to Title IX, who spend all their time in his classes fuming at the lack of validation for trans women in the  history of women. My sisters, footsoldiers for the cause. What cruel irony. This man is holding onto this class by his fingernails, speaking through his teeth, hoping any of the twenty young adult women staring blankly or angrily at him will hear him and listen.

 Looking back, the professor’s responses to my emails are vague, completely refusing to acknowledge a point of view other than “WOW. I look forward to discussing this.”  I think he thinks he could be blackmailed. Anything he says on gmail dot com can and would be used against him. It’s like, really, really, really that bad. 

No ideology should involve a cultural cleaning of women’s history feat. witch hunts. 

I will end here with an excerpt from my first email to this professor:

I'm sure you know what a total bummer it is to realize this. 

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   — �� VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

    (   PREVIOUS   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST  |   NEXT  )

“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[neon-junkie]

MORE panty snatching shenanigans! its your turn to do laundry so you go to strip the beds— including pillow cases. you end up finding your panties tucked away into the crevice between the mattress and surface it rests on and stashed in their pillow cases. its not an obnoxious number, but you could tell they were underwear you had just thrown into the dirty hamper the previous day— each one had a freshly dirty pair for themselves. how the hell do you move on from tjat?? just put the bedding back on and leave it alone? how would they even react when they get back to the ship to stripped bed. they know you saw them, there’s no way you didn’t. now you have five sheepish men (that includes cross) who don’t know how to approach you or look you in the face. you pretend to not have seen anything, go on like nothing happened just to see them squirm but also how the hell do you approach a situation where you catch five extremely handsome men stealing your panties, panties you wore the night prior when you touched yourself to the thought of them, and then slipped them back on when you were done…. 😳🥴

Part 1 is here.

I think Echo is the only person who wouldn't get caught. He partakes in pantie snatching shenanigans, but he constantly feels so guilty about it, so much to the point that he physically cannot forget to return them. But you've just caught four of the five men doing it, and given Echo's panicked expression when he returns to find that you've changed his bedding, despite not finding anything, you assume that he's just as guilty as the rest.

The men are silent. They know. You know. They know you know. You know they know. Tension is so thick in the air that you could slice through it with a knife and eat it up for dinner. What the kriff do they do now? Are you going to mention it? Should they mention it?

It doesn't really bother you, if anything, you have the opposite reaction; you're glad that they see you in that way, considering you touch yourself to the thought of them every night. If anything, they deserve to enjoy your panties, since you're often cumming in them to the thought of these men.

You're uncertain how to move forward that you leave it, at first. Your panties stop going missing, and suddenly your underwear draw is overflowing. Ugh. You want things to return to previous ways, so you chalk up a plan to encourage them to use them again.

Minor adjustments are made to your wardrobe. You begin to wear tighter fitting clothes, ensuring that your pantie line is visibly pressed against your ass beneath the clothing. Sometimes you wear a thong, and settle the bands over your hips, peeking out from beneath your pants, as if to remind them that you're wearing underwear today.

You bend over more often. Tech is the perfect victim for your crime; he's always dropping tools whenever he's working away, and that's your opportunity to flaunt what you have whilst 'helping him.' Tech doesn't notice at first, not until you're shoving the tool back into his hand, and he jumps at your sudden appearance, dropping another tool yet again.

"Careful, Tech," you tut as you pick the tool up. "If you treat your tools carelessly, then that makes me question how you'd treat a woman." Tech is attempting to stutter a reply as you smile and walk off, leaving him with a hazy mind.

Crosshair is another victim to your bending over shenanigans. It's part of his routine to clean his rifle, and you're lucky one day, lucky in the sense that you overhear Crosshair grumbling to himself because he's just sat down and forgot something from his kit. You offer to retrieve it, and Crosshair watches hungrily as you band over and begin rummaging through the box, taking your time to retrieve said item.

"For you, Sir," you playfully announce as you hand over the missing item, and Crosshair accidentally drops the toothpick from between his lips at your bold name. You're gone before he can even think of a reply, and he makes a mental note to get you back for it.

You ask the boys if any of them want to come clothes shopping with you. Wrecker says yes, and you enjoy dragging him through the underwear isle specifically, asking for his opinion on every single frilly, lacy, bright pair of undies that you pick out. He tells you that they all look "nice," and the poor man looks like he's about to pass out at any given moment.

Hunter is a hard one to catch slipping, so you create an opportunity to rile him up. Whilst he's alone, you strike up a conversation, and eventually ask, "have you ever misused that knife of yours?"

"What do you mean?" Hunter quirks a brow.

"Oh, I dunno.... Used it during sex, maybe to help undress someone? Cut off their panties, maybe?" you shrug. Hunter can't even attempt to string together a reply, too flustered at those thoughts that you've put into his head. "I'll take that as a no," you laugh, and as you begin to walk off, you turn over your shoulder and state, "let me know if you ever want to practise."

Echo has managed to act the most normal around you. He always politely averts his gaze whenever you're flaunting yourself in front of the boys, and you can't deny that his politeness isn't winding you up, just a little. One day, Echo's going through his usual routine of oiling his joints, a task that you sometimes help him with. You offer a hand, as always, and he accepts it.

Usually, you'll work on his legs whilst he works on his arm, but since he's already started, he decided to do his arm first. You settle between Echo's thighs, looking up at him innocently as you begin working on his legs. Echo has nothing to distract himself, and struggles to keep eye contact as you slowly work the oil into each crevice, slicking the mechanical compartments up. All colour that Echo had managed to gain drains from his complexion, and once you've finished and left, he has to remain seated for a while, concerned that he's going to pass out.

Your shenanigans have been going on for a few weeks, and you decide that it's time to finally inform them that you know.

"I'm going to bed," you announce one evening. The Batch say goodnight, and you find your way into your room, quickly stripping off and changing into pyjamas. "Oh," you sigh as you exit your room, turning to face them. "I don't know whos turn it is tonight. You can fight amongst yourselves," you say with a smirk, and toss todays pair of panties at them.

"Goodnight!" you sweetly smile once your panties land within their crowd. You don't linger around, you've seen more than enough of their ghost-white expressions as they figure out what's happening between them. You enter your room, the door shutting behind you, and grin to yourself as you get into bed.

The Batch is frozen. Every single one of them has their own shocked and embarrassed expression plastered across their face, unable to move, until Echo finally breaks the tension by letting out a cough (he forgot to breathe.) They decide to speak about things, and two questions swiftly rise up in conversation:

1. You're clearly aware of what's going on, so how should they approach the matter?

2. Who gets your panties for tonight?

---

Part 3 is here.

[universitypenguin]

Steve Rogers - Sex Headcanon

Warnings: Smut, Light bondage, NSFW, 18+

Word Count: Too long, as usual.

First of all, Steve Rogers loves sex. 

He’s a bit touch starved after waiting for the right woman, but when he finds you and things move into the physical affection stage, he’s all over you.

During sex, Steve loves that he can pick you up with little effort

He likes doing it against the wall

Standing, almost any position

Likes that he can hold your hips still even when you start to squirm when he hits the right spots

In general, holding onto your hips, your butt, and even when he gets to curl his hands around to grasp your inner thighs, Steve is thrilled. Captain America is an ass man.

He loves your legs too, though.

Likes to pin you down for prone bone.

He hates to admit how much using his strength against you turns him on.

But you love it too and when he realizes that you like the same positions he does, it gets more intense.

Like, he’ll pick you up while he’s standing and lift you to his shoulders, draping your legs over his shoulders to eat you out.

When Steve learns that you not only can orgasm multiple times, but that you enjoy it, he starts to let go a bit more.

At first he was careful in bed. He kept things slow and gentle, not being entirely sure of his strength. But once he gets comfortable…

He goes feral

It starts when you ask him to tie you up. The idea is only familiar to him from Tony and Thor’s jokes about 50 Shades of Gray.

Steve hates 50 Shades of Gray. He thinks Christian is an ass who doesn’t respect women.

But back to the topic: bondage. He’s willing to hear you out about why you want that. And eventually, he says yes.

The conversation about bondage goes like this:

You’ve never done bondage before. Despite having several past relationships and experiences, you’ve never trusted a man like that. Erotica tastes aside, reality is a beast of its own.

And without the feeling of complete safety that Steve Rogers inspires in your heart, you won’t have even brought it up.

But you trust him without reservations.

The idea of bondage for you is totally psychological. To have your hands restrained and be blind folded takes the pressure off of you. Sometimes your mind starts going during sex and it ruins your enjoyment.

It’s not like you’re thinking about the groceries or anything, just that you start planning your next move. Should you kiss him now, or do you need to moan louder? Does your moaning sound like a dying cat? Maybe you should keep it down.

So the blind fold is important.

And you don’t want to be able to move because you’d try to plan that too. Sometimes you put a lot of pressure on situations to be perfect. Perfect because you made it perfect, you mean. Your expectations are of yourself.

This is one reason you hate not being able to achieve orgasm. That matters to Steve a lot and he always but your pleasure first. The man is selfless and sweet. And when your mind decides to shut down the orgasm buttons, you hate disappointing him.

Steve is sold on the idea of bondage once he understands that it’s only an option because you feel safe with him. And he likes being the only person you’d trust to be this vulnerable with. All the 50 Shades objections vanish for him once you explain that part.

When you tell him that your struggles orgasming sometimes are from your own pressures to be good in bed, he gets it.

He loves that about you, your desire to please him and make things good. It motivates him to accept the offer of bondage.

Because it makes perfect sense that being forced to be the recipient and having control stripped away would fix that for you.

Steve says that you’ll have to let him make the plan. Which is *so* Steve Rogers it’s almost funny.

On a random Tuesday you get dinner with a friend and come home late. The lights are off which is weird because you expected Steve to be home. When you step inside you call out for him but no reply. Kicking off your shoes you wander to the kitchen and when you reach for the light switch, a hand grabs your wrist.

You give a small scream as a body presses you into the wall. Then you recognize the feel and the scent of his aftershave.

Steve has you pinned to the wall, wrists on either side of your head, feet spread apart and his big body caging you in.

It’s happening. It’s so happening. And you feel thrilled and scared and outrageously excited.

He’s excited too, you can feel it pressing into your back. The man’s been planning and fantasizing, clearly.

“Do you still want this, honey?”

His first words to you are the reason that you want this. It warms your heart at the same time your panties are growing wet.

“Yes, Steve. So much. Please.”

He rolls his hips, pressing his body against you and you can’t control the moan that passes your lips.

“Red means we stop. Yellow is slow down. If I’m going to do something that I think you need to consent to, I’ll ask ‘is this okay?’ and you’re going to say “Green” if you want it. Understand?

“Pick a safe word, doll.”

Eagle is your safe word. Your mind just liked the whole patriotic motif, you supposed.

Once the ground rules are laid out, Steve turns you around and with a tap on the curve of your ass, signals you to jump up.

With your legs around his waist and arms curled around his neck, he carried you upstairs to the bed.

Blindfold goes on first. Then cuffs that are lined with something soft that feels like shearling.

You know without asking that he picked them because he thought handcuffs would be too aggressive. Again, your heart flips.

“I’m going to push you, baby. I want you to wring every bit of enjoyment you can out of this. I’m going to make you come hard. You with me on that?”

You’re with him. You’ve waited a long time to try this.

“I have a plan for aftercare too,” he says.

And that’s your first hint that he’s about to go feral on you like he sometimes does when he’s keyed up from a mission.

Steve Rogers has freaking stamina for days. The man could kill you with sex if he wanted to.

(His sex drive is high… all that waiting for the right girl makes a man horny)

He undoes the halter tie of your dress and pull it down, slipping it over your legs.

He uses his mouth first. And it’s frustrating that he left your panties on. 

(The outfit was something he’d suggested. You’d thought he just liked the sundress and had been complimented when he’d said you’d look great in it today. Now it was clear he’d been planning all day. Probably longer.)

He’s been planning since the night you told him two weeks ago. Before the conversation was even over. You felt safe enough with him to ask for such a private and vulnerable fantasy and that turned him on in a mental way he can’t even explain.

So he starts by teasing you.

He kisses your mouth, slow and sensual. His tongue flicks against yours but never quite for as long as you’d like. And he knows how you like it by this point in the relationship. So you’re well aware he’s teasing you.

His mouth begins to wander to your neck and he laps at the sensitive spot. Your thighs clench in response. You’re soaked now, so wet it’s a little bit embarrassing.

He finally finds your breast with his mouth, taking an aching bud in his mouth and drawing on it. Softly. Gently. Lapping and teasing without the friction you needed to enjoy it.

Your breath came in pants now and you spread your legs to open yourself to encourage him to continue. Because there’s somewhere else that really needs attention.

Instead he turns to the other breast and gives it the same attention. Slower. And softer. Stroking with his tongue until your nipple was painfully tight.

His hand trailed up to cup the breast he wasn’t sucking on. The pad of his thumb made teasing circles and you moaned, arching your back into his mouth.

He chuckled and released the aching bud with a pop. Fingertips swirled the nipple he’d just abandoned, coating it with his saliva. He pinch it just right and your hips jerked.

Arousal was a living breathing thing inside your body now, clawing at your lower belly, turning breath into unsteady pants.

“How are you doing, baby?”

The bastard knew you were dying. Sweat was starting to burst from your pores. Your entire body was hot with need.

“Please, Steve…”

“Mmmhh? What do you need, doll?”

“I need your to touch me.”

“Where?”

“My pussy. I’m so wet for you, please touch me. Get inside of me.”

He purred. This was the moment you realized that you’d created a monster. Because he was getting off on the power play.

(This wasn’t actually when the monster was officially created. No, that would be later when you were done and he got to see your dazed face and tear filled eyes from the magnitude of what he’d drawn your body.)

He let go of the nipple and flattened his palm on your ribs, sliding it down inch by inch until he paused on your low belly.

He toyed with the band of your panties.

“You’re wet for me? Does this needy pussy want my fingers or my mouth?”

“Both!!”

He laughed again. But he went ahead, so it was worth it.

And heaven help you, there were fireworks. The bondage was working wonders for your mental need to be out of control. But Steve took it higher when he forced your legs wide and pinned them to the mattress.

And while spin class workouts did amazing things for your thighs, nothing topped super soldier strength. You were stuck. Legs pushed flat to the bed, hands cuffed to the head board and nothing stopping the extremity turned on man with his head between your legs.

He lied about giving your his mouth and fingers. At first he only used his mouth on your clit, licking around it, touching the tip of his tongue over it in slow flicks, then finally, finally, sucking.

Your body seized at the shock of pleasure, white hot and raw jerking through nerve endings frayed from lack of fulfillment.

He knew what pitch he needed to hear you moan at before he added his fingers.

He knew it because Steve Rogers is a man who studies all the angles of a situation and knows his enemy. Or in this case, knows his lover.

He rubs at your G-spot with the pad of his finger and you scream.

Your head falls back on the pillow and tears start to flow because it’s not enough.

“More, oh, please. Steve, I need-“

He growls. “I know what you need, babydoll. And I’ll give it to you when you’re a good girl and you hold back that orgasm for me. I don’t want you to come yet. Don’t you dare come. If you do I’m going to have to take you over my knee.”

Just the idea of him spanking you almost makes you lose it.

He backs off the intensity. And you start to sob from the brutal frustration of being taken so high and left without release.

His name begins to fall from your lips like a litany, as you start to beg.

“Steve! Please, I want to come!”

“Not yet. Hold back. You be my good girl and hold back. I don’t want to spank that sweet behind until it’s red, but I’ll do it.”

Your scream is gargled by a wave of pleasure that makes your whole body roll as it rips through you from head to toe.

“Let me come, damn it!”

Smack. He’s light and there’s a sting on your right inner thigh.

“Hold. It. Back!”

Screams become sobs. You can’t hold still. You’re fighting the restraints and trying to move but he’s not allowing it. All you can do is clench around his fingers and cry.

“Come for me, baby.”

Release floods you in a second when he gives permission.

The cord of tension snaps. Your muscles lock. The scream you felt building is nowhere to be found. Your voice disappears in the violence of the orgasm. It’s totally silent as your body takes control.

Your channel clamps down around his fingers. The orgasm pulses through your body like being set on fire.

Then you scream. And the muscles that had gone stiff suddenly quiver with release.

If Steve hadn’t held you down through it you’d have been snapping your hips and arching into the sensations, away from them.

He keeps going, pushing you through it until the orgasm is finished.

Then you cry.

Honestly crying, because of the intensity of the release.

You’d expected to get off. You hadn’t guessed that you would get obliterated by the world’s most intense orgasm.

Steve immediately crawls up and takes off the blind fold.

“It’s okay, doll. I’m here. You’re okay, you’re safe. Hold on to me.”

You move, trying to reciprocate when his arms go around you, but they’re still cuffed.

This makes you cry harder.

Steve rips them open, letting you free.

And then you’re in his arms and you can cry properly.

He rolls over with you in his arms, one arm tight around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head.

What shocks you is that he’s not nervous, apologizing, or asking if you’re hurt. He’s petting you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

“It’s okay, baby. Let it out. I’m right here, not goin’ anywhere. Hold on to me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

The warm hand moving over your back is a delicious comfort. Almost as good as being held to the strong chest by arms thicker than most people’s legs.

When the storm of emotions passes, you blink up as Steve, a bit confused.

His smile is gentle and his eyes are filled with warmth.

“I did my research. You came down from that hard, didn’t you?”

Your answering “yeah,” is slurred.

He kisses your forehead. If you weren’t already boneless from your release, that would have finished you off.

“You were such a good girl for me. I can’t wait to do this again.”

With a tired smile you arch an eyebrow.

“But we can’t be done. I haven’t had you inside of me yet, soldier.”

Steve’s eyes go wide at the remark and you smirk.

“I still need you to fuck me, baby. I need to feel you finish on top of me and collapse into my arms. Please.”

You said please. And if he didn’t get assist a lady who needed his help, what kind of a hero was he?