#it's almost certainly okay for you as an individual

[last-flight-of-fancy]

hey, hey, quick internet fandom ettiquete lesson; X has two hands jokes only vibe if you are talking to someone who is ALSO already talking about how X has two hands. Okay? Okay. It is in fact very rude to go onto other people’s posts where only one set of hands is involved to evangalise about two hands. When seeing ship art/fic of only half your ot3, it is proper ettiquete to simply enjoy the art/fic as it is, and if so inspired create/commission/seek out the ot3 content of your choice. This has been your quick internet fandom lesson, thank you for your time.

[starpros-sunshine]

seb. seb hes not smiling. and has a fatui background................

I knowwwwww he's still everything to me you do not know how smitten I am with Lyney as a character

[fabiansociety]

da2 isn't the best dragon age game *because* it's openly a tragedy, but being a tragedy forces a level of narrative coherence that the other games in the series don't have, and *that's* what makes it a better game.

okay, so. dragon age 2 runs on nested foreshadowing and a limited set of themes that almost every character and plot beat fall into: love is not enough, wealth is not enough, power is not enough, good intent is not enough. the problems you run into are structural, rather than individual, and your ability to resolve them as one person is strictly limited. the arishok is a central figure for this, because he prefigures every other tragedy and makes the game's thesis statement as clear as possible. he doesn't want to be in kirkwall, but he is compelled to remain until he gets back what was stolen. he doesn't want to lead a coup attempt, but he is compelled by qunari codes of justice to act. he does not want to die and fail his duty, but but he is compelled to by the other two impossible demands. every tragedy in kirkwall is the result of too many people with wildly different definitions of justice crammed into one place specifically designed to maximize human misery and suffering, and so you get a wonderfully nested narrative onion where each quest reinforces that idea, where there are no good options, just positions you can take — even the affinity system plays into that, where constantly gassing up your friends or constantly pushing them to change are equally correct ways to go, but ones that won't ultimately make a huge difference in their lives or characters, because no matter how much they like you, they're not under your control.

this coherence is even justified by the framing device. of *course* the moral of the game is "insisting on a dogmatic, narrow idea of justice destroys individuals and societies," it's a yarn being spun by varric the con artist to a chantry cop!

neither origins or inquisition play with that sort of narrative complexity. origins is a jaundiced hero's quest, certainly, but it's still basically a hero's quest; inquisition has a number of characters who question what you're doing and why, but the multitude of voices pulls the game in too many potential directions. DA2 was so constrained in its production that it pulled on decidedly ancient theatrical traditions, and it worked so, so well

[thespacesay]

hey, I'm hoping this is understood to be in good faith, but this sounds like you're speaking about the notoriously bullshit standard set by BMI (Body Mass Index). the BMI is currently the accepted tool for speaking about appropriate weight categories (ie, medically assigning an individual as "obese" or "morbidly obese"). however, if you look up pretty much any information on the formation of BMI as a scale... it's bullshit from the bottom up, and we don't have any science that really backs up the weight categories it produces as creating health outcomes.

beginning with the history of BMI development: eugenics all around! the creator of the BMI measurement was aiming to discover the socially ideal average man, not in any way connected to health. his work would then be referenced by Francis Galton, a very strong proponent of eugenics and creator of social Darwinism (literally: he was Darwin's cousin and one of the first few believers in evolution in his time and culture). around the 1970s, a paper regarding the search for a test of criteria for obesity determined that it was good enough compared to anything else they'd found - noting that it had significant limitations and was primarily only useful in comparison rather than as a direct measurement. interestingly, when the Big Obesity Scare of the 90s began, it had been reported that levels of obesity had sharply risen in America from the prior year... in between which, the BMI defining obesity was lowered.

as far as BMI's actual science and medical relevance goes, there's quite a lot of opinions! most seem desperate to cling to it despite very, very little evidence that BMI is a useful scale for anyone not in the particularly extreme ranges, and even then, defining "extreme" gets pretty dicey. BMI is not good at indicating what the weight itself is; muscle weighs more than fat, and BMI is not considered to be a good indicator of obesity in non-sedentary lifestyles (aka: anyone who works even a mildly physical job should not be judged by BMI, as it is statistically not a good indicator of their health). in addition, BMI statistically is useful as a comparative tool among specific demographics; my introductory stats class in college can tell you with ease that BMI is not meant to be used the same between different demographics, such as race, sex, and quite possibly many more factors.

further, all the things you hear about as "health" relating to BMI? cardiovascular events, diabetes, all that stuff? we pretty much have scientific consensus right now that studies are indicating an increase in weight as an early indicator of diabetes rather than diabetes being caused by higher weight. a variety of cardiovascular studies have found, to the clear confusion of the researchers and their biases, that cardiovascular events are more likely to be fatal in individuals not considered "overweight". I'd highly recommend checking out the referenced statistics on the Wikipedia page regarding actual health correlations, as well as the limitations of its use.

why is this important?

frankly, popular understanding of what obese, overweight, etc. mean is absolute shit and useless. your health is far better indicated by how you feel. attempting to lose weight when it isn't necessary appears to cause more harm than not - not a single diet has ever been found to consistently reduce weight in individuals for more than a year, while studies point to significant health problems being caused by the stress on bodies undergoing rapid weight change, such as that caused by on/off dieting. in general, our bodies seem to be pretty darn good at regulating to a weight that is best for them unless another medical problem is interfering. in those cases, treating the underlying condition is quite a bit more important for your health impact.

if you're interested in learning more about weight, obesity, diets, and the history of the social movements around them, I'd highly recommend listening to the podcast Maintenance Phase (or reading the transcripts, available via their site!), or reading the book Aubrey wrote - “You Just Need to Lose Weight”: And 19 Other Myths About Fat People. if you listen to Maintenance Phase, I'd say the big episodes to consider are below. all episodes list their sources, and independent research I've done after listening to episodes frequently leads me to believe they're just about understating the problems they've found, due to not having the time to get into some details.

School Lunches, P-Hacking and the Original "Pizzagate"

The Body Mass Index

The Body Mass Index

i hate how people use overweight as a supposedly ~inoffensive~ alternative to just saying fat. like yeah fat has negative connotations but it’s also a literal descriptor of a physical quality. meanwhile overweight by its fucking definition necessitates that we consider there to be an ideal weight and that the person we are referring to exceeds it unacceptably. i’m not over any goddamn weight thanks very much i weigh whatever the fuck i weigh. my body is not for you to fucking appraise

[sagaduwyrm]

DCxDP Idea - Tucker x Tim Soulmate AU:

Now on AO3

So the Justice League believes the Fentons and the GIW. Not completely, but enough. That’s the bad news. The worse news is that they have Danny, and are apparently planning to use him in some kind of spell to banish all the ghosts from the living plane. Which, okay, sure, not the worst idea, except that trying to banish a Liminal is a great way to kill them instead, and guess what everyone in Amity Park is? Not to mention what powering such a ritual could do to Danny.

Tucker is not having a panic attack. He might have one later, but right now he has a job to do.

So the thing about the Justice League is that they’re powerful and together they cover each other’s weaknesses, but individually they are, if not manageable, then at least survivable. They can’t take on the entire league, but Ghosts and their ilk have fangs for a reason, and every predator knows how to divide and conquer.

Technus and Skulker are using Lex Luthor’s tech to deal with the Supers. Jazz has got emotional manipulation and FrightKnight’s sword to take down the Flashes. Desiree agreed to start a mage’s duel with the Justice League Dark. Sam, Ember, Johnny, and Kitty hopefully have the watchtower in hand, with Walker playing backup to get Danny free.

Tucker has two jobs. One, work with Technus to take down the Justice League communications without making it look like anything is up. Two, for the love of the Ancients, do not let the Bats realize something is wrong.

And you know what? He’s got this. Duul Aman was the most feared sorcerer of his time. Tucker isn’t him, not really, but he’s no slouch in the magic department. Egyptian magic, the way Duul Aman knew it, was almost like code. Relearning it was as easy as breathing, but the real reason Tucker’s job is to deal with the bats is because he took it further than his last life ever could. Sure, he’s a dab hand at illusions, his curses are almost as nasty as Sam’s, and instant sandstorms are never not useful, but where he really thrives is with tech. Afterall, if ectoplasm can be combined with computers, why can’t magic?

Tucker is the world's first technomage and he’s goddamn proud of it.

It’s his saving grace now. Infiltrating Oracle’s system took weeks, and he still wasn’t able to look at or do anything important, but it was enough of an opening for his magic. He wormed his illusion through every single piece of bat-tech he could reach, whispering in their ear, Gotham needs you. The Justice League is fine. Gotham is where the problems are. 

Weeks of work and sleepless nights, and he still doubts he’ll be able to keep them from noticing anything for more than a few hours. Luckily, by that time Danny will be free and Tucker will be long gone from Gotham.

This confidence lasts until he brushes hands with another guy in the cafe. He can feel the bond snap into place, a soulmark crawling across his body. Tim Drake stares at him, eyes wide but sharp. 

Tim Drake.

Red Robin.

Shit.

Time to see whether fighting ghosts extends to fighting humans, because he is not letting this asshole mess up Danny’s rescue.

+++

The first thing Tim notices when he meets his soulmate is the rage in the man’s eyes.

They’re really pretty eyes. A bright, glowing gold, lined in kohl. Almost certainly a sign of magic. 

They look at him like the man wants to turn him inside out and burn the remains. Tim’s a little offended, beneath the shock and awe.

“Fuck,” the man hisses. Tim’s offense is starting to supersede his surprise. He’s a catch, thank you very much.

He says as much. The man laughs, and it’s almost friendly.  The cafe is empty. The people of Gotham have good instincts, and there’s something in the air around this man that puts Tim’s hackles up.

“You know, I think that’d be more believable if you hadn’t started this.”

Tim’s brow wrinkled. He felt like he’d remember starting something with his soulmate though? What was he supposed to have started, anyway? Saying ‘this’ wasn’t very specific. 

He rolled and dodged to avoid the sudden lash of golden sand. Ah. A fight. He could do that. Figure out why his soulmate was angry later, defeat him now.

He reached up to call for backup and only got static.

Shit.

He was on his own. Time to show this bastard why underestimating a bat was a bad idea.

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS PT. 7 ANGELS IN DISGUISE

Hello! Decided to dedicate this observation list to some pretty sensitive placements. If you have any of these placements or know someone that do, I hope you enjoy the list I've created !

Neptune 7th house people have a urgency to help others. Their compassionate healers who walk out into the world and people grasp on to their presence not knowing the reason why. In due time, they'll recognize that neptune 7th house person spirit is like no others. They have this Mother Theresa spirit to them. Very honest and vulnerable to the ones they love, they can almost certainly have a few tricksters walk amongst their path. Although they are incredibly sweet, they're discernment levels are to the T. Its unfortunate when they don't use it, they just want to see the good in you. They have a dreamy like quality to their presence that others notice right away. Captivating, but mysterious. People have no idea what they're getting into when being with them, but they know if they don't act right the cosmic forces in these people don't mind a cute lil revenge. ;)

Moon in Pisces see the beauty in everything. And it reflects back into their beautiful spirits. They're okay with being misunderstood, its just their empathetic bodies take on so many unwanted reactions and energy it's hard for them to feel accepted. They have a honest approach with life, and try their best not to belittle others with this truth. Their honest with themselves however can sugarcoat the truth a little to put less pressure on their wounds and others. therapeutic souls, they naturally attract others to tell them their deepest thoughts. It purifies them. Just being able to converse with moon pisces babes cleanses their auras and makes the skeletons feel a lil dance inside. No more hiding in their, they can take off their masks with them. Moon pisces babes can also be a little too generous with their funds, do not allow others sob stories to be the reason your wallets are being sucked dry. Tell them no. Boundaries are important with this group.

Venus in Pisces have this dreamy, ethereal nature to them its like a fairytale. Their desires tend to realize itself in practical realities more often then they think. When around others, they are like a dream come true. They have unreal personalities.Their gift in this lifetime is to share the joy and beauty of the inner child. They have a love for the universe and in return the universe gives them more than what they could of asked for. It's a beautiful placement. Venus in pisces must be careful because they attract a lot of narcissists in their corner. The narcs can see their beauty, power, and light and know that it can benefit them. Be smart about who you allow into your temple. You are literally a walking God/Goddess.

Mercury in the 1st House ; Believe it or not they have an innocence to them thats hard to ignore. Their like a youthful little child that never grows old. Their charm is impeccable. They can be little tricksters but in a way that it oozes a beautiful quality to it. Its funny. You can talk to them about anything and you can feel your mind soar because your mind gets to expand itself when your with them. They show you the way to relax and just be in the moment. Their a gift to this world when they're just being themselves.

Moon in the 3rd ; Natural healers. They connect with the community in a way that touches every soul they come in contact with. Very empathetic and need more alone time than most. They have to discern people way more than they would like. No matter how stand-offish they can appear, they still have a regal, likeable nature to them that attracts people like flies. We can naturally feel the sweetness off of them no matter what. Boundaries are something that's difficult for this placement, as their auric fields process information when they're not asking for it.

MOON IN THE 1ST are very likeable and are naturally open individuals. They can be secretive, but that mysterious charm is what pulls in others truest feelings towards them. People who do this to them just have a knowing that they will take what they say and not throw it in their face. They have a naturally sensitive personality so they can push others away easily. Its not by force it's just the way things flow. People with this placement can actually be pretty popular. Its the sweetness we feel off of them, and we just want more of it!

Neptune in the 3rd ; Its their voice. Their voice can soothe people. Its meditation for the spirit. They should consider doing asmr or even meditation videos using their voice! Oracles who learn to trust their gut at a young age, they use this gift to help guide others. They are attracted to the unknown, but this darkness is filled with so much light deep inside. The things that scare us can easily be heavenly to them. They walked that path in order to fight the light. It's just what they do.

ENJOY!

[annabelle--cane]

I guess the thing that makes me not so fond of Jon's addiction allegory is that it's only coherent to a certain extent? Like I think people sometimes forget that he's actively violating these people

anon, through no fault of your own you have accidentally hit upon my sleeper agent trigger phrase. I have layers of answers to this.

so first off, yeah, it's not a 1:1 direct metaphor, it's a soupy dream logic fantasy plot device with flavors of a lot of different things. there's quite a lot of addiction in there, there's some abuse of power, there's some cyclical nature of trauma, there's a dash of disability, there's a few notes of gendered violence, there's a good bit of just. violence violence and being kind of a motherfucker because goddammit it feels good to be an active agent about something in your life, even if it's just choosing to be a worse version of yourself than you strictly need to be. a lot of tma's worldbuilding is very allegorical, but apart from aspects of individual statements nothing really matches up quite 1:1 with a real world counterpart, and if more things did then it probably wouldn't be a fantasy show anymore.

secondly. okay to contextualize this answer a little bit I have a kind of hypothetical video essay project about vampirism and addiction that I like to spend a few hours thinking about every so often but am almost certainly never going to make because the full research burden required is a lot higher than I actually have the time to properly do. but because of that I've spent a lot of time sorting through why framing vampires as addicts really works for me in a way that it doesn't seem to for everyone, and I think a lot of my thoughts on that also apply to jon. there's going to be a bit of a detour here before we get back to talking about tma, but we'll get there, I prommy.

I've seen a lot of people take issue with various paranormal addiction allegories because, a lot of the time, the act that is meant to metaphorically represent the act of use itself is something that is directly and inherently harmful to others, e.g. drinking human blood, handing over power to your hedonistic Evil alter ego, holding the cursed amulet and going crazy going stupid, slurping trauma out of the head of some guy you ran into on a boat to norway, etc., and yeah, I do get that. substance use is not inherently harmful like that to anyone except sometimes the user themself, and addicts are not inherently fucked up and destructive people; those are dangerous stereotypes that often lead to the demonizing of a whole group of sick people.

here's the thing for me, though: those are definitely truths I want explored and represented when it comes to portrayals of non-allegorical actual addicts, but fantasy fiction isn't for showing the world as it is, it's for showing a subjective fun house mirror version of reality where certain aspects are minimized and magnified depending on how it feels to live through it. and yes, absolutely in real life drug use is not an inherently evil act and it does not make you an inherently evil person, but... doesn't it kind of feel like that? sort of? absolutely no one is living their best life nor on their best behavior while experiencing any kind of major mental illness episode, and when it comes to addiction you've got a very clear tangible symbol of when The Episode is happening that it feels like you have much more control over than when it comes to other illnesses. it's also a thing where people are a lot more likely to be openly angry and distrustful of you if they find out it's happening. so you mix together the ideas of "I know I get worse as a result of doing this one specific thing" + "I act less like myself when I'm using, it rearranges my priorities and I care less about hurting people because that's what happens when you're experiencing The Horrors" + "society at large/people directly around me are pretty quick to say that doing this is evil," and you get the subjective emotional result of "I hurt people by using and it makes me monstrous." I tend to respond to those kinds of paranormal allegories like they're just cutting out the middle man of those subjective fears. "using makes me monstrous" -> "using is monstrous."

anyway. jon archivist.

don't get me wrong, I totally understand if this aspect of metaphor doesn't gel for some people and they only like taking it exactly as far as the text explicitly makes them, but I really get a lot out of reading jon's connection to the fears as addiction precisely because he does genuinely awful things to people as a result of it. he's a person in a very bad physical and mental place with little to no support who is constantly being told by both allies and enemies that he's already a monster just by being alive, and he copes with that by secretly falling further and further into an compulsive act of consumption that skews his priorities and makes him care less about hurting people because at least sometimes getting to be the cause of pain makes him feel a little bit less powerless when he has to be the subject of pain the rest of the time. then he's found out and is made to stop, and he has to grapple not just with the physical toll of withdrawal but with knowing there is a not insignificant part of him that will excuse any act of malice if he knows he'll feel better afterwards.

the end of tma is very explicit in the fact that the rules of its world are shaped by the subjective worst fears of those who live in it, it's "an exercise in unreliably reality" as jonny sims put it once, and I think that principle extends backwards in some ways to apply to the rest of the show. I don't think the fact that there are only entities of fear and not hope or love is meant to be a full commentary on the total nature of the real world, it's a reflection of what fear and suffering can make the world feel like. eric and melanie both go to really harsh extremes to extricate themselves from the fears and live peaceful lives, and in both cases something happens that foils their plans (getting murdered + the apocalypse, respectively), but I don't think the intended message is to say that is definitively how real life works, they are metaphors for the limits of individual agency in larger systems and represent two types of worst-case-scenarios. similarly, I don't think reading jon as an addict implies that addiction inherently involves violence or that the reactions of those around him were completely unjustified, it's just a subjective exploration of the kinds of fears that can come with addiction dialed up to 100.

[cloudshuffle]

the seelie court. yan!luocha

fae au

As it turns out, Faerieland is not as dangerous as you'd thought.

It’s more. Much more.

You cling to Luocha's fingers, shying away from bolder individuals who reach their clawed hands out to touch you. The fae are beautiful - beautiful and terrifying. The space shimmers with a myriad of cloth, of mud, of bare bodies, and the eyes that follow you are more often inhuman than not.

More than once, you catch sight of a tongue darting out to wet dry lips.

Your skin crawls. Luocha's walking much too fast for you to keep up, but tugging on him doesn’t seem like the thing to do.

Until your hand slips from his. And the crowd closes in.

There’s a heart-stopping, suffocating moment as the smell of mulch and wet grass envelops you, as fangs flash in toothy grins and the fae pinch at you like picking at wares in a market.

“Not very flashy, this one,” a goat-eyed man sneers.

“I think it’s pretty.” Another inhales deeply, something that could be a stick bug, with black bug eyes and gossamer-like pieces in place of ears. “And sweet.” He grabs your wrist.

There’s a screech and a sharp pain. The stick man is wrenched away, hanging by one gossamer wing, howling and struggling to get free.

The fae mutter and back away from his flailing limbs, lowering their eyes before Luocha - great and dark, the very shadows leaning toward him to emphasise the inhumane hollowness under his cheekbones and the cruel snarl on his lips.

"Move," he commands, and flicks the fae away from him, ripping wing from joint. Golden blood scatters out over the crowd, heads turning like vultures following prey.

Luocha takes your hand in his, distracting you from the sounds of carnage. "Come." His face has returned to the softness you're used to, eyes green enough to be otherworldly but not inhuman. He smiles gently. "Don't be afraid."

If you weren't afraid before, you certainly are now. But something about his grip implies that his words aren't up for debate; not to mention the wet, grisly sounds from behind you are rather deterring you from turning around.

The fae part like an ocean as you make the rest of your way to the foot of the dais. Luocha appears to float, almost, up the tangled root steps, while you cling to his fingers and stumble up, desperately trying not to fall.

"Be careful not to hurt yourself," he says, and you can hear the lilting tease in his voice, bordering on patronising. "Human blood is precious."

"I kind of have a lot of it." You chuckle nervously. Luocha maneuvers you into his lap, snapping his fingers. A fae brings to him a plate of glistening, golden fruit - fae fruit, soft enough to bruise upon the slightest wind but sweeter than the sweetest human candy.

He catches you looking. "Would you like some?"

"Um. No, thank you." You shift uncomfortably, unused to what must be a public display of affection. Yet from this vantage point, you can see much more carnal things going on in the revelry, and not a single eye batting at their shenanigans.

"Don't be afraid, pet." Luocha's voice is suddenly very close to your ear, lips brushing against your skin. "They won't hurt you as long as I'm around. Have a bite. I insist."

"I-" You shiver away from him, and you can hear his light chuckle. The fruit smells heavenly, like homemade pastries and crisp, ripe fruit all at once. Yet something stirs uncomfortably in your gut at the thought of biting into that. "It's... really okay." And for extra measure, you add, "I'm on a diet."

Luocha really laughs then like you've just made the funniest joke on the planet. The whole room flutters, and the fae laugh along with him, every eye trained on you.

He stops, and so does everyone else. The music and dancing resumes.

You want to go home.

"Humans are so amusing. I do enjoy your jokes, pet." He strokes the top of your head like he's soothing a little puppy.

You lower your eyes. And when you do, you see the distinct shape amongst the indistinct roots and brambles on the ground.

The shape of a casket. You gasp, lifting your feet up as if it can burn you.

[alexsoenomel]

Agent's Sin (Dean Winchester x Reader smut)

Summary: A handsome FBI agent walks into a bar where you work.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: reader had a shitty childhood and trauma (no details), alcohol consumption, age gap (Reader is 23 and Dean is 41), cheesy flirting and sexy times

Word count: 3.2k

Note: I had a block but not anymore? This happened. Hope you enjoy, I sure did writing it.

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)  

A Sleazy bar wasn’t your first choice but you had to start somewhere. You were a broke college student with no savings, far away from home and you had to feed yourself. Dealing with drunks was easy, considering your dad was one until he had his last bottle of vodka that killed him one Friday night. The pent-up rage you buried deep inside your soul would resurface every now and then whenever someone decided to be a mean drunk like your late father. You would never get violent, you could never hit a man, but cursing and telling them to leave before you would call Karl to throw some punches – you could and you did that. He was a gentle 6′ 8″ giant; security guard; nicest guy to be around, but a damn beast whenever someone decided to get too touchy with you or just straight up be a dick.

Every day was the same: you would wake up, go to classes and after classes straight to work. You had the same three meals every day, slept for six hours max and didn’t have any time for yourself. The money was okay; tips coming left and right considering the amount of creepy, old men visiting the joint and getting drunk after clocking out. They would tell you how beautiful you were, and you would just give them a fake smile and pour them another one. Your smile wasn’t a million-dollar smile in Hollywood, but it certainly brought in some extra cash. It was exhausting to act like you were flattered by the comments, but considering the state of your bank account, you had no other choice. 

Wednesday was coming to an end and you were ready to clock out when a tall, very good-looking man walked in and sat right in front of you at the counter. He was gorgeous; hedgehog-like hair, freckles scattered all over his face like stars in the sky and hypnotizing green eyes. You swallowed thickly as soon as you saw him eyeing you with a smirk on his face. You told Karl to leave early that day. Poor dude almost got stabbed after trying to defend a woman from a very drunk individual who didn’t understand the meaning of the word no. 

Men made you nervous, you didn’t trust them, but something was telling you that this one was harmless. 

“What can I get you?” You asked. You were a little annoyed since it was almost closing time but chose to stay silent.  The bar was empty anyways, hopefully he would have his drink and leave after a few minutes.

“Whiskey. Any kind. Neat,” he said, before he bit his lower lip, his gaze fixed on you.

His voice was deep and raspy, covering your body in goosebumps almost immediately, before your brain told you to snap out of it and pour him the damn drink. 

“Coming right up!” You smiled forcefully. 

You poured him the best whiskey you had – Rittenhouse Rye Whiskey. You weren’t much of a drinker, but you knew that its distinct and spicy flavor was top notch. You had gotten drunk a couple of times on the job. Dealing with sleazy bastards would sometimes get too much for your brain, so alcohol was the antidote. The handsome stranger immediately took a sip and sighed in satisfaction. 

“Rittenhouse?” 

“Yeah,” you answered him. 

“Good choice.” 

“My favorite,” you lied with a soft smile. It wasn’t your favorite. You hated hard liquor. You would only drink it when you wanted to get drunk – no joys in that whatsoever.

Watching him take another sip you noticed a couple of things: he was much older than you; he looked tired and had a small cut on his lower lip. His red flannel was perfectly wrapped around his frame while the rolled-up sleeves made it hard to look away. Correction, your fascination with vascular arms made it hard to look away. 

He wasn’t subtle either. His eyes scanned your face; he was searching for something. Feeling like the whole world was watching, you decided to turn around and focus on getting the rest of freshly washed shot glasses polished and ready for tomorrow’s shift. Your cheeks were burning as your hands became slippery; your body felt foreign. You felt your fingers go numb as the shot glass you took slipped and hit the floor shattering everywhere.  

“Ugh, crap!” You mumbled. 

“Rough day at work?” You heard him say. 

“You have no idea,” You turned around to face him. His eyes were dark, illuminating in dimmed lights, still watching you. 

You ignored his gaze and went in the back to get a broom and clean the mess you made. When you came back you noticed his glass was empty. 

“Another round?” 

He nodded and raised his glass for you to pour another one. 

“Make it double.”

You registered his demand, but stayed silent. You had a feeling he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. The familiar riff of Don’t Fear the Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult started playing when the whiskey bottle touched his glass. Your head followed the rhythm, moving left and right as you started to hum the lyrics. 

“You look too young to know the lyrics of this song,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. 

“And how old do you think I am?” 

“You’re old enough to serve alcohol, so 21?” 

“Nice guess, but no. I’m 23.” 

The handsome stranger didn’t expect you to be almost 20 years younger than him. His brows shot up in surprise before he said: “Awesome!” 

“There’s nothing awesome about being a broke college student dealing with creepy drunks every night, old man!” You said, not really knowing where the old man comment came from. You desperately wanted to spark-up the conversation with the man in front of you, but you were never the one to break the ice and actually talk to strangers. So far this was great.

“You think I’m old?” He asked with a soft smile on his face. He didn’t seem bothered by your comment. 

“You are definitely older than me so yeah, kinda.” 

“How old?” 

“In your early 40s.” 

The lines around his eyes coming through whenever he would smile and freckles covering his face were a dead giveaway. He probably once was a beautiful young boy – you thought. Once that innocence was taken away, he grew up, but his beauty stayed intact. He was now a beautiful and tormented man.

“41,” he said.

You then exchanged your names. His name was Dean. He was just passing by after finishing a job in Lincoln. 

“What kind of job?” You asked. 

His hand went to the right pocket on his flannel and he showed you his credentials. FBI it said.

“Special agent has a nice ring to it,” you commented and decided, since you were closing soon, to lock the front door. “I promise you I’m going to let you go, I just don’t want any new customers.” 

“When do you close?”

You took your phone from the back pocket of your jeans before answering: “In about 10 minutes.” 

“Have a drink with me then! I promise I won’t tell your boss,” He winked. 

You were taken aback by his invitation that sounded more like a demand. You could feel the tension in the air rising; something about Dean was luring you in even though deep down you knew it was wrong. You had been dating your boyfriend, Dan, for sometime now, but it didn’t seem right. You got along just fine, but something was missing. He was sweet, too sweet sometimes, and yet you didn’t have a sweet tooth. You met through a mutual friend and after a few months of boring dates and sex you were over it. Eventually you told him you needed a break from it all, lying through your teeth, saying you wanted some time alone to focus on upcoming exams. You didn’t have the heart to break his. He was sad but decided to respect your decision.

That was two weeks ago. He would text you every day and you would simply ignore it.

A sigh left your lips before you went behind the counter and decided to pour yourself a glass of whiskey. 

I’m going to regret this.

“Cheers!” Dean said, lifting his glass.

“Cheers, agent!”

Click!

The hard liquor was burning your throat and you pretended to like it and not show how much it actually hurt. Right now you wanted to get drunk as fast as possible; you wanted to feel comfortable around him even though he was a complete stranger.

“You’re going to get me fired, Dean!” You said and chugged the rest of the whiskey from your glass. 

“Woah, you really had a rough day, huh?” 

You wasted no time and poured yourself another. Your throat was on fire, but your brain was slowly becoming numb. It was working. 

“More like rough life! Cheers!” You lifted your glass and took a sip.

The more you drank, the more details you noticed about Dean. His eyes crinkling, his long thick fingers gently holding the glass, his pink lips pressed against the glass… There was a need waking up inside of you with each sip you took. The liquor was dissolving away your sense of restraint and any sanity you had left; all you wanted to do was to crash your drunken lips on his.

“How rough?” Dean asked you. 

“Abusive alcoholic father and a deadbeat mother rough,” you said, now feeling tipsy wanting to sit. You moved an empty wooden crate that was on your left and turned it upside down so you could use it to climb the counter and sit next to Dean. He was fallowing your every move, admiring your legs. 

“So, daddy and mommy issues? That is rough!” 

You shared a look. Up close, he was even more beautiful. You could see every line on his face, around his eyes, lips, and cheek. Every line had a story and perfectly melted into his skin. You quickly looked away, refusing to show him you were completely under his spell.

“Do you work in the Behavior analysis unit? Can you tell I'm chronically searching for approval and acceptance from people but at the same time not giving a shit and trusting no one?”

You weren’t familiar with the branches of the FBI; you just watched too many Criminal Minds episodes.

Dean chuckled. “Not really.”

His hand suddenly went to your thigh as your legs were dangling from the counter. Your heartbeat was in your throat, but at the same time you felt a sense of calm. You knew it was wrong; he was twice your age; FBI agent and yet this was the most excited you had ever been. Your soon to be ex didn't even cross your mind. Something about this man was pulling you in and not letting go.

You finally got the courage you needed to look at him and not look away. He seemed sober, more sober than you at least… 

“Your hand is on my thigh, agent,” you finally said, forcing the last drop of confidence out of yourself. Your walls were crumbling and your desires were resurfacing.

“Tell me to fuck off then,” he suddenly stood up, equalizing the height difference. His other hand went to your other thigh as he gently pulled your legs apart, standing between them. His face was inches away from you, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t look away. 

“You make it hard to, though,” your skin was on fire, burning for the man you met almost two hours ago. You only knew his first name, his occupation and that he had an awesome taste in music. He was a stranger and yet felt so familiar.

Your words weren’t necessary anymore. You knew what you needed and realized he, too, craved the same thing. The life he was living was exhausting and full of lies; he wanted to forget about his fake badge and lies that he told over the years. He cupped your face with his hands and gently pressed his lips on yours. It was a soft kiss at first, which quickly deepened and grew with lust and want. You wrapped your hands around his neck pulling him closer as your legs were wrapped around his torso. You wanted him impossibly close. Light groans and moans filled the bar as you didn’t break away until breathing became a necessity. Panting and red around your mouth from his stubble, you rested your forehead against his.

“I’d invite you to my place, but I don’t think my roommate would appreciate me coming home with an FBI agent.” 

His eyebrows went up before he asked: “Right here?” 

“If you knew how much puke I had to clean just this week…”

Dean’s nose wrinkled slightly. He chugged the rest of his whiskey, feeling a pleasant burn in his throat.

“My car! Now!” He demanded, taking your hand as you jumped off the counter. 

You unlocked the door and saw the only car that was parked, right in front of the bar – black, shiny and beautiful Chevy Impala. You hadn’t seen cars like this for a long time.

You opened the back door and went in. Immediately, you were hit with the smell of leather. Dean followed you and shut the door behind him.  

“Nice ride, agent!” You commented and decided to get up and straddle him. He wasn’t protesting, letting you settle on his lap.

“Thank you!” He sounded almost proud.

You kissed him, feeling the exhale through his nose on your face before he opened his mouth giving you permission to deepen the kiss. The taste of whiskey was still in his mouth and in a strange way you felt like you were getting drunk and losing control with each and every kiss. Dean’s hand went into your hair, pulling it lightly and making knots you’d have to take care of tomorrow. You kissed for a while, your hands roaming, desperately searching for naked skin to touch and explore. Naturally, as you started to grow impatient, your hips started to move, grinding against him. You could feel him getting hard underneath you; he was bigger than you expected. When you couldn't breathe, your lips moved lower, kissing his neck and your fingers started to unbutton his shirt.

"Too bad you're not wearing a suit," you told him, between kisses. "I bet you look hot as fuck while chasing the bad guys." 

Dean chuckled at your comment, not wanting to admit he was flattered. He undid the bottoms of your jeans and his two fingers slid inside feeling your already wet cunt dripping with pleasure. His two fingers slid inside with ease. Your lips parted as you moaned his name. "I bet you look hot as fuck moaning my name, sweetheart."

This man was different. His scent, a light mix between pine trees, whiskey and leather; eyes so green you would think they were little gemstones staring at your soul in the dark; his age…It was a fatal mix, worth potentially getting fired or hurt for.

After taking your sweet time to unbutton his shirt, you could touch his bare skin. His fingers were still there, between your legs, slowly pumping in and out, but you wanted more. 

"Fuck me!" You whimpered. "Please!"

"Needy!" He said, placing kisses above your jaw. 

"Desperate," you corrected him.

It has been too long since you last had good sex. Too fucking long. You forgot what it was like to orgasm without your favorite toy. Your soon to be ex did absolutely nothing for your body and soul. No matter how hard you tried, how much you talked – he just wasn't working for you.

Dean liked the words coming from your mouth, so he decided to stop playing games. He pulled his hand out of your pants and licked his fingers clean. 

"Almost as sweet as you," he exclaimed. 

You felt your cheeks burn. He took off your shirt and soon after, your bra. Your chest was completely bare but you weren't worried about someone seeing you. It was dark outside and the only light that you had were from the street lights surrounding you. He placed gentle kisses on both of your breasts before he told you to lay down. You said nothing and did what he told you. He took off his shirt before pulling your pants down, taking them off without you lifting your hips.

"Damn baby, you're gorgeous," he said in awe. 

He was the one to talk; his upper body was carved by the highest of the Gods and his angelic, yet rough facial features made it hard to not stare. The universe created Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian man a couple of centuries later and sent it straight to you. The man undoubtedly had perfect face and body proportions.

"You're making me blush, agent."

He took off his jeans, struggling to find room before kissing you again. It was getting cold in the car since it was late October but his body was now pressed against yours, keeping you warm and safe. Your hand went to feel his fully hard cock before letting him put it in you.

"Please!" You begged again, feeling the desperation in your voice, but not being embarrassed about it. 

"Okay, okay!" He whispered, finally ready to give you what you want.

He moved your panties to the side, being too eager to take them off, and let his cock free as he lowered his boxers. Without warning he entered you, stretching your walls and making you gasp in a weird mix of pleasure and pain. He was big, so getting used to his size was going to take a couple of seconds. Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades as he started to move slowly. 

"Am I hurting you?" He asked worriedly. 

You whispered a no and kissed him as he started to move again. Soon enough, pleasure took over completely and you couldn't leave the sound of his name out of your mouth. His kisses became messy, slowly losing control over his body and movements as his pace became frantic. His right hand wrapped around your neck putting just enough pressure for you to completely fall apart.

The air in the car was hot and stuffy, and steam started to form on the windows. The sound of your wet cunt taking him over and over again mixed with Dean's moans and grunts; you knew you were going to cum. 

"I- I" you tried to speak but nothing could come out. 

Dean's eyes locked with yours in a moment, both completely consumed with each other…

"Come on baby!" He told you, his voice raspy and sexy. You couldn't get enough of it.

Soon enough you came all over his cock, biting his shoulder, trying to muffle the scream of pleasure. He hissed but didn't say anything as he came soon after. You felt his hot seed filling you up completely as you thanked the universe you were on birth control.

You were both panting, sweaty and speechless. Dean rested his forehead on yours, trying to calm down. 

"So…can I get your number?" He asked.

"Only if you wear a suit the next time we see each other."

"Roger that!" He smiled.

[crymyeyesout1]

Little Mate

this is part three

Part one / Part Two

poly!marauders

Summary: The marauders are all in a poly relationship with each other and Lily when they all individually become interested in a shy hufflepuff in their year. What about this little hufflepuff makes them all feel complete? Will she return their affections?

Warnings: Poly relationship, mentions of smut, lots of fluff, very shy oc, mentions of child abuse, swearing, kind of a soulmate au but only really for Remus. let me know if there are any more

✩₊˚.⋆✩⋆⁺₊✩

As soon as Lily set her hand on the compartment door it slid open hard, Remus had almost taken the compartment door off its hinges but Moony didn’t care. His eyes immediately searched for his newest mate and found her curled up in James’ arms hiding her face in his chest trying desperately to make herself appear smaller so no one would notice her set on THE James Potter’s hip as if she were a small child. Moony melted at his tiny girl but he growled in annoyance that she was not in his arms. 

Swiftly taking her from James and cradling her in his own arms this time however acting as if she were an actual baby. Which of course she was, she was Moony’s mate therefore Remus’ baby girl.He rocked her gently as she let out a small whimper and again kept her eyes closed and pushed her face into his chest something inside her wanted to stay in this position forever. 

“Mate mine” Moony said in a deep voice and leaned down to press a soft kiss on the side of her forehead. The combination of his words and actions had Abigail confused and finally tore her face from the large boy’s chest. Dull and dark blue eyes met bright piercing yellow ones and let’s just say if Remus hadn’t been holding as tight as he was she would be on the floor with how harshly she jumped, having no idea human eyes could be that color. 

Sensing her stress Moony sat down bringing Abby’s small frame to straddle his lap and pushed her head into his shoulder and gently began to pet her hair. 

“My mate, My baby” he chanted before finally giving Remus control of the shared mindspace. Moony was far beyond content with his current situation, his mate was finally in his arms so he could relax. Light brown eyes replaced the bright yellow. 

“Hey baby, will you look at me?” he questioned his small mate that rested in his lap. She did as she was asked and was just brought more confusion when their eyes met once again.

“y-your eyes they they changed colors” she stated softly, a swirling mix of anxiety, embarrassment and confusion flooded her mind. 

“Yeah they do that sometimes, little mate, but it’s okay you're here with me now and no one will ever hurt you,” He replied trying to ease the anxiety that was coming off of her in waves. 

“M-mate?” Abby asked, struggling to get out of the grip he had on her waist. Was this just another man trying to control her life? Was he just like her uncle? Did he want exactly what her uncle wanted, Abby shivered at the thought, she didn’t think she could handle more of that.

“Yes little one, all of us are Remus’ mates” Lily interjected in an attempt to calm the growingly distressed girl. 

“I-I don’t understand, l-let me go!” Abby pleaded with the four others in the compartment. But the grip on her waist remained firm even as Remus took one hand off and pulled it up to her chin forcing her to look into his eyes once more.

“I would rather not tell you this but it's better for you to know now rather than later. Little mate, I am a werewolf, and werewolves all have mates, usually just one of two but in our case I have four, you baby are my last mate.” Remus explained mentally preparing himself for your inevitable rejection. He expected you to be angry, to yell, to cry, but what he most certainly did not expect was for her to just keep staring at him and just responding with a small “oh” as realization dawned.

“That’s why you're all y’know?” She asked, looking at all of them.

“Together? Yes” Lily responded as Sirius responded as well “Fucking? Yes” 

“Sirius stop it”

“What? She is more than welcome to join!” 

“You're embarrassing her!” Lily and Sirius argued. As Abby’s cheeks just continued to get more and more red. All eyes were on her as she let out the smallest of whimpers at the yelling. It always brought back memories of  her at home with her uncle, where all of his time went yelling and screaming at her along with other things she had forbidden herself to speak about.

“Stop arguing you are scaring my baby” James yelled at his loves. Just causing Abby to hide herself in Remus’ chest once again but this time strictly to hide the tears forming in her eyes, unable to stop them from flowing down her cheeks. 

“Enough!” Remus hissed at his mates “She’s crying” Sirius sprang to his feet and pulled your face from Remus carefully cradling it in his palms. His ring clad fingers leaving a cold sensation of your warm cheeks as his soft thumbs brushed the tears from them.

“Baby doll” he huffed sadly “s’it the yelling?” only receiving a nod in return as you tried to pull your face from his large hands.

“Don’t like it” she mumbled, not really wanting to admit that she was scared of something as silly as yelling to Sirius freaking Black.

“Shh that's okay, now we know not to yell” He reassured her softly, but his attention caught on her full pouty lips. 

“Just wanna try something and If you don’t like it you tell me alright?” He asked and you hummed in agreement, all of your attention now on him as he softly pressed their lips together. Abby froze, Sirius Black was kissing her in front of all his partners. Sensing her obvious discomfort Remus whispered “s’its okay” in her ear allowing her to melt into the kiss. Sirius’ lips were soft against hers but the kiss was firm as he deepened it, his tongue swiping against her bottom lip in a silent question for access. Abby did not grant it though , she had no idea she was supposed to though having never kissed anyone before. Sirius took this as a challenge and slightly nipped her bottom lip with his teeth eliciting a gasp from the small girl. Taking this opportunity Sirius slipped his tongue inside her mouth and began to explore only to be pulled away by a hand in his hair tugging him back, he knew it was Remus by the size of it and that only he or Lily would do that.

Remus didn’t know whether to be annoyed or turned on by the sight directly in front of his face. Annoyed because Sirius should have known that he wanted to be Abby’s first kiss, and turned on because for fucks sake two of his mates were making out literally right in front of his face. He cleared his throat as he pulled Sirius from his smaller mate, any more watching this and he would be able to control the blood rushing south. He didn’t want Abby to have to feel that as he knew by her words and actions that she was inexperienced and knew that his raging hard cock pressing against your clothed core would be too overwhelming.

“Remmy, come onnn!” The black haired boy complained to his boyfriend.

“No that’s enough, see she’s tired” Remus responded but it was weird Abby didn’t feel tired but almost as if on cue she yawned. 

“Lily and I have to attend the prefects meeting as well” He told the group then turned to Abby and told her “You just rest little mate we’ll be back when you wake” as he pressed a loving kiss to her hairline and passed you to James and Lily repeated his actions and told the three of you to “be good” but Abby could tell it was more directed at the boys than it was her. She yawned again and fell into a nice nap and James began to rub her back gently.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added): @chockymilksworld @thoughtfulpandamentality @sydneyle @persephonesalvatore @hcqwxrtss123 @hermionelove @liv2post @fanficlover03 @kxnnxy @noodlesareokah

[httpscomexe]

Runaway 2

Summary: He’s told to take care of you, and he’s entirely willing.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Hybrid!Reader

Warnings: Innocent reader, controlling Logan, manipulation of emotions, Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett, mentions of sex. (Individual warnings per chapter)

Tags: @shybluebirdninja @atomicheartbroken

Word Count: 4090 (Find all chapters here) CH3

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

“Wade would love her.” You’re hiding behind Logan. Your tail tucked between your legs, ears pinned down to your head. Honestly, you had every fucking right to be scared. Standing in front of Logan was a man, almost 8 foot tall, and he was built out of steel, his voice thick with a Russian accent. But he was wearing a tutu.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Logan asks, pulling a cigar out of the pocket on his flannel.

“We made the mistake of inviting Wade for a sleepover. This is the consequence.”

“He didn’t even let me take off my uniform.” Eloise walks by Colossus, a pink tutu around her waist, but she was still wearing her yellow suit. “Who’s that?” She nods her head towards you. You looked ridiculous. Hiding behind Logan, hands on his back, forehead leaning on him.

“This is the parasite I’ve been talking about.” He says, turning around, trying to ease you in front.

“She’s a hybrid?” Colossus asks, stepping forward, and you freak out, squeezing Logan from behind.

“Hey come on Bambi…” Logan groans, using the name he’s given you. “You’re okay… Piotr isn’t going to hurt you.” You loosen your grip on him slightly, and look at the large man from behind Logan.

“Hi little one. My name is Piotr.” He holds out his large hand, and you hesitantly move beside Logan, one of your hands still gripping his shirt, while your other hand meets Piotrs cold metal hand, and he shakes your hand gently, but you don’t tell him your name. You’ve settled on Bambi being your new one.

“I’m Eloise.” The girl tells you, but doesn’t shake your hand, instead only giving you a little wave.

“What the fuck?” You quickly scrambled back behind Logan. “And here I thought Negosonic teenage warhead was your first middle and last!” Another man comes into view, wearing a read suit with black eye patches.

“This is Wade, he won’t bite.” Piotr assures you.

“Not unless she asks.” His eyes land on you, and he removes his mask. “Hey there.” He comes a little close, but you feel Logan’s hand instinctively come in front of you, keeping you behind him. “My name is Wade. But with a face like that, you can me whatever you want. Wade, dipshit, fucker, motherfucker, Hal, Jesus, Ryan.” He stops talking, suddenly looking to his left before back at you. “Actually don’t call me Hal, that’s my biggest regret.” You ears twitches, and you tilt your head in confusion before looking up at Logan.

“You need to be tested.” He says.

“For what.”

“Everything.” Logan’s hand is still on you, keeping you behind him, but you’re more relaxed now.

“Well, Bambi is certainly welcome to join our tutu party.”

“Absolutely not.” You’re slightly disappointed. This Wade guy seemed funny.

“Jealous? You can come if you wear one.” He offers and you giggle at the thought of him wearing a pink tutu.

“We’re not coming.”

“Honey, do you let this honey badger make every decision for you?” You nod. “That was supposed to be a joke.” He adds, then turns back towards Logan. “It’ll be fun, we can actually get to know her instead of you hoarding her like she’s your belonging.”

“She is…” he pauses for a moment and looks down at you, “not my belonging. She’s a living being just like everyone here.”

“Then why can’t she hang out?” Eloise wonders, popping a piece of gum into her mouth.

“She said she’s tired. We were going to bed.” He tells them, wrapping his arm around you. “Right?” He looks down at you, and you nod.

“Well does she want a tutu?” Wade asks.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Logan questions.

“Oh sorry. I just thought you were her ultimate decision maker.” Wade reaches for an extra tutu sitting on the table. “Do you want one?” You nod, and he holds it out for you. Then he notices your ears, but doesn’t say anything. “Sleep well, Logan gets hot at night.” You giggle at his comments, and watch as the three walk away to continue their little party, you and Logan making your way back up to his room. The one he was letting you stay in.

He wasn’t lying of course. You were absolutely the most tired being on the planet. And it was because you couldn’t sleep. Logan tried everything to help you, but even when you did sleep, you squirmed and twisted like you were having nightmares. But you were simply uncomfortable. Eventually you both found you had better nights when you slept on the bed with him instead of alone on the couch. But only with his body against yours. So after some careful thinking, he realised it was because you couldn’t sleep in open places. You needed to feel cramped, like you were constantly being held. It made you feel safer when something was against you. Which led to Logan buying you a kennel.

Most nights it sat in the corner of his room. Thick white comforters and a big red heart pillow inside for the utmost comfort. It even had a nice white blanket over top to make it more comfortable, and little fairy lights on the inside in case it got dark.

“You sleeping in the cage tonight?”

“Are you leaving somewhere?” You were already crawling onto his bed. Dressed in you night shorts and a white tank top, a little hole cut in the shorts for your tail to peak out.

“No, I’m staying here tonight, leaving early though.” Your ears pin down a little as you hug one of his pillows, his scent clouding your senses as you lie there.

“When will you be back?”

“I won’t be back until late.” He tells you, sitting next to you on his bed. His fingers gently comb through your hair. “But you’ll be okay, just stay in here and study a little.” Study.

Years of being locked up of course had a toll on your education. You didn’t have a natural instinct for certain things like reproduction or affection. It took forever to get used to eating. So Xavier has you learning that sort of stuff instead of how to use your morph effectively.

“Okay…” You groan, rolling onto your back, his pillow under your chin.

“What’s wrong Bambi?” You groan and shove your face into the pillow.

“Can you braid my hair?”

“Of course, but you’ll have to get up.”

“I don’t wanna move…” You speak into the pillow, and sigh. He sighs in return.

“Alright, I’ll get some ties.” He tells you, and you feel the bed shift as his weight leaves the mattress, the bathroom door opening and closing before you feel his weight on the bed again, and his knees straddle your waist. “How many braids?”

“Just two.” You tell him, and you feel your hairbrush move through your hair, Logan gently pulling out any tangles as he strokes your hair with his fingers, careful not to touch your ears.

He’s learnt the hard way that your ears are sensitive. Just like a bird's wings are their most intimate part, your ears and tails were your most intimate part. It wasn’t that it turned you on, it was because they were sensitive. The slightest pull would hurt. But the smallest pet drove something into you. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. But whenever he scratched you behind your ear, or ruffled your tail to help you dry it after a shower, it felt like euphoria.

You were both quiet as he began tying your hair. Looping one strand over another until they were in long braids. “What are you gonna study while I’m gone?” He asks, trying to make conversation as he pulls the first braid together and ties it.

“I guess I’ll look at the health book.” He hums a nod, and his finger gently moves over the back of your neck as he grabs for one of the bundles of your hair, and your tags wags a little under him. One of your ears twitching slightly.

“Just remember to text me if you need anything. Or Jean.”

“Jean is mean to me.” He sighs. He didn’t believe you whenever you said she was mean. Constantly taunting you or bullying you for your ears and tail.

“Well then there’s Ororo when she isn’t busy. Last resort is Xavier.” You sigh, and his fingers continue looping through your hair. He’s careful not to catch your ear between any of them.

“Why is he last?”

“Because he’s always busy, he doesn’t have time for questions.” He takes another tie and wraps it around the end of your braid to keep it together. Then you feel his index finger behind your ear, gently scratching the same place he knows you love, but he’s careful not to touch your actual ear. A sort of purring noise comes from your throat. And he chuckles. “I think you got more of the animal-like part than the human part Bambi.” He tells you, leaning down to whisper it in your ear and you turn your head to face him. He was still straddling your waist, and his fists were now on each side of your head as he leaned down, both of you staring into eachothers eyes. “Still cute though.”

“I’m not cute…!” You groan. And he finds it adorable.

“You absolutely are.” He tells you, sitting back up but still straddling your waist, his fingers moving back to scratch behind your ear, and he feels your tail moving under him.

“Am not!” You shout, and try to sit up, but his hands move to your waist just in time, his legs now straddling yours to keep you still.

“You so are…” He whispers, keeping you in place as you look over your shoulder at him, your large ear hitting him in the face. “Rude.”

“You’re rude!” Your tail was wagging faster now, working against you to show your excitement to his teasing.

“Such a feisty cute little girl.”

“Stop!” You begin to shout just before his fingers begin moving over your waist and stomach, your hands trying to catch his as he tickles you. “Lo-” You giggle, tail wagging quickly as you try to pry his hands off of you.

“Admit it…” He tells you, fingers still quickly moving over your skin.

“No!”

“Say it!” He chuckles, pushing you back down to your stomach with his body, his hands never stop moving.

“Never!” You giggle, struggling under him as it becomes hard to breathe from laughing.

“Say you’re my feisty cute little girl…” He whispers in your ear, still tickling you.

Of course, you’re too innocent to understand what he’s asking you to say.

“Fine!” You shout, and he pauses so you can catch your breath. “I’m feisty and cute.”

“Nuh uh…”

“What?!”

“MY feisty cute little girl.”

“Hmph…” You slump a little, and the feeling of his fingers ghosting over your skin is enough to make you say it. “I’m your feisty cute little girl.” You say finally, and he’s satisfied, slowly getting up off you to sit next to you on the bed.

“Good girl.” Your tail begins wagging again, the smallest praise affecting you as you crawl next to him just in time for him to turn off his bedside lamp. “Are you ready to sleep, Bambi?” You nod, leaning your weight against his side. “Okay.” He groans as he moves, his hips bucking up slightly which causes the tilt of your head.

“Love you Lo.” You tell him as the both of you begin to settle under the blankets.

“Love you too Bambi, get some sleep tonight.” You lie under the covers, scrunched up against him as his arms hold you as close as you can get against him. One of his hands rests on your tail, gently stroking the fur as he holds you, making your own hips buck forward against his and he groans quietly before both of his hands wrap around you.

She’s too fucking young for you Logan. He tells himself.

“And don’t talk to Wade.”

You wake up early, the feeling of Logan's warmth missing from your side as you sit up, and he’s not there. The sound of students moving through the halls makes your ears perk up, and you hop out of bed, deciding to throw on a tiny black skirt and one of Logan's hoodies, the smell of him would be enough to get you through the day.

You reach into his fridge, taking out one of the bottles of starbucks coffee that he bought for you, then you tie on your sneakers before leaving the room, heading straight towards the library.

Once you get to the library, you find the same health book you’ve been reading through, hiding your drink from the librarian when your eyes find the ‘no food or drinks’ sign in the front of the large room, then you find your spot on a couch in your favourite corner.

Except someone was sitting on one of the couches. Normally, that wouldn’t bother you. But it was Wade. Dressed in his red suit with one leg over the other, a book with a unicorn wearing a tutu in his hands and he flips through the pages.

“Hi Wade.” You say shyly, and he looks up from his book.

“Oh, Bambi. Didn’t see you there. Lose your owner?” He asks, setting the book in his lap before straightening his posture.

“Very funny.” You chuckle, sitting on the other couch. “He’s busy.”

“What’re you reading?”

“Some weird health book. Xavier said I need to.”

“Like a book about sex or a book about how to wipe properly?”

“Sex?”

“Oh that’s why Logan likes you…” He says quietly, leaning forward to place his book on the table in front of the two of you.

“What do you mean?”

“I could give you a hands-on lesson. If you’d like.” You shake your head.

“Logan said I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“But here we are. What’s he gonna do about it?” You think about it, trying to find an answer, but you aren’t exactly sure what Logan would do to either you or Wade. “How about we do something fun?” He asks, reaching up and pulling off his mask. “We could watch a movie, I can show you around town or maybe we could go shopping for new clothes for you?” He throws a bunch of ideas at you, hoping something would hit. “I have a pet dog?” He mentions, and the sound of your tail wagging slowly is enough for him to smile. “Wanna meet her?”

“Where is she?”

“She’s at my house, my maid is taking care of her.” He tells you, standing up and reaching his hand out to help you up as well.

“Okay… Let me just let Logan know-” He stops your hand from texting Logan.

“Or, hear me out. You do something without Logan watching you like you’re his meal.” You think about it. You know Logan won’t be happy that you aren’t listening to him. But you figure there was no harm in hanging out with Wade. He seemed fun.

“Okay, yea. I won’t text him.”

“Good, I’ll call my cab guy, let’s go wait up front.” He begins to pull you by the hand, dragging you to the front doors. “Hey Dopinder, come pick me up at the freak house.”

He opens the door to his little home, it smelt surprisingly good considering the mess of empty bottles, forgotten plates, and dirty laundry. On the couch was a woman, her hair looked like a cloud on her head and she was folding clean laundry, humming a song to herself as Wade stumbled in, you following behind him. Then he slams the door, fist pumping the air as your ears go down from the loud sounds.

“UH!” He pumps his fist excitedly, knee joining in the air. “Knew I could get you to do my laundry, I’m home by the way.” He walks past you, and your ears come back up.

“I could fucking tell.” She looks towards Wade, but not exactly.

“Hey, language, we have company.”

“Last time we had company, he went through every fucking measure to make sure you were dead. There was blood everywhere, and I swear to fucking-”

“This company is a girl, and she’s young, like 20.”

“18. “ You correct him, and he looks surprised.

“Well hi sweetie.” Her tone changes completely and she stands up, using furniture around her to stay standing. “I’m Althea.” She holds her hand out, and you take a few steps forward so you can take her hand and shake it.

“I’m Bambi.”

“Like the deer?”

“Yes?” You tilt your head, unsure of how she knows you’re a hybrid if she’s blind.”

“There’s no way that Wade made a normal friend.” She grumbles. “Do you have really long claws?”

“No.”

“Do you have blue skin?”

“No?”

“Mind control or 7 foot tall?” You giggle a little.

“No… I do not.”

“Well that’s a relief, but I’m still confused. How’d you meet?”

“Through Logan.” You and Wade speak at the same time, and you watch as Wade stuffs an entire cupcake into his mouth.

“Oh see now that makes sense.” She tells you, moving back to do the laundry on the couch.

“Wade said there’s a dog?” You step forward, eyes on Wade.

“Oh yea…” He hums as he takes another cake, and he calls the dog's name. “Dogpool? Mary? Little puppins? Where are you girl?” Suddenly, a little dog comes through an open door, and you move to stand next to Wade as he picks the dog up, showing her to you.

“Aww, she’s cute!” You tell him, putting your hands out so he would hand her to you.

“You can call her Mary. She’s got a licking problem.”

“I like the suit.” You tell him, looking at the dog's red suit that matched Wades almost perfectly.

“Thanks, I made it myself.” He pauses for a moment. “Or at least one of me did, but we don’t talk about him.” You exchange looks, Althea scoffing behind you. “How about a movie? I think I know one you’d like. The title is the same as your name.”

The movie named ‘The Lion King’ plays in the background of you and Wade baking cookies. He at some point changed when the movie Bambi had ended, so he was now dressed in sleeping pants, covered in little unicorn designs, his shirt earlier tossed off after you had accidentally dumped flour on it.

“Okay, does it taste any good?” Wade comes back into the kitchen, wiping his hands as he walks back up to you, picking up a cookie.

“I don’t know, you try it first.”

“No, you try it first.” He tells you, chuckling.

“No you.”

“How about we both try it at the same time?” He suggests, walking closer to you as he breaks the cookie in half, handing you the bigger side.

“Fine.” You’re about to take a bite out of your cookie, then his half is near your lips as he attempts to feed you, so you do the same with your half.

You both take a bite out of the cookie halves, and Wade's eyes roll as he chews his bite.

“Fuck that is amazing.” He says, a mouthful of chocolate in his mouth, then your phone buzzes in your pocket. “Who’s that?” He asks, and you pull your phone out, Logan's name on the screen, and you mentally prepare yourself before opening it.

You sigh a little as you read the last message. You should’ve known better than to disobey him, so now you’d have to deal with the arguing, and you’d have to hope he would forgive you.

“Everything okay?” You look back up from your phone to see Wade stuffing his third cookie down his throat.

“Hey!” You laugh. “Save one for Althea and one for Logan, Wade.” You tell him, grabbing three cookies and walking over to Al. “Here Al.” You hand her a cookie, and she blindly takes it.

“Thank you, hun.”

“Of course.”

“Logan isn’t gonna eat it, he hates sweets.” Wade tells you, trying to get you to hand him Logan's cookie, but you refuse.

“I’ll make him eat it.” You tell him, and open your phone when it buzzes again. “Logan is here, I’ll see you Wade! Bye, Al.” You tell them, blowing a kiss to Mary before walking out.

Logan is staring ahead, not bothering to look at you as you walk to the truck, crawling into the high passenger seat.

“Hey Lo!” You say excitedly, acting as if you weren’t in trouble.

“Hey.” He pulls out of park, and begins to drive.

It’s silent. And you don’t like it. He notices the way your ears fall down after a few minutes of driving, and he sighs heavily.

“I asked you not to talk to Wade. But you’re hanging out with him?” He asks, more of a clarification as he pulls up to a red light.

“I was bored…” You tell him, looking down in your lap at the cookie you brought for him, wrapped in a paper towel.

“What’s that?” He looks down at your lap and you unwrap it a little.

“A cookie… Wade taught me the recipe.” You say quietly, and Logan feels his heart break at your quietness.

“Is it any good?” He asks, pressing on the gas as the light turns green and the mansion comes into view. You nod, but he doesn’t see it and he sighs, assuming you’ve decided to ignore him.

“Want some?” You ask, and he shakes his head, making you look back down.

“Not in the car Bambi. I’ll try it in my room.” He tells you, and the ghost of a smile appears on your face as he parks where he normally does and turns off the truck.

“Will you teach me to drive?” You ask as pulls his keys out.

“Maybe. But let's focus on more important things first.” He tells you, stepping out of the truck and he watches as you get out on the other side, locking the truck before walking beside you, his hand quickly grabbing yours as he leads the way to his room.

Once you’re both inside, he takes off his flannel, draping it over his chair before he sits on the bed, sighing as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Logan?” You say his name quietly, the wrapped up cookie still in your hand as Logan sits on the bed, and you sit beside him.

“Yes?” He looks at you as you sit on your knees, not wanting to sit on your tail.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t answer you, only shaking his head in annoyance and sighing. After a few minutes of him not responding, you speak again. “Do you… Wanna try still?” You hold up the cookie, still warmly wrapped up in the paper towel. Your tail was tucked between your legs, barely hidden by your skirt, and your ears were down on your head.

He chuckles. “Sure.” A bright smile appears on your lips, and you open the paper towel, breaking off a small piece of the cookie and bringing it to his lips, tilting your head when he takes it with his teeth, awaiting an answer. Awaiting approval.

“Tastes amazing.” He tells you, chewing the piece of cookie you fed him.

“Wade's recipe…” You sing a little, breaking off another piece, only singing his name in hopes to encourage Logan to like Wade.

“Good thing he taught it to you then, right? Won’t have to see him again.” He tells you, his eyes staring into yours and you sigh.

“He’s fun…”

“He’s annoying.”

“Why do you hate him?”

“I don’t hate him. He’s just a bad influence for you.” You sigh again, looking away from him in annoyance. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t sigh and give me the attitude.” There’s a growl in his voice as he speaks to you, and his comes up to cup your face.

“I’m sorry Logan…” You apologise. Again.

“It’s okay, Bambi.” He tells you, turning on the bed so his entire body was facing you. “Just don’t do it again.” His fingers brush some loose hair from your braids behind your ears.

“I won’t.”

“Good.” He tells you. “Now let's get these braids out, and I’ll brush your hair before bed…”

[centrally-unplanned]

Atomic bombing of Hiroshima & Nagasaki: Based or Cringe?

Hiroshima = based, Nagaski = cringe, we having it both ways today baby!

But okay to not meme, this is a very complex question. Fundamentally, the mass-scale strategic bombing of civilian targets in World War Two was a dubiously effective policy that killed millions of innocent people. I judge no one for strategically bombing tank factories with the accuracy you had in 1943, that is just the harsh realities of that war, but that is not a description of what Allied strategy was (or not just, they also bombed tank factories). There were legions of air power proponents executing a strategy of "maximizing civilian casualties to break the back of the enemy", killing babies was the point, and the horrors of things like the firebombing of Tokyo are literally inconceivable to those who have never been in such times. Morality is not divorced from results - if it worked, if it made Germany & Japan surrender after a night of bloodied streets, then I would be hard-pressed to fault them. But that isn't what happened. It probably did something, sure, but the calculus is grim.

From that lens you can see Hiroshima as a culmination of a horrible strategy; but I don't think that is the only lens you have. World War Two was, in my opinion without peer, the highest stakes conflict humanity has ever fought. Nazi Germany's combination of dystopian vision and backed-by-steel ambition makes it the worst government to ever exist; Japan is certainly in the top 10 as far as these things go. And while we with our tables of GDP and steel output can say the Allies had it in the bag, that is never how people fighting a war see things.

Additionally, the methods of World War Two emerged from the almost-as-cataclysmic horrors of World War One; a conflict that utterly destroyed the governments of half the countries that fought it in. And their replacements were...not great! It was not a war that broke imperialism to usher in liberalism, even if steps were made that way. After WW1, people were desperate to find a way to fight the next war in a way that wouldn't condemn themselves to endless trench warfare they had gone through, one that wouldn't bring them to the brink of collapse, even if it fucked over the other guy.

Strategic bombing was born from this impulse - its founders truly hoped it would break the back of opposing nations, that once you "won air superiority" and started smacking Berlin the white flag would be raised. This didn't happen, but you didn't know that in 1941. Or in 1942. Or in 1943. Maybe it's just around the corner in 1944? You really want to stop now? 90% of Strategic Bombing Commands quit just before their enemy's will is finally broken, don't you know? In hindsight it is easy to say, in 1944, that they should have taken to foot off the pedal, that the war was won, and that this strat wasn't the way. And to be clear, they should have, they should have done that. Better men would have done that. But that is the high bar I am holding them too, not the floor. In this time period most people just didn't think civilians got spared in war, it was a different time. Morality's aim is universal, but the steps of the individual towards them can only be contextual. I think they were wrong, and to be clear by 1945 it was becoming quite obvious that the war was over and this was unnecessary. But few of us are so immune to the sins of inertia in a war.

From that lens, Hiroshima is the most justified civilian-targeted strategic bombing conducted in the entire war. Because unlike the inertia-creep of the Dresden firebombing, it had a very clear purpose - compel the Japanese government to surrender by demonstrating a weapon they could not hope to defeat, something that would save tens of thousands of American lives and likely hundreds of thousands of Japanese lives. I believe it did do that - not only do I think it was at least as important as the Soviet declaration of war, but the one-two punch of timing them together was a calculated psychological blow that certainly didn't hurt.

But more importantly Truman was not privy to the sessions of the Supreme Council for the Direction of the War, he could only guess where they stood. Within that context Hiroshima was a calculated gambit that makes sense; because strategically bombing civilian targets was the order of the day at that time, and that all the big solo-military targets were essentially bombed away at that point, the idea of some kind of "display" against a dummy target or something - to a government the US had barely any communication with, wasting a scarce resource - was just not politically in the cards. Hell, neglecting to bomb Kyoto for cultural reasons, and doing things like dropping leaflets warning civilians ahead of the attack to flee, were already tail-end of the humanitarian practices of the time. I cannot armchair judge Truman for making hard calls with the stakes as high as they were.

However, Nagasaki was a classic interia case. It was done because the US had the bomb and we were bombing cities. It made even less sense than campaigns before, because now the US had a "reason" to think surrender might be imminent, so giving it a few days had far more logic. This one I judge much more harshly. It was the decision of a system that just did violence by default. Which of course it was, it was World War Two. But results are morality - Hiroshima probably saved Japanese lives. Nagasaki did not. Them's the breaks.

[capswarmedals]

BBC GHOSTS: DEEP DIVE

"You're a bloody fool, James!" - Ben Willbond, Inside Ghosts: A Christmas Gift.

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR CHRISTMAS EPISODE AND SEASON 5. BE WARNED.

Okay, just before we start, I WILL be referring to BOTH James and The Captain. Wait and see, your poor little dumplings.

We all know The Captain. Brave, stern, always has a stiff upper lip and of course, most obviously, he's an ABBA loving star. Joking (not really though)!! The most obvious part is that he is gay, but he hides it deep down inside himself. You'd have to kill him to find out or well, you know what I mean (/ref). That part deep down inside himself is James. James. The real person, the person under the mask, the villain, the mastermind of it all. Except that... James isn't really anything like The Captain. James is not brave, not stern, never has a stiff upper lift, but he's still an ABBA fan and gay. Incredibly, incredibly gay.

We know that he had a very, VERY strong crush on Havers (Anthony as I will be referring to) as evident in the Cricket Report in the Button House Archives and in Redding Weddy/Carpe Diem. Throughout the series, we see James fall for men. Mike ("Yes, he'd make a very fine soldier."), Adam, the director ("Yes, though I might just... Check."), Pat (even though it's not as obvious, but it's certainly there).

Many people, including myself, head canon James/The Captain to be autistic, and I can very much add some reason and proof to these reasons.

1. A very strict routine. This man will NOT let go of routine, and it is clear in 4x02 (Speak As Ye Chooses) where he states: "It's all very well saying 'At ease', but what do you do for the rest of the day?" and visible expression of shock and anger to finding out that a club was cancelled. As we come to the end of episode, where we see the man casually without his jacket on, he says "We've got forever" before immediately re-settling himself into his strict routine when being reminded of Film Club. But of course, this could be either that James is attracted to Captain America or is just reminded of his strict routine. This links into another point about change. In 3x05 (Something To Share?), this silly man agrees with Pat about how it is frightfully important to have an extremely strict routine. DON'T get me started on his almost coming out. (I will talk about this.)

2. Hyperfixations. This man has a hyperfixation/special interest in tanks, birds and basically anything remotely military related. He made a club solely dedicated FOR birds. He values his hyperfixations over secrets ("This is outrageous, I'll simply have to tell Fanny-" "No more war documentaries, then." "Your secret is safe with me, she'll have to kill me first- Well- You know what I mean."). 1x02, watching Hitler's Secret Superweapons "It's Christmas! I mean, it's Christmas Morning!" and when Mike turns it off... "What the bally heck do you think you are doing? Where the bally hell are the tanks?" "If you were dead, I would thrash your bottom, sir!". As like other autistic people, such as myself, taking away our hyperfixations isn't a good thing. We don't like that.

3. Masking/easily overwhelmed. (Basically what this deep dive is about). James is the true individual. The Captain is his mask, his shell. And he's been living in it for far too long now. He does not like change, and hates loud noises. This is clear when a club is cancelled in 4x02, and when he realizes the Queen's speech is televised in 2x07. He stress stims by using his swagger stick (Or Anthony's) and twirling it around in his fingers, he bounces a lot, he hums a lot, and whenever he matches about the place, he swings his arms depending on what arm the swagger stick is under (usually the right), and yes, I know that military marching is very exaggerating on the arms, but STILL, it's an output of energy that he does CONSTANTLY. I don't think I've seen anybody talk about the fact he hums. He does it SO MUCH.

4. Tone. Because of his ridiculous amount of gayness inside of him, this man cannot always understand straight jokes. 5x04, where they play Blankety Blank and he does not understand the word "saucy" (I mean, it is late 20th century/early 21st century slang...) and does not approve of the meaning. He gets jokes late, but that's alright because I do too.

ANYWAYS. Back to his pining.

In the first GIF, you see James check Adam out. This also happens in another scene with the quote "Do you find yourself to be distracted?" where he takes the moment to check Adam out yet again. In this second GIF, you see James slightly creep out when he realizes that he's openly saying he'll miss a man, with that look down, almost ashamed of himself.

But why does he fall for these men of order? Because it reminds him of Anthony, not because they're bossing everyone about - it's as if they're doing the bossing about for him, so he can relax and be himself. During Redding Weddy, we see Anthony order the unit around whilst James is looking outside the window (suppressing stims, but bouncing slightly on his feet) trying to spot Germans. I could see why James fell for Anthony. Despite everyone else, Anthony does not see these stims as annoying or his remarks to be unfunny. We see him SMILE when James makes a joke.

As we know, their love for each other was mutual.

He knew.

Anthony smiles after saying "James" and saying "I know". Why? He knew he was dying, he knew that James loved him, he knew why James was here. He wanted to be by James' side as he died to comfort him. To just be together, maybe once. Maybe twice. We don't know if they've held hands, kissed, but still. This is a very significant moment.

Additionally, Anthony's knowledge of James' intense crush is during their talk in James' office in Redding Weddy as it starts to reach a conclusion. Anthony subtly hints to the fact that if James should say anything, the moment is now ("Well, if that's all?").

He raises his eyebrow slightly, communicating to James that he is eager to hear what he really says, and that it's okay to be them because they're alone together. But no. The Captain completely hides James away. Anthony understands, he always has. The Captain probably hid James away because of Anthony's reaction to "I shall miss you, Havers." (his smile drops).

But... "I say, Havers?"

The way Anthony turns around. SO QUICK.

His smile. It's so ridiculously warm. But he knows because he saw that hesitancy, he saw James' sad expression. James is bally well sad that Anthony is leaving!!

Masking is clearly shown in this conversation. The Captain is preventing James from speaking the truth. And just like how he buried the limpet mine, he too, buried his feelings. And it became a ticking time bomb to Carpe Diem, where that emotional bomb finally explodes.

He leaves it to the last second. Literally. Let me show you proof.

Ben is absolutely AMAZING at micro-expressions, one of the many reasons I love to delve into The Captain so much. Carpe Diem (5x05) is an excellent example of some of the best James scenes.

Right here, what I am personally reading is that James is attempting to unmask, or is in the process of doing so. He deciding whether he should tell his story or not. This frame is important as it comes just after the quote "When I died, I never got to be surrounded by the people I loved." Blatant foreshadowing here because well, it shows that James loved Anthony and still does, despite it being 83 years since Anthony left of that year, he still holds him very dear to his heart. Of course, he has Anthony's swagger stick, which I love because he's always been there with James to help him out through moments. I love that and I love everything about that. How I ADORE Simon Hynd's directing here of the camera position, openly hinting to the fact that James died with Anthony next to him. God, everyone in that show is a mastermind!!

I also think that he is remembering here. Perhaps remembering the good memories? That Sunday afternoon stroll, or that certain Cricket Report? He's trying desperately to remember Anthony so he doesn't forget him when he moves on. For all he knows, he doesn't even know if Anthony thinks of him. All he knows is that he knew, and is most probably dead. He doesn't know what's beyond the veil. He doesn't know if he'll see Anthony. It's worth it.

This "desperate searching" facial expression is the same as the expression he had when glancing at the gate a few scenes prior to this, eyebrows furrowed and mouths slightly agape. It cuts to the gate, where we know, that in Redding Weddy, Havers walked out of. Anthony. Yet again, he's remembering him. James is obsessed with the memory of Anthony, the good times they had yet the good times they never were really good as laws about homosexuality were extremely strict. You could even say he is clingy.

Another thing is that, The Captain is one of the most favourite characters and people have been demanding to see how he died for ages! Why is it near the end of the last season? Well. I may have an idea to why it is in the last season.

James leaves things until the last second, he leaves the real explanation to things until it's too late. I saw someone on tiktok quote that James is as pretty as poppies because his love sprouts up in the wrong times and wrong places, which I think is amazing. I personally believe that his death was purposely the last one because you needed to see that he's more than just a stern WW2 CO with no feelings. He's an anxious man who's terrified of the real world so decides to seclude himself in a time and place where he was loved. World War 2. 1940. When Anthony loved him. We needed to see this inner secluded character within him to make the death sadder, which is what Ben likes, the silly man.

This also explains why he says "Is it? Is it, Alison?" during Redding Weddy because, well, with his mindset and attitude, he doesn't believe the war is over. He wasn't very good at keeping a unit of alive people under control, but perhaps he could try at keeping a whole bunch of dead people under control to keep himself busy from accepting the fact that Anthony is gone and he should emotionally move on.

In 4x04 (Gone Gone), the episode where Mary moves on, we see that James' coping mechanism is to keep himself busy. Keep himself busy so he doesn't have to focus on his feelings, but when he's given the time to pause and process it... He completely breaks down. Imagine that with Anthony when he left for North Africa.

But why does he like Pat?

Well. It isn't canon. But, the most recent Christmas special definitely hints at it. Pat introduced James to the amazing thing of baby talking, attempting to teach him just as Mia is put to bed. But once again The Captain's hard shell is back again and gives him a monotone voice and tone, rather making him seem like a robot. But at the end of the episode. He learned, and the glance he takes towards Pat is "Did I do it?" and Pat gives him a warm smile and a subtle nod. HUSBANDS I TELL YOU!

The Woodworm Men (3x03): Pat outbests The Captain with camping, yet they are still both very keen. The Captain trudged back though!! In this episode, James is awarded the teamwork badge from Pat, and when you see the scene, you can tell that he is smitten and in love. Because, now rewatching that scene with the context of his death, he must've been the happiest he had been in a while to achieve and properly earn a badge. James, I think, personally likes Pat because he still has all the leading roles (being a scout leader) and that reminds him a lot of Anthony hence why we see them working together in a lot of episodes (2x06, 2x02, etc). It all leads back to Anthony. Who knows what would've happened if they didn't meet.

I also think that Getting Out (1x06) is a good episode that represents self growth as well as debating with the issue of being mocked, as James is mocked in the episode.

This is him overhearing the conversation. Confusion. Anger. This episode is where James learns that not everybody will adapt themselves for him, not everybody will accept the way he acts. It's pretty clear that he cannot control this mindset he has, it was probably drilled into him, the poor soul. The way he brings himself back into the group is through a secret weapon (Kitty, because she's the most likeable and their relationship is mwah).

This episode is also important because of the scene in the library with James and Kitty.

"What matters more? Keeping Alison here, or letting her be happy?"

Now imagine that question but Anthony. James has sacrificed his life and soul towards Anthony, and even has a piece of him with him. This man is obsessed with Anthony. Crazily in love. He can't control his feelings for people. It just... Happens.

After Carpe Diem, it took me only a fraction of a second to see how comfortable he was. He was free to love who he wanted! I was stimming so crazily when the last scene of Season 5 (disregarding the Christmas special) was him being gay. Fanny comforted him after he came out, and every one supported him. He feels safe now.

The mirror and the draw in the intro.

Personally, I believe that the mirror represents the fact that his medals are the right way, meaning that the man in the mirror is The Captain and the man looking at his reflection is James. He's looking what he could've been. A hero. Yet now that he's come to terms with himself, James knows that he can be himself now. Free of judgement. Free of secluding himself away. I believe that the drawer represents him ever searching for more memories to grasp onto, more things about Anthony to remember. I also think it represents the fact that there is something inside of him that is worth looking for, and that thing deserves to be looked for and looked after. The draw is pulled out as far as it can go, so this could point to the fact that there is something buried within the house that needs to be found and given back to him. Could be the limpet mine. Or perhaps that William letter truly was a love letter.

OVERALL:

James is a different man to The Captain. The Captain is merely a costume or a nickname James wears knowing full well of the man he is underneath those perceived images of him. James is a coward. James is obsessed with Anthony. His heart has bled so much he has to rely on the small amount of attention from someone so he can carve it out and then offer it to those people who attention has been wasted on him. Ben is an amazing actor and writer who threads things together so subtly and sneakily it's insane. James won't let go of the military mindset, just incase he meets Anthony when he moves on. He thinks that no one will fall in love with the present him so he tries his best to act like his old self. Ben is right. You certainly are a fool, James. But oh, how I love your character.

[hoodiedcrows]

Okay, something is up with Aran and Tattoo and flowers. Let me very briefly make my case with screenshots.

The first flower moment I consciously registered at first watch is in ep 4, in the hotel lobby. Tattoo is surrounded by them. (Notably, they are mostly yellow and orange, with a little bit of pink. More on that in another post!)

And then, in walks Aran with his flower lace dress (and backed by flowers), to make Tattoo follow him into the trap. He is following the beats of a lady-in-red of Hollywoodish traditions. Love it.

In the hotel room Aran makes his second grand entrance down the stairs, and the painting behind him has a clear flower pattern, echoing the one on the dress.

In ep 5, we get the auction scene, and Aran centered between light pink and cream flowers.

In their individual camera shots as well, Aran is the only one surrounded by the flowers.

Then Aran goes to meet Rose, and we get pink-and-cream flowers behind Aran and between the two of them. (Interestingly, Rose has a black flower around her neck. I'm actually sure that Aran's necklace - The Necklace - is another representation of a flower, but let's not get into that now.) (We're also not getting into cream and black as a colour palette for both Aran and Rose, but I do love having patterns to figure out.)

There are also flowers behind and around them/Aran in the auction room, but I'll skip that for now and move on to the fight scene at the bar. The sofa that Tattoo and Aran end up falling on during the fight in the bar has, yep, flowers in the pattern. Yellow/beige, quite a homey pattern. (Tattoo's top echoes this without actually having a flower pattern.)

(Not pictured: the window above them that also has a flower pattern; Hope's shirt, likewise flower patterned, and even Aran's lacy vest back with a plant-y pattern. ALSO! Tattoo's tattoos. At least two of them are VERY flower-like. But I'll spare you the blurry shots of those for now.)

Then, at Aran's terrible, horrible, no good lunch, he is surrounded by flowers of course. The first time we've seen blue in them, and no cream!

Bear with me friends, just a couple more scenes. First, a sidenote-ish shot of Aran spotting the gang:

(Look, it's all plants with no flowers, even trees cut off to mere trunks without leaves! Just like Aran has been cut off from all of his fathers wealth. Am I reading too much into this? Almost certainly. Am I having fun going slightly mad about this? YES I AM.)

So, Aran spots them, and... the only flowers visible anywhere nearby are here behind Tattoo. PINK flowers. (They are visible in other shots of this scene as well, but mostly behing Hoy, who acts as an accidental Cupid for them here by not keeping his mouth shut.)

And lastly, the scene that started my pattern-finding spree, and perhaps the most important screenshot so far, Aran in Tattoo's apartment.

Flowers. PINK flowers for BOTH of them, hot pink for Arun and light pink (+cream) for Tattoo. The previous times we saw this room the flowers were yellow!

So. This is absolutely deliberate visual language. Pink flowers behind both of them, and the black door between them like a barrier they need to cross to reach each other. I am SO intrigued, and pretty sure I'm onto something here.

I'll just go and sob into a flower-patterned dust rag.

[pokemonshelterstories]

Howdy! I am the forster of the disabled charizard and bisharp, I have gone to my vet to see some of the issues with this mating behavior.

Also, I feel like i haven't explain well what's up with with them both very well, the bisharp (marvin) is born without any metal crest at all, no blades or anything, he's very vulnerable compared to other pawniards and bisharps, I have attempted to socialize him with his kind and almost got him killed bc the others were so freaked out by his appearance (he was in a fortified socialization cage too) , so I keep him away from other bisharps and he freaks out whenever they're around, my shelter told me all his mates were super aggressive towards him , he feels more comfortable with other pokémon than his own kind, so he isn't alone all the time, we have a meganium that treats him as if he's her child and grooms him regularly.

Our charizard (ember) is wingless, can't fly and tbe breeder declawed him, he is very gentle and scared of other firetypes and has nightmares frequently, he is much, much weaker than the average charizard should be, he is very terrified of his own kind that he bashed his head against the wall when we got a another charizard in temporary for a situation concerning the owner's health, I had to let someone else foster that charizard, I suspect his breeder didn't care about charizard social structures and given how small ember is, he got bullied severely, socializing him is hard.

I didn't actually plan on these two meeting eachother but ember left his enclosure in a daze and ended up in the Marvin's enclosure, i was at a vet appointment for my albino eevee, I wasn't aware of this till i came back with marvin putting his blankets over him, marvin never lets anyone takes his blankets.

Currently i'm letting them interact in very controled settings, even if ember can't breath fire, his meltdowns can trigger Marvin's panic attacks, my vet says as long as they're separated during mating seasons and interact via controlled spaces then they should be okay, given their individual disabilities, I might end up adopting them soon since not alot of folks can handle the level of trauma they both have, I'm keeping a close eye on them both.

unfortunately my answer to this is going to be very short and probably not what you want to hear: i am extremely concerned about the quality of life of both of these pokemon. they cannot engage in natural behaviors inherent to the experience for their species. the bisharp cannot train himself or lead a group of pawniard. the charizard cannot fly or battle and panics to the point of self harm when presented with a pokemon that might attempt to battle him. these pokemon almost certainly cannot be experiencing a good quality of life, whether separated or together.

i cannot see a world in which either of these pokemon should be allowed to suffer through existing like that if you're giving an accurate representation of their situation. were these pokemon in my care, i would be advocating for their humane euthanasia. i cannot give advice to their care outside of that.

[takenbypeter]

The Way Your Hand Fits In Mine

Hank McCoy x reader

Words: 626

Number 2: “I like the way your hand fits in mine."

It wasn’t a big deal, it wasn’t major or anything like that. All it was really was just a simple observation.

Hank never held your hand first.

Now this may sound ridiculous but like mentioned it was just something you observed. You first noticed this fact around the beginning months of your relationship. You were the one to constantly initiate this form of touch which was no big deal. It was still early on and you could easily dismiss the thought by the excuse of; maybe he’s not used to that or doesn’t prefer it. But now, with it being almost a year later you suddenly realized you were still continuing to be the initiator.

For a second you started to overthink things; did he actually hate that form of physical touch? Why would he not tell you this before? Has he been forcing himself this entire time?

Instead of worrying and beating yourself up any more, you figured, why not just ask the man? So that’s exactly what you did.

The next time the two of you were walking side by side on one of your early morning strolls, which you did so occasionally, you easily slipped your hand into his furry one and he simply held it back.

“Hank?” You asked even though you most definitely already had his attention.

“Hm?”

“Why is it that you never take my hand first?”

Hank gives the smallest of smiles as he peers at the ground shyly but you tug on his hand, “I’m serious, I always take your hand. Do you not like holding hands? You can tell me, I’m fine with whatever.”

At your words Hank's expression shifted to disbelief, “are you kidding me? I love holding your hand,” he exclaims, lifting your hand up while interlocking your fingers. It was certainly a funny feeling as always. Feeling the fur between each of your individual fingers that is.

Hank wastes no time to bring his lips to the back of your hand and of course that little action has you grinning like a fool but it doesn’t stop you from continuing, “okay so what is it then?”

At that question he tilts his head letting out a little sigh, once again refocusing his eyes to the sidewalk in front of you.

He shrugs, “well first look at me, I don’t exactly blend in.”

Well yeah, that was no doubt. He was blue and furry all over but that never really bothered you.

“And people stare and say things—not exactly the nicest things. If you’re seen with me like this,” he held up your hand again, “I just don’t want to be the reason that people say things about you.”

You look at him, honestly surprised he’s put that much thought into what you found to be a simple action. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind.

“That was my initial thought I guess, but I obviously can’t reject your hand when you reach out, I don’t want to. I like the way your hand fits in mine.”

You squeezed his hand while he continued, “I know you always tell me you don’t care about what people say and such but I do, I have it so ingrained in my head.”

You listen silently as you can’t exactly relate to his worries, so all you do is listen and say, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, after all it’s not your fault he’s this way. He squeezes your hand much like you did moments ago, “it’s alright. I shouldn’t be thinking of what other people think at moments like this. I should just be thinking about us.”

And much like he did before you lift his hand and give the back of it a small peck.

-

Dialogue Prompt 2