#it sounds cheesy but it really has changed things for me in a major way

[the-witty-pen-name]

Love is Blind Part 2

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!F!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut in later parts, reader has low self-esteem and struggles with self love/acceptance, anxiety/trauma related to bullying, tooth rot worthy fluff, Eddie being a major flirt, cursing, mentions of substance use

Summary: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab. 

Read Part One!

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed! If ! forgot anything to include as a warning please let me know. Also, if you would like to be added to the taglist for this fic, just let me know!

Day Three:

Eddie is sitting on the couch upside down, his legs hanging over the backrest and his head dangling over the seat. He stares up at the makeshift ceiling above as he pretends to play the drums on his stomach. The overhead light is starting to make his eyes slightly water but he’s too comfortable to move.

You’ve told him your name and he’s been almost obnoxious with how much he’s using it in your conversation. He’s using any excuse to work it into the front or back of a lot of his sentences. It doesn’t bother you like you thought it would, and you actually love hearing him call you by your name. It helps create a sense of intimacy where you both obviously can’t have it. It makes you feel more real to him, makes you feel closer to him, reminding him that if he sticks this out he could actually see you, maybe even touch you…

“Do you worry about what’s going to happen when this thing ends?” you ask.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he replies, moving so he is sitting upright. You sound concerned, your voice sounding smaller. “I don’t want to talk through a wall anymore, I want to talk like actually in person- not like some lab rats.”

“Do you think about what I look like?” you ask cautiously, and Eddie shakes his head as he stands up to walk directly up against the wall. 

“Of course, I’d love to see you,” Eddie explains, “I haven’t actually thought so much about what you look like, I just want to see you. You know? We’ve talked for what- uh, 7 or 8 hours at this point? Which honestly- insanely small amount of time to get to know someone. But like think about it- average date is what? 2 hours, sometimes less. We’ve been on like 4 “normal length” dates in 3 days. And usually you know you like someone by then at least. And I know I like you, and I love talking to you- without seeing me you have made me feel seen. God, that was so fucking cheesy.” 

You feel the corners of your ears well with tears- a little overwhelmed from the affirmations and attention you are not used to receiving. You realize that you never once doubted you’d not like how Eddie looks, nor do you even care either. You don’t understand why your brain won’t let you accept the same could be true for the way Eddie thinks about you. 

“I feel the same way about you,” you respond, and Eddie pumps his fist in victory. “I’ve had so much I’ve needed to work through. I mean, still working through. I have a lot of trouble accepting the fact that someone could actually like me as I am right now. I’ve always had the thoughts of well, I need to change myself and once I’m more like this, then I’ll be attractive or whatever. But, when I’m here, talking with you, I’m not worried about it anymore. But I’m still worried about what it's going to look like when this whole ordeal is over and you actually see me, and I can’t hide behind the wall anymore. But here, when we’re talking, I feel like I can be completely myself with you and I’m scared of losing that. Cause I also really like you.” 

“I can promise you there is nothing about you that would make me not interested,” he reaffirms. “I mean, I already know that you’re pretty- inside and out so it isn’t going to change anything. Except… I’m hoping you’d let me kiss you if you aren’t completely repulsed by me that is. Ugh, I’m sorry. I sound like a pathetic 14 year old boy. But, you know what I mean. Fuck, this is torturous.”

Eddie beams when he hears your little laugh from the other side of the wall again. He wants to know if there’s anyway he can get out of the experiment early. He needs to touch you, pull you into him. He wants to hug you, and have you here sitting next to him- flush up against his side. He’s craving the small pieces of physical intimacy that would just satisfy this restlessness he’s feeling throughout his whole body. It’s like he’s experiencing withdrawals but for something he’s never even been allowed to taste. He wants to shower you with affection the second you let him. 

“So, what are you hoping for at the end of this?” You ask, snapping yourself out of your daze. In the little notebook they provided to everyone, you’ve caught yourself writing Eddie in different styles with little hearts. You snap the book closed, like you're worried he’s gonna see it or something. You roll your eyes at yourself, leaning back on the couch and putting one of the pillows up to your face, embarrassed. You’re so past the point of no return. 

He takes a deep breath, contemplating his answer. Wanting to be honest, but not so honest that he scares you away by moving too fast. Case closed: he just wants to get your number and ask you on real dates. There’s also wildly inappropriate things swirling around in his head, as he reminds himself of what he did last night. But, he’s not ready to admit that fantasy to you just yet. 

“It depends on how you’ll feel most comfortable,” he settled on. “But I’d love to take you on an actual date. Like a real one, not this weird shit anymore. We can sit and talk face to face, so I can stare at you and you can yell at me to cut it out. I want to make you feel special and attractive because you are and you deserve to be entirely spoiled and pampered. However that looks for you, I’m down. I just want to be near you. I’ll go at your pace.”

You were never the type to make the first move, ever. Which is also why you’re here in the first place. You have never had the courage to vocalize any sort of desire to a man like you have with Eddie. It’s been really thrilling, the way he’s been able to help you open up. You feel like you can share your thoughts on what you want physically and he won’t judge you or shame you. You decide to be blunt. 

“If it’s actually true, that you’re physically attracted to me when you see me for the first time,” you say, unable to control the way your whole body gets covered in goosebumps at the thought. “I don’t want you to hold back. Just whatever feels right to you in that moment, do it. Kiss me, touch me, I’m down for everything.”

“Everything?” 

“I want everything.” 

“Shit, sweetheart, you can’t just say that,” Eddie responds, sounding almost pained. He chuckles, “you’re a tease, you know that?” 

“I’m just being honest,” you respond, and Eddie can hear how you’re being coy. He loves it, he’s happy to hear you coming out of your shell. He’s excited to finally hear about this side of you. You’re slowly but surely peeling back your layers for him. 

“I want you to be more honest,” he flirts. “But Christ, it’s going to be a long week.” 

There were four more days to go before the big reveal. If any of the participants felt they had a connection to another- or fell in love, they’d submit their picks to the technicians and then the technicians would set-up the next phase of the experiment. Unfortunately, if this does happen, the first time you actually get to see Eddie, it’ll still be under surveillance, most likely monitoring heart rate and whatever else they’re looking for. It will feel clinical, which is so not ideal, but once it’s over- you and Eddie could walk out together and do whatever, go wherever. If he still is interested.

“So, um, what type of girls do you usually go for?” you ask, a slight twinge of insecurity working its way back to the front of your mind. 

“Um,” Eddie replies, letting out an exhale, “Alive.” He smiles when he hears a laugh from the other side of the wall. 

“No seriously,” you urge. “I’m curious.”

“I mean- I really don’t have a type,” he states honestly. “I’d like it if she's nice to me, but that’s not even a deal breaker,” he jokes. 

“You like girls being a little mean to you?” You flirt, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“I don’t think I’d hate it,” he grins. “Um, but seriously? I guess I want someone who likes some of the same stuff as me- or at least will put up with me talking about it. I want someone who I feel comfortable around and I’m not afraid to be myself.”

“What about like- appearance wise?” you ask tentatively.

“This feels like a question we shouldn’t be asking,” he taunts. You feel your face get hot. “I feel like if I tell you the truth you won’t believe me,” he answers. 

“Why’s that?” you ask, confused. 

“It feels like you're expecting me to say skinny, blonde and leggy or something, and if I say anything else you’re going to just think I’m lying,” he muses. Your eyes widen at how well he’s able to read you, and it’s mildly infuriating. 

“I think someone or maybe the world or whatever,” he continues, “has convinced you that you aren’t attractive and I really, truly think that isn’t the case at all. And baiting me to try to confirm that isn’t going to work because I can tell it’s a defense mechanism cause you’re afraid.” 

“Well darling,” he smirks, stepping as close as possible to the wall so you hear him clearly, “I’m not gonna let you get away with it. Because, talking to you is convincing me with each passing hour that I’m cooped up in this damn box that this experiment might actually work. I have not been able to think about anything else but getting back to talk to you when I’m not here. You’re desirable, I want you and you’re just gonna have to wrap your pretty little head around that.” 

Buzz

PART THREE

Taglist:

@woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction @ali-r3n @cherrycolas-things @hellfirebabe666 @trixyvixx @stardancerluv @i--wont-run-this-time

[inkpot909]

The Stardust Crusaders’ Picks for a First-Dance Wedding Song Headcanons

↳ Gender Neutral Reader. Joseph Joestar is excluded.

A/n: A chill list of headcanons that came to me at 6 in the morning. Jokes aside, I loved putting this together. Although I admit I am a bit biased since I’ve always loved retro music. I did my best to pick music that coincided with the music the characters each canonically listen to (at least, as far as we’re told).

Warning(s): None.

Jotaro Kujo

-> As the World Falls Down

David Bowie

���As the pain sweeps through

Makes no sense for you

Every thrill is gone

Wasn’t too much fun at all

But I’ll be there for you

As the world falls down”

Canonically speaking, Jotaro’s favorite musician is Toshinobu Kubota. It’s admittedly a rather interesting choice for a man who was a dedicated delinquent in high school.

But music tends to touch people in a special, often times sensitive, manner. And despite looking and acting the way he does, Jotaro’s music preferences are no different.

Yeah, sure, he’s definitely a “whatever’s on the radio” kind of guy, but he has taste.

Separated from others, when he’s in control of the music he’s listening to, his choices give the impression of a casual listener that somehow always has the best picks seemingly with no effort put in at all. Perfectly on brand for Jotaro.

Therefore, he’s likely going to have an unexpected pick.

Therefore, he picks a sappy ballad from an under-appreciated 80s movie. Not because he’s even seen The Labyrinth by any stretch of the imagination, but because he just… likes how it sounds.

He likely heard it one way or another, completely detached from the movie itself, and decided he enjoyed it. Something about the slightly cheesy yet instrumentally enchanting tune gets stuck in his head in a really good way.

There is a reason past “oh, it just sounds nice” as to why he picked it but let’s be honest… he’s going to get a little embarrassed annoyed if he has to explain to you in full detail.

The title pretty much speaks for itself, in his opinion.

Noriaki Kakyoin

-> Every Breath You Take

The Police

“Every move you make

And every vow you break

Every smile you fake

Every claim you stake

I’ll be watching you”

Good god, he’s certainly the Sting fan.

Whether or not you actually like Sting it’s hard to argue against the fact that Kakyoin likely has an overall shit taste in music. Why is this the case? Because he’s been alone the majority of his life and didn’t have any friends to bully him over it.

Not having anyone around him to say “what the hell is this” or just a simple “no” will and has effected him.

He’s the type of guy who claim’s “this album will change your life” before putting on some of the worst pieces of music you’ve ever heard.

Not that he isn’t trying, keep in mind.

This man will stress about what to suggest for days on end. He’s going to take the longest compared to the others in how how much time it takes him to pick. It’ll eat away at his brain, threatening to take every bit of his sanity unless he can think of what he deems as the perfect song he can choose.

And still he manages to not only choose an extremely predictable wedding song, but an insanely creepy one as well.

It’s weirdly charming, in his own odd Noriaki way.

He likely didn’t know what he was doing at the beginning of the relationship due to inexperience, and it’s probably heartwarming to know some things never change.

And it’s completely possible the stalker-ish lyrics of the song didn’t click inside his brain. Not because he doesn’t understand the lyrics per se… but because the poor guy hardly had a grasp on what was actually considered romantic when you first met.

Please, for your own sanity, don’t let the song played at your wedding be one that he picked (with hindsight he’ll probably thank you for it too).

Jean Pierre Polnareff

-> The Air That I Breathe

The Hollies

“Peace came upon me and it

leaves me weak

so sleep, silent angel, go to

sleep

Sometimes

All I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you”

Polnareff’s favorite musician isn’t ever canonically specified, but it’s made pretty clear he’s likely a fan of The Beatles. And considering he went through puberty during the 70s, he’s likely going to lean into that era of music.

Generally speaking, he’s got decent taste. Sure, he’s got the music taste of a white suburban father, but his picks are usually pretty agreeable.

That said, he’s definitely a little high and mighty about it.

He won’t go off on the subject too hard whenever you’re around, but he thinks very highly of his preferences. Polnareff’s a huge victim of nostalgia, and a part of him feels a little elitist for having grown up in the time period that he did.

He has had the song for his first dance picked out in the back of his mind for years, swearing that it would be played at his wedding at some point or another.

Hell, he’s probably got a full roster of music in mind for the reception.

For such a monumental occasion, he’s sure to pick a ballad that starts off slow but crescendos into the chorus- easily the type of romantic tune he’d prefer.

And unlike the others, you may get pushback from him if you don’t want that as your first dance. He’s quite stubborn, generally speaking, and this is no exception to that.

Ultimately though, he would eventually cave and do just about anything you want.

But as stated before, he’s had his mind set on this one for literal years. So certainly expect this to be a somewhat tough conversation to have with him if you prefer something different.

Muhammad Avdol

-> I Love How You Love Me

Claudine Longet

“I love how your eyes close

whenever you kiss me

And when I’m away from you I

love how you miss me

I love the way you always treat

me tenderly

But, darling, most of all I love

how you love me”

Avdol’s music taste is left as a complete mystery in canon.

However, because he runs his own shop, he’s fairly attached to the calming instrumentals he often keeps on at the store. Avdol understands atmosphere well and takes it very seriously.

When he’s not working, it’s not very often that he finds himself listening to music.

But when he does, it’s usually music with soft or ethereal overtones (you cannot tell me he doesn’t listen to Enya). Throw in some charming oldies from the 50s and 60s, and Avdol’s in his element.

To put it simply, easy-listening tunes are his freaking jam.

He also enjoys listening to music from all across the world. Avdol is likely well-traveled, and is undoubtedly knowledgeable on other places and cultures. So the preference comes naturally to him.

He’s going to pick something very romantic and slow. A song that, even if you maybe haven’t heard it before, upon the first time listening you just know it’s meant to be played at a wedding.

And, unlike the others, it would take him less than 24 hours to have made his choice. It’s not that he doesn’t put care into the decision, he just doesn’t like making you wait. He’s quite efficient when it’s something this important.

Regardless, he’s the most flexible of the group when it comes to your tastes, so anything you want is perfectly fine with him.

That said, it has to be a ballad. That’s his main request. Avdol’s eager for your input, sure, but he’s going to want to slow dance with you more than anything else.

[voidscarredadjudicator]

Anyways it's 3 am and I have work tomorrow. Clearly this is the perfect time to ramble about one of my favorite bands.

You've heard of fanfiction. You've heard of podfics. But have you ever heard of just straight up making two whole ass fucking albums of genuinely good rock opera ballads that stand on their own two feet as quality music that's all just very thinly veiled Mega Man grimdark AU fanfiction?

You have now.

These guys are The Protomen. You might've heard of them. You might've not. The point though is that they're rad as hell, and a genuine inspiration. I'm not sure about anyone's individual backstories, but they've been together as a group since at least 2005, and from then 'til this very day they've been working on this Mega Man AU of theirs in the form of song, with two major acts/albums out and a third one that's been in the works for years (with a single having dropped sometime last year).

"Gee Void," I hear you think, "This sounds incredibly cheesy! Also what's the status of Act II of Humanity's Endling?"

Yeah, and? Still kicks ass. Also see previous ask response.

Anyways, these guys go above and beyond a simple fan project. They've done tours, collabs, and even made a music video that's more akin to a short film - which is where my profile picture comes from, actually.

The best part about all of this though is that you honestly don't even need to be a fan of Mega Man whatsoever to be a fan of The Protomen, since so much has been changed around that it's entirely it's own continuity. I can personally attest to this, as I've been listening to these guys since at least 2015 and I've only just played my first Mega Man game earlier this year. The best way I could describe it is if somebody made a film adaptation of the Mega Man games in the 80's that doesn't quite get the story 1:1, except they actually tried to make the new story good in it's own right.

Act I, just called 'The Protomen', has a lot more of a grungy garage band sound, while Act II: The Father Of Death does this really cool thing where the first half of the album is western and it slowly transitions to 80's rock as the album goes on to signify the passing of time & advancement of technology in the story. Act II is a prequel, so you can listen to either album first.

You can probably guess where I got the inspiration to name the parts of Humanity's Endling 'acts' from. Well, this and a different band that also does the same thing with their music, but that's a different ramble post for another day.

Regardless, I won't spoil the story, so if you're gonna listen, I'd also recommend having the lyrics pulled up on the side as there's some extra lyric notes to read for some songs that give further story/context to the songs that are playing beyond just what the words are saying.

This isn't music I'd recommend just playing in the background while you're doing something else - set aside some time, about an hour and a half, to just listen and take it in. Treat it like you would a fanfiction. Of course, music tastes are subjective, so if it's not your thing, I understand.

But if you're still not convinced, here's a link to what is unequivocally their best song:

It's just over four minutes; give it a listen if you've got the time.

That's it from me. I should get to bed. This post took an hour to make. My sleep schedule is still in shambles.

Good thing I'm a closer! 🙃

[deadcactuswalking]

On “Disappointed” by Electronic

I am far from an expert on self-improvement: I feel like no-one can be, and if they say they are, they’re probably not telling you the truth. There is no guide to it, really, and there are a million ways in which someone can “improve” upon themselves depending on who they are, what works for them, etc. The one thing that I find universal in my life and goals as a human being is that nothing is ever more than good enough. I’m constantly “whelmed”, and this is especially true in the recent months where even amidst important and oncoming drastic changes in my life, I find myself just kind of waiting for myself to be ready for that, instead of actually preparing myself. Basically, nothing hits quite the same, and for someone who never grants themselves lofty expectations - quite the opposite - I don’t even feel receptive of or engaged with things I enjoy doing - or have to do - anymore. Surely there’s a word for that.

I could love you, for sure - disassembled ramblings on “Disappointed” by Electronic

The waves of cascading synths that open “Disappointed” amidst Neil Tennant’s heavenly falsetto are really like the gates to a new world I’m not fully able to experience. In fact, I can’t experience it - it’s locked away from me on purpose behind that pumping dance beat, a beat that makes this song seem otherwise simple. It’s a love song about finally finding that special person who just mutually clicks. He’s not disappointed any more - that’s what makes the song so happy… right? Well, probably. Tennant hasn’t said much about the song in regards to what it “means” and frankly, I don’t think it’s that important anyway, because what I get from the song is something that really resonates to that weird state of flux I described at the start.

The fascinating new shining lights teased to us by the atmosphere of the track are wiped away in the cheesy piano line and beat the NME called “half-hearted disco miserablism” (in a review much more negative than this one). Each melodic idea we get from Bernard Summer and Johnny Marr, the duo who make up Electronic, ends up being a frictionless loop, even the rickety guitars and angelic keyboards. Nothing actually feels like anything, it’s a complete drift that mirrors the disillusion, disappointment and disenchantment Tennant professes no longer to feel in that massively infectious hook. The song ends up sounding like an ode to what it begs you to believe it’s not.

Yet despite that, there’s not a pessimistic bone in this song’s body, just a tone of breezed apathy, content with existing in a space that doesn’t really exist. Tennant’s assertions are prefaced with uncertainty - “At the back of my mind, I think I’m winning”, he drones in the first verse, with all of the verses sitting themselves in the present, whilst the chorus flips between the past and future. Time seems to stop itself in a loop for these loops, which means all this direct address is kind of static and speculatory. His yous start to sound a lot like Is.

When I say self-improvement, I don’t mean having a personal trainer or honing a skill - I’m talking about understanding your self better, feeling like you’re putting more value in what you’re doing. Yet this just sets you on route for disappointment - even in times of substantial change, you cannot “create” value, you trade it in. Nothing is immediate and Neil Tennant even seems surprised by how quickly he’s “improving”. Instead of being a love song, what I’ve always taken away from this song is a call to himself. He could love himself, he has to reassert as such, because otherwise he’ll just be trapped in the cycle of disappointment he refuses to believe he’s already in. He’s falling in love with his own ambition and desire to be “better”… which isn’t really being “better” at all, it’s clinging onto the very prospect of it. Since Summer and Marr drift us into aquatic wistfulness for the vast majority of its runtime, this cycle seems like it lasts forever, but it also allows for it to just be a cute love song if you want it to be.

I won’t get into the spiel about how valuable differing interpretations of art are, but it is special that such a song can resonate with me on a really specific level that it had absolutely no clear intention to, in fact the song’s stiff dance-pop groove and cliché synthscape are acting opposed to an alternate interpretation. It seems isolated within itself, but there is one point where the song breaks. We ride into a classic breakbeat backing a staccato piano melody, as Neil Tennant sings: “At the back of my head, I believe what you said”, but what “you” said is never revealed. An awkward pause ensues, almost in preparation for the song to burst, and a barely recognisable yelp from Tennant gets just about one word through: an echoed “dreaming”. The song practically continues as normal after, but with the bridge’s fantastical outburst, it’s hard to think of it as an honest-to-God love song any more, but rather a song that drills its own prophesy of self-love into an outfit set to reject it. From that moment, Tennant admits that internal struggle to believe in the dreams he’s set out for himself, and all that apathy and disappointment, each and every time in that final chorus, overwhelms me.

Despite its limitations, found in its stock production and its lyrical conceit, “Disappointed” ends up feeling euphoric: a dreamscape I can elope into for a brief respite amidst a bleakly underwhelming moment in my life. Self-improvement is a constant goal - Hell, a constant fear - and despite this song’s hyperfixation on Tennant’s feet stepping over some unspecified goal of feeling content, it allows you to steer your submarine far away from that looming human “need” to feel better about yourself. Plunge into bubbling dance-pop joy and escapism with the guy from the Pet Shop Boys for just four minutes, and you’ll be voided of the outside world for one twinkling moment. Or of course, play it on repeat, like I often do, and tell yourself you’re not disappointed at all.

----

“Disappointed” is a single by English alternative dance duo Electronic featuring vocals from Neil Tennant. It was released in 1992 as a promotional soundtrack single from the Ralph Bakshi-directed film Cool World, and peaked at #6 on the UK Singles Chart, becoming their highest-charting hit. Despite brief reunions, the duo have not released new music together since 1999.

[raystie]

my dude im sorry i didnt see this earlier lmfao !!! this is mostly what i posted to twitter although i've changed some things here and there. its also quite long so i had to put it under the read more cut

this is rlly long and yet not every single thought i have about the game so apologies in advance. this is also gonna be super messy because i cant articulate shit well because my brain is fried but anyway. definitely some major pacing issues and some segments felt like a DRAG, lot of plot moments that felt as ridiculous as y4 (incredibly cheesy or stupid plot twist that makes no sense, especially at the end ...), but overall i still immensely enjoyed the game and the experience. one of my top titles in the mainline for sure now. they tried a lot of new things and a lot were misses but it still had a lot of hits and its so cool to see how they took most of the good stuff to put into y0 that made that title a fan favorite

the best thing about this game is shinada actually. he is truly my favorite character of the whole game, i was gonna write more but it would take too long and i can't really describe everything he makes me feel but i found him to be the most compelling and emotional character. to me he had a rlly fresh/unique backstory where as a non yakuza protag he had NO criminal ties (unlike akiyama and tanimura), and bcos of this i consider him the bravest protag because he does not live a life of danger but threw himself into it anyway. ppl like akiyama and tanimura have the liberty of having resources (money and connections) and proper training and preparation for being involved with criminal activity but shinada don't know a damn thing and had multiple attempts on his life and STILL chose to pursue the truth and i just love him so much for that. i found him really touching at times, like the unwavering trust he had in the townspeople, and he has some of the RAWEST scenes in the whole game, such as the one on the rooftop with milky and the one near the end where he cries twice sitting alone at the balcony. explaining why is gonna take too long (and make me wanna cry) so if you get it you get it. also while he is one of the biggest babygirls ever i don't even want to call him that because that would just feel like a disservice to how much he actually means to me. hes more than that <3 i can go on but i will stop that for now

majima was actually, imo, the WORST character of the game. he's so incredibly OOC that i kinda refuse to believe this is canon. i have 2 main gripes with him, the first being how badly written his relationship with park is. there's so many unanswered questions that could have been used to explore his character even more especially considering its such a big plot point but instead opted to him just literally not even ACKNOWLEDING the relationship from his own goddamn mouth. u could tell me them putting majima's name on the letter was fake and he never sent that and i would believe u. and why the fuck did they write park to make him sound literally abusive like he would NOT do that. sorry. he just wouldnt. rgg was too focused on trying to make her backstory sad and traumatic that they butchered majima along the way. the second gripe is the way he quite literally betrayed saejima when ... he wouldn't ?? like you're telling me because he thought saejima was "weak" (vague and lazy reason) so he made a choice for saejima to be expelled from the clan? doesn't this just show majima's lack of trust in saejima, and breaking their kyodai bond? and its just sadder that saejima had complete faith in majima, that if majima died that is his own responsibility. majima basically chickened out and went oh but you're weak 🥺 i'm going to impose my own weakness onto you and make a choice for you that you would never do yourself LIKE BITCH THIS IS NOT IN YOUR HEART just communicate better or something!!!!! he made me so mad lmfao his only redeeming quality here is being cute as usual

this isn't a y5 post if i dont talk about kiryu and haruka obv. there's a lot of obvious things to be said about kiryu being miserable without his family so i won't get too much into it but i loved that you can really see the build up to it (y1 when adopting haruka is the only thing keeping him going in life after losing everyone else, y3 when running the orphanage is him being the happiest and also struggling to hold onto it as long as he can, conversation with saejima where they talk about how family was the only thing for them to look forward to). haruka's motivations are unclear throughout most of the game as i couldn't quite tell if she REALLY wanted to be an idol or not, but i think that's more reflective on the fact that haruka herself wasn't sure either. but regardless, the end rlly broke me. there's a cool (and by that i mean devastating) parallel of how there are so many eyes on haruka as the gives her performance but at the end of it all she only had eyes for her father 💔

i feel like i wanna talk about her just because shes so polarizing but i DON'T hate park. i think shes a more morally grey and complex character but regardless whether she did the actual "correct" thing or not i think she genuinely believed she was giving haruka a better life. shes a civilian who is going to believe pulling a teenaged civilian girl away from the yakuza is the right thing to do, and losing her baby many years ago probably helped in her treating haruka like a daughter. and yes she did live her idol dream through haruka vicariously but i also don't believe she "forced" haruka to be an idol. she's not THAT powerful, if haruka fully objected to it she wouldn't go in the first place. i also find her realistic in her own way so i found myself liking her as a character. but as i briefly mentioned in the majima rambling above they wrote her so badly majima's character got caught in the crossfire. hate them for that

the ending gave me a lot of mixed feelings because of the ambiguity and things not explained. like why did no one go to rescue him but also how the fuck did haruka know he was there. but the way hes literally dying crawling on the ground and the only thing keeping him going is the thought that everyone depending on him was waiting for him... ok rgg i see how it is u want me to die by a broken heart. and ofc they have to end the game with "yume" again but i forgive them for that one since it wasn't forced like the previous gazillion times it was mentioned. the way it's just the two of them makes the moment feel lonely, but also like as if nothing else really mattered except that they're reunited again, which is why i am ok with it being ambiguous. maybe the true y5 plot was the goal of reuniting along the way /hj

gonna be honest i don't really have much thoughts on akiyama and saejima. i like saejima in it a lot better and his dynamic with baba is also really emotional and his scene at the end .... chefs kiss ... but i've run out of brain juice to think about that too much. akiyama is kind of just there to be convenient to the plot. don't really care that he didnt get his own side story actually, i already spent way too long on this game.

watase and katsuya are gay for each other

that's it really thanks if anyone actually read all that

I finished yakuza 5 some time ago. shinada is mine now

[libratxt]

today marks one year since I started doing therapy!!

[writingquestionsanswered]

yo, how do I write GOOD interactions when the setting is in the far future? I figured that the dialogue and character interactions and mannerisms would certainly be different, but I'm unsure of how to convey that accurately with no confusion, or using the cheesy themed slang trope? sorry if this is unclear, I'm out of sorts at the moment

Character Interactions in Future Settings

I would be careful about significantly altering the behavior, interactions, and dialogue of your characters just because your story is set in the future.

I've read and watched a lot of far-future science fiction, and those characters don't act or sound that different from how we do today. And, that tracks, because go back a couple hundred years from today, and people weren't that different. Sure, fashion and customs were a bit different, and language changes a lot when you go back earlier than a few hundred years, but the major differences in behavior and interactions were due to moral and social constraints which have grown less restrictive over time. Unless something has happened in your story's future to make things significantly more restrictive again, or to make the modest amount of social constraint we've settled upon over the last hundred years completely vanish, I don't think we'll be drastically different in 300 years, except for how our languages might evolve.

I think some great examples would be the following TV shows... The 100, set in 2149 (127 years from now) The Expanse, which takes place around 2300 (278 years from now...) The Orville, which takes place in 2419 (397 years from now...)

Firefly, which takes place in 2517 (495 years from now...)

...

No one in these shows are interacting in drastically different ways than we do now. Their dialogue isn't significantly different from how we speak now. Their behavior is pretty much how we behave now.

Whether you consider that to be a function of reality (how much these things truly will or will not change over time), or a function of making entertainment that is digestible by a modern audience doesn't really matter. What matters is that you don't want to make everything so drastically different in your story that the reader can't understand or identify with any of it.

And there's nothing cheesy about using slang as an indicator of being a different time. Slang evolves with each generation, that's reality. You obviously want to be careful not to overdo it and hit the reader over the head with slang, but it can be incorporated in subtle ways to give the impression of it being a different time. Just like if you set a story in the 1980s, younger characters will probably say things like "rad," "totally awesome," and "gnarly" from time to time, because that's just how some people spoke some of the time.

Ultimately, you need to think about if/how/why social and moral conventions have changed, and if/how/why that affects the way the people in your story's world behave and interact in specific ways. For example, after 2020, people don't shake hands as awesome. That's a very specific social convention that changed for a very specific reason.

I hope that helps! :)

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[spices-and-cherries]

Being domestic with James Bond would include...

I’m so excited about this one! I had lots of fun writing it and I really hope you guys have fun reading! 

I did not reference race, gender, sexuality, or physical appearance. If I missed something, please let me know so I can change it!

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of PTSD

Masterlist:

- The two of you have two places that you stay: one in the city and the other somewhere tropical. If it were completely up to him, you’d stay in the tropics year long, but you insist on keeping your job, hence the condo downtown. The two of you go down south during the winter. 

- There’s a picture of the two of you together in his wallet.

- James is very low maintenance and really doesn’t own a whole lot - the majority of his money goes towards you whether you like it or not. 

- Over the holidays, he’s incredibly hard to shop for because he already has everything he needs. You tend to settle for mixology books, collar stays, fancy shaving cream... The essentials, really. 

- You could buy him the most ridiculous thing and he’ll still use it. He’ll practically insist on it. Coffee doesn’t taste the same when it’s not in his ladybug mug, his feet aren’t warm enough if he’s not wearing his pink fuzzy socks, and he has trouble opening the door if his sushi key ring isn’t there. 

- He has no hobbies other than drinking and gambling, so you take it upon yourself to find out his hidden talent. While he hates going out, he’s the type that if he finds out he’s not good at something, he’ll obsess over it until he’s an expert. Usually, the majority of these times are instigated by your niece or the kids down the hall, which is why he’s now incredibly good at needle felting, origami, and roller blading. 

- His enjoyment of poker translated somehow into playing with Yu-Gi-Oh cards with the little boys in the neighborhood as well. How that happened, you’re still not sure.

- James has no talent with plants. It’s one of the few things he’s genuinely bad at and has no interest in trying to fix it. 

- You guys have three cars - all of them vintage Aston-Martins. James may or may not have a problem. 

- He likes to drink. Duh. The two of you have quite the collection of wines, sherries, ports, brandies... The list goes on. When the two of you got your own place, he got a mini bar with all the bells and whistles so he can make his own vodka martinis. Now that you have two places, he has two bars.

- Due to PTSD from working as a 007 for so long, James goes to therapy. He hated it (still does), but it’s working. Instead of talking about things that happened, they talk about how he can strategically get over his trauma. James was somehow talked into trying meditation (cough Q cough). While he hated it, he did learn how to create a mind palace which has helped him a lot.

- He likes having a place by the water because the sound of the waves helps him fall asleep.

- While you enjoy watching dumb shows and even dumber movies, James doesn’t really see the appeal. Or does he? He spent so long moaning and groaning about how bad it was until you caught him red-handed watching bugs bunny. He will never live that down.

- There is nothing more that James hates than the cold. It brings back too many memories (hence his affinity for the tropics). The only good thing, however, that comes of it is all the cheesy sex jokes and pick up lines he can use on you. 

-----

Again, thank you so much for the wonderful comments you guys have been sending my way! I love you all a lot!

- Simpy

[hansensgirl]

please don’t take him (even though you can).

summary. | She can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him.

warnings. | Major angst, cheating, nightmare mentions, anxiety, yearning, nail-biting, insecurities, mental heath issues, mentions of violence, abandonment, implied smut, talk of death, grief, some religion stuff (not major), loneliness, mentions of torture, PTSD, split personality disorder i think, this is really angsty and possibly triggering so please be aware of the warnings! 18+

word count. | 12k.

pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Winter Soldier x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff.

a/n. | THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 6K!!! i love each and everyone so much like serious i will kiss you all!! happy valentine’s day as well!! based off of jolene by dolly parton and love by daughter. thank you to my love @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing and listening to me talk about this fic every now and then! ilysm! this fic is very near and dear to me, so please reblog it 🥺

The Soldat’s sentences are broken, just like he is. The words fall apart as soon as they roll off of his tongue. So much to say, so few words, so little time. His hands are as cold as the bitter Russian winters, as cold as his stare. The Soldat doesn’t know what to feel. He’s as numb as when one’s entire body has been bitten by frostbite.

His voice is deeper than it was for the man he once was. From the screaming, from the crying, from the torture. He has no control, not even over his own voice. He keeps quiet and thinks. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks. Something has dawned on the Soldat. He does have control. But for how long? He only has it for a few minutes, maybe even hours. But it’s enough. He only has it until the soul of his mission’s body has left. He only has it until their eyes hold no life in them.

It’s 2014, and the first sentence he has completed is “I love you.”

You can remember it well. November 17th, the snow had fallen early and neither of you were prepared. Milk intended for hot chocolate boils on the stove and the crackle that the fire brings was the only sound in the room. He watches you from afar as you slowly stir the milk with a wooden spoon — the only one that he hadn’t accidentally snapped.

He doesn’t like the cold, he never has. Though he’s always warm, the cold haunts and taunts him. Memories and nightmares come with the snowfall and ice. “Are you okay, Winter?” you ask him, and he snaps out of a blank trance.

Winter. He likes being called Winter, although he loathes the season.

He nods his head after some careful thinking. Through the mess that is his mind, he manages to ask himself if he’s okay. Is he? No, he isn’t. He’s not sure why he nodded, but damn is he grateful for that smile you give in return. One in a million, you’re a burning star. The brightest there is, and the shiniest diamond ever. You’re rare, the person who poets write about and singers cry about. But you’re the only one for him. Only his.

“What flavours, Winter? Would you like to try something new?” you ask him, bringing the heat down and taking the milk off of the stove. Winter gets up from his spot near the fireplace and strides over to you. He likes the way you don’t choke in fear when he walks towards you.

You show him the numerous flavours of cookies you had baked that morning, and allow him to take as long as he’d like to choose. “M…” He struggles to say the word, scared that he’s being too demanding and that it’s a trick. HYDRA often did that. Fooling him just so that they could harm him, even though they never really needed a reason. “You can have anything you want, Winter. Anything.”

You reassure him, hesitatingly putting your warm hands on his warm face. He looks up at you, and you give him a soft smile that makes him want to cry with love. “Macadamia?” he requests politely. You hand him the macadamia cookies and smile, before grabbing one of the chocolate bombs you and he made the other day.

“Would you like to pour the milk, Winter?” you question him, grabbing his favourite mug. It was white and had a cheesy pun that always made him smile. “Yes.” He keeps his answers short, scared that he’ll say the wrong thing, or that he’ll abuse his privileges. The stories�� The harsh stories they tell about him contradict him. He looks just like that feared soldier; the one you should run from.

But God, he’s just a broken man. Not too far past repairing, but just enough that it takes certain special tools to fix him. He towers over you like a brute, a powerful stare that would make anyone but you cry. He takes the carton of milk for you, cracking a slight smile when he remembers that you were so weak that your hands would shake when lifting it.

Your heart warms as his lips stretch. Before, you weren’t sure if you even had a favourite sight. But now… now you know. He’s your favourite sight. He pours the milk with shaky yet careful hands, and you envy his strength through your admiration. He stops just at the right time without having you tell him. Independence. He’s learning.

You break pieces of chocolate into the cup and let the hot milk melt the sweet treat, before adding a dash of cocoa powder. You both watch in wonder and awe as the milk turns into hot chocolate. Winter takes his cup from you, and thanks you. “You’re welcome, Winter,” you say, placing your cold hands on the mug.

He watches as you sigh at the warmth, knowing that your body doesn’t radiate as much heat as he does. “S- Share?” he offers you, taking note of how you’re slightly shivering. You nearly choke on your hot chocolate as he proposes the utmost tempting action ever. “My blanket…” He adds on, making you take note of the blanket your father gave you that rests on his shoulders.

It’s not necessary, but it gives him a type of comfort that only you can give as well. “Please?” you ask, shivers crawling up your spine and goosebumps rising on your skin. You walk closer to him, padded feet barely making any noise as they rest on top of creaky wooden floors.

He opens the blanket like wings and takes you under his arm like a bird. Ready to show you the world, even the nastiest bits and pieces of it. He wraps the majority of the blanket around you and he’s infatuated with the relaxation that you radiate. No threats, no impending dooms. You stand side by side, not so silently sipping on your hot chocolate because you love the little smile he gives at the slightly loud slurps.

Winter doesn’t know what comes over him. Courage? Cowardice? A spur of love? His mind is too messed up to think that clearly. He turns you around to face him, the blanket falling to the floor with a slight thud. Who knew wool could be so heavy?

Heavy like your heart. Heavy like the tension that lingers.

Perhaps it’s not courage or cowardice, and in fact, it’s Bucky who used to flirt like a maniac with every girl in the neighbourhood. He bends down and plants a kiss on your lips — at least that’s what he thinks it is. You’re easily goo beneath his coarse hands as they cup your cold face. He doesn’t move his lips and you don’t either. You’re both content with the simple yet unique kiss.

He pulls away and you have to admit — you’re breathless. From both the lack of air and from happiness. It’s rare to have such feelings be reciprocated. “I love you,” he bluntly admits, and never in your life have you been so shocked. “W- What?” you ask incredulously, taken aback yet you can already feel your body, soul and mind taking off to cloud nine.

“I love you.”

He repeats himself and God knows he’s willing to say those three words and eight letters over and over again just for you. “You do?” you ask him, feeling tears well in your eyes. “Yes. I love you. Love has immense, yet measurable effects and changes in the biochemistry of the brain. I mean- my brain? The three basic parts of love are driven by unique blends of brain chemicals…”

He pauses to take a deep breath.

“Every time I look at you, I have the term, ‘butterflies in the stomach.’ It’s caused by a reduction in blood flow to the stomach. I have the strongest urges to protect and love,” he explains with more words than ever.

Never in your life have you ever heard the words that are pouring out of his mouth. “Do you…?” he nervously questions, feeling his heart palpitations speed up at such a rate, it’s like he’s having a heart attack.

“I love you, even more, Winter.”

It’s 2016, and your Winter is almost a different person.

His name is Bucky– James, he tells you. You call him Jamie. Information discovered from trips to the museum and paragraphs of articles and textbooks fill out the blank spaces of his life. Apparently, students learn about him and the rest of the Howling Commandos in school. But you haven’t been, so you wouldn’t know.

The night terrors are tough, but they’ve been slowly improving with you by his side. You’re both broken in your own ways, but you have each other, and that’s enough. He doesn’t mind it when you call him Winter, but you know it makes more sense to call him by his true name. You’re fine with anything, as long as you have him.

“My, my… Did you wake up in a good mood?” you ask him, hugging him carefully from behind because you know that sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched. That’s fine. “Maybe… I was thinking of going out today. Alone. Will you be safe?” he asks you, handing you the best meal he can scrounge up. Biscuits and tea. “Always, because I have you,” you tell him, making him give you a sad smile.

You don’t have a table, so he lifts you up onto the counter that is next to the sink. Inside, there are stacks of dishes. Neither of you have the energy to wash them, but today you will, to keep yourself busy. He’s already dressed; tight red henley on top of two more sweaters that are stretched out over his broad chest.

Jeans that barely fit his thick legs, combat boots that he stole and a cap that conceals his identity from wandering eyes. He watches as you eat, just in case you accidentally bite your tongue, burn yourself or choke. He’ll always be there for you. “Did you eat?” you question him, breaking your last biscuit and handing the bigger piece to him.

At first, he refuses to take it. Doubts from HYDRA still linger, they never can go away even with the most reassurance and love from you. “Please? You can lie and you can choose to not answer, but at least take this,” you beg, placing the half in his gloved hand. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips; the taste of orange pekoe tea making him sigh.

He’s always been partial to green, even though he can’t recall ever drinking it. He reluctantly eats the piece and you stare him dead in the eyes as he does so. “You know I’ll always love you, right?” you speak up once he’s finished. You know all the proper manners like they’re written on the back of your hand. When you were younger, they were.

In loopy cursive. Black Sharpie ink settling into your skin and you can remember the way your father scolded you for doing so. The memory is fresh, fresh like the tears you notice in Bucky’s eyes. He nods, and you down the rest of your tea. You never had a preference between tea and coffee. You were grateful to have either.

They both had their flaws, and they both had their strengths. “And I’ll always love you, лунный свет,” he whispers, closing the space that divides you both. His lips — slightly chapped yet so soft — are pressed against your cold forehead. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, but it’s not one of surprise.

No.

It’s of satisfaction, and you find yourself doing it more often than once. “What does that mean?” you ask him as you trace the teacup with one of your fingers. There’s still a bit of tea inside of it, but it’s barely anything. Not enough to quench a thirst. But since it’s come from him and since his murder-scarred hands made it, it’s enough for you.

Your finger dips, and it’s only then when you notice there’s a small chip. You don’t resent the cup for it, no, not at all. In fact, you find yourself a bit more enamoured with the piece of cheap china in your hands. “Moonlight,” he bluntly tells you, before taking the cup from your hands. You don’t even realize it until he replaces it with his hands.

Oh… He doesn’t like it? Now– now you hold a little bit of resentment towards it because if James doesn’t like it then maybe you shouldn’t. “Why?” you ask as you wrap your hands around his. You lace your fingers together and you can feel the stark contrast. On one hand — your right hand — your skin is comforted by the cotton glove he wears.

On your left hand, your skin is comforted by his bare, rough hand. “Well, лунный свет, what do you think it means?” he asks you in return as you trace the stitches on his glove and the grooves of his hand. “I… I’m not sure. I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Your head ducks down in disappointment, but not with him. It’s for yourself, as always. “Don’t be, sometimes we don’t know everything,” he tells you softly, “and that’s okay.” His words reassure you as always.

“You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you,” he monologues to you, and you find yourself at a loss of words. “James…” You whisper, looking up at him.

His eyes are still a bit bloodshot, but they’re glassy and you can see right into his soul. “I love you, лунный свет, until the end of love,” James whispers to you, and he places a chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you, even more, Jamie, until the end of love. Until the end of time,” you whisper back, shutting your eyes. Bucky squeezes your hands, and you do the same in return. His head slightly knocks yours as he places his forehead against yours.

“Until the end of time, лунный свет.”

It’s still 2016, and you’ve lost your Jamie.

And it’s not like he’s somewhere in a sea of people, or some nook of a large building. No, he’s gone and you don’t know how to get him back. He told you to wait in the park that nobody usually goes to. Well, if you count both yourself and James as nobodies. You watch from afar as destruction and terror rips your home apart, and you pray that James is okay. You need him.

Surprisingly, nobody notices you. You wear most of James’s clothing, as it all couldn’t fit in the two backpacks he packed. You don’t mind, because you’re trying to forget about the small gun that’s in your boot. You don’t even know how to use it, and he knows that. “It doesn’t matter, лунный свет, once they see you with a gun, you’ll automatically be the strongest person there.” His words echo in your mind and so do his actions.

He dressed you in a rushing manner. His eyes kept locking with yours. Through his soft, almost scared complex, you can see the soldier you met two years ago –– only murder in his eyes, ready for a mission.

You bite your nails and try to ignore the screams from passersby “Until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time…” You repeat the phrase over and over, hoping the Gods above can hear the plea in your voice. “Please don’t take him, even though you can, please don’t take my Jamie,” you beg out loud, looking up to the sky that greys the same way old memories do.

He’s not okay, he's probably dead… And you left him there to suffer. How selfish could you be?

“Shut up.”

I’m not wrong, I never am. I wasn’t wrong about Father, was I?

“I… That’s different.”

Is it though?

You bite your tongue, whatever snarky remark you just had has now lost itself in the mess that is your mind. You’re conflicted as always. Should you stay, and let Jamie get hurt? Or should you help him? You spend a good few minutes repeating those questions over and over. You feel like you have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. You let out a satirical laugh, and you know that you seem insane.

Two days ago, you had brought up a saying to Jamie.

“My father… He had this saying. When someone has lived their full life, but it still seems to go on and on, it means that God and the devil haven’t come to an agreement yet,” you tell him, pulling at a thread that hangs on his jacket. “An agreement about what, лунный свет?” he asks you, looking up from the pamphlet he stole from a museum in a town near Bucharest.

It’s crumpled, but everything is legible still. “Who has to take them,” you smile up at him, and he returns it. “Perhaps, that's what's happening. They’re still arguing, still negotiating. That’s why you’re still here. If one of them were ready to take you, they would’ve done so already. But they haven’t,” you explain to him in your usual soft voice. He once told you that your voice is one of the best things to listen to.

Better than music, better than laughter, better than the admissions of ‘I love you’ you tend to trade.

“Maybe you’re right, лунный свет. You know, you’re different from the rest of us– them,” he whispers to you, taking in the way your face creases in certain spots when curiosity takes over. “How so, Jamie?” you ask him, setting down the needle, roll of thread, and jacket. “You have hope, faith,” he starts, “it’s both dangerous yet helpful. It’s what separates you from the demons of the world.”

“лунный свет!” James calls out. You look up from the ground and the movie of your life with James pauses. “Jamie…” You whimper, taking in his form. He’s bruised and battered, cut up and injured. Just like when you found him on the porch of your home. “Oh, Jamie… What happened?” you ask him, feeling yourself begin to panic. Your heart quickens, and you rush to him like he’s about to die.

“We have to go, лунный свет. It’s a hideout, it’s for your own safety,” he briefly explains to you and he grabs your arm. His grip is perfect. Not too tight, but not too gentle. You can tell he’s scared, but you know he’ll never admit it. “I have to go fight, but I’ll be back for you. Do you know the Avengers? It’s– Argh– We don’t have enough time. But I’ll tell you all about it later, лунный свет.” James is all business and nothing else.

You’re worried, so worried. But you have hope, and you have faith, and you know everything will be okay in the end. “But you’ll stay safe, right, Jamie?” you question him. He doesn’t respond, the only thing coming from him are grunts of pain and puffs of determination. “Answer me, Jamie. Promise me you’ll stay safe,” you demand of him in a strong voice. Never in your life have you ever raised your voice like this, but when it comes to James’s safety, you no longer care.

“I promise, лунный свет, until the end of time.”

It’s still 2016, and your Jamie is going away.

He’s leaving this world, but it’s for himself. You hold back all the pleas, all the begging you have in your body because you know he wants this. He needs this. His train is going to depart soon, off to a faraway land. A cold one, to be exact. You feel tempted to remind him how much he hates the cold, but you choose to keep your mouth shut. You’ve learned a lot in the past few days, more than when you were in high school.

Steve, Jamie’s past, what HYDRA is, the Avengers, the types of evil in this world–– They’re all things you’ve learnt. Your Jamie isn’t a different person, he isn’t. He just has more to him now. You replay the horrific memories of the past days in your mind over and over, even though you hated them. You look through the glass doors, and ahead of you is James in all his beatific glory.

In front of him, though, is the Black Widow. You don’t know if she’s from Jamie’s past, but you know they have a connection. The way they speak to each other; low and soft, just like summer rain. It’s almost the same way you speak to Jamie, but it’s not quite like it. He smiles up at her, and you remember how much you love his side-profile. It’s envious, really. But then again, Jamie is perfect in your eyes, despite his horrors and his scars of his past.

Of Winter’s past.

Your Jamie and Winter have their similarities. You’d make a list, but it would go on forever. You keep your eyes trained on his face, one of your favourite things to look at. Dare you say, he looks at her like no other. You’ve never seen this look on his face. But then again, your Jamie is going away and maybe it’s that impending nervousness. She looks at you. Her green eyes –– ones that just encapture you in the best way possible –– lock with yours. You feel insecure, almost as though she’s judging you.

But one of Earth’s mightiest heroes would never do such a thing.

She’s judging you, you know. Probably thinks you’re some nobody, some pathetic little girl who can’t even defend herself.

“No, she isn’t,”

And how can you be so sure?

Right. How can you be so sure? You watch as she gives James –– your Jamie –– a pat on the shoulder. She walks out, through another door and you feel as though she did that just to avoid you. And honestly, you don’t blame her. You walk in, hesitatingly of course. Each step of yours is wary. Your old, beaten-up sneakers barely make a sound against the floor. Your Father always said you walked like a ballerina and spoke like a princess.

“H– Hi, Jamie,” you quietly greet him. He looks up, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips are puckered in thought. He gives you a small ‘hi,’ and you smile at him. “Are you hurt anywhere?” you ask him, taking his form in again. His cuts and wounds are all bandaged and healed up. You recall the marvel that is the explanation of how he heals so quickly. The super-soldier serum, curated by HYDRA just for Jamie.

“No, Shuri and Helen fixed me up. And now, they’re gonna fix my mind,” he tells you, all while letting out a light-hearted chuckle. You smile again, just to ease the tense a bit. But even you can’t fix it. “I may be back to my old self, but I’m a walking time bomb. I’m dangerous, and I need to heal. For the sake of myself, and others,” he tells you sadly. He looks up at you and he gives you a grin that isn’t his usual happy one.

Yours falls, and his follows. “It’ll only be a year, maybe even a few months. Everyone here is smarter than Tony Stark, they’ll probably figure it out,” he reassures you just like how he used to whenever you got worried. You nod, and it’s just a farce. You’re not sure if you hope he can see through your façade or not. He sighs and looks at the door. The same door that Natasha walked out of just a few mere moments ago.

You don’t look back. You don’t follow his gaze. Why waste your time on something that will hold no meaning in the future, when you have the love of your life in front of you? You tilt your beard and swallow, just the way your mother used to. At least that’s what your father told you. “I love you, Jamie. I’ll always love you, until the end of time,” you whisper to him.

“And— And I love you too, лунный свет.”

It’s 2017, and along with your Winter, they’ve taken James’s love for you.

You don’t blame them. You don’t hate them. They’ve helped James heal, help him be better (even though God has already curated such perfection). The past seven hundred and thirty and then some days have been painful. The past seventeen thousand, five hundred-twenty hours have been slower than ever. It’s not like you’ve been keeping count. No, but Friday has.

The team — the Avengers — don’t allow you to come with them on their trip to Wakanda. You expected it. Ever since Steve and Tony put their differences aside for the sake of the world, you knew you’d be shunned from the team. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey have tried to be friends with you, but after a debriefing with Tony, they couldn’t even lock eyes with you.

Once again, you don’t blame them.

You stay locked in your room, and you don’t mind it. It’s nice. It is true that people really do look like ants from such a height. You know the glass is bulletproof, but it feels like it’s seconds away from breaking. You love seeing the rain patter against the glass, just like how you love to see the snow melt as soon as it touches the clear surface.

You wonder if they’ve cut his long hair. You love his locks. Strands of brown mixing, the occasional lighter brown strands standing out. You love the length of his hair, too. Reaching just at his shoulders, and even past them. You love the way it tickles your face, especially when he bends down to kiss you.

You love everything about him. You always have, and you always will.

Your room is small. You can’t handle big spaces — Friday tells Tony, and he scoffs. Truthfully, you’re content with anything. He could’ve given you a broom closet to live in, and you wouldn’t complain. But you like small spaces. Big spaces make you feel a bit overwhelmed. Stark Tower has many wonderments to it.

For example — the technology. If you don’t like the scenery of the concrete jungle, you can change it to the view from Tony’s vacation home in the Hamptons. You always did have the wish to travel the world. From the streets of France to the lovely waterfalls in the Philippines. But the thought of being high up in the sky, with the small chance of crashing. It may be one in five million, but you won’t take the risk.

Even air crafts have their faults and flaws. Like having only two or three backup plans, the bathrooms, the limited space, the fact that if you pay extra you get better treatment, and the food options. But everyone looks past these things and they’ve been reduced to small issues that just don’t really matter. As long as the big picture looks perfect, the small details don’t matter.

You wish you could see yourself that way. A beautiful person at first glance. Where your details –– your flaws –– don’t mean anything. Because as long as the big picture is perfect, the details don’t matter. But you’re a detail-oriented person and every single thing matters. Even the little things that nobody will see. If only you could see yourself the way both Jamie and Winter see you. They know you have flaws, like the way you don’t like listening to helpful advice sometimes.

“Ms… Mrs. Barnes?” Friday calls out. You look up to where the voice comes from. Up above you, and a little to the side is a speaker. It’s small, barely noticeable. “Y- Yes, Friday?” you ask her, setting down the old mirror that was once your grandmother’s. It has a few cracks, but they aren’t serious enough to mess with anyone’s reflection.

“The Quinjet with Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Stark, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers, Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Vision, Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Barnes is arriving,” Friday tells you. You swallow thickly — nervously. You may have been preparing all week, but all that effort goes down the drain. Will he act differently? Will he be ecstatic to see you? You ask yourself all these questions, and the answers to them just seem to taunt you.

“Will you be waiting at the entrance for them?” She speaks up after a few beats of silence. You nod before you remember Friday doesn’t have eyes. She can see, but she can’t see. “I will, Friday. Thank you,” you tell her. You set down the mirror with its face on the top of your dresser. You look around and you can just feel as though there is something missing.

Truthfully, you aren’t used to your room. You miss the wooden walls that held scratches from the furniture. You miss the coziness the fireplace emanated. You miss the view of the hills covered in snow. You miss it all. This concrete jungle isn’t made for you — you aren’t made for it. You stand up and with short steps (intentionally short), and the feeling of marble underneath your feet instead of wood works up your nerves even more.

You can hear commotion –– more so people whisper shouting at each other. “God, Rogers, get a grip! You look and sound like an old lady worrying about her grandchildren,” Tony snaps at Steve, before calling out for Friday. “Friday?” he yells, shoving one of his hands into the pocket of his pants. “Yes, Mr. Stark?” she answers back.

“Is the room ready?” he asks her, and the rest of the Avengers take a seat in the living room. “Yes, Mr. Stark. Welcome to the Avengers Compound, Mr. Barnes. If you need any assistance, just call for me.” Friday’s voice is always lovely. She reminds you of an aunt who is always ready to take care of her relatives.

You don’t hear Jamie’s lovely voice and you’re worried. You can see some parts of the living room from your spot in the hallway. “Just try not to kill any innocent people, okay?” Tony sneers, earning a smack on the shoulder from Pepper. Pepper always seemed nice to you, but your encounters with her were usually a bit awkward and short-lived. Steve is ready to throw his shield at Tony and so do the rest of the Avengers who were on the Captain’s side.

“’S fine, Steve. I deserve it anyway,” Bucky whispers loud enough for you to hear. Your heart jumps for joy — your Jamie really is back. You take another step, carefully, of course. “You don’t deserve that… Are you okay, Buck? Do you need to lie down? Drink water? Fresh air?” Steve attacks your Jamie like a mother and you can see why they got along so well in the past.

“I’m fine, Steve. Really. I just want to take a tour of this… this place,” Bucky admits to Steve, and Tony just can’t pass up the chance to roll his eyes. Bucky turns his head around as he takes in the large room. The television was so huge, he feels as though he is at the cinema. He doesn’t turn all the way around, so you must deal with the sight of his back. His clothes are nothing like the clothes he used to wear back in Romania.

He looks like he just attended his own funeral.

“You sure, Buck?” Steve asks him for reassurance. Bucky nods and he thinks about how much he misses his goats. “Alright, but remember to call for Friday if you get lost.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder and Tony is the first to walk out of the room, as usual. Pepper follows him, knowing how Tony gets whenever he sees Bucky. “Can I see my room first?” Bucky quietly asks Steve, making sure nobody else hears.

“Of course, Buck. It’s upstairs, is that fine?” Somehow, Steve believes that Bucky has a fear of heights. Though Bucky fell from a great height back in 1940-something, he’s not scared of heights. He’s more terrified of the cold and of trains, especially ones that run between mountains.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky snaps, growing tired of his best friend’s constant worrying. Steve raises his hands in surrender and you can tell Bucky doesn’t like that. “Hi, Jamie,” you greet quietly. You immediately regret ever leaving your room as everyone whips their heads around to face you. Bucky’s lips fall open in a gasp.

“Doll,” Bucky whispers beneath his breath. You take in his face and he’s just as beautiful as ever, if not more. Wisps of his hair fall and frame his face. He has a slight five-day-old scruff, one that is clean but also slightly messy. You remember the way you would sit in his lap, razor in hand, as you clean up the edges of Bucky’s beard.

He pushes past Sam, past Wanda, past everyone — hell, even past Steve who doesn't take the shove lightly. He nearly trips over the white couch that stands in the way. He comes up close to you, and you look up at him. You watch his eyes — but you don’t look into them. For some reason, you can’t seem to lock eyes with him. “Oh, my doll… I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers softly as he cups your face with his murder-scarred hands.

“Jamie…” You easily mimic his look of shock with a mix of adoration. You’re not sure how you ever said goodbye to the man in front of you — no, the man he used to be.

Now, he’s different. He’s not your Winter, your Winter is gone. They’ve taken him from you, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, then you would’ve fought them until the last tooth and nail. “I’m back, Doll, and ‘m all yours,” he whispers, bringing your face forward to his. You close your eyes and you think he’s going in for a kiss, but he stops when his lips are inches from yours.

“But I need to get better first, Doll. I need to get used to everything, is that all right?” He asks even though he should already know the answer. Right? You don’t know what they did to your Jamie. The rushed explanation filled with words you don’t understand only left you a confused mess. “Of course, Jamie. ‘Until the end of time,’ remember?” You whisper back.

He keeps quiet.

It’s still 2018, and you’re at an impasse.

You loathe impasses. You may persevere every now and then, but impasses just seem to love you. The saying, “you attract what you fear,” is terrifyingly true. You’re scared of impasses. You know they love to knock you down and kick you until you’re sputtering with blood leaking from the corners of your mouth that rarely ever turn up anymore. But they still occur.

It’s been a year and five months since Bucky came home, and each passing day has its difficulties. Whether it be nightmares, panic attacks or intrusive thoughts. But you’ve been there with him for every step. When he didn’t want to go to therapy alone, you went with him. When he couldn’t sleep after a rather gruesome nightmare, you told him some childhood stories. It feels like nothing has changed, truly.

But Jamie isn’t Jamie — and you don’t know what to do. “Jamie, do you want anything to eat?” You ask him, holding a plate of pancakes you whipped up once you knew nobody would be in the kitchen area. “Is– are those pancakes?” He asks you, turning around from his desk. You nod and look down at the impressive stack. Dr. Cho told you to make sure Bucky continues to eat. Sitting on the small table next to you – the ottoman – is a cup of steaming hot tea.

It’s not orange pekoe, it’s earl grey, Your father loathed it, saying that it’s meant for the elderly even though he had a head full of greys and aching joints. You’d laugh him off, but then pour him a cup of green tea. “Yes, some of them have blueberries,” you tell him, stretching your full arms out at him. You see that look of contemplation in his eyes again. “Would you like to eat with me?” You ask, knowing how he can get when those thoughts pester him.

“Of course, I’m all but a gentleman,” he jokes, and you give him a smile. “That you are, especially when it comes to the ladies,” you add, and he blushes. Bucky looks down and tries to hide the shy smile from you, and you allow him to do so. It’s not like you haven’t memorized every bit of Jamie, even down to the small things. “Is there any syrup? I’ve been craving sweets all morning.” Bucky grabs the second plate and he almost hesitates in grabbing a few pancakes.

You turn back around to get the tea, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t feel as embarrassed with taking food. “Here’s some tea, you don’t have to drink it, though.” You set the filled China cup on the glass table and the clink it gives lasts for a split second. “Remember when we would buy about three boxes of orange pekoe tea? Even though it wasn’t the best — especially since it was for so cheap — we’d still drink it like it was water,” you reminisce to him out loud as you take a pancake off of the stack.

There’s silence, and you swallow thickly. “It’s okay if you don’t remember, Jamie, I myself forget a lot of memories too,” you quickly reassure him, fanning the flames before they could even start to burn. “No, it’s not okay… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, gripping the specially made fork tightly. He hates it. It makes him feel like some sort of danger. Someone that breaks people and things so easily.

“Don’t be sorry, Jamie, or else I’m going to have to start apologizing for things that aren’t my fault,” you threaten him, and he cracks a smile. “Alright, only because I know you’re going to become annoying.” He grabs the syrup and drowns his pancakes with sticky delightfulness. “Yeah…” Your voice is all but monotonous with a hint of sadness.

He probably thinks you’re already annoying, you follow him around all the time… Do you ever let him do other things? Without you? Like hanging out with friends, healing on his own, cooking his own food… You’re so clingy.

“Shut up.”

You only want me to shut up because you know I’m right.

“What are you doing today?” you suddenly ask him. You haven’t dug into your pancakes yet, so you stare at the food in front of you with a strong glare. “Uh, well I’m not sure,” Bucky admits, and you only then realize how much you’ve held him back. “You should hang out with Sam, or Steve, or maybe even accompany Banner in the lab,” you suggest to him, looking at his plate. It’s nearly clean, with some streaks of syrups and a few occasional crumbs.

“Sam’s busy training with Steve, and I know Banner works best without someone hovering over him like a hawk — well, more so a raven. I’ll probably just hang out with ‘Talia, she’s been of great help with my healing.” Bucky takes the tea from your side and slowly sips it. “‘Talia?” you ask him. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but you’re sure that it’s a nickname. “Natasha, she went through something similar as me, so I’m hoping she can give me some advice,” he clarifies quickly.

“Oh, that’ll be great for you,” you exclaim to him. “I know… You don’t mind, do you?” he asks with one of his eyebrows raised. He’s never done that before. “Never. Go enjoy yourself, Jamie,” you urge in a soft voice, looking at him from the brim of his teacup. The sight reminds you of when you first moved away from the city.

The sun was rising in the distance. A few clouds shrewd over the lovely sight, but the yellows and oranges were stronger than the greys. From over the horizon, the sun made its way up to the sky. You watched from the porch with a blanket wrapped around your body. You miss those simpler days.

The ones where the only problems you had were the cold weather and the homework your father had given you. Sheets of paper sat on the table in the living room, with your multiplication tables written on them. Your sevens and eights always messed you up, but your father knew you could do it.

“Do you have any plans for today?” He questions, staring into the half-full cup. “I might go to that huge library Tony has, one of the agents was saying they have these seats called ‘bean bags,’ isn’t that funny?” You let out a harmless giggle, one of those small ones a protagonist would have that would make their love interest swoon. “I’ve sat on one. Not very nice. Natasha and I are the only ones on the team who hates them,” Bucky says as his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

The other day, you caught him with a mouthful of blood. It wasn’t from a punch in the face or a knife in the guts.

“Oh, maybe I’ll join you two,” you playfully tell him, wiggling your eyebrows to the best of your abilities. Bucky just stares at you, a small glint of humour in his eyes but it slowly disappears and your smile goes away along with it. “Hm.” He downs the rest of his tea and you wonder how he isn’t wincing with pain from the heat. Oh, right, he’s a super-soldier.

Bucky begins to stand up and moves to take the dishes to the kitchen but you quickly stop him. “It’s alright, I can take it,” you reassure him. Without realizing it, your hand strokes the wrist of his bionic arm. You look up at him and smile, instinctively giving him that look you used to give Winter. Bucky hesitatingly shrinks away from you, and your smile drops. Nononono– Too much…

He smiles and walks out the door, not even sparing you one of those lovely second glances. Sighing, you settle the plates upon each other and the tension leaves the room behind him. You’re careful to avoid the syrup on one of the plates. The feeling of stickiness against your dry, cold hands will be unpleasant.

The thought of it has you shivering. A small electric shock climbs up your spine and you’re glad that nobody is there to watch you shake it off. You carefully pluck the fork from Bucky’s plate and place it next to yours. “Hey, Friday?” you call out into the empty room. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers, ready to be at your service.

“What books are there in the library?”

It’s been around 92 days since Jamie told you about him and Natasha, and you can feel reality slip through your fingers.

Bubbles of giggle erupt from the common room. Never in your life would you ever have called a living room the common room, but words always seem to stick. Just like the syrup on these plates that just don’t seem to go away. You don’t mind cleaning up after the heroes. You’re glad.

You have something to occupy yourself with, or else there’d be holes in the floor for your incessant pacing. You run semi-lukewarm water over the plates, hoping the dried syrup would melt. You recall the way your father would terrify you into loathing sweets. He’d show you the way syrup would ‘harden underwater’, and he’d tell you that’s what occurs in your blood.

It’s too bad that a few days later, you learned that blood is thicker than water and the world is filled with nothing but lies. It’s scary, really; trusting someone with your whole life while they toy you around like seeing you be oblivious is a pass time.

Your hands warm up under the water and suddenly you wish you hadn’t left your bed this morning. “Bucky, stop, my face is all red,” Natasha demands through her laughs, and James snorts. “So? I like seeing you red, it’s my favourite colour,” he retorts and Natasha rolls her eyes.

You can’t see the playful, friendly banter, but you can hear it. It makes you smile. You love knowing Jamie is having fun, he deserves it. “Hey, you,” Sam greets, walking into the kitchen. “H- hi, do you need anything?” you ask him, halting your movements.

“No, just got done training those new recruits and I’m already fed up,” he complains and you giggle. You know Sam is being light-hearted, so you don’t take his words too heavily. “Well, a busy man like you needs a big breakfast. There are some pancakes over there, help yourself.”

You wait until he busies himself so that you can continue to wash this plate. You look at it — it’s covered in a mix of suds, syrup and water. You notice there’s a small chip on the edge of the plate and you can’t help but wonder where the piece went. If it were a piece of clothing, you would accuse the washing machine. But it isn’t, so you suppose it just went missing.

You place the plate back in the sink and sigh, before grabbing a sponge. The colours always confuse you. How can two contrasting colours go so well together? It’s beyond you, truly. Maybe your grandmother would’ve known, she always did know a little bit about everything.

Maybe she’d know what’s wrong with you.

You don’t say anything, knowing that you might weird Sam out. You roughly scrub the syrup off and it’s a bit too joyful to see it all gone. “Hey, Sammie,” Natasha chirps, patting her fellow teammate on the shoulder. You halt your movements. “Hey, Nat. Are you doing anything today?” Sam asks her, his eyes following her.

“Other than hanging out with Bucky, no, not really.” She tells him. She stands right next to you, a little too close for your personal liking. She opens up the cupboard and you continue to wash the dishes. You ask yourself if she’s watching you, or if she’s judging you.

Looking up, you accidentally make eye contact with her. You quickly look away and you’re not sure if she does the same. “‘Scuse me,” she whispers, stretching over to the cupboard on the other side. You stare straight at the sink, but your eyes fail to miss the locket that hangs from her neck. It’s slightly opened, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. The gold is slightly aged, perhaps a gift from when she was younger. Or maybe she got it recently, and a battle in the fields damaged it slightly.

On the outside of the locket is an engraving. You squint your eyes to read it, as the shaking from her movements messes up the text. “Until the end of time…” You read in your mind, and you drop the plate in the sink. Everyone in the room flinches and Natasha steps away. Sam stops eating and you’re utterly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you quickly apologize, picking up the plate. It’s not broken at all, but you still feel so guilty.

Natasha looks at you for a brief moment and you look back at her. She darts her eyes to your still hands. If she focuses just a bit more, she could see the way they shake. You look at the locket one more time, trying to see the inside of it. You need to know who’s a photograph she cherishes. You need to know who she cherishes in her heart, until the end of time.

The black and white photo of Jamie moments before he was shipped out reveals itself, and your heart drops.

“Friday?” you call out, setting your book down onto the bed. You place your makeshift bookmark –– a polaroid of Bucky — into the page. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers. “Isn’t it a good thing that Jamie is socializing with his teammates?” you ask her, sounding like a worried mother. “It is. It’s just what the doctor prescribed,” she jokes, adding a mechanical laugh to her words. “Well, more so his psychiatrist. Dr. Cho is the doctor he gets his medication from. And his psychiatrist suggested socializing,” she clarifies.

You wonder if she’s against the joke mechanism Tony added to her system.

You laugh, just to ease the tension but it doesn’t do anything since she’s an A.I and you’re the only person in the room. “Thank you for laughing, Mrs. Barnes,” she graciously says as much as she can. “If it’s a good thing, then why do I feel so…?” You trail off because you don’t know any words to describe the emotion you’re feeling. “Anxious?” she completes, and you sigh. “Yes, anxious,” you admit.

“The other day, I was washing the dishes. I could hear James and Natasha laughing. Jamie’s laugh was music to my ears. It was like that song you hear on the radio occasionally, you know? But he doesn’t laugh like that with me, he doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else,” you solemnly tell her. “He spends so much time with Natasha — and usually I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t even bat an eye — but it just makes me anxious, Friday.”

Your voice is filled with concern, and Friday herself has never heard you so worried. “She… She had a locket. It was gold and heart-shaped. It had a very special phrase engraved on it, and the picture inside is Jamie.” You swallow thickly as even you can’t fathom the words that are falling past your lips. “I held back from telling you this, but Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes had a past together,” Friday admits.

“Pardon?” you ask incredulously. “Back in Hydra, Mr. Barnes trained Ms. Romanoff. They had secret romantic rendezvous and were in love. Then, when the Red Room and Hydra found out, they were separated,” Friday tells you. “It’s probably why they’re so close, Mrs. Barnes. She’s his most recent relationship before you,” Friday reasons to you. It makes sense, it makes so much sense. “Should I be worried, Friday?” you ask her, smoothing your hands over the sheets that you lay atop of.

“No, Mrs. Barnes. Would you like to know why?” she asks you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. They’re sweaty, yet so cold. “Because that was in the past, Mrs. Barnes. Mr. Barnes is in love with you, he’ll love you until the end of time,” Friday sweetly tells you. You smile and then dip your head. Bucky loves you just as much as you love him.

It’s been a month since the talk you and Friday had, and you’re starting to doubt her words.

You lie awake in your bed. Caffeine-provided adrenaline pumps through your veins. This isn’t the first time you’ve stared up at the ceilings since you’ve arrived. Ever since Sam made you a cup of coffee from the new machine Stark bought, the bags under your eyes have gotten worse. You warned Bucky about it and he laughed. Just not as hard as you wanted him to. At least he heeded your advice.

Bucky lays asleep next to you. He lays on his right side, even though laying on his left side would make more sense. Bucky always gets better sleep when he lays on his left. You crack your knuckles quietly, even though you can’t wake him up. He used to be such a light sleeper, only because of the vivid nightmares he would get. You hate when he would get his nightmares. The terrifying images that taunt him would always cause him to have a panic attack.

It’s been over a few months since his last nightmare.

You want to turn on your side so badly–– and you can. But your mind can’t help but make you wonder if he’ll wake up. You look to your side when you hear a snore escaping Bucky’s mouth. You let out a coo, even though you used to think snoring was annoying. Your father’s snores would always bother you. You used to joke and say that one night, he’ll wake the sun up.

You gently turn on your left side and a small part of you hopes he’ll do the same. Maybe then you’ll get some warm cuddles to make your sleep. You shut your eyes because the city lights are far too bright at night. The sheer curtains obviously can’t hide New York’s bustling and liveliness. You slow your breathing down and relax your body. Hopefully, sleep can come to you soon.

Next to you lies Bucky. He’s quite literally in dreamland and he doesn’t want to ever wake up. Everything is so realistic, almost as though he’s living another life when his eyes are closed. He has a smile on his face, one that can charm almost anyone. The last time he had a dream like this wasn’t back in the forties — no. It was last night, and now sleeping is a lot better for Bucky.

Natasha giggles, loudly. It’s a cacophony of different sounds. It’s not fake, like the ones you hear on television. It’s real. It’s so vividly real that it makes his heart swell loudly. He looks to her first, making sure she’s enjoying herself before facing the judging stares from Tony and Rhodey.

His hand is intertwined with hers. He rubs his thumb on her skin and he knows what’s running through her mind. She shoots him a look, one that he chooses to ignore. He gives her a smirk and then brings her hand up to his face. He closes his eyes and presses a kiss on the diamond ring she wears.

The scenery changes.

It’s some time in 1992, and he’s holding onto her tightly. She’s asleep, with her locks of auburn hair spread out against the floor. She lays on his chest, and he makes sure she’s comfortable enough with him. Sure, his spine may ache and his under-eye bags may have deepened but he doesn't care.

“Natalia?” he whispers, checking to see if she’s asleep.

She’s knocked out cold and he’s glad. After what he just put her through, he doesn’t blame her. Hours upon hours of what they both like to call ‘training’ has her sleeping like a baby. He chuckles, and he hopes the rumbles in his chest don’t wake her up.

“Hi, Winter,” she hums, rousing from her sleep.

He curses and she giggles. Natalia rubs the tiredness from her eyes and she stretches as much as her body allows her to. “How long until they come?” she asks him. He looks to the make-shift alarm he stole from a mission and sees an hour marked on it. “One hour, Natalia,” he says.

She hums in delight. “Do you think this one hour will take a while? Or will it go by as fast as light?” she questions. Her accent is heavy, but it’s so beautiful. “Fast. Time well-spent goes by fast,” he tells her. “And how do you know this will be time well-spent?” she looks up at him.

“Time spent with you, is always time well-spent, Natalia.”

You hold your breath. Bucky mumbles sweet nothings to Natalia — Natasha. You want to cry so badly but then again, you don’t want to wake Jamie up from his dark paradise. You try to tell yourself it’s just a dream, that everything will be okay and that there’s nothing to be worried about. But even your thoughts fail to reassure you about the man lying next to you. You don’t know whether you should wake him up, so you bite down on your bottom lip and hope that this whole thing is just a dream.

“Did you sleep well, Jamie?” you ask him, folding his laundry for him. He looks up from the book he’s buried in and nods. “Amazingly, I’m so glad I can finally get some shut-eye now,” he tells you. You hum and Bucky looks at you. “Is everything alright?” he asks. “Yeah. Just peachy,” you say. He mumbles a quick okay and goes back to reading his book.

Jamie has a wonderful attention span, so there’s no reason for him to be stuck on the same page for around ten minutes. You have an idea as to what’s on his mind. Well, more so who. Natasha. “Any weird dreams?” you ask him after a few seconds. This time, you’re pairing up Bucky’s socks. “N– No, I don’t think I dreamt of anything.” He lies through his teeth and you know this because he has a tell.

Whenever he lies, he stares out into the distance. It’s usually to your right, but that doesn’t matter.

“But that’s good, right? No more nightmares.” You hold a pendant in your hand and it’s not yours because you broke your necklace a few days ago.

“That’s true,” he dryly agrees. It has the letter ‘N’ written on it. It seems like it’s new, unlike Natasha’s locket. You place it on the dresser softly. “You know, everything has a meaning. Nightmares, dreams, even dreamless nights,” you start. “I know, some are worse than others, though,” he follows. “Sometimes, nightmares mean change,” you continue.

He nods, but you don’t see it. “When you dream, it might be that you have some wishes or conflicts that have been suppressed,” you sweetly tell him. Bucky looks at you, but your back faces him. “And even not dreaming means something. When you don’t dream, it might mean that your mind is free of all the bad things,” you roughly shut the filled up drawer and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the loud sound.

“Sorry…” you sheepishly apologize. “S’ alright,” he smiles. “Well, my burning question relates to that, I guess,” you admit. He raises an eyebrow and you turn around. Your fingers tap against the oak wood of the dresser. Sweat that has built up for the past morning or so leaving an imprint of your fingers on the wood. “Do… Do you remember when you used to call me ‘moonlight’?” you ask nervously.

Bucky pauses whenever small movements he was making and you make direct eye contact with him. You look away immediately, though. “A– As a nickname?” he asks. “Yeah… You’d say it in Russian. There was beautiful reasoning and meaning behind it…” you explain to him. Your voice carries more hope than anything. He stays silent and you shakily exhale.

You know exactly how to pronounce it. “лунный свет.” You look up at him. “I… What was the meaning?” he asks. “I– I have it written down. Just wait, don’t go.” You move towards the bed and reach underneath your mattress. Your father would always hide things like that. Sometimes, you’d catch him placing your works of finger-painting underneath the bed.

You lift it and retrieve your little notebooks. It’s not much, but it’s something. You flip to the page that you wrote on two years ago. You smile once you reach it and turn back around. Jamie hasn’t left. “This page. I wrote it down when you left to go to the market. I remembered each word and I still do,” you cheerfully tell him. He smiles up at you and you hand him the book.

You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you.

The words are beautifully written. They’re traced over in black pen and even have little stars scribbled around them. “I said this?” he asks, in an almost incredulous tone. “Yeah, word for word,” you assure him. “This is really sweet, and I probably said this, but I don’t remember calling you moonlight, Doll. I’m sorry…” He sadly admits to you. Your heart drops, but it’s alright. He may not remember it, but you do. Maybe one day he will.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” you tell him in a sad tone. You take the notebook back from him and place it underneath the mattress. Jamie watches you as you do so. “Are you sure?” he asks on more time, just to be sure. “I’m sure. Dr. Cho and the others said this is normal, Jamie,” you assure him. “Alright.”

Everything is alright. Everything was alright. Everything will be alright.

You carry the laundry basket against your waist and you can’t lie and say you didn’t just bury your hands between the clothes as soon as they came out of the dryer. The common room is mostly empty. Wanda and Clint are out on a mission. Tony, Rhodey and Pepper are on a trip. Steve and Sam are training recruits. Vision and Bruce are in Dr. Cho’s lab. You assume Natasha is in her room and James is in yours.

But even assumptions can be wrong.

You hear that laugh that’s as soft as summer’s rain — Natasha’s laugh. It’s beautiful, just like her. But you can’t compare her beauty to anything, it’s beyond that. You walk up to the room where you can hear her, and pear through the small crevice the door has. She looks at Bucky with those emerald green eyes of hers. In them is absolute love and adoration.

“лунный свет, you look so pretty when you laugh,” Bucky tells her. She smiles and blushes, before giggling again. “You’re too sweet, Buck,” she whispers. Bucky grabs a hold of her hand, and his thumb rubs against her ivory skin. “Can never be too sweet when it comes to you, лунный свет,” he counters.

Your heart cracks, especially at the seams.

It’s been a week since Jamie called Natasha “лунный свет,” and you’re determined to get him back.

She must know she can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him. That’s why you’re wearing a dress you borrowed from Wanda. You bite your red-stained nails nervously. It’s an improvement since your last date night with Jamie. Last time, you both shared a box of macarons that he stole from the grocery store. Underneath the moonlight, he once again professed his love for you. But this time, he gave you his dog tags to wear.

You have them on. They clink with your each and every movement but you don’t mind the sound at all. You spread a blanket onto the wooden floor. It has some similarities to the two sleeping bags you used back then. They were similar colours and took up the same amount of space. You throw some pillows on top, arranging them in a circle. The record player in the corner plays “‘Till the End of Time” by Perry Como.

You hum along to the melody of the song. You remember when Jamie said it was one of his favourites. You jumped in joy because it’s also one of your favourites. You carefully light the candles that are scattered around the room. Friday is already on alert in case one of the flames gets a little too big. You open the box of macarons and place them inside the little circle you have going on.

You set down other food items — such as croissants and a charcuterie board. It was all for cheap, mostly due to the bargaining you did with the old lady at the store. As soon as you dropped the words “date night’, she immediately went with whatever you had to offer. You turn back around and try to search for the scrapbook you have been making for the past two years. You always saved it for something, but that something doesn’t seem to be in your future.

“Where are you, little book?” you ask out loud. Your voice is in a sing-song melody, just like how your father would have his. You search around the dresser. You check in the drawers and the jewelry box but you can’t seem to find it. You decide to check the desk, because if it’s not here then it has to be there. You scan the top of the desk but don't find anything.

Carefully, you grasp the golden handle of one of the drawers and pull it open. The drawer glides easily, and if your father were here, he would’ve marvelled. You don’t find it, so you lift some stray sheets of paper. “Please be here…” You beg out loud. But it doesn’t turn up, and you pout like a little child. You drop the sheets of paper, but something grazes against your finger.

If you weren’t so out of it, you’d probably squeal in fear. Twine that’s pulled at the ends tickles you and you giggle. Your eyes follow to where it comes from, and you find a sealed envelope. You frown out of pure, ingenue curiosity. You pick it up and spin it around in your hands. It’s a beige envelope, one of the many you gifted Bucky on Valentine’s Day.

The twine wraps around it with no useful purpose. Only for the aesthetics. On the back has your name, written in cursive scrawl that belongs to one James Buchanan Barnes. You turn it back around, and carefully open it. Your father taught you that there’s a specific trick for opening envelopes. It was one of the many secrets your family had. And by family, you mean Jamie, your father and your grandmother.

It may not be much, but it’s more than enough.

Inside is a letter. More of Jamie’s handwriting fills your view and you don’t mind it at all. You pull the letter out and unfold it. You start to read it, only taking in the way his handwriting looks. You sit down on his chair and your eyes take in each word.

Dear лунный свет,

I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. You can hate me, you can be disgusted with me. You can do whatever you want. But promise me, you won’t let what I’m about to say hurt you. I’m in love with Natasha. I’ve fallen out of love with you and listen, it’s not your fault. How can it be your fault? You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.

But I’m in love with Natasha. I have been for the past year or so. When I saw her again two years ago, something inside me happened. I got butterflies, as stupid as it sounds. She’s everything I want, everything I need. We go way back, and she knows me like the back of her hand. I’m sorry, лунный свет. I am so fucking sorry. I know writing this letter isn’t the best way to do this, but I feel the need to do so.

Love,

James Buchanan Barnes.

You can die right here, right now. You wonder if this is some kind of sick joke Bucky is playing on you, but after sitting there for a few more minutes, you realize it isn’t. Suddenly, the candles burning around you are pointless and so is your entire being of existence. You sit there, stupefied and filled with hurt. You let the letter fall into your lap and slip down to the floor, where it meets the wood with no sound.

The record scratches but you don’t even wince. Now, the voice of Perry Como is all warped and haunted. You hate it. You hate everything. You shut your eyes and sigh quite loudly. She took Jamie from you — your Jamie. Your throat tightens up and you feel like time slows down. You break down, the dam crashing down as the water flows at high pressure. It’s all so much at once. Tears leak from your eyes and drip down to the desk.

You hang your head, almost in shame.

Why are you crying? This was bound to happen.

“Can you just shut up for once?” you cry out.

“Mrs. Barnes, is everything alright?” Friday asks. “Yes, Friday. Do you mind leaving me alone, please?” you politely request. Your voice nearly cracks from the tears. “Of course, Mrs. Barnes,” she says, before dinging away. Mrs. Barnes… You’re not Mrs. Barnes, were you ever? She was always Mrs. Barnes, and she always will be. You let out a choked cough, one that uses all the strength in your body that isn’t destined for your crying.

You look down to the opened drawer and then to the letter on the floor. A groan escapes past your lips. It’s one of pure hurt and pain. You can feel your heart shattering into pieces. Each shard cuts your insides and you struggle to calmly breathe. You grab a sheet of paper from the drawer and pluck the pen that lies on the desk. You take a deep breath and begin to write your heart out.

Natasha,

Please, please don’t do this. I know you may be in love with him (which is the best feeling ever, I know), but please don’t take him just because you can. I also know that nobody can control their feelings. But even love disappears one day, right?

You could have your choice of man, Natasha. But I don’t think I can ever love again. Not without him. If only you could see the way Steve, Sam and Bruce look at you. You can have any of them, so why did you choose Bucky? Why are you taking my Jamie from me?

He dreams about you. He calls your name in his sleep. He calls you moonlight and I’m sure you don’t know the true meaning of it. But if you ask, he’ll probably tell you. This is coming off as rude — I know. It’s not what I want but I want you to ask you one thing only.

Please don’t take him, even though you can.

You scribble your name at the bottom of the page. A tear drops from your eyes and soaks into the paper. You re-read each sentence, and with every word, you hate yourself even more. You throw the pen at the wall, not caring that it breaks at the impact.

You want to send it to her so badly, but your father always told you to never fight fire with fire. Would she even listen to you? Probably not, so why try? Jamie isn’t coming back because Jamie doesn’t love you, he hasn’t for a while. You look away from the letter and to the candles that decorate the room.

You’re so foolish, thinking Jamie could ever love you. He did once, but this isn’t your Jamie. Your Jamie is gone and so is his love for you.

You fold the letter up until you’re satisfied. One end slightly overlaps the other but even the smallest things that would usually bother you doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. You bring the letter to the burning candle and let it light on fire. Along with the paper goes your instinct to fight for the love of your life.

You can never love again. Not without him.

[craptsukii]

genshin boys and terms of endearment they'd use

a/n: this is my first time writing headcanons and ngl i found them quite difficult to format :( i’m liking this style for now, but things might change later on teehee anyway, lemon cake update next week, i promise!

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let’s get something out of the way first

diluc is not a jerk

sure, he might have tsundere tendencies but he’s definitely not as cold as people make him seem

in my opinion anyway

i like to call him a classy, but also a very private, softie

i can totally see him as someone who’d use terms such as darling, love, doll

a major factor here is the time and place

in public, he tries to seem more indifferent and will most likely refer to you by your name

however, in a more private setting, he has no inhibitions and actually prefers using nicknames!

I feel like diluc would want to really reassure their partner he truly cares about them, but in a direct yet indirect way

and calling you sweet things seems to get the message across.

listen to this while reading!

If only time could pass faster. Who knew waiting could be such an agonising activity? Such a simple but repetitive thing. Waiting for your cake to finish baking, waiting for the morning to arrive and even waiting for your lover to come home turned out to be much more of a challenge. It wasn’t unusual for Diluc to spend hours on end at Angel’s Share, but it was rather odd of him to break his promises.

A sad smile took over your features, remembering last night. Remembering his words, so sweet and benign, promising to dedicate you all of him and his time. His crimson red eyes, full of love and admiration for the person he held so dearly to his heart. His voice, so demure and nothing but a soft whisper, as if raising it would ruin the moment. The moment he shared with you in a little dark corner of Mondstadt, away from curious eyes and sharp ears. The moment he so desperately wanted to hold onto. Yet, the darknight hero was nowhere to be found.

By the time he finally arrived, your eyes were already closing. It was a gloved hand that pulled you out of your somnolent state. Yet again those same red eyes were looking into yours with the same devotion, if not stronger than the night he made his promise.

“Forgive me, love,” he pleaded in a shushed tone, “Kaeya came in and started causing a commotion and I couldn’t just leave.” he continued, his thumb brushing over your cheek delicately.

Too tired to say anything, you placed your hand over his, silently asking him to join you in bed. You had all the time in the world to discuss tomorrow... Hopefully. After discarding his black coat on one of the chairs and taking off his shoes, Diluc plopped in your shared bed, not even bothering to change into something more comfortable. Soon his arms were around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest. His smell reminded you of grapes and it completely enveloped you as you nestled into him.

“If only I could turn back time…” Diluc murmured to himself, kissing the top of your head. “Nothing will come in between us and our time together tomorrow. I promise you, darling.”

Turns out that, in the end, he does keep his promises.

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listen to this while reading!

my very polite baby

like sure, he’s straightforward

but he be treating everyone with respect

you might be wondering why that matters

well that's because i think xiao would see it as a little rude to not refer to someone important to him by their name

names play a major part in xiao’s past

with rex lapis re-naming him after taking him under his wing and such

so, in my opinion, xiao finds calling out your name way more meaningful than nicknames

although if he were to use one it would probably be dear

it’s short and he can still address you as “dear (name)”

it does sound quite formal at times though

Moments like this were rare. Usually, sleep doesn’t concern your lover in the slightest, as it rarely comes to him. Although you couldn’t help but admit how much you loved it when he did come and sleep. Cuddled up next to you was the vigilant yaksha, the well known protector of Liyue. And dare you say, it was truly a divine sight. In the wash of the morning light, his face took the appearance of an old photograph, so nostalgic, so at peace. Slowly, one of your hands brushed past his face, placing the few rebel aquamarine strands that were cascading down his cheek behind his ear. For a moment, you find yourself in perfect silence, Xiao’s soft breaths being the only sounds that could be discerned. Without realising, you started softly rubbing his back, your heart leaping at the content purr that followed shortly after.

It was almost impossible to put into words the joy this brought you. Although it was such a simple, mundane thing, seeing Xiao so at ease was by far your favourite memory with him. The more you studied his features the more your sight fell upon his lips. The sudden urge to kiss him overwhelmed you, wanting nothing more than to cherish and show your lover the affection he deserves.

If only the sudden chirping of birds didn’t scare you, barely a few inches away from his face.

Curse those birds and their awful timing! And so, you backed away, laughing to yourself in self-consciousness, thankful that no one was aware of your little mishap.

Or so you thought.

You felt your face get warmer the moment you saw Xiao looking at you, drowsiness still coating his eyes. Yet again, for another short moment, no sound could be heard.

“____ my dear” he said, his voice deep and hoarse, snaking his arms around you as he brought you closer to him, “if you won’t do it, I will.” it was then the flush across his cheeks became apparent to you. Shame you didn’t have time to savour it, his lips immediately finding yours in a sweet, dream like kiss.

Moments like this were truly worth treasuring.

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in contrast with xiao, childe loves calling you cute nicknames

in fact, he barely uses your name!

sometimes he likes to tease you and pretend he forgot your actual name

of course that’s not true,he could never do such a thing

I can totally see him use pet names such as comrade, girlie, cutie, shawty, sweetness, princess/prince, baby

ok i know shawty is kind of random, but i think he’d use kind of ironically?

I think he’d also use big sister/brother just to tease you, even if you’re younger than him

he heard teucer refer to you as such one time and it honestly melted his heart a little bit

as a side note, seeing his siblings get along you makes him genuinely happy.

listen to this while reading!

Spring was such a beautiful time. Especially in Liyue. Especially on a date with the one and only Childe, eleventh of the Fatui harbingers. For someone with such a fearsome title and reputation, it wowed you to no end just how charming, just plain adorable, Tartaglia can be. Albeit, it was only your second date, it was expected of him to at least try to be nice.

And on time.

As you waited, under that beautiful sky, a hue so gentle between cloud and baby blue, you watched each bird upon wing. It was one of those spring days with a kiss of coldness that somehow heightened the warm rays of the sun. You paused to admire the flowers, to sense their aromas, to be in the moment with their transient beauty.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” asked Childe from behind you, a shy, perhaps slightly embarrassed, smile painted on his lips. “Sorry I’m late, I really overestimated my juniors’ capabilities and I had to step in.” he continued, gingerly taking hold of your hand, kissing the back of it.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his gentlemanly antics, although you enjoyed them nonetheless. “Don’t worry about it, you’re here now.” you reassured him, as you took a hold of his hand, already leading him towards nowhere in particular.

Another thing you liked about him. Things were so casual, so easy-going. One might call this date nothing but a hangout, but not every date has to be a luxurious five star dinner or a fancy show. Sometimes just a simple walk along the Liyue port was enough. Enough for you to get to know Childe, enough for you to like him even more.

Suddenly, Tartaglia was in front of you, his hands lightly taking hold of your face.

“Hold on cutie, there’s something on your face,” he answered your silent question, seeing as you looked a little confused. The next thing you knew, his lips descended upon yours. It was a sudden but very much welcomed kiss. A kiss that unfortunately ended just as abruptly, “it was me.”

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favourite peepaw

also prefers using your name rather than nicknames

but he’s not completely against them

he finds them quite nice actually

and he actually enjoys being referred by one!

like imagine going for a stroll with him and all of a sudden you go "darling, look!"

he'd look so content oh my lord

in my opinion anyway

he’d usually call you honey, my beloved or even my one and only!

you could be doing the simplest of things like reading with him under a tree

and he'd go "you're my one and only love"

no, he isn’t aware of how cheesy it sounds.

listen to this while reading!

Who knew the God of contracts could be such a romantic? Usually, Zhongli wasn’t a big fan of fancy, elaborate dates. He’d usually say something along the lines that “spending time with you was enough for him to feel like the richest man in the world”, which he technically was even without your presence. But, quite frankly, it was because he lacked the funds to do so that he didn’t pamper you every moment of the day.

So when you found yourself face to face with an array of different foods, meticulously prepared and arranged on a soft picnic blanket, you couldn’t help but wonder —

“Why the sudden change?” you asked, sitting down on the plush cover, to which Zhongli only chuckled.

“Am I not allowed to change my mind?” he replied in a teasing tone, flopping next to you.

“Oh, you are more than welcome to do so,” you winked, pouring some tea for both of you. It smelled like chamomile, “I was just trying to say it’s a nice change.” you continued, taking a few sips of your tea.

Zhongli only hummed, content with your response. Sometimes, sitting in silence, all while eating delicious brunch foods and drinking sweet tea, was much more enjoyable than small talk.

And so, you spend the rest of the day with your lover, basking in the sunshine and each other’s company. In his embrace, there was something so right, something that felt right, smelt right. You let your body sag, your muscle become loose. In that embrace you felt your worries loose their keen sting and your optimism raise its head from the dirt.

“You’re so beautiful, my beloved,” he whispered, cupping your face and kissing you gently.

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avid user of nicknames

partially because he finds them cute

and partially because he loves teasing you

he’d use them in public and try to get a reaction out of you

like let’s say all of a sudden kaeya is back hugging you, pampering your neck with kisses

saying something like “what’s wrong, baby?”

he’d also use hot stuff, sweet cheeks, gorgeous, handsome, cutie pie, treasure

sometimes they’re really sweet, other times they’re really silly

side note, i feel like this one got a little out of hand sorry yall i lowkey can’t take kaeya seriously

listen to this while reading!

There was something so heavenly about a kiss in the rain, a tender moment that just wouldn’t wait. It was that burst of love that is expressed, not caring if the water soaked through to chill the skin. You felt yourself gasping for air as Kaeya’s lips left yours, doe like eyes searching for his. Behind that brilliant shade of blue sparkled a glacial attraction. So complex and mysterious, it was magnetic. It made you want him even more.

Upon seeing your dazed state Kaeya smiled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His hands found yours. “Let’s get you of here before you catch a cold.” he said, leading you down the streets of Mondstadt. It was the middle of August, and you got caught in nothing more than a summer rain. You weren’t even cold, but alas you let it slide, enjoying seeing Kaeya worry about you, even if it wasn’t as serious as he made it seem.

There is something about a rain-washed pathway that invites playful feet, that says each new step will be rewarded with a splash. And soon, you found yourself splashing around, making the most out of this accidental rain shower.

The moment you finally reached your home, Kaeya wasted no time, his arms already wrapped around you in a tight embrace. Yet again, a gasp escaped your mouth, Kaeya’s cold lips leaving goosebumps behind each carefully placed kiss on your neck.

“You know what’s the best way to get warmed up, treasure?” he asked, his hands ghosting over your hips.

You shook your head softly, awaiting his answer.

“A good old dance party!” he exclaimed, spinning you around as he started humming a cheerful. “Nothing gets the blood going like a little movement!” it was obvious he found great pleasure in seeing your more than confused, if not disappointed, expression. Still, he paid you no mind and continued dancing with you all while singing a cheery melody.

It was quite save to assume there was never a boring moment with this man.

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my favourite elevator boy

doesn’t love nicknames but doesn’t hate them either

i see him as an action speak louder than words guy

and although he’s aware that, as his partner, you know that

he still feels sorry for not being as vocal as other people when it comes to talking about his emotions??

so cute terms like these are a simple way he can show his appreciation for you

for some reason, i think he would really like using diminutives??

he’d call you things like little star

or baby or lovebug

i think it really matches his vibe ngl

listen to this while reading!

The breeze blew warm announcing the coming of summer's hottest days. The aroma of the tall grasses were an intoxicating perfume and the starry night above was a painting more sublime than any man could create. The clarity above became reflected in your mind.

Being with Albedo meant putting up with the unholy amount of hours he’d spend on whatever research he’d be conducting at the time. And luckily for you, his next big discovery involved the stars. On the black sky above you, there were a multitude of stars and there were lighter patches, clusters of faint and bold light, the constellations altered according to the time of year. These were the same stars that greeted the ancients, the same ones that would be there in millions of years.

As you enjoyed your little midnight snack, your gaze fell upon the chief alchemist. His eyes were fixated on the landscape above him, utterly fascinated by the world’s mystic beauty. Seeing him so consumed by his studies made your heart feel warm. It was adorable to see him like this.

Your sudden yawn made both you look at each other. Albedo’s gaze was filled with compassion, and perhaps a little remorse for making you come with him so late in the night just to stare blankly at the sky.

But you knew this wasn’t such a trivial thing.

You pet the spot next to you, silently asking him to sit down with you, to which he immediately obliged. As his head found its place on your shoulder a little sad smile made its appearance on his face.

“Sorry for making you come here with me, baby.” he said, his hand drawing patterns along your thigh. “I know this isn’t your idea of quality time.”

“Any time spent with you is quality time, silly.” you giggled, kissing the top of his head. “And besides, who doesn’t enjoy a little bit of stargazing?”

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ok now for venti

i feel like with him the tone he uses is very important??

i mean this also applies to the rest of the guys

but for venti even more so

he could simply refer to you by your name and it would still feel all special and bubbly

nonetheless, he loves using pet names!

i mean as a bard, he can come up with poems and such on a whim ( flashback to the signora moment :) )

so his nicknames for you always have a certain meaning or funny story behind them

oh, you love pumpkins or had an unfortunate accident involving one? now he calls you pumpkin all the time

he’d also call you things like sunshine because to him you bring so much joy and you warm his heart just like the sun.

with that being said, good luck to those pulling for him! <3

listen to this while reading!

“There you go! You’re really good at this!” Venti complimented you, observing in great detail the way your fingers touched the strings of his lyre.

Judging by the curious stares and even odd looks you’d get from time to time, that wasn’t really the case. What was supposed to be a simple walk around the city turned out to be a full concert. Although Venti couldn’t find it in his heart to tell you, who asked him so eagerly just a few moments ago if he could teach how to play a song, just how… Poor was your attempt.

A relieved sigh could be heard the moment your fingers left the strings, although Venti’s reassuring smile never left his face. “Don’t let a few strangers discourage you! Even the greatest geniuses had to start somewhere!”

“Are you saying I’m a genius?” you asked teasingly with a raised eyebrow, laughing at his flustered face.

“Let’s not go that far…” he murmured, winking cheekily.

“And here I was, thinking I could wow you with my insane musical skills…” you whined sarcastically, handing him his lyre as you continued your stroll. It was then Venti stopped in his tracks. Upon his face, shock was written all over, his expression soon turning sympathetic. For a moment, he left you alone, diving into the crowd of people, only to return to you with a single cecilia flower. Its fragrance was sweet and fresh and its color a perfect white. Shortly after, he gently placed it behind your ear, smiling to himself while looking at you.

“You don’t need fancy tricks to win over what you already have,” Venti said, kissing your cheek lightly. A cheerful tune could be heard across the street, Venti’s soft melody attracting a lot of attention, “I’m all yours, sunshine.” he said loud enough for more than a few people to hear.

He has such a way with words, doesn’t he?

[showtoonzfan]

Charlie’s New Design Thoughts And Critiques (and thoughts for the show)

So I mentioned I was still going to talk about Hazbin from time to time, and as luck would have it, the official Hazbin Hotel Twitter website have JUST released Charlie’s new design. It has been awhile since we saw the logo pick of the hotel and the new Twitter website, so fans are very happy to see what’s in store. Here is the picture that they released:

Alright.....so let’s go by this slow and steadily. Before I get to the actual character, let’s talk about the background. I obviously noticed how the background is similar to the backgrounds that were in the end credits of the Addict Music Video. What do I think? Well...this background is fine I guess, it’s not bad, just.....the colors. I think EVERYONE knows by now that one of the MAJOR criticisms the Hazbin pilot got was that the backgrounds have WAAAY too many reds, pinks, maroons, anything that falls into that category. Here, again while I don’t think the background is bad, nothing has really changed. It’s still reds, yellows, purples, maroons, so.....so far Hazbin has showed me that they haven’t improved on the backgrounds one bit. Now calm yourselves, I KNOW this is just ONE picture, and we still have no idea what the full inside of the hotel looks like, but when you have a cast of characters with mostly reds, blacks, and pinks, you MIGHT want to make sure they don’t blend into the background. On the subject of the hotel backgrounds, I also hope that....ya know, there won’t be any more freaking inconsistencies this time when the show comes out. I think you’ll notice that in the pilot, the hotel backgrounds constantly change, things will move around from shot to shot, so I hope the communication on that will be better. All I ask is that the hotel itself has more variety than it did in the pilot, because again, from what we saw it was mostly reds, pinks, purples, and blacks, and we need MORE than that......please.

Now to Charlie herself. Oh boy.......so, first of all, in the description of the Twitter post, it says “Introducing Charlie Morningstar, our very own princess of hell”. So......wait......I...are you telling me her new last name....is “MORNINGSTAR?” Look, a lot of people so far don’t seem to have a problem with that being her last name but, for me personally? I’m sorry, I don’t dig it at all. The name just sounds.........god, just cheesy and stupid, I honestly don’t know how to describe it any other way. I like “Magne” a WHOOOLE lot better than whatever this My Little Pony shit is. At least Mange was creative and had variety to it, this is just..........dumb.

But what do I think of her design? Well, let’s go from top to bottom. First, her hair. Her hair is okay, it’s certainly way better than whatever the hell Viv was trying to do her sides before. I also like how she has bands in it now, makes more sense. Now to her eyes. Cleary, the change they made was that her pupils are now red instead of black. Yay...more red. Okay but in all seriousness, at first I was like “UGH NO WHY DID THEY MAKE HER PUPILS RED”, but now? It honestly makes her stand out more, so I’ll give them that.

Now for her under-clothing. In the pilot, Charlie wore a white a black sleeveless shirt as well as suspenders. In the new photo, she has a necktie, and while her shirt is still white, you can see that the suspenders are gone. That I don’t like. I honestly loved her suspenders, I thought she looked cute in them, and.....I dunno, I just really like suspenders lol. I DO like the neck tie addition though!

But now....it has come to this..........the SUIT color change.

Yeah.....I’m NOT happy about this. At all. Before, her suit is clearly pink....but here.......it’s RED. I dunno why I was expecting something different, I genuinely don’t. Why...WHY is her outfit red? Christ Viv, what is it with you and the red? The thing that bothers me is that if Charlie looks like THIS, then what is ALASTOR ganna look like? Oh god.....I’m scared guys.....I’m genuinely TERRIFIED. It’s ganna be SO BAD if Alastor is completely red, don’t get me started. If they both look the same then..........ugh. My eyes. The thing is Charlie’s outfit could work so long as all the other characters aren’t red as well but......I think we all know that ain’t ganna happen. Seriously, we all had to worry about Al because he blended into the background since he was too red, but now we gatta worry about CHARLIE too?

So far Hazbin has proved to me that they still have trouble making the characters pop out from the backgrounds. I mean, Charlie’s HEAD pops out, but her outfit.......doesn’t. So yeah, the only positives I can say about this new design are the eyes, hair, and suit, because I will admit, I found Charlie’s outfit boring before, but the colors? I can tell Viv hasn’t listened to any criticism so far. She looks EXACTLY like Alastor and that’s not a good thing. 😬

Finally, my thoughts on the future of the show. I’m finally glad we got SOMETHING, hopefully a teaser is coming soon, and I’m......certainly interested to see what the other characters look like.....as well as deeply scared. I’m still a fan of this show guys, but from what we got in the pilot? A LOOT is going to have to change, especially the writing, that’s all I can say without elaborating. I know this may sound negative, but I feel like the show will just be a train wreck, unless Viv has matured more over the course of the pilot’s release and has become a better writer.....though....looking at her work from Helluva Boss, I don’t think it’s looking okay so far, and that’s how I would describe this character teaser. The colors are still mostly reds, yellows and blacks, and the colors on Charlie don’t make her stand out completely, especially the damn suit, half of me wishes it was BLACK like in the old promo art Viv drew. As for the show, I’m still going to watch it when it comes out, my expectations are low but as someone who is a fan, I WANT to see this show succeed, and I WANT to see it do better because I used to be a HUGE fan. I may be harsh sometimes and critique the show, but I don’t HATE it guys. I really don’t, and I’m allowed to critique it if I want.

Thank you for reading, and I’ll see you next time. 👋💕

[folkloreguk]

French Class [7]

A/N: AAAH I apologize in advance for this part bc I feel like it's kinda messy :/ I hope you still like it though?? Lmk what you think! x

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), fwb, f2l?, college!au, fuckboy!bias, nerd!reader, angst, H/N is a jealous and drunk fool :/

words: ~ 3.7 k

✽series masterlist✽

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez, @runaway-fics, @mainexiii, @awfullytiredbuthealing, @erikyoong, @etherealuv, @yeostars, @staysuki, @justcuz-ican, @hyuckthangs, @teenloves, @mexious18-blog, @sunghoonied, @mailobjaeyoon, @tr-wemoon, @prismwon

couldn’t tag: @chorizoek, @r-eadings

H/N’s POV:

Maybe I’ll come ‘round, your text had said. How did you expect him to enjoy the party if you wouldn’t be there? H/N used to make fun of guys who ran after girls like lap dogs. And yet, over time he had become one of them, if not worse. Every text, every possibility of seeing you had him on the edge of his seat in excitement. There was nothing he cared about more than spending time with you. When at first it had been sexual attraction – an obsession with your body and the way you turned him on with the most subtle words and touches – it had changed into something entirely different. The relentless hunger was now occasional, ever so often interrupted by a dire wish to see you smile. A wish to hold you, and to kiss you out of the blue – something he wasn’t allowed to do if it wasn’t for the two of you hooking up. The stupid agreement you had made was starting to feel like torture instead of heaven. He was lucky his poker face was professional, and he had years of practice in flirting and sounding casual even if his heart was beating up to his neck. There was no other way he could have concealed how infatuated he was with you, otherwise.

“H/N, come help me set up the snacks!” Korain shouted from the kitchen. H/N’s friends were throwing a party at their place, and he had shown up early to assist them in preparing everything. With you on his mind – as always – he trotted into the kitchen where a row of bowls was standing out on the counter.

“Just open and pour the bags into the bowls, will you? I still need to get ready,” Korain said. “Chohee said she might be here a bit earlier, and I don’t want to look like this when she’s going to look amazing.”

Korain gestured to his bed hair he probably hadn’t brushed once since getting up and then tweaked the fabric of his sweatpants and his old, baggy tee. H/N wanted to argue that if Chohee really liked Korain, she wouldn’t mind seeing him this way. H/N, for one, couldn’t care less what you wore tonight. As long as you showed up at all, he would be beaming. Strictly speaking, at times when he got to see you wake up, sleep in your eyes and your clothes in a disarray, it spun his head in ways no little black dress could ever do. When he saw you make breakfast in his kitchen, in his shirt, he could barely contain himself.

His daydreams of you were once naughty and gave him boners at random times of the day – and don’t get me wrong, they still were, sometimes – but it was when the domestic dreams had begun, that he realized he was screwed. He didn’t need anybody to tell him how he felt, nor did he have some crazy moment of clarity. There came a point in his days where he didn’t just notice his non-sexual daydreams of you, he invited them. His brain was imagining things like setting up a shared table for dinner or kissing the back of your hand in the dark of a movie theater or playing you a cheesy song that reminded him of you. He wanted to hold your hands from across the library table and have his arm around your shoulders to show you off to the entire campus. But none of it could be real. It all went against the rules.

“Will Y/N be here too?” Korain asked and pulled H/N out of his daydreams. God, I hope so, he thought.

“She said she might be here,” H/N answered.

“Chohee’s always talking about her. And you. About how she thinks Y/N has a crush on you, but she always denies it, saying you’re just friends. Maybe you could try and bring that up tonight?” Korain said, as if discussing your feelings for someone was as easy at conversing about the weather. “Alright, I really have to go get ready now.”

“I’ve been thinking, I might- “ said H/N, but Korain only pat his shoulder.

“Let’s talk later, at the party, okay?” he said, and walked out the kitchen. I might like her, H/N had been meaning to say. I might like Y/N. No. I’m in love with her. No maybes. He could bet all his money on it, that’s how sure he was. But his friend had disappeared and now it was on him to wait until the party began. Left alone with his thoughts.

Of course, you would deny having a crush on him. Because you probably didn’t, he thought. Wouldn’t you search for a smart guy, someone your mother would approve of, and someone who understood your endless talks of nerdy topics? Although sometimes he had no idea what you were on about, H/N was captivated whenever you gave him a lecture about something you had learned. And when he asked you to explain something one more time, you never hesitated, or judged him for it. Your kindness made his heart swell, and only when the first crowd of party guests arrived did he realize he had spent half an hour daydreaming about you. Again.

With the way he kept the front door in his sight at all times, one could have wondered if he was a highly wanted criminal on the run, afraid the cops could barge in at any moment. Some of the girls who tried to flirt with him even asked him about it, but he wasn’t going to confess he was waiting for the love of his life to walk through that very door. With little conviction he returned their flirting. He hated himself for the thoughts he had. Thinking that should you not arrive, he could console himself by taking one of the other girls home instead. They didn’t deserve to be used like that, but he was bitter and so, so in love with you. It was hard to pay any attention to the other girls at all, no matter how sweet they were being.

Flirting back at them, however, came to him as easily as the words to his favorite songs. It posed no challenge, like it did with you. When he had to try hard to make your cheeks heat up, or to lure out a shy smile instead of your genius, quick-witted remarks. There was nothing more exciting to him than to invent new ways in which he could make you flustered.

Right now, it was his turn to be flustered. Because his ex had approached him and was reciting some of her favorite memories she had of their relationship. “Remember our third date…the one that ended with us squished in that tiny dressing room at Victoria’s Secret?” she asked and blinked at him expectantly. He went along with her words and replied something not too direct, but still enough to make her giggle like a little girl.

It was his own fault she was so intent on talking to him. While you had been on your date with the economy-major-guy, H/N had tried to contact his ex again. In hindsight, he thought it pathetic and extremely stupid at that. Nothing would have come of it, anyway. Not while he felt the way he did about you. So it was only lucky his ex hadn’t been free that night. Then he had gotten dangerously close to drowning his feelings in the vodka in his kitchen. Thankfully he had refrained from this, too, because you had shown up afterwards and you had ended up having mind-blowing sex, and he knew for a fact that had he been drunk, he would have blurted out some crazy sentiments he would have regretted saying in the morning.

Sometimes he tried to signal you his emotions, ever so subtly. Waving off your claims when you called him the campus fuckboy or telling you he wasn’t really hooking up with anyone else besides you, it all was an attempt at making you see what he felt for you. He would tell you that you looked pretty, not just so you would understand he liked you, but simply because it had to be said. When he regarded you fixing your hair in the mirror with a frown, he could barely believe you didn’t know how beautiful you were. And he had gotten closer to you during sex. Whether it was voluntary or an instinct that came with being in love, he wasn’t certain. There was nothing like kissing away your moans while he fucked you into a mattress.

He was about to text you – the urge to see you getting unbearable – but didn’t want to sound clingy when you strut through the door. No slow motion or fan blowing your hair around dramatically would have made you look more perfect. The ridiculous pang he felt in his heart when he saw you hug another guy only reminded him of how whipped he was. He reminded himself that he had no right to be jealous. You weren’t his girlfriend, after all. When you then made eye contact with him and made a beeline for him, he was worried he’d be short of words. He needed to pull himself together.

“Hi,” you said, and your smile was magical enough to stir up the butterflies in H/N’s stomach. You pointed at the empty spot on the sofa between H/N and another guy you didn’t know. “Is this seat taken?”

“No,” the guy said, before H/N had time to speak, and the stranger smiled at you in a way that could only mean he wanted to get to know you. But H/N caught your attention by swiftly putting his arm around your shoulder, making the stranger back up and divert his eyes the other way. He had never meant to be the jealous type. It was just that you were finally here, and he was so happy to see you, he couldn’t bare the thought of you running off again. Only when you gave him a funny look H/N realized he needed to calm down if he didn’t want you to get annoyed.

“So, what did I miss?” you asked.

His ex was approaching from across the room again, and before he could have stopped his mouth, he said the stupidest thing. “Kiss me.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, but he was intent on it. “Please. Kiss me. Quick.”

There was a strange emotion that crept over your face, and you seemed to have no clue why he was so set on it. Nevertheless, you did as he asked. Your mouth tasted of watermelon bubblegum, so sweet, so perfect, and he was flying on cloud nine for the short while it lasted. It wasn’t real, though. The thought stabbed his brain like a dagger. When you pulled apart you were grinning, and his ex wasn’t in the room anymore.

“Care to explain why we just did that?” you asked. “You’re diminishing your chances with the ladies in the room.”

He rolled his eyes. “My ex has been trying to get with me again, and I hoped she’d let off if she saw us kiss. And she did.” Then his eyebrows raised. “What do you mean by my chances with the ladies? I was hoping we could go home together.”

“I can’t tonight,” you said, and he had to fight to keep his face straight. “I’ve got to get back to studying first thing tomorrow morning. I just came here to hang out, for a while.”

“Oh,” was all he could muster without sounding like you were ripping out his heart. It wasn’t even your fault. He would never try and get between you and your studies. But what if he could be there? What if he could be the one staying in bed, watching as you climbed up early to bury your head in books? He’d watch you through tired eyelashes, and you’d ridicule him for being so starry-eyed when looking at you. Later he’d bring you tea or coffee and remind you to take a break to eat. Was it ludicrous to obsess over something so domestic? He didn’t feel guilty for it.

All at once, your laugh pulled him out of his daydream, and into a funny story you told him. Over-consciously, he noted how your arm went around his shoulder lazily. And for a while you sat and talked. Occasionally a flirty remark slipped over your lips, and he would always return it. It was idiotic, but he was already worrying about how much he would miss you once you went home. Perhaps his plan of consoling himself with another girl hadn’t been so bad, after all. Just as he had finished the thought, a familiar face walked by and noticed him. The alcohol in his veins made her seem perfectly inviting as a distraction, for later.

“Oh, hey. Y/N, this is Minji,” he said, pointing at the girl. “Minji, this is Y/N. She’s…just a friend.”

Instantly, you removed your arm from his shoulder. There was hidden pain in your gesture, or was it merely wishful thinking on his side? Minji nodded and greeted you, but you only waved her off with a polite smile.

“I’m going to get a drink from the kitchen,” you announced, and before he could have stopped you, you had walked off. For a while he chatted with Minji, because he had no good reason to run after you that wouldn’t create awkwardness. His patience lasted approximately ten minutes. Luckily, a friend waved at Minji from across the room and she excused herself. Although he would never wish her ill, he was glad she was leaving.

Quickly, he made his way to the kitchen, where he found you talking to a guy. Without thinking, H/N smiled at you as he came up to you and wrapped his arm around your waist. He hadn’t meant to look so intimidating, and he hadn’t meant to be an asshole either. Yet, the guy across from you appeared scared and when you turned your attention to H/N, the guy slowly retracted into another circle of chatting people. Guilt crept in on H/N. He was tipsy, and although he knew his drunkenness wasn’t an excuse, it made him want you so much more. Perhaps it was also insecurity making him act crazy. There was always a glimmer of hope in the back of his mind, that you might just like him back. So long as you hadn’t confirmed the opposite, he would live in constant terror that someone else could steal your attention and make you theirs before he could.

“Come with me,” you muttered in his ear. Your hand was around his wrist, and he had no choice but to trot after you like a child. At first, he thought you were going to take him out the front door, but then you made a turn for the stairs. He didn’t need to be a fuckboy to know what it meant when a girl walked him up the stairs. From one second to the other, his mood changed into gleefulness. Had you changed your mind? The mere thoughts of what could happen upstairs could have given him a boner, had he pondered on them for longer. You said nothing, only driving him more insane by the second. The first open door was good enough for you, so you pulled him inside and closed it behind you. Smirking, he reached for your waist, ready to pull you into a kiss.

“Don’t,” you hissed, and he flinched at your angry tone. He kept his hands to himself, kneading them nervously. Shit. This was the clear opposite of what he had anticipated. The two of you had never fought, and hearing your voice, sounding so deeply upset, scared him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked.

“I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to make out- “ he said.

“I don’t mean just now. I mean…what is it you’re trying to achieve by acting all possessive over me in front of random guys? Pretending I belong to you? But the second a pretty girl is in front of you I’m just a friend, aren’t I? What’s that about?”

There was no explaining this, and he knew it. Yet, he would try, pathetically. “I just thought you didn’t want those guys bothering you.”

“I can handle a guy by myself, thank you,” you snapped. “If I needed help, I’d ask. Like you did. Apparently, I’m good enough to be used as an escape from your ex, but when hot Minji came around you wouldn’t even blink when I got up and left.”

“Usedas an escape?” he asked in disbelief. “You didn’t have to kiss me, but you did anyway.”

“That’s because I was trying to be a good fucking friend!” you yelled now, sounding over the music from the party.

“You used me too, don’t you remember?” he countered. “Or did you not show up on my doorstep after your terrible date so I would fuck you and make you feel better?”

You looked taken aback for a moment, knowing he was right, in a way.

“It’s like you’re always trying to get away from me, but you can’t,” he said.

“Oh, fuck you!” you said, every trace of guilt washed away. “Get off your high horse! Isn’t that the whole point of us? That we’re using each other for sex? Nothing more than that, right? If I walked out now, you could go and find the next girl in line to take over instead of me. Didn’t you try to see someone while I was chatting to the guy I went on a date with? It’s all about using people, isn’t it? If things with the guy had gotten more serious for me, you’d have her, ready for you. Don’t you think that’s a little messed up? Leading someone on like that?”

There was truth to your words. He had tried to find someone to date, should you have found someone too and your friends-with-benefits relationship had been over. But he hadn’t led her on. He had been honest in letting the girl know he wasn’t sure if he wanted anything serious. His chest was hurting, and the pain was only making him more furious.

“Yeah, I could have switched you for her,” he said coldly. Was he only trying to hurt you now? Perhaps, but you had hurt him first.

“Right, because that’s all I am to you,” you said, quieter than before.

“That was our plan! You’re my fuck buddy, nothing more!” he raised his voice now, tired of your empty words and signs. “You have no right to accuse me of anything when I’m playing by the rules. The rules you made. Maybe we should go back to the beginning. Start the game over. I don’t even know what we’re arguing about right now.”

“Start over?”

“Go back to when we were just horny for each other and nothing else,” he said, as if that would be possible. As if he could ignore the way your eyes shined, even in the dim light coming from the streetlamps outside. Like he could pretend he didn’t want to hold you and make you forget all about this terrible fight.

“Fine, let’s try,” you said, and he watched in astonishment, as you closed the gap between the two of you. When you tilted your head, he gave you permission by doing the same. When you kissed, with teeth clashing and exhausted sighs mixing up, he swore there were bombs going off somewhere in his head. Alarm bells, too. This was by no means a great idea. But what could have stopped him and his hungry mouth? He backed you against the wall and pressed you into it, hard. Before he had registered it, his hands were pushing up the fabric of your dress and you moaned, sounding so beautiful he could barely believe it. One of his thighs forced its way between your legs while he gripped your waist like his life depended on it.

But then, just as rapidly you had begun to kiss him, you pushed him away. His lungs felt tight when he noticed the affliction and confusion on your face. He wished he could make it go away. But he had caused it, so now his presence only made things worse.

“No- no, I change my mind. This is fucking stupid,” you said. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Y/N,” he said in a gentle tone. Somehow, it seemed that his careful voice hurt you most of all.

“I think we should stop. All of this,” you said. He was beginning to shake his head in disbelief, but you cut him off. “We said there wouldn’t be jealousy, but there obviously is. We should have stopped long ago.”

“But what about starting the game again, from the beginning?” he asked, too afraid of what you would say to even look at you. If you were going to rip out his heart you should have done so quickly, when he wasn’t paying too close attention.

“The game’s over. This is going over both of our heads,” you said. “I- I’m going to go home now.”

So this was heartbreak. H/N had never considered that it could be meant so literally. But he could swear that the muscle inside his chest was convulsing and shriveling as if you had stolen the blood that kept him alive right from his arteries. The pain was sharp like a thousand cuts had been inflicted on his skin, and he struggled for words like your words had taken every of his most elemental abilities.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said.

“No,” you said. “You’re drunk. You’re the one who could need someone to walk you home. And I don’t want you around me right now. Get home safely.”

That was it. No hug. No last, longing look. Just your words stabbing like knives and your ethereal beauty as you turned on your heel and walked from the room, leaving him behind, bleeding out by himself. What had he done?

[roachclit]

hi ! Sorry if that's weird to ask this, but I honestly don't know who to talk to about this .

Okay, so I saw in your bio that you're an ex nb. I've identified as a trans guy for like, 5 years, and decided to detransition because I don't agree with all this and want to live as a woman. However I still have dysphoria and it's very hard for me. I don't know what to do, what is normal, I'm kinda Lost and not sure if what I'm doing is good or bad.

How did you do ? How did you live this yourself, and do you have any advices ?

So yeah. Thanks for reading .

Hi anon! First off I’d like to clarify that I’m desisted, not detrans, meaning that I never made any permanent changes to my body. So my answer will be coming from that perspective.

I wouldn’t call your decision “good” or “bad.” I don’t think morality has anything to do with the decisions you made. You weren’t bad for identifying as a trans man, and you’re not bad now for reconnecting with your womanhood. You’ve just had a major shift in your worldview and your view of yourself, so things probably feel really scary and uncertain right now. In times like this when your foundation feels shaky, I think one of the best things you can do for yourself is build a community of support. And when I say community, I don’t mean in the way that many trans circles view community, where everyone has to have the exact same opinions. Something that I’ve noticed since joining radblr is the attitude that we’re all learning and it’s ok to be wrong. It’s ok to question things. It’s ok to struggle with perceiving yourself as a woman and a lot of us are here for that exact reason.

Reidentifying as a woman took a long time for me. I kept bouncing back and forth between woman and non-binary/transmasc, second guessing myself over and over. I hadn’t called myself a woman in five years, and it felt like such an alien word to me. This might sound cheesy, but I really did have to say to myself, out loud, “I am a woman,” for it to really sink in. I’ve been desisted for almost two years and it still feels strange to say sometimes.

What really helped me during this time of uncertainty was centering women in my life in as many ways as possible. I read books by female authors, listened to female musicians, looked at art by female artists, and tried to interact with only women as much as I possibly could. And what I discovered was that women could be anything. There was no right way to do it. You could be the most grizzled, masculine, hairy woman alive, and it wouldn’t make you any less female. I looked at photos of butch women and fell in love. I used to hate the way my breasts and hips looked in men’s clothes, but seeing butches just existing with their undeniably female bodies, while presenting however the hell they wanted, was a huge source of inspiration for me. I couldn’t possibly hate myself for having the same qualities that these women possessed. I discovered self love through my love of other women.

Physical activity was also important in alleviating my dysphoria because it helped me reconnect with my body. Dysphoria is perceived as a disconnect between the mind and the body, but this mind-body dualism is a fallacy. Your body is not just a vessel for your mind, it’s not a meat puppet that you pilot like a robot. You don’t just own your body, you are your body. Lifting weights, hiking, practicing yoga, doing activities that made me feel strong and capable - these all helped me appreciate my body for what it was. Instead of dissociating from my body, I felt grounded and present. I started to accept that my body is me, and I can’t run away from myself.

It was also critical for me to learn about the experiences of other detrans and desisted women. I think the first detrans person I listened to was Elle Palmer on YouTube. This was back when I still identified as nb but was starting to have some doubts. I was on a waitlist for top surgery and in the process of getting prescribed testosterone, and it finally truly hit me that I was planning to change my body permanently. I felt like I needed to examine my desire to transition more deeply before I committed to it. I honestly can’t remember how I stumbled upon Elle’s channel, but I’m so glad I did. She was insightful and kind and, most importantly, learning how to forgive herself. I’m linking one of her videos here because I think you might need to hear it. She was a great source of comfort for me in times of uncertainty.

https://youtu.be/E6US5tpfKvQ

I realized that having dysphoria didn’t make me less of a woman, any more than it did for her or any other detransitioner or desister I came across. Redefining my dysphoria as a female issue, rather than a trans issue, helped me feel more solidarity with other women. Trans people told me I had to change my body to be happy, but these women learned how to make peace with their bodies despite wanting to escape them. I don’t think any woman feels completely at home in her body under patriarchy, and that’s something that everyone female has in common, trans or not.

I think it’s important for you to talk about this to as many other women as you can. I’m really glad that you reached out to me, but keep in mind that I’m just one person, I’m not even detrans, and my experience is probably quite different from yours. I’m mutuals with a handful of detransitioners and desisters who all have their own unique perspectives, and hopefully some of their experiences will resonate with you. Some blogs I can recommend off the top of my head are @testosteronebutch @macroclit @riverxdaughter @swag-fem @shedwarf @annielesterf and there are so many more out there! You’re not alone in feeling this way, and you should be proud of yourself for finding the strength to reclaim your womanhood despite your dysphoria. It’s not going to be easy, but with time, support, and self-compassion, it will get better. You will feel like you’ve come out of hiding and returned to yourself, and that’s an incredibly powerful feeling. I wish you luck on your journey anon ❤️

[svchengss]

two halves | l.mh

PAIRING. mark lee x reader

GENRE. fluff, heavy angst

WARNINGS. major character death, grief

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

SUMMARY. right after his death, mark watches how you cope with the loss

A/N. i saw this one tiktok and it kinda inspired me to write this

// just to let you guys know, reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !! thank you for reading :D

white walls, white room.

mark scrunched his face, his eyelashes slowly fluttering open, the dark brown iris adjusting the size of the pupils due to the brightness of the walls reflected upon it. a soft groan vibrating from his throat, he assessed his surroundings where nobody or nothing else is present. he looked down to inspect his clothing, hoping that it would give him any clue of this room or space he’s in - an all white outfit. this scene looks exactly like the one in the movies where the characters realize they are dead. except this time, he really is.

THE REALIZATION.

the muffled sounds of cries and sobs rang through his eardrums, triggering a reflex to wake up from the state that he thought was a slumber. he is lying on the hospital bed with the light blue clothing piece, faint light illuminating the space where people are huddled up around him. he waved his right hand in the air to let them - who he later remembered as his family members and friends, know that his eyes are already open. nobody moved even the slightest, the atmosphere being very much dead, scent of medicine intoxicating his mind.

then he saw someone who he holds very dear to his heart - you, enter the hospital room, dropping onto her knees as soon as she saw his state of condition. in an instant, he shot up from his lying position and ran over towards the crying you, shoulders shaking and all. bringing his hands to hold you in his embrace, not even a glance spared by you brought a hundred and one questions to him. why didn’t anybody acknowledge him when he woke up? why can’t you feel his touch?

“mark lee. time of death, 10:23 pm,” the tall doctor with glasses rested on the bridge of his nose announced before leaving the room, holding the clipboard close to his chest. mark gauged the monitor screen next to the bed, the line indicating his heartbeat is no longer showing spikes going up and down - instead becoming a flat line, deafening beep present with it. then he sees himself still laying on the white sheets, eyes still closed and no signs of breathing evident. a surge of panic rushed through his veins.

this can’t be real.

mark rushed into the bathroom, a surprised gasp leaving his lips. his body is semi-transparent, the shape of the toilet bowl can be seen through his left shoulder. his body shakes with terror, slapping himself in the cheeks multiple times just to make sure that this whole fiasco is just a nightmare.

oh my god. no, this is real.

mark stood in the back of the crowd, witnessing the funeral of someone and that someone being him. of course, he’s never expected to get the sight of his own service. his mother is standing beside you, her hands rubbing circles onto your back in an attempt to calm your mourning state. you’re still looking ever so pretty, a black chiffon dress on your body with white pearl necklace on your collarbones and your wavy black hair hanging down your shoulders. not that anybody else would notice, it’s someone’s death after all.

“stay strong, y/n. he will always be in our hearts,” the same rhythm of sentence in tones full of pity being directed towards you. mark’s sister enveloped you into a warm hug despite the chilly atmosphere, whispering comforting words into your ears before getting into the family’s car. you’re not going back home, not yet when you still feel reluctant to let him go.

“why did you leave me?” the only coherent words from your hoarse voice can be heard. mark, who is crouching next to you, is holding his tears back. instead, he sends a sorrowful smile - not that you can see him anyway. is there any way to let you know of his presence?

“goodbye, love. i’ll see you tomorrow. i promise,” you dusted the back of your dress from any dirt or debris, leaving a rose on his tombstone. the thing is, he doesn’t want to part from you. and that’s why his figure is seated beside you in the cab. he grazed his thumb on your knuckles, making you feel tingles rushing through. you pushed the slight thought away, you must be tired to be feeling things.

you slowly opened the door to your apartment, you and mark’s to be exact. the whole house is making those memories make their presence in the back of your head again. the kitchen where you two baked cookies for christmas last year. the bedroom where you snuggled upon his chest, not wanting to start your day just yet. the piano where he sang those cheesy songs for you. the living room where you slow danced at 3 in the morning. his favourite mug resting on the countertop, probably will not be used again. this whole situation is too overwhelming for you. you feel weak.

with each day passing by, you didn’t even miss one without a visit to his resting lot. you would tell him stories of how your day went or something that you read which would made him ponder. the words carved on it are already etched onto your brain.

mark lee. a son, a brother and a loving partner.

the clock hanging on the grey wall has it’s arms stretched out to display the time - two in the morning. you can’t sleep just yet, not having any for the past few days even. dark circles are appearing around your eyes, not yet recovered from the puffiness from all the crying. mark’s heart aches everytime he takes upon your state. he feels very guilty, not that death was his choice after all. it’s simply fate, a cycle of life, a destiny that every single creature on this planet will end up with.

you’ve taken the whole month off work, still feeling ever so helpless. in fact, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve stepped out of the apartment, the night before his passing perhaps? you’ve completely shut yourself out from any interactions - deactivating your social media, not accepting any calls. you just need time to heal.

as if you’re being controlled by some type of mastermind, you shoot up on the balls of your feet, pulling away from the couch. those images of you slow dancing with mark, hands in each other’s holds, your chin rested in the crook of his neck and being ever so engrossed in love are coming back more often now. you trudged to the vinyls arranged neatly on the shelf, picking one before placing it on the turntable - frank sinatra, one of his all time favourites.

holding your hands up at about his usual height, you start twirling around. you can almost see the outline of his smile, his features right in front of you. except, he is. he’s been observing your moves the whole night. mirroring your current position, as if you can really see him, it’s a miracle for him. overjoyed actually, he doesn’t realize the salty tears streaming down his cheekbones and so are yours.

“thank you for coming, dear. it’s a pleasure seeing you in what, weeks?” a laugh escaped the woman’s lips. you reciprocated her hug before stepping into the living room. it’s been a long time since you’ve been here, was it in january? mrs. lee had invited you over for a simple dinner, checking up on how you’ve been. you can see that the family is still struggling over his passing, the way his sister’s eyes are not twinkling as usual makes it hard to cover up the lie.

“you see, this was on his high school graduation day. he was very happy that day, doing all sorts of dances and stuff. finally escaping from hell as he said,” she giggled. she’s been displaying all sorts of memoirs to you, photo albums and photographs scattered on the wooden floor. to be honest, you’ve never seen these before. all smiles mark lee, easy to notice among the crowd. not that he’s changed, he’s still that boy now. mark just sat on the couch - his favourite spot, observing the throwback session going on. if he’s still here, his sister for sure is going to tease the hell out of him.

“he told us so much about you, you know? as if everything reminds him of you, that boy is lovestruck. really,” that sudden confession made your tongue dry, unable to find a perfect response. you were really that special to him.

“drive safe honey, you can come over whenever you want. you know you’re always welcome here, right?” mrs. lee handed you the small box filled with some things you’re going to keep. she kissed both of your cheeks, mr. lee standing behind her giving you a small wave. a small smile crept up onto your face before igniting the engine, turning your wheels out of the housing area.

the netflix show is playing on the television, the faint voices of the characters playing in the background. you’re sitting on the floor, flipping through the photo journal you two decorated throughout your one year of relationship. you can see his little scribbles and doodles, often a little dinosaur symbolising your always grumpy personality.

in one photo, a golden birthday hat is nicely placed on your head with him kissing your right cheek. you remember clearly, a surprise party for you last year. in the following ones, they are mostly candid shots - you blowing out the candles while he looks at you full of love, him eating a portion of your dish while you pout your lips. you would say it was the night of your life, spending it with the guy who stole your heart.

the next page of the journal is a shot of mark taking a photo of you in the park. you suppose it was taken by donghyuck? that one picture of you was stuck as his lock screen wallpaper for a while, you remembered getting so embarrassed over it. mark would give you the same excuse every time you questioned him about it, implying that the sight of you would light up his whole day. cheesy really, but that was what remained as memories of the past, tied neatly in your heart.

the rain trickling against your window eventually made you doze off to wonderland, creating the perfect chance for mark to browse through the journal in your hands. carefully lifting it from yours so that you won’t be stirred from your sleep, he settled down in the space beside your sleeping figure. slowly turning the pages, he smiled fondly at each photo holding a thousand moments that can’t be recreated ever again. some of them would make him giggle. he kneeled down slightly to place a soft kiss on your forehead, making you squirm a little due to the faint touch.

“give him a chance. i’m not saying that you should forget mark but it’s been months, you should live up a little,” yerim’s voice sounding concerned from the other end of the line. perhaps she’s right but you just need more time. but how much longer? you’re afraid you yourself have no specific answer for that enquiry.

you’ve been feeling better by now, welcoming people back into your life and carrying out the same daily routine of yours. going to work, buying groceries, going to the drive-thru and whatnot. of course, the void is still obvious - coming back home to an empty atmosphere instead of him waiting for you on the couch, sometimes dozing off, no more weekend cafe runs. but at least you’re trying your best. you bid your goodbyes before tapping the red button, ending the call. plopping the device onto the mattress, you stared at the white ceiling, deep in your own thoughts.

you should give him a chance. live up a little.

yes, you should.

getting hold of the phone and immediately opening the messages app, you searched for jungwoo’s number. he’s been trying to take you out for dinner for a while now. you still remember his exact words, whenever you’re ready he’s always there, waiting for you. you’re not really sure about that particular question but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try, right?

typing in the words ‘okay, sure’ is already a pressure for you but you still proceeded to press the send button. glancing at the clock showing the time, the notification ping redirected your focus onto the screen.

jungwoo: cool, is tomorrow night okay with you? i’ll drive, of course :)

tomorrow night. okay, tomorrow night.

an elegant red gown is wrapping your curves perfectly, a thin necklace with the seashell charm around your neck while your lips is decorated with the dark red tone, highlighting your poise appearance. hearing the doorbell ring, you tidied up the dresser as your eyes landed onto the picture frame holding a photo of you and mark. a sad feeling crept into your heart but you pushed it away, opening the door to reveal jungwoo in a black and white tuxedo.

you would say that the dinner went well, none of his questions or chatters crossing any borderline. he’s just so polite, even you are amused. feeling comfortable with his presence, the small gap in between is eventually closing down since you’ve learned so much about each other during the other few dates. one night completely changed it for you, him offering you a dance at some event he’s bringing you with.

you observed that his moves are slightly similar to mark’s - not completely of course, mark’s is very unique and very…mark-ish. for the first time ever in the recent turn of events, you flashed a genuine smile. one that is not just for show, one that only comes out when you’re truly elated, one that you only manage to give to certain. mark just observed the scene from a distance, admiring how you’ve managed to find the spark of happiness you once lost.

alas, mark saw his other half become full again with another, her eyes twinkling with the same joy but this time, it’s not him in the reflection.

[ptergwen]

play the game

w/c: 2.2k

summary: an interview question catches you off guard

a/n: this is kinda random but i wanted to write something just fun n cute with actress!reader so this is what we got enjoy everyoneee

-

“ooh, these are always fun,” tom murmurs to you. he pushes a bucket of questions to the middle of the table. you turn it towards yourself with a furrowed eyebrow.

you’re at buzzfeed promoting the next spider-man. it’s just you and tom for this one. zendaya and jacob are doing their own interview in the room next to yours. you’re usually paired with the two of them, but tom joins your group sometimes. you find yourself much more intimidated by him than the camera whenever he does. not because he scares you. you’ve actually become close friends over filming.

it’s because you never know what he’s going to say. tom is a flirty guy by nature, and he’ll play it up even more if he has an audience. he loves to give them a good laugh. spark a few rumors maybe, only to get people talking about the movie. the idea itself isn’t half bad. the effect it has on you is what you worry about.

you’ve had a pretty big crush on him that started the same time your friendship did. in your defense, how could you get to know him and not fall? he’s one of the most genuine people on earth, he calls you cute british pet names, he makes you laugh on set during a stressful take. he’s just so charming. he charmed you, after all.

so much as a wink at you and your cheeks would be burning. the last thing you need is for the whole world to see that. it’s bad enough he would, too. you’re hoping he keeps the playfulness at minimum for your interview. with you being the only person he has to bounce off of this time, you’re not sure he will.

“i feel like the fans always ask better questions than interviewers,” tom jokes and takes a slip of paper out of the bucket. he reads it to himself with a snort. “what does it say?” you peek over his shoulder. he folds it again before you can see. a smirk pulls at his lips. “you’ll find out.” “you’re not even supposed to look at them yet,” you huff, reaching to grab the paper. tom drops it back into the bucket.

looking off to the side, he breathes a laugh out of his nose. he’s so annoying about keeping secrets. you push at his shoulder with a smug smile. “can you ever just, like, behave?” “around you? no, i can’t,” tom teases, the hint of a smirk still on his face. this is exactly what you were dreading. what’s worse is you haven’t even started the interview. thank god the cameraman gets your attention.

“all ready. you two start whenever you want.” he gives you a thumbs up from behind the camera. tom scoots closer to you in his chair. his knee is touching yours. it’s such a childish thing to care about, but your heart speeds up. “thanks, man. i think we’re good.” he glances at you to make sure. “yeah?” “yeah, we can start.” your voice is higher than usual, which only happens when you’re nervous. you clear your throat.

the little light on the camera turns red. that means you’re recording. tom beams into it, sounding cheery as ever when he introduces himself. “hey everyone, i’m tom holland.” he holds out a hand to present you. you can’t help but smile at his antics. “i’m y/n y/l/n. we’re gonna be answering some questions you guys sent in.”

“there are a few prompts in here, too,” tom adds, eyes meeting yours for a second. “we have to act them out. let’s get into it.” you raise your eyebrows at the camera. spinning the bucket in his hands, he holds it out to you. “ladies first.” “when he has manners,” you deadpan, getting a giggle out of tom. his stupid adorable laugh that gives you butterflies. holding back a smile, you pull out a paper slip.

“tell us about gwen stacy and peter’s relationship in the movie,” you read off and push the paper to the other end of the table. “i mean, it’s not a relationship. it’s a new friendship,” you explain. tom nods in agreement. “yeah. peter is still after mj in this film.” squinting into the camera, you try to think of a description that won’t spoil you being spider-gwen.

tom digs into the bucket for the next question, but keeps his eyes on you. you hold up a finger when you get it. “my gwen is with spider-man more than peter. that’s all i’m gonna say.” “nice. very smooth,” he teases and unfolds the paper. “how hard was it to do all your stunts?” you shoot him a knowing look. there were a few the two of you had to do together.

they weren’t anything major because you’re not trained like tom is. a lot of the time, you only watched him do insane flips and leaps before simply entering the scene. he’d come back to your trailer after and complain about how sore he was while laying his head on your shoulder or some other part of your body. stunt days were exhausting.

“you know, i’ll be honest. they were awful.” tom shakes his head with wide eyes. you let out a quiet laugh. “not because they were bad or anything. the stunts look amazing. but, they really hurt.” he tosses the piece of paper at the one you just answered to create a pile. “the amount of ice you had to put on your body,” you giggle to him, tom joining in your laughter. he sighs. “i raided the freezer in your trailer every day.”

grinning at the memories, you reach into the bucket for your next question. you’re still smiling when you read it. “this one’s a prompt. it says to do an impression of each other.” tom eagerly sits up in his chair. his leg brushes yours again in the process. you catch your lip between your teeth. “easy. i’ll go first.” he hasn’t started, but you roll your eyes.

“we’ll all be watching a movie and she’s like,” he switches to his american girl accent before continuing. “isn’t that guy so hot? he’s literally so hot, guys. how do you not see it?” your mouth dropped open, you bump his knee under the table. “oh my god, what?” “and it’s always the most basic looking person, too,” he goes on, pressing his lips together in shame for you. you make the same face.

“someone sounds a little jealous.” “it’s not me,” tom scoffs, still playfully making fun of you. you narrow your eyes at him. “ok, my turn.” he’s biting back a smile while you get yourself ready. “ello, love,” you start in an exaggerated british accent. he closes his eyes in defeat. “i love golf. i’m like an old man, innit? i fu-“ you put a hand over your mouth in the same way he does. “i forgot i can’t swear.” tom claps slowly for you.

“bravo, y/n. you didn’t miss a thing, love.” he emphasizes the last word. there goes one of his infamous pet names. he’s just repeating what you said, but it still makes your heart clench. your favorite is when he calls you darling. it sounds so perfect falling from his lips. that being said, you wouldn’t have been able to control your reaction if he called you it right now.

you shrug your shoulder and give him a cheesy grin. “i know i didn’t.” “right, next question.” tom grabs the bucket back from you with a pretend glare. he gasps before reading it out loud. “who’s your favorite cast mate? that’s wicked!” you move your head forward dramatically. “that’s not fair!”

tom drums his fingers on the table. “jeez, you guys are ruthless. i’ll say y/n because she’s right next to me.” you don’t miss a beat. “um, i’m saying zendaya.” you nod at the camera, tom pouting. “love you, z.” “i should change my answer to jacob, then,” he mutters childishly. exhaling, you pull out the next question. there are only two left after this.

“or maybe marisa,” tom keeps throwing names out. “are you done yet?” you ask like you’re his mom. he is acting like a kid, to be fair. “no.” “will you be done if i say you’re my favorite?” he perks up. “yes.” looking him in the eyes, you put your free hand on his arm. “tom, you’re my favorite cast mate.” “thank you.” his sarcastic tone matches yours. he tilts your chin up with the tips of his fingers. “my love.”

you’re quick to turn your head before you let yourself lean into his touch. you’d never recover. for one thing, you’ll think about it too much. another, it would give tom something to tease you about.

pretending to be disgusted, you unfold the paper. your expression relaxes when you look over the question. it’s kind of sweet. “what was your favorite scene to film together?” “all of them,” tom answers right away. “that’s a cheat answer,” you laugh out. he shrugs and looks down at the question. “i’m being serious. i really loved working with you.” his eyes meet yours. “every second of it.”

he’s being genuine. it’s probably to make up for tormenting you this entire interview. all you know is, the fans will definitely start talking. you find it nice either way. “aw, tom,” you coo, him nodding his head. “what was yours?” you’ve never thought about it. you shared so many special memories while making the movie. but, there is one that sticks out to you.

“our last scene. it was a really, like, emotional day because we were wrapping.” tom already knows what you’re going to say next. his lips curl into a smile. “i cried before we started shooting it, so he kept hugging me and said i’d ruin my makeup.” you rest your head on his shoulder for a few seconds, returning the smile. his arm slings around your waist.

“yeah, i felt so bad. your crying face just breaks my heart,” tom tells you with a head shake. you lift yourself off of him and wiggle your eyebrows. “that’s what every actor wants to hear.” “you’re ridiculous. do the last question.” he taps the bucket twice. he’s still holding your waist. “isn’t it your turn?” “it’s the one i read earlier. you read it now.” eyebrows knitted together, you pick out the slip. it’s a prompt.

this has to be a joke. no one in their right mind would have you do this on camera. what kind of interview would this be? blinking a few times, you hold it closer to your face. “it... it says to kiss each other.” you crumple the piece of paper up, face still scrunched in confusion. buzzfeed probably decided to mess with you two. “are we actually supposed to?”

“yep. a fan sent it in,” the cameraman interjects. you look at tom in a panic. he was all smiley about this earlier. now, he’s taking it seriously. “why would we...” you’re too flustered to finish your sentence. tom squeezes your waist. “it’s what the people want. i want it, too.” you can feel your stomach drop. “would’ve said something if i didn’t. do you?”

of course you do. for the past year or so, you’ve been craving to taste that mint chapstick he’s constantly applying. you can’t believe it’s finally going to happen in front of millions of people. technically eight people right now, but the whole world eventually. you’re afraid he’s only going through with it for the movie promotion. for a good thumbnail.

“are you only doing this for promo?” you whisper so the camera doesn’t pick it up. you need his real answer. “never. the promo just gives me an excuse.” his eyes dart from yours to your lips. he inches his face closer. you gulp. “can i kiss you?” he asks lowly. “mhm,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut.

his lips brush yours before he closes his eyes. he kisses you softly, his other arm wrapping around you. your hands go to his shoulders when you kiss back. it’s everything you’ve been needing, been dreaming of for so long now. he tastes even better than you expected. tom breaks the kiss first. a grin instantly spreads across his face. “we’ll continue this later,” he says only to you.

your lips and whole body feel tingly. you give him a goofy smile in return, looking at the camera over your shoulder. “thanks to whoever sent that one in. thank you so much.” you laugh in disbelief. tom turns and faces forward. “i think this is a good place to wrap things up,” he chuckles. “thanks for watching! we hope you enjoyed!” you wave. tom points at the camera. “see us again in theaters next week, if you did.”

the camera clicks off, and everyone else in the room starts chatting. you can’t imagine the headlines that are going to come out about you two. at the same time, you don’t care. you’re too happy. you move your arms up to wind around his neck. tom sighs in content. “i like you, too. in case you couldn’t tell.” he never stops finding ways to shock you. “how did you know i like you?” you groan.

“from one actor to another, you’re not good at hiding it.”

[there-must-be-a-lock]

New-Fangled Nonsense (Steve x Reader)

A request from @indecisive20something​: reader wants to use a toy but she / he is afraid that Steve won’t understand what they’re talking about. Turns out… he definitely understands. 

I had this toy in mind writing this; I highly recommend it! 

478 words, explicit. 

“At least they haven’t changed that,” Steve says, returning to bed with a washcloth, a glass of water, and a smug smile. 

You busy yourself with the washcloth, hoping he doesn’t notice the way you’re suppressing a nervous giggle. There’s really no good way to tell your boyfriend that sex -- like almost everything else in the world -- has been improved by the use of technology in the decades he was out of touch. 

Not like things really need improving upon, when it comes to Steve and sex. Just… nothing wrong with a little variation -- variation, vibration, whatever. 

“What’s so funny?” He’s raising one curious eyebrow when you look at him again, and you sigh. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Well… they didn’t change it, exactly, but there have been some major advancements in the field,” you say tentatively. There are some elements of modern life that Steve’s adjusted to just fine, but sometimes you find yourself explaining things that make you both stutter and blush. 

His eyes go wide and innocent as he asks, “What do you mean?”

You sigh. “There are… um. Toys, and stuff? You know.” 

“Toys?” 

“You know. Vibrators? For women, mostly, but --” 

“Kids these days,” Steve says solemnly. “With their texting and pursuit of the female orgasm.” 

“Are you… oh my god.” You roll your eyes and huff out a laugh. “You’re totally fucking with me.” 

He gives you a wide, wicked, shit-eating grin. “Sounds like some new-fangled nonsense. Back in my day, nobody ever had sex.” 

Nobody ever really expects Captain America to be such a snarky little shit. You’ve been dating the guy for almost a month now, and even you forget, sometimes, that he’s really just a mouthy Brooklyn kid at heart. 

Then Steve rolls over, reaches under the bed, and comes back up with something sleek and black and unmistakable; it’s a dual-stimulation toy, but there are no cheesy bunny ears in sight.

Your jaw drops. “The fuck?” 

“I was saving this for a special occasion, but…” He winks, cheeky as hell. 

Before you can really recover from the surprise, he’s got you on your back, the toy nudging at your entrance, and it slips in easily where you’re still all wet from his release. It’s got nothing on his girth, but it feels good all the same, and you tilt your hips up, letting him work it in deeper. The smaller petal presses against your clit just right. 

Then he turns it on, giving it a slow twist and thrust, and you moan, gripping the sheet, clenching down around it. 

Steve smirks, and his voice is low and suggestive when he says, “Your generation didn’t invent vibrators, you know. Although I never saw one quite this fancy.” 

“Full of surprises, aren’t you?” you ask, a little breathless. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea,” he says quietly. It sounds like a promise.