#i have a lot of avengers but I like a lot of avengers

[notanactressyayy]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭. | natasha romanoff

. ݁₊ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 . Natasha and you were the only 'constant' in each other's lives. poor you, to think you could get over her so easily.

. ݁₊ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 . smut! i am not responsible for your content consumption! — making out, g!p Natasha, guided masturbation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (p in v), choking, swearing, homesickness, fluff, reconciliation.

. ݁₊ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 . english isn't my first language (🇧🇷) so i apologize for any spelling errors. been in love w Nat for a damn long time — i've been away for a while, but turns out i can't really live without her. i miss my red so much :(

Natasha Romanoff rarely had the chance to see the same face twice. She saw a lot of people throughout her life — as a spy, as a superhero, or simply as Natasha. The thing is: it was unlike she would return to a place she’s been before. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be on the run. Thus, she traveled around the whole world, and saw thousands, millions of different faces. Destiny made sure not to let her cross paths with the same individual again. It wasn’t only the diversity of people that she witnessed, though. This woman saw the world. She knew life’s ups and downs, and at some point in her life, she just got used to the idea that it would forever be like this: boring. Boring experiences, boring women, boring men, boring relationships. Nothing was ever exciting, thrilling. It felt like she was advanced in time, and the rest of the world wasn’t following her. This wasn’t a complete lie, she got her maturity at a very young age, which made her pay the price now, in adulthood. 

For a spy, the most important thing is to learn not to be caught off guard. But it seemed like life was never on Natasha’s side. And this time — it felt good. Oh, it felt so good. 

At first, she didn’t want to get high hopes. It would be just another temporary friendship to help her pass time, nothing more. However, you managed to surprise the red haired Avenger in the best way possible. When she decided to spare a little time of her life and get to know you more, it was really mind-blowing the side of herself she discovered. She never thought she could actually be.. giddy. Like a silly, hopeless romantic girl. That is what she became whenever it was time to see you. She got excited. Actually excited. She couldn’t see through you, read your emotions or body language, like she did with other people; It was a natural thing, sometimes she didn’t even mean to do that. But you, something within you, kept her at bay. Like you effortlessly turned Natasha into a normal woman. Somebody who could love. Somebody that wasn’t raised and enhanced to be a killer. Not that you went through anything like she did, but you weren’t naive. You showed her that people didn’t necessarily have to be traumatized to be aware of things, of reality, of the surroundings. And for her, you’re the most beautiful person in the whole world. Inside and out. She adored you. 

Opening up was never easy. Revealing the broken parts of herself wasn’t like having a simple chat. But patience is a virtue and thankfully, you followed that say just fine. Little by little, the secrets came out. Most of the parts you already knew — it’s not like she wasn’t a worldwide known superhero. What you mostly had to acknowledge were her feelings, the point of view of the little girl who was experiencing it all, and becoming a strong woman, with built up walls around her heart. Doing that was no problem. Natasha couldn’t be more thankful. 

She couldn’t be more infatuated. More in love.

She’d always remember that one day: in the bar with her team, and you — chattery, music, tons of drinks and laughter. Stolen glances. Stomach butterflies, wild. The moment Clint pulled Laura a little closer to himself, and Tony kissed Pepper’s cheek. How she used that as an excuse to pull you into her lap. Your breath getting labored. Eyelashes gently fluttering, to the point she could count them. Your gentle yet tight grip on her shoulders. Your goddamn eyes staring right into hers. And the part where everything would change: her own bodily reactions to all those little details about you. When you restlessly shifted on her lap, quietly gasping when something poked you through your dress. Eyes going wide at the bulge showing on her black jeans. 

From that point on, you belonged to her.

Or so, she thought.

The sex was great, but she was in conflict — she couldn't tell if the only reason for it to be that enjoyable was because you were both tipsy, almost drunk, or if it was really meant to be that way. It felt right, yes, to have you in her arms like this — naked, piles of discarded clothes laying by her bed.. the sound of your quiet snoring as you cuddled into her. It was also a relief to her. To have someone care for her, desire her, after so long, after forever. The night had been amazing. She was a mature woman anyway, wasn't she? She could sort her feelings out without messing up everything.

Wrong. By the morning, everything would change.

You stared at her as she got up and got dressed again, eyes still a little blurry from sleep, eyebrows ceasing into a small confused frown. "You're not staying?" you'd ask, sitting up and leaning against the headboard, bringing up the sheets to cover your unclothed body. "Ugh, my head hurts like hell,"

"Got things to do." she simply answered, cradling the side of your face and kissing your forehead. You could swear the look on her face was.. apologetic. She tilted her head towards the nightstand, where some aspirin and water waited for you. "Take these. I'll text you later."

"Okay.." you mumble, disoriented. As she leaves, you reach out, shoving the aspirin in your mouth and downing the pills with water. Was there something you were missing? Because all you could remember was how good her hands felt on you, the way they wrapped around you neck while she—

You shook your head, lying down again, and closing her eyes. All the fun and pleasure you had been given from the previous night was slowly vanishing and being replaced by a feeling of uncertainty and confusion. Natasha was an enigmatic person, okay, but you thought you knew her better. She had no reason to leave you just like that, especially when she had already vented about all her past experiences, flaws and failures. Nah, it was probably nothing, you were overthinking. Perhaps she indeed had something important to take care of. You closed your eyes as fatigue took over, and slept for a little bit more.

Natasha went back to her apartment — one of her apartments, and for the whole day, her thoughts ran like crazy. Her emotions were all over the place. She had just fucked her best friend, the one person she felt comfortable and at ease with. She considered her feelings carefully; this.. dinamic, between you two, had not been platonic for a considerable amount of time. But not being platonic doens't necessarily means being romantic. It could either be love, or lust. What happened the day before was carnal, once the two of you were way too much in a drunken haze to actually feel anything.

And, like always, Natasha didn't want to think about falling in love. She felt scared just by thinking about this. It was a new territory, one she wasn't willing to deep dive in. So she took her phone and deeply sighed, opening her chat with you.

"Yesterday was fun. But I need some time. I don't think this can work. Hope you're doing okay. xx"

That text just completely shattered you.

You had no idea what you did wrong. It was not like Natasha was pushing you away forever — but while being with her, the only thought running through your mind was: I wanna be with her. I wanna explore this with her. And Natasha didn't give a single sign that she thought the opposite. You felt... disappointed. With yourself and her. For hoping.

Yeah, getting involved with an ex kgb Avenger killer spy probably wasn't the best idea.

You wouldn't simply forget everything you shared together, so the easiest way here not to create a big tension was.. being fake. The two of you weren't stupid, you were aware of the unspoken feelings going on. But what happened that night should not happen again. So your friendship was what prevailed. A friendship like the start. But obviously, with a few changes. Natasha and you didn't lose touch — on the contrary, you were closer than ever. You spoke and flirted (a lot), but with one small rule, a rule that you subconsciously added to this.. situationship. No feelings involved. It would be singularly that. Friends, some casual hookups, and nothing else.

It didn't last, because that's not what you both wished, longed for.

Little by little, this turned boring again. Not that you were the boring one and she just didn't realize this before. Far from that. The thing was: Natasha and you were supressing your feelings, consequently, supressing all the thrill, the delicious tension that hanged in the air whenever she, once again, crossed paths with you. The russian wanted nothing more than just grab you and kiss you hard, pour all the emotions that she kept bottled up throughout her life into the kiss. But unfortunately, she couldn't. She had a duty to fullfil, as someone born, destined to save the world.

And with all of this, you and her settled a distance. You with your previous and trivial life, and her, saving little girls from bad guys, and bringing down cats from tall trees. It was truly shocking: one day, you lived for Natasha Romanoff. She was your everything and everything you'd ever want. In a blink of an eye, it ended. You followed your paths, like two completely different people, with different purposes.

Right person, wrong time.

Fool her, to think she could get over you that easily. Poor you, to try and put that inside of your head as well.

Sometimes, when normally doing daily tasks, you would catch yourself thinking about her — when you were going to watch TV and put your legs on the coffee table, instead of simply sitting. It was an habit of hers. Or when eating something with peanut butter. It was her favourite late night snack. When it rained. She liked to watch the rain. With somebody else's hands on you. It wasn't right. It was never right to have somebody else touch you. You were constantly thinking about your life before things with her changed — the memories brought comfort, a sense of nostalgia.. at some point, you weren't living in the present anymore. Just faking. Faking your feelings. Pretending it was okay to let her go.

This woman ruined you for everything and everyone else.

Natasha could relate to that. In a life that could be resumed in one word: a 'whirlwind' of a life, and you were her only 'constant' among all of this... she couldn't bear this anymore.

So she made an important decision.

The decision was today.

Today: she'd take you out again, praying that, if not reconciliation, she wanted at least to say everything she had to say. Because if life taught her one thing, was to make choices that she wouldn't regret in the future. And it was damn right she would regret choosing not to meet you tonight.

Sitting in the stool of the bar, in a more secluded corned, her eyes followed your figure as you approached — purse hanging on your shoulder, dress exposing your back and a little bit of your waist, eyes so awfully soft and gentle as you looked at her. It wasn't fair. A pang of guilt hit her hard. Oh, she regretted letting that go. She wanted you to be mad at her. But you were not. She shakily rises to her feet to kiss your cheek as you stand in front of her, thankfully not stumbling. Your eyes lock again, already in a trance. Just like that other day.

"How are you doing?" you ask. Natasha could cry. She missed that voice everyday. "Did I take too long? I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't worry." she swallows hard. You both sit on the stools by the countertop. When the bartender comes, the redhead dismisses him. She wanted the two of you sober for this. "I'm... so much better now that you're here, honestly. How about you?"

"Amazing." you chuckle, tilting your head to the side and watching her. She didn't change a bit. Hair braided, black jeans, leather jacket. That was your Natasha. "I didn't expect you calling me here, to be honest..—"

"Me neither." she admits, in a whisper. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, eyes involuntarily starting at your mouth. She sighs and looks into your eyes. "But I had to... I can't get you off my mind."

Her sincerity never fails to amaze you. With each second that passes, the butterflies in your tummy return, to remind you of the past — feelings and sensations resurfacing. You bite on your bottom lip and look around the bar, quickly scanning to see if there was anybody paying attention to the two of you. Maybe a few eyes here and there, which didn't linger. Everyone else was too busy minding their own business — and it's not like you'd care if someone was staring anyway. Natasha turned some heads. You felt greedy for that. You were the one having her. The only one having her.

"You live in my head rent free, Natasha." you tell her, voice having a sultry edge to it. You slowly stand, walking closer.

You take her hands and open her arms — making it possible for you to straddle her thigh. She tenses almost immediately. Her head tilts up to stare into your eyes, arms circling your waist to keep you close, where she wanted. You shake your head when you see a small frown between her eyebrows — lips pressing against that small spot, coaxing a little exhale of hers. She missed you. Everyday. Every minute. She wanted that respect and care all the time.

"What are we even doing here?" she whispers, so quietly you almost can't hear it. Her hands cup your waist and gently roam up and down your sides, palms brushing against your bare skin every now and then, all thanks to the waist slits of your dress. Your face leans closer to hers, noses bumping — the smallest of touches, making you both crave what you once had. "Why didn't I just invite you to my place right away?"

"I don't know. Why didn't you?" you raise one eyebrow, fingertips caressing her jawline. Her hands give your waist a squeeze — and you almost moan. She swore she could hear it. It replayed in her head, the beautiful sounds you made for her. She wanted to hear them again. She was going to make you sound like that again.

It wasn't just a physical thing — your body and mind craved her touch, her presence, so much that just the mere thought of being on her bed again got you soaked. She felt something wet through the rough fabric of her jeans, and that got her brain spinning. She fell for you hard. So painfully hard.

"Let's get out of here," she groans, hands firmly grabbing your thighs and lifting you up — wrapping your legs around her waist and carrying you out the pavement. Her hardness pressed right against your core — you blushed, hiding your face on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her neck.

In a heartbeat, you were back at your house.

Your place, because it was the fastest way, when taking the cab. No words were exchanged, not yet. The aching, burning need had to be taken care of first — before properly talking. Your back hits the wall hard as Natasha pushes you against it — her body trapping you between herself and the hard surface — hands hardly, possessively holding you by the hips. Desperately, even. Making sure you wouldn't slip away from her grasp. Her lips dance with yours, tentatively, yet naturally, tongues tasting one another after what felt like centuries. She felt so good, tasted so good.

"Nat..—" you moan against her lips, having her bottom lip trapped between your teeth, then releasing it. Your forehead against hers, eyes soft and filled with desire. Your hands hold her cheeks, traveling to her jaw. Needily, you press kisses to the side of her throat, breathing shaky, heart hardly thrumming. "I never stopped thinking about you..."

"Yeah?" she hums, grabbing the hem of your dress and lifting it up, bunching the fabric by your hips. Her fingers hook around the elastic of your panties and pull them down, pooling around your feet — making you gasp, and pull away from her neck. Eyes wide open. The air hits your heat, making you needier for her.

You almost mewl.

"God, I need you." Natasha utters. She grabs you again and smashes her lips against yours once more, now with so much more passion, more need, more anxiety. Her bulge presses against your now unclothed wetness, coaxing a tiny cry of need out of you. You breathlessly pull away from her, reaching down and fumbling with the buttons of her jeans — until she stops you.

"No—"

"Quiet." she shushes, maneuvering you back, until your body hits the mattress. She climbs onto the bed and stays in a kneeling position, hungrily taking you in. Messy, needy, all for her. Sober, like she wanted planned from the first time. "That dress goes off."

Her voice is commanding, yet not harsh — and her eyes betray her a little. Her eyes are almost pleading, that it is clear how much she needs this. To have you all to herself, to show you how much she wants that. Her underwear becomes even more tight as she sees your trembling fingers, pulling the dress over your head and tossing it aside, lips parted. Just by her look, you can tell she wants the bra off, too. So you reach behind your back and grants her silent wish, breasts now exposed to her sight.

"There you are..." she moans to herself, shamelessly taking in the sight of you. You're a work of art. With her hand, she coaxes your knees open, and parts your legs. "My... you're so wet. So perfectly wet."

"You're still with a lot on.." you quietly complain, feeling hot and shy at the same time. But her gaze is enough to wipe away the confusion from your eyes. She had a plan.

"Touch yourself for me." she breathes out.

Your eyes briefly widen with the unexpectedness of this statement. You had certainly done this before — touched yourself thinking of her — but the idea of showing this, while she watched, never crossed your mind. But it wasn't an unpleasant idea. It was actually... hot. Sensual. They darken, pupils blown wide as you make yourself comfortable against the pillows, eyelids fluttering as your legs spread a little more, palm resting on your stomach, then moving down. Deliberately, it reaches your sex, a shakily sigh leaving your lips when your middle and ring finger collect some of the slick coat covering your sensitiveness, using it to slowly rub your clitoris, getting you to gasp louder.

"Natasha..." you whisper, eyes falling close, thoughts wandering.

Wandering back to the start — when you first discovered your feelings for her, then the climax, when you both got in bed due the alcohol — then the aftermath, when you needed her so much, felt so alone at night, that your fingers were the only solution. Little wet sounds echo within the room as you rub circles on yourself, applying just the right amount of pressure, that it doesn't take long for the pit in your stomach to manifest itself.

"Faster." Natasha rasps out, taking her jacket and quickly throwing it away. She pulls her tank top over her head, then undo the buttons of her jeans — leaving the bed, just so she can get rid of all the uncomfortable fabric, and climbing it again. She crawls closer to you — eyeing you as you worked on your pussy, her hands caressing your thighs, adding to the stimulation.

"Please...!" you whimper, doing as you're told — rubbing yourself faster — slipping one of your fingers inside your entrance, almost cumming, that quickly. "Please, I need you..!"

"I need you too," she moans to herself, and harshly grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away. You moan loudly in protest — Natasha wouldn't tease you. Not today, when you both needed each other so much. She discards her undergarments, finally — groaning as she's set free. Your eyes lock on her hard length, which was practically hitting her abs now.

"Put it inside me." you beg, grabbing her shoulders to pull her closer. She hovers over you, bracing herself on her forearms, on each side of your body. Your fingernails gently graze her back. Natasha was feeling so much, so much more than she ever felt. Your eyes were sparkling so much, like you were crying — shimmering with the depth of your adoration for her. You grab her cheeks and press your lips to hers, in a gentle peck. Knowing her past, she didn't have to explain her reasons for what had happened. She was scared before, and you respected. "Go on. Love me."

She couldn't wait no longer. She lowers her forehead to your shoulder and places her hands on your hips — her chest against yours, as she lined herself with your hole, effortlessly pushing inside. Stretching you out, like she once did. Having the chance to hear that delicious sounds again.

"You're mine... shit," she groans, rolling into you gently, getting you used to the feeling first. You're so tight, so perfect around her. Natasha's overwhelmed. Her hands press against the base of your throat, squeezing firmly, yet leaving enough room for air. She's so hot. "That pussy is mine. You're mine. You're all mine—"

"Yes," you moan, wrapping your legs around her middle. You wouldn't take long to come tonight. Maybe she'd make you come over and over. She rocks into you, pace not too slow, not too fast. Just right. The right tempo to bring you both the pleasure and connection you so much needed. "Mhm.. fuck, Nat, missed your cock,"

"You're gonna take it over and over—" she comments — kissing your shoulder, roaming her hands up your body, her right palm cupping your breast and giving it a firm squeeze. Your head lolls back, mouth opening to allow a satisfied moan out. "I'm never fucking letting you go again,"

She accelerates, pulling almost all the way out just to slam back into you again — feeling her climax approach. She moves her mouth close to your ear and moans — her own sounds now mixing with yours.

"Natasha...! Fuck, you feel soo good," you gasp, a wave of pleasure washing over you as you get closer. She takes the hint immediately, cupping the back of your knee and pushing it up, allowing her a better angle. "Ah, gimme more,"

"My greedy girl," she groans, her head tilting back. Her cock twitches inside of you — precum already painting you white. She glanced down at where your folds swallowed her, eyes darkening impossibly more. "You're so goddamn tight... 'm not gonna last, moya krasivaya malysha,"

"Okay.. 'ts okay... Cum with me..." you beg her, tangling your fingers into her red strands of hair, pulling her down more, so her forehead rests against yours — the eye contact increasing the intimacy of the moment. She didn't know what to expect now. Didn't know what to think. Only that she had to fill you up.

"C'mon.. nhg, darling.. c'mon.. cum around me," she encourages, feeling her own legs shake as her orgasm washed over her.

She grabbed your hips hard and slammed into you — once, twice, three times, filling you up with her hot release. You squeezed your eyes shut as your body shuddered forwards, breasts pressing against her own as a long, strangled moan flowed out of you, nails digging into her back, pressing her body against yours as you finished. Your walls clenched around her cock, swallowing her more, not allowing her to pull away just that. "God.. I love you!"

Natasha blinks, not sure if she heard right. Her heart squeezes in her chest, arms wrapping around your body. Her back hits the bed and she flips you on top of her, still inside of you — but now, her member softened. The adrenaline was running wild, but you had calmed down a little bit. Just a little. Because this time, it wasn't pure sex. It was lovemaking.

Your face is buried in her chest as she brings up the covers, creating a cocoon of warmth around you. She buries her face into your hair and inhales deeply, staying silent. Just to process things.

"I love you, too. So so much." she murmurs into you hair. She felt terrified to say this. But once you're someone who she already showed her scars to, it's not that bad anymore.

"You do?" you ask expectantly, feeling tired, drowsy. Natasha smiles at that. She feels her eyes burning with heavy emotion. She nods.

"Yes... I love you so much." she confirms, softly stroking her hair, brushing some strands away from your sweaty forehead. "And I want you to be mine. Will you be mine?"

"You're asking me to be your girlfriend after the sex?" you chuckle quietly, but happiness was evident in your voice. Now you could sleep at peace. The first night of rest you'd have in a long time. In the arms of the woman you cherished, worshipped.

Natasha had won now. She was so fucking relieved. All because of a phrase.

"Of course I will, you idiot."

"I'm never, ever, ever letting you go again." the room is messy, smell of sex lingering around you. But now things were sorted out. By the morning, you could have a more direct, serious conversation. For now, you'd rest together, wrapped up in each other's arms, like it was always meant to be.

[woodohwanedandproud]

@pranpats #the fact they have the best rain scenes i’ve ever seen #both rain scenes being pivotal in the show and their dynamic but specifically how juwon sees dongsik #juwon seeing dongsik’s humanity shine through in the first scene but not knowing what to do with it #and then the revelation in the rain and juwon being so overcome with guilt and pain kneeling to atone for dongsik to see how he sees him now #it’s…a lot @arcadianwishdom #rain and unconditional love and sacrifice #he fell just like that angel statue #isn't he the angel in DS' garden? judging. watching over. wanting to sacrifice himself to protect him. loving him with his entire being. @petekaos #i could write essays and essays and essays abt the two of these scenes having a direct conversation with each other #but for now i’ll just say that this is truly in line with the show’s catholic themes that pop up every now and then #in the first scene juwon is rebirthed in the sense of perhaps subconsciously realising for the first time #that the man he’s been keeping tabs on and excessively analysing is perhaps not a serial killer after all but a mildly insane kind guy #and that’s rly where it all goes downhill. we have water/rain as baptism and rebirth but the first scene also funnels the way for juwon’s #sacrifice and devotion and absolution that he gains in the second scene #where all the emotions he’s been keeping inside and firmly locked onto the subconscious plane of realisation have suddenly become Real #and he’s kneeling in the dirt in front of dongsik like he’s god or a statue of an angel or really just a man who was wronged many times and #now juwon is determined to make it right. and the rain serves as his absolution which is such a catholic guilt thing. to seek forgiveness #and absolution. and the rain is pattering down around him as he promises to avenge dongsik and yuyeon and perhaps all of manyang #and to fix what he did and his father did and perhaps the world did to all of them #which is a lot of words to essentially say that rain played a huge role in both of han juwon’s core realisations #that lee dongsik is more than what meets the eye and that he is ready to give it all up for lee dongsik and be rebirthed in the rain #and that again is a lot of words to essentially say that han juwon is very Pathetic and Wet

- s.r.w

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 5

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.7k

Note : I’ve got this queued up so if you asked to be tagged in the last 12 hours, I have not added you but will add you to the next one! It’s my masters graduation ceremony and I have a lot of people to catch up with so won't be very active today. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“From Behind Your Eyes”

Monday.

Things began to shift between you and Bucky in subtle ways. 

It started with small moments. Today, during a walk through the city, he asked if you wanted to stop by a bakery. 

“Your favourite," he said with a soft smile.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. You didn’t know it was your favourite bakery—it had only opened a year ago

You had no recollection of it existing, let  alone stepping inside.

Yet, when you stood outside the little shop, taking in the scent of freshly baked bread and buttery pastries, you sighed in recognition. Like your senses were telling you that this was the place, even though your mind was blank. 

Bucky held the door open, letting you step inside. The bell above the door jingled, and that sound struck something deep within you. Was it... loss? Or comfort? You weren’t sure. 

He handed you a croissant without a word. 

When you took your first bite, something clicked. It felt right, the taste, the texture—the buttery flakiness melting on your tongue. It was comforting, familiar, even if the memories that should accompany it weren’t there. 

You couldn’t explain why, but for the first time, a puzzle piece fell into place.

You glanced up at Bucky. His eyes were fixed on you, watching your reaction closely. 

"Good?" he asked, his voice careful, almost too casual.

"Yeah.” You nodded, swallowing the pastry.

It was more than good—it felt like home. Whatever that meant these days.

Wednesday.

The scent of pancakes filled the air on Wednesday morning.

You heard the sound of sizzling batter before seeing Bucky standing over the stove, smiling at you.

"A whole tablespoon of butter and two of maple syrup," he said, placing a plate in front of you. He was busying himself with the last touches, but you could see the concentration in his movements, the care he had put into even something so simple.

You stared down at the plate, your fork hovering just above the fluffy stack. It looked perfect, like it had been made specifically for you, and in a way, it had. You couldn’t remember ever eating this combination of specific measurements before— you always thought you were a cereal eater. But somehow, the moment you took that first bite, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

A comfortable silence settled between you two as you ate.  The pancakes were soft, the butter melting, and the syrup soaked through just enough to make each bite rich but not overwhelming. It was perfect. 

He was perfect.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you watched him out of the corner of your eye. There was something endearing about how well he knew you, even when you didn’t know yourself. 

The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself drawn to him— not just because he was familiar, but because he made you feel safe. 

And somewhere along the way, that safety began to shift into something else.

Your heart started to skip a beat when he laughed. Your stomach fluttered when he’d touched you. You found yourself looking for more and more excuses to be around him. 

You caught yourself staring at him more than once—like now, as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed. 

Your chest tightening in ways that were starting to feel dangerously familiar. A crush. 

Bucky looked up and caught your gaze, and you quickly focused back on your plate, heat rising to your cheeks. 

Friday.

Today, you were curled up in the living room, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders when he handed you a book. 

"You read this a couple of years ago," he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. He held out the worn copy of a short book, fingers brushing against the frayed edges. "Thought you might want to read it again."

You took it from him, your eyes skimming the cover. The title stirred nothing at first—just another gap in your mind. 

There was a quiet confidence in the way he handed you the book that maybe, just maybe, this small thing would help. 

As you read, something unlocked within you. The words slipped into place like they belonged.

Like they had always belonged.

Sunday.

By the time you finished, it had become your favourite book once again.

"You knew," you said, feeling a little shy, admitting how easily you'd fallen back in love with it.

Bucky smiled, the kind of smile that reached his eyes, though there was always a hint of something dark behind it. "Some things don’t change."

You wanted to believe him, but you knew better.

The truth was, so much had changed. The pieces of your life felt scattered, rearranged in ways you didn’t always understand. 

Bucky… he was a constant. It was as though he saw parts of you that you hadn’t yet rediscovered.

You noticed it in the quiet moments—the way Bucky would linger in doorways, watching you, or how his voice softened whenever he said your name, like he was holding onto a precious gem. 

You weren’t the person you had been before, and yet, with Bucky, you started to feel like maybe you didn’t have to be. 

Still, there was an unspoken thing that hung between you, something that Bucky carried but never fully acknowledged. 

Monday.

Bucky had trouble sleeping, as he would do when he was under a lot of stress.

He laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He could feel his racing heart, as if it wanted to claw its way out.

In his mind, he replayed the moment that haunted him every night—the words he’d said to you.

“I feel like I can’t breathe around you.”

He had said it with a cold finality, and regretted it immediately.  

He’d only ever driven you away to spare you from the darkness he dragged around like ankle weights. You deserved so much more— someone free from shadows that never seemed to leave.

Even if you’d forgotten, he couldn’t unburden himself from the knowledge that he’d pushed you away when he should have held you close.

And when he did finally fall asleep, nightmares haunted him. 

In the dream, he watched realisation dawning on your face— as you remembered the things he’d said, the hurt he’d caused. You looked at him with that same raw, wounded expression he’d seen before, the same one that haunted him on sleepless nights.

In the dream, you turned away, just as you had before, only this time you were walking into the dark embrace of death. He reached for you, desperate to take it all back, but the distance between you grew. 

He’d run and run, trying to follow you, but at the end of the tunnel, he’d see you limp body lying underneath the rubble.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. He laid in bed, trembling, drenched in sweat.

Unable to stay there, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got up. He found himself heading down the hall toward your room. 

The light in the guest room was dim, the door left slightly ajar, as it always was. You told him it made you feel less alone, that someone was nearby if you needed them.

Bucky found himself standing just outside, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest.

You looked so peaceful, so innocent in sleep, untouched by the memories that plagued him. 

Quietly, he leaned against the doorframe. The words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I feel like I can’t breathe around you,” he whispered.

It was true then, and it was true now—though for different reasons.

Back then, he’d said it to drive you away, to keep you from seeing the broken parts of him he didn’t want you to know. 

But now, every small smile, every lingering glance, every hesitant touch stole his breath, until he was choking on the overwhelming affection he felt for you and on the regret of what he’d said to you.

“I thought I didn’t deserve you.” He swallowed. “I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping you away.” His eyes studied you, memorising every scar, every curve. “But I was wrong. and you’ll never know…”

All he wanted was to tell you the truth, to give you the choice to stay or to go. But the thought of you choosing to go… he couldn’t bear it.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, and Bucky’s heart skipped a bit. For a split second, he thought he’d woken you, but you settled back against your pillow, your cute snores filling the air again. 

He let out a small sigh of relief.

He lingered a moment longer, allowing himself this one selfish moment to simply be there, watching over you.

He stayed for ten minutes.

Ten turned to thirty.

And thirty minutes turned to an hour.   

Then, he started noticing things.

At first, it was subtle— his enhanced hearing noticed that your breathing quickened. He then saw your brows knitting together.

He knew the signs by heart— a nightmare.

His chest tightened as he watched, his metal fingers curling around the doorframe. He wanted to reach out, to wake you before the horrors took hold. But he froze, unsure if his presence would be a comfort or if it would only make things worse.

You whimpered softly, The sound was like a bullet to his brain, slicing through the peace he had found watching over you.

Bucky knew— perhaps too well— all the ways a nightmare could lay you bare, exposing the things you wanted no one else to see. Who was he to interfere, to try drag you out of the darkness when he himself lived in it?

Then you whispered his name. The sound sent a chill down his spine. His name, spoken with a tone so raw and broken it made his heart ache. Were you dreaming of him? Of the words he had said, the pain he had caused?

He didn’t know why he stayed as he watched you wrestle with whatever horrors your mind had conjured. He took a small, shaky step forward. His mouth opened but nothing came out. 

Your breathing grew ragged, your hands clutching at the blanket. Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, shame brewing inside him. 

He knew he should be there for you, but he couldn't bring himself to cross that threshold, to invade the fragile privacy of your dreams.

Finally, your breathing steadied, the nightmare subsiding. Bucky released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

He took a step back.

He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t tried to help.

He watched a second longer, making sure you’d found peaceful sleep again. When he was certain you had, he turned and left for his room.

As he closed his door behind him, Bucky let out a shaky sigh. His body slid on the floor, pressing his palms against his eyes as he tried to block out the image of you—fragile, broken, and alone in a nightmare he might have caused.

He wrapped his hand around his knees, rocking slightly in an attempt to keep himself sane.

He shifted slightly, feeling an odd dampness against his skin. It was only when he brought a hand to his face that he realised his cheeks were wet, his shirt damp where the tears had dropped. 

He hadn't even realised he started crying.

The tears kept coming, slow and steady, trickling down on his face.

He thought of you, peaceful again now, but still vulnerable, left to face nightmares he was too afraid to pull you from. He thought of the words he’d spoken to you, the ones he could never take back. The ones that had hurt you more than he’d ever wanted. 

The tears were relentless, a silent admission of all the things he’d buried—his regret, his self-loathing, his desperation for forgiveness he was too afraid to ask for. His body shook with quiet sobs, his breaths shallow and uneven.

And for the first time since he thought he’d lost you, Bucky let himself cry for everything he’d lost. 

For the moments he’d missed, the chances he’d thrown away, the love he’d pushed aside out of fear. And as his tears finally slowed, leaving him a hollow shell of himself, he realised that this was the price he’d paid for pushing you away all those years.

Tuesday.

“Do you ever have nightmares?” you asked between breakfast bites, trying to sound casual as you picked at your food.

You didn’t know how to admit it at first, but even when you slept through all of last night, you hadn’t slept very well. Every time you’d close your eyes, you’d find yourself trapped under layers of crushing weight, and the fear would trap you in unconsciousness, unable to wake up, unable to separate what’s real or fake.

Bucky paused just slightly before he looked up. For a moment, he didn’t know how much to say.

“Yeah,” he replied finally, cautiously. “It used to be worse.” 

You nodded, encouraged by his honesty. “Mine are… strange. They’re just pieces. I don't remember them all.” You looked down at your hands, unsure how to continue. “It doesn’t even feel like they’re mine.”

“How come?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s… I—I feel like I’m trapped under something heavy. I can’t breathe, and when I try to move, it just…”

You stopped in your tracks, the nightmares slipping away just as your memory had. 

“And I see you sometimes,” you admitted sheepishly, “I feel you pulling me out of the dark.”

Bucky’s hand brushed yours across the table. 

He swallowed hard, knowing that was where he found you. How he found you. Crushed under the rubble, barely alive.

Still, a wave of relief washed over him. If there was any comfort to cling to in all of this, it was that he hadn’t caused your nightmares. You hadn’t heard his quiet confession from the night before, those fragile words spoken in the darkness while you slept. You didn’t know.

You didn’t know what he said.

You didn’t know. 

You can’t ever know.

A twisting guilt formed in his stomach— would I really rather have her dream of a crushing pain over the painful words I said?

“They can’t hurt you,” he said finally, his voice stern with conviction. He was convincing himself, really, more than you. 

You felt the cold of his metal hand, but your cheeks started burning. 

You met his eyes, and for a moment, the vulnerability between you was tangible.

“Thank you, Bucky.” Your voice was barely a whisper. “For making me feel like I’m not alone.”

He looked down. A small, shy smile tugged at his lips. “Anytime.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. His hand lingered on yours, fingers tracing small circles against your skin. 

You didn’t even realise you were leaning in until you felt his breath against your lips—warm, shallow, like he was fighting the same internal battle you were. His eyes flicked down to your mouth for the briefest second.

The pull between you was magnetic.

His fingers trailed up your arm, lingering at your forearm, and it was that touch—the coolness of his skin against tour veins—that undid you. Your breath hitched, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst from your chest. 

And then, without thinking, you started closing the gap.

His lips hovered over yours, not quite touching, the tension so thick it was suffocating.

It was a heartbeat away. 

But then—

The sound of your phone shattered the moment, vibrating against the table.

Sam’s name flashed on the screen, his timing almost painfully ironic.

“Hey,” you answered, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“Hey!” Sam was his usual chipper self, oblivious to what he’d interrupted. “We’re discussing a training program for you if you want to come back on Thursday?”

You glanced at Bucky. He had turned away slightly, focusing on his half-eaten plate. “I— I’ll think about it,” you replied, feeling a pang of disappointment as you hung up.

You glanced at Bucky, wondering if he felt the same strange disconnect.

He didn’t say anything. His expression had shifted back to that neutral calm he so often wore.

You wished you had the courage to say something, that you could break the silence and address what had nearly happened between you. 

You were too unsure, too awkward to bring it up. You weren’t sure what it even meant—whether it was a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness, or if it was something more that neither of you were brave enough to confront.

“I think I’m gonna start training again on Thursday.”

-to be continued...

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[sokkastyles]

As the eldest daughter in my family, I've always kind of related to Katara in some ways. I wasn't parentified like she was, but whenever I saw her trying to keep things together for the Gaang in the show or whenever I see her being the emotional anchor for the Gaang in a way, I could really relate to that, especially because Katara is sort of always expected to be that person for everyone and she never really gets a break from it. I'm nowhere near as incredible as Katara is, but I have experienced being the person who was always expected to be kind and forgiving, always willing to compromise and understand, and never really being allowed to be mean or angry or even make mistakes in the same ways that some of my other family members were allowed to do. I've heard my family members say things like "that's just what that person is like, that's just what their personality is like, nothing you can do about it." It still frustrates me to hear that, because it often feels like I've never been given that same margin of error. I'm not an ideal older sister or daughter by any means and I've definitely made mistakes. I'm sure there must be other girls and women who can relate to this too. And I think one of the main reasons Zutara has always been, and still is, appealing to me is because Zuko sees Katara for who she is, the good parts and the less than perfect parts, and he doesn't ever make her feel guilty about any of it. He takes her seriously, gives her a lot of care and emotional support, and is very good at meeting her where she is and trying to understand her rather than dismissing the parts of her personality that he doesn't understand or are more complicated. That's the type of emotional support I would like from a partner one day, and I wish Katara and Zuko had ended up together for that reason too.

Tbh, when people (usually KA shippers) talk about Katara getting to be a child with Aang, they talk about in based on the idea that what she needs is to be like Aang. They want her to be carefree and do cute things like penguin sled. And even though Katara enjoys doing those things, when she penguin sleds with Aang, she doesn't actually experience herself as a kid again. Her reaction is "I haven't done this since I was a kid," and Aang points out that she talks as if she isn't still a kid, because she doesn't feel like one, and going penguin sledding doesn't magically transform her. If anything, that scene emphasizes how much Katara does not consider herself a kid. Which doesn't mean she isn't one, but Katara's attitude towards penguin sledding highlights her parentification, not reverses it.

When Katara acts like a kid, she often acts in ways that get her hated by the fandom. In what scenes does Katara actually get to experience being a kid again, I ask you?

Katara's inner child is not happy-go-lucky like Aang. Katara's inner child is selfish and full of anger and grief and fear. And validating that child is just as important as Katara getting the opportunity to play. I just find it interesting that certain people scream about letting Katara be a kid when she's doing the things that Aang wants her to do, and yet one of the episodes that show Katara the most in touch with the child she is is an episode where she gets accused of acting in a way that is not herself or too adult or too dark.

Katara avenging her mother and confronting the man who murdered her is an acknowledgement of Katara's stolen childhood and one of the most clear expressions she has of taking it back, literally reclaiming her identity. And she doesn't do it in a way that's innocent or kind or cute or wholesome or acceptably feminine, but it still comes from a need to be the child she is.

And Zuko is the one who makes that happen for her, and who doesn't tell her what the mature or proper way to do it is.

I read a quote recently from a review of the remake of Carrie that instantly made me think of Katara, and I feel like it's relevant both in the ways we talk about Katara as a heroic character and as a parentified child.

Whether she’s volunteering to take her sister’s place in the arena or grooming her son to lead the resistance; gunning down the gangsters who sell drugs to the kids in her neighborhood or swinging swords to avenge her daughter, the “strong female character” is often stirred by a maternal concern, a quintessential desire to preserve her community, to protect the weak and vulnerable. Her bad-assery must be in the service of a greater good. Even when she’s more ethically complex (like the Bride, who begrudgingly admits that all the people she killed to get to her daughter, “felt good”), she never takes a place at the table of Walter White’s grand epiphany: “I did it for me.”

- Laura Bogart, The Trouble With Carrie: Strong Female Characters and Onscreen Violence

Katara's actions in the Southern Raiders are one of the best expressions of her being a child because she does it for herself. She does it BECAUSE she is a child and she was hurt. When Katara is penguin sledding because Aang asked her to, it never approaches the point where she's doing it for herself or letting go of the idea that she isn't a kid like the others around her. It's only when she's confronting Yon Rah that she's acting not as her mother's replacement, but as the child who was left behind. The child who, like Carrie, needed the adults around her to protect her.

Of course, Katara's actions are nowhere near as extreme as Carrie's, but both stories tap into something intrinsic about girlhood and the desire for validation in a world that adultifies girls but at the same time tries to keep them infantalized.

[justenjoythegossip]

CHRIS & ABBA’S LATEST PR STUNT & THE VISIBLE ENDGAME OF THE PR STRATEGY or… “WILL YOU JUST GET OVER IT ALREADY? IT HAS BEEN TWO FREAKING YEARS”…

Recap of recent events: 

Yesterday was the premiere of Red One in Berlin. Go Germany. Chris didn’t walk the red carpet before Dwayne as he was supposed to, arrived late with his wife, walked the carpet (after almost missing it) without her, played with the precious very ostentatiously for the cameras, she and Chris shared a moment together as they hugged and she gave him a look of... disgust(?). Then they were filmed sitting together for the movie and Chris seemed angry/pissed(?) at her as he gestures, seemingly does a nervous tick by pressing on his glasses and she rolls her head… #couplegoals LOL

Side note: kudos to the PR agent sitting next to Abba for her clapping as it seemingly helped indicate to her she was supposed to applaud her loving husband and also served as miraculous blocking from this angle, to show us only what they want us to see. 

She was always going to be there…

I have been asked many times if I thought Abba would show up at the premiere. And I always answered that I was 50/50 on the matter. When we learned that it was actually Justin who arranged that podcast for her, I was leaning towards no. Because why would she feel the need to go on a podcast no one asked for, if she was going to get the exposure of a big Hollywood premiere soon, right? Then we got the Avengers’ PR stunt where they endorsed Kamala Harris and Chris was flashing his ringless hand so ostentatiously. And then I immediately thought, of course she will be there. Her saying her marriage year was terrible coupled with his non wearing his wedding ring was meant to manipulate his fans into thinking the end was near and like always to add shock value to their next PR stunt. 

And of course she was going to be there, this is actually a big part of why he did this PR stunt in the first place. He wanted the world to know he was a married man and there is no better platform than a Hollywood event to push a narrative… even when you push it as discreetly as you can so that you don’t offend your fandom and the general public any further…

Why did we get a remake of what happened at the Ghosted premiere and what does this mean?

If people remember the Ghosted Premiere, they did not walk together as they infamously made their red carpet debut for the Vanity Fair party. At the time, I theorized that the reason they didn’t was because they wanted to ease his fans in as they knew there was quite a lot of backlash from his fans but also from the general public. I still think that was the case but it’s even more obvious after today’s stunt, as this was a win-win for Chris. He gets to sell the married man brand he is craving so desperately while putting his kinda wife in a corner.  Go Berlin! She gets to come but has to make sure she is not seen too much as her presence could offend his fans and a part of the general public and more importantly have an impact on his movie’s box office and his career more generally speaking. And look how his “fans” take this as a victory… 

But it’s not, it’s just more manipulation and gaslighting on Chris and his team’s part. 

Because clearly all the content of the 2 of them was not meant for the general public but destined to his fandom. And as you can see they didn’t make it to the Just Jared article this time. But they did get to sell the “we are real and private/we are just PR” narrative. Badly like always because it’s the point. 

https://www.justjared.com/2024/11/03/dwayne-johnson-lucy-liu-chris-evans-more-premiere-new-holiday-movie-red-one-in-berlin/

But now we finally get a clearer sense of why Abba felt the need to go on a podcast no one cared about for the first edition of a small festival that got little to no media coverage! She is basically reduced to a prop that has basically no voice or agency but is taken out for minimal lowkey PR stunts when it’s absolutely necessary. But since she a Nazi sex worker, I am guessing we should all be ok with this. But more on that later. 

The latest appearance of the precious ring and its use from a PR standpoint… 

I have already discussed the ring profusely and even recently when he went to the walk of fame for Kevin Feige. Here are a couple of posts where I give my 2 cents about it.

Before I dive into the latest shenanigans with the precious, it’s important to note that playing with wedding rings is very “in” right now. And so what Chris did last night was textbook CAA. Just look at what Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck recently did with theirs or even more ridiculously how Dakota flashed her engagement ring during an arranged papwalk. 

Here you can see a video of Chris with the very purposefully loose ring:

As people have pointed out, the ring is way too big, isn’t it? And clearly that’s the whole point since it feeds the “it’s only PR” narrative, isn’t it? But that’s not even the most interesting part about this little clip. Look at where the fans are on this video, then pay closer attention to the camera placement. Can you see how much emphasis the person who is filming (not a fan) is putting on the loose ring and how CURATED this all is?

And now look at Chris playing with his ring so naturally and organically (sarcasm) as the photographers are taking his picture. 

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A post shared by Chris Evans Army (@cevans_army)

They want you to see it, they are showing it to you, as ostentatiously as it gets. Even when Chris plays the game of “hide the ring”, it is to draw more attention to it while trying to gain sympathy from fans who are so desperate to see a glimmer of regret in his demeanor. 

The programmed obsolescence of Team Real/Team PR and the endgame of the PR strategy 

I have discussed months ago, how this strategy of “divide and conquer” which was symbolized by the discourse and fighting between Team Real and Team PR was just a starting point. A PR strategy can only be understood and appreciated when it can be analyzed in the long run. Those 2 trolling teams were the loud extremist voices that were obnoxious and repulsive enough (in their tone or rhetoric) to drive fans away from them and the narratives they were selling, paving the way for the more reasoned and rational Team Middle. I wrote a post about it if you want to check it out. 

As Team PR and team Real have become completely redundant, all that is left is the narrative Team Middle are pushing. Notice how they purposefully keep blurring the line to disorient (classic manipulation tactics by the way) and make people accept what they are selling. And today they might distract you with the loose ring, the presence of her relatives, the not walking the red carpet together or taking pictures together (but just you wait for the NY premiere as it is just around the corner), their bad body language around each other, the awkwardness and coolness of their exchanges, her cheap outfit while he is dressed in designer clothes by his scientologist and rapist apologist stylist, or they will point out as over the top and fake he was in his reactions at the premiere and I could go on and on… All of this is true BUT it is all a distraction and misdirection. 

As they have pointed out repeatedly, it has been two years, so you should just accept it or move on. The fandom no longer needs your services if you are not capable of enjoying the content they “so kindly” provide for you. They will feed you the crumbs showing how fake it is to appease you and to distract from Chris’ complicity and manipulation as long as you behave. 

The seemingly counterintuitive promoting of this girl by plants, their vicious trolling and what purposes it serves..

So many plants allegedly hate Abba but talk about her constantly. The amount of attention she is getting from them seems incommensurable. Like posting her numbers religiously or obsessing about what she is wearing and so forth.

If it weren’t for them we would hear very little about her. For example, we would have known she was going to do a podcast in her home country only after she posted about it and not a long time before hand. It's also important to note that most of the time she is mentioned, it is in a very negative way as they usually make fun of her and humiliate her. As you know, “there is no such thing as bad publicity”. But in this instance, it’s interesting to ask ourselves why and also what purposes it serves more specifically.

Well, I have just mentioned that bad publicity is still publicly, but another key rule is: know your audience. And obviously Chris’ fandom dislikes her so intensely that talking about her in a negative way, showing animosity towards her is the smart approach to gain the trust of his fans you want to manipulate. The goal here is to paint her as an absolute villain. I am not defending her by the way as she is an awful person but she has 0 power in this story but she makes for a hell of a scapegoat in this shitshow. And indeed, people can easily project all of their disappointment, anger and negative emotions onto her in order to soothe their frustration. 

You see the industry makes you do things you don’t want to do if you let it, talent agencies are as unethical as it gets and will play an awful game if you let them, the PR wife that you selected (or agreed on) might be a POS… but at the end of the day, it’s all a reflection of your own choices and of who you are… 

NB: special thanks to friends and mods who provided me with content and shared with me their smart observations. If I don’t thank you by name it’s to protect you from being blocked LOL

[deadjaywalking]

A lot of people say that the whole pit rage thing was Jason takes away what's interesting about his character. I don't agree, and even when I love the pit rage angle (my first approach to dc was arrow so that's why I love it so much) I don't think it's necessary to still say he wasn't in his right mind when he did what he did.

We're his feelings valid? 100%

Did he actually believe that death was the only way to stop some people? Yeah, that doesn't make him insane.

But, I do think he was very traumatized and acted accordingly. I don't think he actually wanted to hurt Tim, I don't think he wanted to hurt Bruce or Dick. I think he was manipulated (maybe on porpoise, or maybe Talia just told him what she believed, I mean, she believes in killing, so to her ofc Bruce didn't avenged Jason and didn't care, because to her caring would be killing the Joker. You can see it as her manipulating him on porpoise, which I don't think it's what happened, or she actually believed what she told him) and with the pain he felt, and the memory loss and ptsd, he acted out of character. I do think he actually believes killing some people is necessary, I don't think the amount of violence of his actions makes sense unless he isn't actually in his right mind. Not everyone breaks the same and at the same time or in the same way. People break and show their worst sides sometimes, and that is killing beyond what's necessary even to him. Another way to look at it is the writers wanted him to be bad, not caring what made sense or not.

I still really like the whole pit rage thing. But someone extremely traumatized also can act without realizing what they are doing, and they can also have memory loss of what they've done, and they can also do things that if they hadn't been triggered they wouldn't have done.

[tobiasdrake]

Here we go, it's Ranma time. Episode 5! The introduction to Ryoga continues.

God, I love how mournfully quiet this is.

This is what happens when women write women. Male writers don't often think about things like just how much a long-haired girl's hair means to her. Akane's been growing that out for years.

Look at how little she was when she started growing her hair. That is the product of years. Many years. Gone in an instant.

But she rolls with the punches. Akane has remarkable emotional fortitude. She'd kind of have to in order to survive all the shit she's had to put up with in her day-to-day life.

I love that they leave so much unstated, yet clearly implied, about the way her long hair relates to her longstanding crush on Dr. Tofu. When she says she wants to grow it out so she can be like Kasumi, there's an implication there that she thinks Dr. Tofu will like her more if she has Kasumi's hairstyle.

She's trying to walk in her big sister's shoes so that the man who likes her big sister might look her way. An idea that was doomed from the moment of its conception. She was never going to beat Kasumi at being Kasumi, and if she has to try, then she's already failed.

The manga's a bit more explicit about this, as Kasumi directly tells Baby Akane that Dr. Tofu won't like her very much if she keeps acting like a boy. From that, she draws the conclusion that having hair like Kasumi will make him like her more. But the reboot anime keeps it implied and understated.

So there's a lot going on here when Akane breaks down and cries into Dr. Tofu's chest. This is the end of an era. The loss of her hair symbolizes the death of a child's dream. The end of her efforts to be more like Kasumi so that this man would like her better, and the beginning of a new era where someone else out there will like her for being Akane.

While also demonstrating how much she leans on and depends on Dr. Tofu as a stabilizing figure in her life. She feels safe enough with him to finally let down her walls and cry out the grief over her lost hair, in a way she doesn't have at school or at home. Ironically mourning the death of her pursuit of him to him.

My dude, you desperately need to get a hobby. Supervillains are more considerate. Giving some real Vegeta energy here, but specifically the TeamFourStar kind.

And also the Tendo home desperately needs to get some door locks because he just strolled right on in here to do this.

And they both get punished for this.

Story of Ranma's life.

Takahashi's comedy remains incredible. Kasumi objects to Akane going out there not because she doesn't think Akane can take the mystery robber but because she wants Akane to hit him with something heavier.

I want that too. So Kasumi and I are on the same page.

She does, too. Nails Ryoga right in the back of the neck with a long-range shotput throw of that fucking barbell. Akane wins Ranma v. Ryoga, Round 2.

The moral of the story is to... not... do... anything that Ryoga did here.

...or, really, anything that Ryoga ever does. Don't be like Ryoga. That's sound life advice. (Not that the rest of the cast is any better.)

Immediately followed by Kasumi with another punchline. Man, I did not remember how funny she is.

Akane's rematch with Ryoga goes super well too. She is on fire.

Sincerely want to know what could possibly have possessed him to think jumping Akane while in piglet form was a good idea.

So begins the saga of P-chan.

AND ALL FOR BREAD AND BREAD-RELATED PRODUCTS

My dude.

The curry bun was not worth it.

Like.

Like. The part where Ranma knocked Ryoga into the piggy spring without noticing and then Genma tried to fucking eat him? Yeah. I can see being homicidally mad about that.

But he didn't even know that was them until literally this scene. Everything up to this point has been Ryoga blaming Ranma because he, Ryoga, stalked Ranma to China to avenge his curry bun.

Speaking of Genma.

I love how he just walks in on his son in girly form having Naked Bath Time with some random boy, and his response is to just... apologize and peace out. Whatever this is, it's none of his business.

Actually, not just any random boy. Specifically the random boy that got Ranma in trouble earlier tonight when he snuck into their bedroom for a late-night call.

Genma definitely thinks these two are up to shenanigans.

Literally the only member of her family that actually objects to Ranma sneaking into Akane's room late at night to do shenanigans to her (read: trying to fucking extract Ryoga from an unsuspecting Akane's bed) is Kasumi. Who merely scolds Ranma for moving too fast.

Is it any wonder she doesn't feel safe being emotionally vulnerable at home?

(Seriously, though, there is so much drama that could be avoided if Ranma would just tell Akane that P-chan is Ryoga. She has a right to know that, and not telling her makes Ranma complicit in Ryoga's shittiness.)

[bitter-hibiscus]

Noticed a connection between wanting to be loved vs possessed and wanting to belong to his father in your Little Soldiers and the Father’s Son fics, and would LOVE if you’d share your thoughts about that!

ANON I AM SO HAPPY WITH THIS ASK YOU HAVE NO IDEA

OKAY OKAY SO!! SO!!

Father's Son, and subsequently my interpretation of Jason Todd, is very based on his convoluted and depressing views on love. Jason is someone who views love, who views family, as ownership. It's why, when Bruce stops him from killing himself in I'm as yours as I can be, he wants to beg to belong to Bruce, to be part of him, to almost merge into a single body. Jason is somebody who grew up incredibly loved by Willis Todd, but that love was wrong. That love was based on the idea of self-sacrifice and giving everything you are to somebody for the right to love them. Willis felt that way about Jason because, well, if he didn't, they would both starve to death. So Jason grew up knowing that love is violence, and sacrifice, and bleeding yourself dry for somebody else. It's this, too, that makes him sleep with Arthur despite not wanting to. Jason feels as though he's not truly loved unless the person wants to own him.

That's also why he reacts the way he does when he finds out the Joker is alive in canon, because clearly Bruce didn't love him properly if he wasn't willing to completely destroy himself to avenge Jason.

In Little Soldiers, that dynamic is reversed. Jason is the father now. He's the one that's completely responsible for Sasha's life, and the way he reacts to that knowledge is to start living in a bunker underground and completely hide her away from the rest of the world. Because she's his daughter. She belongs to him. And the thing is that, at that moment, those feelings help Sasha. She watched her bio father die, she watched Batman and Robin fail to save her, so she wants somebody who's obsessively focused on her safety and her well-being even when it's unhealthy. Jason's form of love borders on abusive, but the people he loves (and the ones he wants to be loved by) are so broken that it almost feels like a necessity to be like this.

Sorry if this was a lot I'm just incredibly passionate about Father's Son and I never get questions about it and I'm very very excited to expand on my many concepts for it :3

[alittlerpblogforalittleguy]

Peter hummed, "I say hello." He nuzzled into Jason and kissed his mating mark again just to tease him.

His stomach growled at the mention of food, "Oh some sandwiches would be nice or something high in carbs... I have a bit of an accelerated metabolism." He explained, which would explain why he's so skinny now. He actually lost some weight during the dimension shift. Little to no money meant little to no food. He wasn't eating as much as he should be, and he knew that, but he was trying to make due picking cheap high calorie foods and going to food banks and soup kitchens when he could but still it wasn't like when he was with the avengers. "Not Captian America or Hulk level but still." Forgetting that those were not superheroes people here would know.

"I'm hungry and just want to cuddle you lots, but other than that, I feel fine... I'm excited to be a real boy." He chuckled a bit before realizing, "Wait, does that mean they know we're mated?"

Peter slept for hours and slept like the dead a few times it didn't even look like he was breathing even though he was.

The small omega woke up needing to use the restroom and hungry. He sat up and looked around before hopping out of the nest and making a quick dash to the bathroom.

He did his business and cleaned himself up as best, he can. Peter came out of the bathroom and sat on Jason's lap, straddling the Alpha while Jason was at the desk chair. His very naked ass pressed against his lap as slick leaked out of it. His hands reached up, and his hands started massaging Jasons scalp and playing with his hair. "Jay... What are you up to?" He asked he was definitely in the more cuddly stage of heat, just wanting to be close to his Alpha and for both of them to eat. But he didn't want to interrupt Jason's important work if he had some.

[corralinesage]

Portrait of a wounded heart (8/8)

CHAPTER 8 Epilogue: First snow 

You sprinted down the stairs in a hurry, dodging a couple of students on your way to the lobby, a silly smile lingering on your lips no matter how you tried to swallow it down to avoid looking idiotic. You simply had too much to smile about, your chest fluttering from excitement as you burst through the front door of the department of English, swerving more people as you entered Greene Street, your boots leaving behind dark prints into the fresh snow that had collected on the concrete during your lecture. You ran, yes, you ran across the street to the corner of the opposite building where a redheaded woman stood with a paper bag in her hand. Your eyes met, your smile wearing off on her immediately, your running pace only increasing.

“Oh, you won’t believe- Ah! It went so well.” You fell into Natasha’s arms, her perfume engulfing you with its sweet scent as you buried your face into her snow-dusted scarf, a gentle chuckle sounding from her, her arms squeezing you tightly. “She was impressed with my comments and analysis! She said so herself.” You pulled back to see Natasha’s face, a wild grin on your lips, her expression matching yours. “She’s proud of me.”

“And she has every reason to be”, Natasha whispered, cupping your cheek, itching to hold the ball of excitement that you were, but the paper bag in her hand only allowed it partly.

“I didn’t think I could do it, and I almost dropped the course at one point cause I was so busy. So, then today she asked me how I felt about the workload and said she was wondering about it because my comments were so good!” You could have cried from joy. You didn’t understand why it mattered so much to you, what made your English professor different from the others –or you did know. It was because she was old enough to be your mother, but you still failed to fully understand everything that you were feeling.

“I’m so proud of you.” Natasha pulled you back into her embrace, kissing the side of your head.

“I feel like this is it. This is where I wanna be, what I wanna do”, you said quietly, your smile fading away. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this about school.” She looked at you intently, keeping your body flush against her own as you gave her a small frown. “I did well. I’m actually good at something.” Her smile only widened, her eyes flitting down to your lips before she kissed you softly. You welcomed the gesture, kissing her back, the act loaded with uncontrollable excitement.

“You’re good at a lot of things”, Natasha countered in a gentle berate for your habit of belittling yourself.

“Yeah, but you know… She likes me. She thinks I have good opinions.” Natasha’s brow arched.

“Alright, now”, she said in a mild warning, her tone slightly teasing. “Don’t make me jealous.” You chuckled quietly, staring up at her with doting reverence.

“I would never. I only have eyes for you”, you assured her, rising up onto your tiptoes to plant another kiss on her plump lips. “Although I’ll keep my peripheral on Mrs. Salinas”, you added jokingly, earning an eye roll from her.

“I don’t know what kind of an impression I’ve given you, but…” She pulled you closer, her lips finding your ear. “I’m not sharing.” Your other knee actually gave in, your body pressing into hers, a warm tickle caressing your lower abdomen. You let out a small giggle, a burst of happiness exploding in your chest. You felt so light, so grounded, despite your weak knees, your arms wrapping tightly around Natasha’s neck.

“Don’t worry, I’m not meant to be shared. I’m snack-sized.” She chuckled at your words, adjusting her grip around your waist, your feet nearly lifting off the ground as she straightened herself upright.

“Snack-sized indeed. What are you, a feather?” She lifted you completely off the ground as if to prove her point.

“You’re just freakishly strong. You could join the Avengers or something.” You pulled back to look at her when she set you down, grinning like a fool, Natasha casting her eyes to the snowflake-filled sky.

“Find me an application form and I’m sold.”

“No, I’m keeping you all to myself. Fuck the Avengers and saving the world. You’re all mine.” Natasha bit the inside of her lip, reigning in her reaction to your words.

“That better apply to only one of the Avengers”, she muttered playfully, pleased out of her mind to hear you laugh at her stupid joke.

“That depends. Did you bring me a dirty chai latte, and a banana-walnut muffin all the way from Hudson Yards?” You gave her a small look of suspicion as if there would have been any question whether she had followed your request or not. She rolled her eyes, lifting up the paper bag in her hand, offering you a peek at the two coffee cups that were from a nearby cafe and two muffins from the place you had had your first date in, but additionally there was a medium-sized cardboard packaging that you didn’t recognize. “What’s this?” You asked in confusion, pulling out the small box, immediately noting the high-quality brand.

“Something small”, she hummed mysteriously, watching you turn around the perfume box in your hands.

“Small? Baby, this is half my rent”, you gasped, opening up the box despite the stiffness of your cold fingers, carefully prying the thin plastic wrap off to open the package to get the glass bottle out. “And you got the bigger size too”, you whined as if she had done something wrong, your mouth turning downward. “You didn’t have to.” She merely smiled, fresh snowflakes piling up in her hair, the ones that touched her face melting away in an instant.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it”, she admitted softly. “It suits you far too well, and if it makes you feel any better, I bought it for my own pleasure”, she said teasingly, watching you spray the mouth-watering scent on your neck and scarf, Natasha’s smile only widening. She barely had the patience to wait for it to set before she pulled you closer, inhaling your natural scent mixed with the intoxicating fragrance of the perfume. You chuckled at her enthusiasm, leaning into her as you put the bottle away, so she could get another lungful of your apple pie and caramel -scented neck. “Fuck, that really just makes me want to take a bite out of you.”

“What are you waiting for?” You chuckled, giving her a daring look. Natasha set the paper bag onto the ground to avoid making a mess, her hands yanking you as close as you could possibly get, her mouth finding your neck. You let out a loud squeal that turned into uncontrollable laughter, her teeth sinking gently into your flesh. “Natasha!”

“Save that for the bedroom, krasotka”, she whispered teasingly, your stomach suddenly swarming with butterflies. You giggled again, leaning into her embrace for one final time before you would go enjoy your coffee break between lectures to Washington Park where the first snow was covering up the frozen, umber-colored leaves that remained on the ground, ready to welcome the change of season with open arms. Natasha pulled back to look at you, her lips finding yours on their own. She kissed you repeatedly, her lightly tinted lip balm staining your mouth a soft pink. She pushed you away enough to see your face, her eyes roaming all over your joy-filled features, the corners of her mouth turning upward in a genuine smile. “I’m so proud of you, so proud.”

“Well, you did help me...” Natasha wasn’t going to accept your attempts at redirecting where credit was due, her brows furrowing in disapproval.

“I’m the one who made it hard for you to focus in the first place.” You looked at her with a small squint.

“It’s not your fault you’re so all-consumingly beautiful, and sexy, and-”

“Take the compliment”, Natasha whispered sternly, yet her lips were curved into a small smirk, her smile only widening when you averted your eyes. She was beyond pleased to see the telltale sign of you blushing, her chest fluttering softly at the sight.

“Fine”, you muttered, feigning your reluctance, although some of it was surely real.

“Say it for me.” Your eyes rose up to meet Natasha’s, widening in disbelief. She merely gave you a smug smirk. “I’m proud of myself.” You looked at her blankly.

“No.”

“Say it, detka. I’m proud of myself.” Her left hand pulled you closer by your waist, your hips pressing into hers. “Come on, I know you know how.” Her tone was low, playful, but no longer teasing. You could barely look her in the eye from how flustered you were, your lips parting, but nothing came out. You felt her warmth against the front of your body, the pressure of her hand prominent through the layers of clothing you wore. You were proud of yourself, but it was more than hard to accept the feeling when it was something that you rarely experienced. Natasha cocked her head gently, finding your eyes.

“I’m… proud of myself”, you sighed in defeat, Natasha’s smile turning into a huge grin.

“That’s a good girl.” You couldn’t even look at her, your wide smile directed at the snow-covered ground. “No girl of mine is gonna have poor self-esteem if I can help it.” Fuck, she was really going to send you back to class after saying all that. You glanced at her, giggling quietly when you realized that she could very clearly see your reaction to her words from your face. You let your lower lip loose from the tight clamp your teeth had on it, trying to cover up your obvious arousal, but it was too late. She returned your laughter, welcoming you to rest your head against her shoulder, the height difference her heeled boots added offering you the luxury of hiding your face against her chest.

“Why would you say that? Now I have to make it through art history with dirty thoughts in my head”, you grumbled halfheartedly, Natasha’s soft laughter sounding above you.

“Well, if you just led the way to the nearest bathroom, I could sort that out for you.”

“Natasha, I’m not doing that!” You whined, only adding to her amusement. She had suggested it more than once during your four weeks of dating, mostly on days when she had to pine after you during your hours on campus. You refused to do anything on the university premises for a very good reason, but Natasha seemingly failed to see your logic behind it.

“Why not? I bet it would be so fun”, she crooned in that low, sensual voice of hers, your eyes sliding shut on their own.

“Natasha”, you said in a mild warning, merely receiving a light chuckle from her. You tried to pull away from the hug to give her a very impressive frown, but she simply tugged you back into her embrace, nuzzling her face into your hair as she inhaled your new scent. She held you for a moment, hugging you as best as your winter coats would allow, her chin resting over the crown of your head.

“Tonight then, when you come over”, she said quietly. “I’ll make sure you leave the tower the most confident girl there is.”

“Not helping”, you groaned, finally forcing yourself to pull away from her so you wouldn’t spend your entire break in her arms. The shit-eating grin on her face only seemed to linger there. “Let’s go. The coffees are cooling down.” You reached down for the paper bag, handing Natasha her chai latte before you took a bite out of your muffin. She took the bag from you like a true gentlewoman, so you could focus on your latte, but when you realized that the arrangement wouldn’t allow you to hold her hand, you hooked your arm with hers, refusing to let her get too far away from you on the street that was busy with students, workers, and tourists.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story!! I truly appreciate the support<3 There's a second part to this story (an art themed smut collection) that I'll most likely also post on tumblr! It can be found on my ao3

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Fall Season! 🍁🍂🌻🎃👻🧛🏻‍♀️ … Three faced goddess continuation 👉🏻👈🏻? God dammit shana i fucking loved this prompt, 2012 Tony is the only version that has rights and I’ve had such a problem with him ever since aou, but your writing took me back to when I actually loved his character

a continuations of 1

Rhodey heads to the smith, unsurprised to see a line of people outside of it, waiting for the man inside to succumb to his need to eat or sleep and pounce on him for whatever issue they believe needs his immediate attention. Peter is among them, the closest to an apprentice that exists, but he can’t enter the forge without everyone else pushing in too, so he waits with all the rest of them.

When they see him coming, they groan, knowing their chances have been destroyed, except for Peter, who just looks relieved.

He remembers a time when Edward belonged to him alone. Edward exists because of him, after all, and needs must, but sometimes he can’t help but resent that this is another piece that he’s had to share.

“When I walk back out, it better be to an empty hallway,” he says blandly.

He receives a chorus of, “Yes, General,” and a jaunty wave from Peter before he’s opening the door and then shutting it firmly behind him.

In the beginning, the alchemy lab and the forge had occupied the same space, the outpost not yet big enough to have the rooms to spare. It had been quickly remedied once Rhodey had found about it, because the last thing any of them needed was losing him to an explosion of his own making, but he can’t say he’s surprised to see a cauldron bubbling ominously in the center of the room. “You have a lab for a reason.”

Surprised brown eyes snap up to meet his, and then there’s that familiar grin that always causes tension to unspool from his spine, even when it really shouldn’t. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. How goes the battle on the Eastern border?”

As if he doesn’t know. “They’re retreating. Our soldiers are holding the line and it looks like they’ve given up attacking us on that front. For now.”

“Sounds like something you should tell the king,” he says, frowning down into the cauldron as if it’s personally disappointed him.

Rhodey closes the distance between them, grabbing his chin and tilting his head to the side, frowning at the bruising mostly hidden by his hairline. “I am. But it’s a bit of wasted effort, considering the king is half the reason for their retreat.”

“Just half?” he pouts. “I really think that I deserve more credit-”

Rhodey kisses him to shut him up, a strategy that he’s been employing since they were teenagers, the whole reason necessitating Edward in the first place.

The second prince could not be scene dallying with someone so below him in station, the fact they were known to be friendly was a fluke of a broken wagon and much derision to all who heard of it. But Edward was no one, an educated fifth son of some nameless noble with a talent for metalwork, and no one cared if he kissed a commoner.

Then war had come knocking and a king could not do what needed to be done and so Edward had shifted from Rhodey’s to the country’s overnight.

Tony hums happily against his mouth and Rhodey pulls back rather than deepening it. Half the trick with was not letting him get distracted. “You need to get some sleep. Have you slept at all since getting back from the battle?”

The deep bruises under his eyes already tells him the answer, but it’s still worth asking.

“Need to figure this out,” he says, tilting his head to the cauldron. “It’s a coating for the blades to get them sharp enough to cut through armor. Not our armor, obviously, but other people’s.”

“A day,” he says, because Tony is needed everywhere at all times in all ways, and someone has to keep him from running himself into an early grave, and at the outpost, that’s him. “Just a day at home. I know you miss it. It’s been a while.”

Tony’s eyes go distant and fond. “Yes,” he agrees, and that one word has all the exhaustion that he won’t let show.

“You disappear all the time, no one will question it,” he murmurs, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’ll go if you will,” he returns. “You haven’t been home in even longer than I have.”

“Less of a need,” he argues, and he should argue against this too, when it’s unnecessary and dangerous, but he’s tired too. “Fine. We’ll need to sneak out to the woods if you don’t want to get caught.”

Tony clearly hadn’t expected him to agree that easily. “You hate flying.”

He hates how much pain it puts Tony in, but since he’s flying either way to get home, it doesn’t matter. “I’ll deal.”

Tony kisses him again, writes down some notes, douses the cauldron, and then they’re using the secret entrances that had actually been the whole point of building a lab near the forge. When they’re far enough away, Tony’s chest glows, the light and sparks spreading out from his chest to effulge his body and liquid gold and mercury sliding down his limbs. Rhodey has to close his eyes against the light, but Tony’s arms around him are always welcome, even when they burn almost too hot to stand.

The Iron Mage flying to the castle is a common enough sight that it raises no alarm and the brightness of Tony in flight means no one can tell he has a passenger, seen as nothing more than their own personal shooting star.

Tony melts the iron shutters back with a wave of his hand, likely reforming it behind them with a more intricate pattern than they’d been wrought with, because he always had such opinions about anything he hadn’t crafted himself.

He’s barely set Rhodey back onto his feet and folded the star back inside himself when there’s the running of little feet coming straight for them. Rhodey’s not surprised.

She’s always watching the stars, looking for her father.

Tony bends to pick up Morgan as she rounds the corner, barreling towards him with single minded intensity. “Daddy!”

“Hey, buttercup,” he says, hoisting her into her arms and settling her on his hip. “Miss me?”

“Yes,” she answers, wrapping her arms around Tony’s neck in a hug. She turns her head to grin at him, Tony’s eyes shining in her face. “Hi Rhodey. I missed you too.”

“Hi, Princess,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. She frees one arm from Tony to grab onto the front of his jacket, keeping him in place. He settled a hand on her back and that seems to satisfy her.

The door pushes open and Pepper is standing there, still with hair up and braided around a circlet and in a deep blue silk gown. “Someone here is supposed to be asleep.”  

Tony and Morgan’s innocent faces are identical and equally unconvincing.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Rhodey asks.

“It’s all three of you, really,” she answers, striding forward. She squeezes his shoulder, then uses it as balance to push herself to her tip toes.

Tony bends to meet her in a kiss, chaste enough that Rhodey doesn’t feel the need to pull away but long enough that he assumes Tony’s sleep might end up experiencing a delay.

“I don’t want to go bed,” Morgan says. “Daddy’s home.”

“I’ll be here in the morning,” Tony says and Pepper’s face relaxes. “Come on, I’ll put you to bed myself, okay? And then you can tell me about all the new things you learned over breakfast.”

“I’m not tired,” she insists, but only waves at him when Tony pulls away to take her to her room.

Rhodey waves back, almost goes with them, but having the two of them there will just make her twice as riled up.

“I could have another, you know.”

He looks down at Pepper, blinking. “I thought – after the war?”

After the cave, after swallowing a star rather than being swallowed by it, Tony couldn’t justify staying on the sidelines, couldn’t justify only contributing to the war as Edward. Besides, being captured in the first place had shown him that he wasn’t safe as Edward anyway, but even Tony couldn’t justify taking to the battlefield without an heir, without a child of Stark blood to inherit, without a queen who could rule both while he fought and invented and in the event of his death.

Prince Gregory had been ten years older than Tony, he’d been the boy everyone knew would be king. Tony was just the spare, and not even one had on purpose. It’s why he’d had the freedom to meet Rhodey in the first place, to take on the name Edward and poke and prod his way through universities and labs and harassing blacksmiths into teaching him a craft a prince was never supposed to know. They’d assumed his father would arrange his marriage to some foreign noble for political reasons and Tony would install her onto an estate and do what was necessary to add a couple kids to the royal line and that would be that, he would then be free to spend his time on pursuits he enjoyed and with the man he loved. He was just the second prince, after all, it’s not like what he did really mattered, and he and Prince Gregory had never gotten along anyway.

Lots of people hadn’t gotten along with Prince Gregory, lots of people had thought his temper and his cruelty and several other attributes made him unsuitable as king. Maybe, on their own, they wouldn’t have mattered much – Rhodey thought Prince Gregory was not so much worse than King Howard – but he was constantly compared to the brother ten years his junior and found lacking.

They never found out who was behind the attack that killed Tony’s parents and brother. With their enemies sensing weakness and declaring war soon after, it was easy to pin the blame on them. But there were persistent rumors that it’d been someone, or several someones, that wanted Tony on the throne over his brother.

Rhodey doesn’t know if it’s true. All he knows is that relief rippled through the country far heavier than mourning.

The relationship he and Tony had, the future they’d mapped out, had been possible for a snubbed second prince and utterly impossible for a king. Tony had put off marriage for longer than he should have, but he couldn’t forever, and his urge to get out and fight now that he could pressed down on him.

Pepper had been his friend first. Their friend first. A noble, but only barely, and utterly unsuitable for the title of queen according to her pedigree and also the only one Tony would agree to marry so the rest hadn’t mattered.

If she were anyone else, he thinks he would have hated her. But Pepper had come to him after Tony had asked her and said, “I love him,” like throwing down a gauntlet.

He’d known. Who couldn’t help but love Tony, once they got to know him? And Pepper was beautiful and competent and trustworthy, could have Tony’s children and lead his country and keep all his secrets. And Tony might be able to resist falling in love with Pepper when she was only his friend and confidant, but as his wife, the mother of his children, his queen? He would fall.

“I want what’s best for him,” she’d continued in what he thought was going to be the worst conversation of his life, “and that’s me and you. He would never give you up. You know that. You should have a little more faith in him.”

“He needs you,” he’d said quietly. What Tony needed is something he couldn’t be, he wasn’t a noble or a woman.

Pepper had lifted her chin in defiance, every inch the queen she was going to become. “He needs us.”

That had been years ago. They made it work, awkwardly and painfully at first, but much smoother these days, warmer and easier. When the war ends, he thinks things might even be easy.

Tony and Pepper had needed to have a child and quickly, to secure the succession. She’d been pregnant within four months of their marriage and Princess Morgan’s birth had been greeted with relief by the country. Still, more heirs are better, especially with Starks being thin on the ground, but Tony resisted the idea of having another child in the midst of war, another child that he might die on and abandon.

Which is what makes Pepper’s statement so confusing.

“I didn’t mean right this second,” she says, lips turning up at the corners. “I know I’m not exactly your type, but I certainly wouldn’t mind the process myself. Morgan’s yours, of course, but if you wanted – I wouldn’t mind. Tony wouldn’t either.”

He understands what she’s offering and he’s shaking his head before she’s even finished talking. “We can’t – they’d know.”

“Maybe the next one will take after my genes,” she says. “Goddess knows Morgan’s all her father.”

She is, so clearly Stark, from her eyes to her intelligence to her love of trouble. But there’s no way a child of his could pass as a child Tony’s, which is what any child of the queen’s would have to be. Even if they came out pale enough to pass as a Stark, which isn’t any sort of risk they could take, it wouldn’t be worth the risk of anyone finding out that a child in line for the throne was not of the Goddess blessed bloodline.

“Tony’s children are my children,” he says, and means it. Pepper and Tony had always been clear about that and it had been a relief, to not have to be so close and yet so far, to be able to love Morgan as his daughter even if it was nothing he could ever say out loud. “Go and help him with her. I know you have a lot to catch up on.”

He’ll go to his room, with the bed and comforts that he’s missed quiet a lot, and get the sleep that he’s also missed.

She sighs, squeezing his arm. “Don’t wander. I get up early and Tony never sleeps through it.”

Tony will get up with her, and kiss her as she heads to the hall, then go down to his room and crawl into bed with him, still sleep warm, until he has to get up and put in an appearance as King Anthony.

Rhodey smiles and nudges her towards the hall. “Go on, your husband is waiting.”

“Our husband,” she corrects imperiously and doesn’t move until he laughs and nods and repeats her words back to her.

[hayaku14]

m23 was really just a whole kaishin date

[fluffs-place]

I wanna do this with stached cowboy

Cassidy McCoy

1, What was the original thought that led to the creation of this character?

My husband has a character he loves for rdo, Makwa. We started talking about him one day and somehow decided to start roleplaying. So I made Cassidy as a partner for him

2. How long was the process before the character reached its final version? (or a version that would be clearly recognizable as the character?)

He's still techinally a work in progress but he has most his backstory, character traits, and personality. I just dont have his cowboy design. He has his army fit and his face and hair and stuff like that is done. His now cleary recognizable version was first made on 8/27/24 and his doodle sheet was finished on 9/23/24. So bout a month later. Im also still working on getting his shire/cob mix drawn with his new pattern marking. I used a f2u base but the stature isnt the same so i need to now translate it onto his actual body.

3. What was the first thing you decided on, the character's name, appearance, personality or their role in the story?

So it went kinda backwards from how theyre listed. His role came first since Lamb and I decided to make him Makwa's boyfriend. Then came his personality which plays off Makwa a good bit. Then his design and finally his name.

4. And reverse, which one of the four things did you struggle with the most?

His design. His clothes have been very difficult. His army fit not so much since I can just look at historical uniforms but his cowboy fits been a whole lot harder. I still dont have his cowboy fit cause i cant figure out what kind of silhouette I want for him and the extra details. I want him to look unique and not boring. A lot of cowboy designs just feel really lacking on details. So idk

5. How did you choose their name and why? Was it simply based on vibes or is there any specific meaning behind the name? Are the reasons behind their name different in- and out of universe?

So his name means White Fire Fire. I thought that was hella funny so I chose to use both of those. Hes also a pyromaniac so yknow. I also wanted to make sure he had an Irish last name since his mothers 1st gen Irish immigrant (so shes irish herself) and his dads 2nd gen (so his parents were irish). I just looked around in name lists. I think I specifically looked for male names popular in the year he was born. So like 1850 sumn I think. I have it in my notes somewhere lol

6. What was the thought process behind their appearance? Did you go mostly for the aesthetic or are there other reasons they look the way they do?

Honestly it just kinda immediately was in my head. I was thinking of that one guy in Captain America: The First Avenger. The ginger guy in Steve and Buckys team with the stache. He was my first thought but I wanted Cassidy to look more unhinged which made me then think of Charles Manson and his eyes. Also with some color palette changes. Speaking of which his colors are mostly in the red to yellow range with blue because of fire :)

7. What is an aspect of their appearance that you like the most?

His stache. I dont draw a lot of facial hair and it just is him. It makes him so noticable. Its either that or his eyes. I like the shape and his crazed expression or yknow the opposite when he gets angry and the tops of his eyelids actually touch his iris.

8. What is the origin of their personality? And let's be honest - how much of it is projecting?

He does have some projection but lets be honest again all my characters will have projection. Whether I know or not i just dont know how to make characters without some degree of it. I only know myself completely like that so ofc in creating a whole new person im gonna use myself as reference. Any mini ramble over, he got my pyromania cranked up to 11. Like hes actually an arsonist, I am not. I just like watching fire and watching stuff burn. Idk where the rest of his personality really came from though. Just me brainstorming and givin him stuff.

9. How big is their role in the story? Do they make a frequent appearance or are they a character with little "screentime" but big influence? Or are they just a favourite background guy?

Seeing as its roleplay centered on him and makwas story id say pretty massive lol. I love him but I think lamb and I both kind of see it as Makwa being the main character while Cassidy is his supporting character

10. What is their main character arc in the story? Where do they start and how do they develop? Do they get a happy ending or is their story a tragic one?

Honestly? Hes not a good guy. He never gets redemption. He is intrinsically bad. He kills for the fun of it. He quite literally will kill you (general) if youre too boring and dont bring him entertainment or if your death would bring him entertainment. His main motivators are protecting Makwa and having fun. The most "development" he has is basically developing a set of morals which is just not doing stuff Makwa doesnt like. As for an ending he doesnt really have one yet. We dont know where thats going but we have a few general plot points that are in a timeline.

11. Is there any existing character from other media that your character resembles? Was the resemblance intentional or was it a coincidence?

Without his stache, he honestly looks like Julian Devorak to me. Idk if theres any others tho personality or looks wise.

12. Do you have a playlist for the character? What songs do you associate with them and why?

I do!! Lambs helping me build it but mostly its built off vibes. Anything slightly unsettling or creepy while upbeat. Theres also a ship playlist but its only got like 4 songs rn and that ones Lambs

13. Do you have a voice claim for the character? What do you imagine the character sounds like?

I dont yet. At first I was thinking like southern American accent with notes of Irish but I couldnt find any references to that. So now Im just thinking southern cowboy with some words said with the pronouncation of brit english. Seeing as his father has the southern accent since hes usa raised and his mother died when he was a young kid, he doesnt have a lot of the Irish accent influence anyway.

14. Do you have any quotes tied to the character, either from the story itself or from another source that fit them?

I have some from roleplay but not really. Heres a few from rp i like ig: "Got teeth like the god damn hounds. If your name aint Dog already, it should be." (after Makwa bit him on the hand during their first meeting) Makwa: "...you have to bite the hand that feeds you." Cassidy: "I didn't feed you shit, mutt." "No plan makes a dead man."

15. Have you ever made a moodboard for them?

Hub and I have a Pinterest board for the both of them. It's called Blazen Arrow which is their ship name.

16. Is there any memes or running jokes associated with the character, both in- and out of universe?

in universe, he gets the outlaw name "Fire Boy McCoy" and he absolutely hates it. I cant think any others right now.

17. Are there any motifs or symbols associated with the character? How are they represented, in their design, personality or in some other way?

Fire. Lots of fire.

18. Does the character have other characters connected to them? Do you have a family tree and "offscreen" connections made up for them or do they exist in a vacuum purely for the purpose of the story?

He does have a family which consisted of him late father, late mother, and older sister (and the inlaws and nieces and nephews). Then yknow Makwa. And his horse and cat. Theres a few others but those are the important ones.

19. What is your general favourite thing about the character? What is your least favourite?

Idk. I just love all of him. Him being completely unhinged probably if i had to pick.

20. Bonus question: share any additional thoughts, art, favourite scenes, anything you've been waiting for a chance to ramble about.

this has taken me so long and now my brain is fried so i cant think of anything BUT if anyone wants to ask questions about him feel free.

Character asks!

These are more focused on the background stuff rather than the usual "what would the character do in XY situation" kinds of asks. I've been looking for something like this for quite a while and in the end decided to make my own. Feel free to use, go wild, enjoy

What was the original thought that led to the creation of this character?

How long was the process before the character reached its final version? (or a version that would be clearly recognizable as the character?)

What was the first thing you decided on, the character's name, appearance, personality or their role in the story?

And reverse, which one of the four things did you struggle with the most?

How did you choose their name and why? Was it simply based on vibes or is there any specific meaning behind the name? Are the reasons behind their name different in- and out of universe?

What was the thought process behind their appearance? Did you go mostly for the aesthetic or are there other reasons they look the way they do?

What is an aspect of their appearance that you like the most?

What is the origin of their personality? And let's be honest - how much of it is projecting?

How big is their role in the story? Do they make a frequent appearance or are they a character with little "screentime" but big influence? Or are they just a favourite background guy?

What is their main character arc in the story? Where do they start and how do they develop? Do they get a happy ending or is their story a tragic one?

Is there any existing character from other media that your character resembles? Was the resemblance intentional or was it a coincidence?

Do you have a playlist for the character? What songs do you associate with them and why?

Do you have a voice claim for the character? What do you imagine the character sounds like?

Do you have any quotes tied to the character, either from the story itself or from another source that fit them?

Have you ever made a moodboard for them?

Is there any memes or running jokes associated with the character, both in- and out of universe?

Are there any motifs or symbols associated with the character? How are they represented, in their design, personality or in some other way?

Does the character have other characters connected to them? Do you have a family tree and "offscreen" connections made up for them or do they exist in a vacuum purely for the purpose of the story?

What is your general favourite thing about the character? What is your least favourite?

Bonus question: share any additional thoughts, art, favourite scenes, anything you've been waiting for a chance to ramble about

[my-fandom-mania]

People being upset that Joseph Quinn is going to be in MCU movies for at least another three years is so funny to me.

He’s THIRTY.

Harrison Ford was in Star Wars when he was 33, and he’s still acting! One of my favorite roles of his is in Shrinking which came out last year. He’s 82.

Joseph Quinn has LOTS OF TIME to find more projects, and after this he can do EVEN MORE passion projects because he’ll have that kind of power behind his name even more than he does now, which he already has a lot of!

SUPPORT ACTORS DOING PROJECTS THEY ENJOY.

And if that’s a blockbuster Gladiator movie even he didn’t think they could make a good sequel for at first, a short film or three movies in the biggest cinematic franchise in the world, everyone - him, the fans, the industry - only benefits!

[utilitycaster]

So I do agree that that's a separate issue that comes up, of people having no context for TTRPGs (and in some cases the specific TTRPG involved; D&D or Pathfinder-style are very different than Kids on Bikes which is very different from Ten Candles) and reblogged a post about that earlier this evening but this post is a lot more about people finding a character in an ensemble cast who doesn't fit what they want (or who is the only one who fits what they want) and constructing an idea of the themes that isn't supported by the text.

One example I had in mind was Caduceus. I feel as though his detractors focused intensely on the idea that he didn't want to be there and wasn't hiding anything - but the former is much more complicated than the truth (he felt a calling to be there; he just disliked many aspects of adventuring) and the latter is untrue (emotional repression king; just because he's less overt than Fjord, or Caleb, or Jester doesn't mean it's not happening). On the other hand, his fans focused on the idea that no one was asking him how he felt (they were, he was deflecting) and the fact that he ultimately returns home to argue against a theme of found family, even though Found Family does not equal "Avengers Mansion" (plus, the Mighty Nein are the only party that do, effectively have that - they just don't live there all the time because they have lives to live, but they return regularly to the tower.) I'd also argue that you do not need every character to fit a theme. Jester, for example, stands out as the only character among the Mighty Nein who hasn't engaged in some sort of suicidal or self-harming behavior; that does not really matter because her story fits other major themes of the work, like those of redemption, identity, and self-worth. This isn't Power Rangers; there's not One Single Theme for a party or a story. Unless a player is absolutely ignoring everyone else, they'll fit SOMETHING.

The reason I specifically mentioned Actual Play is that it's a medium where themes can be very subtle and gradual given the sheer length of time these characters command, and because in long-form campaigns those themes emerge through improv much of the time, rather than specific intent. TV, movies, video games, and literature typically start with more finished character concepts than many D&D games do, and films and literature usually have a plot in mind from the start (or at least they should) and movies obviously must, so they can lay the themes on much more thickly and obviously from the start.

also sort of in conversation with my last text post but I'd say the vast majority of the time someone argues a specific character doesn't fit into the theme of an actual play campaign, they do, and the person making that claim is refusing to engage with the themes. Even when I've really disliked a character I've usually felt that they fit thematically into the party and just were super annoying.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

brain rot so bad i was in class today when a schoolmate was wearin red sunnies and my prof went 'you look like something straight out of a marvel comic' HIS NAME IS SCOTT SUMMERS PUT RESPECT ON HIS NAME