#or don't! i wrote it because it needed to be out of my head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flowersforbucky · 2 days ago

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okay i have been soooo behind on my to be read fics lately and i'm so sorry 😭 i'm so glad to finally read this. it was incredibly beautiful and unique. i really enjoy your portrayal of how bucky would be in the earliest days of his recovery. i feel like i see so many fics (and don't get me wrong, those fics are great too) where he's portrayed as bucky with hints to his trauma here and there, but very rarely do i see a portrayal like this, where he's still very much in the mindset of soldat with hints of bucky sprinkled in.

more under the cut!

"There's absolutely no way that he's staying here. Have you completely lost your mind? What if he suddenly snaps or loses control and goes completely berserk, hm? What if one night those sleeper triggers buried in his brain suddenly activate and he systematically takes us out one by one in our sleep?" Tony added emphatically, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as he attempted to visualize the gruesome scenarios playing out in his mind.

i actually love tony as a character so much lol i feel like you wrote his dialogue spot on

"Come inside with me, I'll take care of you." You offered quietly, your voice gentle and reassuring as you extended your hand towards him. Your body language remained open and non-threatening, shoulders relaxed and posture deliberately casual to help put him at ease and to show him you felt no fear.

i love how reader is gentle but still direct with him because i think that's what he would need in this case. he's so used to being told what to do, i can imagine that it's more natural for him to obey a command, but the gentleness she possesses is what he deserves after never being shown that with any handler.

i love how much thought you put into what his habits would be post winter soldier. i have no doubt that you're right - i'm sure he got very little time, if any, for self care. it would definitely take him a lot of time to realize that it's okay to take longer showers and take extra time with caring for yourself.

tomato soup and grilled cheese is always a good choice <3

Gradually, the rigid tension that had defined his existence began to melt away, and he started allowing more intimate gestures of care. He let you gently brush his unruly hair into place, carefully wash his face with warm water, or trim his growing stubble for him.

ahhhh the kind of care he deserves. these are the kind of things that make me think bucky's love language would be acts of service 💕

"Мне не нравится делиться вашим вниманием. [I don't like sharing your attention]," he muttered with an undertone of possession, his lips curling into a slight frown as he gradually leaned closer to you. His silken hair delicately tickled your face as he slowly lowered himself, the tips of your noses barely grazing against each other in an intimate gesture. His lips parted ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of anticipation before he dipped his head down, warm lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your jawline.

AHHHH the possessiveness!!! god!!! please!!! maybe i am a tiny tiny bit fucked in the head but the thought of him being possessive over me in any state makes me so 🫠🤭🙃

The soldier was absolutely transfixed at the sight of your breasts, eyeing the soft mounds and peaked nipples as they hardened in the cool air, growing increasingly sensitive and rosy with your mounting arousal. It was like he was completely mesmerized by the sight before him, the fucking Winter Soldier, the most dangerous assassin in history, stopped dead in his tracks at the mere sight of your bare breasts.

maybe i am just delulu but i really do believe my tits could have that effect on him so thank you so much for putting my delusion into perfect words and indulging me <3

"Моя сейчас. [Mine now]," he muttered softly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as his lips hovered mere millimeters from your own.

YES I AM YOURS YOU CAN SAY THAT AGAIN!!!

ugh you never fail to amaze me with the love and care that you put into this character.

Sugar Plums. | W.S

summary: The soldier has an attachment to you.

a/n: This came to me randomly but thought it was cute and somewhat spicy. I added some fluff to balance it all out and tried to keep the sexy scenes sweet too. I see so many fics of him being super aggressive in bed and those are great, but for me I think he'd be a little more like this. Takes place after the events of CA:TWS. Contains roughly translated Russian, native speakers can correct me if anything was translated wrong. Ty. ;; wc: 5.5k

It was so awkward.

Everyone sat frozen in place, their eyes locked on the imposing figure of the Winter Soldier as he towered behind you, his piercing blue eyes methodically scanning the room and studying each occupant with an intensity that made them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"Absolutely not!" Tony was the first to break the suffocating silence, his voice sharp and decisive as he beat Steve to speaking by a mere second. There was absolutely no way he would even consider allowing the fist of HYDRA to take up residence in his tower, treating him like he was nothing more than some lost stray that needed sheltering. "He's not staying here, no way in hell - this isn't a halfway house for reformed assassins."

"Tony, come on. HYDRA is gone, their control over him is broken," you reasoned desperately, your voice taking on a pleading tone as you gestured toward the silent figure behind you, "He's been surviving on his own for weeks, barely getting by. Just look at him...he's exhausted, malnourished, and clearly needs somewhere safe to stay and recover."

"Uh, how about no?" Tony fired back, staring at you like you had grown a second head...or like you had a towering sleeper soldier looming behind you.

Tony wasn't your favorite person in the world, but he was usually somewhat reasonable.

"Your state-of-the-art security cameras can't give us a heads up before that happens?" You asked with dry sarcasm, your tone deliberately flat and unimpressed, clearly making a joke while you tried to find some kind of middle ground that would get the agitated, self-proclaimed playboy to calm down and think rationally.

"No chance in hell, sweet cheeks," he folded his arms and glared at you with sternness that etched across his features. "Too dangerous."

"He's staying, whether you like it or not," you replied in the same unwavering tone, standing your ground with resolute conviction. "He's hurt, weak, completely vulnerable. There's absolutely nothing he could possibly do in this state. He needs somewhere warm and safe to stay, especially since he's been struggling to survive out on the streets for weeks now. Besides, winter is coming fast and there’s no way he won’t get hypothermia or something." You added with concern, knowing full well that while the soldier hadn't been entirely helpless during his ordeal, he certainly hadn't managed to secure any kind of stable shelter.

His temporary refuges consisted only of cold spaces beneath bridges, dark corners tucked away in forgotten alleys, or the remains of abandoned buildings - not a single place where he could truly let his guard down or feel protected from the harsh elements. With winter's rapid approach and already light dustings of snow, the temperatures would only get more brutal as the nights went on.

You continued to argue with Tony, Steve butting in every so often, luckily siding with you, desperate to have his old friend somewhere safe. It was a long, frustrating argument that lasted much longer than need be.

Earlier that day, while you had been making your way down the frost-covered street of New York's downtown district, his eyes had caught sight of your familiar form. Something deep within him told him to follow you, a magnetic pull that he couldn't explain. He obeyed the instinct, trailing silently behind you all the way back to the tower. When you finally became aware of his presence, he was thoroughly drenched from the steadily falling snow, his cheeks and nose having turned a bright, rosy color from the biting cold as he tried to suppress his constant shivering.

The moment you made your sudden turn to approach him, he visibly startled, immediately taking a defensive step backward as his mind raced through all the possible scenarios and potential threats. His eyes darted across your face with obvious wariness as you fully turned to face him, his entire body subtly shifting its weight from foot to foot, muscles tensed and ready to bolt away.

"It's okay...you look cold..." You spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, trying not to startle him as you took in his disheveled appearance. The soldier, the one whose face had practically been plastered across every news channel, the same one Steve had spoken about with such raw emotion in his voice.

You remembered how Steve had mourned his best friend, utterly confused and devastated about why he had saved from the river, while Bucky fell to what should have been his death. Steve held onto that grief, that guilt, like a lifeline. He held onto it so desperately, clinging to the faintest hope that a sliver of Bucky was still somewhere deep inside the persona of the Winter Soldier.

Looking at him now, you couldn't see any trace of the man from Steve's stories - the soldier's eyes were too wild and wide, filled with fear and confusion.

But despite everything you'd heard, despite the destruction you'd witnessed on the news, despite the intense warnings from everyone in the tower, there was something about his presence that didn't trigger your fight or flight response.

He didn't make you feel unsafe.

He looked absolutely beat down, exhausted to his very core, his shoulders slumped in a way that made you wonder when he'd last had a moment's rest. You weren't even sure he could take you down if he tried in this state, though you knew his reputation suggested otherwise. He was shaking from the cold air as it blew in a stinging breeze, his metal arm gleaming dully in what little light remained, while the incoming winter storm brought with it a thick haze and countless tiny pinpricks of needle-like snowflakes that seemed to cut through the air.

After a few silent moments where his piercing blue eyes studied you through the thick haze, he finally shifted his weight forward and took a step in your direction.

The water in the shower had set a steady steam in the bathroom, the mirror had fogged and the tiles sweat below your bare feet.

You could hear the gentle splashing of water against the bathtub as he cleaned himself. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm caught your attention, hopefully that thing was waterproof, but it must be, right?

After setting out a fresh towel and clean clothes for his use, you quietly excused yourself to provide him with privacy. The state of his current attire was awful, every piece was thoroughly saturated and carried an unmistakable stench that made you wrinkle your nose. The clothes were in such poor condition that you couldn't help but wonder if they had been scavenged from someone who no longer needed them.

You wouldn’t put it past the soldier to steal from a cadaver.

His shower routine was notably brief, years of conditioning taught him to minimize the time spent on his personal care. Upon finishing, he emerged from behind the curtain and efficiently dried himself with the provided towel. His gaze fell upon the fresh clothes you had thoughtfully placed by the sink, while his previous garments had been discreetly removed.

The soldier hesitated momentarily before donning the clean outfit. It wasn’t anything fancy, a pair of grey sweatpants emblazoned with the Avenger's logo along the side and a simple yet comfortable black tank top. When he finally emerged from the bathroom to face you, his body language betrayed his uncertainty as he stood there, not sure what to do now. Comfort was completely foreign to him, and care was a dream away.

"Tony finally gave in," you replied softly, your voice sounded in the quiet stillness of the bedroom. "He said you could stay here with us."

He remained motionless, his expression blank and unreadable as he stood there, offering neither response nor the slightest hint of acknowledgement to your words. You weren’t sure what to expect but that seemed pretty in character for him at the moment.

"You'll be staying in my quarters since no one else is comfortable having you in their space just yet...but don't worry too much about that," you reassured gently, though you could tell from his demeanor that others' opinions held little weight in his mind. "They'll come around after some time, I'm sure of it."

His gaze fixed upon you then, his brow creasing ever so slightly with an unspoken question as he began to move. Each step was deliberate and measured as he crossed the room, closing the distance between you until he stood directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets from his freshly washed hair beading at the ends and falling onto the fabric of your top, leaving dark spots where they landed.

"Everything's going to be fine," you said with gentle reassurance, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Why don't we head to the kitchen and get you something to eat? You must be hungry." You offered, hoping to bring some normalcy to the situation.

The soldier shadowed your every movement, following closely behind like a faithful companion who refused to stray from their master's side.

Upon entering the expansive kitchen, you immediately made your way to the industrial-sized refrigerator, searching through its contents for something suitable to offer him. The kitchen was perpetually stocked to the brim with an array of foods, snacks, and ingredients, practically anything one could imagine or desire. It was like having a private, fully-stocked grocery store.

Though with a the ravenous super soldier with enhanced metabolism, the mighty Asgardian god whose appetite matched his status, and Banner's surprisingly hulk-ish consumption…the team still depleted their food with an efficiency that would put a pack of famished wolves to shame.

"Hm...what should you have...do you want anything specific?" You turned over your shoulder to address him, but he maintained his characteristic silence. Unmoving, and completely stoic, like a statue carved from marble.

"Нет [No]," came his quiet response, the Russian word rolling off his tongue deeply. He remained perfectly still, observing with careful attention as you continued your search through the refrigerator's contents, trying to determine what would be most appropriate for him to eat. Your mind was working quickly, knowing you wanted to avoid anything too time-consuming to prepare. You wanted to get some food into him sooner rather than later.

"How about...I could make some soup real quick? Tomato and grilled cheese might be a safe option for you. Shouldn't upset your stomach too much if you haven’t been eating a lot, and it will warm you up if you're still feeling cold." You turned back toward him once more, studying his features carefully for any hint of reaction or preference to your suggestion, any subtle change in his expression.

But, he didn't provide even the slightest indication of his feelings.

You decided on tomato soup and a grilled cheese anyway, you figured it was best and immediately set to work in the kitchen.

Although you typically prided yourself on preparing meals completely from scratch, this particular circumstance called for something different. You assembled the sandwich, buttering the bread before placing it in a heated pan to get a golden-brown crust while keeping a watchful eye on the pot of soup simmering beside it, occasionally stirring for even heating.

Once everything reached the perfect temperature and consistency, you transferred the meal onto clean dishes, relieved it didn’t take too long. You presented him with the steaming bowl of soup and perfectly grilled sandwich, watching as the soldier deliberately took his place at the counter, his eyes fixed intently on the rising steam from the bowl before him.

You watched him, noting how his entire body remained unnaturally rigid and motionless, as though every muscle was locked in place and braced for something. His lips bore a slight sheen of moisture, like he had licked them at some point when you weren't watching. Yet despite his obvious hunger, he hadn't made even the slightest attempt to reach for the food. His eyes held intense longing and hesitation, briefly meeting yours before quickly darting away, as if making eye contact was somehow forbidden.

"What's wrong?" You asked with growing concern etched across your features, "You're hungry aren't you? I can tell you haven't eaten in a while. Especially not anything warm, at least. I know it can be hard out there, all by yourself…"

His response came in the form of an almost imperceptible nod, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the bowl and sandwich before him, as though they were the most important and most dangerous objects in the room.

"So why aren't you eating? The food's getting cold, it won’t be as good if it cools too much."

"Я не могу совершить действие без приказа. [I cannot perform an action without an order]," the soldier responded in barely more than a whisper, his voice carrying the weight of years of conditioning.

You stood there, completely lost in the language barrier between you. Your limited knowledge of Russian extended only to the most basic words - 'да' and 'нет' - leaving you clueless by his response and worried about the implications of his behavior.

You didn't want to wake Natasha, even though she would certainly understand what he was saying in Russian, but disturbing her sleep for something as simple as a quick translation seemed unnecessary and might put her in a bad mood. Instead, an idea popped into your head that would avoid an angry widow. You reached for your phone and placed it on the smooth counter surface, navigating to a translator app before looking up at him again. "Can you repeat that?"

The soldier's eyes flickered briefly to the phone screen, taking in the sight of the translation app with what seemed like recognition, before his gaze deliberately returned to the untouched food laid out before him. "I cannot perform an action without an order," he stated in perfect, albeit mechanical English this time.

You blinked in surprise, thoroughly caught off guard by the sudden switch to English when he had been persistently speaking Russian up until this point. "Okay...well...eat then, you can eat freely here, you don't need an order to do that." You slowly tucked your phone away into your pocket as his right hand gradually lifted from where it had been resting in his lap, reaching out to pick up the sandwich.

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but he wolfed down his food within a minute, that sandwich was gone within maybe three bites. The soup swallowed just as fast.

God, he was starving, and the realization made your heart ache.

"Better?" You asked gently, to which he only nodded, swallowing the last of the food in his mouth.

This became routine, the soldier stuck by your side like a duckling imprinting on its mother.

He followed you diligently around every corner of the tower, his protective instincts activated as he positioned himself like an ever-vigilant guardian. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings, noting how others would cast uncertain and sometimes suspicious glances in his direction.

These looks made him increasingly self-conscious and anxious, as though he were some exotic creature put on display at a zoo for others to gawk at. But in your presence, he seemed a bit more at ease. He genuinely liked being around you.

He accepted these tender ministrations without the slightest resistance or complaint, though a nagging worry lingered in your mind that his compliance stemmed from years of conditioning to submit to others' wishes. Each time you worried about that, you’d see a genuine warmth and contentment in his gaze rather than submission, showing you that he truly found comfort and pleasure in your gentle touch.

It was evening, the room reflected the warm glow of festive holiday lights emanating from a miniature Christmas tree nestled in the corner. The soldier found himself transfixed by the small decorated tree, his eyes lingering on each twinkling light as their vibrant colors danced and shimmered. The sterile, monotonous walls he had grown accustomed to during his confinement were nothing compared to the colorful lights. The gentle play of red, green, and gold seemed to awaken something long dormant within him, he almost wanted to plant himself in front of the tree and just stare at it.

Tony may have allowed his stay, but that didn’t mean there weren’t restrictions. He was stern about where and when the soldier could go anywhere with you, and he demanded that he not leave your room afterhours. It wasn’t hard to follow, the solider showed reluctance to leave your room at all, having been so accustomed to being kept in one room. You didn’t push him, but you felt bad for him because he was missing how the tower had been decorated for the holidays. So, you got a smaller tree for the bedroom to provide some kind of festive look for him to take in.

You emerged from the bathroom, wisps of steam following in your wake, your damp hair leaving little droplets on your shoulders as you continued to towel it dry with scrunches. He remained motionless on the edge of your bed, his attention immediately shifting as he turned and blinked up at your approaching figure.

His icy eyes traced a deliberate path across your form, which was barely concealed beneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the hem teasingly brushing against your mid-thigh with each movement. "I am beat," you sighed heavily, your voice carrying the weight of the day's festivities. The marathon of holiday activities had clearly taken its toll, leaving you thoroughly drained. The tower often held an array of things to do because Tony loved to show off what he could afford, and it wasn’t like anyone else would object.

He observed with rapt attention as you made your way onto the bed and settled back against the pillows, releasing a deep exhale that seemed to melt away the day's tension. His unwavering gaze remained fixed on the rhythmic, hypnotic motion of your chest rising and falling with each breath.

You felt the bed shift beneath you as he moved, his weight causing the mattress to dip and creak softly. He crawled over to where you lay, his arms positioning themselves on either side of your body, caging you in. Your eyes fluttered open to find him hovering directly above you, his presence overwhelming in its proximity. This was something new…he had always maintained somewhat of a distance before, never daring to position himself so intimately over top of you.

"Я скомпрометирован. [I'm compromised]," the soldier spoke in a hushed tone, his voice carrying that distinctive gravelly pitch that made you feel tingly. The tension between you had become damned near impossible to ignore. What had started as a subtle pull had grown into an overwhelming force of attraction that seemed to draw you both together like magnets.

Still, you forced yourself to hold back, maintaining that last thread of restraint. You had no way of knowing the depth of his emotional capacity, if he was even capable of genuine feelings, or wanted to experience them at all after everything he endured.

"Soldat...?" The whispered word escaped your lips as you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his muscles tensed as he remained suspended above you, perfectly still. "You know I don't understand-"

"I am compromised," he repeated, switching to English this time. His voice had dropped even lower, carrying an edge of frustration that vibrated through the minimal space between your bodies.

"Comprom..." You sat up slowly on your elbows and shook your head in confusion, your brow furrowed as you tried to process his words. That’s what you’d say about a machine or computer, not a man. "What are you talking about?" Your eyes wandered downward, suddenly drawn to an unmistakable tent in his fitted briefs that became obvious from your new viewing angle, causing you to freeze in place as your breath caught in your throat.

So, he could feel things.

"Oh..." You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you remained frozen in place, your cheeks growing warm. "I think I understand now...you're feeling a bit pent up, aren't you?"

His metal arm whirred softly, the sophisticated machinery humming as he moved to adjust his hand placement. "Да. [Yes]," he responded in a low voice, his gleaming titanium fingertips delicately ghosted across the bare skin of your thigh, just barely grazing beneath the hem of your thin sleep shirt. Goosebumps erupted along your body in response to the contact, the cool metal sudden against your flushed skin.

You swallowed reflexively, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his warm, steady breath caress your sensitive skin, sending a visible shudder of growing excitement through your body.

He continued his gentle exploration, encouraged by your acceptance and the absence of any resistance. He pressed a trail of soft, purposeful kisses along the curve of your jaw, each one more intimate than the last, before gradually working his way down to your neck. His lips carefully followed the rhythmic flutter of your pulse beneath your skin, his tongue peeking out shyly to touch against you.

"Ah-" You voiced softly, feeling him settle on a particularly sensitive spot, right against the delicate side of your neck. It was nestled perfectly between the graceful junction where your neck connected to your collarbone, the skin there warm and inviting, holding a faint trace of blood flow from the intricate network of smaller veins positioned just beneath the surface.

He kissed many times with increasing intensity, clearly finding this spot ideal for his attentions. The soft, tentative pecks gradually became more passionate, open-mouthed kisses as each one was placed. His tongue began gently pressing against your skin with each lingering kiss, the pressure slowly growing in need. You felt your cheeks flush with warmth when he finally latched on, your eyes widening in surprise as the soldier's strong arms held you a little tighter.

Soldat began to suckle a mark, his ministrations gentle and teasing at first, but quickly growing in force and intensity as his skilled tongue swirled expertly around the trapped skin between his lips and teeth. The sensation drew a breathy moan from deep within you, making your entire body feel as though it were engulfed in flames of desire. Though you were completely helpless beneath the assassin, you had absolutely no intention or desire to push him away.

This felt too damned good.

Without thinking, your leg came up and hooked around his hips, drawing him closer until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat between you grew and you felt his painful erection trapped in his briefs, straining against the fabric as his arousal was staining them. Soldat exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening possessively, but he did not let go.

His suckling grew increasingly intense, the sensitive skin tingling and starting to sting and burn with each passing moment. Still, he didn't release the bruised skin just yet.

Instead, he just bit down harder, ensuring the mark he left would last for days. You moaned loudly, your fingers gently tangling in his thick hair as your pleasured sounds encouraged his attention. He became more attentive when your little sounds of pleasure turned into sharp, quiet hisses - clearly indicating that the sensation had crossed from pleasure into discomfort, silently telling him to ease off.

When he did finally relent, he pulled back to admire his handiwork, looking down at the deep purple mark blooming on your neck. His breath came in heavy pants through his parted lips as he stayed quiet, watching intently as you struggled to catch your own breath too. The sight of you beneath him, disheveled and vulnerable, with flushed skin and labored breathing, was enough to draw him right back in.

He dipped back down with renewed hunger, his metal hand slowly threading through your hair before gently fisting it at the base of your skull, though his careful control ensured it wasn’t painful, just firm. He tugged just enough to guide your movement, encouraging you to expose more of your neck to his hungry gaze.

"E-easy..." You whispered, a note of anxious anticipation in your voice. You wanted more, god you wanted more, but his sudden change of behavior was a bit surprising for you.

"Понял. [Understood]," he whispered against your skin, pressing a soft kiss of reassurance to your jaw before returning his attention to your neck. Those soft kisses began again, trailing along your skin, but his restraint didn't last long as he quickly sought a new canvas for another mark. He latched onto a spot just a little bit higher on your neck, alternating between sucking and carefully controlled bites to gradually darken and bruise the sensitive flesh.

You felt bite after delicious bite, hickey after possessive hickey.

He marked the tender flesh of your neck in several deep, purple marks that bloomed like violent flowers across your skin...each one throbbing with a sweet ache when he pulled away. His tongue always swirled over the mark with care to soothe the sting of it, making you arch into his touch as you fell into a complete daze.

"S-Soldat," you muttered breathlessly, cheeks flushed crimson and eyelids heavy with desire. Your pupils matched his own - completely blown with hunger and desperate need. Those bermuda swirls meeting yours as he continued a torturously slow trail of hot kisses down your chest, nipping your collarbone with just enough pressure to make you gasp before following the gentle dip of your sternum.

He paused deliberately, pulling up so he could lift the thin sleep shirt over you and expose more of your bare chest to his hungry gaze, giving him better access for his heated kisses and teasing nips. Once your top was discarded somewhere on the floor, his hands gently but firmly held your sides, trailing up with reverent touches until settling against your ribcage. His larger hands completely encompassed your torso, making you feel small but protected.

You felt in charge now.

"What is it? Do you like them?" you purred softly to the soldier, your body swaying in a deliberately teasing motion that made them gently move. His eyes remained fixed, drinking in the sight before him as his lips parted ever so slightly. Slowly, his head tilted down again, surrendering to the moment. He let his face nestle against your chest, his lips trailing a constellation of unhurried kisses across your skin.

He began to nip and suckle the tender skin of your breasts, his mouth working to create deep, purple love bites on that delicate flesh. The bruising blossomed easily beneath his ministrations, almost like they were eager to show themselves.

His lips would find a promising spot, then he would begin lapping at the skin with gentle strokes of his tongue until he felt you squirming. The soldier took the sensitized flesh carefully between his teeth, rolling the captured skin while his talented muscle swirled and sucked.

Your chest displayed his passionate handiwork when he finally drew back to admire his creation. The plum-colored bruises created an intimate pattern across your skin, their rich hues made even more striking by the soft glow of the holiday lights that danced through the room, highlighting each carefully placed love bite until they seemed to shimmer like twilight stars against your flesh.

"Soldat...I think you covered enough surface area," you breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the intense throbbing that radiated from each mark he'd left. The sensation pulsed in waves across your skin, making it difficult to focus. Your neck was thoroughly covered in the passionate marks, and now your chest bore an equally impressive collection.

The soldier gazed down at you with intensely, his eyes taking in each little sugar plum bruise that decorated your skin like a masterpiece. Though they were scattered without any deliberate pattern, the overall effect clearly pleased him. You lay there looking thoroughly affected by his attention, hair mussed and breathing uneven, cheeks beautifully darkened with a dust of blush, just from his careful application of bites alone. The sight of you in such a state, marked so thoroughly, brought deep set satisfaction in his gut.

"Моя сейчас. [Mine now]," he muttered softly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as his lips hovered mere millimeters from your own. The almost-kiss was delicate, just the faintest brush of contact that sent electricity dancing through your nerves. He almost seemed nervous to close that final distance, his confidence faltering despite the passionate trail of marks he had already left scattered across your skin.

He drew back slightly, seemingly snapping out of a trance, and you could see the vulnerability written plainly across his features as that nervousness flickered in his eyes. Shifting his weight, he settled back onto the bed, his right hand finding your knee and tracing gentle, soothing circles there with his thumb. The tender gesture matched his hushed voice as he spoke, "Я не хочу идти дальше. [I don't want to go any further]," the words carrying both certainty and a hint of apology.

Your brow furrowed deeply as you struggled to understand what he was trying to stay, the confusion evident in the slight crease between your eyebrows and the questioning tilt of your head. You really needed to study Russian. "Do you not want to continue?" you asked slowly and carefully, focusing more on interpreting the subtle nuances in his tone rather than trying to parse the exact words he was using.

His facial expression held hesitance and uncertainty, the slight downturn of his lips and the way his eyes wouldn't quite meet yours telling you what you needed to know. Body language was his primary mode of genuine communication, and you had become very good at reading these silent signals he unconsciously broadcast.

"It's okay, we can stop," you replied with a reassuring tone, making sure to keep your voice soft to help dissipate any lingering tension he might be feeling. "Let's just lay here, okay? We can cuddle without any kind of pressure to do anything else, if you want." You offered with a warm smile, wanting him to feel that his comfort and boundaries were completely respected and that there was no expectation or obligation to continue.

This was a lot of good progress with him, you typically just cuddled or he kept to his side of the bed but he had shown you a lot of sweet affection tonight, and you loved it, it meant he was growing more confident in himself and your relationship. The evidence of his passionate yet tender attention remained visible in the form of gentle, plum-colored marks that decorated your neck and chest as you lay beside him, watching as his silent form trembled slightly beneath the heavy warmth of the thick blankets that enveloped you both.

You opened your arms, offering him a warmer space, and he quickly scooted forward, tucking himself against you. Prone to being cold, he liked being under many layers of blankets, so you made sure to provide plenty for him to not only feel warm but secure. Plus...having you to hold him always helped.

Without the worry of being a soldier, he could rest easy like this.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

#bucky barnes x reader #fic rec

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kingkat12 · 3 days ago

Text

feeling (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, fingering, voyeurism, semi-public sexual activities, smoking, teasing, praises, Roman shouldn't be allowed on school grounds

summary: you've finally mastered the art of feeling nothing at all. emotions don't serve you, they're painful, and everything about them downright suck. however, what happens when you're suddenly faced with the fact that feeling can feel... good?

word count: 3,200

a/n: hey luvs!! I've always hated being someone that feels everything deeply and painfully, even the smallest things, so I wrote the start last night just to get it out of my head, but... you know me, it spiralled, SORRY!!! tihi oh well, enjoy!<33

Everything in life had to be a fight. Always.

Living could be so painful sometimes. Feeling was exhausting. Therefore, it was easier to shut down all my emotions instead of dealing with the overwhelming pain cramming itself down the veins of my forearms, ripping through the vessels of blood at the tips of my fingers with every bad thing that happened in my life.

If I could walk around with a sign saying 'I'm not trying to be mean, I just don't care enough', I would. People always assumed I was a piece of shit due to my inclination never to smile. However, the sign would make me more of a freak at school than I already was, and I had an inkling that I shouldn't dig myself a deeper hole than I already had. High school was hard as it was, why complicate it further?

My lack of social indulgence left me rather lonely. Not that I cared. It was easier this way-- I didn't have to pretend to be bearable to be around. I didn't have to smile, I didn't have to laugh, and I didn't have to fake anything in the world.

However, I wasn't allowed to live peacefully on my island of isolation. Every so often, a little boat would float by the shore and ask to park by the dock for a short break, to rest from its travels and seek momentary company, despite the fact that I hadn't sought this out whatsoever. And to make matters worse, the boat would do so every day, with its voice calling louder with every passing of the sun and moon-- eventually, I had to relent.

So here we sat, on my island of isolation, also known as the empty bleachers. Roman pulled two cigarettes out of his box and placed them between his plush lips, lighting both at the same time. It had become a ritual of sorts, where he'd approach whenever he saw me at school and sit with me in silence for a little cigarette break. When we first started running into each other like this, he would try to small-talk, but this died down when he pieced together that silence was the best for us both.

We needed the time away from everyone, Roman probably more than I. He handed me the cigarette, and we exchanged a short nod at the other with the exchange.

Someone wise once said that you learn something new every day. Because after all this time watching his extroverted social life from afar, wondering how he had the energy for all the people around him all the time, I realized there was only one other person in the world that understood the wish to surrender of a full-body shutdown as well as I did-- and that was Roman Godfrey.

And that was why he sat here with me, smoking in silence.

Still, after all this time, I never knew why he sought me out. Why he had approached at all the first time, and why he had chosen me. Was it maybe that he saw solace in my carefree rejection of everything and everyone? I wondered whether he wished to be like me.

And I wondered whether he knew that I wished to be like him.

I loved to watch the way Roman inhaled the first drag of his cigarette-- it was always with a small moan followed by his eyes closing, his legs spreading out on his seat, and a nod to himself. Like he had been waiting for a new hit for years. Because whenever I watched him and his ritualistic ways, I felt specks of something. The only something that didn't hurt, and didn't feel like my arms were about to rip themselves open and gush blood.

When he didn't look, I allowed myself to smile. I could give in to it. And today, after months of sitting in silence and barely exchanging more than a few sentences about ourselves, I wanted to tell him what was on my mind. "Roman?"

He slowly opened his eyes, surprised that I had spoken. "Shit," he breathed, exhaling a ring of smoke. "You broke your vow of silence for me? I'm flattered."

I would've laughed. His tone was dead serious, yet I could see him fighting a smile. Nonetheless, I went on, but in a different direction; "Do you think we're friends?" I asked, inhaling another drag of smoke.

Roman stilled, watching me. He was surely trying to calculate the way this conversation was going, or what I was trying to get at. Eventually, he spoke; "No,"

"No?"

"No," Roman shrugged-- "You sort of remind me of this guy I once knew, Tyler. He was at every party I was at, and he always had a stash of weed with him, so we ended up smoking it on the porch at, like, every occasion. I never knew anything about him, though, so I don't think we were friends."

"And... you don't think Tyler thought you were friends?"

It looked like Roman hadn't thought about that. "I don't think he ever cared," he mumbled. "And I didn't think you did either."

I nodded to myself as I exhaled the smoke, unsure whether to keep his gaze or look away. I was scared I'd start feeling again, with the way this convo was going. "Alright then," I said, rolling the cigarette between my fingers.

Perplexed, Roman's brows drew together. "Would you want to be friends?"

"No,"

"... Okay?" He let out a laugh which sounded an awful lot like a huff, and he shook his head as threw the cigarette down to the floor and stomped it. "Luckily for you, you've made it to the rapid round of today's quiz." Roman turned to me, nudging my shoulder. "And I'm allowing myself to be nosy, for once. So, tell me why."

"Why what?"

"Why you don't want to be friends,"

It spilled past my lips easier than I thought it would; "Because you make me feel,"

A pause. It was too long.

"Feel?" Roman looked more puzzled than before. "Feel what?"

"Just... feel. You make me feel stuff,"

"What stuff?"

"Just stuff!" I wasn't sure why it annoyed me to explain it to him. In my mind, he should've gotten it. Understood it. "It's not a particular feeling, it's just feeling in general."

Roman cleared his throat, and with his next breath, he took the cigarette between my fingers into his hand. "Ever heard of sociopaths"? he muttered, taking a drag. With the way his shoulders tensed, I couldn't make out whether he was nervous or excited.

"I'm not a sociopath,"

"Then what the fuck do you mean?" Roman leaned in closer, yet I didn't move. Up close, his eyes were much greener, much more vibrant-- I didn't want to think about it. It made my stomach flutter.

"You stole my cigarette..." What else was I supposed to say?

Roman stifled a laugh. "I didn't steal it. Ever heard of sharing? It stems from an emotion called caring,"

"Fuck you,"

Being so close to him was intoxicating. Stupid. Dangerous. My heart hadn't beat this fast in months-- why had I opened my mouth at all? My thoughts raced as Roman reached forward, gently placing his thumb on my bottom lip as he watched my eyes widen. A shaky breath escaped me, fanning the skin of his fingers. With a soft push that didn't meet much resistance, Roman pressed down on my lip, parting my mouth as he took a drag of my cigarette, maintaining just about the most intense eye contact I had ever had in my life.

There was nothing I could do to move away. Not that I wanted to, anyway. So when Roman's upper lip brushed up against mine as he leaned in close, exhaling the smoke into my mouth, I was sure my heart would jump out of my chest, up my throat, and leap right at him.

Even after I inhaled the substance, Roman didn't move away. My mind was buzzing, wondering what to do, whether to say something, whether to ask what was going on-- all I knew, was that I had enjoyed the first physical contact I'd had with another human in a while.

"I've always wondered what it must be like to be a sociopath," Roman whispered against my lips, his thumb leaving my skin. "Do tell."

The more flustered I became, the more my cheeks burned. "I'm not a sociopath,"

"What are you, then?"

"Exhausted," I breathed. "Do you know how tiring it is to feel?"

Roman let out a huff, a laugh, as he let the cigarette burn out between his fingers. "It can be exhausting if you're feeling all the wrong things, sure. But if the feelings are good..." His voice lowered as his nose nudged mine with a teasing touch, and I could feel him smile against me as he heard the small hitch of my breath. "If they're good, you'll suddenly find yourself wanting to feel everything all at once."

Everything indicated that he would kiss me. I couldn't believe it. My heart raced in my chest as air refused to leave me, and I could feel the drumming of my blood coursing through my veins in anticipation. This was a rush unlike any other. So I braced for it, stilled in my seat, made my mind accustomed to the thought--

Until I couldn't feel his breath falling against my cheek anymore. Until all I felt was the cold breeze of the air brushing a strand of hair away from my face. I opened my eyes only to find Roman was getting up from his seat next to me. He briefly turned to catch a glimpse of the stunned expression on my face before he gave in to a snicker. "There you go, there was my crash course," he joked. "Sorry for making you feel things again, I guess. It wasn't my intention. This was nice though." Roman motioned to the both of us-- I didn't like his tone. This felt like a goodbye. This felt like I had broken some holy contract I didn't know I had signed. "I'll leave you alone from now on, don't worry. I'll find out whether Tyler is available for cig breaks at school instead--"

I had no idea what came over me as my hand shot forward and clasped his wrist. "Don't do that,"

"Do what?" Roman was unreadable-- a part of me wondered whether he was dragging this reaction out of me on purpose. Had his skills with people brewed down to developing mastery of manipulation?

"Did I piss you off somehow?" I tried. "Did I say something wrong?"

Roman's brows raised in confusion. "You haven't done anything,"

"Then why are you leaving?"

He blinked. Once. Twice. "You said that you didn't want to feel anything. And since I make you feel stuff, I'm doing you a favor, no?"

Roman was a smart guy-- I had known it deep down. Still, I rose from my seat, only to be reminded of how tall he was. How handsome he was. "And what if I... want to feel?"

Silence laid itself like a thick duvet over us as we stood and stared at each other, none of us knowing when to speak or what to say.

Eventually, Roman let out a short hum as his eyes rounded out. There was an emptiness to his gaze. "I don't have any love to give," he breathed. "If that's what you're looking for, you've come to the wrong place."

That was almost nice to hear. Love would've been too grand of a start. I finally spoke; "Not that. I just... want to feel good again. I don't remember how that feels anymore,"

Roman's ears perked up. "Oh?" The corners of his mouth curved into a look I couldn't decipher. It was somewhere between intrigue and calculated success;

"Well... I could make you feel real good, that's for sure."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

So... I succumbed. Not everything had to be a fight, at the end of the day.

I succumbed in a secluded part of the school library, a section Roman said nobody ever came to. He had led me down a path of stairs, past the archeology section and the biographies of famous mathematicians, and into the far corner of the philosophy area.

It was there that he had finally kissed me, finally pulled me in by my waist, and led my back against the wall next to a whole row of books about Platon-- and it was there that he put his large hand beneath my skirt and pressed the heel of his palm into my clit through my underwear, making me gasp into his mouth.

I squirmed, my grip in his hair tightening as I pulled him closer. Roman tasted like cigarettes and smelled like expensive perfume you'd test out at an airport when you're bored at Duty Free. However, my thoughts dulled as my hips keened into his hand, against the sweet pressure, and my heart thumped harder in my chest with every brush of his lips against mine.

"So..." Roman whispered, his cocky smirk gracing his beautiful face. "Feeling anything yet?"

Bastard. He knew damn well. "Yeah-- Yes,"

"Good," With a rather patronizing laugh, Roman pressed kisses to the corners of my mouth. "I've waited to see you like this for so long, do you know that? Since the first time I sat next to you and you barely paid me any mind, I've wanted to see you squirm." My breath hitched as he pressed his finger into the wetness that had formed in my underwear, tapping it to test the slick. His lips brushed over my ear; "Should've done this earlier, hm? Relieved you a little, made you feel good?"

This was the most horrifying feeling of gratification ever. I never thought I'd be the type for this sort of behaviour, but I suppose life pushes you toward the direction you're destined to take, right?

"Who would've thought," Roman purred, a small chuckle building in his chest. "And here I thought you were one of those people that don't even get horny. Bet you're the type to lay in bed and get off when you're bored."

My cheeks burned. Burned. "N-No--"

"No? Aw, you're still fighting," And just as I thought it couldn't get any worse, Roman pulled my panties aside and eased a finger into me. I couldn't meet his eyes anymore as my hands gave into a tremble, and I clutched the fabric of his shirt as I hid my face in his chest.

"Tell me, then," Roman whispered, reaching his free hand into the hair at the nape of my neck to pull me away from him. He dragged my head back, forcing me to look up at him as he pressed himself further up against me, cornering me as he pushed my back harder into the wall. I was panting against his lips at this point, feeling him curl his finger into my sweet spot like he had done this a thousand times before-- he probably had, anyway. I hated the jealousy that coursed through my veins, one of the emotions I hadn't allowed myself to feel in ages. He spoke with a smug grin; "Tell me what you're feeling, you little psycho."

That would've earned him a snicker, had I not been in such a compromising position. "Good," I breathed, finding his green eyes. "Feels-- Feels n-nice."

"Nice? Only nice?" Roman tsked, shaking his head. "That's not enough." And with that, he eased another finger into me, which only had me gripping his shirt harder. Being filled by Roman's fingers like this, knowing we could be walked in on at any moment, made my whole body burn with adrenaline. "Ro--"

"How many times have you thought about this when we've been smoking, huh? Don't tell me you've been wishing I'd do this shit this whole time?" Roman pressed a kiss to my ear as his fingers stroked into me, pressing into my sweet spot with a gentle rubbing-motion.

I could only shake my head. That was the truth. I hadn't ever allowed myself to think about him like that to spare my feelings. I know I'd have been squirming in my seat, staring at the way his hair always fell over his eyes, and the way his broad shoulders sunk in pleasure with every inhale of nicotine, if I had allowed myself to think those thoughts.

"No?" he cooed, feigning disappointment with a pout. The way he was almost mocking me made my stomach flutter-- or was that his fingers? "Well, I have. Many times. I've always wondered if it'd make you talk or shut down more. Or mostly, I wondered how you'd look if I did--" Roman placed his thumb on my clit, and the added stimulation only made my eyes water with pleasure as my hips bucked into his hand once more. "This."

"Fuck--" I hissed, leaning forward to kiss his neck. If Roman wasn't going to make it easy for me, I had to shut myself up somehow. Now more than ever, his perfume was prevalent.

He let out a small sigh of pleasure as the thrusts of his fingers grew harder, not paying any mind to the way my knees gave into a slight tremble. "God, wouldn't it be bad if we were caught right now?" he said with a laugh. "You wouldn't be known as the quiet one anymore, that's for sure." Roman pulled me away from his neck with the hand he had in my hair and scanned the look on my face. My eyes glossed over as I drowned out my moans with heavy breaths; "Fuck-- Fuck you!"

"Is that how you talk to your friends?" Roman cooed, leaning down to press a short kiss to my lips, the soft pillows of his mouth pushing me into submission. "Cause wasn't it friends you wanted us to be, hm?"

I couldn't answer. Not when his tone made me clench around the stretch of his fingers, not when he looked this good, not when he talked to me this way. "N-No,"

"No?"

"No!"

"What, then? Best friends?"

If I could punch him, I would. Yet I only managed to gather the strength to suppress another moan, feeling my high creep up on me faster than ever before. It was almost embarrassing how fast I was about to cum on Roman's fingers in the fucking school library. He was making a wreck of me. "Wait, I-- no, fuck, I might--"

"Ulta-mega-best-friends?" Roman only giggled as his unrelenting pace continued. "Fuck-friends would probably serve us both the most, though, hm?"

"Okay, s-sure--"

"Don't you think?"

I let go of his shirt as my body keened against his fingers, sinking down a little against the wall as I squeezed my eyes shut. The pooling feeling of arousal in my stomach made me tense up, and I prayed I wouldn't collapse to my knees-- I hadn't had a standing orgasm before. How did that even work? "Yeah," I cried. "That-- That sounds good."

Roman kissed me again as a reward, smiling from ear to ear as my muffled moans filled the empty section of the library. I clamped down on his fingers, feeling my clit pulse against his thumb as I gave in to the strongest, most intense feeling I'd had in months.

"That's it, feel it all," he purred, rubbing me through my orgasm.

"Good girl."

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #smut #x reader #roman godfrey x reader #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #oneshot #fanfic #drabble #oh I love Roman being a bit of a bully #like yes be mean to me #this turned a little philosophical #god reader can't catch a break

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allwaswell16 · 2 days ago

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A One Direction fic rec of fics in which one of the characters is messy or unkempt in some way as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

✧ Remember Me Before You by @kingsofeverything

(E, 293k, New Girl au) Desperate to find a new place to live after he comes home to find his boyfriend cheating, Harry moves into a loft with three strangers.

✧ Let's Fall in Love in a Place You Want to Stay by embro / @harryventura

(NR, 134k, Tarzan au) A George of the Jungle / Tarzan AU where Louis is a model who meets Wild Man Harry in the Congo.

✧ more than just a dream by spit_on_me_larry

(E, 122k, uni) Louis detests Harry Styles. Except for the inconvenient fact that he can't seem to get Harry out of his head.

✧ That’s What I’m Here For by @taggiecb

(E, 46k, farm) Louis Tomlinson is a dairy farmer on a tiny farm in eastern Canada. Louis needs help running his business but has no idea where to even start looking. Luckily for him his children know just the man for the job.

✧ baby blue by @soldouthaz

(E, 39k, cowboy) He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

✧ Lambing Season by @helloamhere

(E, 24k, farm) lambing season brings sleep deprivation, noisy alarms, cold barns, demanding animals, and warm strangers.

✧ The Wilds (series) by @jaerie

(E, 21k, omegaverse) The creatures that Louis observed every day weren't exactly human, but yet they were. Researchers had plucked some of them from their secluded island and transplanted them into an enclosure against their will like a bunch of zoo animals.

✧ some evening in springtime by delsicle / @eeveelou

(M, 20k, age difference) Fresh out of veterinary school, Louis moves to a sleepy small town in Texas to take over the local animal clinic. But his new life is quickly interrupted by a middle aged rancher with a bad leg and a mysterious past, who really needs Louis's yoga skills.

✧ let me be your goodnight by theboyfriendstagram

(E, 17k, hate to love) Harry lives with Gemma who happens to have the worst best friend in the world. The guy stays over almost every night, is completely messy and has bad manners that would cause Harry's eyes to roll so far back he sees his brain.

✧ Prince Harry and the Expert in Motorcycle Maintenance by @juliusschmidt

(E, 15k, omegaverse) cinderella au in which prince harry rides a motorcycle and louis, a simple mechanic, fixes it.

✧ A Light Illuminated (Calling You Home) by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 14k, royal) Louis has inherited a farm from an uncle he barely knew. It's not in the best state, and he's facing the reality of having to let some of the workers go if profits don't drastically improve. It's not a nice idea.

✧ say forever, you'll be mine by dilfrry / @silverfoxrry

(E, 12k, age difference) the trucker harry fic i wrote for my own guilty pleasure

✧ it's hard to fight naked by amaltaas / @loustarlight

(E, 11k, enemies to lovers) where Louis leaves dirty socks on the couch, Zayn does assignments while he's high, and Harry is hopelessly crushing on his roommate.

✧ rinse cycle by beautlouis / @thelovejandles

(E, 10k, humor) Louis and Harry are both students living in the same apartment complex. They end up having the same laundry night and time. Louis can't stop staring at Harry and he can't figure out why Harry consistently points out Louis’ inside-out shirts, and his untied shoes, and messy hair.

- Rare Pairs -

✧ I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(E, 122k, Louis/Nick Grimsahw) The first time Louis Tomlinson kisses him, Nick is three sheets to the wind, wearing a pirate hat, and so fucking tired of Louis being a complete and utter knobhead that he's spent the last ten minutes snapping at him.

✧ in your hands by carissima

(M, 13k, Liam/Louis) Liam’s decided to play dress up for this session and has somehow stumbled on Louis’ favourite fantasy. Mechanic Liam, dirty, rough and smelling of cars and sweat, looking ready to mess Louis the fuck up.

#weekly recs #ficrec #1dficlibrary #1dsquad #1dficvillage

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6qubed · 18 hours ago

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fair enough, that's what I've been doing. and yeah, I did the bumper-sticker snappy comeback thing, which was not cool. apologies.

let's recontextualize. first point of order, every human is a human, be they man, woman, white, black, gay, straight, pick your fucking adjective. we're all humans. we're the same. that sounds fairly obvious on the face of it, but remember that dehumanization and othering- that "Us vs. Them" shit- are the tools of bigots; note what I said there, not fascists, bigots. we'll never truly be free of the taint of Godwin's Law, but we haven't gotten to them yet. not yet. soon, though. but back on track, this does respond to that thing you wrote; women and fascists are the same, because there is literally nothing separating them from any other group of humans on the planet. nothing that matters, anyway. (and if that thought pisses you off, hey it pisses them off too. one more thing y'all got in common)

second point, no person ever thinks of themselves as a "bad person". we're getting dangerously close to discussions of morality here (and I have a bias anyway because I'm an antinihilist and morality doesn't exist. neither does holiness, since you mentioned it) but my point is no person ever does "the wrong thing" on purpose. if they do, they either think they're being "wrong for The Right Reasons", i.e. telling those mormons that rocked up to your doorstep that you can't go to church with them next sunday because that's when you're hosting a gay satanic orgy, three things that a religious person would find objectionable and that's why you're saying it, or (and this is the dangerous one) they think they "didn't have a choice", i.e. that "look what you made me do" shit that a domestic abuser would say after she slapped her husband around for buying another woman flowers (his mother, for Mother's Day).

third point, building off the second, is that once a person's got it in their heads that they're a "victim" being "oppressed", it's real easy for anything and everything they do to be "protecting themselves and/or fighting back" and anything their "oppressor" does as "oppression". okay, let's go back to the fascists now: you've no doubt seen that "1488" dogwhistle that every dickhead tries to use to be "clever", right? ignore the 88 for a second; that 14 is a reference to "The Fourteen Words", a slogan for white supremacy. now consider what those fourteen words actually say. it's actually the first half of an entire slogan broken up by a comma: "We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children, because the beauty of the White Aryan woman must not perish from the Earth." do you see it? they think all that awful shit they've been doing this whole time is an act of protection. they think they're under attack. any act of cruelty they commit might be regrettable, on its face, but really in their minds they don't have a choice. because they're being oppressed. they're being run out of their homes, having their money and their jobs and their opportunities and their futures taken away, by their oppressors. hell you want a less dramatic example? remember all that fuss everyone was making years ago about "manspreading"? when Men's latest act of oppression against feminists All Women Everywhere was sitting comfortably on public transit? "How dare they take up Our Space! it's supposed to be for those who truly need it! what's next, Men in Women's bathrooms??"

there is nothing separating you from that. nothing makes you better. nothing makes you "special". and nothing makes you any different from me. or anyone else. nothing at all. the idea that you are somehow above that sort of thinking is a trap, and the minute you think that being harmed gives you justification for doing harm in return, you've fallen in. as for "just making jokes", well first of all go back and reread OP's posts, and second consider how burned you'd be or have been by men making "women jokes"

i see "men bad" jokes as very similar to suicide jokes. like making them every once in a while isn't the worst thing, but if you Keep making them constantly. it DOES shape how you start thinking and you WILL become a more unpleasant and bitter person and also make people around you uncomfortable. and sometimes you just gotta choose to not make or engage with certain jokes, even if they are amusing to you, because its just not who you wanna be

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nerdanel01 · 2 days ago

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No. 2 - Aostrolf's Weed (NSFW/18+)

“Is this okay?” she took the care to ask him, almost sweetly. Something a little self-conscious and worried in the look she gave him. “This is still okay?”

Maker. It’s better than okay. It’s a wanting more edged and hot than he has ever known, a pleasure so deep he might lose himself in it. It’s too good; it isn’t right at all. He knows that no matter what promises he has made, he is going to be imagining her like this for the rest of his life: beautiful thighs spread on either side of his hips, flush of arousal across her chest, pert breasts, his cock in her hand—ready, he can only assume, to ride him raw because he did not fuck her hard and fast enough the first time, as she had been asking him to.

He is tongue-tied, too thick with need to answer with words. But his hands found her hips and guided her downwards, both of their groans echoing off the walls of the Necropolis as she sank around him, taking him fully inside of her in one slow, steady, deliberate press.

The pleasure is staggeringly total: his toes curl; his back arches off the floor; his hips drive up to meet hers. His eyes rolled back as his eyelids squeezed shut, his jaw slack, mouth open wide to let loose a groan that is nothing short of obscene, loud enough to echo through the vast hall of the Necropolis without.

And that’s just the feel of her—but the sight of her, look! The tension in her thighs and her core as she lifts herself only to seat herself fully around him again; the messy curls of dark hair spilling over her shoulders and around her face and the curled patch of dark hair between her legs; the bounce of her breasts with each of her thrusts. Strange, how it still feels a move too bold to touch her—but she has no reservations about touching him. When Agnes caught him staring, she smiled, bit her lip, did not quite bite back her moan of satisfaction; lifted her free hand to hold his face, her fingers brushing his cheek so reverently, so gently—far more gently than the force with which she rode him. When her thumb swiped low along the curve of his chin, Emmrich opened his mouth and captured it, gently but firmly, between his teeth.

[read full fic]

—

I’m really proud of all the writing I did this year! So for the last ten days of 2024 I’m going to be reblogging my 10 favorite pieces that I wrote.

I think this is the longest single smut one-off I've ever written?? It got so out of hand??? It inspired a whole spin-off series I had 0 intention of writing???? And compared to other pieces it was so easy to write— a real joy.

The fic owes a lot to two other sex pollen fics I'd HIGHLY recommend—firstly, a Solas x Trevelyan one, which is mind-numbingly good and (I think??) can still only be found on the Kink Meme/LJ. It's so good I spent over an hour and $22 trying to find it in all those comments again just to rec it here, and it was worth every minute and penny. I was for sure heavily influenced by the absolute crash from erotic to devastating at the end. Not gonna put the author on blast since it was filled anonymously but if they are seeing this: this is one of MULTIPLE of your works I still think about years later and I hope you are thriving. And SECONDLY, oh my god, @bdafic's Solavellan sexpollen fic, Aphrodisia. YES IT'S UNFINISHED, I DON'T CARE, GO READ IT ANYWAY. I am sometimes literally just doing things around my house like, walking my dog, or washing my dishes, and the reveal in this fic hits me over the head AGAIN and I have a little chuckle at Solas' expense thinking of him hiding his embarrassed, red face in his hands… and then I just stare into space like, wow. wow. Incredible. 13/10. I won't spoil it for you, but it's so hot, and so funny. Multiple outloud belly laughs reading it. Incredible Dorian and Varric banter at the top. And @bdafic's Ellana is one of my fave quizzies. I never would have put all that work into Aostrolf Van Markham if I hadn't been inspired by the absolutely insane world building this fic spoils the reader with. START YOUR 2025 OUT RIGHT! RUN DON'T WALK!!

#emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrook #smut #sex pollen

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inneedofsupervision · 3 days ago

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An Angels Helping Hands

Happy (late) Holidays @thebest-medicine! I'm your @squealing-santa this year. I hope you enjoy the little fanfic I wrote for you. I wish you all the best for the last remaining days of 2024 and an amazing time for 2025.

(I wasn't sure if you wanted Destiel so I left their relationship kinda ambiguous soo Destiel if you squint?)

Summary: A hunt goes wrong, leaving Castiel with a moody and injured Dean who refuses to get treatment for his injuries. Despite Dean telling him off, Castiel cannot leave his best friend in pain. Dean would have to overcome his bruised ego and accept the angelic help because this Angel of the Lord refuses to ignore the pain and injuries of his favorite human.

Word Count: 4383

“Ugh. When is Sam coming back?"

A hand fumbles uncoordinated across the coffee table inside the semi-lit hotel room. The owner of the almost pitiful crawling limb is shielding himself from the rest of the world, a blanket thrown over him.

“Shitty poltergeist and even shittier winter wonderland.”

Fingertips meet cold plastic, but instead of grabbing the remote and turning down the volume on the TV, they accidentally shove it off the table. The sound of the impact causes the figure under the blanket to jump, his face twisted into a grimace at the noise.

Dean groans, narrowing his eyes as he pushes the blanket aside. He leans over the couch, one arm wrapped around his middle to bear the pain coming from his chest and ribs. Even that little movement had been enough to render the hunter breathless.

He hates hunting in theme parks for a reason, and today’s hunt was another reminder of why.

“Christmas is over anyway,” mutters the man as he sits with his eyes closed, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation inside his skull. He doesn’t want to think about today.

The hunt had been a disaster, and its highlight, the peak of everything going wrong, had been that gigantic candy cane falling over and burying Dean under it. He had been lucky to not get instantly killed, but the embarrassment from having Castiel and Sam finish the ghost on their own sat deep.

“What an unusual time to sleep.”

Dean flinches at the monotone voice next to his ear, grimacing in pain as the movement causes an invisible knife to puncture right between his upper ribs.

“A heads up would have been great, Cas. We talked about it,” grumbles the hunter, turning his head away from the angel.

"And I'm not sleeping."

“You’re in pain.”

Dean snorts.

"What you don't say."

He can feel the angel's disapproving stare into the back of his head.

“When you have undressed me enough with your eyes, then go fulfill some angelic duties or something. I'm not in the mood for holy company tonight."

“You’re in pain.”

Dean rolls his eyes, only to regret it a moment later. The movement doesn't do his headache any good.

"Can I get a refund? I think my angel is broken," he mumbles, his head sinking back into the cushion.

Castiel tilts his head, brows furrowed as he watches the human.

"Hey, what are you doing? Hands off."

Dean cracks an eye open. He tries batting the palm away, but Castiel stops him from interfering, pressing his hand down on his forehead.

"You have severe injuries, Dean. And a concussion."

"What? A concussion is not an injury?"

Castiel ignores the bite in Dean's voice.

“I told you to stop watching those movies, Cas,” teases Dean, trying to overplay the hint of panic as the angel in front of him seems suddenly more than determined to get him out of his clothes. “You watched too much doctor play. Those movies don't actually show you how the real world works.” Castiel stops after getting one of Dean's arms out of the sleeve. Dean takes the chance to warp his hand around Castiels arm, trying to get the angel to stop whatever he is planning to do “Don’t worry, Dean. Sam already explained that to me. I am not planning to touch you like the nurses in the video.” The hand around Castiels wrist loosens as Dean's brain needs a second to process that information. “Hold on. Time out. Sam talked to you about what? What in the world did you watch?" "I believe there are more pressing matters than nurses in unsanitary short uniforms, Dean." The hand grabbing the hem of his shirt stills, the fabric awkwardly shoved up until Dean's chest, showcasing a colorful pattern of bruises. Castiel’s eyes catch Dean’s, the disappointment clear as day. “These have to get treated.” The hunter’s expression turns sour, and an angry hand pushes Castiel away, causing the shirt to fall back down and cover the excessive bruises. “I can do that on my own.” “I would be quicker if I treated them.” “Castiel, seriously. Stop.” Castiel furrows his brows as his hand is shoved away. With a questioning expression, he follows the limping hunter towards his bed, where Dean puts the first aid kit before sitting down.

Pearls of sweat glister on the man's pale forehead. The hunter had never been so adamant about declining treatment for his injuries. “Dean, you are being unreasonable.” “Look at you using your big words,” mutters the man. He opens the kit and roams through its contents while ignoring Castiel's gaze. “Why are you not letting me treat your injuries? I could help you without you being in pain.” Before he can finish his sentence, the angel gets interrupted by Dean shutting the medical kit rather loudly. “Because I don’t want you to see them, damn it!” Dean’s hand twitches as he tries to keep himself from shoving the first aid kit off the bed and storming into the bathroom. He feels trapped inside the stifling motel room, Castiels piercing eyes making his skin crawl in discomfort.

This damn angel just didn't know when to quit, always yapping about him not taking care of himself. His eyes wander upwards, an annoyed groan working its way up his throat as he catches sight of the other's unimpressed expression.

Blue eyes were openly observing him, and if Dean weren't already so used to his friend's unapologetic staring, he would have felt unsettled. Right now, though, the angel's burning gaze fuels Dean’s irritation. "Why are you angry, Dean?" “Why am I angry? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I miscalculated the course of action, used a faulty piece of equipment, and, as a result, endangered my little brother and you? I nearly got us all killed, so excuse me for not being in the mood to show off the marks on my body, literally telling how hard I failed to do my job today." During his verbal lashing out, Dean turned away from Castiel, dropping his head and glaring down at the mint green rug lying before the bed. A hand on his shoulder gave it a short squeeze, but Dean didn’t look up, not wanting to see whatever expression the angel was making. “Dean, what are you?” “What now? We’re playing twenty questions?” “Just answer the question, Dean. What are you?” “What am I? A hunter.” “No, not what you do for a living, but what are you, Dean?” “Human?” “And what am I?” continues Castiel, the hand not leaving its place on his friend's shoulder. “An angel. Although, I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.” Not paying attention to the hunter's words, Castiel keeps staring at the man sitting on the bed. “I’m an angel, and even I wouldn’t have been able to predict the poltergeist’s next move. How would you, a human, be able to do something a servant of the lord was unable to do?” Dean opens his mouth only to close it with a shake of his head, the corner of his lip twitching upwards. God, how low has he fallen for a socially inept angel to give him words of encouragement? “I know what you’re trying to do, but please improve your pep talk, Cas.” “That means your mood has improved, hasn’t it?” Dean is about to tell Castiel off, not feeling like showing off the damage the ghost has managed to achieve when he gets shoved onto the bed. “Fuck, that hurts,” groans the man, another curse for his friend forming on his lips for getting manhandled like that while being injured. “It will get better soon,” comments Castiel, not sounding as apologetic as he should, before taking a fistful of Dean's shirt. “Wow, hold on. What do you think you’re doing?” The angel looks up from the two pieces of fabric in his hands that had once been a shirt. “I’ll ask Sam to get you a new one.” “Because Sam has such a good sense of fashion,” mutters Dean, headache worsening by the thought of his little bro getting him a new shirt. “Did you have to rip it apart? I liked that shirt. I could just have taken it off.” “My apologies. I haven’t thought of that. Now turn on your stomach.” Castiel glances down at the man. Dean is leaning back on his arms and looking up at him with an eyebrow raised at the demand.

The skin on Dean's chest and left side is broken in some places and overall swollen, the impact of today’s events visible through the colorful bruises left all over his body. “You’re going to use your holy touch or something?” “I will use my grace, yes. Your shoulder and upper back are affected too, I will start there.” Knowing he wouldn’t get the angel to stop once he set his mind on something, Dean gives in to the command and turns, giving the older man access to his back. He can hear the angel stepping closer, and Dean would lie if he said he wasn't feeling a slightly bit nervous. A hand is placed at the back of his head. Dean blinks in surprise. “Cas?” he asks warily. “I don’t feel anything.” “It should be like that.” Dean rolls his eyes at the short-bound answer, relaxing slightly as the headache lessens along with the aching and throbbing all over his body.

He feels the grace on his skin, a warm and barely noticeable tingly sensation spreading where Castiels hand hovers over his back. It was almost relaxing, and the man had to fight his eyelids from slipping shut. But just a moment later, he felt wide awake again. “Dean?” “Ah, sorry. Can you be a little careful there?” Dean glances over his shoulder at the angel, who tilts his head, staring at his hand questioningly. The hunter shouldn’t feel any pain, but Dean had clearly jumped under his touch. “I’m a bit sensitive there. Just avoid that part, alright?” He can sense the question, but before Castiel can ask, Dean has turned his head away, hoping the angel would do as said and avoid using his grace so close to his ribs for now. Castiel didn’t avoid the spot. Dean flinches. Hard. Muscles bulge as the man instinctively tightens the hold on the pillow. He presses his flushed face into the cold fabric, hot mortification rolling over him. “Does it hurt?” Castiel is puzzled. Something like this has never happened before. Was the hunter still in pain? It couldn’t be. His grace has never not worked before. “It doesn’t hurt. Stop worrying,” came the muffled reply, but it didn’t help cease the angel's confusion. “But you are uncomfortable when I’m doing this, Dean.” Showing what he meant, Castiel lets his hand hover just over the back of the human’s ribs, using his healing abilities on the bruised skin. Blue eyes observe another full body twitch, brows furrowing at the change of color at the base of Dean’s neck. “You are not feverish, but you appear to be rather flushed. Is something bothering you, Dean?” He steps back when a pillow gets flung at him, a red-faced Dean glaring at him. “You are doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You have spent too much time with Sam. That little bitch told you, am I right?”

Castiel is honestly confused. Has he done something wrong?

Both hunters had never declined before. The injuries had been severe, and most of the time the Winchester brothers had been close to collapsing or were already unconscious. Did he never notice his healing bringing discomfort because the receiver of his abilities had been too out of it to show a reaction before? Castiel is puzzled. What is he supposed to do now? Sam told him to look after his brother while he was getting them something to eat. Dean is hurting and needs medical treatment. “Told me what, Dean?” “Don’t play dumb,” sputters Dean, unaware of the inner turmoil his reaction has caused for his angel friend, grabbing the blanket from the bed. He's suddenly feeling vulnerable without a shirt. While shielding his upper body, he shoots Castiels hands a vary glance. “I believe I am missing something here, Dean,” says Castiel and steps closer, an eyebrow-raising when the hunter moves at the same time he does, crawling backward on the bed while holding onto the blanket. “Stay where you are,” demands Dean, hand up high and palm facing the angel as if that would help keep the holy being from moving, climbing down the bed on the other side, and hurrying towards his bag. “You might not feel pain for the moment, but your injuries still have to be cared for,” comments Castiel as he watches the human pulling a new shirt over his head. “I cannot stop here, Dean.” Dean nearly jumps to the ceiling at the feeling of someone standing behind him. The damn angel and his nonexistent concept of personal space.

He’s about to tell the other off when his wrist is gripped not harshly but firmly enough to not be able to wind out of the hold. He is led back toward the bed and pushed onto his back. Luckily, he didn’t feel any pain this time. “If it bothers you, leave your shirt on this time.” With these words, the angel moves onto the bed, straddling the surprised hunter.

Without further warning, he shoves his hands under Dean’s shirt.

Dean tries shoving the angel off, but Castiel doesn’t budge an inch.

“What the heck, Cas. Get your hands out of there!”

Before Castiel can use his grace, his wrists are grabbed and pulled out of the shirt.

Blue eyes sparkle with confusion.

“Why are you resisting? Tell me, Dean. I want to help you.”

“Nothing is hurting, it’s just uncomfortable. Let's stop here and let it heal on its own.”

“If it’s not hurting, why can I not use my grace to help you? If we don’t treat this, you will be in great pain for several weeks.”

The man under him is visibly struggling to come up with an answer.

Castiel observes Dean, the latter glancing at his hands before a hue of red colors on his face.

“It tickles, okay? It tickles like hell, and I’m embarrassed, you angelic son of a bitch. I can’t believe you made me say that. Now let me go already!”

Dean swears his face has never felt as hot as in this moment, with Castiel straddling his lap, looking down on him with his head tilted towards the side and his blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.

He feels like a mouse in front of a cat. It's like being put on a dining plate with a neon sign above, pointing down at him, saying “Eat me!” while he has a ribbon around his neck, wrapped up like a little present.

“It tickles?”

Having Castiel say it with such innocent curiosity causes another wave of heat to rush from the top of Dean’s head down to his neck.

He swears he must look idiotic, blushing like a high school girl.

“It never had that effect on anyone before. Maybe you are just rather sensitive, Dean,” muses Castiel as he casually grabs the hunter's hands and pulls them over his head.

Dean is about to protest, eyes widening at the sudden action and growing mortified when he cannot pull down his arms.

“You dick, release me!”

“If it’s hard for you to bear the healing, we can secure you. Now that I know you are not hurting, we can go on treating your injuries.”

Dean gapes, inwardly grasping at straws and trying to come up with a counterargument. He racks his brain, searching for anything to make the angel on top of him understand that this is a terrible idea.

“Cas, please. I cannot stand being tickled. I hate it.”

“I will finish as quickly as possible, Dean.”

Dean dislikes how Castiels words and the mischievous glint in his eyes don’t match.

But before he could protest, he finds himself busy biting his lips to prevent from showing any reaction towards Castiel placing a hand on his sides, just below his ribs.If he pretends to be unbothered, he might get the angel to lose interest.

“Since when did you have to touch me directly for your grace to work?"

He barely manages to press the words out between his teeth, concentrating all his willpower on ignoring the tingling sensation.

He swears Castiel's healing has never felt this weird before.

Their eyes meet.Castiel beams.

“I don’t have to.”

Dean narrows his eyes.

“Son of a bitc- ahaha fuck! You dihihck!”

The angel’s mouth curves into a bigger smile as his friend gets surprised by him sending a part of his grace towards the back of his ribs, the body part where all of this had started.

He glances over his shoulder, an amused chuckle joining Dean’s laughter as he catches sight of the wildly kicking legs behind him.

Dean pulls madly at the invisible bonds, holding his arms in place, lips drawn unwillingly into a bright grin as the tingling feeling reappears near his armpits. It was a hard feeling to describe.

The word tingling was not even close to encompassing the sensation he was feeling, but it was the first one he could think of on the top of his head. The touch wasn’t as soft as feathers but more like the feeling of several fingertips constantly fluttering over his skin.

The movements were so unpredictable that it left him on edge, getting caught by surprise and causing his laughter to jump an octave when an especially sensitive spot was being treated.

“The skin and muscle are fairly easy to repair. It seems like your bones have sustained some damage as well.”

“Does that mean you cannot treat them?”

“I can. But I need to increase the amount of grace.”

The hunter pants slightly, regaining his breath.

“It’s not like it could get any worse, does it?”

Castiel only smiles before setting his hands on Dean’s rips, right at the top, but before he lets his grace work, he waits for Dean to meet his eyes.

“I like hearing you laugh, Dean.”

Any smart-ass answer lying on the tip of Dean’s tongue dies as the palms of the angel start glowing, pumping his grace into the human’s body.

“FUHUCK CAHAHAHAS! YOU DAHAHAHAMN ASSHOHOLE!”

The fluttering sensation that had coaxed breathless laughter out of the hunter had been exchanged by the feeling of several hands expertly drilling their fingers into between his ribs, the muscles of his lower back, his upper back, and his shoulders, everywhere where the bruises had been more severe, leaving the man cackling loudly.

Dean was withering under the influence of Castiels powers, trashing as much as he could, but with the man sitting on him and his arms pinned, there wasn’t much he could do.

He was utterly helpless, and the fact that even if he hadn't been pinned, he would still have been under the mercy of the softly smiling angel who was seemingly enjoining himself seeing Dean being reduced into a quaffing and shrieking mess made the sensation tickle even more.

“Cahahas!”

Hearing his name called out with a hint of desperation, the angel reduces the amount of grace, leaving the human twitching from time to time, a bright grin not able to rid of his face but able to catch his breath.

“Hohow lohong doho you nehed? I’m dying hehehere.”

“How could you be dying when smiling so brightly, Dean?”

“I’m better already, I swehahar. You cahahan stohop now.”

“Dean, lying is a sin.”

“NAHAHAHAHA NOHOT AGAIHAHAN! I’M NAHAHAT LYIHIN YOU FUHUCKER!”

“Insulting an angel of the lord is no laughing matter, Dean.”

Castiel gets back to sending grace into the hunter's body, patching up the last few injuries Dean has received during their hunt, but he can’t help himself leaving it by simply laying his flat hands against the other man's skin. He concentrates his powers on the tips of his fingers, as he tickles up and down the hunter's ribs and sides, grinning at the reaction his fingers cause.

His friend trashes around less than before, but his laughter still bounces loudly throughout the small motel room.

“Stahahap tickling mehehe! Nohow you’re juhust beihing a dihick, Cahahas! Ahahaha, wahahit till I geheht my hand ohohn you!”

“Did you know that giggling makes threat sound less… threatening?”

“I’m nahaht gigglihing!”

Castiel merely raises an eyebrow. Without a word, he pulls the grace away and focuses it on a spot he hasn’t paid any attention to before, as it was spared from injuries.

Dean’s eyes widen as all sensations come to a sudden stop. He can finally move his arms again, making him question if he is done receiving this treatment from hell, only for his back to arch upwards and break back down onto the bed when the nearly unbearable tickling sensation focuses solely on his stomach.

He didn’t even notice the angel having moved from on top of him, only registering his newfound freedom of movement as he curled into himself, wrapping his arms protectively around his upper body but having to accept quickly that it did nothing to fight off the sensation.

“My stohomahach didn’t huhuhrt in the fihirrst plahahace. Castiel, make it stahahap!

It didn’t matter how much he trashed, how much he rolled from side to side, or if pressing his head into the pillow, trying to smother his laughing, he couldn’t do anything to fend off the feeling. It wasn’t as bad as when Castiel mended his fractured bones, but it was certainly worse than the light sensation from the beginning.

It was like curious hands kneading and poking all over his stomach, not bothering with any treatment but just acting out of curiosity, searching for the best reactions. It looked for the most sensitive spots only to get back to them with more vigor, with another technique to tickle him silly.

Dean wasn't sure if the angel's grace acted on its own or if it was Castiel noticing his reactions and deliberately sending more grace to those places that tickled more than the others.

The thought alone of the angel knowing and tickling him on purpose made Dean laugh even harder, suddenly feeling more sensitive.

The worst thing about the whole situation was not even the tickling itself. What was driving Dean madder than anything was the presence of the angel. The latter settled down on the edge of the opposite bed, one leg thrown over the other, his eyes never leaving the trashing human.

Embarrassment washes over the younger man as he shoves his face into the pillow.

Castiel was observing him.

While he is dying here, laughing like a little kid, Castiel is just sitting there, unfazed by Dean falling apart from being reduced into an incoherent, babbling, chortling mess.

And he seems to be enjoying it.

“Sadistic son of a bitch,” was all Dean could think before rolling onto his back, feet kicking frantically into nothingness or hitting the mattress, desperately hugging his middle but unable to do anything as the attack moved from his stomach towards his sides and wandering dangerously close towards his hip bones.

Noticing the sound of the human’s laughter growing breathless, Castiel draws back most of his grace, leaving some last traces roaming the hunter's stomach.

“Cahahastiel. Please, stahahap. Thihis is tohoh muhuch. I can't br- breheathe.”

Castiel cocks his head.

Dean is lying on his back, looking somewhat out of it. Still, there is a huge grin plastered on his face.

The past days Dean had been visibly on the edge. He had worried about the hunt and tried playing it cool, but one glance at the younger Winchester told Castiel that Dean was the only one who believed his mask would hide his real emotions.

A hunt not going how planned out isn't out of the norm, but today's events had the already struggling man spiraling.

Maybe it had been one reason why Dean didn't want to accept getting help, having caught onto the idea that he didn't deserve to be treated as some form of misdirected feelings of guilt overcoming him.

Watching his best friend now, Castiel was confident in having done the right thing even though his way of treating Dean and cheering up the older Winchester had been somewhat unconventional.

A movement catches Castiels attention.

The angel's eyes wander towards the hunter's middle.

Dean’s arms twitched, and Castiel watched with an amused grin how the man subconsciously pressed his hands onto the places where the grace tickled him as if he could shake the feeling of that way. The man had his eyes closed, face reddened from all the movement and laughing, and his shirt had ridden up, showing the angel through a slight glimmering of light where his grace was working on the man’s body.

“Your injuries are completely healed, Dean.”

“Great. Then pull your grace back, you feathered son of a – ACK I’m sohohory! I’m so sohhohorry! Pleahahase, Cahahas. Noho mohohore!”

“I’m sorry, what was that Dean? I didn’t understand you between all that giggling.”

“I said I'm sorry! Thahahanks for heahahaling me.”

Castiel opens his mouth only to get interrupted by the sound of the key's turning.

"They had White Cake and even reduced the price 'cause Christmas is over, but it should still taste good and- did something happen?"

Sam places the bags on the small coffee table, turning towards his brother and his angelic friend, eyebrow raised in question.

"Nothing. Just talking," answers Dean, a nervous chuckle leaving him as he looks everywhere but the angel's direction.

The younger Winchester doesn't look convinced and sends Castiel a questioning look, but the latter shrugs his shoulder. Sam shakes his head at their weird behavior before his face lights up and takes in the healthy color on his brother's face.

"I see, you treated his injuries. Thanks, Cas."

He pats the angel on the shoulder, giving it a grateful squeeze before unpacking.

Castiel shoots Dean a glance, the corner of his mouth pulled up.

"I will always treat him. Just say a word."

#squealing santa 2k24 #squealing santa #spn #supernatural tickle fic #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #destiel #ticklish dean winchester #tickling

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electronicclowncollector · 22 hours ago

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BONUS FILLER CHAPTER 5.5: Lacarde's biology class

(Warning: please don't read this)

The next day, Rogue was on his way to class. He walked in and froze as he saw who the substitute teacher. Mr Dragneel. The reason this was so bad was because today was the dreaded day they were receiving the dreaded sex talk. Rogue sat at his seat and his cheeks went red at the sight, on the board was big cursive writing that said “Sex”. In the corner was Mr Dragneel’s full name, also in cursive, “Lacarde ‘Sex Man’ Dragneel”. Nobody else calls him that but him, he’s a janitor for dragon's sake. He isn’t qualified for this talk. But then he began speaking.

“Hello students! Your previous teacher was unfortunately found to be ill from a certain poison. So that means that I, the sex man, will teach you about” Lacarde hit the board with a stick, pointing to the word “sex”. Upon further inspection, there was a sheet of black paper covering up the other half of the board, which perplexed Rogue, also making him blush with anticipation. He couldn’t help but look at Sting to see if he was as embarrassed as Rogue was. Of course not, Sting was amazing, he was practically laughing. Then Mr Dragneel pushed the sheet of paper away to reveal in big bold letters the word “GAY”.

“That’s right, ladies, you can all step outside because this lesson is for the men of the class” Mr Dragneel said, opening the door and watching as all the girls of the class begrudgingly left. “There, now. What is sex you may ask. Well, when 2 men love eachother very much, they go at it real hard and ############# ################ #################################### and then they ########### ###### ######### ###########. Now, I need 2 volunteers to demonstrate” Rogue could see doug out of the corner of his eye staring at him with his iconic smirk.

“Rogue Cheney, Grade A student, come up, I need to demonstrate how to go at it with a man safely so they don’t end up pregnant. Sting Eucliffe, you can come up too.” What a coincidence. The two reluctantly went up to the front, side by side. Rogue thought correcting the teacher might be a good idea to clear something up.

“S- s- sir?” Rogue said, getting Lacarde’s I mean sex man’s attention, “I- I don’t think men can get pregnant…”

Lacarde slapped the back of Rogue’s head. “Wrong! I have made many men pregnant in my adventures!”. Sting snickered and rogue blushed, looking down, ashamed of himself. “Now Rogue! Turn around for us to continue the demonstration!”.

Rogue slowly rotated 1 degree at a time when the bell suddenly went off, saving Rogues life.

“Alright fine, all of you get out of here!” Lacarde said annoyed, “You’ve escaped the sex man for now, but let me tell you it is not the end!”

(This isn't really tropey per se I just had the idea and wrote it)

#fairy tail #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #help #why did i write this

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unintentionaloracle · 18 hours ago

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Okay another behind the scenes ramble thing!

-I'm still not sure what's funnier: living up to my nickname again in a way by having Kevin in a Stardust cosplay and insult Cody as a son when he would go on to at least wear a Stardust shirt and insult Cody as a son...or having Sami say Johnny's a good dude RIGHT before he heel turned. Apollo giveth, Apollo taketh his dodgeball and goes home

-I've kinda wanted to write a Cody and Sami fight for a while, this scene more or less being in my head for a while. I'd wanted to use it for a fic I never did about Jey trying to mend a rift between Cody and Sami brought on by Kevin shelving Randy, getting stressed, and Rhea having to be like "okay, work it out idiots you're making my man cry." Never did it because I didn't have enough story for it, so I'm glad I could at least let Cody and Sami having a catfight live on

-Also tangential to the last, I really do like having Cody and Sami fight each other in my fics. This one, it being mentioned they had an argument about Kevin getting hospitalized in "You Need A Guardian", and I have an unreleased fic set pre-Sumner Slam that was a psuedo-sequel to that which started with Sami chewing him out for failing to protect Kevin from The Bloodline AGAIN, only for them to bond over the stresses of being a champion. (I didn't share it because I didn't think it was great/timing/my brain wouldn't shut up about "why are Randy and Kevin in the same hospital?") I think I just really want Cody and Sami to feud/have a match. Trips, stop teasing me every time Sami has a title shot when Cody's gonna face that champ.

-I had a scene at the end I cut because I thought it would stretch it too long/ruin pacing/it was a repetitive joke. Almost wrote a sequel but again, didn't have enough story to justify it I don't think. But basically it was gonna be after Sami's meeting with Aldis and him getting his punishment (fine, apologize to Cody, possible suspension until for sure he was going to have to have a match against Cody), Randy FaceTimes him to chew him out about WHY Cody just called him in tears asking if Randy loved him...only to see Sami STILL had Kevin's Stardust makeup smeared to his face and pivoting to "okay so, you're gonna think soap and water is your friend but that's the devil talking." (Sami also being like "really? Even during the Stardust phase?" And Randy being like "look, he knew what I liked!")

-Do kinda wish I could've given some Cody perspective because I do feel bad for how I depicted him but I also didn't really need it for the story, ya know? Plus, he was pretty pissed...

The Couple That Crashes Out Together [Fic]

Yup, I'm back at it again!

Summary: Kevin's in trouble, with management AND a crashing out Cody...again... But why's Sami also apparently in the doghouse with them, too?

And I apologize to Cody in advance you know I love you, babygirl. And also Candy for catching a stray in this I promise I like that ship, too, I just also love drama.

Sami sat on the equipment trunk outside Aldis’s office, nervously tapping his fingers against his knee as he stared at the floor. He knew he was in trouble. Maybe not “you're fired” trouble, but “suspended indefinitely and/or without pay” definitely still seemed to be on the table. It would be the perfect way to cap off this horrible week.

He heard the door open, making him tense in anticipation of his fate. But he was greeted by a different, yet all too wonderfully familiar voice:

“Hey, Sami. Aldis has to make a call to Pearce right now. But after that, you're up next. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Sami turned his head to see Kevin, but...

He stood before him in a somewhat tight, sleeveless black bodysuit with an oversized duct tape star on it. A pair of black basketball shorts was tastefully layered on top of the suit. His face was painted silver with a crudely drawn black star on it and...yep, he was even wearing black lipstick, too.

“Kev,” Sami said, laughing a little in disbelief, “why are you dressed like Stardust?”

Kevin scratched at his beard. “Did you not see what happened at the start of the show?”

“No, I was in the parking lot talking with Johnny and Jimmy. What happened?”

Kevin plopped down beside Sami. “Well, you see, I went out and made fun of Cody’s Stardust phase...”

Sami nodded. “I can see that. You did a decent job, by the way.”

“THANK YOU! ‘The face paint is too glittery’ my ass! Anyway, I called him out for the fact that everyone forgets and forgives all the scummy stuff he's done but they never let me live down my past...”

“Alright, I'm with you...”

“And then I brought up the times he was a dick to his dad.”

“...Oh...” Sami said, rubbing his face. “Kevin...”

“Yeah, even I have to admit I went too far with that. Dusty didn't deserve to get dragged into this...” Kevin lamented, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Needless to say, Golden Boy got pissed...”

“I can imagine!”

“We tried to brawl, but they split us up. I took out some officials, Cody threw some steel steps... And then I was sent to Aldis’s office. But not Cody! Cody got sent home early because heaven forbid Cody face consequences for anything!” Kevin shouted. He panted heavily before glancing at Sami. He took a deep breath. “And how about you, Sami?”

Sami took a deep breath. “So, it's been a stressful week, right? WarGames, Jey getting attacked, trying to keep an eye on Seth, Drew's after me, I’ve been worrying about you...”

“Yeah?” Kevin said, shifting uncomfortably at the last part.

“So, I went to see Johnny and Jimmy for advice before the show. I wanted to pick their brains about how they make things work whenever they and their partner are...” He tried to think of the right word. “...morally opposed?”

“Why are you asking about tag partners, Sami? You know how that works...”

Sami blinked. “Romantic partner, Kevin. You know, like how Candice is rolling with Nia when Johnny’s a good dude? Or Jimmy was doing Roman's bidding while Naomi was being good?”

“Oh...”

“Anyway, I got some tips, we caught up, and I was about to leave when Cody brushed past me. He was pissed...” Sami took another glimpse at Kevin. “And now I know why. And I probably wouldn't have gone as far as I did if I'd known, but...”

“Sami, what did you do?”

---

“Sami, tell your boyfriend to say hi to mine in the hospital after I beat him...” Cody said, coldly furious.

Sami took a deep breath. Any other time, he might've tried to take the high ground. Maybe even tried to come at this with more compassion for his friend. But with everything going on, Sami finally found the bottom of his seemingly endless patience. Somebody had to win the “victim of a Sami Zayn crash out lottery”, eventually. And Cody just happened to pull the lucky ticket.

“Well, maybe you should be thanking Kevin! Randy can't betray you if he's injured...” Sami bit back.

Cody stopped. He turned around and glared at Sami. “What?”

“Oh, come on, everyone knows he wants your title but you. Or are you just ignoring it so you can pretend you two are living happily ever after? That your love is really enough to sate him?” Sami said as Johnny and Jimmy stared at him.

“Oh, you're one to talk!” Cody said, storming over to Sami and getting in his face. “You're ignoring that your boyfriend is an absolute monster! And considering who you've been running around with, lately? Who do you think he's gonna go after next when he's done with me, huh?” Cody smirked, looking at his limit. “You can't trust him. He betrayed you on his first day here!”

Sami clenched his fists and his jaw. “Yeah, well, at least if he betrays me, he'd be upfront about it. He won't play with his food like Randy is...”

He couldn't remember which of them threw the first punch, he just remembered they started brawling. Both of them grappled and collided with the asphalt. Fists were flying. Hair was pulled. Sami was 80% sure Cody bit him. Sami definitely scratched his face...

---

“Eventually, Johnny and Jimmy broke us up, as well as the officials. Aldis shouted at Cody about how he “told him to leave”, then he told me he'd see me in his office after his meeting, aaaaand now we're here...” Sami said.

“...Damn, Sami...”

“Yeah, I took it too far with the Randy thing. I was just...I was at my limit...” Sami lamented.

“Maybe, but...you’re on my side?” Kevin asked.

“Of course. I love you. And I don't want to abandon you right now, despite everything that's going on for us.” Sami said. “Cody is–well, it's probably more like was, now–my friend, and I may get roped into Bloodline crap, but I'll always try to look out for you. No matter what...”

“...Even when I get into a blood feud with Cody?”

“I mean, I don’t always like what you put your passions towards, but I love that you're passionate. And I know you've looked out for me and backed me up when I did stuff you didn't like. It's the least I can do for you...”

“...Sami, your heart drives me crazy, sometimes.” Kevin said with a chuckle. ‘But I guess you wouldn't be the man I love without it...” He then smirked. “And hey, I think I've got something I can put my passion towards that I know you'll like...”

“What?” Sami asked.

Kevin leaned over and gave Sami a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he tilted his face towards his and kissed him again, longer. He cupped his face before he climbed onto Sami's lap. Sami kissed back before escalating it into a make out. Sami's hands settled on Kevin's hips. For a moment, the world didn't exist. They just had each other, and could just be happy for a brief moment, and it was enough.

They were pulled back to reality by Aldis calling from his office. “Alright, Sami! Come on in!”

Kevin, who was just about to kiss Sami's neck, groaned. Sami took a moment to collect himself and straighten his hair. “Sorry, I gotta...I’ll see you in a bit, Kev?” He said, voice cracking.

Kevin smiled. “I'll wait for you in the car.” He said, climbing off of him. “Want me to keep the outfit?”

“No.” Sami said, not wanting to mention he had his own car, too.

“Good, because it rides up too much.” Kevin said, giving Sami one last kiss to the forehead before walking away to the locker room.

Sami sighed happily. His foul mood from earlier now gone, he hopped off of the equipment trunk. He made his way into Aldis's office and sat down as the GM looked over some files, not really looking at Sami.

“Well, for starters, I obviously have to fine you for being on the wrong show without permission or a ticket. I gave you a pass for WarGames, but that time has passed...”

“Fair enough,” Sami said with a sigh. He knew he should've just done a Zoom call, instead.

(Even if there are fringe benefits to showing up on my boyfriend's show...)

“Honestly, I expect better of you, Sami. Despite Pearce and other past authorities' horror stories. Why would you–?” Aldis started to ask, glancing over at Sami at last. He paused, then sighed, dropping the files onto his desk before rubbing his temples. “Oh, of course. That's why...”

“What?” Sami asked.

Aldis pulled out his phone. He set the camera on selfie mode and showed Sami the screen.

In the digital reflection, he saw his face was smeared with the remnants of Kevin's face paint and smudges of black lipstick. Sami groaned. “I am so sorry, Nick!”

Aldis stashed his phone and reached into his desk. He pulled out a decanter of some form of alcohol and a glass. He poured himself a drink and took a sip.

“Alright, now that I know it's going to be one of those nights, let's discuss what happened...”

#wrestling: what a thing #zowens #candy

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danieyells · 7 months ago

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"Lulu~!" Taiga called out cheerily as the doors to the VIP room were pulled closed behind him. Romeo glared up over the corner of one of his security laptops at the sudden intrusion, but he couldn't truly be angry at his underlings for letting Taiga in without question. No matter their factions, Taiga was Captain at the end of the day and they all listened to him. Except Romeo, of course.

"What is it now." He returned his eyes to the Eyes In The Sky on his screen, carefully monitoring the cameras for any foul play. Despite that he was paying close attention to everything happening, somehow what Taiga said next was a surprise.

"Ran out of cash again!" The boss laughed, throwing himself carelessly onto the couch nearest Romeo, as he snapped his head towards him with fury in his eyes. Taiga only grinned in response. "Gimme some more money and I'll pay you back, eeeh, before tomorrow morning!"

"Are you serious, you BTH!?" How Taiga's luck worked never really crossed Romeo's mind--he assumed it was part of his stigma or his pact--but he knew he was being honest about getting the money back to him eventually as Taiga always wound up with more than enough. It didn't make his frivolity regarding wealth any less annoying however. "How did you lose all of it!?"

"Gyahaha! If you keep yelling like that, your pretty voice's gonna get all raspy, Lulu!" As if paranoid, Romeo reached for the drink on the table. "You've been watching the cameras, you shouldn't have to ask me how I lost. That's just how gambling is. You win some you lose some."

"Why should I give you more money if you're just going to lose it all!?"

"Because you know I'll make it all back." He wasn't wrong. He always paid back what he owed, usually with interest Romeo hadn't even asked for. Taiga put his arms behind his head and made himself comfortable, watching Romeo try and bring some semblance of calm to himself before he started getting wrinkles. "You know I don't lose in the long run."

"And what happens when you don't." Romeo sounded tired. He returned his attention to the cameras, not wanting to be distracted. "What happens when someday you lose it all and I'm not there to give you more?"

Taiga rolled over, resting his cheek on his hand. His eyes never left Romeo's face. "All you've gotta do to make money in this world is get your hands a little dirty."

His sharp grin widened as Romeo cringed. "I'd prefer not to have to get dirty at all."

Taiga reached a hand out towards Romeo's scrunched brow, to which Romeo leaned far out of his reach, judging his filthy hand. "That's what you've got me for, Lulu." He took his hand back and smiled at him. It was almost gentle, as sweet a smile as someone as vicious as Taiga could manage.

"I'm here so your pretty hands can stay pretty and clean." Taiga crossed his arms under his chin, resting them on the armrest. "I made you a casino so people would hand you everything they've got for a chance at fortune, and so you could see people who judged you feel just as bad as you did when you lost everything. You've got me so you'll never lose everything again, not for long."

". . .and why do you do all of that?" Why do all of that for someone he fights and terrorizes and hurts and hasn't gotten along with for months, if not a year? Why do all of this, saying it's for him, then give him more problems? Taiga's sweet smile turned toothy again. It was still a little sweet even with the row of fangs in his mouth.

"I do all this so someday I come home--to my own place, not to this place--" Taiga scooched closer to Romeo, draping his arms over the arm of the couch to loll comfortably. Romeo glanced at him to make sure he wouldn't try and touch him again before returning his gaze to the EITS. "I come home, a mess of blood and shreds of someone else's life. And you look up and tell me to stop tracking blood on your floor."

Romeo blinked and looked back at his grinning captain. ". . .why am I there?"

"And I drop a stack of cash in front of you and you stop being mad for long enough to say 'good job, BTH. Your dinner's in the kitchen BTW.'"

"This little story of yours sounds one trip to Mortkranken away from me being KU."

". . .'Knocked up?'" Taiga cackled after giving the acronym a thought. "Gyahaha! I mean if that's all it takes to get you to sleep with me, we could go to Mortkranken right now and take the rest of the week off!"

"It's Sunday."

"It'll be a long week." Taiga rolled over again, and Romeo snapped at him for putting his shoes on the couch. He was ignored, as always. "You wouldn't be the one cooking, by the way. You pay people to cook and clean. With the money I give you."

"And the Institute?"

"Eh. Jin calls me if he needs something or someone dead. Sometimes I still help out because anomalies taste better than just about anything else I can eat."

"And what's the timeline for this little prediction of yours? If that WNP is in charge it must be a ways off."

"Not sure yet. Just making my plans for the future." The ideal future. One he won't want to abandon. It won't be this one, he's pretty sure. But it's nice to think about.

"And what exactly am I doing in this future?"

"Whatever you want, Lulu!"

"And you think I want to spend the rest of my life with you!?"

"I think you'll want the sure thing. And you and I both know I can be the sure thing. And I don't think anyone else will be able to afford," Taiga rubs his fingers together to emphasize the monetary meaning, "to give you the life you want without asking for anything in return."

Romeo watched Taiga silently, trying to banish a blush from his face. Taiga watched the EITS, occasionally criticizing the choices of customers, the behavior of dealers, and the casino overall, insisting Romeo make changes he knew he wasn't listening to.

The distant thought of returning to a carefree and wealthy life like in his youth, the only payment he had to make being that he would see Taiga every day, didn't sound bad at all. The only bad part(aside from that he would ultimately be relying on Taiga of course) was that it sounded like Taiga imagined him staying home all day.

He didn't particularly want to work hard--he would happily lean into the brand influencer lifestyle, or perhaps become a socialite and do nothing but attend parties and events(the thought of attending an Institute event and matching fake smiles with Jin for photos crossed his mind making his eye twitch--perhaps not that)--but he couldn't imagine himself not getting restless after a while.

Perhaps he would find a creative outlet--get into fashion design maybe--or. . . .

He imagined himself doing what he does now. An unassuming front business hiding illegal activities. Perhaps he wouldn't have to handle the more sensitive things himself, in such an ideal world--Taiga would give him trustworthy people who would dirty their hands at his command--but the ones with debts would grovel at his feet and be at his mercy nonetheless.

The thought of losing everything again crashed the rising high of this shared daydream.

". . .There are no sure things." He finally sighed, trying to get a grip on what he'd missed on the cameras while zoned out. "Least of all with money. And gambling."

"Yeah, yeah." Taiga agreed, of course. Anyone in their line of work would have to know how fragile wealth and power were. "But do you really think I won't be able to make back what I'm asking for? C'mon, help your boss out~!"

"You already lost everything I gave you!" Taiga laughed and admitted that was true. Nonetheless, Romeo pulled his wallet out of his pocket and fetched a decent amount of yen to offer to him. "Your interest is double the total. Per day!"

"I'll give you triple by tomorrow afternoon!" Taiga cheered, hopping up and snatching Romeo's whole wallet and heading out the doors before he could do more than aim his rifle at him in protest. "Thanks, Lulu~!"

"YOU BTH, GET BACK HERE--!" Romeo yelled after him, slamming a fist into the table and starting to rise. He grit his teeth, hearing Taiga laugh through the slammed VIP room doors, but didn't want to abandon the cameras in case there was more trouble than Taiga out there. Tucking the intended loan away in his pocket, he watched Taiga exchange a large amount of his money for chips and make his way to a table and put a stack down and play. He cursed his name and resumed security, occasionally glancing at wherever he caught Taiga's red head, counting the chips as they increased with every win.

By the time it was time for him to take a break(watching screens all day would do terrible things to his eyes, for one thing) and a certain 'BB' had arrived to keep an eye on the cameras for him, Taiga had made enough to pay him back. His luck was the only somewhat reliable part of him.

He kept playing anyway, perhaps set on that triple repayment. Taiga didn't think of money as strictly as Romeo did--he made it, he threw it away, if he lost it the biggest problem was hearing Romeo complain, not having no money. Romeo envied that lackadaisical mindset. Once upon a time he felt similarly--money was something to be spent, and he would always have it.

Taiga had no problem getting money one way or another, even if Romeo wasn't fond of his methods.

If not for Darkwick he'd likely never have to borrow a cent from Romeo.

Taiga's little fantasy crossed his mind again, the idea that he was the closest to a 'sure thing' Romeo could safely get. Of a life as cushy and privileged as he could want, his only payment that he would have to deal with Taiga for the rest of Taiga's life(because he most certainly would outlive that buffoon.) Essentially the sugar baby of a yakuza.

Well, sugars didn't usually live with and care for the houses of their benefactors.

He'd jokingly called the imaginary future version of himself a housewife, but that was the closest thing he could imagine between them in such a scenario.

That Taiga would be his Blundering Thoughtless Husband.

He slammed his hand in frustration against the bar, cursing Taiga's name and finishing his drink before demanding the laughing Rui make him another.

"It really is good to hear about you guys spending time together again, though!" Rui chimed, sliding Romeo his spritz. He hadn't told him the whole story though, just that Taiga had taken his wallet but he had enough to pay. "It's like all's right in the world when you two are together, y'know? You were together when we all got here, so it doesn't feel right having you apart!"

Somehow that only made him feel more embarrassed. Him being with Taiga being right.

It had always felt right.

Taiga had also proved right about his gambling, passing Romeo his wallet and several stacks of ¥10,000 notes when the vice captain returned to Sinostra a little tipsy, before making his way to the depths of the ship where his own room was, complaining to one of his guards about being hungry again.

Romeo counted it once he'd returned to his own room. Exactly what had been in his wallet times three.

A shower and a lengthy bedtime beauty routine later, and Romeo lied in bed, drifting off after a long day.

He hated it when Taiga was right.

But he hoped Taiga might be somewhat right about a better future.

#taiga hoshibami #romeo lucci #romeo scorpius lucci #taiga/romeo #danie yells writing #danie yells at tokyo debunker #i had a stupid little thought at work #it seems like taiga does a lot for romeo if you read it a certain way #got the permit to own a casino and gave him control over it. offers to kill people for him to make him money.#it's not the first time i had that thought but i ended up imagining taiga telling romeo he does all of this stuff for him #it's not a very coherent fic lmao #but hey enjoy it anyway maybe!#or don't! i wrote it because it needed to be out of my head #i have so many other things i need to write and respond to hahahaha

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i-havenothingelsetopost · 1 month ago

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genuine question, do you like maths?? i have a vague feeling i saw your post of tags or something that said something about it but i cannot figure out if it was in fact you or if it was even positive ahahah

Yeah that was me! I don't go looking for math problems, but when I happen to do them, I tend to enjoy it. Wasn't always this way — elementary school math was about speed and memorization and I hated that — but I had a really good teacher in upper secondary school, and it became about creative problem solving. It feels the same as writing a poem in meter or managing to untangle a really bad knot in a ball of yarn.

#i can't do math in my head or memorize formulas #and i'm not precise‚ which is bad for questions that are only numbers. like. 5+6=? type of stuff #because if all you need to is write the final answer‚ then if that answer is wrong‚ youve failed. don't get the points for the exam question #but! upper secondary school math! my beloved! (specifically lyhyt matikka‚ idk what pitkä is like)#there's a book that has all the formulas in it and you can use it and look them up even during exams. no memorization #it doesn't explain *how* the formulas are used but still #and there was more time than there ever was in my previous schools. and finishing fast did not mean you were better. i could take my time #and there were so many... worded questions? like instead of pure numbers they present the problem to you in words. phrases. prose #here is a situation. solve it #and you get to choose HOW to solve it #sometimes i could not remember how a formula worked‚ or hadn't quite figured out a recently taught technique yet #and i just. figured out a different way to solve the problem #can't remember the answer to 5x8? let's count 5+5+5+5+5+5+5+5 instead #38/7? lets draw 38 little balls in the margin and separate them into groups of 7 and see how many there are and how many strays get left out #like that but applied to lots of stuff #and it was enougj! it was fine! it was a valid way to solve it! i got the right answer!#unless i messed something up! a + turned into a - by accident somewhere in the middle of the equation #but! part of this level of math was that it was encouraged to write our whole thought process down #and i‚ unable to do it off the paper anyway #i wrote down ALL OF IT #and the teacher saw where i went wrong and that it was little precision things but that i had the techniques down and #i still got most of the points for those questions instead of losing everything because of an incorrect number at the end #these differences have meant everything #math is puzzles. puzzles can be fun #some of my first memories of math class are of me sobbing under my desk #i cried a few tears in all my matriculation exams too‚ even for my favourite subjects. but not math #one of the most important questions was a geometry one. i shine in that area #i grinned doing it

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pastelince · 2 months ago

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You ever have a fellow mentally ill person basically call you ableist for not being able to be there for them anymore?

Like, my brother in christ, we are both suffering here. What am I supposed to do? Prioritize only you and hurt myself?

Guilting me (and my friends) by saying your disorder "isn't pretty enough for you" is accusatory and manipulative. I̲t̲'̲s̲ ̲n̲o̲t̲ ̲t̲h̲e̲ ̲t̲r̲u̲t̲h̲. It's only hurtful, and doesn't make helping you any easier.

It doesn't matter if your disorder is stigmatized; you don't get to start basically implying people are ableist for not being able to constantly be tolerant and be supportive of you.

People run out of spoons! People have other shit going on outside of you!! OTHER PEOPLE ARE ALSO DISABLED BY THEIR MENTAL ILLNESSES!!

If they leave, it's not because your disorder is "ugly." It's because they have their own priorities.

#caster speaks #I don't care who sees this #not even the person I'm talking about #they can be angry about it #they wrote an entire poem. I can write vagueposts on tumblr.#vent #mental health #ableism #depression #PDD #Persistent depressive disorder #how do you fumble the bag with so many people who genuinely wanted to see you get better #oh wait! Accuse them of rushing you and putting expectations on you and also being ableist #even though two of those things were self imposed by your own image of others #I am bitter as fuck but I do hopethings go well for them #I did not bust my ass for literaly years to quit wanting a motherfucker's mental health journey to go good #I swear to god though #if they and the people who defend them keep ignoring all the shit people went through #or excusing their actions #on the grounds of trauma #except for when literally anyone else does shit because of trauma and distress #like damn at least do both #and quit calling people abusers too when you literally implode when it's aimed back at you #both members of a party can be abusive #did malachite teach you nothing #bruh #I'm so fucking tired #I needed to just scream all of this out so I can finally be left ALONE in my own head #AAAAAAAAAAUGHHHhhh #self victimizing

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watery-melon-baller · 6 months ago

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its so fun :)) and awesome :)) that i cannot fucking make my brain focus on my homework :))) holy shit im gonna kill someone :)) why can't my brain just work for five fucking minutes :)) this is easy homework too I just can't concentrate on it at all :)) and it's due tomorrow morning :)))

#yes I AM bitching about physics again #having a hyperfixation is stupid and awful and fucking sucks #Jesus Christ stop thinking about toh for FIVE MINUTES #and physics is like. I struggle with it. I'm slow #I need all of my brainpower to focus and problem solve but I genuinely!! Cannot!! Focus!!!#It's so insane. All comprehension skills go out the window #if I fail this class then I'm genuinely fucked like. I can't even begin to describe how screwed I am if I fail this class #Or even if I pass this class but barely understand it #and it goes so fast and i don't have anyone I can go to for help #with calc 2 I was going to the tutoring center every week!!!#but I can't do that!!! And I don't know anyone who knows physics #and it's not like I have friends in the class :))) because I'm so socially stunted it's embarrassing :))))#Jesus fucking Christ I can't function like a normal person #my brain has just been completely rotted from two years of doing nothing but bullshit art projects and now I've lost all critical thinking #im just frustrated because this isn't even the difficult part #SHE LITERALLY TOLD US WHAY TO DO IN CLASS #I JUST FUCKINH. CANNOT. FOCUS OR EVEN COMPREGEND IT #AND I WROTE DOWN EXACTLY WHAT SHE SAID AND IT MADE SENSE IN CLASS #BUT NOW MY BRAIN IS ALL FUZZY AND I CANNT UNDERSTAND A WORD #AND I PROCRASTICATED ALL WEEKEND BECAUSE. I COULD NOT FUCKING FOCUS #BECAUSE OOOOHHH MAYBE ILL JUST MAGICALLY START FOCUSINH IF I WAIT LONG ENOUGH #NOPE!#FUCK ME I GUESS #THIS IS DUE TOMORROW SO I HAVE TO GET THIS DONE #ITS LIKE MY BRAIN IS SLUDGE I CAN'T THINK CLEARLY AT ALL #if i can't do well in this course then. um. i don't wanna say my life is ruined but. it fucks up so many things for me #I don't know dude I just can't wrap my head around this kind of stuff and I'm stressed #lilac post #im aware im being self pitying and this won't help me but im feeling bitchy 2nite

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iamthepulta · 2 years ago

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22.5K PRE-EDITING

/smacks table GOD THAT WAS FUN TO WRITE. GOD MY BRAIN IS FRIED.

#I'VE ACTUALLY STARTED WRITING THE SCENE.#/I'VE STARTED WRITING THE SCENE./#I think the difficulty with starting and getting through this chapter was literally being /so close/ I could touch it and still wanting to #put in the proper build-up effort to make the whole climax the right amount of tension.#because now I have to do the EXACT SAME THING for the next chapter #which is probably going to be chapter 25 considering how long this turned out to be (PRE EDITING) and editing always adds 1-2k for me #I think there was only one time I edited and it stayed roughly the same word count. But it really depends how good my writing quality was #that day. And there's one section in the middle of the chapter that I know SUCKS BALLS and I need to do something to it.#but FUCK MAN IT'S DONE AND GOD I LOVE THE CHAPTER ENDING.#actually y'all will hate me so much for where it leaves off lol because it stops in the middle of one scene but don't worry it's #literally perfect I have everything planned out in my head.#I love how this is basically a second job. I woke up in the morning #ate a small breakfast and went downstairs to the common area in the apartment I don't have a wifi password for and wrote for 6hr #I'm one of those boom or bust writers

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archaeren · 6 months ago

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How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

#creative writing #writers block #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writers and poets #writerscommunity #fanfic writing #writeblr #writing advice

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