#put them side by side and look at my insanity

[lostinlovingrevery]

Cute SMUTTY moments I like to imagine with Logan ~

CAUTION: smut. Lol. Like straight smut and nsfw ideas

-Logan having a bad day, sitting in a chair while he complains about Scott, or Wade, or just some aashole pissing him off. Hes so absorbed in his complaints he didnt notice you pulling all your clothes off, and standing in front of him butt ass naked. His mouth hangs open when he realizes as his eyes take you in.

"Better?"

"Yeah." He nods simply, leaning back in his chair, taking a sip of the whiskey you had handed him too. Spreading his legs and still eyeing you.

-dont worry, he still gets to vent and you listen to him. He just gets to do it with you naked and on his lap.

-Logans thrusting into you and its passionate and clumsy and youre both panting and accidentally bonk your heads, leaving you both giggling, your arms wrapped around each other in a romantic embrace, taking a moment to just kiss and enjoy being together

-lazy sundays (sorry god) where youre both just being naked together in bed, holding each other. His hands explore every part of you as if he hasnt have your whole body mapped out in his head already. Its not so much sexual but more intimate

-messing with his dick. Hes sprawl on the bed and youre between his thighs, playfully jerking him off, and tapping his tip against your lips, giving him teasing kitten licks ams grinning when he groans. Part of him wants you to make him cum already, another part doesnt want you to stop playing with him.

-him coming up to you, his fingers pushing into your jeans, hooking into your panties and lifting, then snapping them against your skin- making you yelp while he grins devilishly.

"Just wanted to see what pair you got on today."

-wearing a dress (esp for plus ladies!) That accentuate your curves and belly. Yknow that cute belly pouch us ladies got? That shit would drive logan insane if youre wearing the right clothes to show that off.

-he sees you in the dress, the lighting just makes you look so damn good, hes pushing you somewhere private to get you both off (the dress stays ON)

-logan would kneed on your tittes or ass when fucking you like deadass.

-surprising him for the first time with lingerie. Omg hes so excited. The way his face lights up like a kid on christmas morning.

-hed probably torture you for an hour because he cant stop looking over how good you look. Hes tracing his fingers over the lace and shape of your body. Hes literally obsessed.

-hes praising you and everything. Calling you pretty girl, how sweet you are to put this on for him. Hes gonna treat you real good for this.

-for girlies with love handles, logan definitely makes good use of those. (Theyre called love handles for a reason 🤭)

-sucking him off and after he cums, you just rest your head on his thigh, your hand running soothingly up and down his other thigh. Its soft and intimate and makes logan feel like you really love him. (You do)

-i made a fic about this but fucking in the shower and then washing each other afterwards. So intimate!!

-the first time you and logan do it, youre so giggly and swooning over him. It ends up being more playful and romantic, which somehow makes it 10 times better. Youre comfortable with each other. Theres a lot of praising here. Logan is smiling like a fool in love over how giggly you are (plot twist he is)

-old man logan. Making him cum, praising his body and soul, giving him sweet kisses over his chest and face while he recovers post-coitus. His eyes shut and hes panting, because he hadnt felt that good in awhile. I want him to feel relief in his body, and know thay i love him ❤️

-dofp (70s and future) logan, yall I want this man to fuck me so hard i black out, he finishes, rolls to the side and lights a cigar while his cum leaks out of me and im shaking violently, and he turns back with his cigar, soothingly rubbing my back and telling me what a good job i did. (Snuggles and praises the rest of the night)

-origins logan, i wanna ride him on the floor of his cabin, while he holds my hips and looks up at me with that lovesick puppy face he makes. Him to whisper how he loves me, and wants us to spend our lives together UGH

-trilogy logan. This man is a mix of desperate sub and mean dom. I want him to fuck me hard into the mattress, hand on my neck- all the while begging me to let him come inside. Telling me im so pretty and he cant hold on much longer. Hes biting your lip, demanding that you cum bc he needs you to so desperately bc he cant finish unless he knows youre taken care of.

-worst logan. I want him to be so rough and mean because he hasnt known a soft touch in ages, only to be so gentle with him and he suddenly melts. Hes slamming into you bc he just has so much anger built in him and then your cradle his face and kiss him softly and he realizes that you really do care, and he slows down, melting into your body as he fucks you hard still, but more lovingly.

-youre wearing a skirt sitting next to logan at a table. He begins to put his hand on your thigh, going on your skirt till he gets to your panties and starts teasing you.

-logan doesnt take baths but then you surprise him with one (youre in it) and suddnely hes asking you everyday if you want to take a bath with him.

-you and logan just fucked and youre getting out of bed to do whatever, and he smacks your ass, a cheeky grin on his face as you yelp and give him a playful scowl

-two can play this game

-next time he gets up, you wind yourself out to smack his butt next, and you do it so hard he actually jumps forward, his hand coming over his cheek where your handprint very quickly faded.

-lets just say youre bent over his lap after that getting punished.

-i said in the fluffy logan scenarios thatll he lay om your titties and ass. Yes.

-hell bite em too

-youre naked on your belly in bed, he comes in and you feel him crawling onto the mattress and then you shout bc you felt his canines sink into your ass cheek, when he then runs his tongue over to soothe it. You glare at him but he doesnt notice bc now hes snuggling his face against your cheek. Does that little head shake to get comfy and content sigh too. What a dork.

-he'll bite your titties too. Its cuteness aggression.

-logan just bites a lot.

-sucking him dry. Like so dry his regenerative factor hasnt kicked in and hes just sprawled out on the bed nearly comatose and you climb up and kiss the tip of his nose and snuggle into his chest.

-once again im imploring you to think about giggly sex with logan. Hes thrusting into you against the wall, and you both cant stay serious, just laughing and moaning into each others mouths. Youre happy. Hes happy.

-awkward things happen in sex sometimes. But you and logan can laugh it off. A quick kiss, and back to it.

-nearly getting caught in the broom closet at the mansion. One of logans moments of grabbing you and yanking you into the most private place nearby. The close call makes you call it off, but he still takes your panties and keep its in his pocket.

-you visting old man logan during his work. You surprise him by requesting his ride. You have very sweet and soft sex in the back, where he praises you being such a sweet girl to him

-logan with his superhero suit i think we all agree drives us insane. The first time you see it on him you practically jump his bones. Hes loves that it drives you so crazy.

-also we talk about him praising us (and believe me as a girly w a praise kink i get it)

-praising HIM. The first time you do it, he becomes so flustered. He gets red in the face, starts stammering on his dirty talk and pretty much cums right then. He gets even more flustered by that but you praise and reassure him that it was SO hot

-youre riding him, the evening sun shining in the window over your figure, and hes looking at you, holding your hips, leading up and down. He looks so lovesick and he tells you how in love with you he is.

-logan has those big puppy eyes. Trilogy logan is super guilty of this. Old man logan is too. It doesnt matter the variant though, they all break out the puppy eyes when they want to fuck you.

-i mean, he definitely got that devilish seductive smile and bedroom eyes that he'll use to seduce you

-but if youre busy or dont seem to pay him enough attention or notice the bedroom eyes, hell break out the puppy eyes and borderline whine for you. (Sometimes you just like to hear him beg. Its all in good fun bc he does it with you too)

-no matter your size, logan definitely loves to pick you up, thrusting into you, hands supporting your ass and hips. Hes like displaying his strength on you. (Esp if youre a bigger girl. He doesnt want you to think he cant fuck you just as hard )

-if youre out in public, in meetings, etc, and logan wants you to know hes feeling mighty attracted to you, his hand will find its way somewhere on yoh (hand, waist, knee) and he'll just rub that spot over and over. Its discreet, but you learn it.

-youre in bed, and he comes home from work/mission/being out and about, he doesnt hesitate, just immediately shedding his clothes as he makes his way to the bed and plants himself firmly between your thighs before he even utters hello. Eating you out is his stress relief.

-having hardcore rough sex, before collapsing on either side of each other, sweating, covered in each others cum, and you both look at each other, and start to smile and laugh. (Yall are so nasty)

-logan getting so giddy when you want to suck his dick like he gets SO excited. Hell def have the dom moments where yknow hes like "cmon baby get working" but then you have those nice moments where hes just a man happy to get a blow

-you convince him to swap underwear. You wear his boxers and he your panties. Hes unsure at first bc it seems embarrassing but then he gets super turned on at wearing your essence around. Sure hes a little uncomfortable bc he cant exactly FIT...but youre happy so.

-(he bends over and you spot the red thong on him and you pull his shirt down before scott notices)

-getting on his knees and pressing kisses to your belly.

-waking up in the morning, having sleepy sex. He sleepily thrusts into you,muttering how good you feel. Eventually you both cum and fall asleep with him still inside.

-he loves fucking you with one of his tshirts on. Loves how it covers your body, just barely hiding the way his dick is burying itself into you over and over

-logan deciding to be super romantic for you one night. He lights candles, rose petals, your favorite wine(or sparkling juice if you dont like alcohol)

-its soft and sensual, his hands touching you, how he thrusts into you. Its almost too much.

-interconnecting hands while fucking, you kiss his knuckles, the space where his claws come out, and he has to regain his composure over it, because youre just so soft and sweet to him. He realizes just how you arent scared of him, how you really accept and love him

"You really do love me... dont ya bub?" He asks, a soft genuine, almost childlike fascination as he looks down at you, and you smile and nod at him, and he moans, before going to work to conpletely wreck you while making plans in the back of his head on how hes gonna keep you happy the rest of your lives...

Thats all for now! Im sure ill come up with more though...😏😏😏

Thank you for reading lovelies!!

[badhairred]

Taste my Anger

A little microfic made for this beautiful piece of art. This is dedicated to @spookeart for the art and @blackthornwine who actually gave me the idea in the first place. Thank you for putting this in my head and enjoy this little gift🤍🤍

Moonwater - 1632 words - tags: Regulus/Remus, Post prank anger, smoking, shotgun.

“For once in your life, Sirius, think about someone else than bloody you! You hurt people, you are cruel when you want to be and don’t go saying you didn’t want to because if you hadn’t you wouldn’t have,” Remus bristles, hands balled into fists, his blood boiling and the pencil the bag that had been hanging loosely off his shoulder had flown open and papers where scattered around them. James looks at Remus with wide, horrified eyes, and Peter is looking between him and Sirius, who looks as white as a ghost, like he is following a very tense match of chess. “I am done!”

“Moony, I–”

“No,” Remus whirls back around, his curls sparking at the ends as his magic gets away from him. It has been such a long time since he hasn’t been in control of his magic, the wolf in his chest coming out even when he’s in human form and bringing out the worst of him. “Don’t call me that, fuck off Sirius. Truly. Fuck. Off.”

Sirius doesn’t try again when Remus turns on his heel and stomps around the corner. He doesn’t know where exactly he is going. He just needs to run, get away, calm the fuck down. Fumbling in his pocket he fishes for a cigarette, lighting it with a snap of his fingers –which might not have been the best idea because half of the cigarette burns up already from the intensity of the magic– before taking a long drag.

Luckily there is no one in the hallway, seeing as it’s dinner time and everyone is down in the great hall. His feet carry him without him actually giving them directions. There are two stairs, another corridor, a corner, and a hidden passage up another winding staircase. He just walks. Moving, for the sake of getting away.

James can try and play the peace broker all he wants, Remus will never forgive Sirius. The guy might act all high and mighty, the first to be brave instead of cunning but there is enough poison in him to still be a snake. He betrays his friends so easily for his own gain, bullying for his own amusement and being cruel just because he can get away with it by swishing his insane hair or flashing that million-gallon smile. No more. Remus is done.

When he puts out the fag at the bottom of his shoe and reaches for the next, he realises he has finally reached a corridor he recognises. In his blind fury, he had just let his subconscious guide him and it clearly needed to find itself to a place no one knows about. He sinks down on the windowsill of the empty corridor on the fifth floor that ends in a dead end and so is rarely visited by other students –or teachers.

Reaching in his backpack Remus is suddenly grateful for his wolf, who had been so on edge because of the whole ordeal already that Remus had the clearance of mind to stuff his weed, baccy and long rolling paper in the bottom of the pack, hidden under his parchments and quills.

Absemindedly he goes into autopilot and starts rolling the spliff while he leans his head against the open window. The cold autumn air greets him like little shards cutting his skin and he revels in the feeling as he watches over the ground. The sun has already gone down behind the mountains on the other side of the black lake and the ground is quickly getting doused in darkness. The ripple of the wind makes the tops of the trees of the forbidden forest move like a sea of dark green, while the smoke from Hagrid’s hut crinkles into the sky.

Remus takes a deep sigh, letting the sereneness of the dawn wash over him. His breathing returns to normal while his hands have frozen in their action of rolling the spliff when his eyes fall on the shadow of the lonely, big willow tree. Its branches move against the wind faster than should be possible and when a bird that is trying to find shelter for the night gets a little too close it nearly escapes the clutches of the violent tree.

The Whomping Willow.

The tree was supposed to protect Remus during his transformation, it was supposed to be his secret and his burden to bear. Shaking his head he adverbs his gaze and pushes the feelings of rage that resurface back down. Sirius is a stuck-up prick, he thinks Remus will always cave in the end, forgive him when he comes up with weak excuses and bring up his family.

“What are you doing here?”

Remus looks up from the finish spliff in his hand. Speaking of the devil. Regulus is looking down at him, arms crossed and one eyebrow lifted. The permanent scowl on Regulus Black’s face doesn’t make the boy less attractive.

“What’s it look like?” Remus retorts, holding up the unlid spliff in his hand before bringing it to his lips and keeping eye contact with his fellow prefect as he lits the thing and takes a drag. Daring.

Regulus’ eyes shoot from the burning tip to Remus’ eyes and back down to his lips where the smoke is just escaping into the air. There is a calculating look in his sharp green eyes and Remus feels like he is biting back a million questions.

The day has been shit. Well, to be honest, the last two weeks have been shit and Remus is just mad enough to take any chance to piss off his friends at this point. “Wanna hit?”

Regulus’ eyes widen and he uncrosses his arms as he scales Remus up, trying to figure out if he is sincere.

“Where’s your following?”

Remus scoffs. “I don’t have a following.”

As he moves to come to stand in front of Remus Regulus lets out a scoff. “Oh yes, my bad, it’s my brother’s following.” Remus tries to keep his expression blank but something must slip through the cracks because he is treated of the rare sight of Regulus smirking. “What’s that? Trouble in paradise?”

“You wanna smoke or not?” Remus asks him, avoiding the question and holding the spliff up to the younger Black.

Regulus looks like he wants to keep prodding about the situation but he seems to decide against it. He eyes the spliff again and an uncertainty flickers over his face. “I never–”

“Didn’t think you had,” Remus chuckles darkly. “Come here.” Remus is toeing a dangerous line but he doesn’t care at this point. The haze in his mind from the drags he had taken himself is just enough to justify how he reaches his arm around Regulus and tucks him closer. He watches how his breath catches and wonders why the younger one is here at that moment.

“Why are you here?”

“I come here sometimes,” Regulus admits after a beat of silence. “To think.”

“Mhm,” Remus nods, looking up, seeing the slightest hint of freckles on his face he had never seen before, only visible when you get up close to the boy. “Tilt your head up a little.”

And to Remus’ astonishment, Regulus obeys the instruction. Remus doesn’t know why Regulus wants to be alone, or what he wants to think about but the fact that he so easily follows Remus’ instructions, no back talking, no jokes or snide remarks. Just a tilted head, coming close to his, waiting for the next thing that is going to happen.

With the smoke in his mouth, Remus leans in and uses his thumb to open up Regulus’ mouth before he leans in and lets the smoke billow out, landing on the other’s tongue. “Inhale.”

Regulus does, taking a sharp breath and letting the smoke reach his lungs. He doesn’t cough or lean away. His expression is still saying nothing but his eyes, it’s those emerald greens that tell Remus how much Regulus needed this. Maybe just as much as he.

“Your brother can be an utter fucking dickhead,” Remus sighs out, leaning back just the tiniest bit, keeping his eyes trailed on Regulus’ who looks at him as if he is trying to read his mind.

“Don’t I know it,” the boy answers. He tilts his head up, crooking it a bit to the side resulting in Remus’ hand falling from his chin. “Want to piss him off?” Remus only nods as Regulus points his eyes to the spliff. He inhales once more and instead of him guiding Regulus it’s Regulus who lays his hand on Remus’ cheeks, bringing him to his mouth.

Remus would have choked on the smoke if it was still in his mouth when Regulus closes his lips around Remus’ in earnest. The smoke is shared between them as their tongues come together in the sweetest yet most passionate kiss Remus had ever experienced. He keeps the spliff out of their way, not to burn the younger boy by accident as he tightens his grip on Regulus’ waist. The feeling of Regulus’ cold rings against his skin only adds to all the feelings that course through his body.

Where his blood had been boiling before from rage it was now set ablaze by this single kiss.

Regulus breaks away, leaning back and opening his eyes with a flutter of his lashes. Remus stares back at the boy who is not saying anything before he steps out of the embrace and takes the spliff from Remus’ hand to take a slow drag. Before Remus can wrap his mind around what just happened he is looking at Regulus’ retreating back.

“Black!” Remus calls after him and Regulus turns his head around with a smirk.

“See you, Lupin. Thanks for the hit.”

[sturniololuvz]

can you do a sturniolo sister where she is 4 and it’s a compilation of times where she is clingy to the boys

yesss! this is cuteee!

Stuck to You – A Compilation of Clingy Y/N Moments

Sturniolos x sister

1. The Morning Koala

It was 8 a.m., and Matt groggily made his way to the kitchen, still half-asleep. But before he could even pour himself a bowl of cereal, he felt two tiny arms wrap around his leg like a vice.

“Mattyyyyy!”

Y/N clung to his leg like a koala, her little face pressed against his knee.

Matt sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Y/N, we talked about this. You can’t just grab my leg like that.”

“Yes, I can,” she mumbled sleepily, tightening her grip.

Nick walked in, raising a brow. “Bro… you got an attachment issue on aisle one.”

Matt gestured dramatically to his leg. “Please, get her off me.”

Chris, sipping his morning juice box, grinned. “Nah, that’s your problem now.”

2. The Bathroom Breakdown

Nick had made the critical mistake of shutting the bathroom door without Y/N knowing where he went.

Big mistake.

A loud wail erupted from the other side of the door. “NICKY, WHERE ARE YOUUU?!”

Nick groaned, resting his forehead against the bathroom sink. ���Y/N, I’m literally peeing. Can you chill?”

“I MISS YOU!”

“You saw me five seconds ago!”

Matt, walking by, cackled. “You gonna let her in or let her suffer?”

Nick sighed in defeat and cracked open the door. “Fine.”

Y/N immediately waddled in, plopping onto the bathroom floor with her stuffed animal. “I just wanna be with you.”

Nick shook his head. “This is insane.”

3. The Grocery Store Meltdown

Chris was pushing the cart through the grocery store while Matt and Nick walked beside him, grabbing snacks. Y/N, however, refused to walk.

“I wanna go up!” she whined, reaching for Chris.

“You’re four,” Chris sighed. “You can walk.”

“But my legs are tired!”

“Y/N, you’ve been sitting in the car for the last hour—”

Before he could finish, her eyes welled up with tears. “You don’t love me anymore?” she sniffled dramatically.

Chris let out a long sigh before hoisting her onto his hip. “You’re literally scamming me, bro.”

Y/N grinned, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Bubby.”

Matt chuckled. “She’s got you wrapped around her tiny little finger.”

Chris muttered, “Yeah, I’m aware.”

4. The “Don’t Leave” Incident

The triplets had a meeting that day, which meant Y/N had to stay home with their friend Madi ,But the second she saw them putting on their shoes, she panicked.

“NO!” she wailed, running straight into Matt’s legs. “DON’T LEAVE ME!”

“Y/N, we’ll be back soon!” Nick tried reasoning with her.

She shook her head violently, wrapping herself around Matt’s leg like a monkey. “Take me with you!”

Chris knelt down. “Bug, we’ll be home before you even notice—”

“I NOTICE EVERYTHING!” she cried dramatically.

Nick sighed. “Alright, Matt, you got this one. We’ll be in the car.”

Matt, now carrying a sobbing Y/N, groaned. “Why am I the chosen one?”

5. The Sleepover Sabotage

One night, the triplets invited a couple of friends over. Y/N was supposed to be asleep, but she had other plans.

She wobbled into the living room, rubbing her eyes. “I wanna sleep with you guys.”

Nick looked at her, amused. “Y/N, you have a whole bed.”

“But I want you,” she whined, climbing onto the couch and squeezing herself between Matt and Chris.

Chris sighed. “What are we supposed to do, kick her out?”

Matt shook his head. “Nope, she wins. She always wins.”

And just like that, the triplets’ “guys’ night” turned into “Y/N takes over.”

Again.

Final Thought:

Having a clingy little sister was exhausting, chaotic, and borderline ridiculous.

But at the end of the day? The triplets wouldn’t have it any other way.

[semisgroupie]

SPONTANEOUS — venus + shouta aizawa (@twilightakiishi )

warnings: use of handcuffs, grinding, teasing, handjob, unprotected sex, use of lube, furniture gets broken

this is part of my TOYS, TOYS, and MORE TOYS event , send in a request!

He rests his back against the headboard, only clad in his boxer shorts and he watches you with an amused grin. “You sure you don’t want to try this the other way around?” His eyes roam along your lingerie clad body as you move to straddle him and then his gaze goes to the item you have in your left hand. “I’m sure, this is going to be fun.”

He nods and bites his bottom lip as you lean in. He moves his hands up to your hips and grips the flesh tightly, earning a playful slap on his arm from you. “No touching and remember, once this is on don’t pull too much. Now put your hands up.” His cock twitches as he lifts his arms above his head and he leans in to pepper kisses along your chest as you open then clasp the handcuffs around his wrists.

He groans as you pull back and he gives a test tug to make sure they’re secure. “Now that I’m restrained, what do you have in store for me?” You don’t respond to his question as you reach into the bedside drawer and grab the small bottle of lube. He watches you closely as you pull down his boxers to reveal his half hard cock then open the cap to the lube. He bites back a hiss when you pour a generous amount onto his cock and groans when you wrap your hand around it.

You pump your hand slowly, the slick sounds slowly start to fill the room and he groans. “Fuck, baby go faster please. This is killing me.” He tugs at his handcuffs again, making the metal strain against the headboard. But despite his pleas you keep moving your hand slowly, the squelch of your hand along his cock only adds to his frustrations. He wants — no, needs to feel more.

When he agreed to being restrained with the new handcuffs he bought for you two, he should’ve known you had something up your sleeve. This has to be payback for all the times he teased and toyed with you whenever he got new toys or whenever he needed to relieve some stress.

He bucks his hips up against your hand for more and he throws his head back. “Baby, please. This is gonna drive me insane.” He tugs at the cuffs again, making the wood of your headboard creak once more and you look to see angry red marks form along his wrists. “Okay, okay I’ll give you more.” You pull your hand from his cock and watch as a bead of precum drips from the tip to join the mess of lube along his shaft.

You bite your lip as you pull your panties to the side and adjust your hips so you can line up with him throbbing cock. You move one hand down to grip the base then slowly start to sink down. When he’s about halfway inside of you, you slam your hips down. It rips a gasp out of you and a guttural moan from Shouta. He waits for you to bounce but it doesn’t happen, all you do is place your hands on his chest as you grind against him. Your clit catches against his neatly trimmed patch of black pubic hair.

He groans again and grits his teeth as all you do is grind against him like he’s a fucking pillow. A smile grows on your face as you see how annoyed he’s getting, you move a hand up to brush some of his hair from his face. “What’s wrong, Shouta? I’m giving you more, isn’t this better than my hand?” You coo condescendingly at him, it’s a tone that he’s given you time and time again when you’ve begged him to stop his teasing. He narrows his eyes at you and shakes his head, “you know what’s wrong, stop fucking teasing me.”

You laugh as you lift your hips slightly before sinking them back down to grind against him some more. “But this is so much fun, aren’t you enjoying yourself?” He continues to tug at the handcuffs and then it finally happens when he gives it a particularly hard tug. The creaking wood of the headboard finally cracks and while he’s still restrained, he is more free to do what he wants. Your eyes widen as he pushes you back down against the bed and adjusts himself between your thighs, snapping his hips into yours.

“Now let’s have some real fun.”

[verdicloud]

more serious aspects of rum tum tugger

admittedly, i watch act 1 of cats wayyyyyy more than act 2. i’m not sure why, but it means i listen to “mr mistoffelees” a lot less, so it kinda slipped my mind that… rum tum tugger sings “mr mistoffelees”… 😬 but seriously watching and listening to it after a while of detox made me, weirdly, appreciate tugger’s character so much more than before.

if you don’t think tugger is a very complex character or someone worth delving into, let me offer this: we talk about john partridge being THE tugger, that he’s yet to have been surpassed or lived up to, and it’s true, but from what i’ve seen, i don’t think us fans get him quite right either. (not anyone specifically, just in a general sense.) and from what i’ve heard, other productions are great, but there’s just nothing quite like his 1998 film portrayal. i don’t just mean the swagger, but also the gravitas that he gives off. it was really lightning in a bottle. that’s how difficult it is to get his character truly right. (such is the case for a lot of cats in my opinion, but i’m being picky.)

(p.s. i meant this as in “it’s insanely difficult to capture john partridge’s essence”.)

…… yes, i know tugger is meant to be vain and rebellious and a sexy, indecisive flirt, and i do realise that the three words are just “in general” to help actors perform better, BUT, you cannot tell me that this description doesn’t water him down to a puddle :

his three words are apparently “vain, perverse, inconsequent”. “vain”? you mean the one whose first instinct was to call upon someone else more competent to help when old deut was in danger? the one who pleaded for the jellicles to listen to him, and gladly gave reasoning while hyping up misto, instead of just saying trust me bro? the one who is clearly extremely grateful and proud to be old deut’s son? and “perverse” is only true if they mean “contrary”. otherwise, his whole song shows him rejecting all the hot girls who all want him. “inconsequent”? firstly, i’m pretty sure that they’re using this word wrong. second, if they mean “not caring about consequences”, then tell that to the cat who stopped his entire party instantly just to alert the tribe of grizabella’s appearance. (and he clearly looks very disappointed when nobody liked his bagpipes gag!)

tugger is attractive, admired by many, influential, high-status and charismatic. yet, he only ever uses his prominence to do what’s best for the jellicles or what would make them happy, both individually and as a whole. in misto’s number, he steps up completely soberly when the jellicles need him the most. he hypes up misto because he knows his influence will make the cats believe in him. he gives the cats some much needed levity during times of crisis. he entertains etcetera, his biggest fan, like a singer inviting a child on stage and it shows that he cares.

i wanna talk about tugger’s design as well in terms of his character. tugger’s presence is the perfect balance of cool and warm. he is stylish and impressive, a self-assured and level-headed cat with an assertive aura, who easily keeps his composure, but at the same time, he’s inviting and open, a dutiful and shrewd cat with an incredible sense of humour, who is able to lift the hearts of those around him. this is reflected in his design, as his top half has a huge fluffy mane, but the rest of him is sleek black, yet done in a way that’s complimentary and not conflicting.

beneath the show-off, the swagger, and the sex appeal, he’s a mellow and mature tom cat who just loves to put on a good show and give the crowd exactly what they want. he’s just as serious and responsible and caring and full of love for his tribe as munkustrap is, while still being able to retain his thrilling and unruly side (which somehow makes him seem even more responsible, since he has the capacity to balance levity and soberness to the fullest extent).

people try to give him sad backstories or make him seem softer and that’s fine, but it’s a rare thing that we get such an ineffably complex and nuanced character without needing things like a drastic arc or sympathetic traits. through tugger, i’ve gained a newfound admiration for this sort of adamantine character, and this qualia of his shines through, however subtly, in every number he’s in.

i did my best, but my words probably don’t do him justice either. maybe during your next watch of cats, try to search for this feeling!

(and i think, in this way, he really embodies rock music so well. so fun and exciting and rebellious, but still able to sound so classic, solemn and heavy.)

[bau-muffin]

Put Your Trust In Me

Part I: Sexual Healing

Part 1 | Part 2

Rating: M

Relationship: Javier Peña/Reader

Tags: No Y/N, Reader works at the embassy, Reader is undisclosed age

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Javier and Reader work together at the embassy, but there’s a bit of tension there that’s unexplored. That is, until Javier asks reader to meet him at the café for them to organize their notes on Pablo, and his being late leads to the question that Reader’s been wondering for a long time: why doesn’t he hit on them when he hits on anything that’s breathing and stays still long enough?

Author’s Note: Thank you to Habby, Cait, and Ash for beta reading this fic!!!! ily all so so much, and your input has meant the world to me! xoxo - Muffin

“Come take control, just grab a hold

Of my body and mind, soon we'll be making it, honey

I'll be feeling fine

You're my medicine, open up and let me in

Darling, you're so great, I can't wait for you to operate

(Heal me my darling)”

- “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye

-=-

The waitress gave you sympathetic eyes as she filled your cup of coffee up again.

“Stood up?” she asked.

“I’m hoping he’s just late,” you assured her, although your tone bordered on frustration.

“I see. Please let me know if you need anything else, or if you’d like to settle your bill.”

“Thank you.”

The waitress didn’t linger and simply left you to it. You stirred your coffee absentmindedly, your hands needing to do something or else you’d have to stop yourself from finding Javier and cussing him out.

He had asked you to meet him at this café at 4:30 after work to talk about the intel he’d gathered on Pablo so far. He was late to his own appointment, that he set with you- you looked down at your Casio digital watch- by twenty minutes.

You could give yourself three guesses as to his whereabouts, and the last two didn’t count. Instead, you gave yourself five more minutes before you would get up and abandon the appointment.

Javier walked in on minute 4.

“Jesus, you are late,” you scolded him as you took in his appearance- his hair was predictably mussed as though he had been rolling around in bed, and the collar on his black leather jacket was up and concealing the sides of his neck. You rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t realize how late it was after I finished my appointment with… my informant.”

“Was this revelation before, or after you used your ‘informant’s’ thighs as earmuffs?”

Javier sat down opposite of you, a smile tugging on his lips under that mustache as he pulled off his aviator glasses and tucked the leg of it into his pocket. “Well that was vivid imagery.”

“I had almost half an hour to think about it- spare me,” you retorted.

“Oh, so you thought about it?”

Before a halfhearted defense could slip off your lips, the waitress stopped by to get his order.

“Just a cup of black coffee, please- as strong as you can make it, yeah?”

“Of course.”

He studied the badge on the pocket of her dress before looking up at her and flashing a big smile under that mustache of his as he was handing over the flimsy menu. “Thank you, María.”

You didn’t miss the way color rose to her cheeks. “Your order will be right out.”

After she left, Javier pulled out his pack of cigarettes and plucked one out. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively as he gestured to his pack. You shook your head.

“No, thanks.”

Your eyes roved over his form while he lit his cigarette, studying him as the flame caused a glow on his face- Describing your relationship with Javier was insanely difficult. You’d tried describing it to your mother, to Connie Murphy, hell, to yourself even, and yet… still came short of what the relationship actually felt like.

When you’d started working at the embassy after moving from the States - a lifetime ago it seemed - you were a “floater” for a while, doing whatever tasks and fetching whatever paperwork for whoever needed it. Then, as the Escobar case evolved, you’d been planted indefinitely as an assistant for Steve and Javier as more evidence and files rolled in. You got along well with Steve, and after you met his wife, Connie, you’d all become good friends, simply happy to have someone else a little reminiscent of home around. But Javier… Javier was a different story.

You don’t think he quite knew what to make of you at first. He’d flirted with you, of course, but after you became better friends with Steve and Connie, and you worked actively with him and Steve on cases, it ebbed to a halt.

You knew what he got up to with his informants, the brothels, the prostitutes, and the fact he had probably slept with everyone else in the office- save Steve, that you knew of at least. He was grumpy, he was charming, he had a heart at strange times. You didn’t hate Javier, you weren’t best friends with him or vying for his attention. He was just… Javier. He was there, he was dependable.

And he wasn’t ugly. Lord knows you didn’t think that at all- he had a profile chiseled by a god, broad shoulders that tapered down to a slender waist, and long legs that were perpetually shown off with tight fitting jeans. But when work calls… Well, you don’t eat where you shit. So, you settled for a strange sort of chemistry with him that couldn’t be labeled as a sibling-like camaraderie, but certainly not romantic. He was just Javier, and you were… you.

María interrupted your thoughts as she carefully placed the steaming hot mug of coffee in front of him. He murmured a “Gracías” before she left to check on other patrons, her cheeks once again glowing with a flush. You shook your head with a small smile.

“What’s that for?” Javier questioned.

You shrugged. “Just observing, that’s all.”

The weight of his gaze was heavy as he smirked at you. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t think you want to know what I’m thinking.”

He leaned back in his chair, his arms draped over the back of it casually. “I think I do want to know what you’re thinking.”

The sigh that escaped you was far more dramatic than you intended, and you coughed a little to cover it up. “I was just thinking that it’s funny, the way that you seem to have women wrapped around your pinky like it’s nothing.”

“What can I say? I’m a charming man.”

“A philanderer, more like,” you retorted, picking up your coffee cup to hold it with both hands, savoring the warmth that emanated through the ceramic.

He raised an eyebrow as a smile peeked through. “What, are you shaming me? In this new and exciting progressive age of the 90s? C’mon.”

“I’m not shaming you, I’m just acknowledging you for what you are- a philanderer.“

“I don’t know, you sounded pretty accusatory earlier when you made the earmuffs comment. I might beg for an apology.”

“Then beg,” You didn’t miss the intrigue that flashed in his eyes, but you didn’t address it as you continued, “but I wasn’t shaming you for having sex with god knows who, I was shaming you for being late, for your own appointment, that you set up. Really professional of you, Peña.”

“And you’re in a rush to go… where, exactly? Hot date?” Javier poked teasingly.

“Is it not acceptable to want to go home after an exhausting day at work?”

He shook his head, amusement written all over his face in the small crevices and creases as he chuckled. “Exhausting doing what? Playing “gopher” between departments? ‘Go for this,’ ‘go for that’? I was in the field today, sweating up a storm, while you were at heightened risk of paperwork cuts, indoors, in a shady cool building.”

“And you still had the stamina to go visit the brothel? Impressive, really.”

He rolled his eyes at you as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the table and his cigarette between his fingers. “To set the record straight, I was gathering intel. Which is why I set this appointment, right? Let’s go over notes.”

You were almost impressed at how easily Javier swapped tracks. Without protest, you bent over to find your notebook in your bag.

“Don’t even think of trying to find cleavage to look at, Peña,” you said as your hand fished around.

Javier’s chuckle was warm. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You leaned back up, the notebook in hand, and sat it down on the table, careful to move your half empty coffee cup out of the way. “You know, that really is something I think about.”

He tilted his head at you curiously, silently inviting you to continue your thought.

“Why don’t you ever flirt with me?” you asked hesitatingly, “Not that I actively want to be a recipient of your… attention, I guess, it’s just something I think about.”

Javier clearly was not expecting that question, and he hummed for a moment as he tried filching for the best explanation.

“It’s complicated, really.”

“When has flirting ever been complicated for you?” You raised an eyebrow to emphasize your point, “You usually flirt, sleep, with whoever you want regardless of station, rank, or class. Communists, even.”

He chuckled again nervously as he fiddled with his coffee mug. “You’re friends with Steve and Connie- we’re also kind of partners at work. If I get involved, and things ever go… sour, it could ruin our social circle, make things awkward, and also affect how effective and efficient we are.” He paused his fiddling to look up at you, his eyebrows creasing slightly. “Don’t tell me you thought I didn't make advances because of you or because I find you lacking in some way.”

It was your turn to fidget, messing with the napkin dispenser. “It… did cross my mind a time or two.”

“I promise you, and believe me when I say this, that that is not the case at all.”

You couldn’t pinpoint it, but something in his voice made you pause, detecting some morsel or grain of… poignancy? That was unexpected, especially from Javier.

So, you took a chance.

“What… would you say to me if it wasn’t complicated?”

He leaned back in his chair as he took a long draw from his cigarette. “I would tell you that the blue blouse that you wear to work a lot drives me crazy, because it looks so fantastic on you, and I think you know it, and that’s why you wear it so often,” his eyes lazily meandered over your form as you fought not to blush, “I would tell you that I love when you’re not afraid to stand toe to toe with me, even if it frustrates me to no end when you’re so goddamn stubborn. That I love when I overhear you talking to Connie about making your apartment your own even though you’re so far from certainty and perceived safety. Or hearing you talk about the foods that you miss and makes you homesick.”

You swallowed. It wasn’t quite tears or a sob. “All of those are so innocent, Javier. Although intimate thoughts, for sure.”

He hummed, a small smirk donning his lips. “Sometimes when you call me Peña, I imagine kissing you until you’re breathless and whisper a pathetic ‘Javier.’ Or when you’re restless at your desk and continually shifting around in your seat, I think about pulling you into my lap and making you at home there,” he paused to tame his smirk and discipline it into a polite smile, “are you sure you want me to continue?”

You crossed your legs tightly over each other.

“Please,” you said, a breath above a whisper.

“When you came in for one of the christmas parties at the embassy in that gorgeous red dress with those sleeves that are off the shoulders, there was nothing I wanted to do more than mark your throat and clavicles. When we slow danced? I think I felt the same side effects as ecstasy when you were in my arms and your perfume seemed to linger. I swear I could still smell you on me the next day, but I wonder if maybe my brain was just trying to torture me with what was within reach reach but I shouldn’t have. Do you remember what song we danced to?”

“That song by Marvin Gaye. ‘Sexual Healing.’”

“Yeah,” Javier said, “and I swear whenever I hear that song now, all I can think of is you.”

“And you just… never told me,” you said quietly.

“It would have been complicated, and I… I didn’t want to unravel what we had. Sometimes it’s better to go with what’s easier.” He put his cigarette out with a sigh.

“You’re not in love,” you said askingly.

“No- no. I’m not in love with you. But… I wouldn’t say it’s nearly as topical as lust. We’ve made things more difficult, I think, by being friends and work partners first. There’s a level of care there beyond… desire. To an extent, we literally trust each other with our lives.”

“I think I understand,” you murmured.

He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, his eyes studying you keenly. “So where do we go from here, hm? You know where I stand, I’ve laid out all of my cards on the table- where do you stand?”

You hesitated, your fingers tapping the table. “Javi… I don’t know,” you said honestly, the look in your eye almost sympathetic.

“We don’t have to explore anything, if you don’t want to,” he said soothingly, “you just… opened Pandora's box, is all, and now we can’t put that cat back in the bag. You know what I think about you, and the way that you captivate me.”

“Is “putting the cat back in the bag” even a real saying?” You questioned.

Javier chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re changing the subject,” he pointed out, “I’m onto you.”

“You always are,” You sighed as you bit your lip in thought, “I don’t know, Javier. Just… let me think about it, yeah?”

“Of course, yeah.”

The air was still between you for a moment, and the only noise was the café’s usual scraping of cups being dragged across table tops, clinking silverware and ceramic, and melodic chatter- it all felt so far away, as though you and Javier were in your own little sacred bubble.

Javier reached out and touched your hand for a moment, his intense eyes still on you, then released it.

The two of you began organizing notes that he had gotten from his intel in hushed tones, paid your respective bills, tipped, then went home.

Part 1 | Part 2

So excited for you guys to read part two!!! I don’t know when I’ll finish, but hopefully soon. Fingers crossed I don’t publish part I and immediately get hit with the Fanfic Author Curse.

also, enjoy this playlist to go along with the fic! it’s all era accurate :)

follow me on twitter @withlovemuffin!

- With Love,

Muffin

[godmadeaterribleerror]

It's Been Calling Me

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, light angst, shameless smut (oral f receiving, p in v sex), fluff, soulmates, dreams, told over many years, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You've had these… dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams.

So sure, until you're not.

Author's Note: I love this one. I love using fake Marvel science logic. I love putting sad men in situations where they can't escape love. I love semi-linear storytelling. Enjoy!

Word Count: 10.9k

“I get… dreams.” You mumble, staring at an odd point over Dr. Raynor’s head. It’s always better than looking her in the eyes. “They’re weird.”

“The very nature of dreams is to be strange.” You can see the shrug of Raynor’s shoulders, hear the neural expression that must be on her face. “Although if you feel they’re worthy of note-“

“They are.” 

Raynor hums. She’s probably raising her brows. You still won’t look.

“You sound quite certain of that.”

“I am.” You tuck your knees up to your chest, frowning at the air. “It’s- They’re not new.”

“Ah.” Raynor pauses, then says your name. In the gentle but firm therapist way that you really hate. It makes you feel like a child. “This conversation may be easier if you would look at me.”

“No thanks, I’m-“

She says your name again. A little harsher. “We’ve discussed this. You’re here of your own volition-“

“That’s not true.” You mutter. “Court-ordered isn’t volition.”

“Well you could’ve chosen the inpatient ward.” Raynor’s shrugging again. “Look at me.”

You let out a long breath, and meet her gaze. You’d been right. She was raising her brows.

“Good work.” She gives you a tight-lipped smile and small nod of approval. “Tell me about these dreams.”

It takes a minute to find the words. Not because you don’t have them, but because you’d never expected to use them. You’ve rehearsed them in the mirror a million times, but they always sounded insane, and you didn’t need another reason to be called crazy.

“I’ve had them my whole life.” It’s easiest to start there. “But it’s- they’ve changed. Over time.”

“Changed how?”

“It’s hard to explain-“

“Try.”

You scowl. “I am trying, Christina, but there’s kind of a lot to say-“

Raynor sighs, giving you the patented look of disapproval that you might hate more than how she says your name. “How about telling me when they started. Is that do-able?”

It takes a long, deep breath, but you nod. “I was- I think I was ten. I fell asleep, and it was the first dream I’d ever had. The first one that I remembered when I woke up. It was…” You swallow, and there’s a sting in your nails as you rip more skin away. “Really vivid.”

——

This isn’t your body. It’s too big, too tall, and you’re not nearly strong enough to rip a door off its hinges. This body is sprinting across ice without ever breaking pace or falling flat with a crunch. You can’t even walk up stairs without tripping over thin air.

But this doesn’t really feel like a body at all. It feels like a shell, or tool. Hollow and pressed down, moving so mechanically you’d think it was a machine if you couldn’t hear its heartbeat in your ears. There’s a lot of pain in it. Strangely numb pain, as if the owner of this body doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it, shuttering it off to the side as he moves.

You’re pretty sure it's a he. There’s hair in your eyes, but men can have long hair, and when the body’s arms swing into view they’re big and muscular. You’re also pretty sure there’s something between your legs that wasn’t there when you went to sleep.

And you can feel him. Very, very deep in your head, he’s bellowing and scraping at his own scalp. He feels like a caged animal, but this is his body. He’s roaring things that are more like feral sounds than actual words, and every time he gets loud enough for you to make out a real voice something clamps down on your skull—his skull—and it all goes quiet.

You can see another man in your line of vision. He’s on his knees, trembling and begging, but the noise is muffled and static. As if there’s a filter pushing anything coherent out of your head.

A gloved fist that’s attached to your body—but not yours to control—reaches out and grabs the man by his throat. It squeezes. 

He’s desperate. Locked down and furious, the ‘he’ who you’re possessing is almost pleading with himself to stop. 

But he doesn’t. 

And there’s a sickening snap that will echo in your ears for a long time after you wake up.

——

Raynor’s looking at you like you’re insane. You don’t love it.

“Did you…” She pauses, scanning over you with a small frown. “Did you see the hand?”

You blink at her. “Yeah, I just said-“

“Without the glove.” She clarifies. “The one that snapped the man’s neck. Did you ever see it without the glove.”

It’s an oddly specific question. And she seems to be looking for a certain answer, because in all your time of working with Raynor she’s never looked so obviously invested in a story. 

“Not for a while.” You keep your words slow, watching her wearily. “He always wore the gloves. And when he didn’t, he wouldn’t look at his hands-“

Raynor frowns. “So how did you know he wasn’t wearing the gloves?” 

“Because he knew.” You shrug. “I lived in his brain like, every night.”

“Every-“

“Night, yeah. That’s what I fucking said.”

Raynor hums, and you think she’s going to grab the notebook to write something along the lines of patient has lost her goddamn mind, but she just keeps staring at you. “You said you didn’t see the hand for a while. When did you see it?”

“When I was sixteen. The first time the dreams changed.”

“Changed from-“

“Being in his head.” You pull your lip between your teeth, weighing how much you want to reveal. Too much feels like a violation of his privacy, even if they’re your dreams. He’s a private guy, it took you years to get him to tell you anything, and if you’ve realized turns out to be the truth, you don’t want to ruin anything. “It’s- it was about six years of seeing everything through his eyes-“

“Everything?”

You wish Raynor would stop saying the word every like that. Like it’s a lie.

“All the murders.” You mutter. “There were a lot of murders.”

Raynor nods for you to continue, and you have to take a long, steadying breath.

“One night I went to sleep and he was… attacking some blond guy. We couldn’t really see his face. Then I fell asleep the next night, and it was different.”

——

You can see him. You’ve never seen him before. 

He’d never looked in a mirror, or described himself in his head for you like he’s a Wattpad character. He’s only ever been a body that moves out of your will, and a pained voice deep in your brain that didn’t seemed thrilled with what was happening either. 

But you’re not in his head, or his body. You’re standing in a bathroom—in your own body, wearing the same clothing you’d been wearing when you’d crawled into bed—and looking at him. 

He’s a lot more attractive than you’d anticipated. And you’d anticipated attractive. You’d built an image in your head of your imaginary dream assassin, basing it purely on a level of hotness that would justify all the murders he’d been up to. It had been a little fucked up, but you’d also been so goddamn sure he wasn’t real. That this was just a really odd and worrying coping mechanism for all the messed up shit in your real life. 

But he seems pretty fucking real right now. And almost impossibly handsome. Strong features that look like they’d been carved from marble, an almost hulking frame that’s somehow bigger when you’re looking at it from outside, and tangled, greasy hair that’s really working with the whole tortured expression on his face.

Because he does not look okay.

He’s gripping the sink and glowering at himself, scanning over his own face like he recognizes it less than you do. He’s bent like there’s a weight on his shoulders he doesn’t know how to shake off, and that’s impressive, because you’ve seen him pick up a car. 

The porcelain of the sink cracks, and he flinches back, looking between his hands and the rubble with wide eyes.

His eyes are blue. A really pretty blue. You’d always thought blue eyes were overrated—big whoop, you’re more sensitive to light—but there’s something silver in this man’s eyes that you really love. It feels like a deep storm you’d like to chase.

He’s really pretty. 

He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would like being called pretty, but he is. In a natural and powerful way. Like something heavenly that’s burned through the atmosphere in a dreadful fall.

Pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty hands-

Metal hand. 

One metal hand.

——

Raynor looks worried now. You wish she’d go back to thinking you’re just batshit crazy. 

“Do you-” she clears her throat, sitting a little taller in her chair. “His name. Did you ever learn his name?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Does that matter?”

“Yes.”

It’s a flat, tense answer. It makes something coil in your throat. 

“I-“ You rub your own calves, soothing yourself in the careful way you’ve always practiced. “I didn’t, for a while-“

Raynor says your name, her tone short and clipped. “Stop telling me something didn’t happen for a while. If I ask a question, it’s because I need to know the answer. Not the buildup.”

You frown. “Need to know?”

“It’s…” Raynor sighs. “It is very important that you give me a name.”

“Why?”

“Therapist reasons.”

You give her a flat look. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Yes, it is. Name.”

“If you need the name,” you say, raising your chin slightly. “You have to sit through my for a while.”

Raynor gives you a look of disbelief, shaking her head and muttering something that sounds like God, I can’t take two of them, before raising her voice. “Fine. What was for a while.”

“I couldn’t talk to him.” You explain. “For like, two years after I got out of his brain, he still couldn’t see me. When I tried to talk to him it was like I was in a- sort of a one-way mirror? And it’s not like he was just walking around telling the air I’m Bucky-“

“Bucky?” Raynor looks downright distressed. “His name was-“

“It’s Bucky.” 

He still is. He’s not a was, Bucky is.

That’s part of the problem.

“And how-“ Raynor swallows. “How did you learn this?”

“He told me.”

——

This is new. You’re not on a street or in a half-empty apartment—the two places you’ve grown most accustomed to seeing in your sleep—but in a field. A very big field with huts and brush and goats.

There are a truly staggering amount of goats.

And there he is. His hair isn’t greasy and unkempt anymore, but looks almost soft, pulled back in a half-up half-down situation that makes him look clean. His metal arm is gone, but he doesn’t seem that bothered by it. He’s standing taller than before, like the weight you’ve grown used to seeing finally has begun to lift.

His outfit is new too. It looks like something traditional and well-made, rather than the off-brand baseball hats—you too are a big fan of the American baseball team, the ‘Doggers’—and shitty polyester t-shirts.

You’re taking him and scenery in, trying to place where your brain could’ve possibly taken you this time, when he does something you’d never expected.

He turns and looks at you.

Not through you. Not around you. Not in your general direction.

At you.

He can fucking see you.

“Hello?”

You’ve heard him speak before, a few times. His voice has always been low and gruff and heavy.

It’s smooth and richer now. You don’t know if that’s because it’s directed at you—setting off small sparks over your ribs—or in relation to that vanished weight, but you like it. It suits him better.

“Hi.” You whisper, your body frozen in place as he moves forward.

He’s right in front of you. Staring at you. 

He’s always gotten prettier every time you’ve seen him. This is different.

This is knocking the air out of your lungs with just the sight of him, because there’s a light in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and it makes something deep inside of you glow.

“I’m, uh, I’m Bucky.” 

He holds out his hand, and you tilt your head at him.

“That’s a weird name.”

He blinks at you, his hand still frozen in the air. “I guess, yeah. Never thought about it. It’s just a nickname.”

“Oh.” That makes more sense. “Sorry. That’s- I just never thought you as- never mind.” 

Bucky frowns at you, opening his mouth—likely ask you what you mean by that—but you say your name and shake his hand because he gets the chance.

He has a nice hand. It warm, and calloused, and fits really well in yours. 

“Why can you see me?” You blurt, and there goes any pretense of containing the truth. 

Bucky frowns at you. “Should I… Not be able to see you?”

“You’ve never seen me before.”

“Before? What do you mean-“

“It’s- It’s weird. And complicated.”

He just stares at you, waiting for you to continue. 

You’re holding his gaze. You’ve never held anyone’s gaze before. 

It’s kind of electrifying.

“I’ve dreamt about you before.” You mumble. “And you’ve never seen me.”

“About me?”

He doesn’t sound like he believes you. You get that. It’s not really a reasonable or believable statement.

“Yeah. But you had two arms. And there weren’t goats.”

Bucky nods slowly, and seems to reach a conclusion in his brain that you don’t get to be privy to. 

It’s enough for him though. Because he gives you a small, almost nervous and apologetic smile. 

“Do you wanna, uh, do you wanna meet the goats?”

You blink at him. You’d expected more questions, or some doubt. But he’s just looking at you, something in his pretty blue eyes almost hopeful.

“Are they...” You trail off, glancing at the goats over his shoulder. “Your goats?”

“They’re community goats.” He shrugs. “But Shuri says connection with life will help my recovery, and I don’t really want to connect with people.” His voice lowers, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “They don’t really like connecting with me.”

You don’t know who the fuck Shuri is, but you nod anyway. “So goats?”

He gives you another odd look, like he’d expected you to say something else. 

“Yeah. Goats.” 

“Did you name them?”

He frowns. “They’re goats. They don’t need names.”

You click your tongue, shaking your head. “Wrong. Everything needs a name. I named my car, and my phone.”

“You named your phone?”

“Yep.” You grin at him, and it’s a wide, teasing grin you haven’t given anyone in years. “Bertha.”

“That’s…” Bucky’s still staring at you–he seems to do that a lot—but there’s something like amusement in his eyes. “Bertha is not a good name.”

“Better than Bucky.”

He chuckles at that, and it’s a beautiful sound. Deep and heavy, like a bass drum in your chest.

It’s the sort of thing that could be addicting, if you’re not careful. Worse, it’s the sort of thing you wouldn’t mind being addicted to.

“You’re kinda mean, doll.”

“Yep.” You shrug, ignoring how ‘doll’ makes you feel fuzzy in your gut. “And I’ll be meaner if you don’t let me name your goats.”

He hums, scanning you over with an intensity in his eyes that reminds you of that storm you’d see all those years ago in the bathroom. This time, you’d like to do a little more than chase it.

You think it could be really easy to get wrecked by it. 

“Will you come back if I let you name them?”

He keeps saying things you don’t expect. Of course you’ll come back. You don’t have a choice.

But you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Only if you promise to actually use the names.”

He nods, giving you another smile. “Deal.”

———

“Did you ever learn his last name?”

You shake your head. “I never asked. He mentioned his real name was James at one point, but then I asked why he was called ‘Bucky’ and we got off topic.”

“One… point?” Raynor’s words are slow, and you’ve really never seen her looked lost like this before. You’d be proud of yourself if it wasn’t a bad sign. “Exactly how frequently did these dreams occur?”

———

“You’re back!”

Bucky looks genuinely happy to see you. He does every night. The same surprised joy in his voice, shock always written over his face like it’s truly odd and lovely to see you here.

Like you’re not here every night, for three to four hours, standing in his little hut and wandering the fields.

You’ve worked out that you’ve put him in Africa. Wakanda specifically, likely because you’d seen it all over the news and it seemed pretty interesting. Shuri was the princess, and the guy T’challa Bucky had mentioned a few times was the King. You’d almost certainly heard their names during all those UN conferences—the ones you put on in the background just to hear some noise that wasn’t ringing in your ears—and your brain had just decided to run with it.

At least, you think it’s just your brain. You’ve always assumed this was all in your brain, because this feels like the exact kind of fucked up shit your brain would pull. And Bucky never aged. He’d never really changed, for six years. He’d had just been another way to cope for the longest time, but now—as you actually get to know him—he seems dangerously like a real person.

He looks like he broods less than when you see him hunched over a toilet or glowering at his reflection in a window. His appearance has started to shift in a way it never really had.

The metal arm has permanently departed. He seems fond of keeping his hair out of eyes, and his wardrobe finally has diversity. He talks to you, and he has a personality. An adorable, grumpy, endearing personality that would play into your idea of ‘made up in your brain’ if he couldn’t be so annoying.

He stares. He grunts a lot. He doesn’t get any of your references. If you made up an imaginary dream man to feel more loved, he would like all the things you like and hate all the things you hate.

But he doesn’t.

And it always draws you in further, because he truly does seem like just a perfectly insufferable asshole. 

That’s cruel. He’d been right. You could be mean. 

He never seemed to mind.

And he’s more like a dog anyway. One that escaped the pound and follows you around, not even bothering to beg for scraps because you offer them with a grin.

You like his company. You like his voice. You like that he’s annoying and you like more that it’s your exact type of annoying.

You like that he’s really fucking hot, and get hotter every time you visit. 

You mostly just like him.

“Of course I’m back.” You shrug, kicking a rock with the tip of your foot, watching it bounce through the dirt. “I’m always back.”

“Yeah. So far.” You see Bucky shrug in your periphery, and when you look up, he’s staring again. “Could change.”

“Won’t change.” You counter, giving him a pointed look. “Sorry, Buck. You’re stuck here until I die.”

That’s the first time you’ve called him Buck. He tenses for a moment, seems to shake something physically off his body, and nods slowly.

“Should I be worried about you dying?”

“Not right now, no.” You hum. Another rock gets kicked. “Death doesn’t agree with me.”

He chuckles. “Don’t think it agrees with anyone, doll-“

“Shut up.” Third rock. This one hits a goat, and you cringe slightly. “Shit. Sorry, Bubble McBubbleface-“

“Bubs will be.” Bucky rolls his eyes, moving to your side. He’s standing really close. You can almost feel a phantom heat from his body. “And I still can’t believe you talked me into that name. I had to tell the king of the damn country that his goat was named Bubble McBubbleface.”

You giggle, and Bucky shoots you a glare.

“You think that’s funny? I had to like pretend it was my idea,” he grumbles your name, and you always like how he says it. Like it’s some sort of answer. “I had to look the council of elders in the eyes and tell them that Bubble McBubbleface got Lady Gaga pregnant-“

Your eyes widen. “You let the goats get pregnant?”

“Course I let them get pregnant, doll.”

“But-“

He gives you a dry, amused look. “Would you rather I interfere? You want me to cockblock Bubs?”

You blink at him. “You know what cockblock means?”

Your brain had given him the personality of an eighty-year-old man. You don’t know why, but you stopped asking questions like “why” and “what” a long time ago. You just know that he shouldn’t know what cockblock means, for consistency.  

“Of course I know what it means. You taught it to me.” He winks at you, and you’re pretty sure you’re flushing.

This is meant to be a dream. You shouldn’t be able to flush, or feel a little flutter and hum in your heart, or something molten in your gut when he leans a little further forward to grin down at you.

This seems less like a dream every night.

You’d be worried about that if you had the energy, or foresight, or care.

“Are goats births gross?” You ask, and he chuckles again. The sound has started to inflict a sort of high on your brain, and every color in this dreamworld seems brighter. 

“They’re fucking disgusting.” He leans a little further down. You have to stare at his nose to pretend the proximity isn’t going to make your fall over. “But if you let me show you one in here, I’ll let you name the babies out there.”

You nod kind of stupidly, the whole world shifts into a barn—goat births are disgusting, but Bucky gets a look of intense focus you’d like to see re-aimed in your direction—and four months later Bucky tells you little Oz The Great and Powerful, Donald Duck, and Pants McPantsface have been welcomed into the world.

———

“So you’d see him in… Wakanda.” Raynor takes another long breath. If you didn’t think it would make everything worse, you’d tell her to try some deep breathing exercises. “Did the location ever change? Did you witness any more of those murders from before?”

You feel something spark in your chest like an electric wire, and you sit a little taller. You haven’t seen Bucky kill anyone since you’d been trapped in his brain. He’s a good man. And, as far as Raynor knows, a figment of your imagination. She has no right to fucking imply-

“It’s important that I know,” she says slowly, and you think your oddly blinding and righteous anger had been painted all over your face. “So I better understand what’s been happening to you. Please,” she says your name, leaning somehow further forward in her seat. “Answer my questions.”

You nod, letting out a slow exhale. “No murders. But he did start coming into my brain.”

Raynor frowns at you. “Was he not always-“

“Not like this.”

———

“This is new.”

You whip around, taking a stumbling step back that would’ve landed you on the floor, had Bucky not looped his one arm around your waist.

“Hey, doll. Pleasure seeing you-“ He frowns, glancing around your apartment. “Where the hell am I?”

You don’t answer, only reaching up to touch his face. His beard is soft. His hair is softer. When you trace the line of his nose it does feel like a nose, and when you poke his cheek it seems pretty cheek-like- 

“What, uh,” Bucky say your name, scanning over your face with concern. “What’s happening here.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You whisper, poking his cheek again. Just to be sure. “You’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah, figured that one out myself-“

“No.” You shake your head, placing one hand on his chest. It fits well there, slotting right over muscle and warm skin. Every part of him seems to fit perfectly against you, and you’ve never been this close before, but you don’t have any urge to move away. “You don’t get it, Bucky. You’ve never been here. It’s been ten years, and you’ve never been here.”

“I know, doll. Doesn’t seem like there’s much to-“ He pauses, giving you an odd look. “Ten years?”

“Yeah.” You mumble. There’s not much else to say.

He just stares at you, and shakes his head slightly. “Huh. You gonna tell me where I am?”

“My apartment.”

“Your-“ He starts slightly, but you never shake in his arms. “You live in this place?”

You nod, and he pulls you to your feet, scanning over your home. 

The silence wraps around your heart and lungs, and the room is spinning slightly. You’re asleep. You’re pretty fucking sure you’re asleep. You locked the door, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed, so you’re asleep. Bucky’s never been here before, but he’s not really here because this is a dream and he’s not real.

You think. 

You wouldn’t bet on that anymore, though.

And nothing has ever been as important as Bucky liking your room, because the longer he just scans over the space around you the more your skin heats, the more your eyes blur, the more your throat constricts and your heart aches and pounds-

“It’s very… you.” He finally says, and every bit of nerve vanishes into the air.

He’s right. You’ve been very deliberate in making sure your home is yours.

And you’re not sure why you bothered worrying at all. He fits here, just as well as he fits in every other part of you.

“Can I get the grand tour?” He raises his brows, and you nod, leading him through your space, making jokes and feeling your heart do a little flip and spin whenever he chuckles.

And things always do change. Frequently out in the real world, and carefully and easily in here.

And at least with Bucky, the change seems adaptive. You grow, he grows with you, until you’re twined and rooted into each other, and every color in this dreamscape is so vivid it’s the only thing that still tells you:

None of this is real.

———

“It was split after that.” You say. ”Half the dreams in Wakanda, half in New York.” 

You’re watching Raynor carefully. Still on the edge of her seat, legs braced like she’s ready for a fight, a tight expression on her face that Bucky calls the moose in headlights expression.

———

“You got that moose expression again, doll.”

You frown at him. “Stop calling it that, it’s just my face-“

“No. Your normal face has a dimple here, and your brows rest like that.”

He’s touching you as he explains, moving your features to match his words. You’d smack his hand away if his touch wasn’t soothing and flaring all at once. If you didn’t really love the idea of him looking at you long enough to know exactly how to adjust your face, and how to be right about it.

“But it’s not like that now.” He finishes, giving you a pointed look. “You got moose-face.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Moose-face is worse, Bucky. And it’s still not a real thing-“

“Yeah it is. Most people got a moose face.” He shrugs. He’s staring again. It’s taking a lot of effort not to melt forward into him. “Tight expression. Like a deer in headlights, but they think they’re too good to be in the headlights. They’re gonna go down fighting.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. “Can I see your moose face?”

“I don’t have a moose face-“

“Liar.” You poke his ribs, narrowing your eyes. “You said everyone has one-“

“I said ‘most people.’” Bucky shrugs. “Moose face means you’re gonna get hit, you just don’t believe it yet. I know how to not get hit.”

“Sounds like something someone with a moose-face would say.”

He chuckles. You’re sitting down, and you’re going to fall over. “No luck, doll. I got other faces, but no moose face.” He frowns at the air. “Never could afford to have one.”

There’s suddenly something heavier in his eyes, and it makes your whole body feel wired and heavy. It’s suffocating and crushing and rotten, and it’s just an expression but everything feels worse when you see it—when his shoulders hunch and his face becomes set like stone, just like all those years ago in the bathroom—so it needs to stop right now. 

“What about a wolf face?”

Bucky blinks at you. “What.”

“You said no moose face.” You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly. “Do you have a wolf face?”

“I don’t know what that is-“

“So suddenly you’re the only one who’s allowed to make up expressions?”

You hold is gaze for a long second—you’ve gotten really good at doing that, but only when you’re dreaming of Bucky—until his lips twitch slightly.

And everything feels alright again.

———

“How much of New York appeared in your… dreams? Was is like Wakanda, where you wandered?”

You frown at the air. Raynor’s indulging in this, but not like you’d hoped. Not shutting you down or telling you that you’re crazy. You’d really hoped to hear some validation that you were just plain crazy.

“Not really. I mean, there was one night where we were at my job, a few at the coffee shop I usually go to, and maybe like, five at the park, but we were mostly my apartment when I was showing him stuff.”

“And what did you-“ Raynor’s whole body tenses, and the last part of her question is pushed through her teeth. “What did you show Bucky?”

You flush, your gaze dropping down to your hands. “Stuff. In my apartment.”

———

You don’t know exactly what gives. What straw completely desolates every single bone in your body, and ends with you here.

Maybe it was that you’d finally mentioned all the murders, and you’d never seem him look horrified before, but the sight has dislodged something along your ribs that hadn’t mended until he let you move his head to your lap. Stroking his hair as he stared at you, telling him about your day.

Maybe it’s that you always tell him about your day. That this—whatever this is—has shifted from trading teasing comments and trying to learn about each other, into pure and comfortable understanding, and now that’s how most nights are spent.

Bucky’s reports are short. The goats are being goats—that’s all they know how to do—he doesn’t like a song someone tried to make him listen to because it’s too loud, and Shuri brought him some food that made his face feel like it was going to fall off, but in a good way. You pretty sure he only gives them because you insist upon it, but he always puffs out his chest a little at the end, when you smile at him and start to tell him everything you can remember about your own day.

Maybe it’s how he always hangs onto your every word. Like it’s gospel or scripture, and to do anything but listen and watch would be a higher sin than any blood you’ve imagined on his hands.

And maybe that’s it. 

Maybe it’s how you really don’t believe it anymore, when you remind yourself that he’s not real. That he’s just a figment of your mind, manifested to evolve as you do and always be exactly what you need. 

You still tell yourself the lie, night after night.

But you’re certain it’s a lie. That Bucky is just like that. Meant to be here, with you, the exact same way you’re supposed to be wherever he is.

And now you’re here.

You’d started it. You’d slammed your mouth to his, and he hadn’t moved. There had been a brief moment where you’d been worried you’d made a mistake, but the second you’d tried to push back on his chest and apologize, he’d kicked into gear. 

And wet dreams are supposed to be hazy. Cast in a misting light and more of a halo that brings your body high than an actual, nameable feeling.

But you can really feel this. 

And it’s heaven.

You’d expected Bucky to kiss slowly. Deliberately. It’s how you’d always seen him move and speak, and you hadn’t been against the idea of being kissed in a methodical and careful way.

You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Bucky kisses you like you’re air and water and every good thing in the world. All passion and spit and burning desire, where you can feel every bit of want in his movements. His mouth is demanding as he traces his tongue over your teeth and groans your name down your throat, his arm snaking around your waist to hold you steady against his chest. When his knee presses between your thighs you have to wrap your arms around his neck for balance, and it’s all you can do to return ever bit of want he throws at you as he walks to backwards to your mattress.

It takes effort to pry your mouth from Bucky’s. He doesn’t want you to go, even a few inches, and when you start to palm him through his pants—smiling against his lips and squeezing his bulge in a silent request—he hisses against your lips.

“You-“ He groans, nipping at your lower lip as you smile, repeating the movement. “You don’t- Shit, doll, you don’t know what you’re doing to me-“

You hum, bumping your nose with his and swaying in his hold. “Maybe. I’d like to do more.”

Bucky chuckles, and the sound rolls right into your core. “Think you could take more, sweetheart? Cause I’ve been a gentleman, but if more is on the table-“

It’s easy to cut him off with a heavy, deep kiss that has him half growling down your throat and his hips jerking against your movements.

“Want more.” You whisper, combing your free hand through his hair and trying to pull yourself impossibly closer. “Want you.”

Bucky tenses against you, and when you lean back to meet his eyes he’s staring again. Looking at you like you’re glowing, kneading your skin under his hand like he’s checking that you’re not going to vanish. 

“You want me.” He mutters, scanning over your flushed face. “You sure about-“

“Yes.” You nod, giving him a small, soft smile. “Only if you do, obviou-“

Bucky cuts you off with another bruising kiss, and before you know what’s happening he’s lowering you onto the mattress, kneeling between your legs, and shoving your thighs apart with a wolf-like grin.

You don’t know when you ended up naked. You can’t really care though, because Bucky shoves his face right into your pussy, and your mind empties of all thoughts that aren’t his name. 

It’s another point in favor of this being a dream. Bucky’s mouth against your cunt feels so amazingly real—licking and biting and eating you out like he’s been starved for a hundred years—but this has to be a dream, because no real man has ever made you feel this good. He knows every single way the plunge his tongue in and out of your pussy until you’re squeezing your thighs around his head and tugging at his hair, and his beard scrapes and tickles at your thighs in a way that’s driving you out of your mind, and fuck, he keeps moving his attention to nip at your clit, sucking it between his lips and letting his teeth graze against you, and-

“Bucky-“ You moan, grinding shameless into his face, trying hopelessly to remain upright with one hand, your fingers fisted into the sheets below you. “Please- I’m gonna- Fuck, I’m so close-“

He growls against you, flatting his tongue against your clit and squeezing his hand on your thigh, and that does it. You cum with a scream of his name, warmth washing over your body as your knees clamp around him and your eyes roll back in your head.

He’s ruined you. All Bucky did was eat you out in a dream, and you’re panting and flushed and drunk on him. You don’t know how you’ll manage to move on from this in real life.

You don’t really care. Not as Bucky runs his hand over your dripping, fluttering cunt with a look of open awe on his face, presses a kiss right over your clit that makes your hips jerk, and moves to his feet.

He’s naked now too. 

And he’s perfect. 

His cock is big and thick, standing at proud attention and jerking slightly as you run a hand up his thighs, your fingers trailing over his balls and a little drool falling out of your lips as you lean to take him in your mouth-

Bucky’s hand tangles in your hair, pulling you back to meet his eyes.

He looks just as wrecked as you feel. Chest heaving and eyes blown with lust. You’re going to lose your mind.

“Bucky-“

“Not now.” He mutters, pulling you a little further back. “Need to be inside of you, doll. Please.”

You’d have to be insane to say no.

You crawl back on the mattress, spreading your legs in silence invitation, and something hot and powerful flashes in his eyes as he takes you in. 

“You-“

“I’m sure.” You squirm in the sheets, running your hand between your legs and starting to rub your clit in slow, strong circles. “God, I’m so fucking sure, please-“

He’s shockingly fast for such a large man. It might be the whole dream thing, but you barely register him moving to kneel over you, swatting your hand away with a darkened gaze a set jaw.

“I do that,” he grunts, running two fingers up and down your cunt, smirking at you high whine. “Legs open, doll, want to see how wet I’m making you.”

You nod, falling flat on your back, and pour all your focus into his order. “Fuck, Bucky-“ He shoves the fingers into your pussy, and your back arches off the bed. “Shit- I- Please-“

“You want my cock?” He drawls your name, and you can only nod dumbly at the ceiling. “Come on, tell me you want it-“

“Want it,” you gasp, hugging your body as he starts to pump his finger, crooking them at the exact right spot deep inside of you. “Fuck, Bucky, you said- You said you’d fuck me-“

He clicks his tongue. “I said I’d be inside of you-“

“But- But I want you to fuck me.” You start to roll your hips as his pace picks up. “Please, Bucky-“

You whine as his fingers vanish, leaving you clenching around only the air, but it’s a short-lived pain.

Bucky slams into you with one thrust, and you’d been wrong again.

He hadn’t ruined you. He’s destroyed you.

You’ve never been so full in your life. You’ve never been fucked like this in your life. With a fervor that should be painful, but just makes you feel wanted. Cared for. Bucky’s every thrust is brutal and rough, and his mouth on yours is that same feral kiss from before, but he’s pressed his body over yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world, and he’s groaning your name down your throat like it’s a hymn.

You’d say his name too, if you could remember how to speak. But Bucky’s hitting every right spot deep in your pussy, and you’re so high the world is just color and light and Bucky, and when he starts to suck and kiss a line down your throat, along your collarbone, and over your tits, you’re sure you’re going to fly out of your skin.

Then he takes your nipple into his mouth, and the sound you make is almost inhuman. Your release crashes over you like a wave, Bucky groans against your breast as you squeeze around his cock, and a burning warmth coats your thighs and cunt as he cums with a roar.

You make a small noise of content as Bucky pulls out, kissing a soft line back up your jaw before dropping his brow to yours and letting out a long, slow breath.

“That was…” He trails off, moving his hand to hold your hips, drawing firm patterns with his thumb that might drive you out of your mind.

“Yeah.” You whisper. “It was.”

He nods, and neither of you move for a really long time. Usually you’ve woken up by now, but no part of you is eager to go, eager to leave where there’s still a little buzz in your heart from the pleasure, where you can feel a perfect ache between your legs and you’re so happily trapped under the warmth of Bucky’s body-

Happy. 

You’re happy. 

This isn’t real, but under Bucky’s body you’re safe and warm and happy. And you don’t want to go. 

Almost as if he can read your mind, Bucky clears his throat.

“Thank you.” He mutters, his breath hot and soft over your ear. “Needed this.” There a long pause, and his hand squeezes on your hips. “Needed you. And I know it’s dumb to thank you, because-“

“It’s not.” You cut him off with a kiss to his neck, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “And I needed you too.”

He lets out a dry laugh that you don’t understand, but doesn’t push on it. Just kisses your brow and rolls onto his back, taking you with him and clinging to you like you’re a tether to something a little more important than just a dream.

And you really don’t know why he’d laughed. 

You do need him. You’re growing more and more certain every night that you need Bucky more than you need anything in real life. That he’s more than anyone else, and that he maybe, possibly, could be real.

He feels real, beneath you with a calloused hand squeezing at your skin and your finger tracing over the scars near his arm. 

He sounds real, when you finally ask why he only has one arm, and he takes a very long breath but mutters that he fell off a train. When he tells you that bad people found him, and he wasn’t really the best guy either, for a really long time. 

He tastes real when you kiss him for comfort, and smells real when you bury your face in his neck as he continues. 

You know he’s not telling you everything, but you also know he’s not lying. 

And you really do know that, in some strange and impossible way, this might be real.

———

“I see.” Raynor swallows, and she won’t stop staring at you. “Did those, ah, occurrences happen again?”

You nod, staring at your hands. “Pretty much every time after.” A smile tugs at your lips. “One time we used the barn.”

“I-“ Raynor sighs. “Understood. How long, exactly, did this continue?”

“They never stopped, not until-“ Your nails dig into your skin, and a heavy stone lodges itself in your throat. “The, uh, the blip.”

———

These have been the worst five years of your life. And they haven’t been amazing for anyone, but no one else has to feel this like you do.

And that’s selfish. A little narcissistic. Incredibly crude.

But it doesn’t make it any less true.

Because everyone lost people. Everyone watched loved ones vanish right in front of them, witnessed the world fall and crumble around them as half of humanity vanished, and got left in the rubble to pick up the pieces. 

But no one else seems to feel this. Nobody else seems to be falling apart at the seams from nothing at all like you are. Because Bucky was probably never real. But he’s gone. 

And you don’t know how to move on.

It’s odd to grieve a dream. It makes living impossible. You go to all the support groups and listen to everyone share their own pain, and it makes your heart ache for them but nothing in you ever seems to heal. It’s as if a piece of you had been ripped out and ground to ash, and mending over it would be blasphemous. You don’t want to fix it. You need to, because this is no way to exist, but it feels wrong every time you try. As if even your body can’t just admit he’s gone, and you need to keep going. But everything feels artificial. Every breath is mechanical, and every beat of your heart feels shallow and deliberate, like it’s only doing just enough to keep you alive.

What’s worse is that you can’t tell anyone why you’ve become a sunken, hollow shell. You’d sound insane. You’re already not winning any points in the sound of mind department, and you do have a record, so if you went to one of the countless therapists who have been making their living off of everyone’s loss and said ‘see, doctor, the person I loved only existed in my dreams, but he vanished with the snap and now it feels like I’ve been cleaved in half’, you’d be locked up in an asylum.

You hate that you’re only realizing it now. That the overwhelming sense of warmth and peace you felt in your dreams with Bucky was love. That you’d fallen in love with a piece of your own mind. You’d basically fallen in love with your reflection. Your annoying, handsome, grumpy reflection that you’d rip your spine out of your body to reshape it back into his form, to bring him back to your side.

And the dreams still happen. He’s just not there, and it’s the worst thing in the fucking universe. You keep coming back to a forest, and there’s a little ash that’s always drifting around in the air, that feels really important.

It all always feels like more than just Bucky being gone. It feels like you’ve missed a train, or taken a wrong turn, and lost a key that double as a compass, and now you’re stranded at the bottom of the ocean. 

Alone. 

You’ve spent your whole life with only yourself to rely on, but you’ve never felt more alone.

———

“And after the blip?”

“He came back.” You’re going to cry. You really hate crying in front of Raynor—she always tells you it’s going to be okay, and you fucking know that—but you can’t stop it. Because Bucky really did come back, and it’s still the best thing that ever happened to you.

———

During the past five years, your sleep has gotten fucked. You get about four hours a night, because that’s just long enough to keep you functional but too short to allow you to appear in the forest.

So it took a while to pass out. You’d curled up in your bed, drank tea, done yoga, followed every ‘how to fall asleep fast’ internet guide until your eyes drooped, and you were gone.

When the dream takes shape around you, you’re not in the forest, but in a sleek, hospital-like room that you don’t recognize. 

And he’s there. 

Bucky’s right fucking there.

You make a small, choked sound, and his eyes shoot to yours in an instant. 

He’s moving in a second. Half launching across the room to grab you before your knees give out, holding you to his chest as you cling to his shirt and press your face into his neck. 

“Hey,” he mutters your name, and you can hear the low horror in it. He’s putting together why you’re crying. Why you’re scratching at his neck and trying to half climb up his body. “You’re alright. It’s all good, doll, everything’s good now-“

You cut him off with a long, heavy kiss, and his hand moves to cup your head. 

He has two hands again. You don’t really care why.

Because Bucky’s rubbing circles on the skin of your waist, and letting you cry without making a big fucking deal about it, and nothing mended. Nothing’s ever mended. You’ve been a little fucking broken for a long time, with or without Bucky. But it had been a kind of broken that had folded and shaped with him, and when he’d been gone it was like half your organs had been frozen and crumbled in your body.

But he’s back. And you feel real again.

———

There’s a long silence in the air, and you know what’s coming. The question. You’ve known she’s going to ask it the whole time—you’d honestly expected it a lot sooner—and you’ve been prepared. You have a very long speech about how Bucky had changed again—short hair, kept the new arm, appearing in his own, mostly empty apartment and trading the Wakandan clothing for jeans and jackets—and that he’d told you how much he hated some guy named John. 

He’d said he despised the asshole. That he was everything Steve had hated—you’d had a pretty good idea who Steve was, based on context and a theory but you hadn’t be quite ready to it yet—and nothing sounded better than punching his lights out. 

And you’re ready to explain that you’d had the news on in the background, a few words had broken from static background noise, and your whole world had shifted. John Walker had been announced as the new Captain America, they’d run a stupid little fluff piece on the life of Steve Rogers, and there was Bucky. Captain America’s best friend and ally, the assumed cause of that whole the Avengers are breaking up thing, and the former Winter Solider. 

You’d mostly stared at the screen for a really long time as everything feel into place—you’d looked him up after, and it was a little embarrassing it had taken you this long given that he has a Wikipedia page—before calling Raynor, and preparing for the question.

But when she asks it, your mind goes blank, and all you can’t think to say is the truth.

“May I ask,” Raynor says carefully. ”Why are you only discussing this now?”

“Because he’s real.”

———

Bucky has dreams. Not nightmares.

Dreams.

He dreams about Her. She’s the only constant in his life, the only solace and purely good thing he knows, and She’s not even damn real.

Bucky’s pretty sure She’s not real. It wouldn’t make any sense for Her to be real. He’d spent most of the years assuming that She was simply a result of him being able to dream again, a trick of his mind that was both a comfort and a torture, because he needed those dreams—needed Her, in a strange way that lived in his chest and was soft on his skin—more than he’d ever needed anything, but they also reminded him of what he’d never have.

A life in a simple apartment, filled with his own presence in a way that was easy. He always loved that about Her apartment. How everywhere he looked, She was there. The colors and furniture and posters and trinkets on the shelves all screamed Her, and no one could ever replicate that if they tried. 

He didn’t know how to do that anywhere. How to just be him in a way that didn’t feel like something was strangling him. His apartment was barren. Every time he spoke it felt like he should be apologize immediately after, because barely anyone seemed to like him, let alone want to hear him.

Bucky understood that. He wasn’t exactly his own biggest fan, and the only time there was no part of him trying to escape his own body was when he was asleep, and She was at his side. 

He liked being himself with Her. It was simple, and natural, and never a labor. She never flinched away from him—She seemed to like being close to him—and Bucky never really wanted to wake up. Part of him always hoped that this time, when he fell asleep and She appeared once more, he’d wake up in Her apartment, and it would all be real.

A very small part of him needed this—needed Her—to be real. It would be really amazing if She was real. It wasn’t something he deserved to ask for, to plead with the universe about, but he did. He kept trying to come up with reasons She could be real.

She felt real, in his dreams. She spoke and acted like a person, and not a doll or shell his brain may have created to get him through his de-programming. She was always saying things and making references he didn’t get until she explained them, things he was certain he hadn’t heard in passing. She was way prettier than anyone Bucky had ever seen, which would contribute to Her being only a dream if he wasn’t so certain that he simply wasn’t that creative.

He could imagine a pretty girl.

He couldn’t imagine Her.

Smart and funny and gorgeous, fitting against him like She’d been molded to, teasing him in ways he’d never thought of and kind to him ways he couldn’t be kind to himself. 

She was never disgusted by the arm, and Bucky was sure that—if She was only a part of his mind given shape—she would know about the whole Winter Soldier thing. But he’d had to explain all he could to Her, and when he’d left certain, darker parts out She hadn’t said but that’s not the truth, is it, James.

She seemed to like Bucky. That was the most concrete proof he had that She had to somehow be real. Nobody liked him. Not in to raw, unrelenting way She did.

So She had to be real.

Bucky really hoped, against all odds, that she was real. 

It would fix a lot of problems if She was real. Sam kept trying to get him to date, and he didn’t want to. He always felt like he was betraying Her. It wasn’t sustainable or logical, but logic didn’t really matter here, because Bucky’s gut would wither and his hands would curl into fists every time he had to try and flirt with another woman. They didn’t fit against him as well as She did. Their teasing would either bite too hard or not bite at all, and the night would end with Bucky falling back into Her arms. 

He asked Shuri—very vaguely, he didn’t want his brain to be poked and prodded again—what reoccurring dreams could mean.

“Reoccurring?” She’d frowned at him over the video call. “You’ll have to clarify, reoccurring can mean many things.”

“Uh,” Bucky had swallowed, glancing at his mattress across the room. “A dream you have every night. And it could change, but it’s always the same person in it?”

Shuri had given him an odd look. “Have you been having a dream like that?”

“No.” His answer had been too fast. He needed to keep it together if he was going to sell this. “Sam has. He mentioned that he kept seeing some lady in his dreams, and she felt real but he’d never met her before. Thought I’d do him a favor and ask about it.”

It wasn’t the best lie he’d ever told, if Shuri look of doubt had been any indication. But she bit, and kept moving.

“Well, it looks as if Sam,” she’d given him a pointed look, and Bucky had forced his face to remain completely neutral. “Has found his soulmate.”

Bucky had stared at her for a really long time. His vision had blurred, there had been a ringing in his ears, and time had seemed to still as Shuri’s words sank in.

Soulmate.

“I thought, uh,” Bucky had cleared his throat, his voice a little hoarse. “Soulmates aren’t real-“

“Of course they’re real.” Shuri had shrugged. “Soulmate is an archaic term for two brains that emit the exact same neuroelectricity, their nerve paths aligning completely. Often they will have differing personalities and lives, but the tie of the biology will link them in sleep, and they will experience incredibly vivid lucid dreams. Like this video conference, but if our minds and bodies were built to fall in love with each other. It is rare, but not impossible.”

Bucky had frowned. “But I- uh, Sam said he’s only had these dreams about four years-“

“Sam’s brain underwent severe rewiring and torment.” Shuri’s voice had been dry, her expression flat. “He would do well to remember that his connection may have been slightly mauled, and only after a certain genius princess fixed him would he have been able to reciprocate the bond fully.”

Oh.

The first time Bucky had appeared in Her apartment, She had said ten years. When She’d appeared to him for the very first time, She’d said she’d dreamt of him before.

Bucky had assumed that had been another way his brain was comforting him. Telling him he could be the type of person a pretty girl like Her dreamed about.

But when he thought about it—clenched his jaw and drew up the heavier, blood-stained memories of the Soldier—there had sometimes been someone in his body with him. Not the Soldier, but the third presence that wasn’t hostile. Wasn’t really foreign. Just was. 

“Could the-“ Bucky had swallowed, watching Shuri carefully as he spoke. “Sam said he could sometimes feel the gal while he was awake. Is that a thing that could happen?”

“If Sam was not himself, and the soulmate was not of full maturity, yes.”

Bucky had felt himself pale. “What do you mean, full maturity-“

“You are a hundred years old, Mr. Barnes.” Shuri had raised her brows, and all pretense of Sam had dropped. “There would have naturally been a point where your soulmate was a child, as that is how most people begin their lives. It is likely that you were still under the control of Hydra in your soulmate’s youth, and she would have only been a growing presence in your mind until she was a full person, and you were no longer only the shell of a man I met after my father’s death.”

“So she- Would she have seen what I did? As the Solider?”

He knew She had. She’d told him She had.

Bucky still didn’t want it to be true.

Shuri had given him a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, yes. She would have. But if she is what you say, she is a perfect match to you in every way. She will not care what you were before, under the control of Hydra.”

“But-“

“It is not something worth protesting, Bucky.” Shuri had sighed, leaning a little closer to the camera. “This is not something that can be severed or changed, so please do not bother to ask. And remember that she is real. Her own person, with her own pain. I would recommend you attempt to find her, but that is something you will have to decide for yourself.”

And now he was here. Staring at the dark screen where Shuri’s face had been moments before, his head still spinning around the word. 

Soulmate.

She’d made is sound scientific. Possible. Bucky could have a soulmate. 

He didn’t deserve a soulmate. Not one he’d likely trapped in his mind, forced to witness the brutal atrocities he’d committed as the Winter Solider.

And he wanted to find Her. Bucky wanted to touch Her and kiss her and keep her longer than just the night. To wake up and see Her next to him, tangible and all his. 

He’d liked the idea of something being his in a way that wasn’t a curse. In a way he could throw his all right back to Her, and she’d catch it. 

But there was still the sour, molding feeling over his heart that—since She was real, and probably had Her own issues to deal with—She wouldn’t want him in her life. Not Her real life, where everything was more complicate than just them in a literal dream.

He shouldn’t find Her. She’d be better off without him. Bucky would do nothing but make Her life more complicated, and he could get through this know that She was real and safe, far away from him but still haunting his dreams in the best way possible.

He was so lost in his head he misses the first phone call. And the second one.

It was the third one that got his attention—buzzing and ringing on the table next to his computer, Dr. Raynor flashing across the screen—and the fourth one he actually managed to pick up.

Bucky didn’t bother to hide the tension in his voice when he spoke. He really didn’t have the time or energy for this, not right now. “Doc, I’m not due back for another four days-“

“I’m aware, James, I keep a calendar.” Raynor sighed through the speaker, and Bucky had never heard her sound so tense. It was a little concerning. “However, I am going to have to request you come in today. It’s an emergency.”

He scowled. “What emergency, I haven’t done anything emergency worthy-“

“It’s not only about you.” Raynor snapped. “And I’m changing it from a request to an order. Office in twenty minutes.” There was a long pause, and then a whispered, “Please.”

That wasn’t good.

“Did I get in trouble?” Bucky asked, his grip on the phone tightening. “Cause I’ve been following all the stupid rules, and if Sam says I did something he’s just being a dramatic dick-“

Raynor sighed, and Bucky could picture the thin look of exhaustion on her face. “You are not in trouble, James. It’s not- I can’t explain over the phone. It may be better for you to see.”

“See what?”

“Just come to the fucking office.”

Bucky blinked, and the line went dead.

Raynor couldn’t make him go. But he also had never heard her swear like that. Or order him to come in before an appointment.

He was a little curious. And it wasn’t like he had anything else to do today but drown in the knowledge of what Shuri had told him, trying to work out how he’d face Her tonight.

So he went to the office. Chances are it was nothing. Bucky couldn’t imagine it would be something. He spent the whole ride trying to think of an idea, came up blank, and decided that Sam had mentioned something to Raynor about how Bucky had been brooding more than usual, and he was just going to have to explain the whole I’m not brooding, I’m just sick of Sam’s blind date bullshit and also maybe have a soulmate thing. Then he’s kick Sam’s ass, and everything would be fine.

Bucky entered to office with a whole speech ready. His chin raised high and his arms crossed, because he was already having a very weird and complex day, and he didn’t need this. 

All the words were knocked out of him the moment he opened the door, glanced around the room, and saw who was on the couch.

Her.

In person. 

Very, very real, and in Raynor’s office, and here.

Raynor said Her name. The name Bucky knew Her by, and her last name. 

It was a nice last name. Barnes would suit Her better, but the idea that she was real enough to have a last name was already bringing Bucky to his knees, so he’d have to save that thought for later.

“Meet James Barnes.” Raynor was probably looking between them. Bucky couldn’t be sure though, because he couldn’t stop staring at Her.

She was moving to Her feet, and seeing Her in person was somehow even better. She was sharper around the edges, and more colorful in small, bright ways, and nothing about Her felt like it could ever slip between Bucky’s fingers.

She wasn’t mist. She wasn’t an illusion, or a coping mechanism.

She was real.

Walking towards him with wide eyes and an open mouth, reaching a hand up to poke at his face. Tracing his nose and running fingers over his cheekbones, Her eyes never leaving his.

Bucky caught Her hand right as it brushed over his lips, and She made the prettiest gasp he’d ever heard.

“You’re real.” He said, because it was all he could think of. Nothing about this was a dream. Bucky would not have a dream where Raynor was watching him restrain himself from kissing Her until she collapsed in his arms.

“I’m real.” She whispered, and Her voice was better in real life too. “You’re here.”

He nodded. “I’m here.” He paused, scanning over Her open features. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere, doll.”

Her face split into a wide smile, all teeth and light and joy. For Bucky. 

There was adoration on Her face, and it was all for Bucky.

“Good.” Her smile grew, Her fingers tangling with his metal ones. “Because I’m not either.”

End Note: Save me Bucky Barnes raising goats. Bucky Barnes raising goats, save me.

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[yoiiyoii]

In honour of the birthday of Giyuu Tomioka the best character in demon slayer (to ME), I will use my free will to rant about the best Giyuu panels in the manga:

1.

Peak. Best of the best. Magnum opus of Demon Slayer manga. This specific moment is when my emotions reach the climax every single time I read the fight.

Giyuu and Tanjirou, one arm each, holding on to one sword, focus on the Rengoku sword hilt. Tanjirou being guided once again by the two hashiras he looks up to the most.

Once again, right after this, Tanjirou pushes Giyuu back and saves his life. A full circle, the lowest of the low for Giyuu, the highest of the highs of striking Muzan together.

Notice that Giyuu unlocked the red blade TWICE, once with Sanemi, his foil among the hashiras, and now with Tanjirou, the one he cherishes the most. Giyuu - always defined by his relationships. Giyuu as an individual character in a vacuum has very little to show. It's just another backstory, a traumatized hashira, just like the other demon slayers. Giyuu stands out in Demon Slayer because he is constantly present, he has developing relationships. The red blade is just another show for that. This panel does this theme of Giyuu justice too.

And, lore aside, the absolute HYPE of this scene. The long drawn fight, the hashiras with lost limbs all down, Sanemi and Obanai come in to attack Muzan and save Tanjirou, but oh-- where's Giyuu again? RIGHT HEREEEEE!!!!!!! LENDING A HAND TO TANJIROU, LITERALLY, AS HE ALWAYS HAS.

2.

Pretty self explanatory. Absolute badass, putting himself between an Uppermoon and someone he cares about, Tanjirou.

It goes into Giyuu's biggest theme of protection. He hates being protected, he wants to protect the people he loves (just like Akaza). He did not want to be a 'useless komainu' to Tanjirou. I don't know if it's stated explicitly but its obvious that Dead Calm was created so he would be able to protect himself without needing the help of others. His fight against Rui was a simpler version of this: protecting Tanjirou (though at the time he didn't recognize him), against Rui, whose whole theme was about wanting to be protected by a family, with elders fulfilling their role of protection.

Here Giyuu and Tanjirou were, dealing with the same theme again, and Giyuu going all out with wanting Tanjirou to survive. It's not that he's been silent about his love for Tanjirou, but this is where he explicitly declares wanting to protect him, in his own words (do NOT take a shot everytime you see the word "protect").

3.

Debating between this or the 4th panel, I chose this as the 3rd because this is MY post and I want to make top 3 posts all about him and Tanjirou.

And boyyyyyy is it about him and Tanjirou. He cant even sit up. Is it not insane to see him being THIS vulnerable?? in public???? Add to the fact that he knows Tanjirou's closer friends are right there in the same battlefield, and yet it was him who couldn't help but want to stay physically close to Tanjirou. If Tanjirou's death had been true, he'd be back at square 1, being useless, never strong enough (quite a recurring theme in Demon Slayer I must say).

Like, look, he's sobbing, he cried like three times during this whole DKT and death deal. When the inevitable Sunrise Countdown movie comes out, I personally would like to close my eyes and ears during this scene.

4.

I admit this could and should have been number 3. But that aside, the coolest panel in the manga award goes to... (to be fair, that can be debated, other panels are just as cool if not cooler for sure.)

Sanemi and Giyuu, peak relationship in Demon Slayer. This moment is the climax to all of the buildup since !!Sanemi's first appearance!! (you see how Giyuu was giving him a whole lot of side eye that scene?)

In a way Sanemi and Giyuu bring out some ~interesting~ emotions in eachother. Who else would Giyuu call a simpleton? Who else would Sanemi pick a fight with, simultaneously trying to understand them? When you go to the AU territory, that's a pretty hefty magnetic pull of a relationship, isn't it?

And this moment - as I said earlier, one of the red blades Giyuu achieved, it's with Sanemi! Sanemi trusted Giyuu with equal strength (as Kanao said that was necessary for a red blade strike), and we've seen them draw before, and that's the ONLY hashira vs hashira we saw! (well, ufotable added a whole bunch, and I'm thankful for that, but I do regard Gotouge's compact and limited version of the story higher. Gotouge thought that Sanemi vs Giyuu was the most important hashira sparring for the audience out of all of them, and for obvious reasons).

All of that, AND the panel calls back to that one picture of Sabito flying over Giyuu. Two of the rough dudes Giyuu has been associated with, which is a nice touch.

And heyyy that's the sword that Sanemi threw at Giyuu!! Which was a pretty important moment right before Giyuu explicitly called himself a hashira (contrasting with Tanjirou, where he stood merely as the protector, the senior, with no regard to their posts and hierarchies). Sanemi gave Giyuu some real good push this fight. Would have loved to see them on a mission together, but alas, Demon Slayer manga is pretty limited with what it shows.

5.

I don't have much to say. It's just cute, alright? Look at him all teeny tiny smiling about the prospect of being friends with Sanemi. What the hell. Why are you so cute. Look at Tanjirou sharing the same dumbass braincell. What's up with these two

Unranked honorary mentions:

10/10. More of 21 trio stupidness, please. And look at Giyuu's stupid face as if he didn't just insult Sanemi in front of everyone. OBANAI, HE DIDN'T EVEN SAY ANYTHING TO YOU-

His crow he's so attached to :,(. I would personally die for you Kanzaburou. And yeah, absolutely, Kanzaburou mistaking Tanjirou for Giyuu. They have the same essence I guess

MURATAAAAAAA and yes, while I do love this because of the whole Murata celebrity crush on Giyuu thing and all, I love how desperate Giyuu was the entire time to save Tanjirou, even in the middle of his own fight again MUZAN HIMSELF. And who better to take care of Tanjirou than Murata, someone who took care of him back when Sabito died? Connected bonds, alright. Sabito already helped Tanjirou with his journey back in Mt. Sagiri, he could also use someone else from Giyuu's past.

Post canon, all of it. The light in his eyes, his journey, he deserves all of the love and peace.

[cenpede]

“My heart returns to you like spring / Awakening with April rain”

(Faulkner, 1-2)

[allthatdivides]

pressed flowers in the so much (for) stardust CD case | mine, 2023

[snazum]

Little ster edit I made… Cause there needs to be more in the world :>

special thanks to like the 5-10 people on this website who upload ster clips. This is dedicated to y’all <3

Audio: noir.audioss on tiktok

Song: Like Me - Chase Icon

[gunstellations]

when your bf is a human radiator and the night is cold but he has the audacity to tell you to move because he has to sleep

[zoennes]

2.03 ♡ 2.04

[zaddyazula]

trying to process this fucking masterpiece

[oddogoblino]

Probably gonna be a controversial post buuuttttt

Everytime I see some proshipper encouraging kids to be pro with them, something I've noticed is that they always try and twist what being an anti is to scare them & seem like they're protecting them. They're intentionally trying to make antis out to be like some religious old dad who wants nothing even remotely sexual to be shown & will always be angry, but that's really not true.

If you think that others not being allowed to be disgusting about kids (fictional or not, they're still kids and they know it. Its the whole fucking reason they're into them specifically- how is that not fucked up and cause for concern) and other shit like that that ruins a fandom as "being a prude" then I hope you get a reality check and stay away from minors!

The whole thing of being an anti is just...don't be fucking awful and disgusting towards kids and such like that. That's it. That's the big fucking whoop. Whoa, what a concept. Truly, impossible to please.

It's not the antis harassing people for just "not shipping smth right", those are just assholes who want to feel superior to others. Theyre just assholes, nothing else. That's not being an anti. If it's not over a legit issue, then that's being a dick who thinks their headcanons are gospel. Antis are against the actual bad shit that needs to stop bc it fucks up fandom experiences & gives safe spaces for predators.

You can be perverted all you want, ship things however you want, just don't be a creep and promote gross shit. You can portray this bad stuff, but actually PORTRAY it! Stop romanticizing and fet!shizing it! That's literally all antis want. How hard is that to understand? How hard is that to please?

[coolspacequips]

My unpopular opinion abt the new Castlevania series ig is that I just don't have any care or sympathy for these little church goons that they were trying to humanize this time around... Like Olrox revenge kill go off, I watch u kill that boys mom minute 1 but I'm still in ur corner bbygirl! I see ur thru line.

But then his little shitty church bf sanctioning and standing by all the actions of the church and also we don't talk about the homophobia he's supporting while also being gay and also sleeping w a man his church would have (and did) sanctioned the genocide of several times over... I'm supposed to think the way he shut Olrox down was anything worth feeling bad for, I just rolled my eyes at his self righteousness. Walk away from that man, Olrox!! We saw where this manic Christian love leads, and it's what ur Abbott did (who I also don't give 1 fuck about him or his white xtian guilt especially after That LOL)

I guess I can tentatively respect that the church guard's storyline is gonna potentially be about deprogramming him, but I hate that they seemed to be posing him as correct in accusing Olrox of having no soul, when we as the viewer know it was an act of love that he didn't think he was capable anymore, after what was done to him at the hands of ppl that the church guard. To me all i felt was the heartache from his POV so common in these communities where u thought you have a Good Christian that saw you, but he still sees you as the monolith of his imaginary enemy the second push comes to shove, even though your actions have shown again and again that there's nuance to be had