#she didn't know it would be like that she was always trying to help people and she keeps fucking it up and she can't stop fucking it up

[humanityinahandbag]

This has been a difficult time for so many of us, but I'd just like to say that these last few hours have left me so unbelievably touched and honored.

My Papa was one of my favorite people in the world. A piece of my heart died with him when he left. It's been almost fifteen years and I sometimes still feel the grief like no time passed. My Gramma was one of the strongest women I ever knew, and it felt like the world had lost a beam holding it steady when she was gone.

I always try to keep them close to me.

To see their love, their passion, their humor, their hope find homes with so many more people is incredible. And to see so many people in the comments say that they'll keep going and fighting to make them proud is... breathtaking.

One last fact about my grandparents out of the many, many facts I could share (because I could talk about them all day and still never be done).

Both of them were cremated. They didn't feel the need to take up any additional space in the world when they were gone.

But. When my grandfather passed my family made a bench for him. It isn't flashy or colorful. It has his name on a little plaque, and that's about it.

And it's made out of wood from the coney island boardwalk where he grew up. The boardwalk where he and my grandmother met.

Because yes, they were fighters. But no matter its chaos, its horror, its flaws, and its imperfections, they also knew it was alright to sometimes just sit and realize that the world was full of beauty that was worth watching side by side.

They were both realists at the end of the day who knew the war would never be over. But they raised soldiers and taught them how to push forward just like they let them know there was a hug and a joke and a hot homemade meal at the end of each battle waiting. They raised their daughters, my aunts and my mother, who in turn raised their sons and daughters, to help others, to fight with kindness and with words and with picket lines. I am just one in a family of all ages and genders and generations who are prepared to continue raising more warriors and leaving seats open at our table for people who need them.

So get ready to fight. Get ready to push forward. And do it knowing that it's alright to sit, to breathe, to love, to hope, to cook, to laugh, to scream, to cry, to read, to knit, to look towards others for help. Do it knowing that they'd want you to. Do it knowing that there is more to being a warrior than the blood on your knuckles or the sign in your hand.

Being a warrior is standing in the face of hate and seeing the beauty beyond it.

Thank you so much for keeping them alive with me. It means more than you could ever know.

I'd like to tell you all a story about my grandmother.

My grandparents raised their children, four girls (one of them my mother), to be fighters. My aunts marched in Washington for women's rights with babies strapped to their chests and like to joke that all of the grandchildren who came from that line (including myself) were born with picket signs in their hands.

But it started with my grandparents. They fought hard for what they believed in. They marched against Vietnam. They marched for Martin Luther King. They marched for women's rights. They marched for a better future.

But let's talk specifically about my grandmother for a moment.

My grandmother unfortunately passed away in 2016. She had to watch the first Trump election and did so knowing that it would probably be the last election she'd ever see. And there is some argument there that she could have given in to fear and defeatism. She could have decided none of it was worth it, and she could have decided that fascism had won and the world was over.

But she did something else instead.

To give some context, my grandparents had friends who were Republicans. I say were, because they shifted from the normal Republican towards the MAGA Republican we see today. And despite a very clear message from my family about how we felt, they were more than ready to still come to the funeral as if everything was normal. Like their beliefs were normal. Like they were welcome to celebrate someone who had fought so hard for the rights of other people.

These were people who would have absolutely used their rhetoric to scream and shout if they were left out or disinvited.

And so my grandmother, even past her final moments, pulled the most brilliant, petty move I've ever seen.

She'd decided ahead of time that everyone who had known her was more than welcome to attend but that she wanted everyone attending the funeral to donate money. That was the requirement to be invited. And so everyone did just that. There was no talk about what the donations were for, just that they were appreciated. I want to say that the assumption was the money would help pay for funeral expenses and give the family some support while we grieved.

Except that wasn't the case.

Because in those final moments of the funeral, the rabbi stepped forward to thank everyone, and then very cheerfully announced;

"Arlene was so happy to know just how many people were coming to join us here today. She couldn't have been more proud of her family. And I'm sure she would have been elated to see just how much money you all gave today to Planned Parenthood."

When I say that the faces of those people are enshrined in my memory, I mean it. The anger, the devastation, the rage, the betrayal. It was an absolutely gorgeous display of true defeat at the hands of a boss ass old lady who literally fought with her last breath and threw up both middle fingers all the way out the door.

What I'm saying is this.

It is very easy to feel defeated. It is very easy to think that everything is over, and there's nothing left for us to do. It's very easy to say that fascism won, that fear won, that hate won.

But that's only true if you let it be true.

There is always more that we can do. There is a future that is still worth fighting for. And it's more than possible, even when it doesn't seem like it.

And fighting is going to look different every time.

Some days it will look like picket signs in our hands.

Some days it will look like spending time with friends and family and people you love and knowing that you have a community that supports you and your vision of a brighter future.

And some days, it's pulling absolute natural level 20 petty trickster shit even after you've left the world.

Because you can always make an impact and you can always add a little brightness to life, and if that means tricking a group of MAGA idiots into throwing their money behind Planned Parenthood in the middle of your own goddamn funeral then that's what it means.

Keep fighting. People have done it before you. People will continue to do it after you.

And enjoy the little victories.

(Even the petty ones)

[theminecraftbee]

Cleo sits next to Scott, her head in her hands, and says—

—“I really thought it’d be different this time.” BigB sighs. He kicks his foot. Ren is, at least, a sympathetic ear. He understands these things, or at least he understands that it’s hard to be alone. “I mean, I know you don’t trust those guys…”

“I don’t,” agrees Ren.

“But they reached out, man. And I thought, well,”—

—“I could always bury the hatchet, you know?” Cleo says. “It’s been what, how many games? How many years? And I can recognize when I’m as much of the problem as someone else.”

“You had a reason to be a problem. I love that you’re a problem,” Scott says supportively. Pearl snorts in the corner.

“I’m good at being a problem!” Cleo says

“I know, you are,” Scott agrees.

“But it’s like—I don’t know. Maybe I was ready to be done being angry! Maybe I…”—

—“…just wanted a change.”

BigB is quiet. He lets the thought sit in the air. Ren, normally a man determined to fill silences, at least understands the value of a dramatic pause; he doesn’t say anything yet.

Martyn, however, has grown a bit more impatient over the sessions. "What kind of change? You two have been weird about each other for years."

BigB is quiet a moment more. "Did you know that—Ren, did you know that you were the first and last person to show me trust?"

"Uh, thank you, dude," Ren says.

"But like, the thing is, people, they stabbed us then, man. And it's just..."—

—"...he didn't have to! That's what gets me! He could have like... said anything to me? I don't ask much! I offered him my hand! I said, sure man. I'm gonna forgive you, just this once. We can try again. And he just—he tried to kill you! Why?"

"I mean, Scott is one of the people with the most lives," Impulse says reasonably. "And he didn't betray you."

"That's not how teams work, Impulse," Cleo says. "You can't just get rid of the teammate you don't like. The team is only as strong..."—

—"...as weak as it's component parts."

Ren and Martyn stare.

"Jesus, BigB," Martyn says.

BigB looks away. "Yeah, um, well. I don't think that's that stupid. It's not about you two, really. And this is a death game, right? I didn't attack her. It's just... I wasn't going to, really. I wasn't..."—

—"...he was going to, that's the thing. He's always going to do... this!"

"Maybe that's what you get for reaching out to a traitor," Scott says lightly.

Impulse looks away. Pearl snorts again. Cleo sighs.

"Look, I have a long memory, but if I let that decide everything I do forever it would eat me. And people have their reasons. Impulse, look Scott in the eyes, he's not even the reason you have that reputation. Pearl, you're a part of the team. That's the thing. People can change. People..."—

—"...can't change, really." BigB shrugs. "She should know better by now."

"Uh, dude, should we know better?" Ren asks.

"Nah. I mean, Martyn's worse than I am," BigB says cheerfully.

"Martyn," Ren says, sounding vaguely disappointed. Martyn crosses his arms.

"What? You're the one who said I had evil in me. If you take in a snake, you can't be mad if it bites you. If you take in a scorpion..."—

—"...you can hope it learns not to sting you. I don't know. Maybe it's just in his nature."

Pearl makes a strange noise. "And what's in my nature?"

Cleo sighs. She steps over and throws an arm around Pearl's shoulder.

"As long as you don't bite me? I'm willing to learn." Pearl leans into Cleo's arm slightly. Cleo can't help but wonder, some days, how much of the way she flinches back again is her fault. BigB isn't the only one that Cleo hopes can change his nature. Otherwise...

"I'm not actually a traitor, despite what everyone claims," Impulse says, apropos of nothing.

"You know, you should pick better friends," Scott says.

"Nah," Cleo says. She doesn't elaborate. She just—

—breathes. BigB just breathes.

"It was never going to work, anyway," he says.

"Sometimes I wonder if everyone broke while I wasn't looking," Ren says quietly, sadly. BigB has no answer for that.

[l-artemisia-del-secolo]

You've been living a peaceful life for the last 100 years, trying to be off the radar.

You did help Strange a few times from afar, but becoming an active participant? No, you had enough of that.

Your owned ranch, your owned daily routines. You were almost healed from centuries of fighting for your life, ideals and power.

Until one day Strange broke his part of the deal.

"I need your help."

You sighed. He never cared about your garden. Always appearing when you were searching for escape with your flowers.

"No, Stephen. Whatever it is, I don't care. And please levitate. You're leaving traces."

"it's Agatha Harkness."

You looked at him. No emotions. He was waiting for your reaction. But you didn't give him any clues.

"Since when can't you fight a bound witch?"

You turned back to your apple tree. You knew in what state Agatha was. Not a threat, not an opponent. She was too deep in her illusion.

"Everything is going to change soon. There are… Entities who want her free."

"Name me one entity who would want to be betrayed by her."

"I can name you two. The boy."

"One of the twins. " Only the sound of your garden shears was heard.

It wasn't even a question. You already felt it. Stephen wouldn't be here if the reason wasn't so serious.

"And the other one?"

"Your old friend."

"Why don't you do this yourself, Stephen?"

"You know I'm not allowed to interact with her."

___

WestView used to be a charming town. Before the Hex. You could still feel the remains of Wanda's magic. People were still scared, wounds were too fresh.

You quickly found Agatha. She was blissfully living through her illusion. Wanda definitely had style.

You knew Harkness when she was dangerous, now she was weak and vulnerable.

If it was the old you, her neck would snap in a second. But you changed. And she wasn't the one you were searching for.

If Stephen was right you were all fucked.

You followed Agatha to the police station, pawn shop, and her house.

The boy wasn't here yet. You had some time. You built yourself a charming backstory, you pretended to love bad coffee. In a month you were already a citizen of WestView.

What if Stephen was wrong? This happened before. Agatha was protected by her own dreams until the cracks the power of nature itself called for you.

You rushed to your hotel room. You needed protective spells. You were not the only witch in town.

___

Stephen was right. Unfortunately.

Someone knocked on the door, but didn't wait for the answer.

"I thought you could afford a better place."

Stephen was right. You were all fucked.

"I thought you're old enough not to play with food."

Rio laughed at the remark. You almost forgot that sound.  You recognized her immediately. Sure the clothes were different, hair, eyes were greener than you remembered.

There was no point in the book you were holding. You started remembering that spells never worked against Rio.

"What are you doing here?" She noticed your gesture of peace. No fight tonight.

"Making sure that you're keeping the monster on the leash."

"oh, it's so much fun not being a monster in this scenario." Rio smiled like a child who finally got her approval.

"It's not about you." You suddenly felt tired. You had this talk before. Each century you were alive.

"It's about you." Rio chose to come closer.

"Is that a holster under your jacket?"

"Yeah, Agatha is in her Swedish crime show period. You like it?"

Rio got rid of her jacket, which simply disappeared in thin air. Brunette always loved theatricality.

"Sure." You were not planning for her to be in your space. You tried to step aside.

"No, no, no." Rio grabbed your hand. "You wanted to talk, let's talk."

You noticed the green light. No doubt her crown was a reminder of her power. Her cosmic power, her power over you.

"Leave the covenless witch alone." You whispered. Oh, but Rio heard every word. She smirked.

"or else?" you could feel her magic all over you.

You formed the fireball in your palm. Light was dancing in Rio's eyes.

"oh, isn't it our favorite foreplay?" witch mimicked your move with her free hand. Green rose appeared. "I missed this."

She let go of you and offered the flower. You took it.

You started remembering. Once it was like this. Every day. You almost forgot why you were here.

"leave Agatha as she is." You still were looking at the flower. It was flawless. Created by nature itself.

"really?" Rio groaned. "if I had known you'd care about her so much I'd lure her into darkness ages ago."

You could hear the hurt in her voice. It wasn't a distraction from her plan. She turned to the door. You flicked your wrist. Thin line of fire appeared around Rio's neck.

"I can't kill you. But I can definitely slow you down."

"till your sorcerer comes?" Rio laughed. She tilted her head and it was enough for you to hit the wall. If she wanted to you'd never get up again.

"Let's have a deal. You give me one date and I give you one more day of bound covenless witch."

___

This idea was so wrong. With Rio you never had courtship per se. The day you met she stayed with you. It was always about the sparks that amplified the worst in both of you.

You needed to know Rio's plan. You needed to win yourself some time.

This time Rio didn't invite herself In. You opened the door. This time it was a bouquet of flowers that never even existed. No doubt, Rio created them only for you.

This time it was a green suit. Always on brand.

Of course she was driving. It was the most human thing you ever saw her doing.

"Where are we going?"

"We'll drink and watch the wolves howl at the full moon."

"There are no wolves here."

"I brought a few with me."

___

"Why did you leave me?" it was her first question after the awkward silence.

You were sitting on the branches that Rio lowered for you. Pack of white wolves was playing in front of you, occasionally asking for attention.

"Is that important?"

"don't mortals talk about their experiences, share feelings?"

"you're not a mortal."

"tonight I am."

You shrugged. You had to play this game.

"I was tired of being… A villain." whiskey was still burning your throat after all these years.

"I never asked you to."

"you never did. But you sure as hell were reminding me every day of who I was. With you I've forgotten the weight of my choices. With you everything was just a game…"

You felt her touch on your skin. Rio guided you towards her. You remembered this. She kissed you like this before. Many moons like this ago.

She was gentle. Always was. You just forgot it.

"You were never a game."

"And you were always thriving on chaos.",

You stood up. Immediately one of the wolves ran towards you. He was friendly, but like with Rio you were not sure he wasn't trained to pretend.

"Why do you need a covenless witch?"

"Is it important right now? It's always about the balance."

"Right. And a few witches you can take for yourself."

Greens started wrapping around your waist and arms. Rio was calling you. Slowly you let them drag you to her. You used to play like this. You used to allow her this.

"Give me another date and you'll get another day."

___

The next day you went to her house. She recreated the garden you once had. With her powers it was so much easier.

"Remember how we used to play with reality?"

"Yes."

Rio remembered every single of your creations. She was attentive to details. You did play with reality. Both of you. You were luring your enemies into scenarios that could never be real. And after that Rio was feasting on them.

"Exactly like now you're playing with Agatha. You always protected your deal with her."

You preferred this Rio more. With the crown, with the flowers in the dress. It was her element.

"She's an effective killer. That's it."

"And what about the boy?"

"And what about your peaceful life?" Rio squeezed grapes and the wine poured in glasses. She offered you one.

"It is expectedly peaceful."

"Sounds boring. Maybe that's why you're here. With me? Missed the fun?"

What did she want to hear from you? You never cared about fun. You missed her. You missed your lover, your partner, your chosen one. You missed your garden. It was never fun. It was always you destroying everyone with fire.

Rio threw her Chalice on the ground. Wine turned into flowers. Again she was too close. She was behind you. She was seducing you with her breath on your neck.

"Rio…" You tried not to give in so easily. "I'm here because…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, the greater good." She was playing with your hair, whispering right into your soul. "It's all about not letting Agatha and the kid get their powers."

Her fingers were studying your heartbeat. She always thought that this curious mortal sound was only for her.

You only inhaled sharply. When you agreed to Stephen's plea you knew all about the risk. But you thought you were stronger than this.

"Let go of me."

When did her fingers travel to your neck? You didn't notice. Your whole body was tingling. Your soul was aching for her. You were alone for so long.

"You don't want this."

Of course you didn't. But Rio had no right to say it out loud.

___

Your third date was an unspoken agreement. You cooked. More for yourself, than for Rio. Old book of recipes reminded you of the hardships of trying to live amongst ordinary people.

"Candles are not lit."  Oh, that smug face. Rio always adored seeing your deadly powers in the most boring situations.

Table was between you this time.  You hoped it would help. It would give you a chance to win some time.

You tilted your head. Instead of candles - the fireplace became playful.  You disobeyed. In a very small detail, but Rio noticed.

This time the silence was longer, heavier. She wasn't eating. she wasn't playing.

"Do you ever miss your mortal family?"

"I do."

"What's it like?"

Rio never respected the concept of privacy. But those were the rules. You had to talk.

"Don't you know? Were you not there when both my husband and daughter died in my arms?"

You stood up for another bottle. Rio followed you to the kitchen.

"Did they… Did they give you what I couldn't?"

"They taught me once again to care about life. Respect the time. They reminded me that you're supposed to exist not only for your own sake."

You didn't admit that you barely remembered their faces. That the pain was almost gone. That for you it was just a fleeting moment. You already didn't remember whether it was real or not.

"Well, I remind everyone exactly this. But with you it's chaos, right?"

You could swear you saw a tear. Was Rio even capable of this? After all the time. all the damage. all the emptiness.

You pulled her closer. You wanted only to remind her that it was never her fault. You desperately wanted to remind her of that. You were clawing deeper and deeper into her. Biting. scratching, kissing whatever skin you could get.

You were tearing the silk. You pushed her against the kitchen aisle. It was always the chaos. But chaos that you wanted and were thriving for.

Now the chaos suddenly wanted to submit. You didn't expect that.

"I missed this." you were murmuring in her ear. You were ready to get on your knees for her. When did your hunger appear again? This time it was different. No burned land, no fallen trees, no skars and marks of struggle.

It was different this time. It took more than a hundred years for Rio to finally feel regret.

You didn't notice how you got into the bedroom. How clothes weren't yours anymore.

She took care of you. Rio always wanted only this.

___

The next day you didn't want to open your eyes. What if Rio wasn't there? Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

"I'm here."

Rio was watching you. She looked tense. She was sitting in the armchair, which now resembled the throne. She pointed to the cup of coffee on your bedside table.

"Charming as usual."

"We don't have much time, baby." And there it was. Your nickname. "Kid is coming tonight. We need to be there."

"Oh, no, no. I'm not letting you…"

"It's about the kid. Not a covenless witch. He needs to come with me. And you will make sure it happens. Isn't this what sorcerers want?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you'll have to join the road. Come baby, we don't have much time." she gave you a peck on the cheek. "It's gonna be like the old times."

You sighed. Yeah, this was going to be an adventure. You simply hoped that this night you saw the real Rio. And after this night you would stay the same.

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

a day in the life where everyone tries to win reader over, maybe they heard reader mention something like how they can't stand an annoying relative asking them about a relationship over the holidays, or trying to get her the best gift?

ps i love your writing, i read it like my morning paper

A Day in Life: Christmas, Presents and Revelations

Synopsis: A day in your life full of good Christmas presents, propositions and secrets.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader

Tw: Implied stalking; Calling someone a manwhore; Karens in the family with traditional and conservative ideals and miserable lives; Mentions of past cheating; Mentions of past Bucky Barnes X reader; Is Hal Jordan slowly getting his redemption arc?; Slightly implied horny Reader; English is not my first language.

Word count: 2,2k

Requested? Yup.

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

— And it's just so annoying, like, sometimes I literally don't want to show up on these things, but I don't want to leave my mom there alone with my dad’s family. — You huffed. — My auntie’s too concerned about my romantic life, like her husband didn't get other three women pregnant at the same time she got pregnant and only married her because he would have to marry one of the four girls. — You shook your head while your co-worker laughed. — And you know what's worse? I told everyone I had a boyfriend, but Bucky cheated on me, and I didn't tell them that yet, so she's gonna think I lied and mock me like the middle-aged Regina George she is!

Unknown to you, certain people were listening, and silently, each one of them made a decision.

Your last day at work before Christmas, you were getting ready to go home, pack and take the road, when someone knocked on your office door. You looked up, seeing no other than Martian Manhunter at your door, holding a present.

— How can I help? — You hid your gritted teeth behind a polite tone.

— I came here to follow the Earth tradition of Christmas and give my loved one a present. — He stopped in front of you with a soft smile and extended the gift in your direction. You hesitated.

— You didn't have to… — You cautiously took the present from his hand.

— I also have a proposition for you. — And there it comes. — I couldn't help but overhear earlier that you were in need of a partner for a meeting with your family. — You wanted to facepalm. — I could be that person. — You sighed.

— I can't show up with an alien superhero. — You crossed your arms with a pointed look.

— As you know, I'm a shapeshifter. — You watched as he changed his appearance to look like multiple different kind of people, one moment he was a tall blonde man, the next, a black girl with braids, then an asian young guy, and so on, meaning he could look however you wanted him to. — And you can call me by whatever name you choose, even the name I adopted here on Earth… J’onn J’onnes. — He settled for his usual green alien appearance. — You widened your eyes at his confession, thinking “oh, shit”.

— Uhh…

— While you think about it, open my present, darling. — He gently pushed the present in your direction again and you, still wordless, obeyed, while mentally searching for a way out of this.

You cleared your throat and teared the paper. The feeling of destroying the wrapping paper of gifts always made you feel a little embarrassed, as if the beautiful wrapping itself was the present and you were being rude by tearing it apart. It was a silly thought.

As you finished, you found out he gave you a comic book from your favorite hero. It made you excited, but you couldn't show it much.

— Oh wow, thank you… — You coughed. — Can't even imagine how you knew it was my favorite… — You internally rolled your eyes. — Anyway, about your offer- — Another knock interrupted you, and you both looked at the door. Aquaman was there with another present in hand.

He looked suspiciously from you to the other hero and stepped forward, then focused on you.

— Whatever offer he gave you, I give you one better. Take a king to meet your family, darling. — He smirked and offered you his present. You ignored what he said, settled the comic on your desk, and opened his present. It was a necklace with charms related to the beach, like some shells, pears and fishes, all made of your favorite metal. You pursed your lips, not waiting to admit to yourself that it was pretty and you liked it more than you thought you would, just like the last gift.

— Thank you. And about your offer, I can't exactly do that. You can imagine why. — He shrugged.

— Well, you can simply take me as your completely human lighthouse keeper, Arthur. — He smirked and wrapped your shoulders with his left arm. You shuddered, thinking “God, no”. — We’ll even invite them to our beach house, darling. Right on the shore. I also have a boat. Let's impress them. — He grinned proudly, as if he was sure you couldn't deny him.

You shrugged his arm off and before anything came out of your mouth, you remembered about your auntie and her shittalking right now. She always wanted a beach house, but everyone knew your uncle prefered to spoil himself and his side-pieces than her or the kids, and yet, she felt superior to every member of the family who was single because at least she had a husband and she didn't need to work, including you.

Rubbing a beach house, a boat, and a blonde hunk himbo on her face could be nice… Even if you just offered to take only your immediate family there one day and then just pretend you broke up with him later, he and the league would still get the wrong idea.

— Knock knock, oh- What’s everyone doing here? — Flash was there and pursed his lips while looking at the three of you. You groaned internally.

— You can go, Flash, (Y/N) won't choose you. — Aquaman, or Arthur, weaved him off. Flash narrowed his eyes for a second and then turned to you, ignoring him and beaming at you, extending a gift in your direction.

— I bought you something! — You discharged the necklace behind you and took the new gift, it was a bracelet with a lightning symbol in your favorite metal. It was also pretty, you were getting tired of it.

— Thank you, Flash…

— Please, just call me Barry. — He grinned brightly. — Please ignore the stinking ugly dressed fishman and the alien still learning to act like a normal human. You can take the funny and smart forensic chemist to meet your family. — He reached up and took his mask off, you widened your eyes, at seeing his real face. Huh, you didn't think he was blonde.

You stuttered, too shocked.

— Oh God… — You thought knowing their name was worse than their faces, secret identities and all, but something about seeing a real face that was kept hidden all the time felt like a heavier burden. To make matters worse, Green Lantern showed up. — No.

— Just hear me out, please! — Everyone turned to him with annoyed expressions. — I changed, I swear! And I apologized like, a thousand times. — He cleared his throat. By your face, he knew it was the worst thing to say. — Anyway, here’s your gift. — He bit his lip while you took it from his hands and opened it with hostility. They were tickets for the next concert of one of your favorite artists, that made you feel a little bad for the way you treated him, but it didn't change what he did to you in the past.

— I… Thank you. — You were trembling with nerves at this point from all the surprises you were having.

— I heard you needed someone to bring home for the holidays…

— Uhuh.

— And your dad is a big fan of the army, right? — You blinked. It was true, but you never told them that, yet, you weren't surprised they knew that.

Where was he going with it…?

— Please, not you too.

But he took off his ring anyway, and after a moment, he was wearing civilian clothes, along with a military jacket and dogtags.

— Who better than a charming ex-air force member to present to your family? Test pilot now, I can take them flying. Actually, I can take you flying. — He winked. — Call me Hal Jordan, beautiful. — He winked and saluted you. — Also, I fought in the war.

— Dude. Just give up. They're not gonna pick you.

— I will never give up, I'm a green lantern, strong will is kind of my thing. — He looked at you again. — So, darling?

While you were staring blankly at him, someone cleared their throat.

— Be reasonable, you don't have to be humiliated today. — Wonder Woman catwalked into the room confidently. She was holding two bags from a clothes store in her hands. The amazon pushed Hal Jordan aside and stopped in front of you. She looked you up and down and smiled charmingly. — Take me with you, darling. This is for you. — She extended one of the bags to you. You took it and looked inside, then reached in and pulled it out. It was a beautiful outfit, completely on your style, and clearly of good quality. But when she pulled out what was inside the other bag, it took your attention and you looked curiously at the red wine satin dress she was holding up. — And this is what I will be wearing. — She smiled seductively. — Diana Prince, pleasure to meet you.

You couldn't help your jaw from dropping while imagining her wearing that. While some family members might not admire the sensual outfit as much, you definitely would. Secretly. Your ego would too.

Damn it, why couldn't she be more normal and less yandere?

You swallowed, looking away from her and the dress. It was finally too hard to say no, but not for the mature reasons.

At your silence, Diana’s eyebrows rose up and she tilted her head to the side, with a pleased small smile. The other men in the room groaned and started arguing loudly, but she was untouchable in front of you.

Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.

— I think I should just go home, it's getting late… — You rapidly shoved your gifts inside the bag, took your things and squeezed your way between them heroes, not even realizing how trapped you were previously, but just as you got to the door, you hit a brick wall, or Superman, as people usually call him.

You groaned and he looked at you sheepishly.

— I guess after all of that I can't offer you something much better, but I can try… — Superman took a deep breath and before you could blink, he flew away, changed clothes, and came back. One second, Superman was in front of you, the next, just a regular cute guy wearing glasses and a suit. You took a second to recognize him and understand what happened and what that meant.

Damn, who knew glasses were a good disguise.

— I'm Clark, Clark Kent. I grew up on a farm in Kansas and I work as a journalist at the Daily Planet. — He smiled shyly and gave you his gift. — I hope you like it…

You blinked and catatonically looked at the thing he gave you. Differently from the last gifts, it wasn't neatly wrapped and it had a weird shape, but by how it felt in your hands, you guessed what it was.

You expected the sight of a Superman plushie to greet you, but instead, it was a plushie of your favorite fictional superhero. The same hero from the Martian’s comic.

Well, it was cute. You would probably fall for him if you didn't know better. You held back an awed sound that wanted to spill from the back of your throat.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by all the Justice League groaning a collective and loud “GET OUT”, you looked up, confused and curious by what caused all this, surprised by seeing it was just Batman entering the room.

Huh, why did everyone react like that?

He stared at you, then at every single one of them, silently, almost disapproving, or disappointed, but then, he smirked when he looked at you again.

Batman was smirking? You flinched.

— This is for you. — He gave you a big box. It was surprisingly heavy. When you opened it, there was a very expensive and beautiful pair of shoes, something you only dreamed of having and was always on your Pinterest board. Only digital influencers and celebrities wearing it, making you jealous. But that wasn't all. There was also jewelry and a very expensive bottle of wine. You will definitely take it to the holidays to impress your family. Or maybe keep it to a very special occasion. — And there’s more from where it came from. — He reached for his cowl and your breath hitched. Never in your wildest dreams you thought this day would happen.

He took of the cowl, and in front of your was…

Bruce Wayne?!

While everyone deflated, knowing they lost, you just had to hold back your laugh, but a snort still escaped. That took everyone off for a second, including the always stoic hero in front of you, who was clearly bewildered when you couldn't hold back anymore and laughed to his face.

— You think I'm gonna show up to my family with the nacional manwhore? HA! Yeah, that's gonna impress them for the first five minutes, then I will be the dummy who’s gonna be traded for the next top model. — You shook your head, still laughing. Bruce frowned deeper. You slightly feared for your job after you bluntly called him a manwhore.

— I would never do that to you. My affairs are all to deceive the public and keep my job a secret.

— And that might be true, but my family doesn't know that! Or are you gonna tell this to everyone? Funny. Billionaires are so delusional and out of touch… — You shook your head and walked out.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

[werevampiwolf]

Also, people can change from how they were raised. My parents are low-key white supremacists (low-key in that they'd say they weren't if you asked, but if you read them some talking points with no context, they'd agree with them). Consequently, I had to unlearn a lot of things once I got old enough to understand what was going on (and was allowed to access outside information, because I was kept extremely sheltered and isolated for most of my childhood). I did need people to give me some level of patience and space to possibly mess up as I learned. I'm not talking about saying the N-word or something; that's not something I ever liked. I'm talking like "wow, you're really pretty for a [insert thing here] girl" or asking to touch someone's 4C hair. I wasn't taught as a small child that that was rude, and was actually taught that things that were a lot more "macro" than microagressions were okay, so I had to learn where the line is. I like to think that I would have still powered through in learning not to be how I was raised if people were constantly jumping down my throat for every little thing, even though I was trying my best, but I can't actually say that for sure. I'm only human, after all, and I was just a teenager at that.

(I'm not exaggerating on what my parents are like, either. My parents made me promise when I was 8 (in 2004) that I would never date or marry outside my (white) race, and my parents still defended that the last time I brought it up, because "no one wants mixed babies.")

And I'm also a disabled trans queer who's also a leftist, and the only person I've ever been in a relationship with was mixed race. You obviously can date a person of color and still be racist though (also see "i have a black friend"), but my point is that even though I didn't keep the agreement, I can't change the fact that I did still make that agreement in the first place. Though I don't blame myself too much for that particular incident because I was 8; I wasn't even really conceptualizing dating in anything but the broadest of strokes yet (and I ended up being demi ace). Also, I really wouldn't have had the option to refuse, and doing so would have put me in danger. I didn't know it at the time, but my mother had already planned to kill me a few years prior for being "difficult" (AKA having autism that they refused to let me get diagnosed with). I'm pretty sure the only reason she didn't was because she wasn't sure she'd be able to overpower me without help from my dad, since I was always big and strong for my age, and my mother has had a severe back injury my entire life.

This isn't just a me patting myself on the back either. My point is that people can actually change, but you do need to let them. You don't have to forgive them, but no one is ever going to get better if they feel like they're not allowed to. They may be taking a real risk by even considering "disloyalty". You think neo-nazi groups let you just walk away and become a leftist without a fight? They don't. And even if they're not putting themselves in physical danger, it's still very isolating to leave behind your friends and family and start over. (I never had to leave a neo-nazi group, though I know someone who did, but I have experienced the isolation from leaving everything behind.)

Just... try and be patient with those who are fighting with you, who are still learning but are trying their best.

Never forget that acceptance of far-right ideals (ie tradwives, terfs, casual racism) in liberal spaces is a huge part of why today’s radicalization is so widespread and unquestioned

[flowersforbucky]

sucker for you

peter maximoff x reader

word count: 1.2k

i can't stop thinking about how peter would react to reader taking his lollipop from him and putting it in her mouth so here's a little drabble about that

a/n: i should be working on this bucky piece that i started like 3 weeks ago but i just needed to get this out of my system first

warnings/tags: language, use of alcohol (everyone is 21+!!), no use of y/n, peter's pov, and some ✨️tension✨️

Peter didn't know it was possible to get so flustered over a human being.

He's never exactly considered himself to be a ladies man, but around you? He's hopeless. A lost cause. Every time he's near you, it feels like his first very day ever interacting with another person.

From the way that your smile reaches your eyes whenever he makes you laugh with a stupid joke to the way that you always smell sweeter than the candy that he eats too much of, he's been a goner for you since the day he first met you.

And the worst part? You seem to know exactly how to make him blush.

As per usual on Friday nights, yours and Peter's group of friends is hanging out in the woods behind the mansion. You're all lounging around a bonfire that Scott works to keep going strong, talking amongst yourself in pairs.

"You know, I heard Warren telling Scott that he's planning on asking you to the winter gala," Jean snickers to you.

Peter isn't trying to eavesdrop, really. Jean just has zero volume control when she has any amount of alcohol in her system. He'd be able to hear every word she's saying even if you and her weren't sitting right next to him.

"What?" Jean demands when you offer no response other than some giggles and a shake of your head. "You've already turned two people down. You're kinda running low on options at this point.”

He twists the stem of the cherry flavored lollipop that he's sucking on, trying and failing to focus on whatever it is that Kurt's rambling on about. His body is angled away from yours, but he can feel the vibration of your low laughter from where your shoulder rests against his.

Peter had heard that you've been asked to the gala that Charles throws in the name of the X-Men every year. He couldn't lie, he was relieved when he'd found out that you had shot down the suitors - not that he'd ever have the balls to ask you himself. He had no desire to be added to the list of people that you've rejected to a glorified prom.

“So? I can go alone. Going alone is better than going with anyone who isn't the person that I actually want to go with,” you answer with a shrug of your shoulders.

Peter tenses at your words, his stomach doing a somersault.

“And who would that be?” Jean asks in a teasing voice, almost like she already knows the answer.

Before you can respond, Peter quickly shoots to his feet. Kurt comes to a sudden stop in the middle of a sentence, and both you and Jean turn to look up at him from where you still sit on the old, fallen tree that is being used as a bench.

“Where're you going?” You ask. Peter knows it's probably wishful thinking, but he can't help but think that there's a hint of disappointment in your voice.

“Back to the mansion. I've gotta take a whiz,” he retorts, hoping he sounds casual. Truthfully, he can't stand the thought of having to hear you say some dude's name in response to Jean's question.

“Since when are you above pissing in the woods?” Scott laughs as he piles some more branches onto the bonfire.

Peter shoots him an obscene gesture, about to bolt in the direction of the mansion when he feels your hand wrap around his from beneath him. You begin to get up, and he instinctively helps pull you into a standing position.

“I'll walk back with you,” you tell him as you drop his hand. “I'm going to grab a few more beers.” You smile at him in the orange glow of the fire and he forgets how to speak. He motions as if to say after you and you begin walking in the direction of the mansion.

He's fully aware that he could have the two of you back to the school in a split-second, but despite how nervous he gets around you, he'd never pass up the opportunity to spend a few moments alone with you. Living here, you're both almost always surrounded by other people. If it's not Jean, it's Storm. If it's not Storm, it's Raven or Hank. If it's it's not –

“I just had to get away from that,” you sigh when the two of you are out of earshot from the others. “I love her, but Jean can be kind of relentless,” you add with a small laugh.

“You can say that again,” he agrees, his voice mumbled from the lollipop stuffed between his teeth and his check. “Just the other day she was saying that I should ask someone.”

“Yeah?” You quip, a curious edge to your tone. “And are you going to?”

“Nah,” Peter shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Like you said, it's better to go alone than to go with someone who isn't the person you really like.”

“So what's stopping you from asking her? Is she already going with someone else?”

“No,” he answers, coming to a stop in the middle of the moonlit path the two of you are walking on. “She's not. But she's already turned down basically everyone in the school, so I don't think I stand much of a chance.”

Sometimes Peter starts a sentence without knowing where it’s going, but right now even he's shocked by his words. He's not quite sure where the bravery came from, but he can't exactly take it back now. You're not stupid - he knows you can read between the lines to deduce who he's talking about.

You come to a halt, turning back to look at him. He offers a small, nervous smirk and resists the urge to dash away before you can reply to his confession.

“Three people isn't basically everyone in the school,” you chuckle with one of those grins that could bring Peter to his knees. You take a few slow steps towards him, stopping when your chest is just inches from his. Your gaze flickers from his eyes and down to his mouth before you reach a hand up to his face and pinch the stem of his lollipop between your thumb and index finger, plucking it from his mouth.

His eyes widen in surprise, all but bulging out of his head when you pop what's left of the red lollipop into your own mouth. You swirl it around in your mouth, your plump lips wrapped around the stick.

“But for what it's worth, the whole school could ask me and there's only one person who would get a yes out of me.”

You pull the lollipop from between your lips and hold it back up to Peter's mouth, resting it against his bottom lip until he parts them - to speak or to accept the sucker, he's not sure. But he doesn't do anything to stop you when you guide it back inside his mouth, the flavor of the cherry candy and your saliva infiltrating his senses when it meets his tongue.

“Just in case you were wondering,” you shrug, and turn to continue your walk back to the mansion as if you didn't just make his heart combust in his chest.

He speeds after you, deciding that maybe Jean has a point - maybe he should ask someone after all.

•••••

thanks for reading! this was my first time writing for peter, i'd very much appreciate comments/reblogs 💕

[diorcities]

snooze

jisung x you genre smut content friends with benefits, mention of mingi (hope you get why), cunnilingus, riding, multiple orgasm, unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, nipple play, squirting, cum eating, wc 4k ── you always leave him and he plans to make you stay.

ever since you kissed him, he can’t get you out of his mind.

it had been useless, had it?

it didn't take long for jisung to figure it out. he knows perfectly well that he gets attached quickly, his friends always tease him about it.

much there was say jisung was very chill. he was fine with evasive looks just like fingers pressing into his shoulder blades. the short greetings at gatherings as well as soft sounds muffled against his lips.

jisung couldn't make his head to begin to describe you, and the closest he's come is a little charm at night.

he's been lost because of it. only you can make him fall in love, only if you say yes.

“oh, my god. you can't be serious.” nayeon, dressed like a cheetah, shouts making her way through the tide of people to you, her gaze lost behind you.

and it is both your gift and your curse to know what has her upset without having to look. a boy with fangs and light brown hair with blonde highlights dancing and making out a girl prettier than the previous one and uglier than the next he'll met. “it can't be that he got over you so quickly,” she says while glaring. and despite feeling upset just like your best friend, you can't help but feel this immense lack of something. because while mingi kisses her, he doesn't stop looking at you.

it's been a while since you two broke up. the normal thing would be to keep going, yet you're still in the same place, just without the same feelings except regret. “it's alright,” you hear yourself say, only it's not.

if it makes him feel good to kiss girls in front of you, then it's fine. either way, you're the worst traitor.

it was a bad idea to have come, but you're used to always making a mistake. big ones are just as much a part of you as are your bad decisions. “i'll go smoke a little. listen, if you see ghostface, tell him he owes me money.”

she winks at you, “sure thing, angel.”

you move out of his sight and it feels ridiculous to see himself following your trail with his eyes until you move outside. when he feels that you've ignored him for too long, he's the first to offer truce.

“you look like a dream.” he's been drinking for a while, so he knows he'd never, ever dare to talk to you. but he knows that a couple of beers and the bad influence of his friends must not mix up.

“why?” he wasn't sure if he preferred your obnoxious demeanor or your condescending eyes meeting him. “have you dreamed of me?”

he looks stupid, and you smile wide when a blush tint his cheeks. because yes, he has. despite all the grace and angelic energy that your eyes transmit, jisung is embarrassed that every time he thinks of you the first thing that appears in his dirty mind is those wet eyes trying to stay open while looking at him from under his body. legs wrapped loose around his waist and parted lips inciting him to taste them.

he swallows hard and without meaning to, his eyes feel like two wells. his mouth is dry or maybe he's craved your lips a bit too much. a tingling runs through his fingers and his fingertips buzz. you have no idea how much he wants you, or maybe you do, because you smile wider.

all your grace takes form in dreamy eyes before you kiss him. and kiss him. and kiss him. his emotions get tangled followed by your responsive heart. he can't beat it, the feelings.

it's killing him, and it would hurt him more to admit that he's used all his manipulative tactics; lies and deceit, pretty words, empty promises. but then he looks at you with his pretty pleading love-me eyes and you can't handle it anymore. he kisses the inside of your wrist as he looks at you from below and you almost hesitate.

because that's his curse, or perhaps it is yours. you always leave. you're an angel faced like yet you're full of haunting. with your condescending gaze, virtuous lips stretched in a smile; shiny eyes filled contempt, as if you regretted something that you both tried so hard to ignore so as not to feel guilty. when the truth is, jisung could hardly think of anything other than you.

and he plans to make you stay.

his hand intertwines with yours, and there it is again. a monstrous hesitation. every time this drags on, the more guilty you feel; for thinking of him when you were together.

jisung's kisses drift you to the surface. “is it because of him?” he pronounces, and you've been an idiot for thinking he wouldn't notice at some point. “mingi?” he asks, drawing your hand to his chest, and the gesture causes the devious swarm to disperse as you swallow.

you shake your head, and unexpectedly you chuckle lightly, “no.”

there's no one bound to you. you're not tethered to him anymore, yet it felt like you were betraying him. it seemed like you've made a big mistake a long time ago and now this monstrous thought of whether he will ever forgive you does not cease to haunt you.

you've never been good at keeping your emotions at bay, so guilt eclipses other feelings, it overshadows your heart, beating to the rhythm of his pulse under your palm, slowly moving towards his jawline.

these rendezvous were not going to end well, and even so... you always came back. to him. he smells fresh and manly. he smells familiar.

he likes to eat you out first. it is almost inevitable to do so, as if something were missing. as if he were obsessed. and yet he takes his tortuous time and start kissing your stomach, the soft taut skin of your hip bone, where his hands tuck underneath to place them over his shoulders. “think only of me.”

your full legs bury his head and your femininity is received by caresses. tongue roaming along your core, plump lips sucking you. the right angle makes you sigh, “yes.” your mouth opens in awe and your eyes flutter shut feeling that tingling forming in your guts. just where his hands hold you so you don't move. “yes...” he glances at you the moment he use his tongue to put pressure on the sweet bulge to see you squeeze your eyes and tilt your head back.

he hums, and your whole body shivers feeling the cocky smile on his lips around you, full of spit and arousal covering his face for constantly hitting his nose in your sweet spot. you dissolve into nothing, your blood becomes washy, and you arch violently as he ventures his tongue down your folds into your needy entrance. “a-ahg.”

something hot runs down your belly and explodes into pleasant waves when it tightens your grip and pulls you closer, diving deep to taste your silkiness, hissing when feels too good. “mmm... god.” your teeth grind and your eyes squeeze at the sound his mouth makes every time he rocks his tongue along your sensitive clit, roaming his lips and sucking you rhythmically.

“fuck, you taste divine.” his hot breath brushes against your femininity and the purr of his deep tone causes you to buzz synchronously, the core of your belly sinking and legs trembling at his voice. “so sweet, my girl.”

he shakes his head as he smiles against you, and you're losing your mind at the view of his pretty face enraptured in the aroma of your intimacy. eyes closed while he sucks you good and holds your legs apart from bellow your thighs, keeping you spread for him.

you twitch in delight and his eyes darken having you on full display, grabbing his hair and guiding his motion where you most need him. “oh, yes. there... there.” your back arches unconsciously as your shaking voice tells him where to lick, where to nibble, where to caress. “feels good, ji.”

you're so wet you can hear it every time he rubs your clit dexterously with tongue and teeth, your mind filling with a hazy sensation you can't help but tremble hard, “s-good,” you cry feeling sensitivity numb your hurting nipples once he cups them on his big hands. too much to keep quiet. too much to hold it all in. your shaky moans fill the room when a sharp sensation sink your belly and whip your breath away.

jisung hums thoughtfully in glee when you start pulsing around nothing. unshed tears fills your eyes as you succumb to pain from the pleasure that runs through you from head to toe, buzzing in your bloodstream and making you whine for a bit of friction.

you squirm and arch when he pulls away. and you gasp despite watching him take off his belt from his jeans while his eyes don't leave your pussy, throbbing for him.

he's left you so aroused it hurts, wet and willing, your eyes don't leave him while his are fixed on your ruined pussy, missing his mouth full of your silky excitement. jisung licks his lips in trance, undoing zipper to let out his painful, throbbing erection under his underwear. “want to take it?”

your mouth begins to tingle wildly and an impulse forces you to moan a yes. “all?” your eyes darken and it's almost immediately that your hands draw him to you when he leans just a little, as if he wants to play now to see who needs whom, as if not knowing perfectly well that it has always been you.

from the first time you met.

and deep inside him, having you under him guiding him inside of you, he thought it would give him some satisfaction, but the guilt spreads. of course he was terrified of how he felt about you, maybe you were too? were you terrified of what you might feel for him? what did you already feel?

“oh, fuck.” no matter how many times he buries himself in you, it always has the same effect; it always makes him want more. “you feel so good, fuck,” he breathes and takes a moment to feel you, all around him, squeezing him right.

your body feels light when he thrusts you twice, his breath hitting your cheek when he groans, “i can make you forget about him.” and makes your legs fail.

he feels so nicely thick. the mere friction of his cock inside makes a tremor run down your legs and an explosion of sensations in your lower belly, growing when he starts to penetrate you.

he holds over your stomach, he doesn't take it out completely before he puts it back in, the rhythm making you both sobble with pleasure. it's almost tortuous the way it's not enough, to having him fully, fingers massaging your swollen femininity as he hammers your pelvis with yours, sounding deliciously good.

you fall long after you need each other, ardently. despite being intertwined, despite being skin to skin, he's so far away from you, yet so close you can reach his chest, his sturdy forearm. you can reach his lips.

everything condenses, and you seem to be holding your breath. your stomach tenses and something furious flutters in your belly. rises hot through your bloodstream and you find it desperately luring closer to you, moaning “i'm close.”

the motion of his pounding change and become more violent and faster. “oh, god,” you whimper, feeling yourself collapsing. hands pushing on his stomach before he holds both wrists with one of his.

“be a nice girl for me.”

“ji, please.”

your head lolls back as you feel his cock pounding into you roughly. sharp thrusts eliciting sounds out of you. his big hands cupping your breasts as they bounce rhythmically every time he rocks his dick deep, not being able to fully put it out before coming back in. “fuck, you sound so good, angel. fuck.” he's blushed, mouth is part open and tongue slightly sticking out, in a deep state of ecstasy feeling you around him. “f-fuck.” he takes your leg and passes it over his shoulder, and you see the torturous grimace he makes when a shudder strike you so hard that you cry.

your hand covers your mouth when everything comes down. suddenly everything is overwhelming, rousing. your eyes see through your eyelashes to jisung staring at you, so deep in the intoxicating sensation of being full of you, and you being full of him too, you feel it.

you almost see the resemblance. in the brown hair, in the shape of their mouth kissing you. the way they tend to hold you the same way, frowning at you with saddened eyes from being close, drunk in you, but somehow greeny; as if he still possesses innocence to give you if you ask for it.

the feeling they're both in love with you.

yet so different. from the way they both end and begin, despite everything. if you close your eyes, you barely notice the similarity. if you close your eyes, you let yourself go and just feel.

bodies intertwined. mixed sighs. needy kisses. faster and faster, accelerating the pace of his thrusts, sinking hos fingers deeper into your skin until leaving his fingerprints tattooed, sinking into his neck when you feel the expected tingling of being close to the edge, undoing your inside and freeing a thousand wild sensations.

his cock is sweetly pressed into the swelling of your core when he starts to rub your clit with his eyes glued in your features contracting in a shattering pleasure. feeling all your body tensing and your teeth grinding into each other before the big o that explode your senses into a thousand pieces. dissolving around him in spasms that release waves and waves of liquid pleasure that wet his crotch and make him lose his mind.

you're still throbbing when he moans in your mouth as he kisses you, lips colliding with tiredness as you feel him move in and out, pacing the rhythm. your breath trembles from being so sensitive, yet you willingly spread your legs for him to bury deeper. “don't stop.”

your eyes water when he starts sucking your tit while roaming your sides. skin bristling as your fingers draw a line from his arm to the nape of his neck, combing his hair as he begins to penetrate you again. his hoarse voice making you shudder when you hear him moaning against your chest, fogging your skin.

“making me feel so good, angel.” your mouth parts open as he passes an arm under you and arches you toward him, tucking one of your breasts between his lips, using the new grip to make you go down full to his cock, sinking his teeth in the sweet skin of your tits.

he fucks you raw and your blood runs hot. moving you with ease to rest on your side as he align his cock and slide into your pillowy walls drenched in arousal, making you bite the pillow when he hits a different angle.

your intimacy burns sweetly, feeling the enticing sensation of his thickness filling you up every time he pounds into you with rough thrusts. his pelvis collide forcefully against the full skin of your thigh over his leg that your eyes cloud with tears of raw pleasure, buzzing inside.

the constant pounding of his length coated in your slick producing a squelching sound doesn't leave your mind as you come closer and closer to the edge. drowning out a hoarse groan as his warm hand lands on your belly and climbs up your chest to squeeze your breast before interlocking your fingers with his; then you remember the reason, and it makes you go numb from head to toe.

he feels the burning need to hold your hand when he's close.

your skin looks scarlet from the spanking caused by the hand that now holds you tightly while he accelerates the thrusts, getting audibly desperate. his breathing accompanies the sounds that slip from his open mouth as he tries to keep up, deep moans and elongated words leave his lips before he bites it once he sees you guiding his fingers down your clit as you touch yourself. your eyes fluttering and emitting a moan so exquisite that jisung explodes in spasms.

a sharp sensation expands through your body when he lets out the best sound you've ever heard, starting throbbing along with his cock just before he pulls out late and spills his seed on your entrance. you bite your lip feeling the warm cum between your fingers as you massage your sore core.

it's late at midnight when you pass your leg over his chest and gaze at him with crimson cheeks as he stare at the mess. and although his features seem tender to you, his eyes are darkened with pure perversity when he leans over you and make you go on top now.

“wanna stay a little longer?” he smiles lazily as he reaches for a condom, knowing he can't be trusted now. however, it's perhaps the evil and mischievous sparkle in his eyes that tell you that he already had it in mind.

do you seem like a dream now? something as tangible as it is real. or has it all been in his head, like all the times before?

his eyes half-closed with glee lethargy follow the path your lips do when going dangerously down to stimulate his cock with your mouth, and you finally fall into realization. “if you beg...”

between the two brothers, you should've dated jisung instead.

[questionableratatouille00]

ʜɪɢʜᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an effort to get the two of you to bond, Tony Stark sends you and the ex-assassin Bucky Barnes on a road trip together. The reason? You hate each other. The situation? Two weeks in a car together. The reward: three days of a resort vacation. And the problem? He's kinda cute.

Warnings (Entire Series): Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, crying, fighting, violence, chaos, mentions/talk of trauma, discussions of mental health, and potentially more.

Warnings: Reader wears a dress, cursing, mentions and eating of food, let me know if more needs to be added.

[Series Masterlist] <- Haven’t seen pt. 1?

𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒈𝒖𝒏

Day Two

"You look..fine." You mumble, refusing to say what you really meant: hot.

He nods awkwardly, before tilting his head towards the elevator. You walk with him to the elevator, and you try and study his expressions as you wait to get to the first floor.

He looked lost in thought. Shit. That was never good. If he wasn't talking, whether that meant exchanging insults with you and Sam or marveling at modern technology with Steve, he was lost in his head.

You’d noticed that since he’d moved to the Compound was that he was getting better. Better, in the sense that he wasn't staying holed up in his assigned bedroom pretending that the world didn't exist. Better in the sense that he was talking to people now. Better in the sense that he wasn't waking up violent or screaming in the middle of the night.

Yeah, sure, he's a petty asshole who's extremely good at pissing you off, but even semi-joking insults are better than eerie silence and pure fear of the outside world.

When he'd arrived at the Compound, he'd avoided everyone, even Steve. He didn't speak, barely acknowledged people unless he had to. He didn't eat. He could barely sleep. It was like he was a ghost. The first time Peter came over while Bucky was around, Bucky seemed to have shut down a little.

Peter was a good kid. He stayed over in his room during weekends, or even occasionally during weekdays in the summer. He didn't ask intrusive questions, and he really did try his best to make Bucky feel welcome. But it really just terrified Bucky.

After a few months of court-mandated therapy, which slowly evolved from twice a week to once every two months throughout the span of a year, he seemed to recover. He slowly learned to get out of those post-HYDRA habits he'd picked up. He'd eat with the rest of the team. He'd join in on weekly movie nights. He'd even help Wanda when she cooked for the monthly 'nice-family-dinner' days. She always loved making the food for those.

He started watching baking shows with Vision. He'd hang out with Natasha. He pestered Steve in a way only a best friend ever could. He made jokes. The first time you ever heard the former brainwashed assassin make a joke will be forever ingrained into your mind. It had been some stupid joke about Steve's old costume, and it had shocked everyone in the room. Except for Steve.

He only went silent like this on particularly bad days. Nobody ever said anything, because they knew that would only make it worse, but it was obvious whenever something rough went down. 'Bad days' meant days that followed nightmare-filled nights, or days that involved flashbacks or recovering from flashbacks, or days that were ruined by something triggering him.

"You good, there?" You decide to speak up, just as the elevator door opens.

He nodded quickly, beginning to walk to the truck. He hops into the driver's seat, and you don't fight him on it.

"We're a bit late." You note, glancing at the time. 6:13pm. Technically, it started at 6:00pm and ended at 10:45pm.

"Holy shit." You say aloud, looking through Bucky's window at the beautiful decorations. There were string lights strung from light posts, and hay bales for some reason, and other cute things. There was a little stage set up, with a small band playing vintage songs. There were little stands set up where you could buy food or random 1940's themed shit.

"You ready?" You looked to Bucky, before checking in the mirror to make sure the red lipstick you'd applied hadn't smudged.

He nodded, parking the truck against the sidewalk. He waited for you to walk around the front of the vehicle to join him.

"I'll grab us some dinner. You up for this? We can always go back--"

"I'm fine." He said, and at first you thought that he was getting annoyed at you, before a quick glance to his face assured you that he was just trying to convince himself of this. "I'm fine." He repeated.

The air was warm, and the yellow light of the string lights combined with the street lights made Bucky look..really nice.

"Ooh! That place looks good. C'mon!" You grabbed his hand, pulling him forward.

You pulled him to the food stand, excitedly looking around the little square. People from well into their nineties to kids who couldn't be older than five were all dressed up. You and Bucky blended in incredibly well.

"What do you think you're gonna get?" You asked Bucky, intending to pay.

"Not sure. Might just get a burger and fries."

"That sounds good. I'm not sure what I want yet. Everything looks amazing."

When the family in front of you got their food and left, you quickly made your decision, and Bucky made his. Just as you were about to put your card into the card swipe machine, Bucky beat you to it. When you opened your mouth to argue, Bucky gave you a sharp glare, silently telling you to shut it.

“I was going to—“ You begin, but he cuts you off quickly. “I got it.” He paid quickly for the meal, before leading you off to a table. There were a bunch of circle tables set up in a large rectangle. In the center, people danced in small circles or in sets of twos.

Setting the plastic baskets on the table, Bucky pulled out a chair for you. “What a gentleman.” You tease, and he just rolls his eyes.

The band played covers of old songs, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Bucky recognizes any of them.

Once the both of you wolfed down the delicious food, you looked around. The band was loud, so you had to talk at a slightly louder volume than normal.

There were lots of couples, ranging from elderly couples slowly swaying together, to newlyweds quickly moving and bouncing to the upbeat music.

You noticed Stacy, the long-haired brunette who worked at the Brandon Center. She was in her own baby blue 40’s dress, which paired well with her hair and bright green eyes.

She was standing at a table in front of her Aunt Brenda, and Barbara from the hotel.

Her grandma and her great aunt live up here, you remember. She’d said so at the store.

Barbara and Brenda were also dressed up, smiling and laughing at something Stacy said. Stacy was standing, but Barbara and Brenda were sitting together.

You looked to Bucky who was zoning out. “You okay?” You asked, and he snapped his gaze up to meet yours.

“Fine.” He assured. "Dance with me."

"What?" You look at him, bewildered.

"Dance with me." He repeats, standing up before pulling you out of your chair by your hands.

"Why are you--" You don’t get to finish as he pulls you to the makeshift dance floor, before pulling you close to him.

"Shut up and dance with me."

"Y'know, that's a song." You felt it was important to note this.

"Weird." He states, before he glances past you, his eyes narrowing.

"If looks could kill." You commented, and he focused back on you. "Who're you looking at?"

"The douchebag who's been staring at you for the past eight minutes." When you turned your head to look back, Bucky stepped to the side, forcing you to swing your body to avoid being crashed into.

"You've been watching him?" You thought it was weird that the guy who hated your guts seemingly wanted to keep you safe.

"Shut up." He glared at you, before he continued to sway with you to the rhythm of the song.

"I thought you said you couldn't dance."

"I said that I didn't. Not that I couldn't." He muttered, before spinning you.

You instantly recognized the opening notes of 'It's Been a Long, Long Time', and you look to Bucky, who also seemed to recognize it.

You laugh as the two of you continue to sway to the music together, before the song ends. Bucky keeps his hands on your hips, your hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. You’re not that bad.” You grin goofily.

“You’re not so bad either.” Bucky looked at you, a small grin on his face.

“Friends?”

“Something like that. You’re a punk.”

“And you’re a dick.” You shot back.

It was impossible to miss how all of the couples close to you glance at Bucky's hand, clearly metal against your red dress.

"They're all staring at me like I'm some kind of monster." He mutters darkly, beginning to pull away.

You pull him closer. "Who gives a shit.”

“I do. Tony does. The Avenger’s PR team does.” He retorted.

“Okay, smart ass.” You rolled your eyes, before glancing around. One old guy was staring at Bucky, as were the surrounding groups of people. “We can go, if you want. My feet kinda hurt.” You lied, hoping that if you gave a reason to go, he’d feel better about agreeing. When he gave you a simple nod, you smiled. You lead him to the truck, taking him by the hand. Once you reached it, you stepped down off the curb, opening the passenger door.

“That was..fun. For you, right? Like, you’re doing okay?” You asked after a few minutes. Everybody in the tower knew about Bucky’s nightmares and night terrors. Whether it was from hearing him scream late in the night or in the earliest hours of the morning, or if it was from being the one to wake him up from them a few times. It was just something that nobody talked about.

“It was alright.” He murmured. This was a win.

As he drove the two of you back to the hotel, you smiled to yourself.

Shorter chapter this time. Not feeling so great post-elections. Also, my taglist won’t link unless I format it like this. For the good of all, subscribe to/follow the HtH Masterlist post and I’ll reblog with a link to the newest chapter each time. (Hopefully you’ll get a notification?)

Taglist: @afraidofshrimp @kandis-mom @laughterafter @cjand10 @emmsybucky

@mrsnotfeelingsogood

@matchat3a @identity2212 @ilovemcuff @unaxv

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@allieb913 @winterslove1917 @chimchoom

@moonlight-readings

graphics by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

[universalzones]

Blaze was left with a rather sour taste in her mouth after that short interaction, though it only showed that Amy was correct about this Abe. Though she still had her options, and perhaps it was time to call in some reinforcements of her own. The feline harnessing some of her power before opening up a portal. The moment she did a large knight that might even make people like Storm look small walked through. They wore heavy armor and a helmet which covered their face. On their right shoulder was a emblem with the seven Sol Emeralds with the red on in the center slightly larger. "Were you, waiting for me to open a portal?"

"Your mother had a vision of you needing aid in the future a week ago and requested I wait at the palace gates on this day." The voice was deep, though still feminine. "How may I be of service your Highness?"

"Of course she did. Even though she is long retired from her role of training me to be guardian she still can't help worry about me." Blaze had taken role while her mother shifted her entire focus on running the Sol Empire as such is their way. Though he mother always had the ability to peek into the future, and this allowed her great advantages. "Give me a moment." The feline would sit on the ground, crossing her legs.

Blaze would begin sensing where everyone was, picking up that Lanolin seemed to be heading towards the west check point with a group while the other went to the east. "Head to the east check point, though don't engage unless The Restoration does or they attack you. I shall guide you while speaking to Lanolin."

"At once you're highness. If they are foolish enough to engage me in battle I'll make them regret it." The knight bowed before rushing off at a rather impressive speed for someone of their size.

Blaze would start guiding the knight as best she could with the limited knowledge of the base, though would also connect to Lanolin mental. "Lanolin, can you hear me? If you can I have requested some aid from my world and have them heading to the opposite check point."

===========================================================

"Well, I've seen those two fight before, at least for a small bit so I don't think they were. It does seem like Surge was simply trying to catch Sonic. Though that is the real question. Why?" Belle nor Lanolin didn't have to wait long as Tails voice came on the intercom and began to try and talk Sonic down. Seemed like this was a moment where the hedgehog was mad which surprised her. The tinkerer never thought he was the type to be angry.

"Then I'll try to calm him down while you keep heading to the check point. With any luck I should be able to rejoin you with Sonic and Surge behind me. Gaia knows we'll need both of them calm and collective to try and get GUN to back off." Belle didn't want any fighting to break out, though if it comes to that having those two work together would be good.

The general nodded his head to the Princess playing the diplomat seemed to suit him. He was absolutely emotionless the entire time even when threatened as subtle or not so subtle by the princess his features barely changed. He seemed to agree to her terms, it was a small victory but perhaps what they needed to keep this conflict from spiraling out of hand.

" Agreeable terms, and i trust your people won't do anything foolish in return... i want to resolve this peacefully as well princess. We both have orders and people to answer to. Let's try to keep a level head despite the tensions. "

He said in a calmer tone as his eyes turned as if someone was speaking to him off screen.

" If you'll excuse me i have to attend to other matters. But i'll keep this line open, for further communications. Don't hesitate to call should you require it... "

The screen blipped and went dark, though the line was open the communication went dark for now. Seemed the Princess was up against quite a skilled soldier, if only in his ability to keep his intentions hidden.

============================================

Lanolin knew it was a risk to involve the giant Wisp, but right now she was looking for advantages. The wisps had been there stalwart allies for awhile now. Her hope was that having such a powerful ally would force GUN to back off or think twice about any sort of hostility. Despite her anger at the situation and GUN as a whole. She didn't want this to blow up into a real fight.

" I know Belle... involving the Wisp has it's risks but we need a solid advantage. Right now if GUN decided to be hostile we'd get over run in seconds... even if sonic and Surge was here... they'd have to focus on the air ships. We need a solid deterrent she's our best shot..."

Though the burst of air nearly toppled her Lanolin was a big girl, and she managed to keep her feet on the ground. She reached down to help Belle back up only to have to jump back to avoid getting run over by surge! She reached out to Belle and pulled her back to her feet. Her eyes locked on the direction the two ran.

" I hope that's not a fight between those two, that's the last thing we need right now... and--- no i think she was chasing Sonic. Best case they are rushing to help someone... worst case they are in middle of a high speed battle against each other. Wish we had..."

She stopped as Miles came over the intercom talking to Sonic? She was confused more then ever. Was there first thoughts utterly backwards? Was Surge trying to Stop Sonic? Then it hit her like a ton of bricks! the reality of the situation turned dark real fast--- Sonic was the one about to attack GUN! because of what happened to Amy!

" He found out about Amy... this is bad, if Sonic starts a War between both sides it could spiral out of hand fast..."

[lostintransist]

I can't keep doing this to myself...

My brain spit out an idea at me that I don't want to lose so you get to suffer with me under the weight of this idea until I have the time space energy ADHD hyperfocus to start on it.

This is not edited. Goal is to get the thought out of my head, not to make it perfect.

So imagine for me if you will that in some version of the stories for whatever reason I can bullshit into making sense Simon is selected to undergo a new and experimental form of trauma therapy. Used she/her here but when I write it pronouns will be you/yours

He hates it but orders are orders and after losing Johnny (his best mate, his lover, the other half of his soul) he would do just about anything to crawl from under the weight of the grief and guilt. Accepting the assignment means being put under sedation regularly for anywhere from six months to a year. During the sedation your active mind will remian awake and will begin to interact with a simulation that will help deal with the traumas exisiting in his body and mind.

Simon, not 100% on board, accepts the assignment but when he wakes up in some of his worst memorires ignores the woman following him from scene to scene, offering help. Every time he cowers as a child she offers a hand. Each time he bites back the fear flooding his system on a battlefield she offers to take the bullet instead.

For months he ignores her, trying to defeat his demons on his own. This was his mind and his body dammit, he could do this.

She stops offering help but doesn't leave. Trailing behind him in his memories Simon always finds flowers strewn in his footsteps. He never bothered to learn her name. When her laughter starts to haunt his dreams he watches her instead of his memories.

Whoever had programed this simulation had taken great care in creating a realistic interaction point. She makes ugly faces before she sneezes in the barns he has hid in, always complains about hayfever. Her ring finger on her right had been broken before, he can tell from the slight bend between the second and third knuckle. Every time he entered the simulation she wore something different, sometimes tugging on pants as if they wouldn't stay up.

"What should I call you?"

"Mmm?" She looks up from a book she had pulled down from a shelf in a dilapidated kitchen. "Oh, I'm not real so you can call me whatever you want."

He stared at her, frustrations mounting.

"Back to the silent treatment? Okay, this recipe looks actually really yummy," she turns to look back to the book.

Simon stalks up and snatches it from her hands. There is actually handwritten recipes. For some reason this makes Simon's rage double. How? How could this be real? He never opened a book in this kitchen. All that happened here was patching his wounds while waiting for exfil.

Their pattern continues like that until his brain finally spits out Johnny's death. He had been so, so careful to never let that memory come up. When it does Simon is so blindsided that when she offers to help he finally accepts.

Not knowing what to expect from this interaction did not prevent Simon from being surprised at how she handled it. She started to hum as she froze the memory, touching and moving pieces and people until everything had rewound a few moments.

"You have to sit it in, this pain. Talk to him. Tell him everything you didn't get a chance to. The longer you can sit in the agony the sooner it will find peace." She takes him by the hand and pulls him to his love.

Simon cries, like the young boy who needed safety and only found hate or indifference. Through blubbering sobs he tells Johnny every word he regretted hording. When Johnny hugs him back, mouth moving and voice saying things Simon had only dreamed of he found a semblenece of peace.

When his heartrate returns to normal and the only proof this interaction happened is the hollow space in his chest where Johnny will continue to exist his compaion steps back from Johnny, appearing as if from the dust.

"I think that is enough today. You did good." Turning on her heel she walks away, disappearing into the folds between memories.

Simon had never seen her leave before, he always ended the sessions before she had a chance.

He lets her help then, this nameless woman. They conquer every memory and the vaguest notions of memories that bother him. This intensive work paired with his weekly therapy leaves his with the skills to deal with the nightmares, the PTSD, and the trauma that still manifests from time to time.

Can one fall in love with a figment of imagintion? Simon thinks he might have. The final session he confesses, brushing his lips against hers as she sobs.

"But I'm not real. Simon, you can't love me I'm not real."

"Johnny's not real either anymore. I still love him. I'll keep you in my bones next to him, both of you keeping me safe."

She runs then, between memories and fears until she disappears and ends the sesion.

Simon, upon requesting more sessions, is informed that he has completed the program and all his care is being turned over to the non-intensive team that his therapist is a part of. Oh she shouldn't have argued with him or cut off their sessions. Now he knows she is real, the woman the knocked around his brain and fought back the demons for him.

Now all he had to do? Find her.

For anything I am currently working on check out my masterlist. This is getting dropped into my drabbles for later.

[artslovergirl]

art & patrick at mark rebellato academy

[headcanons]

notes: i really enjoyed writing this because i just genuinely adore these characters and this movie so much. there's so many interesting little details and nuances there that i could just talk about forever and ever. i truly hope i did them justice here lol (also writing this made me jealous of people that are good at writing character analysis' and thinkpieces bc wow it is hard!) but yeah enjoy!

wordcount: 3.4k

they met at age 12 during their first day at the mark rebellato academy in their now shared room. 

when art came in with a duffel bag (that looked comically big next to his scrawny kid body) patrick was already sitting on the bed he had claimed(the right side next to the door) all by himself, his parents didn't have a very tearful nor long goodbye as they sent their son off to boarding school.

in contrast art’s mom and grandma seemed keen to embarrass him in front of his new roommate with their cooing and hugging him goodbye. 

it wasn't even like his mom and him were really all that close though. she just seemed to want to squeeze in all the moments of a loving mother-son relationship into the small segments of time she actually spent with him.

the goodbye hug and small ruffle of his hair from his grandma felt a little more genuine. embarrassing all the same as he could feel the other dark haired boy try not to crack up at the display.

"mom. please." he pleaded with her as she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "i’m sorry, artie, but i need to make up for all the time i'm gonna miss with you!" yeah, he bets.

a few minutes later and a tear or two from his mother they did finally leave him be. as soon as he heard the door shut though, the awkward silence enveloping the room almost made him miss them. 

he threw his duffel bag on the left bed and sat down on the edge. he fidgeted with his bottom lip, a nervous habit he's had for as long as he could remember. 

the brunette boy shifted on the bed so he was now facing him. his mouth pulled into a toothy grin "so you're...artie?" 

art groaned and hid his head in his hands, slumped over his knees. "no, that's..just my moms nickname for me. sorry you had to see that." he says in a squeaky broken voice which didn't help the embarrassment he was already feeling.

the other boy just brushed right past all that and said "i’m patrick." and then as an afterthought, "zweig."

"uh." art leaned back up, still avoiding his gaze. it was weirdly intense. "yeah, i’m..art. um, donaldson." he said the last part like it was a question almost.

patrick began to swing his legs a little. it was clear to him that art was the quiet type even if they had just exchanged a few words so far, but luckily patrick didn't mind talking. it was something his father always hated about him. he almost talked enough for both of them which after a little while finally seemed to break the ice of art's shy exterior. 

art didnt know what he thought about patrick yet. he was pretty..confident that was for sure. even a little arrogant, maybe. art scolded himself internally for being so judgemental. it was quality he hated about himself, but seemingly couldn’t get rid of.

despite all of that he had to admit that patrick was easy to talk to. there was never an uncomfortable gap in conversation with him. which art liked since those kinds of things made him want to crawl out of his skin sometimes.

that first night he spent staying up with patrick, slowly realizing how much they had in common while simultaneously being complete opposites, is one of his fondest memories and probably always will be. he never experienced another connection that felt anything even close to that.

their room wasn't too small but with the way patrick would just constantly toss his clothes wherever he pleased it seemed a lot smaller. 

it's not like art was insanely neat or anything, he was still a teenage boy. patrick was just exceptionally messy.

"patrick, this shit is so gross, i told you to use the hamper." 

patrick groaned, "youre such a neatfreak, fuck off." 

at that response a pair of dirty boxers were thrown at his head, courtesy of art. "i don't want to see or smell your worn underwear. that doesn't make me a neatfreak." 

patrick just tossed it back in art’s direction, to which the blonde quickly scurried out of the way to dodge it like his life depended on it. 

"you know if tennis doesn't work out for you, you'll make a good housewife." patrick grinned mockingly.

“ha-ha.” art just rolled his eyes, stuck up his middle finger and let the door slam behind him with his racket bag slung over his shoulder. 

trying to get patrick to do anything was like trying to teach a cat to do a trick without any treats. borderline impossible. so by age 15 art finally gave up.

...until he realized a year later that patrick would clean his side of the room whenever they had a girl over so..

yeah, sometimes he did lie and tell patrick that a girl was coming over just so he would clean his side of the room. 

you can judge him all you want but you never had to room with patrick zweig

 and after the third time that trick stopped working anyway. art was never a good liar. or maybe patrick could just call his bullshit way too easily.

they didn't fight too often, it was more like they constantly got into little tiffs

except for that time where it got so out of hand that they duct-taped a line dividing their rooms into two sides. (i know this is giving sitcom i'm sorry but tell me i'm wrong)

eventually they kind of forgot what they even fought about in the first place but they were too lazy to take the tape off of the carpet, so it just stayed on there for like 2 years till it peeled off.

like i mentioned in my other post these two were BITCHES

they would def talk shit all the time. they were not even trying to be secret about it tbh. (see: them staring at anna crying at tashi's party)

they sat in the bleachers watching one of their classmates play a practice match

“dude, look at that forehand. it sucks.” art muttered. patrick nodded, “i know. no way she’ll even make it through the semester.” “i’ll be surprised if she makes it through this match without fracturing her wrist.” patrick snickered at art’s comment.

actual mean girls LMAO

and to be fair, they were fucking amazing at tennis, especially when they played together

so it's not like anyone could necessarily insult them back

but it also wasn't bullying or anything

they were just judgy and loved to talk shit

art had some decorum about it or felt bad about it sometimes. not patrick though. 

man has no shame. never did. as art so lovingly puts it “the part of his brain that feels shame withered away a long time ago.”

art wore glasses from ages 12 till 14 

he then switched to contact lenses because patrick said girls dont like guys with glasses and that they make him look nerdy

they weren't allowed to have any sort of electronics like computers or flip phones at the academy. not even mp3 players. 

now obviously patrick completely ignored that rule. he had like three flip phones under his bed in case his actual one ever got taken (it did)

he also smuggled in 2 mp3 players (one was for art, patrick is so kind… he did charge him 4 dollars for it though. that rich asshole. lmao)

honestly i would like to insert here what i think they would have listened to but..i was like..a baby when they wouldve been at the academy so..feel free to drop your music headcanons in the reblogs or comments 

they were only allowed one weekly call to their families from the communal landline.

neither patrick nor art were very fond of these calls so even though they weren't supposed to they would always go into the phone room together.

patricks mother always insisted on speaking in german with her son. he thought she only did it because it made her feel more connected to his father’s side of the family. not like it would fix their fucked up marriage though. 

“nein, mama, ich habe mein deutsch nicht vergessen.” (no, mom, i havent forgotten my german) he sighs. art sits on the floor next to him and flicks a rubber band at him. “ja, verstanden. ja, ich weiß.” (yes, understood. yes, i know.) he rolls his eyes. 

art understood a few of the basic words since patrick taught him some german after art asked how to correctly pronounce his last name. 

“..bis nächste woche. tschüss.” (talk to you next week. bye.) he hung up. his mom said i love you but he knew she didn't mean it so he didn't say it back. 

patrick groaned and stretched out his legs that were seemingly getting longer by the day (art secretly prayed for a growth spurt that would make him taller than patrick. right now he was still pretty short for a guy his age.) 

he handed the phone to art. “she always talks so much. it's like i'm not even on the other line.” patrick scowls. art just nodded. he knew that by now.

art called his grandma but his dad picked up instead. it was okay. talking to his dad felt a little like talking to some distant uncle that he only saw once a year, “how's it going, champ?” “good.” “great.” that kinda stuff

the phone call lasted 5 minutes. he stood up and hung the phone back on the receiver. 

“wanna smoke?” patrick asked already reaching for the two loose cigarettes stuffed into his jean shorts pocket.

art nodded. he didn't really like smoking, and he kind of only did it because patrick did. and whenever he did, all he could think about was how bad for him it was. 

he was always pretty conscious about that kinda stuff, it was a little drilled into him by his dad who was the most adamant about art becoming a tennis player since he used to be one when he was younger.

so sugar and fats (basically anything that tasted good) were pretty much banned in the donaldson household 

which kind of resulted in art subconsciously believing that anything that brought him joy or pleasure must be inherently bad for him or followed by a feeling of guilt and shame to make up for it.

needless to say art wasn't the best at indulging. he was a little jealous of how patrick never seemed to have any issue with that sort of thing.

patrick didn't care about maintaining a good diet or depriving himself of life's pleasures for the sake of tennis. he took what he wanted like life owed it to him. 

maybe that's why he smoked with patrick. to try and be more like him?

also because it gave him a nice sense of rebellion.

most things he did with patrick gave him that feeling.

at the academy they were the definition of ‘not sold separately’

if you saw one the other wasn't far behind

its not like they didn't have other friends. they did. they were pretty popular actually

but none of those friendships were anything like what art and patrick had.

especially when playing doubles.

it felt like they could communicate telepathically 

patrick knew when art was going for the ball before the other team even served and vice versa.

tennis felt different when they were playing together. better.

and it felt so easy, it felt like nothing they needed to work on. their friendship was the same. it was so easy, so natural.

after about a year or so of being friends they started being in sync. literally.

they cross their legs at the same time, they pick up their rackets at the same time, they adjust their forehand grip at the same time, they walk at the same pace, they sit down the same etc etc you get it

also that isn't really a headcanon, like this is canon in the movie. and it makes me SICK that they were still in sync in 2019. after not talking for 12 years. shut up that’s some soulmate shit

now let's talk about something else that is canon…the pushed together beds.

yes!

now, i think patrick is a person that is pretty open with his body in general in terms of like being physically affectionate. or just being physical. 

i don't know if art is, i think he's a little more reserved. (repressed if you will! i will!)

but patrick touching him so casually does fill a little tiny (gaping) void in him that yearns for touch.

he is a professional yearner as we all know

and patrick never had an issue satisfying those yearnings for him. (i think we saw that in the fact that patrick taught art how to jerk off ok next topic)

patrick would sling his arm around his shoulder, lay his long legs over arts lap, ruffle arts curls (“stop that, you're messing them up.” “no, i'm not they always look like this”),he would barge into their room after practice flopping his tall sweaty body on top of art to annoy him.

they were very physically affectionate it was just all under the guise of shoving and tripping each other and just general teenage boy roughhousing shenanigans. that counts as a love language to me ok!

art got used to patrick touching him very quick and even reciprocated sometimes 

also i do think that sometimes patrick would smack art’s ass as a joke. lol. (that's inspired by that video of the two doubles players doing that…do you guys know what i’m talking about)

OK SO!

the beds.

they were 16. patrick suggested it. “these beds are too fucking small.” he complained, laying on his staring at the smoke detector that he had covered with a shower cap so it wouldnt detect the smoke from his cigarettes. 

and to be fair…yeah. patrick stood at 1,80 cm right now and his feet were hanging over the edge of the bed.

art looked up from his book which he was only reading to impress a girl he had a crush on. patrick had told him to just pretend he read it but art said that was disingenuous and he wanted to know what she liked and why she liked it. 

“you know what we should do? we should push our beds together.” patrick sat up, grinning like he just had the best idea ever. 

arts features twisted up in thought. “isn't that a little close?” 

“nah, why, we still have our own beds. just more space.” patrick shrugged.

he glanced at their beds. “uhhh…i guess we can do that. the beds are a little cramped. although is that even allowed?” art began fidgeting with his lip like he usually did when he was in thought.

but patrick was already in the process of shoving his bed next to arts after which he let himself fall onto the two beds in a starfish position, with his gangly limbs almost stretching to every corner of the beds. “oh. great. and i’ll just curl up at the foot of the bed then?” art gave patrick a deadpan stare. 

“up to you.” patrick grinned in that specific way that really irked art. 

patrick did make some space for him once they actually went to sleep that night

even now they were two opposites making a whole

patrick always ran cold so he hogged all the blankets and art always ran hot so he immediately kicked them off of him as soon as he fell asleep 

that only made this new pushed together beds thing even better for patrick because he now got to have his own blanket AND steal arts every night

i wouldn't say they cuddled necessarily? i think it was more just like the regular amount of physical touching that happens when you sleep in the same bed

which is still pretty intimate to me idk about you guys

like their legs kind of thrown over each others, art’s arm occasionally draped over patricks chest (or literally on his face. art denies every time that he does it on purpose but patrick KNOWS he does it to annoy him. he knows.) 

one time art had a nightmare of being trapped under a rock only to wake up and find out that somehow patrick had rolled over in the middle of the night and was now laying COMPLETELY on top of art. right before he was about to push him off (because he was making art actively suffocate) patrick rolled over again and fell out of bed. he didn't even wake up from that. genuinely just slept on the floor that night. freak of nature that guy.

also patrick for sure twitches like a dog in his sleep

and i think it used to wake art up because he's a pretty light sleeper but eventually he just got used to it lol

when art went to stanford he never finished the last bite of anything he ate because he was so used to patrick being next to him and just stealing the last bite.

patrick really really wanted to get his ears pierced when he was 15. 

so naturally he asked art to do it for him.

you know…like how they did it in the parent trap. which if you asked them is a movie that they definitely haven't seen. ( but they did see it and art cried at the twins reuniting with their parents, oops.)

unfortunately for patrick art was very very squeamish with needles at that age (i think that mellowed down the older he got but he still refused to look whenever he got vaccinations or anything like that.) 

so now it was midnight, they were in their room sitting on the floor and arguing

“dude, just do it, stop being such a wuss. you're not even the one getting pierced.” patrick groaned, he had numbed his earlobe with ice but he could already feel a little bit of the feeling return to it, that's how long they had been sitting there with art squirming around because he hated even looking at the sewing needle.  

“that's worse though because i have to look at the needle going in your ear!” art argued

“ well, i can't do it myself.” patrick replied.

...

“are you wearing my shirt?” art squinted at him

“stop trying to change the subject.” 

“i told you to stop stealing my clothes. i don't want to do laundry that often.”

“can you focus?” patrick groaned

“dude.. okay, fine. just give me a second.” art took a deep breath.

“oh. my god. you're not performing open heart surgery.” 

“shut the fuck up.”

“you shut the fuck up.” 

and what do you know that response got art to get over his fear of needles for a second and stab that thing right through his best friends ear 

the little high pitched yelp patrick let out in surprise at that is something art didn't let him forget about for like two weeks after

it took about another hour for art to pierce patricks second ear and eventually they managed but then like a week later patrick forgot to put his earrings in and the piercings immediately grew shut

so all that drama was for nothing!

i think art has always kind of been the type of guy to want domesticity. 

i already posted about this somewhere but i kind of came to that conclusion because patrick said “he wants to spend time with his family” to tashi in the alley scene

patrick hadn’t spoken to art for like a decade at that point

and you could say it's a good guess but NO! 

patrick knows art like the back of his hand and patrick knows that art has always wanted a family and how much it probably kills him to miss out on time with them due to his career at that point in time (also just throwing this out there i think art always wanted to have a daughter more than a son, like that just makes sense to me. maybe bc i think his own relationship with his dad is so distant? idk!)

so yeah

also the sauna scene where patrick says that marriage isn't what he was for 

(to me) also implies that he is the opposite of art who was meant for marriage

anyway do i think that art shared his wishes for a family and marriage in the future with patrick? yes

do i think patrick jokingly made art promise to make him his best man? yeah

and furthermore do i think about the fact that patrick then had to read about arts wedding in some tabloid years later? yep!

i’m sure i could think of more in the future but that's all i've got for now! i hope this was coherent enough to enjoy because it’s not as proofread as my fics usually are lol! i just wanted to get these thoughts out there

if some of these seem familiar it might be because i took some of these from my twt!

i also have some more headcanons floating around on my tumblr that i didn't include here if you want to find those, or not, i'm not your mom! 

[tales-of-wocdes]

Heya! Never written an ask before but I love this story and the snippets so much that I decided to give it a go! Genuinely, this is the only blog where I read every ask. So! I actually have two burning questions, but it seems like it's better to send them as separate asks so I'll probably do that. Hope that's alright! Anyway, the first question is:

Say MC somehow gains a vague understanding of what Mama and Papa mean- how would Lexia and Havard react to being called Mama and Papa respectively?

Hi! Glad to be your first ask! And thank you for all the kind words!

So this is a hard one... kudos for not pulling any punches on your first ask :D Going straight for the big stuff, I like it and dread it in equal measure.

Since this seems like something that could easily happen in game, I will put the snippets below the line. I suppose I am calling spoilers, though I don't think I reveal anything that was not in the demo though people might have missed it.

And I reserve the right to change anything I want later, as always :D But let's call this a thank you for 10 k browser plays :D

------------HAVARD-----------

"Papa?" You asked one evening as Havard was tucking you into bed. It was phrased a bit like a question but you think you understand what it means. You saw children out in the city use the word.

There was only one person you knew that the word fit, and that was Havard.

Havard froze in place, and paled.

Why? What did you do?

He was staring at you with wide eyes, and a range of expressions passed across his face.

Joy, sorrow, anger, pain...

So many expressions.

So much pain.

Then you saw the tears falling down his cheeks.

You sat up in bed, alarmed and panicked. This was not like the Havard you knew... Havard was the one who helped you not hurt! This was all wrong. He smiled at you, and helped you eat, and took care of you. This wasn't what you wanted.

What did you do? Why is he hurting?

Havard did not give you the chance to ask. He knelt by your bed and wrapped you up in a hug. It was warm and snug. Yet, he held onto you for dear life with a desperation, as if afraid you would disappear... and you had no idea why.

"I... I never thought... Thank you." He whispered. You could feel the wetness against your cheek.

You think you misheard him at first. Why is he thanking you? You made him hurt?

Then he repeats it. Twice, thrice. He keeps repeating it, and hugging you tighter, and tighter. Yet, never too hard. He would never hurt you. You know this.

You are confused... but you hug him back as hard as you can.

"Thank you, papa." You whispered back to him. You did not need to specify what you were thankful for.

It was for everything.

------------LEXIA-----------

"Mama?" You said, phrasing it as a question. You think you understand what it means. You saw children out in the city use the word.

Lexia froze, face going very blank. She stared at you with wide eyes, uncertain about what to do.

Then she knelt down in front of you.

"You sure kid? That you wanna use such a big and important word on me?" She asked, voice oddly soft... and a little choked up? It didn't suit her usual style... but you thought this was Lexia too. Uncertain behind all her smiles, but usually hiding it well. That slightly awkward person who was afraid of being scolded by Alessa as much as the twins were. Lexia who loved teasing Havard, and testing his patience.

Lexia who sometimes used bad words, and let you get away with eating cookies before dinner. Lexia who was always there, Protecting you. From others and yourself.

"Mama." You repeated, a bit more certainly. It felt right.

Lexia inspected your face for a long time. Then she hugged you. Much more gently than usual, yet just as firmly. She was wearing her armor, but somehow the hug was warm. She even trapped your hands by accident.

"Ok... if you are sure..." She whispered to your ear. "I... I don't know if I am worthy of it, but I will try to be."

You could not see her face... You wondered what kind of a face she was making right now. You however could nuzzle her cheek.

It made her laugh.

That was all you wanted.

[clubsmarties]

"A lot of mishaps," he laughed, licking his lips after that small make out. The green apple aftertaste leaving traces on his lips. He would have thought she'd be a cherry type of girl but no even with chapstick she managed to surprise him. "M&M I call her that, she loves to be read stories. That's what we do every Friday night. It's why I only have that one class on Friday to make sure I've done my homework when I call her." He shrugged thinking by now he should be used to not having a home. He never had one before the Phillips scooped him up. "It's okay. I'm used to it. Maybe one day I'll find home." Eli's smile widened at the thought of getting stories of her. "I'll take it. Embarrassing? I highly doubt that. Any and all stories about you I'll be glad to hear."

"You're more than dust. You have a glow just some people can't see it. It's on them not on you." He gently squeezed her hand and smiled. "And that's enough. Always will be." Just because her mom didn't see her like that didn't mean she wasn't special. "Good. After all you can't dim your light for others. Not fair to you." Cooking and having a knack to learn seemed like a good combo. "Sounds like we're a match in kitchen heaven."

He couldn't help but smiled amused. "Carry a portable fan with you at all times. That way I don't have to be too far away from you. I know. It wasn't the brightest idea to move here but I also think it lead me to you. I am not sure if I believe in that but also not really a coincidence we met before we actually met. It was like," he thought about it. "A string pulling me toward you. Have you ever felt that?" Nodding his head he didn't think she'd take him up on it so quick but was glad she had. "Winter break coming up. Let's do it. I'm sure my sisters will love to join if you're okay with that. I need to see if they can come or one will be missing. Not sure Isa and hia schedule." He had to think hard on if he did go anywhere he had wanted to. "No. We stayed local or if we felt really adventurous we went to Colorado. But bucket list items for sure. Brazil? That is cool. That reminds me of one I forgot. Panama." He bumped into her and gave her a look. "Neither am I very good at sharing."

Eli turned around and sighed trying to find his sweater he hadn't worn in the week. Once he did he took it out and found bottoms that would fit her. Last time Inez bought him pants they were a little too tight so now they seemed like they'd fit Laurel. "Here, get comfortable. You can't stand or sit on the floor. You're my guest. I insist." His black striped hoodie was the one he gave her and handed her the bottoms. "These should fit you. I have an extra toothbrush in the drawer in the bathroom so feel free to use that. I promise it's brand new." Now he was thankful the Phillips siblings gave him so much in their care package. "If you need anything else let me know."

Cloud nine was too low for the blissful feeling she was experiencing as he returned her kiss. Laurel hoped, but didn't expect. Feeling him so close to her, well, it was impossible to melt while in his arms. "Clearly many talents," she agreed breathlessly, happily remaining in the daze he left her when he pulled away. Her knees felt weak, and she couldn't be more thankful for the seat she was on. There was no denying, she had fallen for him. It was a thing, right? Love at first dance? "The baby whisperer," the title made her laugh, picturing him as the ultimate babysitter. "Oh that sounds so cute, watching her grow up. You probably have some really good stories from your babysitting days. I can see why she's so close to you, big brother duties." Laurel rested her chin on her palm, listening to him talk more about Chicago. "I'm sorry to hear that, losing a home is not easy." Optimism wasn't her forte, despite the positivity she was trying to display, so she was familiar with his sentiment. It just saddened her that he didn't feel connected to a home, the sadness only increasing with his comment on his parents. Is that what led him here? "Maybe this place helps you find some hint or some direction to a new home. You still have a long time." After all, they were still so young. So much could happen, right? Wasn't that the world's big promise - adventure and twists/turns to find their place? "I know they'd love to meet you, hm I don't know about those stories though." Still, a resigned sigh followed. "They'll be eager to share the most embarrassing stories about me."

She had called herself an open book, so Laurel meant to deliver, even in the topics she tried avoiding. Her big one? Her family life. It often led to some variation of, that's family, you need to understand. The warmth from his hand soothed the turmoil she began to feel with the topic, like settling a storm that hadn't even begun. It was nice to hear otherwise for a change. "She's just...particular about what she wanted. You see past the dust then?" His reassurance brought a smile to her face, "careful what you wish for, but don't worry. I've been learning to be myself, promise." It helped to be in a new place with her dad, no more nagging in her ear. "You like to learn, and I like a challenge, hm...we'll be a good pair. We will add cooking to the list, finding a new recipe, and hope we don't burn the place down."

She was glad that he agreed, because it was the simple truth. It felt like a cliche to say that from the moment she saw him, but things really had not been the same since she spoke to him. "Good, consider it your new nickname. Pretty green eyes," how easily it flowed. "It could be, don't be surprised if I call you that in the middle of class." Or the middle of campus, that'd be funny. Would it embarrass him though? "You picked one hell of a state then." Not that she was complaining, Laurel probably wouldn't have met him otherwise. "Heatwaves are the standard here, but good to know you get irritable. I'll have to keep you near an a.c. unit."

Her eyes seemed to brighten just a smidge more, filled with excitement. "Really?" Laurel was basically a kid at Christmas. "I'd really like that. You can show me what I've been missing. We should totally plan it!" The thought had momentarily crossed her mind, thinking holiday plans and wanting to make the cabin idea happen for him, just to see him smile. Getting carried away was in her nature. But, him suggesting it? Well, that gave her free rein. "Have you visited any of them, or have a list of top three you'd like to visit? I'd like to spend any day with you, outside or inside. So, sign me up for this nature tour." She nodded without hesitation, confirmation was sitting right in front of her. "Nerdy is hot, absolutely. Sharing," she hummed in thought, even if the answer was already at the tip of her tongue. "No, I'm not a fan of sharing at all. Hope that's okay."

"Tell you what, you come over to my place. Well, my dad's place. We do that cooking lesson, and I can bring those pom poms out of retirement to see if the clap clap cheers stuck." Her voice was laced with amusement, using the words he used earlier. "I'm intrigued to hear these ideas you're thinking of. That would be great, company is really all I want, but I do love fun facts." Taking her hand shouldn't surprise her, but it still sent a light jolt of electricity through her. Laurel loved it though, how things flowed between them with barely any awkwardness. She felt like she had known him for ages, and not just weeks. "Green is a good one, might be becoming my favorite color too. Wow, you know all the good places. Madrid seems like a fun spot, and food..oh my god, probably so good. Me? I have a whole list of places, but top would be Brazil or Japan. Brazil for their carnival, but it also just looks so beautiful." She stepped into his room, offering him a smile as she looked around. "Thank you, I'll be alright." Couldn't get that cold, right? "Okay, I'll be here," she teased, knowing there was no intention to leave.

"Comfy looks good on you." No outside clothes. Well, Laurel was out of luck there. She was not exactly carrying an extra pair of pajamas in her backpack. "Makes sense, I'll just avoid your bed then. And, now I know the outside clothes thing, for future reference."

[nadas-dirthalen]

I Chose the Wrong Romance in a Game About Regret, and It Made the Game Better

A love letter to BioWare about Dragon Age: the Veilguard.

I don't have the thoughts in me for a formal review of all the aspects of gameplay at this time, nor do I have the brainpower for dissecting my every theory just yet.

But tonight, I want to write to you about the thing that stuck with me the most about Dragon Age: the Veilguard. And that is... I chose the wrong romance for my Rook, and it made the game unforgettable.

Veilguard endgame spoilers below the cut.

(I just liked this tiny screencap, okay. This specific dialogue isn't what I want to talk about.)

For a few days now, I've been trying to think of how to phrase what I want to say. The emotions I felt in the endgame of Veilguard were massive—to the tune I became dehydrated. To convey why that was, I think I have to start at the beginning.

This is the story of Winged Death: the party, the romance, and the headcanons that formed a nightmare combination to break me emotionally.

Meet my Rook: Thenera Sa'renan Aldwir, or Nera for short. A Veil Jumper who lost her mom to blight sickness when she was a teen; who tried to find the Wardens at Skyhold only to learn they'd been exiled; who joined the Veil Jumpers to protect people, but also honor her mother's memory. (Yes, all of this becomes relevant.)

Her name is taken from elven: Thenera from theneras (dream), and Sa'renan from sa (one; one more) and renan (voice). I used the patronymic system outlined in Project Elvhen: Sa'renan was her mother's name. I chose all this in late August, long before I'd really theorized anything substantive about Veilguard.

I did not know how much it would hurt.

All through the game, I got more and more into Nera's head. This was helped out a lot by how much footage I'd seen in September, how I knew Nera would be the "throw a chair while beating up an entire bar" Rook rather than try any attempt at diplomacy. How I knew she'd punch the First Warden without second thought, despite not knowing what the First Warden had done before Weisshaupt. She was always the "hit things with rocks to fix them" Veil Jumper to me, just like Bellara's dialogue references.

It also meant that I felt a lot of her insecurity in the early game: her doubt in her own intellect; her insecurity in her Dalish identity from being kicked out of her clan as a child and living in Wycome as a young adult; her acute awareness of her own trauma and fear around all things blight. To mirror my Inquisitor, who had Dirthamen vallaslin, I gave Nera Falon'Din vallaslin, to signify that she had seen too much death at far too young an age.

I even picked a party for her "default" group: Lucanis and Davrin. Because of Nera's Falon'Din vallaslin, Lucanis' demon wings, and Assan's battlefield presence, I gave my group a name: Winged Death.

And I loved them.

But just like I'd headcanoned a lot of Nera's backstory, I also hypothesized a lot about the Lucanis romance. And, to put it briefly... the game did not match what I expected, and the Lucanis romance was not to my enjoyment, personally. (If you like it, good! I'm glad you do! This post is about Nera, though.)

Right away, Lucanis asked about Nera's favourite drink. When she said tea and he made a disgusted noise and nothing else, I reloaded, choosing the "better" answer of liking the same coffee as him—something that prompted more dialogue. For me, in hindsight, this was the first moment I should have seen that for all Lucanis' charm, he would not fit my gruff, chair-throwing Veil Jumper. But I'd committed, and I was determined to see it through just once.

I didn't want Veilguard to be the story of an elf romancing an elf—for me, that was my Inquisitor's story. I wanted a new flavour.

Only... Lucanis' romance, for Nera, did not pick up much from there. Almost the entirety of act 2 was silent—and that was after saving Treviso. Lucanis seemed to care more for Neve and Minrathous than he did for Rook, in my perception. By then, I'd sunk into Nera's headspace, and I could feel her feeling neglected. I could feel her insecurities rearing their ugly heads: was she too blunt? Not intelligent enough? Somehow too elven, even for a Crow, whose organization is made up of so many elves?

You know who she constantly found acceptance in, though? Whose approval triggered almost every time Nera answered a question honestly, in the stern way that she was predisposed to do?

Davrin. The other half of Winged Death. The one who, now, was bickering with Lucanis almost nonstop in party banter, each constantly jabbing the other about how death would come for them, death would claim all they'd known, their choices would bury them.

Lucanis had precious few opportunities to discuss Nera being an elf; an elf Rook facing down their own gods. But Davrin? Davrin talked about it so much, he would know the horror of being called Da'len by Elgar'nan.

Together, they survived the Cauldron. And where did they shelter? In the ribcage of a slain archdemon. But not just any archdemon.

Zazikel. Who has been confirmed now, in a Veilguard codex, as Falon'Din's archdemon.

And where were the griffons allowed to go, at the end? Arlathan.

I could never have foreseen those parallels, and yet? There they were, piling up too late. I'd already made Nera's choices for her, and I'm not someone who would normally attempt a love triangle.

(She's so pleased with their shenanigans. Just look at that totally carefree and happy face.)

Lucanis' content dried up for Nera, but stayed pretty consistent for Neve—to the point that she had begun to feel sincerely cast aside. I began playing her with that mindset: as if she'd been set adrift, even as she locked in Lucanis' romance.

Around 45 hours into my ~60 hour playthrough, I found myself thinking... maybe I try the Davrinmance next game. Maybe I reroll Nera, even as a Veil Jumper again, to see those griffons in Arlathan. To see two Dalish elves haunted by the same ghosts, and see how they grow. I talked to friends about it. I even headcanoned some more, trying to see how Nera's narrative and personality might slot in with Davrin's questline.

In my head, that looked a little like Nera realizing she felt stronger kinship and connection with Davrin, but denying that to herself. She was, after all, locked in with someone else.

I let myself laugh at this, taking more screenshots of Nera and Davrin than of Nera and Lucanis, right up until the beginning of act 3.

And that's how BioWare got me.

If you're here, you know what comes next. I didn't.

I thought I needed Harding to potentially face down Solas, thanks to her line about wanting to look him in the eye after one of Solas' memories. I thought, maybe, some dialogue would unlock by having Harding in the party during any potential final confrontation.

This was the second time I went against Nera's own character: I chose to keep Harding at Nera's side, rather than Davrin. I did it for my Inquisitor.

And at first, I thought Davrin was surviving my choice.

I even felt happy—proud—that I freed him during the Ghilan'nain fight. I thought if I delayed too long, he might die to the fight's mechanics. But he survived that, too.

Then, the worst played out before my eyes: Lucanis going to take the shot at Ghilan'nain. Being caught. Davrin, racing in to defend. Being impaled. Lucanis hitting Ghilan'nain, only to appear suddenly dead—dead, somehow, how could he be dead, I'd just seen him?—seconds later.

Because of Arlathan, I'd thought this was just another Elgar'nan trick. Solas would come to save us soon. He had to. This was just fake-Solas, conjured by Elgar'nan to make Rook lash out or feel lost. Right?

It didn't hit me until I was in the Fade, and Solas was gone. Until Neve's statues were everywhere, because Nera had chosen Neve to risk that dangerous magic. Neve, who was her very antithesis; who was human enough and sophisticated enough and eloquent enough in ways my spellblade had struggled with reconciling since her teen years.

Saying it was my fault, that my Rook chose this for her—and she had. Her decision was motivated by her favour for Bellara.

I think this is when my Rook stopped denying things to herself. Right here.

This was the person she was closest with in her own party. This was the person who shared her feelings on both her culture and the blight. This was the person who brought joy to her days, with more meaningful dialogues (in Nera's opinion!) than Lucanis had had since act 1.

It is hard to put into words how hard this moment hit me. She had chosen wrong—and I had chosen for her. I was reminded of Taash's line from after Memory #2: "There was stuff he wanted to tell her. But he waited too long. And then she was dead."

And then she was dead.

My Rook knew why Fade Jail held her so well, in that moment. Even before the Varric reveal that had my tear ducts begging for mercy.

The game's mechanics had done that to her. Locked her into a romance with Lucanis (my choice, hellbent on seeing it through), didn't let her leave, didn't allow for her to say anything akin to, 'Hey, Davrin, not in this worldstate... but how about the next one?' (and all of those, for the record, are 100% understandable, and just the nature of video games!)

Lucanis continued to have little in the way of content that fit Nera, and was First Talon, to boot. Nothing in the game could change that; games aren't designed that way. He was destined for a life she was never going to enjoy, locked in to that choice—and she, and I, should've figured it out sooner.

We didn't. Varric was dead. Everything had been a lie. We'd been duped; played. We were never smart enough; together, we were doomed all along.

Every insecurity I'd imagined for Nera came crashing down. And all of them, I'd gleaned from hints in Companions Week. From the footage that released on September 19, showing Rook's backstory choices. From the overall tone of the promotional material we saw, and the strong emphasis on companions, and the declaration of the theme of regret.

And it culminated in me crying harder than I have at any piece of media.

Ever.

Ever.

BioWare gave me every hint I needed to make a fitting Rook, and every single choice they showed me I could make was a weapon. That's why I not only accept, but appreciate the 'spoilers' that we got from Bioware beforehand. That's why I am so far from jaded about the Lucanismance. I could not denounce this experience if I tried, and you know why?

Because through Lucanis' continued flirtatious banter with Neve, the way he stays continually animated so close to her, and the way he gives the same mid-combat praise to Neve as to Rook, my Rook felt like a woman scorned. And it made the game BETTER.

I wouldn't have cried so hard, for so long, if Nera was allowed to be happy. I wouldn't have been shaken to my core as a Solavellan, wondering if there really could be a light at the end of this long, dark tunnel.

The game wouldn't have hit me like it did if Lucanis hadn't come to Rook to declare his feelings only after she had spent time mourning Davrin and Assan. It wouldn't have hurt so good if Lucanis' dialogue afterward never mentioned his worry for exclusively Neve, and not the loss of Davrin—who he'd travelled with all game long.

But Solas had done it: he had molded Nera into a creature of pure regret.

And I, through my determination to try a romance that turned out not to fit my Rook, had let him.

The way it was structured, Lucanis' every sweet word rang hollow after Nera was freed from the Fade, and it made Davrin's, Varric's, and (what I thought was) Neve's deaths hurt that much worse.

There was nothing that could fix the pain in Nera's heart, the pain of her wrong choices not just in failing to romance Davrin, but failing to question Solas, failing to notice peculiarities about "Varric" in the Lighthouse. She felt like she failed, and she had. Undeniably. Because no matter where the conclusion of the game would take us, she'd never end up happy. She'd never want the life of a First Talon's spouse.

Every piece of her character lined up with regret, all at once. It all clicked into place, all in two soul-crushing hours.

Her name is Thenera Sa'renan Aldwir—and she was the victim of a dream of just one voice. She wears Falon'Din vallaslin, and was given a moment to spend time alone with the many, many dead.

Falon'Din: friend of the dead. That was what Nera had become, wasn't it? Because her closest party member—and what might have been her truer love—would not be coming back. Because I could feel that a part of her did not want to leave Fade Jail, and that Emmrich really did have to pull her out.

Winged Death destroyed her.

She rained down fire and lightning all through parts 13 and 14. She became Wrath and Thunder. I let her hit enemies harder than she had to, wasting her mana at every opportunity. Let her vent her every frustration. All I could think of, through the hurt, was this codex.

Elgar'nan, Wrath and Thunder, Give us glory. Give us victory, over the Earth that shakes our cities. Strike the usurpers with your lightning. Burn the ground under your gaze. Bring Winged Death against those who throw down our work.

Nera became all that was left of Winged Death, having let Lucanis fight with the Crows, taking Taash and Harding instead.

Elgar'nan was resistant to all her magic in that final fight. She was weakest at the end, and I didn't want to change her specialization to avoid that fact. She was broken, deep down. Solas' happy ending did not fix what the game had done to Nera's heart.

She, the other half to my Inquisitor, ended up with the opposite fate. Where my Inquisitor's journey on the din'anshiral was ending (or at least, was no longer alone), Nera had thought she had the companionship she wanted, only to wind up on the din'anshiral alone, with no way of recovering Davrin.

Which brings me to her last parallel: Solas' devotion to Mythal. Saying that if he did not tear down the Veil, then "I—she would have died for nothing."

To love someone and say nothing; it twisted them both up inside. Rook and Solas, always intended to be mirrors. One death, enough for each of them to bring the Eldest of the Sun to his knees. To change the elven pantheon forever.

I don't know how I managed to stumble upon this level of pain, but I could not be gladder that I did.

So, at the end of this extremely long post, here is my praise for BioWare. You mad geniuses, if any of you ever, ever see this... you wove regret into this game so well, so deeply, that my own passing thoughts about romance beats and game mechanics wound up stabbing me an additional time in Fade Jail, just as deep as the wound of Varric's death.

So well was this narrative constructed that I found my Rook in every corner of this story, even its tiniest references twining with every headcanon I had made.

Veilguard is so good, so profound, that a romance that did not work for me made the game better. That, to me, is the mark of a kickass narrative: one that fits almost any headcanon while still delivering on a deep, resonant theme.

BioWare couldn't have known that my party would be "Winged Death." Couldn't have known Nera, or her position as a Veil Jumper, or her doubt in her own intellect and her own ability to love. Yet, that is the beauty of Veilguard and of Dragon Age in general: they don't have to know. The writing is brilliant enough that it fits as much as one single story can in terms of possibility, while still hitting home with the same theme for everyone.

So thank you, BioWare. Thank you to every writer, to every animator, to every amazing, talented human whose hands and minds touched this game.

I needed the cry after a hard year, and you all delivered in the best way. I'm doing the Davrinmance now—because I think it's right to try it, and I think Nera deserves it—but this run will always hold the dearest place in my heart. The one where the regret bloomed, in part, because of jokes and headcanons I had made in the middle of a romance I did not enjoy, wishing for a different second playthrough.

The one where it all stabbed me, all at once. You bastards. (affectionate)

[starry-bi-sky]

i have... ✨Danyal Al Ghul Headcanons✨ but specifically for my yaelokre danyal oneshot

There's also the tumblr post here but I recommend the link in the title because its the ao3 version, and that one is edited and has some stuff in it that's not in the tumblr post, and will be the version I'm using.

So for summary: this Danyal is also from a Demon Siblings Au where Danny is five years older than Damian. However, things turned out a bit differently, and Danny and Damian had a fantastic relationship with one another. Danny loved music and regularly came up with songs to sing to Damian with. Specifically the folk band Yaelokre's EP "Hayfields" (seriously go fucking listen to it its sooo good. Harpy Hare is the second song but its my favorite. Special shoutout to @gascansposts for introducing the band to me)

He falls off a train when he's twelve and Damian is seven while the two of them and Talia are on mission. He ends up with magically induced amnesia and wakes up in Arkansas while the Fentons are on their yearly Divorce-iversary visit to Aunt Alica, and since he can only remember his name, he ends up being taken into their care.

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Yaelokre Danny has the same facial scar as Things in Threes Danyal, since he was initially another version of him where things turned out better. I'm debating on whether or not I should take it away however, and give him a different scar (maybe from when he fell off the train?), just because the scar is a pretty key identifier for Ti3 Danyal.

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Danny frequently visits Aunt Alicia in Arkansas! Well, only after he gets settled in and stuff. He doesn't really like the city that much and prefers the countryside where Alicia lives. I know she lives in a cabin but I'm changing it to a farm, so she puts Danny to work and gets him to help her.

I don't want to confine his hobbies to only being star stuff, because people tend to have more than one hobby and I feel like it reduces him to one-dimensionality, so he likes to garden, and learns guitar. His room becomes filled with plants, and he turns their roof into a rooftop greenhouse right below to OPS Center.

He has a complex relationship with the weapons from his past, but he's not... like... appalled by it? When he finds his weapons in the Fenton attic all he thinks is that they're his weapons, and he starts carrying a knife on him afterwards. Essentially he becomes fascinated with weaponry because its one of the few physical ties he has to his past, and while he's not training like he is in the League, he allows his strong muscle memory to guide him through his katas.

Danny likes climbing things. This causes Problems For Everyone Else.

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Danny was not the "kinder Al Ghul" in the League. His kindness extended to his brother and family, and that's it. To everyone else he had high expectations out of them, and the pride you'd expect from the grandson of Ra's Al Ghul and trained by its top members. While he wasn't like, unnecessarily cruel or anything, he wasn't merciful either.

This transfers post-train fall as him coming off as no-nonsense and unforgiving. He's not fond of the idea of giving people second chances, and is skeptical of the idea. He's disgusted by incompetency and views it as an unforgivable offense, especially if he thinks that the person should know better, although he's not sure why. Some egocentrism for the soul.

He doesn't like being touched by anyone who isn't family, and gets irritated when anyone grabs him or holds onto him for extended amounts of time. Dash has gotten hit so many times. With Jack Fenton's tendency for abrupt physical affection, it doesn't make it any better. I'd argue it'd make it worse because Danny doesn't want to be touched more often than not.

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Danyal had a red scarf in the League that he wore on his last mission, it came off before he fell off and caught itself on the roof. Damian still has it and took it with him to Wayne Manor. He's got it locked in his room and takes it out when he's alone and missing Danny the most. One time he forgot to put it away before leaving his room, and Dick was visiting the manor for something and found it. Damian found him holding it and freaked out.

Dick could only say "I've never seen you wear this, Damian, this is really pretty--" before Damian shoved him to the floor and stole it out of his hands, before screaming at him; "Don't touch this! You don't ever touch this! This is mine! You hear me!?"

It caused such a commotion that the rest of the family present came to see what the fuss was about, and Damian kicked them all out of his room. Dick is the one brother Damian's the closest with, so the fact he reacted so strongly shocked them all.

This is likely what leads to the "Danyal" conversation.

[dykedvonte]

wanted to say I appreciate your nuanced takes on MW and especially Curly. i don't get the claim that the fandom is full of Curly apologists when majority (esp yt and tiktok) say he's worse than Jimmy. Yes there's commentary about bro culture defending people, he def messed up in trying to placate Jimmy (tbh "we'll fix this" sounded more like trying to keep someone prone to outbursts like Jim calm and not hurt Anya/himself) but I don't think he did nothing to help Anya, since she continued to confide in him and he had less than a week to resolve it before the crash (I also don't get everyone saying he knew for ages when it seems like Anya told him that same week). I get Jimmy's a pos but saying stuff like Curly should've known he'd crash the ship or that Jim had a criminal record he ignored, reducing them to obviously horrible villain and willfully ignorant sidekick feels like a disservice to the game. If your best friend turned out to be horrible, what would you do in a confined space in the span of a few days to respond? I'd say some of the horror comes from trying to do good but ultimately failing, Curly's state after the crash is meant to be tragic horror not revenge/punishment

Thank you and this is what I want to get across.

A lot of information we have to supplement when it comes to how long things have been happening on this current ship. I think people try to add on to the horror and negligence by making things more obvious so it can feel like it was easier to avoid when, true to life, its not. Jimmy clearly didn't deserve or appreciate what Curly did for him in getting him the job, but do you think if Jimmy was that big of a menace on Earth he would've given him a position where he could have that level of power over people's lives? There's something in the fact he specifically chose to pick a position so close to himself where he could watch Jimmy.

I hate the bro code argument because that is a whole can of worms people really don't get. That sort of mentality is born from the general respect and preference of male matter over female ones. Curly is clearly not that guy, he is absent minded about the issue and inadvertently dismissive but he clearly believes Anya, he just can't understand what she's going through. It's an onslaught of information that no one really reacts right to. Additonally, the entire discussion of her assualt plays to heavy into the idea that there is fault outside of the perpertratior when it comes to SA. It's too close if she only did this or if Curly had protected her better but the fact of the matter is Jimmy did what he did. He did it before any of the conversations with Anya about it and it's why her behavior seemed to change so drastically in those last two days.

He has other conflicting thought and while his role as a Captain should've taken over, people act like it's not a very human thing to have such a toxic presence cloud your judgement. It is never easy to separate friend from coworker once that connection is formed, you want to help them, especially if they were friend first and for a long while like in this case. It's not right, but people act like it would be easy when the game clearly points out that no choice is easy to make, especially when you have to make it for more than one person. You have the weigh the consequences, look at all the options and make a plan. People can headcanon and decide how long things where happening, but if we look at what we were presented through the characters eyes, the only person given time to do that was Jimmy.

He waited two months after the crash to appoint himself Captain. Every time a problem was brought up he immediately took action and refused to sit on it and find a better solution. I think it's important to look at the warped way Jimmy takes initiative where Curly didn't as it works as a good contrast of why you don't just run in to "fix" things. The quickest and easiest option may not be the safest or most beneficial. I think some thoughts on the game suffer from the black and white thinking the game doesn't operate on along with us being voyeurs. We see what exactly led to what but the characters don't. They don't have the hindsight and foresight we do and even ours is scrambled by the non-linear story telling.

Like it's hard to talk abuou those grey zones without sounding like an apologist because you're explaining why taking responsibility isn't easy. It's not and it's weird to act like it would be in a scenerio that led up to the events of the game knowing what we know. We see all these characters in such isolated moments with various things before, in between, after and even during we aren't privy too. The idea that Jimmy is worse than Curly heavily banks on the words Jimmy was saying to Jimmy before he crashed the ship. That whatever happened on the ship was his responsibility to bare, which is true due to his position. But, are they not still not responsible for taking the actions Curly then must bare?

Like i feel like people think that these are situation that become easier with age or when you are in a postion of authority and they aren't. You don't lose your biases or gain some sudden knowledge that makes it easier. It just becomes more tiring as you keep dealing with it. I would be first in line to say Curly fucked up and should've done more but the idea he knew how bad it could get or he really saw the worst in the people around him and ignored it pretty much ignores a huge aspect of his character and the game.