#of those people who will not be helped by anyone no matter what you do

[sunni-stuff]

P2 P3

Reader who gets pregnant off of a one night stand with some soldier during armed forces day, showing your appreciation for his service a little too well.

You had a support system, friends who joked about you having way too much fun, hence your predicament, others already offering to buy things for the baby and your parents who couldn't be happier to meet their grandchild.

But what about the father?

Well, it's not exactly like you could track him down. Fuck, you didn't even know the man's name, only how he made you feel, his filthy words strumming in your ear, big hands tight around your waist, hips slamming away in a desperate chase.

Let's forget how you leg-locked him.

When your daughter was born, everything changed, and time slowed down. She was a quiet baby, barely crying or having any outbursts like a normal child would but outspoken in her own little way. That chunky thing came out of the womb with a glare. Brown eyes staring down anyone and everyone but you.

That's something she definitely got from her father. You vividly remember how his umber eyes watching you from across the bar. He was like an eagle waiting for the perfect moment to strike his prey. A perfect soldier.

So, you named your daughter Adira in memory of his strength. That's one thing he could have.

Adira loved to be by your side. Her chubby cheeks pressed into the nook of your neck, holding you close with strength of a thousand babies. Your clingy little thing was a koala, always by her mommy's side, never straying far no matter how curious she got. When she learned to walk, her favorite thing became to hug your leg, especially while in stores. She hated people, wearing a tiny scowl whenever customers passed by tucking herself closer to you.

Maybe it was a good thing her father wasn't around. Having to compete for her first words would've been a bloodbath.

You spent two years in bliss. The fact that you were a single mother an afterthought to raising what you considered a blessing.

With Adira's second Christmas coming up, you wanted to do something special. She loved trains and found them absolutely amusing, often mimicking the honk as she ran around your apartment. Thankfully, there was a train ride for kids around the park during this time of year.

Here, you stood in line, bundled up to the nines. Big poofy coat, warm gloves, and fuzzy boots. As the crowd moved, Adira clung close, arms wrapped around your leg, glowering at any passerby with an annoyed look on her rosy cheeks.

That one was new. Maybe something else she got from her father.

The two of you took steps in tow, keeping Adira close and comfortable as the train came into view. Her expression shifted, excitement palpable. "Twain!" She squealed, jumping up and down.

Before you could respond to Adira's childlike joy, a man bumped into you by accident, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He turns to look at you, blue eyes meeting yours, but you were too focused on the weird ass Mohawk on his head.

People wore still those?

"Sorry bout that lass." The man starts to apologize, a Scottish accent lacing his voice.

That breaks your stare, laughing awkwardly to mask your wandering gaze. "Oh no, it's fine. You should be careful. you might slip on ice."

He nods, giving you a kind smile. The Scottish man starts to leave, but the look your kid was giving him sent shivers down his spine.

Little Adira was giving him a fierce stare down from behind your leg before ultimately cutting her eyes at him as if he were merely a nuisance.

"Next in line! Mctavish!"

The man doesn't stay after that. You assume that it was him they were calling with the way he hurried off. Hope he doesn't fall, seemed like a nice guy.

Soap can't help but do a double take when be gets to the front. The little rascal was wearing his Lieutenants face, hawk eyeing anyone who dared got to close. It was like looking in a mirror.

He nudged Gaz, making a gesture to look back without making it obvious. "See the lass and her bairn in line?"

Gaz gives him a raised brow, looking back for a second before turning around. "There's a lot of kids with their mother's, Johnny."

Soap glances back, double checking to make sure you were still in line. “The lass with the wee one—she’s got the same wicked look as Lt. You cannae miss her.”

Gaz rolls his eyes but humors Soap by looking once more, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on a little girl already mean-mugging him from a distance. He swiftly turns around, blinking in surprise, trying to comprehend what he saw. "Uh..."

Soap only nods in agreement. That was Ghost's face, on a kid no less. He wastes no time, elbowing Roach and getting him to look back as well, leaving the other Sergeant in the same shock as Gaz. "That is not a face a kid should have."

"Agreed." Gaz added, shuddering at the thought.

"Where's the cap?" Soap asks, the train ride no longer feeling like fun now that he’s discovered the jackpot.

"Market place with Lt. for cigs," Gaz knowingly remarked, remembering that Price had run out on their way here.

"Well, let's go show them a Christmas miracle," Soap shot up from his seat all too eagerly.

The sergeants just got their Christmas present.

[buckyalpine]

His Winter Flower

Modern Beauty and the Beast AU Winter soldier x f reader

Long awaited, I hope you all enjoy it as well.

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: 18 + Angst, injuries, Fluff, All the sweet smut, Bucky is a sweetheart

"оставаться внизу" [Stay down] The soldier ordered, holding his gun to the targets forehead, his metal finger twitching against the trigger while the man cowered in front of him.

"Please" The man tried to plead but it was no use. He knew his fate was sealed the second he heard the thud of the boots entering his home. The whirring of metal. The ghost people spoke of but never saw until it was too late.

"тишина" [Silence] The soldiers rough voice growled behind the mask that covered his face. He pressed the barrel further into the man's head, freezing when he heard the soft patter of footsteps nearing the office he had broken into.

"Papa?" A soft voice called, the scent of roses and vanilla accompanying it, "Papa, where are y-

You gasped as you entered your father's study, your heart dropping to your stomach seeing him kneeling on the floor with his hands tied while the soldier towered above him.

So the rumors were true.

The silver of his arm was illuminated in the moonlight, the rest of him covered in Kevlar and black leather. Weapons were strapped to every bit of his body but the only one that worried you now was the one that was about to take your father's life.

"Don't hurt him!" It was a futile attempt to save your father, you knew this enough. The Winter Soldier didn't spare anyone, in fact for the longest time you wondered if he was nothing more than an urban legend. No one had actually seen him. Those that did didn't live to speak the tale. The soldier grunted in response, hardly sparing you a glance as he stared at the man before him.

A professor. A brilliant man. One who was quietly working with a group of researchers aiming to destroy the the longtime work of Arnim Zola from so many years ago. No more serums. No more soldiers.

Hydra wouldn't have that.

Not when those very serums created their best asset, the Winter Soldier himself.

"Он моя миссия" [He is my mission] Was the only response you were given. You didn't understand the words he said but it didn't matter; it was quite clear. He didn't intend on sparing the professor.

"Darling, please go, it's okay" Your father shook his head, ready to accept the consequences of his choices. He hoped to aid in the movement of making the world safer and if this was his end, he was prepared to meet it. Tears welled in his eyes with a sad smile on his face, "It'll be alright, go, hurry-

"No, please!" You pleaded with the soldier once again, all you could see were his blue eyes, void of emotion, cold and icy. "If-if you kill him, someone will take his place and then another. My father will no longer help with the government if you spare him and take me. Please just take me instead, it will put an end to all this. Please"

If you kill him, someone will take his place

The words rang through the soldiers mind.

It shouldn't be a problem. He'd killed plenty of people before but...

Then it would be another mission to carry.

And then another.

Another.

The innocent man trapped in his brain screamed to stop. A voice long forgotten, begging him to reconsider. To fight against the words that were causing him to do this. The solider flinched, fighting within himself, contemplating his next actions. The mission was to ensure Arnim Zola's work wouldn't be eradicated. The girl was offering herself to ensure the same work wouldn't continue. He wouldn't have more blood on his hands if he allowed the professor to live.

He shouldn't have cared but a part of him did.

He didn't want to kill another innocent man.

He never wanted to kill anyone.

Your father let out a sigh of relief feeling the weight of the gun pull away, only to have his greatest fear come alive; losing you.

"NO, darling you don't know what you're doing, I'll be fine-

It was too late. The soldier cut through the ropes that bound your father's wrists, taking you instead. Before your father could reach for you, the soldier grabbed and hauled you over his shoulder and strode away, ignoring the plea of the professor to spare his only daughter.

His mind was made up.

She was not his mission but now he had a new one.

If he killed the man, another would take his place.

He was risking repercussions listening to the trapped soul only his mind could hear.

He shouldn't have listened to her words.

He shouldn't have let the professor go.

Yet he agreed.

The gait of the soldier lulled you into a dreamless sleep; exhaustion consumed you as he wandered through a thicket of trees and into the woods far from home. You hadn't spoken a word nor let out a cry as he carried you off, after all, you agreed to be his prisoner as long as you father lived.

-

He brought you to a place he knew no one would find.

A place no one else knew of.

A place that was now his own.

He was once sent to take the life of a wealthy aristocrat, a man who had no one to leave his estate to. The place was deep in a forest, away from most of humanity; even when Hydra had sent him to finish the man, they were unable to give him a location. The soldier had located the target himself only to find the man had already passed from old age.

No questions were asked.

The mission was considered complete.

The body was disposed of and for quite some time, the soldier thought nothing of the castle like place that no one else knew of. It was a secret only he knew and he soon found himself seeking its solitude. A resting place between missions. A place to patch up. A place to hide when his mind was too loud, trying to escape from clutches he didn't understand.

It was the closest place he had to freedom.

The soldier pushed through the heavy wooden doors, entering the dark oak foyer. He stilled, torn between taking you down to the cellar or taking you to the rooms up in the master wing.

How could he chain something so soft.

How could he imprison something so delicate.

His feet began to move towards the large staircase before his mind could process anything, shifting to carry you in his arms as he made his way up to the west wing. He set you down gently onto the large bed with the soft sheets, careful not to stir you. He stared at your sleeping form, unmoving from his place as you softly snored, the choices of his actions beginning to plague his mind.

What was he to do with you now. Why hadn't he gotten rid of you.

He knew the rules; once his job was done, he was to return to the base but he hadn't completed the mission. He had been away for weeks and the longer he was away, the louder the screaming was. The voice of a young sergeant who fought bravely in the war. The pleading young man, scared like a child, trapped in the body of a killing machine. The cries of a little boy trying so hard to runaway from monsters that haunted him every single night. All trapped and begging to escape.

He'd let the professor live.

It was wrong of him.

He disobeyed his orders.

Or perhaps it was the right thing to do.

Though the soldier had been brainwashed, there were times he found himself caught in-between a state of control and chaos. His duties were to Hydra. He knew this was wrong. You shouldn't be here. His task was to continue their vision. He was their asset. He belonged to them.

His tourmiol continued. Why did he spare the professor. Why did he bring the girl and set her down on the softest bed out of all the rooms when he should have chained her in a cell. Exhaustion began to weigh on him but he didn't close his eyes. He didn't allow sleep to consume him. The soldier remained in place even as the sun rose. He watched as you stirred, soft sunlight streaming through the curtains, falling onto your face.

-

You blinked, rubbing sleep from your eyes, a fearful gasp escaping your lips when you saw him sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. A thousand thoughts began to run through your mind at once as you sat up, a part of you surprised to find your hands and legs free from binds. You were atop a plush mattress on a large bed, the room itself surprisingly warm and quaint. Had you not been in a state of terror, you would have taken some time to appreciate the olive green walls and fine paintings that decorated the space as well as the well kept antique furniture.

"Please don't hurt me" You whispered, still disoriented from the night before.

"я не буду" [I won't] He replied, aware you didn't understand him. His lips twitched, all the words of English he wanted to speak dying in his mouth. His mind wouldn't allow it.

It wasn't required for this mission.

You stayed frozen in place while he said nothing else, walking off and closing the door behind him. Tears welled in your eyes as dread began to set in. This was your life now. He could kill you at any moment without warning. In fact, you didn't understand why he hadn't. From the rumours, you knew the soldier never took prisoners. You didn't know why you were spared; the only sliver of joy you had was that your father was alive. You thought about your him as you gathered yourself out of bed, deciding to make the best of your circumstances with the faintest hope that one day you'd be reunited with him again.

You inspected the room the soldier had put you in. There was a vanity across the bed. A walk in closet that only contained a few old sheets. You gasped as you entered the en suite bathroom, white marble tiles covering the floor, a large clawfoot tub, brass and gold accents decorated the handles of the cupboards.

The room was enchanting.

After splashing some water onto your face, you crept into the hallway, padding down to the staircase, surprised again at the beauty of the place. High ceilings. Dark wood. Crystal albeit dusty chandeliers. French doors. Original paintings. It was the type of place you'd imagine when you read fairytales. It would have been the type of place you'd dream to live in; one you'd only imagine in your wildest fantasies where the princess finds her prince. Such stories were only found in books.

You quietly explored the main floor of the mansion and avoiding the rooms which were locked shut. You didn't dare touch a thing, quickly retreating back to your room once you'd seen everything, familiarizing yourself with it's layout. The kitchen. A study. A living room. The hauntinly beautiful hallways. A door to the grounds in the back. You hadn't seen the soldier which both relieved and scared you.

Where did he disappear to?

That night, there was a knock at your door and when you opened it, a plate of warm food was left on a tray. Boiled carrots. Potatoes. A dinner roll. You hadn't even heard his footsteps down the hall. As you peered out of your room, it was empty without the slightest hint that anyone had been there seconds ago.

Where had he gone?

You hadn't realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite, scarfing down the rest in haste, placing the tray back in the hall. The next day was the same. You woke up to find a simple spread of breakfast outside of your room; toast and jam.

The soldier was a man of his word; if you were to be his captive, he had to keep you alive.

At least until he knew what to do with you...

Days had passed and you'd managed to avoid him, keeping to yourself and staying out of his way but you weren't able to avoid him forever.

-

The soldier had already heard you coming, pausing his cleaning as he waited for you to enter. The sight of your trembling form evoked something inside him.

You were scared. He didn't like it.

His mask remained on his face while his blue eyes peered at you, waiting for you to speak.

"I-I need clothes" Your voice was hardly a whisper, body shaking as you approached him, finding him in the study room, parts of his gun in hand. There was nothing wrong with the simple cotton dress you had on though it certainly wasn't comfortable to sleep in every night and you weren't able to wash and it dry within the same day. You needed at least one other set of something to wear. "Please"

He nodded without a word, resuming his cleaning while you retreated to your room. His brows furrowed as he thought about what you'd need. Perhaps it would be easier to return you and finish off the professor or get rid of you both-

No.

No.

He didn't want more blood on his hands.

The foods he stole were already a risk....where would he go for clothes?

-

The next morning, you found a fresh set of clothes left beside your tray of breakfast. You lifted the pile and brought it to your room, munching on the toast that had come with honey instead of jam for a change.

There was a red Henley and some sweatpants. A black t shirt and joggers. A few other basics for you to wear comfortably around the house. You couldn't help but giggle at the very large leather jacket he'd also left in case you felt cold even though there were already plenty of warm blankets. They were very clearly his own clothes but they were all washed and perfectly clean. You couldn't expect him to go shopping for you.

You threw off your dress, taking a long bath before drying off and slipping on the Henley and sweats. They were warm and soft, fitting loosely on your smaller frame, his soft scent of something distinctly him clinging onto the material. It was strange that it didn't bother you. Quite the opposite. It was pleasant, almost comforting.

You wondered about the man behind the mask and who he was. Such a dangerous man who was giving you the clothes off his back, feeding you and keeping you alive even though he'd killed hundreds of others. He was dangerous and yet he looked at you with such softness, you couldn't understand how he'd be capable of hurting anyone.

What was his story?

He hadn't chained you to the bed.

He hadn't locked you in your room.

You were free to go about where you liked.

Surely he wasn't all evil?

As you grew more accustomed to your living arrangement, you decided to inspect more of the kitchen. You hadn't been told you couldn't cook; even if the soldier didn't kill you, boredom eventually would. You needed something to pass the time and he had disappeared yet again.

You opened the fridge and pantries surprised to find a few fruits and vegetables stocked up. An untouched sack of flour and bag of sugar sat at the bottom of the shelves. Who knew the winter soldier enjoyed plums so much? There were a few pots and pans as well as basic kitchen utensils. You didn't need much to make a simple meal, careful not to make a mess as you began to peel some carrots.

-

The soldier blinked as he entered the house, the smell of food wafting throughout, a smell he hadn't come across in a long time.

Home.

There was a pot of stew left on the stove along with a pie left to cool on the counter. His eyes widened at the way his stomach grumbled; it had been years since he'd truly felt hunger. He ate for sustenance. Raw, uncooked, at most boiled food to keep him going. When he was with Hydra, he was fed with a tube.

Just basic nutrients to keep him alive.

He hadn't had a home cooked meal in years.

-

You woke up the next morning to find a pastry at your door instead of toast. When you wandered into the kitchen, you smiled at the tiny crumbs left pie tin and the now empty pot of stew. There were also newly stocked ingredients waiting for you; berries, potatoes, somehow even a whole chicken. You got to work, deciding to try something new each time; each night a warm meal awaited the soldier along with something sweet at the end.

He continued to bring you breakfast but there were only so many different pastries and cakes he could nick, besides they didn't compare to yours.

It wasn't enough. The soldier frowned at the strange feelings he had within himself.

He wanted to do something for you.

He wasn't sure what. He smuggled a handful of cookies you'd baked that morning into his room before removing his mask and savoring each once. He didn't leave a crumb behind, licking the remnants of chocolate off his lips while his mind wandered. You didn't have to cook for him. In fact you had every right to try and escape from him but you never did. He recalled the number of bookshelves that lined your home, after all he'd taken note of every detail as part of his mission.

You liked to read.

-

You sat up when you heard a knock at your door, the soldier waiting on the other side. He looked at you with a softness you hadn't seen previously, turning around and walking down the hall, hoping you'd follow him.

You stayed a few feet behind, trailing after him as he led you to the living room, leading you to the large bookshelf. He wordlessly stood by it, the strange sensation of nervousness and anxiety bubbling within him when you looked at what he wanted to show you.

Would you like it? You looked so unsure, scared. Perhaps you wanted to be free, you wanted to leave, you-

"M-May I?"

He blinked hearing your voice, nodding, watching your eyes light up as you scanned the various book titles. Gasps of joy and little squeals of delight escaped your lips as you came across stories you adored.

That wasn't the only thing that made his heart beat faster. Seeing you in his clothes stirred something in him. You were dressed in his red Henley, the hem reaching mid thigh. He was pulled away from admiring you as you squeaked, seeing one of your favorite books from when you were a little girl, a first edition no less.

"How did you get all these" You were in absolute awe, lost in your own world while he pondered how he came to own such treasures. Perhaps he was always a soldier gone rogue. His missions came with a side of thievery when he'd see something that would catch his eye. Something that would spark a memory of sorts, such as an old book he'd seen as he passed an vintage bookstore. Soon, the shelves of the mansion were filled with books and trinkets he'd collected. A part of his brain would nearly break itself to try and connect to the things he'd collect, only for the memories to fail to fall into place.

His mind felt like a pile of shreds from different cloths; pieces that would never fit together again. His little treasures were the closest he'd ever get to remembering, a few sparks from the past that would forever be disconnected.

-

Ever since the soldier had shown you the shelves of books, you'd left your room more often, spending more time reading after cooking. In a strange way you also began to trust the very masked man who had taken you away. You didn't worry about him hurting you. You no longer worried about running into him. He hardly spoke, nothing more than a few words of Russian. He hadn't demanded you stay locked in your room, so why did you?

You picked up one of your favorite books, deciding to read outside in the garden, in need of some fresh air. You hadn't taken much time to look at the outside of the house, pausing as you opened the doors that entered the grounds. It was strangely beautiful, especially considering the assassin who resided in it. For such a dark soul, nature still continued to flourish around it. Tall, overgrown hedge fences surrounded the backyard while weeping willows and bushes of flowers shaded the stone paths that led to a fountain in the very center. You found a comfortable spot under the tree, settling onto the cool grass, the scent of spring calming you as you turned to the first page.

-

The soldier trudged through the doorway, surprised at the way his appetite had grown since you'd started cooking. His body which was used to sustaining itself on the bare minimum now rumbled through the day. He'd find his mind wandering to your pies and craving the comfort of the soup you'd make. The food was set in the kitchen but you were nowhere to be found. He walked past your room, knocking on the door, only to be met with silence.

Where did you go? Did you run away?

He knew something was wrong when he felt his heart sink because he couldn't find you. He couldn't remember the last time his heart felt anything other than emptiness. It was more than just you escaping.

He was worried about you.

He took longer strides as he searched for you with purpose, fingers already itching to reach towards his gun, deciding to first check the grounds in the back. His heart settled when he saw the doors to the garden left ajar, finding you nestled in the shade, curled up in the grass with a book.

You were safe. You hadn't run away.

Again he was left stunned and unable to move. You were the final piece in the puzzle of the garden; you fit there like the perfect flower. He'd seen the garden 100 times before and it had never looked so beautiful.

Not until now.

Roses and daisies grew in abundance but you were the prettiest thing there. You were meant to be there; a soft, delicate, flower.

"цветок"

You set down the book you were reading, looking up to see the soldier peering down at you. You hadn't heard him coming as he appeared before you with the silence of a ghost.

"цветок" He repeated, gazing at you before looking towards a daisy. He kneeled, plucking one and handing it to you, "цветок. мягкий, как ты" [Flower. Soft, like you]. You felt your cheeks heat up as he looked at you intently, blinking with an innocence you hadn't seen before. He looked almost...shy?

"Thank you" You whispered, stroking the petal of the flower he gave you. You didn't understand why you longed for him to stay as he went back inside, your curiosity about him growing with each passing day.

It went on like this.

Most days, you would spend your time exploring the trinkets the soldier collected, staying out of his way while he disappeared into the forest to do things you didn't pry into. Each night you knew he would return, hearing the heavy creak of the doors open during the darkest hours. You'd hear the quiet sound of clinking cutlery and then the soft sound of his bedroom door shut.

Except tonight.

You set down your book hearing the sound of heavy boots dragging down the hall, quite different from the silence the soldier usually moved with. A sense of dread washed over you as you debated on staying put, something telling you to lock the door, hide, something-

"What do we have here" The click of your door opening sent shivers down your spine, your blood running cold as a man strode in, a metal mask covering his face showing nothing but his eyes. You wanted to scream but your voice was stuck in your throat, you felt safe with the soldier, this man was not the same, he lunged towards you, knife in hand, the blade swiping towards your neck, "The soldiers little pet"-

"DON'T TOUCH HER" A growl shook the window as you hugged your knees to yourself waiting for the knife to plunge but it never came. You gasped as the man was ripped away, the flash of silver gleaming as the soldier grabbed him and hauled him away, shutting the door behind him.

"You're weak. You were supposed to kill him"

"So this is what's been keeping you"

"Kill her and come back to us. That's an order"

"Rumlow-

"Kill her. They're nothing more than collateral damage, end them, желание-

You didn't dare move, tears spilling down your cheeks as you heard the sounds of a struggle growing further and further away, eventually melting into silence.

He saved you.

You heard him return, still frozen in fear but the sound of a pained whimper pulled you out of bed. You peered into the hall, eyes widening in horror seeing a trail of blood staining the floors leading to his room, streaks of crimson smeared onto the wall. You didn't think twice as you dashed out of your room to his, your body moving faster than your mind could comprehend as you let yourself in.

Your heart continued to race seeing the blood lead to the washroom where he stood with a needle in hand, beginning to sew a gash on his side across his ribs. His bloodied tactical gear was thrown on the floor though his mask still remained hoping to silence himself as he attempted to take care of himself.

He hissed in pain, piercing his skin while his head began to spin, multiple wounds needing attention, the blood loss starting to take its toll.

"Let me" you hesitated to touch him, going against your better judgement when you wrapped your hand around his wrist, pulling his hand away. The soldier shook his head, fighting the way his body craved for something more gentle, more caring, more loving than the jagged and painful stitches he was giving himself.

"I won't hurt you, soldat" you looked in his eyes with such sincerity, for a moment he thought he'd ask you to be his girl.

Such a doll...

One he'd take dancing...

Call you darlin' with that Brooklyn drawl...

He blinked at the fleeting memory, a whimper escaping his lips when you dabbed his gash with an alcohol soaked cotton ball. You blew across the cut to soothe the pain before taking the needle and carefully stitching him up with a feather light touch.

"There" You whispered after taking care of the awful injuries that littered his body, leading out of the bathroom to lie down so he could rest. You didn't dare ask what had happened as you looked around the room; though there was a large bed with the softest sheets and finest materials but the makeshift pallet on the floor was clearly where he chose to sleep at night. He collapsed from exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep while you remained by his side.

You watched the rise and fall of his chest, occasionally glancing over the dressings you'd put to see if blood had seeped through. You couldn't bring yourself to leave him alone, only getting up to see if you could find a sheet to drape cover yourself with in the cold room. As you removed the blanket that covered the bed, something caught your eye in the mostly untouched room.

A wooden box, carefully tucked away in the furthest corner of the room. There wasn't any dust on it, compared to the other pieces of furniture that were never used. It was something he very clearly wanted to keep a secret. His other treasures that were out in the open on the shelf were different from this.

Even the soldier had secrets.

Your curiosity got the best of you as you made your way to the corner, lifting the box as silently as you could so you didn't wake him, inspecting its contents.

Newspaper articles, some decades old.

Old photographs.

One of a young man.

The eyes.

Those blue eyes you'd become so familiar with.

James Buchanan Barnes.

A brave soldier who fought in the war. A young man, no, a boy, drafted to war, his life ripped away from him, leaving him for dead in an icy forest. You blinked back tears at the innocence the young Sergeants eyes held, bright and heroic, hoping to help in a fight that wasn't his. Scribbles on scrap pieces of paper read "I am James Buchanan Barnes" repeatedly.

Your could feel your heart break into tiny little fragments as you pieced together what happened to the boy from Brooklyn, he had his whole life ahead of him but-

A pained scream tore from his lungs, his eyes squeezed shut as you knelt by his side again, brows furrowed together. You looked over his injuries, everything was still in place but he sounded like he was being tortured. He tossed around, his screams melting into sobs, pleading for someone to stop.

"James?" You hesitated to use his real name, your hushed voice made him flinch in his sleep but it wasn't enough to pull him as he begged for the painto end. He didn't want to lose his memories again. He wanted to remember. Please?

"You're alright James" You cooed softly, running your fingers through his locks while tears continued to stream down his face, lost in a nightmare. "You're not alone"

You were careful not to scared him awake, your gentle ministrations soothing him, his cries coming to a stop. You wiped away the remnants of tears that fell against his cheek, some slipping beneath the mask he refused to remove. You didn't have in you to take it off, not without asking him first. His soft snores filled the room once again as the sun began to rise.

-

He stirred feeling a strange warmth surrounding his body blinking in confusion when he found soft sheets draped over him. The usual sting he'd feel after stitching himself up was nearly non existent. He ran his fingers along the gash, the neat little sutures still in place, covered with a bandage to protect the area. Bits and pieces of the night came to him in waves.

Running into his captors. Evading them. Escaping. The bloodshed. The weapons. The injuries. The pain.

However, there was also softness. Such tenderness. The touch of an angel he'd only be able to imagine in his wildest dreams that would never come true. Not for someone like him. Such sweetness. God, he'd missed it. He missed what such love and care felt like. It was so foreign to him. He was so used to the cold. Razor sharp, jagged edges. He'd forgotten so many things but the longer he kept to himself, the more that came back to him.

You called him by his name. He was sure of it. In the muddled fog of nightmares, he was sure he heard an angel call.

He knew he was in no condition to move or get you breakfast but the delicious smell of your cooking wafted through the halls letting him know it was okay for him to rest. He closed his eyes, flinching at the few prickles of pain he felt in his head.

You were there.

You'd take care of him.

He couldn't remember everything just yet but surely the puzzle pieces would fall into place soon.

-

"NO" The sound of the soldiers pained cry made you drop the book you were reading in your room, running off to find him. He'd fallen asleep after eating what you made for him that evening; you were sure he was getting better. He knelt on the floor, sweat covering his body as he gripped his hair, pulling from the roots. He felt another sharp piercing pain in his head, fleeting memories of things he didn't understand all flooding back at once.

You rushed to his side, taking his hands into yours to keep him from hurting himself. His eyes shot up, tears threatening to spill over, all the things he thought were lost forever coming back together.

He was a Sergeant.

A soldier.

A young man.

One who loved to go dancing.

One who wanted to help others.

Hydra turned him into a beast but you brought him back.

There was always something about you.

His sweet flower.

He relaxed feeling your soft fingers trace against his palms in hopes of grounding him, giving both his flesh and metal hands equal affection. He gently pulled his right hand away to remove the mask, letting you see all of him.

"Soldat?" You whispered, hesitantly brining your hand up to his scruffy cheek. He pressed his hand against yours, leaning into the warmth of your touch, he never wanted it to end.

"цветок" [flower] he whispered back, your eyes widening hearing the precious name he had just for you, "It's me, flower"

"James?" You knew it was no longer the soldier speaking, this was the little boy from Brooklyn, his piercing blue eyes now full of warmth and light.

"Your father, I have to take you home, flower I'm so sorry-" dread began to consume him as he realized how long he'd taken you for, trading one life for another, how could he-

"James, breathe" You held his face in your hands, wiping away the tears that began to fall, your hand coming down the rest against his erratic heart, "It wasn't your fault, I-I read what happened to you, you were taken, it was never you, you're a good person" You soothed his aching heart but it didn't ease how heavy it felt. Every part of him wanted to beg for you to run away, so far away from him so you could be home again yet his arms moved on their own, wrapping you up and holding you close, you fit so perfectly with him.

"I'm still a broken man, цветок" Bucky whispered with a sad smile, holding you with such care as you curled up in his lap. "I don't think I deserve to hold something as sweet as you"

"You're not broken, you deserve this and more" You cooed, inhaling his soft scent, your nose brushing against the column of his neck.

"You took care of me, flower" Bucky held you tighter, hiding his face into the crook of your neck, feeling safe for the first time in years, home had never felt closer.

"And you took care of me" Your fingers moved to card through his hair, pulling his face away so he'd look at you.

"I took you with me, doll" He couldn't shake the fact that he'd taken you from your father, first intending to kill him and then taking you in his place. "I didn't give you a choice, you should be home" The guilt ate him from the inside, if he'd been himself, he would have never-

"And you still protected me with your life" You whispered, your forehead resting against his.

"And I always will" Bucky promised, his lips brushing against yours. He meant it from the bottom of his soul, he'd always protect you no matter where you were. It didn't matter that he didn't want you to leave, that he wished you could stay, he knew you belonged elsewhere. He'd still always make sure you were safe. Exhaustion began to pull at him, his eyes growing heavy as his body continued to fight what Hydra wanted him to do and the man he really was.

"Sleep, Jamie" You pulled him down to lay on your chest, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead and for the first time in years, he slept soundly without a nightmare.

Over the next few days, you continued to nurse the soldier back to health, hushing him each time he plead for you to go, insisting he'd be okay to manage on his own.

"My body will heal, I promise, you don't have to do all this for me, let me take you home-

"Once you're all better. I'll write to him so he knows I'm safe" You pressed a finger to his pink lips before going back to tucking him in bed. It was true that the cuts had all cleared up exceptionally quicker than normal but you could see the mental exhaustion that plagued him each day.

He found a way to get in touch with your father without alerting anyone in Hydra from finding him and while your father graciously forgave him with understanding, nothing felt easier. He promised to return you home as soon as it was safe but the longer he spent with you, the more he selfishly wished for it to last forever. He promised your father he'd take care of you in every way possible but he knew it was truly you taking care of him.

He'd sleep soundly when you were near, falling asleep quickly when you'd read to him, sometimes softly playing with his hair so he'd relax. The few times he'd been alone, the awful memories would come flooding back leaving him confused and disoriented. It broke your heart hearing him cry, the soldier who was nothing but a killing machine truly an innocent man on the inside, a prisoner of his own mind.

You'd comfort him every single time, every moment more intimate than the next. It started with your soothing voice, sitting by his bed where you'd call his name, your fingers caressing the scruff of his beard, wiping away his tears. Then the nights came where you crawled into bed with him, helping him fall asleep with his head on your lap only to wake up with your limbs tangled together.

Then he started to hold you before he was asleep. He held you tightly while telling you stories about things he could remember. Things that made him smile. That his nickname was Bucky. You would do the same. You told him about all the things your father taught you. He'd start to kiss you goodnight. Innocently with a peck to the top of your head.

Sometimes your cheek.

He so badly wanted to kiss your lips, stopping himself when he felt his stomach stir, especially when your sweet doe eyes looked up at him. When he cuddled you, his arms would wrap around your body, his hands finding their way to the hem of the Henley you wore. His henley. His fingers would slip up to feel your skin, knowing such an angel was real grounded him. You'd do the same, tracing over his scars, neither of you openly talking about the growing tension between you both each day.

-

"Will you read to me?" Bucky asked, wrapping his arms around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder while you stirred some honey into the tea you were making. You giggled at his needy cuddles, his much larger form practically engulfing you from behind. "Please"

"Who'd have thought such a strong, scary soldier would want bedtime stories" you cooed, letting him carry you away to his room, making a stop at the bookshelf first to pick out a new story.

He settled against the headboard with you tucked in his lap, relaxing at you made yourself comfy between his thighs. Your words had an affect on him he couldn't describe, no longer paying attention to what you were saying and instead watching the movement of your lips. Your eyes darting across the pages. Your body pressed against his.

The butterflies started again.

His stomach stirred.

He tried to adjust himself, pulling you into a hug to calm himself down, ignoring the way he wished he could have more.

"You alright, Jamie?" you asked, feeling his squirming, his eyes growing wide as if he'd been caught red handed. He shook his head, insisting you continue reading, God he didn't know what to do with himself.

He fidgeted again, this time trying to keep you off the tightness growing more and more, you made it so difficult for him-

"Are you sure you're okay bub?"

"I don't remember much but-I-I know I want you closer, flower" His voice was shy, his adams apple nervously bobbing in his neck as he shifted, unable to hide the hardness between his legs. His mind was a mess, fragments of love and intimacy struggling to piece themselves together yet he knew enough to want to hold you close.

He wanted to feel your soft skin on his.

He wanted to kiss you in places that would make your cheeks warm.

Where you'd want to cover yourself but let him have you, just him.

He wanted to feel your hands touch him everywhere. He wouldn't flinch at your delicate ministrations, he'd give all of himself to you. He'd trust you in his most vulnerable state, feeling things he hadn't for years, so heavy between his legs.

"How much closer, Jamie" you couldn't meet his eyes, gripping onto his t-shirt instead, setting the book on the nightstand, now all your attention on him.

"You know, angel" He let his nose bury into your hair, the blush on his cheeks travelling to his neck. He couldn't bring himself to actually say what he wanted, hesitantly moving his hands to your hips instead, slipping up your shirt to hold your waist. "Can-can I kiss you?"

He could hardly recognize himself, nervous beyond comprehension, his heart racing when you nodded, cupping his cheek to look at you. He leaned down to press his lips to yours.

"More" You let your body melt into his, his tongue lacing with yours, deepening the kiss. He didn't pull away until he desperately needed air, no longer able to contain his arousal.

"M'sorry angel, s'been so long, my body's not the same-

"Don't. Don't you dare, I adore you just like this Sergeant" He sucked in a breath as you toyed with the hem of his shirt, nodding after a moment letting you take it off. You kissed every scar on his chest, your head resting on his shoulder where metal met flesh, "You're the most handsome, beautiful man," You kissed his neck making him hiss, your tummy jumping at the feeling of his erection now pressed right against you, "You deserve all of this"

"Can I see you, please?" He undressed you with such care as if he was unwrapping the most precious present, first laying you down before slipping your top off. You wordlessly undressed each other until there was nothing left to take off going right back to wrapping your body with his.

"You're the softest thing I've ever touched" He whispered, loving how you felt, your thigh hitched over his hip, your breasts pressed against his bare chest, your soft tummy against the hard planes of his abs, your hands rubbing up and down his spine, oh God your silky most sacred parts absolutely soaking his length. His body moved on its own, rutting up to chase more, his cock slotting so perfectly with his flushed tip rubbing against your clit.

The desperate moan he let out made you gush, seeing how lost he was in chasing how good you felt with the stutter of his hips.

"M'so hard" He whined, hugging you tightly, "Please angel, do something" It was the most delicious torture. You pulled away from his hold wanting to give him every bit of loving he deserved, giving his body the pleasure it had been deprived of. You shuffled to kneel between his legs, his eyes growing wide, your face so dangerously close to where he was achingly hard. There was no way, you weren't going to- your lips pressed a gently kiss to his frenulum and the tears started, you wouldn't give him more than this-

"Baby, oh God, no, no, I can't angel, oh God-OHH" He cried, his body splayed wide for you, bach arching off the bed as you took his swollen cockhead into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his circles, licking every bit of his essence that dripped out. Your face was between his legs, his cock was in your mouth, you were suckling off his most sensitive parts, how could he not spread his thighs apart further for you. He'd never been so open or vulnerable, letting you play and toy with his cock, his tears soaking the pillow at his balls started to pull towards his body, it couldn't be over so soon-

"Sweet baby, please, please-" He pulled you off his cock, bringing you up to smash his lips against yours, his thick length slapping against his tummy. He could have sworn he was close to cumming just tasting himself on your tongue. "Can-please I want to-" He scrambled to lay you against the pillows as you squeaked at the way he manhandled you in desperation, "please"

He was between your thighs, sighing with heart eyes as he carefully spread your folds with his fingers, taking his time smearing around your slick, your throbbing clit begging for his mouth. He latched on like a baby, nursing with the most needy gurgles, your gasp melting into a moan making his eyes roll back.

He couldn't believe he had his mouth on his pretty angel, his tongue toying with the precious parts between her legs, letting him taste her, drinking up her nectar, feeding him in the best way possible.

"I-oh-slow down baby, please, M'gonna- You gasped, feeling surges of pleasure already pulsing as he flicked his tongue with precision, his arms wrapping around your thighs, tossing them over his wide shoulders.

"Mph, cum" he whined before diving in for more, greedily humping and grinding against the mattress, how was he supposed to last like this.

"Want-want to feel you, please" You begged, needing him inside you, giving you something thick and hard to cum on. He didn't waste a second, shakily clambering back on top of you, nervously positioning himself at your entrance.

"You sure, sweet girl? I-it's been so long"

"I trust you" You pulled him down to kiss his reddened nose making him blush, letting out the breath he was holding as he started to push. You both moaned together as he buried himself all the way, stilling once he was flush against you, his orgasm already so close to shooting at the base of his cock.

"Hng, I needed this angel" He didn't move and you didn't need him to, just the feeling of him stretching and filling you fulfilling something you couldn't describe. You loved the feeling of you both being connected in the most intimate way, joined as one, it felt so right like he was finally where he was meant to be. Like he'd found his everything.

Your thighs moved to hug his waist, your arms around his shoulders. He drew his hips back and thrusted forward gentle, the gasp escaping your lips urging him to keep going. He started to move at a steady pace, bringing his hands to lace with yours, pinning them against the bed.

"I love you-even if I have no right, I love you so much" Bucky lost himself to you, his hips moving at a slow grind, letting every inch of his cock fill and caress your walls, "You showed me love when I least deserved it"

"Fuck, I love you too!" You cried out, the curls at the base of his cock rubbing your clit, sending you higher and higher. "Oh, James!"

"My God, the way you say my name when m'inside you, say it again baby, please" He started to move faster on his own accord, primal urges starting to take over as he began to chase his pleasure and yours.

"Please, James, feels-feels so good"

"Gonna make me cum so hard, the things y'do to me baby, drives me crazy, wanna be like this for the rest of my life, making love to you and nothing else, swear this is all I want"

"James, gonna-gonna cum"

"Cum with me angel, all over my cock baby, cum on it, wanna feel it, please give it to me, I need it. Need your sweet cream all over me, fuck-yeah-jus like that-" You clenched around his cunt, his name dripping from your lips as your orgasm crashed over you. That was all it took as he tucked his face right against your neck, holding you tight as he trembled, it was so much,

"M'cumming!!" His sob was muffled as his cock throbbed, warm streams of his cum pumping you full, his ass stuttering with each jerk of his hips. "So-so much for you, s'all for you angel"

Bucky made love to you everywhere, not one place left without him taking you apart to his heart's content, including the garden. The story you were reading was long forgotten as he took you under the shade of the tree, the long wispy branches of the willow tree hiding you from the rest of the world.

The summer sun cocooned you in a blanket of warmth as clothes were all tossed aside leaving you both bare on the sheet you'd spread on the grass, the sounds of the breeze, the rustle of the bushes and your moans blending in so perfectly with his rhythmic thrusts.

"Beautiful" he whispered against your cheek, pulling away so he could look at every bit of you, "So beautiful for me like this"

"Jamie, stop" You grew bashful, you knew no one could see you in your secluded spot so deep in the forest but you still felt so vulnerable, spread out naked with just his body covering you, shamelessly taking his cock while the afternoon sun hung in the sky.

"S'just us baby, just you and me, don't worry" He purred, bringing your arms up, holding your wrists in his metal arm while his flesh hand came down to caress your face. "We're not doing anything wrong darling, m'showing you how much I love you, how good you make me feel, yeah?"

"Yeaah" Your voice melted into a breathy whine as he started to move with more purpose, his warm breath fanning against your face.

"Lookit how pretty you are sweet girl, my pretty flower, you were meant to be here baby, feels so right, just like this"

Out of all the stories and poetry you'd read to him, this was what Bucky saw as true art. He'd seen the finest paintings around the world in the richest houses, guarded by the highest security. He'd seen nature's most incredible wonders with the tallest trees, the sweetest flora and nothing, absolutely nothing, would top how gorgeous you were, bare, on the grass, him filling you up, it was euproic.

The image was etched in his brain, he'd treasure it forever. Your shy moans. The clench of your cunt. The way he filled you up and kept his cock in you even after it was soft. The way you cuddled and kissed in a post sex haze, listening to the sounds of the forest. He could have cried at the way you fell asleep in his arms, so trusting for him to keep you safe.

This was all he needed.

He took care of you, keeping you protected while he did his best to eradicate Hydra with you to patch him up each time he came home. As soon as it was safe, he took you right home and under the care of your father, he healed from the words that held him captive.

It didn't take long for your home to be filled with the sounds of tiny feet mixed with the sounds of science experiments gone wrong; your little babies, their daddy and their papa getting up to mischief at all hours.

"Careful, flower" Bucky shook his head, running towards you as you waddled into the living room with an expression of concern on your face, cocking an eyebrow when you saw your son looking up at you with bug eyed goggles matching his papa.

Bucky came to steady you, his hands coming to wrap around your growing belly while your father and son continued to tinker away at a new creation.

"How are my princesses" He cooed while you huffed, still wondering what they were doing.

"We're both wondering what you're going here James"

"Papa's building me a rocket-

"A bicycle! Just a bicycle darling, go sit, son why don't you take her for a walk" You father ushered you and Bucky out, sending a wink to his grandson.

"A bicycle my foot" You shook your head while Bucky took you to the kitchen, setting a pot of water, ready to dote on you as usual.

"He gets that side of him from you, love" Bucky chuckled, coming down to kiss your belly, resting his head there. "Just wait until she's here too"

"You're a menace, Sergeant"

"You married me, darling" Bucky pouted making you giggle, cupping his face to kiss his jutting lips.

"and I love every bit of you"

"I love you more, pretty girl"

You would always be his flower.

[wemlygust]

People will often say something like, "Evil Maximus deserves to suffer and die horribly, because he [list of unforgivable atrocities].” But, 1) it is VERY possible to be 100% convinced someone did something and be wrong. Any system with extreme punishments WILL, INEVITABLY inflict that punishment on innocent people. There is no way to design a system that won't do this to multiple, even many, innocents, EXCEPT by not allowing the extreme punishments for anyone at all. Because human judgement is and will always be imperfect, no matter how certain you feel, and no matter how angry, and no matter how justified you are in your rage. 2) what do people mean when they say "deserves"? What is the definition of "to deserve"? I do not think there is any way to define this that does not boil down to either A) the person is fundamentally evil according to some absolute morality system of the universe, aka a God, aka this is religion affecting the legal system, or B) "he deserves to die" literally just means "I want him to die," and is a way of expressing that wish in a passive-voice way that abdicates the speaker's responsibility for the wish. And no matter how badly you may want someone to suffer and die, we are humans, we are flawed, we fuck up. We ESPECIALLY fuck up when we are angry. And we know from studies that people tend to be, to one degree or another, racist and/or sexist (including the tendency to see men as more violent or less deserving of kindness), even we they are sure that they are unbiased. So we'll end up killing or tormenting people who could have been redeemed, or who were 100% innocent, or who were guilty but actually they grew up in an environment that prevented them from ever learning any better, etc. I don't think revenge ever actually makes anything better, especially not state/government/beaurocratic-driven, no-take-backs revenge. And ESPECIALLY not when there is, as in America, strong profit motives to fill prisons. This post is longer than I meant it to be, but the point I am getting at is, even if you on a personal level would quite like to see someone dead or hurting (which is what "they deserve [xyz]" probably means), that doesn't mean it is a good or just idea to try to actually incorporate that feeling into the law to be carried out in a systematic way which WILL also hurt people you do not want to hurt. And if you say, "I will not help so-and-so when they are poor or seriously injured, because they deserve their suffering," and you incorporate that idea into the law, that will absolutely hurt many more innocents, or at least regular, doing their best imperfectly within their circumstances, human beings, than it will people like whoever the wretched person you know or imagine in your head (maybe both) is. Basically, sometimes, in order for the law to be just, protect as many people as possible from harm and do as little harm as possible, it is necessary that sometimes a bad action, or a bad person, be punished less and suffer less than we or those they harm would like to see them suffer (than people say they "deserve" to suffer). Tldr: the word "deserve" is kinda bullshit and unhelpful but very hard to stop using but still also bullshit anyway /good lord why am I on tumblr right now

some of yall don't understand what human rights mean and it is legitimately worrying how some of you think that if a person is 'bad' enough they should have their human rights taken away

[cilil]

Hi, do you have any advices for budding writers on AO3 or here?

Hey! :)

I've given this some thought and compiled what I hope might be some helpful pointers, but if there's anything else or anything specific you want to hear more about, feel free to ask again. Also I'm assuming this is about the amazing craft of fanfic and not, uh, building a platform or whatever (I wouldn't be very helpful with that, I'm a nobody x)).

Share what you feel comfortable sharing.

So since you're asking about budding writers on AO3 and Tumblr, I take it you're at a point where you feel comfortable sharing your writing online, which is amazing. Nevertheless, I feel the need to once again mention (just for anyone who may be in the same or a similar situation) that it's completely alright not to be comfortable with it (yet) or not to share everything you write. I share almost everything simply because I'm annoying and it makes me feel accomplished and since I've grown pretty comfortable with it, I might as well; but not everyone feels that way and feelings also change. It's completely alright to write just for yourself or a small circle of friends.

Don't worry too much about "being good".

I will be the first to admit that I deeply relate to struggling with perfectionism when it comes to writing (and other creative pursuits). However, as someone who's been reading fic for many years, tends to be into quite niche and obscure things sometimes and is rarely spoiled by big fandoms' abundance of food, I want all writers, especially new ones, to know that you don't have to write the most amazing, perfect, publishing-ready pieces. What matters is your passion and creativity, which will show in your writing regardless of skill level. Not to mention that fic is free and in fact a tool for many to experiment.

That's not to say you can't strive to improve or be good - by all means, I find it admirable if you want to hone your craft and make progress as you continue to write. Just don't let perfectionism ruin your fun and stifle your creativity.

How to get better without trying overly hard.

Aside from just writing, writing and writing (that is the most important part though), how do you improve without making it a point to do so? Well, if it works for you to read/watch guides or you enjoy specific writing exercises, that's great, but one thing that I find gets overlooked a lot in writing spaces is simply: Reading. Just reading for fun.

I find that I often discover little things in other people's writing that I really like and then I think to myself "wow, that's really neat how they did that, maybe I could take a page out of their book" (pun intended) and make it a point to pay attention to these things when I write. Essentially, it's like creating a nice patchwork blanket which is your style, made up of your own voice and preferences as a writer and cool stuff you picked up on the road.

Let me just name some examples, which, yes, are also an excuse to shamelessly blow some writer friends of mine a well-deserved kiss of appreciation. @sauron-kraut writes incredibly polished short stories with beautiful wording and atmosphere that have a lot of little hidden things to discover and dissect, and I want to steal her ability to set the stage and hide those easter eggs. @a-world-of-whimsy-5 is an absolute legend when it comes to writing medieval and medieval-adjacent stuff, and I learned so much from her fics. @i-did-not-mean-to has a way of writing with such esprit and wit that I always end up in a good mood after, a style of narrative voice I've adored for over a decade, and I've greatly improved my humorous writing in particular thanks to her. @crackinthecup has the marvelous ability to craft extremely emotionally evocative scenes, which have encouraged me to be more courageous and experimental in my sentence melody and structure. @tragedybunny has a way of writing that reminds me of coming home to a warm and comfy place, and I will find out how she did it and how I can do it as well.

So as you can see, it can be super helpful to compare notes with your fellow writers. Never be discouraged by someone else's ability; instead learn and expand your own.

Feedback, criticism and community.

Let me just get one thing out of the way: You don't have to take criticism from everyone. Or at all. As far as I understand, the fanfic community has come to to agree that we're doing this for fun and don't give criticism unprompted/when we aren't sure it's wanted or welcome. As a general rule: Take criticism from those you would also seek advice from. Ask for feedback if you feel comfortable, and if not, that's a valid boundary to have and I will gently smack anyone who presumes to pick apart writing that was made for fun and generously shared with the community for free.

The community aspect, however, should be taken into account on other fronts. While I won't tell anyone they have to interact and believe that, in an ideal world, everyone's writing would just speak for itself, it is helpful to engage with the community. Things you can do (both on Tumblr and AO3 if also applicable/possible) include: Respond to people interacting with your works, interacting with other people's works (for example while you're doing your reading sessions and looking at other writers' styles) and just overall being present, being talkative, going with the flow.

Again, this is not a must. But I will say that pretty much all of us want positive responses and interactions on their work and that just won't work if you expect everyone to show up for you all the time and never show up for anyone else. Engagement, passion and community are our "currency" in the absence of money and reciprocity is an important element of that. A lot of friction and complaints in the fanfic community regarding lack of interaction or entitlement are rooted in misunderstandings of this fundamental principle.

But don't take this in a cynical manner. Seek out what you enjoy, share the joy and passion and you'll make friends just accidentally - which is the part that I find makes fandom on AO3 and Tumblr so much fun! (I don't even want to be a "traditional" author anymore, I want this instead😁)

Find your groove and groove along.

Lastly, make sure your writing is fun for you or else it'll become a chore and eventually get ruined for you as a hobby. This is unfortunately a continuous task as your needs and interests shift - for example you might be in the mood to do an entire drabble challenge one month and during another month you feel so drained that you couldn't do another one. Or you might want to write something different for a change. Or whatever it may be.

Either way, one recent lesson I've learned is that I got too tied up in obligations and it left no space for spontaneous inspiration, so I never got to write what I wanted to write in the moment and it pushed me quite close to burnout. Do yourself a favor and always hold that space for yourself. In practice, this could for example mean that you do one event and on the side write this cool new idea you had, instead of doing three events - which is fun and games until it starts getting too much and you don't have time for your passion projects.

Finding your groove also includes the whole technical aspect, such as which writing programs you use, which device (or none at all), where you write, how to make yourself comfortable, how to get in the right headspace for things. I would also like to encourage all of you to be a bit crazy and whimsical about this: For example I've gone to the perfume store, picked out a scent for a specific character in a specific scene and sniffed it while writing the description several times now. Do what it takes. And say goodbye to your squeaky clean search history - you will research some weird stuff just to get that one line right.

So yeah, these are just my random thoughts on fic writing and what has been helpful in order for me to have lots of fun with this hobby. Happy writing!

[notmorbid]

these violent delights.

dialogue prompts from these violent delights by micah nemerever.

i never told you my name.

who puts those awful ideas in your head?

you're forever assuming the worst.

what's that face? you look like you're going to cry.

you're one of those people who worry all the time, aren't you?

i don't worry, i ruminate. they're distinct actions.

nothing made you. you just are.

beautiful things are supposed to hurt.

people tell you you're shy all the time, don't they?

i don't know how i ever got on without you.

a little trouble is a good thing for a young person.

i wasn't born yesterday. i know what kids get up to.

it's good to have guns to stick to.

you could do anything to me and i'd let you.

i'm not ready to be seen. not yet.

i don't need you to treat me respectfully. i'm not made of glass.

tell me you love me, at least. please. i need to know somebody does.

do i look normal? i can't tell if i look normal.

you can get away with anything, as long as you act like an authority on the truth.

don't tell me what i want.

you know you're just about the worst liar i've ever met.

i don't think you've ever felt anything that didn't hurt you.

you're so square, you're a cube.

i just want you to believe me when i tell you you're worth something.

there are limits to what you can expect people to understand, without living it.

you can't fight everybody all the time. you still have to live with them.

i forget how blue the sky can be outside the city.

i'm going to push you off a cliff, you fucking boy scout.

thank you for trusting me with this.

be a kid while you still can.

please believe in the things i try to tell you, instead of the things you think you deserve to be told.

if the sun touched you for even a moment, you'd go up in flames. like a vampire.

your voice changes when you're angry.

what a lonely, dreary thing it is to know the truth.

you never look away, even when your eyes are closed, but i'm never certain you can see what's really there.

tell me you need me. in those words.

can i tell you something? that i'm all but certain you won't believe?

i never lie to you. but sometimes, i wish i could.

you never let me pretend the truth is alright when it isn't.

you have a profound, elusive sadness about you.

you didn't. please tell me you didn't.

you and your awful little games.

why would i bother to grow my own conscience when you're always around to pester me?

you're going to help me escape.

this house is a shadowbox, never meant for human things.

you have no right to stop me, and you're not going to try.

you're sweet, when you want to be.

do you want me to kill ____? i mean it.

it might do you good to be an orphan.

you're just so sincerely creepy.

wealthy people pay handsomely for the privilege of ignoring cries for help.

i've never seen you like that before. not once.

i've decided to learn to be impulsive.

the worst damage humans do isn't rooted in malice, but in thoughtlessness.

there's such a thing as right and wrong. anyone can figure out the difference if they're willing to think for themselves.

there's no part of you i can't see.

i don't want to hurt you. please don't let me.

you're ridiculous, sometimes. but that's alright.

i don't want you right now. go home.

i'm not like you. i don't even have a shape of my own to hold anything else in place.

i'll never matter the way you do, and you know it.

say what you need to say.

if you say the word 'deserve' one more time, i'm driving us off a bridge.

i've been meaning to talk to you about ____.

i'm worried about what you're getting into.

you don't see me. you can't. you never could.

it's your life. you're entitled to make your own mistakes.

i want you to know you deserve better. you don't have to put up with ____.

you scare the hell out of me. you really do.

you look the same way you always have.

i was worried i'd lost you.

i'll take care of you. i don't need you to be brave.

all i want to do is make you happy, and you're the unhappiest person i've ever met.

i would rather be cruel than weak.

i want you to let me be nice to you today. i don't care if you think you deserve it.

this place looks like somewhere in a jigsaw puzzle.

it's always been real for me. every second.

please don't say anything to my mother.

we can't fix it if you don't tell me what happened.

i'll call you when i can stand the sight of you. don't hold your breath.

hiding the truth is still lying.

i thought you'd finally trust me if you knew i'd kill for you.

i'm just as much of a monster as you are.

i was missing part of myself my whole life, until i met you.

righteous fury leaves no space for fear.

you can always talk to me. about anything, okay? i love you no matter what.

you played [game] in school, didn't you?

no one tolerates boredom worse than the idle rich.

someone needs to be looking after you.

you know you can't actually stop me, right?

i want to be able to look at you.

when you need to, you will understand.

i'm only ever early when i'm afraid.

people talk themselves into the strangest things when they want to look impressive.

in the end, there's no difference between trusting someone and underestimating them.

[loathsome-little-creature]

I have lately noticed, along with many of my friends from Palestine, that much of the support that the people of Gaza rely on to survive has been disappearing. It started pretty slowly a few months ago but at this point donations have slowed to a trickle for most of the Gazans I’ve talked to.

I can sort of understand that people are burnt out and out of money. I am most certainly both of those things too, but I really don’t see how that counts as an excuse to stop doing your best to help the people of Palestine.

When Hani Yasser reached out to me, he wasn’t even asking for donations, he just wanted someone to talk to. He just wanted to know that there was someone out there who still cared. I was a little surprised, honestly. I mean, folks on this website talk a lot about how much they care about the Palestinian cause, right? Lots of talk about how horrible the colonial entity of Israel is, lots of talk about war crimes, that kind of thing. Has it come to a point where the geopolitics matter more to people than the human suffering of the Palestinians? Have a people become nothing more than a cause in the eyes of the world?

I really don’t have answers. I don’t speak for anyone but myself, and I really don’t know enough to say with confidence what is causing support to die out like this. Please don’t leave the people of Palestine behind.

Hani and his family deserve better than to be ignored. They deserve better than to endure the worst that war has to offer alone. I don’t know what I have to do to convince you to help. Just please do.

@variantsofblue @murderbot @dlxxv-vetted-donations @sayruq @a-shade-of-blue @90-ghost @opencommunion @commissions4aid-international @palhelp @appsa

[girl4music]

That’s it. Anyone with the “me and my own” ideology will get clapped back.

People that actually care to help people without asking for anything in return will also get their due.

That’s just the way of the Universe.

When you’re already well off, why do you need to be accounted for? Harris specifically was talking about who wasn’t. She was addressing the poor because she knew that’s where things needed to change the most.

The people she didn’t address are not going to be impacted in any negative way. Their lives will stay relatively the same. She didn’t speak to you because she didn’t need to because you’re fine as you are.

On the other hand, Trump is also addressing the poor and minorities. Speaking directly to them. But not with love and care. With hatred and revenge. The opposite.’

He wants to make things worse for them and now he can. So if you voted for him or you didn’t even vote at all - it’s on you why things are going to be much worse from now on. And if you think you won’t be negatively impacted by it because Trump is on your side…

Think again. Because incompetency impacts everyone.

No Harris wasn’t promising the rich and the majorities something. But that didn’t mean she was out to get you. That didn’t mean that she wanted to hurt you.

She simply saw it as you already had what you needed.

There were many others that did not.

She chose to address them.

Look for EVERYONE to live comfortable lives, then everyone has also got to learn to share and to be a community. Giving and getting is a transaction between each other. This is normal. This is natural. This is the way it should be. Greed and hoarding wealth doesn’t really help anyone in the long run and that’s not well understood in America because they’ve lived an entire history through a culture of taking from others. From theft. They never question it not because they’re dumb but because they don’t realize it this is how it’s always been and how it’s always been has always being wrong.

Being afraid of community and socialism. Taught that it’s inherently bad for them and to always look out for themselves and their own first. It’s just not The Way.

Having a black woman as President for the first time would have been revolutionary for them. it would have been a start to setting things right because they’ve never been right. Keeping to tradition doesn’t always mean better because that tradition could be awful. All of this I’m writing right now only sounds so bad because it’s coming from someone that doesn’t live in America but still has lived through a Western culture that’s majorly the same and has never understood it.

See I’m a Westerner but I don’t understand Western culture and I never really have. It’s like I was born with the soul or someone Eastern. Someone whose worldview of philosophy is inherently non-dual because when I look at a person - regardless of what kind of person they are or might be - I don’t see a difference.

We all want to live and thrive and prosper but so many of us have an understanding that goes against that goal just by virtue of “well, what do I get out of it?”

You get what you’ve always had. The means to survive. If you believe that’s not enough then I don’t know what to tell you. It’s more than enough for those that don’t currently have it and are fucking desperate for it.

Bottom line is you’ve got to give a little - to sacrifice or compromise on something - to set the balance right.

Harris was the right person to lead to be able to do this. Or at least make the attempt to. What you have now - with Trump - is a lesson. And I hope you learn it well.

Hatred will never make anything better for anyone. All it does it makes it much much much worse for everyone.

You can call this “virtue-signalling” or being “morally superior” if you want. I don’t care. No, America is not my home. No, I couldn’t vote. It doesn’t matter to me.

But I still very much care about the situation because I am a human being. And I honestly think that’s all that’s needed to do the right thing at the end of the day. If you care about something or somebody other than yourself.

You know politics is whatever but people have forgotten how to be a fucking person and that’s very concerning.

You can play heroes vs villains to your dying day and see how much you’ve “gained” out of doing it then.

Rant over.

White conservative America will vote for whiteness and patriarchy.

White conservative America would rather have Putin in the White House before Kamala Harris.

[shadowknightapologist]

miscellaneous shadow knight headcanons because i love love love them and one day i will have a proper post dedicated to them.

WARNINGS FOR: cannibalism, murder, minced meat mention?, angst.

in a sick, sad way, shad sees most of the shadow knights as his children.

shadow knights don't necessarily have to kill someone for immortality, but they do have to consume the flesh of someone living.

it doesn't ACTUALLY matter who they target; shad (and gene) just frame it as having to kill your lord or an individual you hold in high regards because 1) getting rid of lords helps in the long run, and 2) shadow knights with attachments to anything other than shad are harder to control. so convincing baby knights to get rid of those obstacles early on saves shad a lot of trouble.

as for how our shadow knight cast handled the munchies...

gene ate his lord as well as the upper-ranks sent with him (which is part of why he ranked up so quickly).

zenix ate his lord in the midst of the fire staged to kill him and his family.

vincent ate his lord/brother but he's still in denial over it (he acknowledges that he's immortal and that this immortality comes from his brother, but in his head, his brother was sick and begging for mercy; in reality, vincent flew into rage after finding out how far his brother had fallen and brutally murdered him).

amethyst attacked her father. he survived and amethyst experienced her first false death; this sparks an influx of rumors and stories about shadow knights (previously, shadow knights were extremely low-key, and only existed as folktales).

vylad attacked zianna. she survived.

sasha attacked castor's brother; castor managed to scare her off, but his brother passed away from the injuries. this is what leads to castor going "mad" and essentially being outcasted :( he was grieving and in denial and couldn't bear to tell laurance, who was grieving both sasha and joh at the time.

glenda was NOT immortal, she was planning to sacrifice cadenza + eat from her while she was still alive but aphmau kicked her ass and then laurance killed her.

and laurance, of course, hasn't attacked anyone, but he does struggle with severe intrusive thoughts and it is very, VERY hard for him not to bite while in his knight form.

shadow knight armor is attached to the skin like a shell. yes, they get parasites. yes, it hurts to have it removed or tugged on the wrong way. yes, it grows out of their skin and yes, that also hurts (only for the baby knights tho).

baby knights (and sometimes even immortal shadow knights) are known known to curl up into the fetal position and shift into their shadow knight form when they're scared. it's a defense tactic that protects their heart, especially since shadow knight armor is so hot/sharp (even to other knights). people unofficially refer to this as "armadillo-ing".

SHADOW KNIGHTS ARE NOT IMMUNE TO LAVA. that shit WILL disintegrate them. HOWEVER, since shadow knights getting perma-deathed by lava in the nether would be really bad design, this just rebirths the knight. the only exception to this is sasha and potentially one other character. some knights have come to see it as a religious thing, like a baptism.

shadow knight hair often turns into flames when they're upset, and if they're really angry, their entire body gets lit. very destructive.

shadow knights can be temporarily paralyzed by brain trauma (usually stabbing something through their head; they'll be mobile again once the object is removed or the injury closes up) and weakened by being doused in water or left in the cold.

baby knights can be killed via holy magic, decapitation, mincing the body, water, the cold, or old age (they actually age much faster in the overworld, but slower in the nether). they can go months without food, water, or sleep before it starts to take a toll on them.

immortal shadow knights cannot truly be killed unless their heart is devoured (more on this on the next point). mostly, their bodies are permanently destroyed and they become a shadow soul. immortal shadow knights do not need food, water, or sleep but will sometimes indulge if they're feeling... nostalgic. or particularly empty.

shadow knights can only absorb power from each other by eating the heart. this is 1) difficult because you have to LITERALLY tear the shadow knight apart to get to their heart, and 2) terrifying even to shadow knights. it's called "the final death". this is why zenix becomes so infamous.

"false deaths" are only experienced by baby knights. baby knights don't ACTUALLY die to most mortal deaths, but because they're not immortal, their body still thinks it needs to take care of itself like usual and tricks the brain into thinking they're dying when they're not (it's similar if they're stabbed or something; the body goes "YOU ARE BLEEDING OUT" and assumes the result is death). when this happens, they go dormant from anywhere between a few minutes to a few days. when they wake, they'll be perfectly fine. no scars, no nothing.

inspired by @/chvsire and some other users i can't find (thanks tumblr)—shadow knights occasionally have traits resembling real-world predators or nether mobs. whether this has a rank/role purpose or just happens, i've not decided lmao.

shadow knights may also be based off biomes. bc pretty.

some ideas for predators that i have are: bird of prey (shad), feline (gene), dog or wasp (laurance), shark or alligator (zenix), snake (sasha)... and then i got nothing LMAO.

immortal shadow knights don't really... reincarnate? they have to be magically assisted in order to cross over the purgatory, where their memories will be locked away and they'll be sent to live again. it's kinda like what death does for sam winchester in supernatural—if they were to push too hard, the memories and power would be fully accessible. this is different for other souls, who face judgement and then are either permitted or forbidden from reincarnating. if they ARE reincarnated, their memories are completely removed. or something. i'll figure it out.

om i think that's gonna be it for now :3

[sol-consort]

Any hc about Mordins nephew? Some people do, curious what you think about him

You know I actually never thought about him much, huh... So let's look at all the available information we have so far!

The scene transcript itself:

[Start scene]

M: Yes. personal matters on mind, actually. Got call from nephew.

M: Promising geneticist himself. Just turned 16. Got tenure at university. Following in my footsteps.

M: had to lie about what I was doing. Think he was suspicious. Doesn't matter. still good to hear his voice.

S: Your nephew got tenure at 16? Is he a genius or a scientific prodigy?

M: No. Wait, don't want to insult him. Yes, but not in manner you meant.

M: Remember, salarian lives short. Mature rapidly by your standards. Don't live much past 40.

S: Does anyone in your family know about what you really did for the government?

M: No. Know I'm lying, but won't pry. Salarians curious as a people, but also have social cues. Keep two types of secrets from family.

M: First type personal or guilt-based, invites suspicion, exploration. Puzzle to be solved. Reward for curiosity, intelligence. Drama! M: Other secrets more serious. Dangerous if discovered. Signals discourage curiosity for protection of family.

S: Why wouldn't everyone give clues that their secrets were too dangerous to be uncovered? M: Not conscious. Social. Reflexive body language. Can't fake it. Example: yawning perceived as contagious among humans. M: Subject observes yawn, sensory input deactivates left periamygdalar region, subject yawns in response. Social empathy. Also works with dogs. M: Salarian faking signals to discourage curiosity similar to human faking a yawn. Can try, but effectiveness limited.

S: does anyone in your family know about what you're calling him because you're worried we won't make it back

M: No. Aware survival unlikely, but actually contacted him for family connection.

M: Hard to imagine galaxy. Too many people. Faceless Statistics. Easy to depersonalize. Goo when doing unpleasant work.

M: For this fight, want personal connection. Can't anthropomorphize galaxy. But can think of favourite nephew fighting for him.

S: I'm glad you got to talk to family before we finished this. And I'm glad we talked, too, Mordin.

M: Honoured to be part of this, Shepard. Helped preserve galaxy before with genophage. Dirty work, ethically ambiguous. Problematic.

M: Collectors mission simpler, cleaner. Will be proud to see it in Mordin Solus biography Vid. Unless we all die. Proud posthumously in that case.

M: Regardless... thank you.

[End Scene]

And the video here for frame of reference

Then there is the wiki brief description of the interaction

Known members of Mordin's family include a nephew who earned a university tenure at 16, a promising geneticist following his uncle's footsteps. Mordin fondly remembers this nephew and maintains contact with him during Shepard's mission, finding the familial connection a better motivation for saving the galaxy as opposed to the bigger picture and depersonalized statistics. Mordin is not above concealing his work from his family, however.

And those are all the available buildings blocks to make our Nephew Solus base out of it. Let's refer to him as Neph for the sake of simplifying things.

The well-established facts about Neph so far are:

He is a salarian male

He is 16 (48 in human years)

He is a geneticist

He has a close relationship with Mordin

He is his favourite nephew

-

And on the more subjective side, we have these conclusions:

He is naturally curious and suspicious

He looks up to Mordin and respects him immensely

Mordin might have been a mentor figure

He shares one or more similar physical traits with Mordin

He is a civilian leading a domestic life, possibly on a salarian owned planet (being a prof at uni and all)

He often calls Mordin to update him on his life and milestones

He is Mordin's only family connection that reaches out outside of obligations and despite Mordin's detached nature

He probably doesn't know Commander Shepard since Mordin couldn't mention his work with you

-

Now I want you to focus on this scene from the video, specifically the cinematography of it.

In most of Mordin's usual dialogue scenes, the camera faces him upfront. Yet, in here, it was a deliberate choice to show the side of his face.

And what stands out most? The scar. This particular position puts heavy emphasis on the X shaped scar under his eye, the bullet holes above his eye, and even the long scar on his forehead.

Even the dialogue emphasises the word "fight" it appears twice in the same sentence. This fight, against the collectors, he's fighting for him.

If you take in the context clues, the faded scars, the rushly healed wounds, then Mordin might have been fighting for the sake of his nephew for much longer than this. That Neph has been his motivation in so many fights, even during the lowest times of his life.

Maybe he often thinks of his nephew's happy and excited face looking up at him—back when he was still a small hatchling with stars in his eyes as he listens diligently to Mordin's retelling of his stories. As he proclaims in a moment of sincerity how much he wants to be like him when he grows up, how Uncle Mordin is so cool and amazing.

Maybe that memory and so many like it, are what keeps Mordin's sanity intact. What keeps him on the ethical morally just path. What makes him listen to you when it comes to sparing his student at the end of his personal mission, he saw his nephew in him.

Even when life is shit and pain is debilitating, I still smile when I see my niece. I still kneel on the floor next to her as she shows me her toys and tries including me in what she's playing. I still act happy and excited, and unlike the bitter mask of happiness society makes you wear just to appear polite even while you're miserable, this pretend happiness with her doesn't feel fake at all.

It feels the most beautiful of white lies. Sometimes, I start to believe that I'm truly happy, forget all my burdens.

It's fullfilling, to lie to them in these situations and smile. You never have to force it, either; it comes so naturally. I could be on the brink of a breakdown, yet seeing her and getting to play the role of the fun happy grown-up becomes the purpose of my life for those few hours before I have to leave.

What an honour it is to be part of her life.

I'd imagine Mordin to feel something similar about his nephew. It seems impossible to imagine anything else.

-

One last thing to consider is that Neph might not have the last name Solus. It's not explained how Salarian culture functions when it comes to titles and if surnames are even a thing or hereditary to begin with.

Like not all human names work the same either. I know western names go [First name -> Last name]

But middle Eastern names use [First name -> Father's name -> Grandfather's name -> Great Grandfather's name -> surname]

And eastern names often use [Last name -> first name]

Salarians are matriarchal, women making up only 10% of the population and yet holding the most important positions as the heads of the family and in society aristocracy.

It makes sense for their full names to include the female headfigure of the clan they originate from. To not mix genetics + to keep track of the family's prestige and standings amongst the rest.

The surname Solus most likely originated from a great grandmother. That or it's Mordin's mother's name. Or maybe the current matriarch's name?

Either way, if it was a surname, the mother is the most likely candidate to pass down her surname to the children when it comes to Salarian culture.

And we don't know if it's Mordin's sister or brother which this nephew came from. So Neph being a Solus isn't set in stone.

[benevolentgodloki]

korg kept your brother alive when nobody even checked on him

"Much as I enjoy insulting the Avengers, it seems to be a common theme to presume actions on the basis of the constraints of narrative. Tell me, after five years of being pushed away by a being with phenomenal power, when every attempt to reach out has been exhausted, after your friends and families and world have been obliterated and you can barely keep yourself together to make it day after day to survive, when said being is one of the most stubborn people you will ever meet, do you really think that you would have the slightest hope of pulling him out of it?

"Honestly, I thought you might have had more faith in your heroes, and yet here Loki is defending them."

[betterthanakickintheface]

Speaking as a white person... No, people of colour and wanting to be listened to, believed, valued, consulted, and protected in the countries they live in, and are citizens of(I'm Canadian, but I feel like it's all still Very applicable) -daaaaring to be any kind of vocal about how that doesn't happen and how they are, you know, VERY UNDERSTANDABLY not fucking happy about that are NOT the problem

To feel so comfortable saying so just demonstrates how far up your own clearly racist ass you are, no one who wasn't would double down and reiterate that astoundingly wrong opinion again but with more words

And "zero concrete examples"?? You've got some effective fucking blinders on if you can say that and believe it but think that white people's love of moving the goal posts for, and pseudo-intellectualizing away concerns, struggles and very real dangers to REAL PEOPLE who just aren't you/us isn't a very real and hugely documented, and far-reaching problem you're literally just stupid

There is no other way you can look at or hear people sharing their perspective on their own fucking lives and what is important to them as a person who is *specifically* not white and is not interested - and nor should they be - in being told to shut up, keep waiting 'their turn', quiet down, that their extremely valid and NECESSARY voices and experiences get summarily dismissed as "inane" because white people just can't fucking stop deciding that every single discussion about how white people and whiteness have done and continue to do SO much damage is about them specifically and personally that they at "best" allow their discomfort to not only often ignore objective facts about how AT THE VERY LEAST the vast majority of white people and peoples have historically been Very Shitty Indeed to peoples of colour, even people they just think of as 'not as good a white as us *insert north, western, or central European nations especially here*' but also to override or bypass sympathy, empathy, compassion or even willingness to fucking listen to them about their lives to the point that we white people shut anything not complimentary to us down. We are so fucking fragile that we can't seem to fucking get that not everything is about us, for us, concern us, have to include us and it fucking shouldn't have to. Especially when all we seem interested in is having access to any and all spaces so that we can pretend that "no, everyone else is actually wrong about things they-as a group have all professed to have experienced".

Like... Seemingly one of our favourite fucking things to do is brag about supposedly having friends of different ethnicities and cultures to anyone who will listen, so why do so many of us not fucking listen to them??? Why do so many of us then also not care or believe those friends?? Try to help? Aren't they your friends, OUR friends?? Even if it's a hard pill to swallow, why do so many of us white people actively stand in the way of supporting things that will help our friends, partners, family, coworkers(not to mention children, whether connected to you as an individual or not)?? If our friends and loved ones, wider communities are helped, provided for, listened to does that not also benefit us needy white people too by extension of being in the same potentially improving society that doesn't continue to waste so much fucking time and energy on keeping entire peoples down because white people are either insecurity and hate.

White people have been the "not all men" people who get mad when sexual harassment comes up; and yeah, most people know and believe that but that(usually unnecessary) distinction ultimately is diminishing, dismissing and ignoring the point of the matter which is that the generalized statement and belief that "men do sexual harassment" is because so many people have had those kinds of unpleasant interactions or experience, often repeatedly. Even if they were not talking about you specifically, and you've never done anything misogynistic or worse THEY have enough negative experiences with other men that that statement is true to them even if you find it hard to believe.

White people do that whenever anyone says anything about how we have in the past, but also continue to treat people of colour like shit. Like yeah, no shit not all white people are feral racists, just like not all men are creeps... But I dunno if enough people are saying that "more than a few(separate, unrelated, individual) white people have said/done/legislated negative things to and against me" maybe we should fucking SHUUUUT UUUUUP and believe them?? acknowledge that even if we, as individual white people have never knowingly or intentionally been racist there is still clearly A PROBLEM because we keep being told it is a problem.

So yeah, it's very much white people that have held us all back, even the progressive ones because we cant get out of our own way. And when soooo many of us demonstrably have been unable(or unwilling) to even recognize that, let alone do anything to change it it fucking ruins lives in a very real way and if you can't see that...you yourself are part of the problem with white leftists and progressives

**as a white person, and an untagged-by-OP one at that, I totally understand if you'd prefer I remove my addition to your post, in which case I absolutely will 🖤

Every white leftist should read this

[skunkes]

if life is categorized by Before Loss and After Loss then I exist in the before but with a countdown to the after. and the countdown is always always present and debilitating. the loss will be debilitating too but i cant help myself. i will always suffer twice.

[lilacerull0]

i feel like reading/watching mbf immediately means knowing who i am as a person and... i cannot allow this

[azlovesem]

Be safe protect your precious head. You look cute on s horse. Ahh not bog on it. Those things i like to watch other people tiding ill drive a car motorcycle ill fly a kite first. But yesy i can ride. Fuckn dtupid stinky fartn fuckn beasts. I named my ship after a horse i once owned. Ahh dont argue with anyone itll give you wrinkles. I notice on the internet you font beak off a bunch of fuckn npnsense youre careful eith your words. Because thats how you are not because of uour fans. Good nice well educated people who only wanna help need not argue with fuckn obvipus vermin. Thats not your old pal lady. You people srguing looks ridiculpus. And not on your end Emma but it is all just dilly looking. The fuckn moon is made of cheese. If i had the answer to life would you not wanna hear it because you know its rock. And do do other people. Is it worth killing if i wanted to bring crackers up there and eat awsy and drink wine eithput a helmet. People do what theybwanna do anyway. No matter what fucon goof won some election. Some arguments might get right out of hand in this. Leave thise ones to me. Yhey csll me thw great teachwr for a reason. They call me Lethsl for a reason too.

[dallonwrites]

actually making my tags from my last post into their own post. writers who struggle with grammar, spelling, typos, errors etc i love you. writers who struggle with rereading their stuff thoroughly no matter how much they try, who don't always have access to other people to help them read i love you. whilst reading through and checking for these things is good practice i really believe that the weight of it should not be put wholly on the writer's shoulders. especially writers who are neurodivergent, disabled, have any condition that can impede their reading + comprehension, are overworked and overtired, are not writing in their native language, list goes on....because grammar mistakes/language mistakes/typos have nothing to do with your abilities as a creative. this is where editors should be uplifting writers, helping them, not scrutinising them for something they cannot always control

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D