#make america think harder

[wirt-and-wirt-by-products]

Unbelieveable. Its al gore in fl in 2000 all over again

I hope all the stein voters feel at peace with their vote.

[mothric]

guys, we've got to get better at detecting misinfo. the amount this completely unsourced unverified video has spread in the last few days with so few people questioning it is really troubling.

'positive' misinformation is still misinformation. wholesale believing misinfo without questioning it is bad, because if you can't learn to tell when a 'nice' thing is misinformation, you will not fare better with 'negative' misinformation designed to invoke fear and helplessness.

I'm not here to crush anyone's hopes, I am saying it is qualitatively better and healthier to put your hope in something that's actually true. for example, there was a massive anti-ICE protest earlier today in Los Angeles. that's great news! that's inspiring! let's keep it up!

[majiburger]

the fact that anyone voted for aomine and himuro at all is cracking me up

[zenaidamacrouras1]

Hi! So there is a contact support page at the bottom of every ao3 page:

https://archiveofourown.org/support

Please send an email expressing concerns with the tag.

If you are looking for a script:

This change is unnecessary and ignores the ongoing character arc of Sam Wilson, who was given the shield 6 years ago and called Captain America 4 years ago in the MCU. Fanwriters have been writing Sam Wilson as Captain America for over a decade or longer. Those of us who write and read Sam as Cap have managed just fine using additional tags to narrow down.

As an avid participant in the Captain America Fandom, I don't want to use these tags. And they don't make sense to the way interact with the films. I have read AUs, for example, where Steve is pre-serum civilian and Sam is either a Captain in the Air Force or actually Captain America. Their appearance and characterization is based on the films, not the comics, so "All Media Types" doesn't fit. Which tag does one use? These tags inhibit creative work because they ignore the interplay of the characters and their roles throughout the many films.

But I think the main concern is that they exist in a world where Sam Wilson as Cap has faced significant racist backlash. It is impossible to view them outside of that context. It seems likely to me that the tags in practice will make stories about Sam as Cap get less visibility. So, whether or not the intent was there, the decision feels hurtfully tone deaf at best and racist at worst.

On Your Left! — Changes to Captain America Fandom Tags

Hello! In the near future, Marvel tag wranglers will be updating fandom tags on AO3 to separate the upcoming Captain America movies featuring Sam Wilson as Captain America from the trilogy of films with Steve Rogers as Captain America.

To do this, we will be renaming the fandom Captain America (Movies) to Captain America (Chris Evans Movies) and creating a new fandom named Captain America (Anthony Mackie Movies). Both will be made subtags of Marvel Cinematic Universe and Captain America - All Media Types.

In summary:

Captain America (Chris Evans Movies) will refer to the 2011, 2014, and 2016 movies featuring Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, and Bucky Barnes. 

Captain America (Anthony Mackie Movies) will refer to the 2025 movie Brave New World featuring Sam Wilson and Joaquín Torres. This fandom tag will also refer to any sequel Captain America movies starring Sam Wilson in the title role.

Fans interested in reading about both movie series can include both Marvel Cinematic Universe and Captain America - All Media Types in tag filtering. The current fandom tag for The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), which is a subtag of Marvel Cinematic Universe but not Captain America - All Media Types, will also be unaffected by these changes. We’ve included more details of our reasoning below, which better explains why we’re making this change.

Why are you making two separate fandom tags? Can’t everyone just keep using “Captain America (Movies)”?

Despite both having the superhero name “Captain America” and the same continuity, fundamentally the main character has changed between the original trilogy and the new 2025 movie. We also wanted to hopefully make it easier for fans to differentiate between which movies and continuities they’re discussing. Many Sam Wilson fans will likely want to filter for the movie where he’s the central focus; conversely, many Steve Rogers fans will likely want to filter out movies where he doesn’t appear. 

We’re specifically using “Chris Evans” and “Anthony Mackie” in the fandom tags as they’re the most recognizable and consistent aspect of the movies. There’s no consistent set of directors between all Chris Evans Captain America movies, and actor names are much more recognizable than including multiple years in the fandom tags. This style of making fandom tags named after actors is similar to other fandoms on AO3. For example, there are many James Bond movie fandom tags which differentiate via the actors’ names. 

The Marvel Cinematic Universe is also not the only time Captain America has been adapted to the big screen: there’s a 1944 movie starring Dick Purnell, a 1979 movie starring Reb Brown, and a 1990 movie starring Mat Salinger. The current fandom tag Captain America (Movies) is worded in a way that technically encompasses these unrelated movies as well. It doesn’t make sense for these unrelated continuities to share one fandom tag, so we would have changed the existing Captain America (Movies) tag to be more specific regardless of the release of Brave New World. 

Like we mentioned above, fans interested in reading about both MCU movie series at once can filter for both Marvel Cinematic Universe and Captain America - All Media Types.

Why Mackie Movies instead of Brave New World?

The movie title has already changed several times in between promotion and release. It’s also highly likely Marvel will make sequel movies. Formatting the tag as Captain America (Anthony Mackie Movies) prevents the disruption of renaming the fandom tag in the future. 

We will be creating an Additional Tag for Captain America: Brave New World, similar to how there are Additional Tags for Movie: Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) and Movie: Spider-Man: No Way Home (2021). We hope the Additional Tag will help fans filter for specific movies within the broader series of movies.

Why does Brave New World get a separate fandom tag while First Avenger, Winter Soldier, and Civil War would still share? 

Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, and Captain America: Civil War all encompass the trilogy centering around Steve Rogers. While Captain America: Brave New World is also set in the same continuity, the main character and actor has changed, and the role of Sam Wilson has changed from being a supporting character to the main focus.

It’s likely that Marvel will release sequel movies to Brave New World, which will not receive separate fandom tags and would instead also be covered by the new Captain America (Anthony Mackie Movies) tag. We hope that separating the fandom tags now will prevent the messiness of renaming tags again in the future, and also allow fans to filter for works that focus on the specific Captain America they are looking for. 

(From time to time, ao3org posts announcements of recent or upcoming wrangling changes on behalf of the Tag Wrangling Committee.)

[moomin279]

But what matters is the score, in Euro games there aren't many goals, most games are either 1x0 or 2x1 I think it's a characteristic of South American football to have more goals

True and thats bc the defenders are worse but i still think that if you havent scored a goal in open play and played as boringly as france have then you wouldve been found out as, for want of a better word, frauds. As in that they are not at the level to win or come close to winning a competition

[amphitritebaby]

i need to fucking kill myself

[globalnewscollective]

U.S Added to a Global Human Rights Watchlist

Why You Should Be Worried About America’s Declining Human Rights Ranking

When you think of human rights abuses, you might picture authoritarian regimes, not the United States. But according to a new report from CIVICUS (source), the U.S. is now officially categorized as a "narrowed" democracy—a status shared with countries where free speech, protests, and civil liberties are increasingly under attack. The U.S. joins the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Pakistan, Chile, Slovakia, and 37 other countries with "narrowed" civic freedoms. That’s the kind of company America is now keeping.

What Does This Mean for You?

Your Right to Protest Is Under Threat – Laws restricting peaceful demonstrations have been ramping up, making it easier for authorities to criminalize protests they don’t like.

Censorship and Press Freedom Are in Decline – Journalists covering protests or political corruption are facing more harassment, and state-level laws are making it harder to report the truth.

Targeting of Activists and Marginalized Groups – The crackdown on civil rights groups, LGBTQ+ organizations, and racial justice movements is accelerating.

Legal Attacks on Voting Rights – Gerrymandering, voter suppression, and efforts to limit ballot access are all symptoms of a democracy that’s backsliding fast.

What’s at Stake?

If the U.S. keeps trending in this direction, basic freedoms—like the ability to voice your opinion, challenge authority, or even vote—could become privileges instead of rights. Young people, activists, and minority communities will be the first to feel the impact, but make no mistake: this affects everyone who believes in a fair and free society.

The Bigger Picture

This is not just about one bad policy or one election cycle—it’s about a systematic shift toward authoritarianism. Through executive orders, Trump has sought to consolidate power in the executive branch, making it easier for him and his allies to monitor and control departments and agencies to ensure they are only carrying out Trump’s agenda. The more people accept restrictions on speech, protests, and voting, the easier it becomes for those in power to tighten their grip. This is how democracies die: not with a single dramatic event, but through a slow erosion of rights, one law at a time.

What Can You Do?

Stay Informed – Know what’s happening at the state and federal levels.

Speak Up – The more people push back, the harder it is for leaders to silence dissent.

Vote Like Democracy Depends on It – Because, frankly, it does.

The U.S. has long claimed to be a beacon of democracy. But that light is fading—and unless we fight for our rights, it could go out completely.

[kaijutegu]

IL is having a contest to replace our not-very-good state flag and there are some amazingly good unserious submissions. I'm gonna show you my three favorites first and then put up a read more because this is a long post but you should click the read more anyways because laser Lincoln is too good to pass up.

If you want to see all of them, the PDF is here- but be warned, it's 1,878 pages long. However, there are some REALLY cute and well-thought-out kid designs towards the end- I think my favorite one from the kid-submitted ones is the one where there's our state mushroom releasing spores. Or maybe the one where the description says "We have the cubs and they suck."

Anyways, flags!

"The green background color represents our State's beautiful prairies. The goblin represents the uplifting spirit of our citizens, always hungry to achieve our dreams and goals. The "State Seal Dish" represents our state's government and the guidance and support it provides. The state of Illinois that is being consumed represents the nourishment that this State provides to its people. The text simply displays what is true."

"My flag represents the great turtles of our state. Illinois is home to seventeen different turtle species! This flag shows what Illinois is all about."

(There's nothing unserious about this, this SHOULD be our flag.)

"the laser beam projects a powerful image of Illinois. I believe my design is so powerful it does not need to be discussed."

"The blue-heeler cartoon dog represents the below-average rate of dogs in Illinois and the need for more. It also represents Australia's looming takeover of young America's minds. The blue background represents Illinois's blue sky. The word "Illinois" written in Hello Headline font represents Illinois and the clouds. The scroll has the words "State Sovereignty, National Bluey" written on it, which serves as a tribute to the old flag."

"The white and blue color is inspired by the Centennial flag, while the brown represents the Dave Matthews Band incident which is fondly remembered to Illinoisians. The bird is a Norhern Cardinal, the Illinois state bird. It destroying Chicago skyline represents how the city is often overrepresented and other cities didn’t get the representation deserved. The CGpog emojis pays tribute to Gavin Atack, which is the most legendary Chicagoan and symbolize how Illinois is a very POG state."

"This flag depicts Abraham Lincoln riding a woolly mammoth. Abe, who is the subject of our state motto "Land of Lincoln", represents honesty and virtue. The mammoth is an example of one of the most impressive creatures that roamed our state in its prehistory. The white background is an homage to the previous state flag, where the white separated it from the typical "seal on blue bed sheet".

This one is just AI slop- but it did make me laugh because I found the pretentious artist description to be hilariously at odds with the fact that this is AI slop: "StreetVanGogh: The Paintbrush that Binds Chicago and Illinois"In the heart of Illinois, where the wind whispers secrets through the prairies and the river runs like ink across a page, lies a city born from fire—Chicago. StreetVanGogh, an artist molded by this urban forge, wields a paintbrush not just as a tool, but as a compass that draws the lines connecting his city to the state he calls home.Chicago is the pulse of Illinois, a metropolis with a skyline that scratches at the stars," Hey, StreetVanGogh? Illinois famously does not have mountains. And Chicago famously does not have two Sears Towers. Try harder next time.

"It's a glistening NUTS though"

"The flag has a rainbow background, celebrating the vibrant LGBTQ culture in Illinois as well as the racial and ethnic diversity that makes this state great. The Chinese text is there to represent our fantastic Chinese community, the largest in the midwest. It reads, "Peace and joy, independent nation" which is what this state should aspire to be. In the center, is an outline of the great state itself with our most famous person, Abraham Lincoln, blushing to honored to be on this flag." I would love to know what those characters actually say.

"16th US President and Illinoisan Abraham Lincoln is a symbol of our great state and his work in quashing The Confederacy in the American Civil War cannot be understated. The background color is meant to evoke that of a Union Army uniform of the period, with the red representing the blood he shed defending our democracy to the bitter end. Lincoln would be proud to fly this beautiful banner commemorating his achievements."

"The colors represent the proud Chicago style hot dog. Beige for the bun and celery salt, carmine for the tomato and vienna beef, chartreuse for pickles and sport peppers, citrine for the mustard, white for the onions, and kelly green for the relish. The 21 black dots represent poppy seeds, as well as Illinois' inclusion as the 21st state. The citrine stripe of the mustard also represents corn and Malört."

There were a couple of hot dog flags, but this one gets a special dishonourable mention for mentioning Malört.

[glader13]

First Flight

Joaquin Torres x Reader

A close call with Joaquin leaves you telling Sam about the time he first took you flying.

A/N: Spoiler warning for Captain America: Brave New World!

“No good luck kiss?” You pulled his shoulder, stopping him from following Sam. There was chaos around you, his eyes were shifting in the red lights. You mustered up a smile, taking a firm hold of his hand. He rubbed your hand, unaware of your stalling. Sam could handle it, he’s fought worse than fighter jets before. Yet, you also know that Sam is just human, he relies on Joaquin’s strength. The two of them, the three of you, are a team, all relying on one another.

There was something else in his eyes, underneath that caring nature of his. A desperation to prove himself, to show Sam that giving him the wings wasn’t a mistake. He confides to you each night about wanting to prove himself, the same desperate fire in his eyes. It’s alluring, shaping your mind to forget about the danger that he constantly faces. You want him to prove himself, to show Sam that he entrusted the wings to the right person, but there’s something that’s holding you back. A little voice in the back of your head, a grip around your heart that causes it to stop. You want him to prove himself, but you find yourself thinking, not here, not now. But, you couldn’t tell him that, feeling, yet somehow knowing that your doubt will burn his wings.

His hand cupped the side of your face, he leaned into you, his lips were inches away from yours, and, “Torres, we need to go now!”

He sighed before kissing your forehead, “I’ll be safe, I promise.”

“Don’t be a dumbass,” your words cracked one last smile on his face before he disappeared down the hallway. It was a ritual between the two of you, first starting as a joke before turning into a promise. The two of you were on the cusp of becoming something more when you first whispered those words to him, right after he suited up for the first time.

You were scared then, watching him show off his new suit, excitement dripping off every word. You were scared that he wouldn’t come back, unable to articulate it, so you hid behind teasing and smiles. As time moved on, the more missions he went on, the more serious you two became, and your facade began to falter. You held him longer and kissed him harder each time before he left. Yes, your facade eventually broke, he wasn’t going against men with bullets or explosives, but he’s going against beings whose existence your mind can’t comprehend. He’s doing this alone, and it scares you. You have always been right there next to him, since training for the Air Force, the two of you face everything together.

At least, he comes back, he always comes back. He never fails at keeping that promise, and that soothes your heart.

~

“And what if you don’t?” You hated how you couldn’t make out his face in the darkness of your bedroom, but you were also grateful for it. You could never have this conversation with his eyes on you.

“Don’t what?” He mumbled against your chest, burrowing closer to you.

“Come back,” you weren’t sure if he heard you.

“It’ll be fine,” he kissed you, which left you feeling cold.

“How could you be so sure?” You hated how worried you sounded, how it seems just now that you’re worried about the possibility of death, despite the job that you two have. But then, death, despite always being there, is controlled, it’s expected.

When he suits up, he’s going against the unexpected. He insists on doing things the right way, just like Sam, no serum. You have long stopped trying to convince him, the conversation giving way to an argument about your doubt: of his ideals, his readiness, of him. You just want more nights like this, you just want him to come back. All it took was for him to put on that suit for you to realize that you were taking him for granted.

“Because I have Sam, and,” you heard his smile, “I have the best eyes in the ground.”

“But-” he stopped you, silencing you with a kiss. He trusts your skills, so why can’t you trust his? Why are you so scared? It’s because, you thought, lightly tracing over his lips, you finally found something, for the first time in your life, that you don’t want to be taken from you. He’s more valuable than life itself.

“Don’t be a dumbass,” you recited those words, “Just come back to me, promise?”

Of course, now, that conversation from a million years ago, almost in a different reality, comes to you right now. It crept over, as if it was a haunting. Of course, the memory would appear now, when he’s dying in front of you.

After the first shock, nothing. No hand movement, no flutter of his eyes. You felt a coldness seep into you, burrowing beneath your clothes, and settling into your bones and heart. You bit the inside of your cheek, tapping your fingers against the glass. So close, yet so far. You felt your eyes beginning to burn, not daring to blink in case you missed the slightest rise of his chest. You watched the doctors with those same burning eyes, questioning everything that they were doing, as if you could save him. You wanted to do more, to snap him out of this, but you were useless. Your body became an anchor, heavy, taking up too much space. Please, you thought, Joaquin, please. You didn’t know how you were still standing. The chaos moments earlier, the feel of your heart being physically removed from your body at the news. His heart stopped. The same heart that you would feel beat underneath your fingertips, the same heart that you would fall asleep to when nights were rough, stopped.

Everyone around you was miles away, specs on the horizon. The only thing that you could focus on was him, causing you to ache. His face was emotionless, almost peaceful, unaware of the pain that he was causing. He was unrecognizable on the helicopter: with holes and tears exposing his damaged body and his suit charred beyond repair. He was burned, the wounds were blistering, turning his skin an ugly red color. Now, tubes are sticking out of him as doctors try to revive him. The longer you stared, the more hopeless you became. You closed your eyes, beginning to see double as you took deep breaths. Well, you tried, each breath left you shuddering, taking more oxygen than it was giving. Numb, that’s how you were, that’s how you felt. The world was falling beneath your feet, and all you could do was watch. You tried to stay grounded, counting the seconds until he started breathing again. You tried to ground yourself by looking for signs: a twitch of his fingers, a slight flutter of his eyes, you looked for anything to show that he was still with you. You wished that you could hear the doctors, that they would take off their masks so you could read their lips. Your head was pounding, the cologne from his military jacket a noose that was slowly tightening around your neck. Deep down, in the moments of silence when it’s just the two of you, you had always thought of this moment. What you would do, what you would say, how it would happen.

You just never prepared for being away from him when the time came.

Another shock from the AED caused his body to convulse, slightly coming off the operation table. The seconds felt like hours as you watched, waiting for something. You felt the nausea seep in, seeing the doctors shake their heads, everything was beginning to fade. You pressed your hand harder against the glass, feeling as if you were staring into an abyss. He kept on shrinking, pulling further away, as if the two were in the ocean. No matter how hard you tried to reach him, he just kept moving further, into the inkiness depths. Shrinking further and further away. Everything was shrinking: the room, your air, his time. “I should have told him that I love him,” you barely got out the words, feeling increasingly light-headed. You didn’t know where your heart went, forming in its place a gaping hole. You’ll never bear it, him being gone. You’ll always try to seek his voice, being a forever haze. “I … I,” you couldn’t talk.

“Breathe alright,” Sam’s words were distorted, his touch on your back was a million miles away, “He needs you more than anything else.”

“But how,” you finally turned away from him, “He’s in there, I’m over here. How the hell can I help him? Sam, he’s dying,” the last word ripped something out of you, killing the last piece of defiance that your mind had, “There’s nothing that I can do.”

Sam pulled you in for a hug, and for the first time, you finally felt present. You held Sam in a death grip, the tears that you were finally letting go of would no doubt leave a stain. “Faith,” Sam finally said, and you would have laughed at how cheesy it sounded, but you just held him tighter than before, “He’s a strong kid, you gotta have it. Believe in him, believe first.”

“Okay,” you breathed, “Okay.”

But it was hard, you felt your whole life riding on the third use of the AED. If it didn’t work, you would be lost. Mindlessly trying to fill a void that you’ll never satisfy. Every time you close your eyes, you are haunted by the last smile that he gave you. Baby please, you thought, I need you. You held your breath after the third round of shocks, praying, begging that this would bring him back to you. The seconds crawled before a doctor rushed to get an oxygen mask. You felt Sam squeeze your shoulder, whispering enthusiastic words of encouragement. More tears fell as you nearly tackled Sam in a hug, he’s going to be okay. One of the doctors interrupted the celebration to inform the two of you that Joaquin was in stable condition and that the operation would continue once his heart rate was at their satisfaction. You nodded, finally being able to take your seat next to Sam. Despite Joaquin being okay, you were still on edge, the thoughts of what if hanging like dark clouds on the horizon.

“Hey,” Sam interrupted your incoming doom, “Tell me your favorite memory of him, it’s getting gloomy in your eyes again.”

“Oh,” you look down, playing with the sleeves of his jacket, “I don’t know, they’re all great.”

Sam laughed, “You don’t know, stop lying.” You felt your face burn as the smallest smile began on your face. Of course, you had a favorite memory, but the blankness of your mind was akin to when people would ask you your top three hobbies, or describe yourself. You forget your existence. You took a sip of your coffee, almost spitting it out at the cold taste, thinking of a moment that was cemented in your mind. You heard Sam tease you, calling you an amazing girlfriend, which resulted in you punching his arm.

“Okay, okay, I got one,” you said, looking into the operating room, it seemed that they were going to start again, you took a breath, “It was when he first took me flying.”

~

“Come fly with me,” it was the hundredth time or more, he had asked you that day, as he leaned over you from behind your seat.

“I think I’m okay,” you smiled at him, “And besides, I don’t want you to drop me.”

He rolled his eyes saying “wow”, as you shrugged. He got his wings a week ago, what you said could very well be a possibility. You still felt him behind you, before he pulled a seat next to you, close enough that your legs were resting against each other. It was nothing, yet you momentarily forgot what you were typing. A new occurrence, especially when he’s around, he makes you forget everything and crave moments like this, when it’s just the two of you. You glanced over at him, seeing that he was playing with a spare pen, his face resting on your desk. When his eyes met yours, he flashed a smile and you could have sworn that your soul was sent upwards. Every time he looks at you, it feels as if you’ve been hit by lightning. Another new occurrence.

“Come on,” he said, “It’ll be fun.”

You gave him a thumbs up, still skimming the files that Sam wanted you to look over. You wanted to go flying with him, ever since he got those wings, coupled with your crush, cheesy moments from movies flood your mind as he soars over you. It’s all you could think about, furthering these new occurrences. You wanted to fly with him, and then something more. You heard him sigh again, but he didn’t get up, moving even closer to you so his head could rest on your shoulder. You knew that he wanted to move, to do something, but he stayed, and it was nice. He’s been so busy lately, being the new Falcon, that your time together has been nearly set to zero. Yes, you work with him and Sam, but you’re not in every briefing. You don’t go on every mission. That’s probably why these feelings occurred, despite being on the sidelines, he always went out of his way to make sure that you were involved, even if that meant telling you classified information as the two of you shared food, whoops.

“Please,” he drew out the word, “We haven’t had any time together in a minute. It’ll be good to … talk.”

Talk. You felt your heart jump at the word, as different possibilities and meanings were flying through your head. You looked over at him, his hazel eyes lighting up when they met yours. His face had a light tint of red, his smile as intoxicating as ever. It was hard to fight him, hard to not lean over, and finally close the gap between. He had to have gotten Dr. Strange’s number from Sam because you’ve never felt this way. Feeling as if you’re not yourself, falling to pieces when he’s around. You never wanted to be loved so badly, to be consumed by another. Yes, you thought turning your head away at the overwhelming burning of your body, he had to have called Dr. Strange.

“I won’t drop you if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, playing with your hand, “I’ll keep you safe, like I always do.”

~

“And you want to do this?” Sam asked, more specifically he asked you, “It’s a safe space you know. You can say no, and fly boy will have to get over it.”

You swallowed, giving a smile that could be read as a sign for help. You were on the runway, in Joaquin’s arms bridal style, as Sam stood in front of you two. He was suited up, his smile cocky as ever as he reassured Sam that you were good. God, you hated how malleable you became when he was around, instantly feeling better at his words as if on command. He shifted his hands at his words, holding you even tighter. Once again, his lips were right there, as if calling to you. All you had to do was just tilt his head lower. You tried to turn away, but that meant hiding your face in his neck or staring at Sam. You chose to gain some independence back, by staring at Sam and giving him a thumbs up.

“Ready?” He asked, and you nodded, still not meeting his face.

“Don’t drop her, please,” Sam rubbed his face.

“No promises,” Joaquin laughed, and you were gone.

You have never let out a string of curses so creatively before, feeling your stomach in your mouth, feeling your food plotting to come out with your stomach. You forgot about the closeness that you were trying to prevent, hiding your face in his shoulder with eyes squeezed shut, why did I agree to this? In the sparse moments of courage, when you would look down, the world was racing below you, mixing in a blur of green and brown, causing you to feel dizzy. You were embarrassing yourself, hiding your face with an iron grip on his neck, he would never ask you to do this again with him, and the thought froze your heart. You gave yourself the count of three, to open your eyes, to actively look at the world beneath you. Just a minute, you steeled yourself, only sixty seconds. You opened them, focusing on the sky first, the open expanse serene, as if a pool of infinity. The tree tops were like steps to the sky, much different than the sparseness that you would see when looking up. Then, there was him. An angel himself, whose eyes were even brighter up here. Familiar, and deep like the sea. To be lost in him would be a blessing, then you wouldn’t even be lost but found. If sunlight were to have a voice, to be personified it would be him.

You moved your hand from around his neck, finding the side of his face. Your hand felt clammy against the material of his helmet as you finally took the first step, tilting his head towards you. He didn’t stop you, breathing finally as his lips connected with yours. You were gone once again, heaven exploding as he didn’t let up the kiss. He wouldn’t stop kissing you, if he was giving you the chance to breathe, then his lips would be on your face before he found your lips once again. You were morphing into him, nothing could make you leave this place, or so you thought.

He said that he was distracted by your lips, that’s why the two of you fell, thankfully not from high up, into the flower field. You were laughing, starry-eyed, as Joaquin carefully sat up, kneeling in front of you as he checked for bruises. Once he deemed that you were okay, he sat next to you, pulling you into his lap. He kissed you again, deeply, and without the fear of falling, this time not giving you the chance to breathe. And when he deemed that he had enough of your lips, he held you, rocking to an invisible rhythm. You listened to his heartbeat, instantly being soothed, thinking about his hold on you. Something so deep, so intimate, can’t be a “crush”, but something real. Intense, overwhelming, beautiful, and real. You wanted residency in his heart. This had to be love, you thought, giving him a quick kiss underneath his chin. You picked a wildflower, tucking it behind his ear, the red petals were a perfect contrast to his dark hair. “Aw, thank you, baby,” he murmured against your lips.

Baby. Sweetheart. Different words, with a common definition of you. Your smile grew, causing it to be contagious as Joaquin grew an even bigger one. “I just want to be sure,” he played with a flower on the ground, “That you want to do this. Tomorrow is never promised, but when I put this suit on, my night is not promised,” he gently turned your face to his, “I can’t have a relationship with you without you knowing this. I just want to know that when things get tough and scary, you’ll be by my side. I can’t do this without you.”

You traced his suit with your hand, briefly pausing over his chest feeling his heart underneath your finger tips. Despite being with him, you cold underneath the sunny skies. You bit your lips, hating that he was right. He would be chasing danger, each moment like this threatened by the idea of being the last. You felt the same pit in your stomach grow when he first got his wings, you knew what he was getting into, and you wanted to stop him, to limit the danger. You just wanted him to be safe. His face was expectant, waiting for your silence to give way to an answer. He held as if your answer would break him, and perhaps it would. You always encouraged him, but what if you wanted to be selfish? What if you told him, no, to stay where it’s safe? But, who are you to deny him his dream? If you’re scared, just leave, don’t drag him with you.

You cupped his face, giving him a kiss of promise. You won’t go, you’ll stay for as long as he loves you. “You won’t,” you said, “I’ll be right here. Even if it means pushing down the fear, I’ll be right here. You have me, forever.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget that,” you murmured. Sam smiled, before falling into a comfortable silence. Your attention went back to Joaquin, the memory making more tears swell. You made a promise to him, you just hope that he keeps his side of the deal. I’ll always come back to you, you tattooed those words, his words, to your brain, it was the Rosary of your heart. You felt Sam get up from beside you, grumbling about the area being private before greeting someone.

You turned, annoyed as well that someone had slipped into the private area, only to be greeted with a hug from … Bucky, “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine,” you say, well that’s all you could manage to say, shocked that he’s here, “Just wanting this to end, so I can be with him. And to get out of this room, I’m suffocating in here.”

“Go take a walk,” Sam motioned towards the door, “I’ll call if anything happens, promise.”

The walk was much needed, the fresh air was a new breath in your lungs, resetting your mind. You found a bench, pulling out your phone to call his grandmother. You were instantly bombarded with questions, the sentences bleeding into one another as you tried to answer her questions to the best of your ability. Once you thought that she was done talking, she threw another round of questions at you, asking in a million different ways if you were okay. You found yourself smiling as she threatened to get on the next flight where you were to make sure that you were eating and properly taken care of. You assured her that you were okay, ending the call with a promise to put Joaquin on the phone the moment he woke up. You didn’t move for a couple of moments, staring at your lock screen of you and Joaquin, the screen beginning to blur. Silence and his arms are all you want, just to hide there until the world fades away. You cleaned your eyes, mentally telling yourself to not cry for the remainder of the day as you made your way back to the operating waiting room.

Seeing Sam standing outside the doors caused your pace to falter, why didn’t he call? Your feet felt like lead, the pit opening once again. What would you pay to be out of this situation, to switch places with him? You just wanted him to be okay. You regretted being outside for so long, and now you have broken your side of the promise: you weren’t there. Before you could speak, Sam told you a room number, telling you that’s where he’s resting after his surgery. Relief would be too weak of a word to describe how you were feeling, finally being able to truly breathe for the first time in hours.

“I’ll catch you later,” he said, “I have a meeting with our friend.”

Right, The Leader. You almost forgot about him. Shit, you thought feeling yourself being torn in two. You wanted nothing more than to see him, but the three of you are a team, you can’t leave Sam alone, especially when the president is a ticking time bomb. He’s going to need extra help. He would understand, he would want you to help Sam. You took another breath, you’ll see him when you come back. Sam needs you, after being there for you in the worst hours of your life, you need to be there for him.

“I’ll get my gear.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” he laughed, “But, no. You can go upstairs to his room.”

“You need me, especially with no super serum,” you folded your arms.

“And, I’m not trying to get my ass kicked by your boyfriend after just getting my ass kicked because you have a scratch on your arm,” he folded his arms.

“I thought he can’t kick your ass.”

“He can’t, he can try though,” Sam shrugged, “But, go. Get there before he comes down here looking for you.”

~

You quietly walked into his room, seeing him sound asleep. You stared at him as if trying to find any discomfort on his face as if you were trying to catch any mistake that would stop him from healing. You knelt next to him, your eyes immediately focusing on the burns, wondering how he even survived. You felt the dread again, thinking about how you were this close to losing him, so you focused elsewhere, moving some hair off his face before kissing his forehead. You pulled up a chair next to his bed, settling into it. You took his hand as you drifted off to sleep.

“Baby,” you felt a light shake of your hand, “Hey, querida.”

You woke up, smiling instantly as he gave one back in response. Despite his eyes being tired, there was an underlying excitement in them, something that was calling you home. Oh God, you missed him. The sound of his voice, the nicknames that he had given you. You missed him on your lips, you thought that you would never hold him again. You leaned over him, and despite telling him not to, he pulled you in, putting you at his side. You threw an arm over him, snuggling up as you kissed him. “Don’t do that again,” you whispered against his lips, “I’m serious, Joaquin Torres.”

“Full name,” he quietly laughed, “I must be in trouble. I was just making sure I still had your attention,” he smiled, tracing your face. But, you didn’t smile, unable to stop the frown that crawled over your face. Instead, you sat up, turning away from him so you could clean your eyes.

“Hey,” he grabbed your arm, “What did I say? Why are you crying, love?”

“Your heart stopped,” your voice was like glass, “I thought you were dead.” You tried to match his smile earlier, but you couldn’t, it was too close of a call. You nearly lost him. Maybe someday you’ll be able to talk about it, but today won’t be it. It was too fresh, your scars were still healing. You were lucky that he was here, and he’ll never grasp how you feel, to be helpless as the person you love is dying in front of you.

“Amor,” he said, “Hey, please look at me.” You turned at his words, seeing that his cheeks had reflective stains on them, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to be like Sam, to make him proud. I wanted to keep you safe, I didn’t know I was going to hurt you in the process,” he reached up, cleaning your tears, “I’m so sorry.”

“Just promise me that you’ll be more careful, that you’ll listen,” you took his hand, “I can’t lose you, you’re all that I love.”

“Well,” he pulled you back down to him, your foreheads resting against each other, “It’s going to take more than some missiles to stop my heart beating for you,” he kissed your lips, “But, I promise, I love you.”

A/N: Brain rot so bad, the writer’s block temporarily disappeared.

[traveler-at-heart]

Miss Communication

Summary: Natasha is avoiding the feelings talk so you use the only thing that seems to be working: jealousy.

A/N: This request and entire plot is from @happychopshoppenguin so all credit really goes to them. I just put into a few more words.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Stealthy, precise, lethal.

Well, what a load of crap. All Natasha Romanoff is, is a coward. There.

You’re so pissed off, all you want to do is open up her file and write “committment issues” under weaknesses.

But that’s not your job.

No, your job is intelligence and data analysis. Go over information, read endless reports and make a summary that the Avengers can understand, because they don’t have the time to sit around and do it themselves.

And now, you’re here, talking about a new terrorist organization with Steve. Natasha should be here, as second in command, but for reasons unknown to you and Captain America, she has failed to show up.

Again, coward.

Fine, if she doesn’t answer your texts you’ll find her anywhere she’s hiding in this big ass building.

“Hey, Y/N” Sam greets as you walk down the hall.

“Damn. Is it allowed to have guns in the kitchen area?” you smile mischiveously, used to flirting around with the team. He looks around, clearly confused and you reach out to touch his bicep. “I mean, what are they feeding you, Wilson? You’re as buff as Steve”

“Hell, yeah” he smiles, flexing and putting on a little show. You’re laughing and making small talk when someone magically appears, glaring.

Natasha is fuming and you don’t know if the anger is directed at you or Sam. Looking directly at her, you laugh and place a strand of hair behind your ear, as if Sam just said the funniest thing ever.

She can’t answer a fucking text but feels jealous? Well, good. At least you know she cares.

“You’re annoying her, Wilson” Bucky joins you, leaning against the kitchen island and giving you a crooked smile. “Hey, doll”

“Hi, handsome” you place your hands on each side of his face. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah” he says, practically drooling.

“I think you’d look really good if you cut your hair”

“I’ll think about it” he promises.

“Move aside, I’m taking Y/N out for lunch” Sam says, pushing Bucky.

“Oh, sweetheart. You can’t handle all of this” you tease. “But I won’t say no to lunch”

“That’s good enough for me” he agrees, offering his arm. You take it, winking at Bucky and walking away.

Natasha is already planning six different ways to make Wilson disappear, and Bucky goes to his room.

“Gotta get a haircut” he mumbles.

Oh, like hell.

Neither one of them can touch what’s hers.

—

Natasha: How was lunch?

Y/N: Oh, NOW you text me?

Y/N: We need to talk. Call me.

—

Natasha throws the phone across the room, feeling like screaming into her pillow. It still smells like you, which makes her heart ache.

If only she hadn’t been so stupid to ruin whatever it is you two had.

You were on top of her, riding her strap, as you had done so many times since you started your situationship. Hands on Natasha’s abdomen, feeling how her muscles worked to pump in and out of you.

“I love your tits” Natasha said, breathless. You nodded, bouncing harder, moaning desperately. “I love your pussy, it’s perfect for my cock”

“Baby, I’m so close” you whined, so desperate you barely registered her next words.

“I love you”

Eyes wide open, your movements stopped for a second. Before you could answer, Natasha flipped you and you were face down, ass in the air as she entered, pounding harder.

And you really wanted to ask what the fuck and if she really meant what she said, but you were so close that all you could do was moan her name and come hard around the strap.

You barely registered when Natasha pulled out. You felt empty and confused and so stretched.

“Nat? Babe, wait”

“I have to… I forgot a mission report, I’m sorry” she muttered, putting her clothes on and leaving in a hurry. She ran out of her own fucking room before owning what she said.

And now, she couldn’t even look at you. She couldn’t stand the idea that you would reject her.

The little hope that lingered in the back of her mind was the most painful feeling of all.

All she wanted was to be loved by you.

—

Call me means fucking call me.

It means don’t pretend nothing happened.

God, she’s so infuriating. And hot. And good at sex.

But mostly infuriating.

Now you’re back in the Compound, determined to get her to talk to you. Which is why you decided to wear your low cut dress and push up bra.

She said she loves your breasts, right? Well, here they fucking are.

You carry a bunch of binders that need filing, and they help cover your boobs as you enter the living room. Natasha is sitting, and you think she is almost ready to approach you when Sam beats her to it.

“Here, let me help you” Sam offers. The minute your cleavage comes to view, his eyes widen.

“Hey, doll” Bucky greets and you turn around. His mouth flails open, but all you can do is admire his new look.

“Buck, oh my God! You actually listened to me?” you run your hands through his hair, making it impossible for him to look away from your chest. “You look absolutely stunning. Good boy”

“Yeah, uh… I…”

The interaction annoys Natasha, but she knows you won’t even entertain the idea of doing anything with those two.

Her mood quickly changes when Carol appraches you. She's a whole different story.

“Carol, it’s been ages since you’ve been here! All I read are your mission briefings” you say, hugging her tight.

“Well, how bout I tell you everything I’ve been up to over dinner?” she offers with a smile.

“Y/N” Natasha finally snaps. “I missed this week’s report. Mind filling me in?”

“Sure thing” you pull away, reluctantly. “Be right back, Danvers”

Natasha leads you to the conference room and pushes you against the door as soon as you enter.

“Why must you be such a brat?” she whispers against your ear, biting down your earlobe.

“It's the only way to get your attention, Natasha” you protest, trying to sound upset.

You’re torn between lust and anger, but she’s such a good kisser that her lips make you forget everything that’s happened in the last few days.

“I should punish you” she threatens, going down your body and pulling the dress up. Who is she kidding? Her mouth is watering at the thought of tasting you. “Bet you’d love that”

Love.

The word pulls you out of your trance. Natasha is about to take your panties off when you stop her, pulling her away by her hair.

“We’re going to talk”

“You don’t make the calls here”

“Natasha, stop it. I’m serious”

You really don’t want her to stop, but you can’t keep wondering if she meant it.

You want her to mean it.

“Are you seriously gonna make a big deal about it?”

“Ugh, you drive me insane, Natasha. Why can’t you just admit what you said and whether or not you meant it? Do you even care about what I want?”

She stays silent and you groan, pulling up your dress and fixing your clothes.

“I really wanted to be more than just fuck buddies” you admit before going out. “But if the thought of loving me is so embarassing for you, then forget about it. I won’t force the feeling out of you”

Natasha stays behind, wondering how she got it all wrong.

You wanted her.

By the time she comes to her senses, you’re long gone. But Carol does meet her in the hallway, smiling.

“Hey, do you mind telling Cap I’m skipping our meeting? Y/N and I are having dinner”

“Sure” Natasha nods, feeling her stomach drop.

Now it’s too late and she lost you.

—

The second anniversary of the Sokovian Accords comes and goes in a flash. Natasha really wanted to skip it, go find you and apologize.

And yet, here she is, in the Quinjet, flying back to the Compound after two days of exhausting diplomacy.

“Why couldn’t we stay a few days in Paris?” Sam laments for the third time.

“New recruits are in the middle of their training” Barton says from the pilot seat. “At least they got a break these last couple of days”

 “No, they didn’t” Wanda says. “Y/N is training them. Maria asked her to do it before we left”

“Y/N?” everyone says, looking at each other.

“But she’s a data analyst, not a field agent” Sam says.

“And the sweetest person ever” Bucky adds. He holds Natasha’s glare and smiles. Oh, he knows what’s up.

“Well, let’s make sure we put them back into shape when we get there” Steve slaps Bucky’s arm.

Boy, are they all wrong. When the team goes back to the Compound, you’re in the middle of a training session. A guy runs out of the gym, his shoulder crashing against Sam’s as he bolts for the exit.

“She’s fucking crazy, man” he says to himself, looking terrified.

“What the hell?”

Steve pushes the door to the gym. And there you are, in the middle of sparring. With one swift motion you kick the guy to the floor, and he puts his hands up, as if begging for mercy.

“Oh, we have company” you taunt, walking confidently around the students. “Anyone want to fight the Avengers? I promise you they’re not as hard to beat”

“Who is she and what has she done to Y/N?” Barton whispers.

Natasha has to hold back a moan. You look cold and deathly, having kicked all of their asses without breaking a sweat. That also explains why you’re so… bendy.

“Fine. Since none of you could even land a hit on me, you’re running ten laps. Don’t come back here unless you’ve thrown up or cried once”

All the recruits scramble to their feet, relieved now that they can get away from you. You turn around, giving the Avengers a challenging look.

“What? Wanna give it a try? I’ll go easy on you” you say. “Maybe not on Natasha, though. She hasn’t been a good girl”

“Ew” Wanda says, leaving the room. Between that and Natasha’s bendy thought, that was so loud she might as well have screamed it in the middle of the gym, she’s had enough.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got” Barton is the only one that steps up. You nod, evaluating his approach. He throws the first punch but it never lands. You move out of his way at record speed, keeping the contact at minimum while you kick the back of his legs, making him fall on his knees. Another three blows and Clint is face down on the mat.

“Pass” Sam says when you turn around to see who’s next.

“I’ll take my chances” Natasha says, stepping up. You smile in a way that makes a chill run down her spine.

Natasha thinks you can never go wrong with a classic move, so she throws her legs around your neck. But you block the movement and make her land on her back, hands pinned abover her head.

It happens at least three different times, each position becoming more sexual.

“I think we should leave” Bucky says.

“In a minute”

“Come on, Wilson” he forces him out the door, closing it for good measure and hoping you keep your clothes on before the recruits come back.

If they even come back.

“I promise you, you’re not gonna win this time, Natasha” you say, out of breath for the first time. Her eyes travel to your lips and you lean forward, stopping inches away from her mouth. “And I sure as hell ain’t letting you go without talking about that thing you said the other day”

“Please…”

“Now you’re polite. Now you say please. I’ve been chasing you for a fucking week to know if you like me for more than my tits and ass” you finally give in, kissing her for a few seconds. She whines against your mouth, trying to create friction. But your hold is too strong and she can’t move an inch without your permission.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I was scared you’d reject me and then everything would be ruined forever between us. I love you, so damn much it scares me” Natasha finally breaks, surprising herself with the way she’s pouring her heart out to you.

But that’s how much she loves you and how much she needs you.

Her words leave you breathless and you smile, going back to being your usual self.

“Natasha, I love you so damn much, it drives me crazy. Please don’t ever doubt that, sweetheart”

She nods, her nose rubbing against yours and you finally do what you’ve been craving all week. You kiss her, gently at first, and then more passionately, your hands dropping from hers to let her hug you.

You moan against her mouth, Natasha’s tongue slipping inside.

“Fuck, baby, I need you” you moan, going back to being submissive for the redhead.

“What does my pretty girl want? My mouth or my fingers?”

“Just you, anything, please”

Thinking back to the last time she almost had you, her mouth waters and she decides to flip you on your back and travel down your body, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses and pulling down your shorts and underwear.

“All of this for me?” she asks, running her fingers up and down your slit, collecting your juices and sucking on her digit. “I missed your taste, princess”

“Nat, please” you cant your hips up, hoping she takes the hint. You’re too far gone to form a coherent sentence.

Natasha darts her tongue out. She moans at the taste, and snakes her arms around your thighs to keep you in place. Her tongue goes up and down, then deep inside you and you shudder.

You would almost feel embarrassed for lasting so little, but it’s not your fucking fault she was hiding for a week.

When you remember that, your hands go to her hair and you pull her closer. Natasha enjoys the roughness, her movements speeding up and pushing you over the edge.

You come, crying out her name and trembling. As you struggle to catch your breath, Natasha moves up, letting you taste yourself in her mouth.

“Hey, baby”

“Hey” you say, smiling.

“Can I take you out to dinner tonight? I’d like to make it up to you”

“Yes to dinner. And give me a couple more of those orgasms and we’ll call it even”

“That sounds like a deal” she smiles against your lips, eager to make up for the lost time.

[cupidkenji]

If you think I'm pretty

Now playing: if u think i'm pretty - Artemas won't you give that shit a rest? Pairing: Homelander x afab!reader CW: fingering, praise, slightly OOC homie, threats of captivity (he says hes gonna keep reader in the penthouse that's it I promise it's not genuine), cursing, sub!reader, porn without plot (I think this is applicable), they're in a relationship before this, reader says 'John' cause moaning homelander is funny as fuck Summary: Being a perfectionist, you're unsatisfied with a recent test score. Homelander has a cure for that. Disclaimer: reader is always thought to be chubby/fat but there are no physical descriptors here, just an FYI WC: 1,955 Genuinely idk I'd like to apologize for this. I fell out of my Criminal Minds hyperfixation like months ago and haven't written since so I'm really rusty. This is 100% a self-insert but reader is gn and not described other than the fact that they're AFAB. Also this was only proof read once so please point out typos if you see them <3

Your mother used to scold you for being too hard on yourself. Her face is virtually the only thing you can picture as your screen burns your eyes a bit. It’s too early for the high brightness of the device, having woken up before the sun could reintroduce your eyes to light. You’d set yourself up to wake slightly after midnight, intending to check the score of a huge test you’d taken months ago and simply go back to sleep in a matter of minutes. A rather stupid plan, in hindsight. You were questioning now if you knew yourself at all. Your phone had nearly been in your hand when you felt the cold burn of anxiety in your lungs. This test was a huge fucking deal. You were a hardcore perfectionist on top of that, trying with countless futile attempts to surrender your idea of the model score. You just needed to pass, not get your professor to memorialize you in marble for your pure genius. You’d gotten up instead of turning on your phone, brushing your teeth and making your bed before pacing the room slightly while you thought. Essentially, you were just allowing the mantra of ‘cope’ to bound back and forth between your ears for a couple minutes. You weren’t sure if you wanted to cope with the disappointment of a lesser score, or you were telling yourself to come down a couple pegs and be happy with getting by. The repetition of the word soothed that icy-hot feeling that had festered from your lungs to your fingertips, and you checked.

You were fine. Not the score you wanted, but you were fine. 

Mentally you writhed against the slump of your shoulders, but the weight of this self-inflicted shortcoming hit harder than you were capable of defending yourself from. The long sigh you let out was all frost as the tension left your airways. How underwhelming. You laid down on the bed you’d made not ten minutes ago, hearing the window slide open a few seconds into your pity party. You normally left it unlocked for him, knowing if anyone else attempted to enter your home, he wasn’t far. He told you himself that he seemed to have tuned into you specifically; swearing he’d be able to hear you on the other side of the city if you needed him.

“It’s way too early for you to already be having a bad day. The sun’s not even up.” He was closer now, fully sealed into your space and approaching you with comfortable footsteps. You never fully got over the irony of seeing America’s greatest hero flying through your window in sweatpants. “What’s wrong?” You always noticed the subtle way he changed how he spoke around you. In every interview or interaction you’d ever witnessed of his, he’d spoken like a character. For a man who hated having his words scripted, he spoke the same as every cookie-cutter movie he’d starred in. He didn’t talk that way with you, something you hoped was subconscious. A demonstration of the safety he felt around you.

You shrugged in response to the question. You acknowledged the trivial nature of your feelings, knowing you probably reeked of sadness to him but attempting to downplay it anyways. “Bad test score.”

He sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, allowing you the space to remain sprawled out. “Doubtful.” He laughed slightly as he said it, shaking his head and smiling. He looked at you, his eyebrows furrowing minorly. “What’d you get?”

“A four.”

“What were you hoping to get?”

Your voice was barely audible as you spoke, knowing he would pick it up but also trying to spare yourself the rush of immaturity hearing yourself speak would bring. “A five.”

He sighed - a sigh full of endearment that his eyes reflected as he looked at you. You told him once that his eyes were the first thing you’d noticed. It was sunny the day you’d met, and they looked practically ethereal. You’d seen such chaos reflected in them even from day one. The masses called him ‘soulless’ often, but you couldn’t understand such an accusation from anyone who had ever seen him. His eyes were practically overflowing with soul, every time you looked at him it was all you saw. They were capable of incredibly dangerous things but they were so entrancing. He was so fucking enticing. 

You broke the eye contact, but he nudged your leg and moved his head to try and follow your eyes. “Hey-” He called for your attention, so you looked back at him. “You know that’s a good score, right?”

You smiled small at him. “No- I know. I’m just…I don’t know- strict with myself.” You found it hard to put into words. You knew you’d done well, but the ability to feel pride felt withheld from you. Like your eyes bore into it but your mind refused to distribute the feeling it brought to something tangible.

“I think you’re just too much of a fucking perfectionist.” His hand was splayed across your upper thigh from where he sat. No matter which part of you he touched, he had a grip that made your head spin. He was so sure of himself, the strength demonstrated from such an unassuming form never lost the novelty that it’d held when you met him. “Can’t let yourself admit when you did good.”

You tried to be dismissive, but it was hard to fake anything with a man like him. “As if you aren’t, John.” His jaw got the slightest bit tighter at the use of his name. Such a miniscule action that easily dodges the eyes of people who aren’t looking. You couldn’t really imagine not looking at him.

“I’m serious.” His face was still relaxed, but the expression in his eyes had shifted. His pupils dilated and his full attention was on you. “You did good.”

The only con of being with somebody with abilities such as his was the lack of secrecy. You used to laugh with your friends about how grateful you were for the discrete nature of arousal when living without certain body parts. That went out the window when you started seeing him. He knew the second anything shifted within you. He had every perversion you’d ever dreamt about practically categorized by the time your two month anniversary had rolled around. One of his favorite pastimes was casually working a turn-on into conversation and just watching you squirm.

You fought the urge to pull away from his hand, feeling your stomach drop slightly at a declaration like that. “Thank you.” You looked away from him again. Something you knew he didn’t really like but choosing to try and save face over anything else. 

“Yeah…I don’t know.” You could see his focus on the topic increasing by the second. His disposition was happy, but he held serious and almost threatening undertones. He tightened his grip on your thigh and you looked at back to him, hesitantly following the silent command to keep your eyes up. “I think you should say it.”

“John-” His assertiveness was starting to get to you, it always did. You sat up on your forearms to be a little more level with him but he moved his hand from your thigh to your stomach and pushed you back down. The thought of having to lay there and explicitly state that you did well on your test felt like a kid having to write in repetition on a chalkboard in detention. 

He was looking down at you, the eye contact making you slightly dizzy. His face was kind, it almost always was when he was around you, but the conversation was derailing. “I just think it’s important that you understand this.” He was so good at making you want what he thought was best.

You inhaled, swallowing your pride and licking your lips. “What do you want me to say?”

That familiar, condescending smile was starting to creep onto his lips. “Just tell the truth.” His eyebrows raised slightly in a silent prompt. “Say you did good.”

His hand was descending from your stomach, making it’s way to the hemline of your underwear. You hadn’t bothered to change out of what you were sleeping in, only now realizing the vulnerability of it. You held your tongue for a moment, breathing out a quiet “I did good.” 

He tore the only fabric between his hand and you off your body as easily as ripping a sheet of paper and leaned in a little more. “Say it again.”

“John-” You said it as barely an exhale as he skimmed his hand over you. You hadn’t even registered just how sensitive or how wet you’d gotten in the few minutes you were talking to him.

“I don’t know why you act so fucking noble. You should be running Ashleys around in circles or giving interns your coffee order. Not any of this testing bullshit that you’re too good for anyway.” His tone elevated to that mocking, cocky tone that swept into the most shame filled crevices of your mind and tugged the most deprived parts into the driver seat. He thumbed at your clit while he spoke, increasing and decreasing the pressure whenever he felt like it and effectively snatching any remaining ability to form coherent thought from your grabbing hands. “You’ve been chosen by a God, honey. You can do anything, I can give you anything.” He got breathier as he spoke, seemingly soaking up the desperation you were excreting and matching it in a tenfold.

You felt two of his fingers enter you effortlessly and you couldn’t stop yourself from gripping his arm. You always felt the power imbalance most in times like these. A feeling like pulling an angel away from heaven just for yourself, combing through it’s wings with your fingers or trying to lap up a fraction of that status in a wildly inappropriate disregard for the natural roles of nature. He was so much more than you, but he just wanted you to feel good. You swore under your breath as he started circles on your clit. He never got hand cramps, never got tired. He would go until you couldn’t anymore.

“That’s it.” He had barely said it, more just exhaled the assurance under his breath. You were close, you’re sure he could feel it. “Gonna move you to my penthouse. Keep you braindead and needy.”

 It shouldn’t have hit you the way it did. Considering who he was, he could easily fulfill that promise with nobody at Vought even thinking twice. It was the way he said it, the way he acts. Always needing control and always right. The most powerful man alive spent his time fantasizing about control over you, and your stomach twisted in disgust at how badly it got you off.

He slowed his movements as your high declined. He was breathing heavy, but your heart was beating like a drum. He had the smallest smile on his face like the sound gave him a sense of satisfaction. You rose to your forearms, this time with no protest from him, and watched him stand up. He held the back of your head with the hand that wasn’t nearly dripping and kissed the top of your head. It was chaste and quick, but the domesticity of it made your throat ache. He uttered something about getting a towel to clean up, stating he’d be right back before exiting the room. 

You rushed the words out before he could leave. “But you didn’t-”

“Next time.” He just waved you off. “I just thought you deserved a little reward.”

[odysseus-day]

"the other ravens didn't know jean's age!!!"

think of any 16 year old boy you know. does he look like an adult to you? would you call him a whore if you'd found out he'd gotten into five different men's beds in less than a week?

no?

then think of a scrawny, underfed 16 year old boy. his face is bony, but not quite sharp. his nose is crooked, and a part of you thinks that maybe he just hasn't grown into his own face yet, at least until the bruising makes you want to look away before you can think about it any harder. none of his clothes fit him quite right, and you can always hear his joints popping in and out of place. he has the thickest accent you've ever heard, and you still don't quite know what he's saying most of the time, even if he swears it's english and looks close to tears if you insist it's anything but too loudly (he's only been in america for two years and it's hard to grasp much when all you have to develop your language skills from is cruel insults).

he's not as tall as the rest of the court yet — actually, he's far from it. he's not spared enough to build any muscle, even throughout the relentless practices, and he always looks five seconds from passing out by the time the drills even start. he's sweating, panting, and there's a rattling in his chest when he does... has he broken a rib? why is he even here? he's not as big, not nearly as strong, and the other ravens zero in on him until he's a puddle on the floor. he can barely keep his own racquet steady in his hands, and when he props it up to lean on, you realize he isn't much bigger than the damn thing itself. the captain is always dragging him around, sometimes by his wrist, sometimes by his hair. you think it's just messy hazing for a while, and maybe you dare to spare him a pitiful nod and hope for his sake it'll end soon, but months go by and it never does. he's doubled over one day, then running laps the next, and god, why does he always reek of blood? you start to notice his fingers as they change colors, once bony and milky pale, now bruised black and blue and crusted over with scabs. they're misshapen... broken, almost every one. he shouldn't be playing like this, but he tugs his gloves on with his teeth and plays through the pain.

you pass his room on your way to bed, door wide open. he sleeps curled up in a ball, back pressed so hard against the wall, knees into his chest. you can hear his shaky breaths, how his lungs rattle uneasily, even in his sleep. he shakes himself awake from nightmares, gripping the sheets, dry heaving as he forces his own face into the pillow to muffle the sound... but he does not scream. he does not cry. poor kid, you think, because what else could you call him? he's far too beaten down to even think to consider an adult. a puppy kicked one too many times.

the captain calls everyone into a room, arms folded over his chest, face smug as if he'd come up with a solution to the entire world's problems. but there's something strange about the meeting. only backliners. gigantic, sneering, male backliners. he asks for volunteers, a few good samaritans to "fuck some sense into him," and you watch as five greedy hands fight to be the first in the air. riko makes his pick, makes his promise, and for the next week it's all you can hear at night. you wouldn't call it moaning, but... screaming. fighting. teeth and claws and fickle words. "please. please stop. please stop. please—" and then silence. the last night all you hear is defeated silence.

and suddenly it's the child's fault, isn't it? everyone else is saying it, that he slept his way onto the lineup, that he's nothing more than a braindead whore. if everyone's saying it, though, does that make it true?

or is it just easier to stomach?

[perfectlyvalid49]

On being Jewish, and traumatized (It’s been 5 months and I want to talk):

Judaism is a joyous religion. So much of our daily practice is to focus us on the things that are good. I know that there’s a joke that all our holidays can be summed up as “they tried to kill us. We survived – let’s eat!”, and you might think that holidays focused on attempts at killing us might be somber, but they’re really not. Most are celebrated in the sense of, “we’re still here, let’s have a party!” When I think about practicing Judaism, the things I think about make me happy.

But I think a lot of non-Jews don’t necessarily see Judaism the same way. I think in part it’s because we do like to kvetch, but I think a lot of it is because from the outside it’s harder to see the joy, and very easy to see the long history of suffering that has been enacted on the Jewish people. From the inside, it’s very much, “we’re still here, let’s party” and from the outside it’s, “how many times have they tried to kill you? Why are you celebrating? They tried to KILL YOU!”

And I want to start with that because a lot of the rest of this is going to be negative. And I don’t want people to read it and wonder why I still want to be Jewish. I want to be Jewish because it makes me happy. My problem isn’t with being Jewish, it’s with how Jews are treated.

What I really wanted to write about is being Jewish and the trauma that’s involved with that right now.

First, I want to talk about Israeli Jews. I can’t say much here because I’m not Israeli, nor do I have any close friends or family that are Israeli. But if I’m going to be talking about the trauma Jews are experiencing right now, I can’t not mention the fact that Israeli Jews (and Israelis that aren’t Jewish as well, but that’s not my focus here) are dealing with massive amounts of it right now. It’s a tiny country – virtually everyone has a friend or family member that was killed or kidnapped, or knows someone who does. Thousands of rockets have been fired at Israel in the last few months – think about the fact that the Iron Dome exists and why it needs to. Terror attacks are ongoing; I feel like there’s been at least one every week since October. Thousands of people are displaced from their homes, either because of the rocket fire, or because their homes and communities were physically destroyed in the largest pogrom in recent history – the deadliest single day for Jews since the Holocaust ended. If that’s not trauma inducing, I don’t know what is.

And there is, of course, the generational trauma. And I think Jewish generational trauma is interesting because it’s so layered. Because it’s not just the result of one trauma passed down through the generations. Every 50-100 years, antisemitism intensifies, and so very frequently the people experiencing a traumatic event were already suffering from the generational trauma that their grandparents or great grandparents lived through. And those elders were holding the generational trauma from the time before that. And so on.

And because it happens so regularly, there’s always someone in the community that remembers the last time. We are never allowed the luxury of imagining that we are safe. We know what happened before, and we know that it happened again and again and again. And so we know that it only makes sense to assume it will happen in the future. The trauma response is valid. I live in America because my great grandparents lived in Russia and they knew when it was time to get the hell out in the 1900s. And the reason they knew that is because their grandparents remembered the results of the blood libels in the 1850s. How can we heal when the scar tissue keeps us safe?

I look around now and wonder if we’ll need to run. We have a plan. I repeat, my family has a plan for what to do if we need to flee the country due to religious persecution. How can that possibly be normal? And yet, all the Jewish families I know have similar plans. It is normal if you’re Jewish. Every once in a while I see someone who isn’t Jewish talk about making plans to leave because they��re LGBTQ or some other minority and the question always seems to be, “should I make a plan?” It astounds me every time. The Jewish answer is that you need to have a plan and the only question is, “when should I act?” Sometimes our Jewish friends discuss it at play dates. Where will you go? What are the triggers to leave? No one wants to go any earlier then they have to. Everyone knows what the price of holding off too long might be.

I want to keep my children safe. When do I induct them into the club? When do I let my sweet, innocent kids know that some people will hate them for being Jewish? When do I teach them the skills my parents and grandparents taught me? How to pass as white, how to pass as Christian, knowing when to keep your mouth shut about what you believe. When do I tell them about the Holocaust and teach them the game “would this person hide me?” How hard do I have to work to remind them that while you want to believe that a person would hide you, statistically, most people you know would not have? Who is this more traumatic for? Them, to learn that there is hatred in the world and it is directed at them, or me, to have to drive some of the innocence out of my own children’s eyes in order to make sure they are prepared to meet the reality of the world?

And the reality of the world is that it is FULL of antisemitism. There’s a lot of…I guess I’d call it mild antisemitism that’s always present that you just kinda learn to ignore. It’s the sort of stuff that non-Jews might not even recognize as antisemitic until you explain it to them, just little micro-aggressions that you do your best to ignore because you know that the people doing it don’t necessarily mean it, it’s just the culture we live in. It can still hurt though. I like to compare it to a bruise: you can mostly ignore it, but every once in a while something (more blatant antisemitism) will put a bit to much pressure on it and you remember that you were already hurting this whole time.

On top of the background antisemitism, there’s more intense stuff. And usually the most intense, mask off antisemitism comes from the right. This makes sense, in that a lot of right politics are essentially about hating the “other” and what are Jews if not Western civilizations oldest type of “other”? On the one hand, I’ve always been fortunate enough to live in relatively liberal areas so this sort of antisemitism has felt far away and impersonal – they hate everybody, and I’m just part of everybody. On the other hand, until recently I’ve always considered this the most dangerous source of antisemitism. This is the antisemitism that leads to hate crimes, that leads to synagogue shootings. This is the reason why my synagogue is built so that there is a long driveway before you can even see the building, and that driveway is filled with police on the high holidays. This is the reason why my husband and I were scared to hang a mezuzah in our first apartment (and second, and third). For a long time, this was the antisemitism that made me afraid.

But the left has a problem with antisemitism too. And it has always been there. Where the right hates the “other”, the left hates the “privileged/elite/oppressors.” It’s the exact same thing, just dressed up with different words. They all mean “other” and “other” means “Jew.” It hurts more coming from the left though. A lot of Jewish philosophy leans left. A lot of Jews lean left. So when the left decides to hate us, it isn’t a random stranger, it’s a friend, and it feels like a betrayal.

One of the people I follow works for Yad Vashem, and a few weeks ago she mentioned a video they have with testimonies from people who came to Israel after Kristallnacht, with an unofficial title of “The blow came from within.” The idea is that to non-German Jews, the Holocaust was something done by strangers. It was still terrible, but it is easier to bear the hate of a stranger – it’s not personal. But to German Jews, the Holocaust was a betrayal. It wasn’t done by strangers, it was done by coworkers, and neighbors and people they thought were friends. It was done by people who knew them, and still looked at them and said, “less than human.” And because of this sense of betrayal, German survivors, or Germans who managed to get out before they got rounded up, had a very different experience than other Holocaust victims.

And I feel like a lot of left leaning Jews are having a similar experience now. People that we’ve marched with or organized with, or even just mutuals that we’ve thought of as friends are now going on about how Jews are evil. They repeat antisemitic talking points from the Nazis and from the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and when we point out that those ideas have only led to Jewish death in the past they don’t care. And if someone you thought of as a friend thinks of you this way, what do you think a stranger might think? Might do?

The Jews are fucking terrified. I’ve seen a post going around that basically wonders if this was what it was like for our ancestors – when things got bad enough to see what was coming but before it was too late to run? And we can see what’s coming. History tells us that they way people are talking and acting only leads to one place. I’m a millennial – when I was a kid the grandparents at my synagogue made sure the kids knew – this is what it looked like before, this is what you need to watch out for, this is when you need to run. I wonder where to run to. It feels like nowhere is safe.

I feel like I’ve been lucky in all this. I don’t live in Israel. I have family and acquaintances who do, but no one I’m particularly close to. Everyone I know in real life has either been sane or at least silent about all of this (the internet has been significantly worse, but when it comes to hate, the internet is always worse). I live in a relatively liberal area – there’s always been antisemitism around anyway, but it’s mostly just been swastikas on flyers, or people advocating for BDS, not anything that’s made me actually worry for my safety. But in the last 5 months there have been bomb threats at my synagogue, and just last week a kid got beat up for being Jewish at our local high school. He doesn’t want to report it. He’s worried it will make it worse.

I bought a Magen David to wear in November. At the time it seemed like the best way to fight antisemitism was to be visibly Jewish, to show that we’re just normal people like everyone else. Plus, I figured that if me being Jewish was going to be a problem for someone, then I would make it a problem right away and not waste time. I’ve worn it almost constantly since, but the one time I took it off was when I burnt my finger in December and had to go to urgent care. I didn’t think about it too much when I did it, but I thought about it for a long time after – I didn’t feel good about having made that choice.

The conclusion I came to is that the training that my elders had been so careful to instill in me kicked in. I was hurt, and scared, and the voice inside my head that sounds like my grandmother said, “don’t give them a reason to be bad to you. Fight when you’re well, but for now – survive.” It still felt cowardly, but it was also a connection to my ancestors who heeded the same voice well enough to survive. And it enrages me that that voice has been necessary in the past. And it enrages me that things are bad enough now that my instinct is that I need to hide who I am to receive appropriate medical care.

I wish I had some sort of final thought to tie this all together other than, “this sucks and I hate it,” but I really don’t. I could call for people to examine their antisemitic biases, but I’m not foolish enough to think that this will reach the people who need to do so. I could wish for a future where everything I’ve talked about here exists only in history books, and the Jewish experience is no longer tied to feeling this pain, but that’s basically wishing for the moshiach, and I’m not going to hold my breath.

I guess I’ll end it with the thought that through all of this hate and pain and fear, we’re still here. And we’re still joyful as well. As much as so many people have tried over literally THOUSANDS of years to eradicate us, I’m still here, I’m still Jewish, and being Jewish still makes me happy.

Am Yisrael Chai.

[f1fnatic]

WELCOME TO MIAMI ⤿ l. sargeant 22

→ ( in which. . . ) you are alex's little (half) sister. after inviting you as a guest to the miami grand prix, his teammate falls head over heels. part 1 of ?

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) smau

→ ( face claim. . . ) momona tamada + pictures from pinterest/instagram

→ ( pairing. . . ) logan sargeant x fem!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) cursing, fluff, alex trying as a wingman

→ ( author's note. . . ) back again and with another smau! this is my play on he fell first/she fell harder. also, this is to set the plot, part 2 will explore the relationship! i hope you enjoy! see end for more

→ ( masterlist )

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

williamsracing

liked by alex_albon, logansargeant, y/nalbonnn, oscarpiastri and 25,907 others

williamsracing hey siri, play welcome to miami by will smith 🎵😎🍹

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─ MESSAGES ↴ (y/n + alex)

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

y/nalbonnn has added to their story!

view replies

alex_albon see you soon 🙈🙈

y/nalbonnn i cant believe you 🙄

alex_albon you're welcomeeee

lilymhe cant wait to see u !!

y/nalbonnn so excited <3 !!

user5 👀

yourbff i am in your luggage 🫢

─ MESSAGES ↴ (y/n + alex)

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

y/nalbonnn has added to their story!

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alex_albon hehehe 😈

lilymhe surprise!!!! 🎊

y/nalbonnn you guys are so sneaky 🙁

logansargeant cant wait to meet you! y/nalbonnn reacted 💞 to this message

yourbff cant say im surprised

y/nalbonnn me either 🙄

y/nalbonnn

liked by alex_albon, landonorris, lilymhe, yourbff, and 48,923 others

y/nalbonnn need a better tour guide :/

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alex_albon hey 🙁

y/nalbonnn i said what i said.

yourbff stunning!

y/nalbonnn all you babes!

landonorris slowly converting you to mclaren

alex_albon no she already spends enough time over there

user6 shes so pretty

user19 where did you get that shirt?

y/nalbonnn i thrifted it :) !

user65 hope you're having fun!

lilymhe you can run me over and i wouldn't be mad 🤷🏻‍♀️

y/nalbonnn GIRL RUN ME OVER

yourfriend1 pretty girl! liked by y/nalbonnn

georgerussell63 great seeing you again y/n! liked by y/nalbonnn

lilymhe you busy later ???

y/nalbonnn not anymore

alex_albon what the hell 📸😓

logansargeant i can show you around

y/nalbonnn that be nice

user51 mr america shooting his shot ???

user87 i think he took some lessons from mr lando norizz

landonorris i am way better at flirting than that

─ MESSAGES ↴ (alex + logan) (y/n + logan, alex)

idk what is happening but another fic done! this one was super fun to make, i had a great time :D anyways, if you would like to be on the taglist, comment!!! requests and feedback are welcome! make sure to leave a comment and kudos as well (only if you want :P)

[arcadia-smith]

Note: Fluff. Because I feel like I've been doing this boy dirty.

Bucky watches you from across the bar, swirling the whiskey in his glass as Sam chatters beside him. He barely hears a word. His focus is on you—laughing, leaning close to some guy who’s all charm and easy smiles.

His jaw tightens. He’s got no right to be jealous, but that doesn’t stop it from curling hot in his chest.

“She doesn’t love me,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone. “She’s not that stupid.”

Sam stops mid-sip of his beer and raises an eyebrow. “Right. And I’m Captain America because I love spandex.”

Bucky shoots him a glare. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Sam sighs. “Man, you ever consider that maybe you’re the stupid one?”

Bucky scoffs. “She deserves better.”

“Let her decide that.”

He wants to believe it could be that simple. But what kind of future can he offer you? A man built for war, dragging a past of blood and regret? You were light—sunshine in human form. And Bucky? Bucky was still learning how to live in it.

But then you glance over, catching his eye across the room. And the way your smile softens, the way your gaze lingers—hell, it makes something dangerous flare in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, he’s the stupid one after all.

Bucky’s heart beats a little harder, tt’s only a moment, but it’s enough for him to feel a shift in the air. He can’t help the pang in his chest—something raw and hopeful, despite his best efforts to push it down.

He doesn’t think you’d ever look at him like that. You’re smart, funny, warm—the kind of woman who deserves someone who’s not broken. Someone who could give you everything. He can’t do that, and even if he could, there’s always the nagging thought in the back of his mind: She doesn’t love me.

But still...

Sam watches Bucky’s face soften when you laugh, the sound of it carrying across the room, and he clears his throat. “Yeah, I don’t think she’d be looking at you like that if she didn’t care.”

Bucky flicks his gaze to his friend, irritation flaring. “She doesn’t.”

Sam grins, unimpressed. “Yeah, that’s why she makes every excuse to spend time with you. Why she’s always the first to check in on you when you’ve had a rough day, right? Real smooth, Bucky.”

Bucky doesn’t have an answer to that. He can’t refute it. You do check in on him more than anyone else. You’ve been there when he couldn’t sleep, when his nightmares got too loud. You never once backed away, even when he tried to shut you out.

But that doesn’t mean you love him.

It just means you’re kind.

A movement catches his eye, and he sees you standing up, the guy still holding your attention. But something’s different. You look… frustrated. Not with him, but with the situation. A second later, you excuse yourself from the conversation.

And just like that, he’s on his feet, against his better judgment. Sam’s chuckle is muted by the buzz of the bar around them, and Bucky makes his way toward you.

You’re standing by the bar, drink in hand, face soft with the kind of smile that could knock the breath out of him. “Hey,” you greet, almost shyly.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice is gruff, though it’s not intentional. His brain’s already scrambled, trying to come up with something to say that won’t make him sound like a fool.

“Want to talk?” You gesture toward a quieter corner, your voice gentle but firm.

“Uh... yeah. Sure.”

You lead the way, and Bucky follows, taking a slow breath as you both settle into a secluded booth. The music is still loud, but here, the noise feels muffled, like the world has slowed down for just the two of you.

You take a sip of your drink and then look at him. “You’re tense.”

Bucky laughs bitterly. “It’s nothing. Just…” He rubs a hand over his face, then focuses on your eyes. “I don’t know. The usual.”

“The usual?” You tilt your head, eyes narrowing with concern. “You’ve been a little off for the past couple of weeks. Something’s bothering you.”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. “I’m just… I’m fine, okay?” He almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

But you aren’t having it. “Bucky,” you say softly. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

It stirs something deep in his chest, a tenderness he’s not sure how to process. He doesn’t want to open up. Not when it’s so damn easy to say nothing and keep it all locked up. But looking at you, he can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

“Why do you even bother with me?” His voice cracks slightly, and he hates it, but he doesn’t care. “I’m not the guy you need. You’ve got better options. People who are better for you than someone like me.”

You blink at him, clearly thrown off. “Bucky…”

“I’m serious. I’m broken. I don’t—” He stops himself, the words hanging in the air like a confession he doesn’t want to make.

But you reach out, placing a hand over his, grounding him with the warmth of your touch. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be anything other than who you are.”

Bucky looks at you, his breath catching in his throat. “You don’t get it. You deserve someone whole.”

You hold his gaze, unblinking. “You’re more than whole, Bucky. You’ve been through things no one should ever have to go through, and you’re still here. That makes you stronger than anyone I know.”

A silence settles between you, thick and laden with something unspoken. He’s about to say something—he doesn’t know what yet—when you squeeze his hand gently.

“I don’t know why you think I don’t love you,” you say softly, the words a whisper but clear enough to make his heart stop in his chest.

Bucky freezes, his mind scrambling for a logical response. His voice barely escapes his throat. “You… you love me?”

You smile at him, a soft, knowing smile that melts the edges of his doubt. “I’ve always loved you, Bucky.”

It’s like the room blurs for a moment, the realization crashing down on him like a wave he didn’t see coming. You love him. You actually love him.

And maybe, just maybe, for once, he wasn’t as stupid as he thought.

Without another word, he pulls you into his arms, the weight of everything lifting just enough for him to breathe, to finally believe in the words you just said.

“I’m an idiot,” he mutters into your hair.

You laugh softly. “Yeah, but you’re my idiot.”

Bucky grins, his heart full for the first time in years. “And I’m never letting you go.”

He doesn’t care if it’s foolish. He doesn’t care about anything except the fact that, for once, he’s the one who’s finally loved.

[apocketfullofdnd]

The character was based off of -like any good character is based off of- several friends, some of whom are not with us anymore, and several experiences as a teenager, and places and people I've gotten to be and things that profoundly had effects on me.

I've been listening to Molly's playlist, which I'm sure I have to put out now, which is waay harder to listen to because - there's a lot in there. But like there's a song off the soundtrack of Wristcutters because that was, that movie had a lot of that good carnie family vibe and how carnie families work and sort of how these weird, bitchy people take care of each other and there was- for many years, there was an archetype in film, in storytelling that was very much this kind of character and I haven't seen this character in anything in a long time. And I've barely- I've read a couple things that people have written where they've kind of gotten this notion of:

'You're supposed to live your life and there's a way of both not giving a fuck about what people think, but giving a fuck about people.'

And he was never a character who needed to be fixed and he was never a character who needed permission for anything and its- I mean, you go in with a character like Iron Man where you're, like, waiting to watch them become a good person or you go with a character like Captain America where its 'I want to see this good person's effect on the world' and he was never- there was never going to be a profound change in Molly. His whole notion was just his perspective and how it affected everything around him. It was- he never had any unfinished business.

His only unfinished business was just barreling through every person he ever met and making them deal with him. Yeah, make people deal with you, but make sure dealing with you is always a positive and kind experience. Yeah.

-Taliesin on the beauty of Molly and what he hopes people take from him