#some things happen the same even in different worlds

[ellewritesx]

possession agreement

(part three of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: Jealousy brought him to the bar. Possession dragged you into his lap.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), kind of a size kink, choking kink, some light stalking, jealous and possessive behavior, slutshaming, lots of feels

A/N: thank you guys so much for the love on the series so far! i've gotten a lot of requests to be added to the tag list, so if i've accidentally overlooked yours, just let me know :) hope you like this one. don't cheer too soon. good luck x

Word Count: 4,851

...

He sees you before you see him.

The bar is crowded, low amber lighting pressing warm against your sweaty skin and hazy music rattling deeply in your ribs. You're loosely cradling a drink, something pink and sweet, wrapped in an emerald green dress with iridescent sequins, so short it barely clings to your thighs, cinched at the waist and hugging every inch of your body like it was poured onto your skin.

It's a new dress, bought two days ago with the little black card that Harry had tossed in front of you on the bed one night, like it meant nothing. ''Just use it'', he'd said. ''Buy whatever you want.''

And that you did. You've always been so obedient, so eager to please. It's one of the reasons your arrangement works so well. But lately, the transactions have started to blur into something... different. It's not just groceries and bus tickets and rent anymore. Not just the careful, predictable spending of someone just taking what they need.

Now it's glossy department store visits, spontaneous dinners for one at upscale restaurants, even spa days and yoga retreats. Designer perfume that clings to your skin. Heels that cost more than your rent. Dresses that shimmer in the dark.

He'd noticed the changes in you. All the little shifts.

Your perfume was the first thing that changed. Sweet, like you, expensive in a way that clings, notes of vanilla and jasmine, and something more adventurous he can't quite name.

It lingers in his car after he drops you off. Lingers even longer in his sheets. The first time it happened, he caught himself burrowing into the pillow you had laid on, inhaling so deeply it left him light-headed. He changed the linens the next morning with a scowl, told himself it was distracting. Unprofessional.

He tried to blame this momentary lapse of judgment on the perfume, on its tenacity, its price tag. But he knew. It wasn't about the perfume. It was you.

The way your voice softens when you say his name, a tone you save just for him. The way your smile twitches when you try not to laugh at the noises of complaint he makes when you leave the bed. The way you're always so kind to him, even when he's cold or harsh or difficult. He doesn't know what to do with that kind of softness. That kind of grace. Especially when it's directed at him.

You've changed, he can see it in the way you carry yourself, the way you walk into a room with your chin up a little higher. But you're still the same at your core. Still shy when he mentions sex outside the bedroom, just a passing comment, really, a teasing whisper in your ear when you're cooking or reading a book. Still thanking him every time he buys you something as simple as a coffee, even though he always rolls his eyes and mutters ''it's part of the deal, baby''. Still too gentle for this world. Still too good for him.

And the lingerie... fuck. He's seen the credit card charges. Little things that cost hundreds, maybe thousands, of pounds. And he knows it's for him. You never say it, but you only wear them when you know he'll be the one undressing you.

He fucking loves it.

The timid smile on your face when he tugs off your hoodie, revealing the sheer, shimmering little things that look painted onto your skin like he's unwrapping a present. Pearlescent mesh that cups your tits like a second skin, thin garters that dig into the plush curve of your thighs, delicate embroidery right where his mouth loves to be. You never say much when he peels it off, just blush and look up at him like you're waiting for his approval. He always grins. ''Fuckin' love that you wear my money like this.''

You moan when he tells you how gorgeous you look. You shiver when he mutters how good it feels knowing no one else gets to see you like this. Sometimes, when he's buried between your thighs, he thinks about snapping photos, keeping a private collection, but he reckons you wouldn't allow him.

After all, even after all these weeks of tangled limbs and messy sheets, you still won't let him fuck you, not properly. Not the way he wants to. Needs to. You'd always politely stopped him when things started to slip too far, and he'd respected that, without question, without pressure. Never asked why.

Until one night, after you'd melted beneath his mouth, trying to catch your breath, when he'd propped up his face on one hand, stroking your arm in slow, lazy circles with the other. He'd asked, quiet and curious, ''Why d'you always stop me, baby?'' Not accusing, not frustrated, just genuinely wondering.

You'd been shy about it. Said it softly, hesitantly. That you just wanted to get to know him better before doing something that intimate. That it wasn't about him, not at all. That it just meant more to you. He'd never thought of sex as anything but a release, as friction and sweat and a way to shut off his brain, and he'd felt something odd curl in his chest at that. Not annoyance. Not rejection. Just… respect. Maybe even admiration. You saw sex as special, sacred, and for once, he wanted to deserve that. Deserve you.

God, what was he turning into?

The question lingers in the back of his mind as he watches you from his shadowed corner near the back of the bar, hidden by the low-hanging bulbs and velvet curtains, eyes tracking you like a sniper with his jaw set and his knuckles white.

You're blissfully unaware. You sip your cocktail, lips glossed and sticky around the rim, smiling at something on your phone as if you don't feel the heat of a dozen gazes trained on your body. You don't even seem to notice the way all the men in the bar study your every movement. You don't hear the way the women whisper in jealousy about your dress, your confidence. A girl who could get anything she wants with just a bat of her eyelashes.

He hadn't planned to come. You hadn't even told him where you'd be. You hadn't needed to. He always finds out.

The moment he saw the tag from your new dress in the trash and the ridiculously high charge made to his credit card, he knew. You were out. Without him. In that dress, on his dime.

You laugh at something the barista says, the sound bright and genuine, and his throat tightens. God, you're pretty. That's the worst part. You're pretty and kind and so stupidly innocent about it all, like you don't realize what you do to people when you walk into a room. Like you don't realize what you do to him.

He ducks into the men's bathroom quickly, just to splash cold water in his face, just to try to snap himself out of whatever trance you've seemed to put him in. Get it together, Harry.

He swiftly slides back into his booth when he returns, and for a second he debates going up to you, making sure that everyone sees that he's the one taking you home at the end of the night.

Then the guy approaches.

He's tall. Closer to your age than Harry is. Clean-shaven and grinning like he actually believes he has a chance. Harry leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he watches the stranger slide into your space, hand braced casually on the bar beside your elbow.

''Hey,'' he says, voice cocky but smooth, sounding charming enough to hide the hint of arrogance. ''I was gonna wait for your boyfriend to come back from the bathroom, but… I figured, screw it. Mind if I buy your next drink?''

You blink up at him, a little surprised, but you smile sweetly at him nonetheless. ''Actually, I'm here alone.''

That goes straight to Harry's gut. Alone. You're here alone, looking like that. Wearing his money. Sitting pretty on a barstool like a trophy someone forgot to take home and worship. His jaw ticks.

''Damn,'' the guy says, clearly pleased. ''Lucky me, then. You're so hot, I can't believe no one's snatched you up yet.''

You smile politely, but Harry can see the offense etching its way into your skin, a delicate frown sitting on your pretty face. That's my girl, he thinks. He'd learned early on into your arrangement that you didn't appreciate being degraded or objectified, and he'd nearly lost his family jewels the first time he called you '''hot''. ''I'm not a cup of tea, Harry'', you'd told him defiantly.

''No, I mean it,'' the guy presses, inching closer. ''It's like you walked in and I forgot what I was doing. I've been watching you the whole time, just couldn't take my eyes off you.''

Your smile falters just slightly. Harry sees it. The way your fingers tighten around your glass. The way you glance away, uncertain, uncomfortable. But the guy keeps going.

''Listen, I know this is forward, but do you wanna get out of here? Maybe hit another place with better music? Or straight to my place, if you'd prefer,'' he asks confidently.

Harry's up before he realizes it, drink forgotten on the table behind him. The blood in his veins is cold, electric, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a wire. He's on autopilot as he cuts through the bar, ignoring the brush of shoulders, the flicker of stares.

His only focus is you. His girl and a stranger who clearly has no idea what he's playing with.

He stops just behind you, hand curling around your waist, fingers splaying possessively across the curve of your side.

''She's taken.''

His voice is low. Rough. Measured, but only just. A breath away from breaking this man's nose.

You go stiff in his grip. Your eyes snap to his, wide, caught somewhere between shock and relief. The guy blinks, taking a step back with his hands raised.

''Look, man, she said she was alone—''

''And now she's not. Move.'' His eyebrows raise, the look on his face saying ''try me. I dare you.''

The guy swallows and stammers something, but he's already turning to retreat. You open your mouth, debating whether to strangle Harry for following you here or kiss him for saving you from that creep.

But Harry doesn't give you the chance to speak. His hand clamps around your wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure to make it clear; you're leaving.

''Harry—'' you start, but he's already dragging you through the crowd, jaw locked, pace fast. You trip slightly in your heels, breath catching as you stumble after him.

The door slams open with a sharp crack, rain sweeping in around you both like it's part of his fury. He storms out first, and you stumble after him, heels clicking sharply against the wet pavement, glittering dress clinging tighter to your skin with each second.

The streetlights blur with water, casting gold halos onto the slick pavement. He doesn't let go of you even as the rain soaks your clothes. He doesn't even look at you. Just paces a few feet away, running a hand through his damp hair like it might somehow tame the chaos boiling inside him.

''What the fuck were you thinking?'' His voice is thunderous, splitting the air like the lightning that's blocks away from you. He finally turns to face you, jaw clenched, lips curled in a frustrated snarl. ''Out. Alone. Dressed like that? Do you have any idea what kind of creeps hang around places like this?''

Your heart is racing, not just from the cold or the scolding, but from the abruptness of it all, how you'd gone from laughing over a cocktail to being dragged out like a misbehaving child.

''Excuse me?'' You blink against the rain, glaring at him through your soaked lashes. ''I was having a drink. I was fine.''

He scoffs, taking a step closer. ''You call that fine? That guy was three seconds away from dragging you into a fucking alley. And you were smiling at him. Entertaining his delusions. You're a woman, for God's sake. Don't you know better than to engage with men like that?''

You huff out a bitter laugh. ''Men like what, Harry? Men who find my location, who watch me from dark corners?''

''I was keeping an eye on you!''

''You were stalking me.''

''Well, apparently I have to, because you don't seem to have any survival instincts whatsoever.''

''I was being polite!''

''You were flirting.''

You throw your hands up in exasperation. He's behaving like a petulant child. ''And what if I was? It's not like you're my boyfriend.''

That hits him like a slap in the face. He smiles tight-lipped, bitter. ''Right. Not like I have a say, right? Because I'm just the guy funding your new lifestyle, paying for your little wardrobe, all those fucking slutty dresses—''

''Are you seriously throwing that in my face right now?'' You spit back at him, offense settling deeper in your bones than the cold.

He doesn't say anything. He knows that comment was low, even for him, but he doesn't take it back. He can't, he's too deep in it now.

You take a shaky breath, fists curled at your sides. ''I didn't ask for any of that. You offered. You set the rules. The boundaries. Yet here you are, dragging me into the street like a jealous ex.''

His eyes widen slightly, running his hand through his soaked hair in frustration. ''I'm not jealous,'' he says defensively, but his voice lacks the conviction it usually carries.

''Bullshit.''

''I'm not.''

You tilt your head at him, voice growing quieter, the exhaustion seeping in. ''Then why are you out here? Why were you in there, Harry? Don't lie to me. I'll know.''

He flinches like you hit him, and for a second, he doesn't have an answer. Just stares at you, rain dripping down his temples as his drenched curls stick to his skin, his jaw tight.

You know you've hit the nail right on the head. There's no use pretending anymore. He can't stand the idea of someone else touching you, looking at you, even if he's the one who keeps you at arm's length. Even if he swore he didn't want anything more.

''I didn't like the way he was looking at you,'' he finally mutters under his breath, a hint of shame crawling up his neck.

You bite back the lump in your throat. ''Why?''

He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again. His hands twitch at his sides, like he doesn't know whether to reach for you or push you away. He looks back at you, and the fury in his eyes is morphs into something softer as his gaze drops briefly to your dress, soaked through and clinging to every curve.

You're shivering now, teeth chattering every few seconds, hair sticking to your cheeks, mascara probably halfway down your face. You're trying so hard not to cry, not to shake, not to break in half in front of him. But he sees it.

''Fuck—'' he breathes, almost to himself. Like he can't believe he let it get this far. Let himself get this far. Setting boundaries and breaking them. Pushing you away but still kissing your skin.

Shoving his feelings so far down until it was too late to realize they'd consumed him.

He shrugs off his coat in one swift motion and steps forward before you can say a word. He drapes it around your shoulders and tugs it closed in the front, hands lingering a beat too long on the lapels. You stare at him, stunned, lips parted.

His hand lifts, almost hesitant, and brushes your soaked hair gently out of your face. The contact is soft, so impossibly soft after all that screaming. His palm lingers against your cheek, warm, even now.

He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing, and he's staring at you like he doesn't know what the hell to do with everything building behind his eyes. You nuzzle into his hand, pressing a soft kiss to his wrist.

You don't know who leans in first. Maybe you both do. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe it's fate.

Your lips crash into his like a dam breaking, weeks of tension and questions and all pouring out in one desperate collision. He freezes for a split second, like he hadn't considered this outcome, like he didn't know he was drowning until your lips pulled him to the surface. But then he's kissing you back with every ounce of heat and anger and longing he's buried beneath his rules.

One hand fists in your hair, the other at the small of your back, pressing you into him like he's terrified you'll vanish if there's even a sliver of distance between you. It's messy, wet, a little frantic, but it's real. Your arms slide around his neck, trembling hands clinging to the soaked collar of his shirt.

You've never done this before. Never kissed. Never crossed that invisible line. But now that it's happening, it feels inevitable. Like everything else was just leading up to this moment.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathless. His chest is heaving. Your lips are swollen. His hands are still on you, fingers twitching like they don't want to let go. You look at him and see it in his eyes. The want. The fear. The guilt. The hope.

Neither of you says a word. You just stand there, shaking under his coat in the pouring rain, while your heart beats loud enough to drown out the thunder.

He doesn't speak as he suddenly pulls you through the downpour. Just stalks toward his car while you try to match his pace, your heels slipping on the slick asphalt, but he doesn't slow down. His hand is locked around your wrist like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go.

He tugs the door to the driver's seat open impatiently and practically throws himself in, dragging you with him, wet limbs tangling, your body landing hard against his in the cramped front seat.

The door slams shut behind you, muting the sound of the rain to a steady percussion against the roof, the storm now caged outside while another builds in the tight, humid air between you. You're both drenched, clothes sticking to your bodies like a second skin, breaths ragged, chests heaving.

Your knees hit either side of his hips, thighs sliding against his jeans as you straddle him awkwardly in the seat. His hands are already under your dress, bunching the fabric up to your waist with zero finesse, just raw impatience. ''Wore this to tease me?'' he hisses, jaw clenched, eyes dark as sin. ''Parading around in this tiny fucking dress like you don't belong to someone?''

''I don't belong to anyone,'' you retort defiantly, hating it when you're treated like an object, like a possession.

But right now, you're breathless, and you don't sound so convinced anymore. Not when you're rutting your hips down against the hard line of his cock in his jeans, not when your panties are clinging to you, wet from both the rain and your own arousal.

He barks out a laugh that's all raging jealousy and lust. ''Bullshit. You belong to me. This cunt belongs to me.''

You whimper at his vulgarity, grinding down harder. The windows start fogging up around the edges as his hands grip your ass, dragging your body against his. ''You're such a desperate little thing,'' he mutters, cock thick and straining beneath you. ''Bet you'd let me fuck you raw right now, wouldn't you? Right here in my fucking car. Don't care if people walk past and see, do you?''

You shake your head, drunk off him, dizzy from the filth in his voice, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

''You're so fucked up for me, baby. Look at you. Letting me do this to you. Wish that fucking creep from the bar was here to see how you behave when it's just you and me. Fuckin' filthy, baby.''

Your hands shake pathetically as you work open his jeans. He helps, yanking the zipper down, pulling himself out with a hiss. And then… Jesus Christ.

Your mouth goes dry. You'd nearly forgotten how massive he is. Thick and veiny and already leaking at the tip, twitching against your thigh. You stare like you've never seen him before. How the hell is that going to fit inside of you?

He must see the flicker of nerves in your eyes because his voice softens just slightly, only for a second. ''You sure?'' he asks sternly, his hand skimming your thigh, eyes watching you like a hawk.

You nod. ''I want to. I just... Fuck, Harry, you're big.''

His jaw flexes with pride, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, you feel him reach under your dress again, curling his fingers into the waistband of your panties and starts to drag them down.

''Up,'' he murmurs. ''Need these off you.''

You shift your weight onto your knees to help, thighs bracketing his hips as he tugs the soaked fabric down your legs. But as you sit up, spine straightening in the cramped car, your head smacks hard into the roof.

''Ow—fuck!'' you hiss, dropping back down on his lap instantly and grabbing the crown of your head with both hands.

Harry freezes. Then his lips twitch. Then he laughs.

''Shit, are you okay?'' he asks between chuckles, clearly trying and failing to stifle them, swatting your hands away to cradle the back of your head and inspect the damage.

You glare at him, shoving his shoulder when he presses a finger into the bruise that's surely forming on your scalp. ''Do I look okay?''

''You look like you just lost a fight with the ceiling, baby,'' he says, grinning now, voice warm with amusement.

You swat his chest, trying to look mad, but the corner of your mouth quirks too. ''Don't laugh, it hurts like a bitch.''

''Aw, c'mere.'' He pulls you forward into a kiss, soft and smiling. ''You're alright. I've got you.''

The lingering tension from your fight earlier melts away, and you let him take your panties the rest of the way off. Let him hold you steady again. Let yourself breathe.

His fingers brush through your soaked folds like he's checking how ready you are, and he hums in approval, almost smug. ''So wet for me already, baby. I barely even touched you.''

Your thighs twitch. He lines himself up with you, holds your hips, and begins to guide you down slowly. ''Just breathe, baby. Gonna go slow. Let me stretch you.''

You sink an inch. Then two. Then stop with a sharp inhale, your nails digging into his shoulders.

''Fuck, too much?''

You shake your head. Your walls are fluttering around him, pulsing tight as your body struggles to accommodate his size. But God, you want to. You want to take all of him. You want to be ruined by him.

''Just... give me a second,'' you whisper, barely able to speak.

And he does. He leans up, wraps one arm around you to pull you impossibly close, forcing your back to arch into him. He kisses your jaw. Your cheek. Your collarbone. Your shoulder. ''You're doing so good,'' he murmurs. ''So fucking good for me. My pretty girl.''

The praise knocks something loose in you. You grip the back of his neck, burying your face in his wet curls at the top of his head as you slowly start to sink down further, inch by inch. It burns, but it's good, thick and overwhelming, your slick easing the way.

''God, I can feel you squeezing me,'' he growls, forehead dropping to rest on your chest. ''Tight little cunt's choking me, baby. Fuck.''

By the time you've taken all of him, you feel split open, fuller than you ever thought possible. You both freeze there, chests heaving, soaking wet and panting. You clench around him instinctively and he moans, moans, like he's losing control.

''I've never let anyone ride me before,'' he pants, dragging his hands up your sides as you adjust. ''You know that?''

Your brows twitch up, surprised, your hand combing through his wet curls, his face still pressed against your boobs. ''Why?''

''Don't like giving up control,'' he admits. ''But fuck...You, I'd let you do anything. Look at you. Look at how pretty you are on my cock.''

Your lips part, stunned by the confession, by the way his voice strains at the edges, the hunger in his eyes when he pulls back up, looking at you like he's unraveling beneath you.

He rocks his hips up just slightly, and the friction sends sparks through your stomach. You brace your palms against his chest and start moving, slow at first, lifting your hips and dropping back down. He hisses between his teeth.

''Fuck, yes. That's it. Ride me, baby. Show me how bad you need it.''

You moan as you begin to find a rhythm, the tight squeeze and drag of him making your head spin. Every time you drop down, it feels like he's deeper, thicker, rubbing that spot that makes your vision blur.

One hand shoots to your throat, squeezing gently as his hips thrust up into you sharply. ''This what you wanted, huh?” he snarls, grip tight enough to make your breath catch. ''Wanted to tease me all night just so I'd fuck you like this?''

You nod desperately, moaning as his fingers flex at your neck. ''Harry, please.''

''You're mine,'' he growls, thrusting up into you harder now, no longer letting you lead. ''Mine to look at. Mine to touch. Mine to fuck.''

His possessiveness makes you clench hard around him, the struggle to breathe making you feel dizzy and depraved and his. You're barely keeping up anymore, your thighs burning, body trembling, but he's got you, one hand guiding your hips while the other keeps you tethered to him by the throat.

Your head falls back and he takes the opportunity to mark your neck, tongue dragging over your skin before he bites down and groans, ''Gonna come inside you, baby. Gonna fill you up so good. Let everyone know who you belong to.''

You cry out, slamming your hips down on his, his cock punching deep as he fucks up into you, harder now, rough and punishing.

''Tell me you're mine,'' he demands. ''Say it.''

''I'm yours,'' you sob. ''Harry, fuck, yours—''

That's all it takes.

He lets go, growling as he snaps his hips up again, again, again. You feel him spill inside you with a strangled curse, hot and endless, his entire body trembling beneath yours. He groans your name into your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around your back as if he could fuse your bodies together and keep you there.

His release spurs on your own, and he lets out a choked moan when you squeeze him, riding out the high, milking him of every last drop, as the coil in your stomach snaps.

You're shaking, both of you breathing heavy in the steamed-up car, rain pattering against the windows, your soaked dress still bunched around your waist.

And when you finally open your eyes and see the way he's still looking at you, jaw clenched, lashes wet, hand stroking your thigh possessively, you breath hitches.

He lets you linger against him for a second too long. You can feel the rapid thrum of his heart under your palm, the slight tremble in his fingers where they rest on your thigh. But then, just as you're starting to think this might mean something, he pulls away.

He gently nudges you off his lap, tucking himself back into his jeans, like the moment never even happened, and your stomach drops. He leans over the console to tug your crumpled dress down and fasten your seatbelt, avoiding your eyes the entire time.

''Hey... Are you okay?'' you ask, voice soft, dipping your head lower to get him to look at you, or at least catch a glimpse of his face, of what the hell he's thinking right now.

He pulls back, slumping into his seat and staring straight ahead, his eyes unreadable. ''Yeah. I'm fine. Let's just go.''

It stings more than it should. Not cruel, not dismissive exactly, just... closed off. As if something cracked open between you two, only for him to slam it shut again just as quickly.

And you wait. For a look, a soft smile, a brush of his fingers. Any kind of reassurance to soothe the ache of the subtle hint of regret in his voice. But nothing comes.

You nod slowly, swallowing the lump rising in your throat as he turns the key in the ignition, the air between you thick with everything left unsaid. ''Okay.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh @haliastyless @drewrry @maddiesalvatore1839 @robinsue87 @zoraaasyd @sincerely-yours-marsbar @m0mmyfromtarget @maudie-duan

general tag list

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...

[plushieni]

from this ask

bakugo treasured you in ways that made no sense, even to himself. he wasn’t sure when it happened—when you went from a stranger, someone who only ever seemed to appear when something was broken, to the person who consumed his every thought. fixing his gadgets, repairing his suit, tweaking his gear; it was supposed to be a simple, exchangable relationship. but somehow, it became something deeper.

some would say it was inescapable, the way you’d fit into his life without him realizing it, until the small talk turned into long fulfilling conversations. the laughter you shared during late-night tinkering sessions, the way your hands would brush when you passed him a tool, the small moments that kept adding up.

when he realized he liked you, he knew he had to ask you out—to get it out of the way, just in case you didn’t feel the same. he just couldn’t hold it back anymore. his voice was rough, like he was gritting his teeth to get the words out, but he made himself say them. it wasn’t some dramatic confession—no cheesy speeches or anything like that. but for bakugo, it was everything.

“y’know, when i’m with you, things aren’t so… bad. you don’t annoy the hell outta me either. and i wanna do better by you. so what do you say? can i be your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone as blunt and straightforward as ever.

when you two started dating, it was definitely a change—but for the better, of course.

you were his equal. it didn’t matter that your strength wasn’t physical—he was more than aware that your mind was just as sharp as his combat, your skills just as powerful in their own right. and it wasn’t just your genius that made him admire you; it was the way you moved through the world, the way you manage to tackle problems and challenges with effortlessly. it was impossible not to respect you.

he’d mention your adjustments to his gadgets, dropping your name casually, always being proud of you. “they thought it’d work better if it was smaller, huh? damn nerd was right,” he’d mutter, hands adjusting his gear with a satisfaction that only came from knowing it had been you who made it better. he was impressed by you more than he would ever say.

complimenting you constantly, but never in the way you’d expect. not with gentle words or soft confessions. no, bakugo’s version was different. “you’re not entirely useless…” or, “you did good, dumbass. don’t beat yourself up.” it all came from a place that was all him, raw and unfiltered. and you knew, deep down, to him it was a comment of admiration.

he understood your dedication to your work, how you’d get lost in a project for hours, forgetting everything else around you. he didn’t need you to ask for anything. he just knew. on the days you got so caught up in your tinkering that you barely remembered to eat or sleep, bakugo would be there—slipping into the workshop with a plate of your favorite food or stacking your laundry neatly by your bed. he wouldn’t say a word. he’d just do it, like it was second nature.

and if it got too bad—if you were pushing yourself too hard—he’d drag you away from your work, his hand firm on your shoulder as he pulled you toward your couch. “get some damn rest, you idiot. i’m not gonna let you burn yourself out.” it wasn’t harsh; it was just how he cared—and oh boy, he cared a lot.

around you, bakugo found a strange sense of calmness. when he was with you, things slowed down. there was no pressure to be something bigger, louder, or stronger. he didn’t have to be the ‘the best’ all the time. didn't have to put up an act. he could just be him, and that was enough. maybe it was the way you let him sit in silence, neither of you needing to fill the space with words. or maybe it was the way you’d look up from your work and catch him staring, only for him to gruffly turn away, pretending he wasn’t adoring you the whole time.

so, with every little thing, every little action, you knew. you knew that he was the one for you. no one else.

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© plushieni do not copy, steal, translate, repost any of my works

[contract-crawdad]

Obsessed with just how human the Shadow is despite their appearance and mannerisms.

They don’t attack! They either can’t defend themself or won’t defend themself. They don’t cry out either, but that’s definitely due to the fact that they can’t speak. They just stare silently as they’re beaten to death.

It’s so charmingly AWKWARD how their strategy for getting to know Sam is to just… hang out closer and closer to the guy they like.

Let’s be real. They’re fucking horrifying. And in a world like Look Outside where literally anyone could be dangerous, the twelve foot tall masked black obelisk is high on the list of things you would realistically avoid like the plague. But Sam just walks right up to them and says hello! Multiple times. And I can’t help but feel that the usual reaction from people would be avoidance. Maybe that’s the specific WHY of why they seem so interested in Sam. Nobody else has gone right up to them and said ‘hi’, let alone asked if they need help.

After you turn down their offer of assimilation, it really does read like… ‘Whoops, sorry, I guess I misread some signals’. Like!! They genuinely thought this was where things were going, but it’s like they leaned in for a kiss and Sam told them them that he doesn’t see them that way.

Embarrassing!!

But they handle it well and learn to respect boundaries. That’s the big thing! A great many mutants in the game have a warped sense of other people do or don’t want, Edwin being a great example. But the difference with the Shadow is that they actually listen to you.

So they learn better and decide to go back to something you do like:

Gifts!! That was the last thing Sam enjoyed doing, so… more of that!!

Their interactions with the Rat Baby pretty much prove that they don’t just go around assimilating whoever they can whenever they can! It’s unclear if that’s always been the case of if Sam taught them that some things don’t like that.

And it says a lot that the Shadow no longer roams the building! Even after, you know, assimilation doesn’t happen, I like to think the Shadow primarily sticks around because they have a place to stay with some who likes them.

Filling up your apartment with assorted weirdos isn’t quite the same without the Shadow looming ominously over all of them.

[zenithofdisaster]

Having just studied the two horses in the second post, the answer is Because England ™️, but there's some fun facts on why those horses in particular!

In the first photo we have a Clydesdale, which is a Scottish breed, and in the second we have a Dales Pony, from Yorkshire (on the border of Scotland). Now, both Scotland and, by extension, Yorkshire have even worse weather than England itself, at least according to your average English citizen. They're cold, rainy, windy, and (at least during the turn of the 20th century) all around pretty rugged terrain. Maybe not as harsh as Siberia, Iceland, Mongolia, or Norway, but, well, you know how England is. They had a huge impact on the world for a long time because ~Empire~.

Speaking of English impact on the world, let's talk about fantasy.

A lot of modern western fantasy builds off of Tolkien. Tolkien was English, and his writing was influenced by his own experiences living in England at the turn of the 20th century, particularly by the time he spent fighting for England in the First World War.

Why is this important? Well, WW1 took place from 1914-1918. Cars were only just starting to become affordable and popular, and a lot of military logistics depended on horses and carts. Plus, at least at the start of the war, Cavalry was still a very important unit to have in your army. Towards the end, horses became less vital, but part of that was also because so many of them had been wiped out. Of the 1.03 million horses England was said to have used in the war, only about 60,000 made it out alive, and even fewer made it home again. Of all the horses drafted, our two breeds were very, very well represented in their ranks. The Clydesdale in particular was chosen to pull artillery, because that's what draft horses (of which they're one) are best at. And, because it was chosen to pull artillery, it suffered heavy losses. The Dales Pony, favored as a pack horse due to their surefootedness, faced much the same fate as feed rations for the horses and food rations for the soldiers ran dry.

And all this was happening while Tolkien was a soldier.

I've seen several posts on here about how Tolkien was affected by different things he experienced in the war and how those experiences show through in his writing of The Hobbit and LotR. It makes sense, then, that he would also use the horses he had worked side by side with during that war in his books. And since those books went on to shape fantasy as we know it, well, it makes sense that the horses would also shape the horses found in fantasy today.

But! Don't let their ubiquity in modern fantasy fool you! Both the Clydesdale and the Dales Pony have been on the decline ever since.

World War II took even more from both breeds, and the decline in agricultural use of horses only made it worse. The Clydesdale and Dales Pony are both estimated to have less than 5000 members each worldwide and are listed as Threatened by the Livestock Conservancy (a group that tracks the number of members in livestock breeds of all species and helps to preserve them).

I know it's frustrating to see them be the only horses used when other breeds would make more sense in the kinds of environments described, and there's so many other problems in the world that are more pressing, but if you can? Spend some time on the Livestock Conservancy's site, learn more about all the breeds we're at risk of losing (some to homogeneity in mass production of food and some to mechanizatiom), and help protect the creatures that have grown up beside our species.

Small shaggy horses adapted to harshly cold climates are so woefully neglected in historical/fantasy media

[sharffffff]

raises my hand. what if pangi struggling with her gender and lukey doesnt quite realize that that's whats going on bc pangis being really vague about it. "i dont feel right in my body" "ok well yeah pangi youre corrupted it's ok. we'll fix that soon enough :)". just completely clueless

Ever since waking up in this realm Pangi felt weird. People acting like they knew him while he had never even seen them before, everyone telling him stories of his exploits when this was the first time he ever even laid eyes on this world, people telling him how he went to the ball - that apparently happened here on two separate occasions - in a dress and a bow… And that surely couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be caught wearing a dress, he couldn’t be caught liking flowers, that’s just not something he would do. Even on Lifesteal as a bit he had never worn a dress, so why would he do it here, and not once, but twice? It just seemed like a lie. A very nice lie, a lie that he wished could be true- but it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been true. He’s a guy, he doesn’t like all those girly things. He’d never wear a dress, especially not to a public event, nuh uh. 

And yet when searching through his enderchest, which was surprisingly full for this being his first ever day on the server, he found something strange. A pink bow. The same that Aimsey told him he was wearing during the first ball. Just a coincidence, surely, it was just there by accident. Why would it ever be in his enderchest? It just didn’t make much sense. He took it out to look over it, and it sure was the girliest thing he could imagine - a pink bow with some flower petals attached to it, made to fit perfectly on one of his head scales- a prank, surely. But it wouldn’t hurt to try it on…

Nope, no, no. He stopped himself centimeters away from putting the bow on his head and quickly put it back in the shulker, and shoved the shulker itself deep into the enderchest. He couldn’t be thinking about this right now. He couldn’t be spending time getting distracted with these silly things - he had the entire server to explore, and he heard something about Nirvana that lets you fly? Surely that is more interesting than some bow. Or a dress. Or a pretty blue cornflower that he gave away - despite desperately wanting to keep it. He shook his head, he was getting distracted again. Too much free time on this realm, back on lifesteal he always had to fear for his life and didn’t have time to think about these things, so why did he have to be stuck here with his thoughts? It just felt miserable.

When a couple of days later Pangi met up with Zam, he was stunned to see him- her. He couldn’t really bring himself to call Zam “he” anymore, it was getting difficult even back on lifesteal, but here? She was wearing a long dress, had long hair and spoke much softer, and it made Pangi rethink some things. He had been noticing Zam dress differently, more girly, on lifesteal more frequently than before, but it was a running gag ever since Kings- but maybe it wasn’t a gag at all? It almost felt weird. No, not Zam - with the amount of times she joked about wanting to be a girl, Pangi has long suspected it wasn’t a joke. But… For some reason it made him feel weird about himself. Zam was so comfortable wearing a dress here… Maybe Pangi did wear a dress back at the ball, too? He didn’t write it in the book, but it just… It just felt right. He wasn’t exactly sure why it felt right, but it did. It was confusing. He didn’t want to think about it right now. It was fine, everything was fine. He was still a guy, just curious about what he had looked like in a dress. It probably didn’t even look that good, and people laughed at him, and it didn’t matter, so why would he even try to look for those answers?

The thought lingered at the back of his mind, however, as annoying as a mosquito you just barely can’t get, and as Pangi was spending the entirety of today just building with Lukey, he couldn’t help but wonder if he might have some answers.

“Hey, Lukey? You went to the ball with me, right?”

“Yeah, I did! Pili asked me to go with, and even though I said no, you still killed me for that - and then had the audacity to ask me, then tell me I couldn’t go to not upset Ros, then get asked out by another guy and then go to the ball with the both of us. Why?” Lukey turned to Pangi with that same playfully mocking expression on his face that he had during at least half of their conversations, and Pangi almost regretted asking him anything in the first place, but he believed that Lukey wouldn’t lie about the dress - he lies about plenty of unimportant things, but usually tells the truth when asked outright. Usually.

“Is it true that I wore a dress? Someone told it to me on the first- well, my first day here, and I just want to compare the accounts.”

“Oh, yes, you certainly did! Beautiful red dress with gold accents, which was a nice touch - red is a very good color to hide wine stains, or blood stains.” Lukey nodded thoughtfully, closing his eyes as if to recall the details of that evening, stupid smile spreading across his face. Pangi hated that he could imagine that dress, he hated that he could see himself wearing it. Why would he ever wear it? Why did he want to imagine himself wearing it?

“Did… Did I look good in it?” Lukey paused after hearing this question, smile getting subtler, and tilted his head slightly trying to understand just what Pangi was asking. Then, he nodded knowingly, which looked even more annoying for Pangi than his stupid smirk, and replied:

“You looked happy. Well, for the couple of minutes before Pili and Zam arrived, that is.”

“That doesn’t answer my question and you know it!” Pangi was getting annoyed, his tail tip slightly vibrating as he tried to pry some answers from this guy who kept getting more annoying with every passing second.

“Everyone looks better when they’re happy, Pangi. That includes you. And yes, you looked great in that dress. And when you started swinging that axe, too? Oh, that was magnificent! What I wouldn’t do to see you like that again.” He was doing the voice. Pangi hated that voice. Well, he loved that voice, and he hated the fact that he loved it. 

But… The thought that he looked good in the dress… Ugh, it was so annoying. He couldn’t think about that. It just felt so right and so wrong at the same time. He hated it. He hated it so badly. Why does he have to deal with all this nonsense instead of being hunted down every waking moment of his life, like back of lifesteal? That was easier than being here.

“I just… I just don’t feel right, Lukey.” Lukey’s smile softened, and Pangi hated him for that. How dare he be compassionate. It all felt wrong. He hated everyone. He really should’ve killed everyone on this server, like he wrote in the book. He’s so stupid.

“Is it about the corruption, or… about something else?” Lukey’s voice was soft, and the hand he put on Pangi’s shoulder made Pangi want to throw up. He hated everything. Why was everyone so nice here? Why did he have to deal with these thoughts here? He despised every moment of this.

“You know, Pangi, I think I might have your dress somewhere in this lab if you want to try it out again, just to see how it looks? I think it might be stained in a little bit of blood and slightly torn by Sneeg’s spear, but blood is barely visible on red fabric anyway, and the tears can count as style points. Do you want to try it out?” Lukey’s voice was still so soft, even as he started looking through chests, trying to find the piece of fabric that Pangi kind of wanted to try on again. It was stupid. Everything was stupid. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Pangi’s voice was suddenly weak, he could barely even hear himself, but Lukey must have heard it anyway - he lit up, and started searching even faster, and Pangi wanted nothing more than to kill him for that, for making him feel this way, for making him consider wearing the dress. What was wrong with him?.. 

[ama3003]

You Caught Me

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Valentina's assistant, and somehow, you manage to fall in love with a certain Congressman.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like 25.

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You worked your whole life to get here. Straight A’s, a top-tier college, a string of impressive jobs that made your parents brag to their friends.

But that wasn’t the point. You didn’t do all of that just to climb a ladder. You wanted to help people. To actually do good. To give the voiceless a voice, to step in where others wouldn’t. You wanted to make the world better, even if it was just piece by piece.

That’s what led you to OXE. And eventually, to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Or, more accurately, to being her assistant. Though calling it that feels like selling it short.

You’ve been working with her for a few years now. From the very beginning, she seemed to like you. Said you reminded her of herself. You’re still not sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Valentina can be cold. She’s sharp, calculated, sarcastic to the point of painful. Some of her decisions don’t exactly land on the moral high ground. But she took you in, brought you closer, taught you how to survive in a world most people don't even know exists. And you’ve done things others your age only dream about. You were actually making a difference.

But now everything’s falling apart.

She’s under investigation. Impeachment is on the table. And you’re left trying to put out fires.

You’d been tense the entire hearing. And not the kind of tension that goes away with a few deep breaths. This was chest-tightening, eye-twitching, every-decision-matters tension.

Your job was on the line. Everything you’d worked for — or convinced yourself was worth it — was balancing on Valentina’s ability to lie with a smile.

She was performing. You were managing the fallout.

Your eyes kept drifting — trying to find some kind of anchor. And that’s when you caught a pair of them.

Blue. Cold but curious. Watching.

Congressman Bucky Barnes.

You met his stare, held it a second longer than you should’ve, then forced yourself to look away. Whatever that was — whatever he was trying to read — you didn’t have time to entertain it.

Then Valentina dropped the line you’d been dreading: “By all means, dig as deep as you like. I promise—there’s nothing to find.”

You knew that tone. It meant you had twenty minutes to erase every breadcrumb.

By the time the hearing adjourned, you were already outside, typing fast, juggling secure files and decoy trails on your tablet. You barely noticed the footsteps until—

“Y/N?”

You looked up, and there he was. Again.

That same cool stare, now paired with a too-casual smile.

“Congressman Barnes,” you said smoothly, tucking the tablet under your arm. “Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard...great things.”

“I doubt it. Also, please just Bucky,” he said, offering a hand. “Unless you want to start talking tax policy — then I’ll put the tie back on.”

You cracked a smile and shook his hand. Firm. Warm. Too steady.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing back toward the hearing room. “I mean, what happened in there was... honestly? Kind of worrying. Extremely worrying. Kind of concerning if you ask me...in like a worrying way.”

You tilted your head. “You mean ‘concerning,’ or ‘I’m building a case against your boss’ worrying?”

He blinked. Didn’t expect you to hit back that fast.

You smiled politely. “No need to dance around it. I’m sure you’ve got a folder somewhere with Valentina's name on it.”

His grin crooked slightly. “Maybe. It’s a very organized folder. Color-coded tabs.”

“She always did love being underestimated,” you said with a shrug. “O.X.E. has nothing to hide, of course.”

He didn’t argue, but the look he gave you said he wasn’t buying it.

There was a beat of silence, and then he glanced over your shoulder — where Valentina was watching the two of you, pretending she wasn’t.

“She always stare like that?” he asked casually.

“Only when she thinks someone’s wasting my time.”

“And am I?”

“Depends on why you’re really here.”

He smiled. “Okay, fine. I’m new to D.C. First term, still finding my way. Thought maybe... you could give me a tour. Show me the non-corrupt parts.”

You laughed softly. “That’s a short list.”

“Still. Monuments, museums, a little fresh air — maybe a conversation?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Right. A conversation. Just two people talking. No ulterior motives, no recording devices, no traps.”

He held up his hands. “I left the wire at home.”

You smirked, but you didn’t let it reach your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Just... improvising.”

You leaned in just enough for him to know you were done playing. “You’re fishing, Congressman. I’m just not the one you’ll catch.”

He opened his mouth — maybe to protest, maybe to flirt again — but you stepped back as Valentina waved you over.

“You're a very good-looking man,” you added, softer now. “And I appreciate the effort. But whatever you’re hoping to dig up from me? You won’t get it over coffee and small talk.”

A beat passed between you.

Then you gave him one last smirk, turned, and walked back toward Valentina — leaving him standing there, watching.

And even though you didn’t look back, you knew those blue eyes hadn’t moved.

*******

You had three things on your mind.

Shut down headquarters.

Erase every trace of Project Sentry.

Clean up Valentina’s reputation before the whole thing implodes.

And somehow, you're doing all of that in a dress and heels at a fundraiser.

“Honestly, Y/N, you have such an amazing brain,” Valentina says, her smile more calculated than warm. “Putting this fundraiser together? Brilliant move. This has to sway at least some of the votes.”

“Thanks,” you reply, quickly scrolling through your tablet. “I’ve categorized the guest list: influencers, allies, and the undecideds. Left off the hard no’s. No point wasting time. I just sent the files to you.”

“Perfect. Do I need you for anything else?”

“No, you should be good. I’ll stay close though. Just in case.”

“Smart. Stay where I can see you. And hear you. Actually, just don’t go far,” she says, already turning to work the room. “Time to network.”

As soon as she walks away, you exhale, realizing you hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath.

This job is not for the weak. Especially not under someone like her.

You glance around the room, taking in the glittering lights, expensive suits, and fake smiles. Your eyes find Valentina again, instinctively keeping track of her. Then they drift to the large Avengers logo on display at the front of the gala.

You were still a kid the first time you saw the Avengers on screen. They were larger than life. Heroes. They saved people. They made things right.

Now? You’ve seen the world fall apart more times than you can count. And more often than not, no one shows up to fix it.

That’s why you’ve stuck by Valentina. Why you’ve been willing to blur the lines. The world still needs saving. People still need heroes.

They just don’t always look the way you imagined.

“You know,” a voice says beside you, calm but unmistakably familiar, “this whole gala is impressive. The Avengers memorabilia is a nice touch.”

You turn and see him. Congressman Bucky Barnes, standing just a few feet away, his gaze locked on the towering Avengers "A" on display like it still meant something.

“Valentina thought it would help raise awareness,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral, polite. “Tie the past to the present. Nostalgia works.”

You’re careful with your words. You know why he’s here, what game he’s playing. And more importantly, you know where your loyalty lies.

He glances at you now, the full weight of those ice-blue eyes meeting yours. “Awareness for what, exactly?”

You offer a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The mission has always been simple. Help the people. The world’s been falling apart, and heroes… they’ve disappeared. People need someone to believe in again.”

He nods slowly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “Again, call me Bucky. Also, that was good. Very rehearsed. Very polished. Bet Valentina was proud of that one.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just here for the hors d'oeuvres,” he says, voice smooth, but you catch the edge underneath it.

You take a step closer. “Look, Congressman Barnes. I know your history. And we both know what happens when evil comes and no one is there to stop it. OXE is trying to prevent that. Everything we do is for the people. Valentina’s impeachment? It won’t go anywhere.”

Even as you say it, there's a flicker of doubt. Small, but there.

He studies you for a moment before pulling a card from inside his jacket and holding it out.

“What’s this?” you ask, accepting it cautiously.

“My direct line. In case you remember something useful.”

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard by how calm he is. How sure.

You move closer, slow and deliberate, then reach up and tuck the card neatly into his chest pocket. “I don’t know what you think you’re implying, but I don’t appreciate it."

The two of you lock eyes, silence stretching between you. Not hostile, exactly. But charged. Neither of you blinks.

Then your phone buzzes.

You glance at your phone. Valentina. Of course.

You slip it back into your pocket and look up at him one more time.

“I have to go,” you say, steady. “Enjoy the rest of the gala, Bucky.”

Your smile is polite, but your eyes stay sharp. You turn and walk off without waiting for a response, the sound of your heels swallowed by the noise of the event.

Behind you, he watches you disappear into the crowd, quiet and thoughtful. Then, without a word, he finds himself slipping the card into your bag later in the night. Not for pressure. Not even for leverage.

Just in case.

And whether you used the card or not—that was your choice. Bucky just hoped he’d planted the seed.

Later that night, you sat beside Valentina in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights flickering across her face as she debriefed the night with a grin.

“I think that went incredibly well,” she said, proud and pleased with herself. “Honestly, I’m so proud of us. Oh—hand me my tablet. I gave it to you earlier when Gary started sniffing around asking too many questions.”

Your fingers found something thin. Smooth edges. Not the tablet.

The card.

Bucky’s card.

Your stomach tightened, just for a second.

He’d slipped it in without you noticing. Of course he had.

You stared at it between your fingers. You should’ve tossed it the second you felt it. Should’ve never looked at it again. But something kept your hand still.

“Y/N?” Valentina’s voice cuts in, sharp and expectant. “Tablet. Me. Now.”

You snap out of it, quickly pushing the card deeper into your bag before pulling out the tablet and handing it over.

She doesn’t notice. She’s already scrolling.

You tried to focus on the night’s success, the way people clapped when Valentina spoke, the headlines you knew would be glowing by morning. But that card was still in your bag. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About the look in his eyes.

About the weight of what he said.

Maybe—just maybe—he really did get in your head. And maybe that seed he planted was already starting to grow.

*********

You’d made a mistake. A big one.

And you knew it.

Your heart raced as you paced the cramped hallway, mind spiraling. You'd believed you were making a difference—helping Valentina clean up her reputation felt like part of that. She said she needed you. That this was how things got done. So you listened.

Then she told you to burn the loose ends. Literally burn them.

Human beings.

And still, you followed orders. You rationalized. You looked the other way.

But the plan didn’t go as expected. They didn’t go quietly.

They were fighting back.

And Valentina didn’t like that.

Now a SWAT team is going to finish the job.

You couldn't let them die. You knew their names. Their stories. You didn’t believe they deserved this—not like this. Maybe it was too late to save them all, but maybe you could help save others.

Maybe there was still a chance.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You dug into your bag, searching through the chaos until your fingers found it. That damn card.

You stared at it for a beat. Then you called.

It rang once. Then again. And then he picked up.

“This is Y/N,” you said before he could get a word in, your voice low, rushed, almost breathless. “I’ve, uh... been thinking. Remember that tour you wanted? You were right. Since you’re new to D.C., I figured—why not? Let’s hit the monuments. Maybe a museum. Or... I don’t know. Just talk. Just you and me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“A chat?” Bucky’s voice came through, teasingly. You started biting your nails, heart pounding. “Yeah. I’m down for a chat. When and where?”

Before you could answer, Valentina’s voice sliced through the hallway outside.

“I swear to god, Y/N, do I have to spell it out for you? You're coming with us. Get your ass in the car. Who else is going to make my coffee right? I swear, you Gen Zers make me want to throw myself off this damn building.”

You went silent, your jaw clenched. Bucky didn’t say anything either, but you knew he heard it.

Everything inside you was pulling in different directions. Guilt. Fear. Fury. Shame.

You swallowed hard.

“Look…” you whispered, voice shaking a little. “I’m sorry about the last few times. You were right. You were always right. I was so stupid. She doesn’t care about the world. She just wants the glory.”

You were rambling now. You always did when your anxiety started creeping up your throat.

“Whoa, hey—slow down, sweetheart,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just tell me what I need to know.”

But before you could speak again, Valentina shouted your name, louder this time.

You turned slightly, lowered your voice again.

“Do you have an iPhone?”

“No. Samsung.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. “Do you know how to track a phone?”

“I mean, yeah. But I don’t really do that anymore.”

“Well... start doing it again.”

You paused, then added quietly, “I have to go. Track my location. You'll get your answer.”

Then you hung up.

You let out a long breath, pushed the card deep back into your bag, and ran toward Valentina’s voice.

Hoping Bucky understood.

**********

You were pacing again. Nerves buzzing. Mind racing. You were worried about the others. They escaped when Bob distracted them. Then they couldn't find them. But something told you Bucky had gotten to them first. You could feel it in your gut.

He pulled through. Of course he did.

But now… there was a new problem.

Bob.

The new guy. The unstable one.

He wasn’t like the others. Something about him was off from the start. Too volatile. Too quick to react. And now he had powers — real powers — thanks to Valentina.

She said he was the future. Said he was the key.

But all you saw was a ticking bomb with a name tag.

He didn’t need power or exposure. He needed help. And if no one stepped in soon, he was going to destroy everything — maybe even himself.

You ducked into a quiet hallway, slipped into an empty supply closet, and dialed Bucky’s number with shaking hands.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Y/N,” he said, breathless like he’d been mid-action. “We’re good. I got them. Everyone’s safe. I’m keeping them under wraps as witnesses, so we’re covered. You did the right thing calling me. Thank you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall.

“No,” you said softly. “Bucky, there’s more. A lot more.”

There was a pause.

“Talk to me.”

“She did it,” you whispered. “She actually made one. A super soldier. His name’s Bob.”

“Bob?” he repeated, half in disbelief, half already bracing for what was coming next.

You could hear background chatter on his end — voices muttering “Yeah, Bob,”

“Yes. Bob the super soldier. He’s... not stable, Bucky. He’s got powers, strength, speed — but his head isn’t right. He’s spiraling, and Valentina’s using him like he’s a tool.

You were rambling now, the anxiety bubbling up in your chest.

“She’s restarting the entire program, and this guy — he’s the prototype. And if she gets away with this, there will be more. Stronger. You have to stop it before it turns into something we can’t come back from.”

There was silence on the line. Then you heard him moving, footsteps pacing across concrete.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m coming. I’ll handle it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” his voice softened, “are you okay?”

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “Everything I worked for is going to be for nothing. I'm freaking out.”

“You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

“I can't tell my friends or family.” you said, quieter now. “I already feel guilty and shameful enough. They would just make me feel worse.”

Another pause. Then softer, “Y/N... I meant what I said. You did the right thing. And I’m proud of you. Really.”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realize.”

“I realize it,” he said. And it was quiet, but it hit you harder than it should’ve.

You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Are they okay? The others?”

“They’re safe. A little roughed up, but they’re going to be fine.”

“Good. That’s good,” you said, exhaling. “I should go. I’ll keep feeding you updates when I can. Just… get here fast, alright?”

“Okay,” He finally whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

You hung up and slipped the phone back into your pocket before walking out the door. You immediately froze when your boss stared at you with raised eyebrows.

“Well,” she said coolly, “out of everyone, I never thought you would be the one second-guessing your work.”

You didn’t flinch. Not this time. “Giving Bob those powers? It’s reckless. And you know it.”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head like you were some disappointing intern instead of her right hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, kid. I like you. I really do. You’ve done exceptional work—with me. For us. That’s why I’m giving you a little time to get your head on straight.”

Your jaw clenched. You said nothing.

“But,” she added, stepping a little closer, lowering her voice, “don’t let Barnes cloud that beautiful brain of yours. He’s a distraction. A loud, inconvenient one. And he’s getting in the way.”

You met her gaze evenly, letting the silence stretch.

Then, without a word, you grabbed your purse and walked past her—heels clicking, spine straight.

You needed to find Bucky.

*********

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers."

After countless photos and a barrage of questions, you kept your smile steady, doing your job one last time.

“Thank you all for coming,” you said with calm finality. “Photos and questions will stop here. I’ll be in touch about the next press briefing soon. Seriously—thank you again.”

You gave a polite nod as Valentina waved beside you, her signature smirk in place.

As the crowd began to disperse, you turned your attention to the Thunderbolts. With a gentle but firm push, you guided them out of view, away from the cameras. And then—without thinking—you grabbed Bucky and pulled him into a hug.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

You’d been searching for him. Panicking. Lost. The last image you had was of him stepping into the Void. The moment his silhouette became just that—a shadow—you screamed his name. And then… nothing.

You thought you’d lost him.

But now, here he was. Alive. Solid. Real. And all the emotions you’d buried came rushing back.

You knew there was something between you—something electric, something raw and waiting. It had barely started, but it already meant something. And for a bit, you'd been mourning the future that never got a chance to begin.

Now, you didn’t have to mourn anymore.

The moment stretched. Everyone around you went quiet. You barely registered your boss muttering an uneasy, “Oh dear.”

Bucky froze, stiff in your arms. He glanced around, uncertain. John gave him a look before mimicking hugging someone. Alexei flashed a thumbs-up. The girls? They just smirked.

“I saw you,” you whispered, pulling back just slightly. “I saw you walk into the Void. You became a shadow. I—I was trying to find you, and then you pulled that crap. What the hell, Barnes?”

He opened his mouth, but you beat him to it—stepping back before he could even return the embrace.

“I’m okay,” he said gently. “I swear, I’m fine.” He just wanted you back into his arms.

“You still scared the hell out of me,” you said, your voice breaking just a little. “I thought you were gone for good.”

Bucky's expression softened. “I’m not going anywhere. You still owe me that tour, remember?”

You laughed—half out of relief, half because it suddenly felt so easy to breathe again. You stepped closer, pulled him into a kiss, and he kissed you back without hesitation. Sparks. Heat. Home.

When you finally pulled away, smiling, you whispered, “Looks like you caught me.”

He grinned. “Looks like I have.”

Then you kissed again.

A loud groan broke the moment. “I feel like I’m gonna barf,” Val muttered.

“Shut up, Val,” the entire team replied in unison.

[tawked]

I promise I will shut up about disabilities in comics, but I wanna make one last point.

There's a kind of writing where disability, or more often the abuse of someone with a disability, is employed for shock value and South Parkian offensiveness. This isn't really the kind of thing that's going to offend most disabled readers of comics. I think to be a reader of comics you kind of have to be fairly desensitized to violence or the abuse of characters. I mean, shit, Spider-Man's life is basically endless misery and he's considered a bright, optimistic, positive character with bright, optimistic, positive stories most of the time.

Rather, I think what seems to stick in the craw of most disabled readers I know, and especially myself, is when disabled aesthetics are used superficially to invoke disability but the disabled person's actual life as a disabled person isn't really considered beyond that. It's sad that Xavier or Barbara Gordon can't walk, but let's not consider what that means for their actual lives.

So there's this disconnect in the community sometimes, like...

Able-bodied reader (Lawful Good): omg! how evil! how cruel! to do that to a disabled person! this is really crossing the line! this is really beating balls!

Able-bodied reader (Chaotic Evil): lol. haha. lol. yeah charles xavier CAN'T climb stairs. funny observation, mark millar I assume

Disabled reader: how the fuck did he get up to the second floor? seriously there's no elevator or chairlift or anything

I think you can really see a difference in the two approaches in Legion.

The Legion of the comics is played as scary because he's disabled, the aesthetics of mental illness and disability are invoked purely for horror, and we're made to fear what he can inflict on others. There's no consideration of his environment beyond the superficial use of a psychiatric ward uniform and JoJo's Bizarre Adventure hair (a signifier of severe mental illness if ever there was one). He is raised in abusive psychiatric confinement but remains at that level even when removed from it, he does not react to his environment so much as he is produced by it in a near permanent sense.

Meanwhile, David of the Legion FX series (one of the best artistic communications of SCZ I have ever seen) focuses exhaustively on David's environment. On the conditions he has been made to live in and the effect they have such as the often futile and punitive nature of psychiatric confinement, and the people who have affected him in a general sense and particularly in relation to his disability.

Legion FX uses an intentionally anarchronistic combination of disabled aesthetics specifically to avoid the use of disabled imagery for any familiar purpose, be it horror or sympathy, to shift the audience's focus to his environment at basically all times.

David is abused in both narratives, that's sort of the point of Legion as a character - what happens if you abuse someone with Xavier-level powers - but in the former he's often treated as a kind of horror movie monster while in the latter he's treated as a human being first and foremost. The former never lets you doubt that he's mentally ill and being cuhraaazy and mad at Charles is his primary motivator. I want to mention that comic book Legion has a 1990s idea of what we today call dissociative identity disorder, not schizophrenia, but it hardly fucking matters because he's just written as weird, a real weirdo, he doesn't fit in and he doesn't want to fit in, have you ever seen him not raving psychotically? Okay, that's weird.

Meanwhile, the latter version plays with this idea that he might be misunderstanding his psychic powers as schizophrenia and pulls off an incredible plotline where some essential oils self-help guru lady convinces him to desist with his meds and this ends badly for everybody lol. Even once David is unambiguously confirmed to be psychic and schizophrenic at the same time (not a spoiler in comic book world), the narrative makes absolutely clear that his actions are a consequence of treatment and environment, not some inherent fiendishness. We even see a dimension-hopping episode where David's life plays out a range of ways based on key moments changing and while he's schizophrenic in every timeline, the outcome is different each time.

The former seeks to shock and offend as a horror movie would, the latter seeks to empathize and humanize.

The former reads (to me, anyway) as kind of offensive not because it's just an evil crazy person stereotype (if I were offended by this I'd just never consume any American media), but because his character feels impossible within his environment and context. He's just crazy and scary because he's crazy.

The latter is directly a result of his environment at all times and the world is built around his existence, both to accommodate and to create barriers, with the effects of those accommodations and barriers being central to the narrative.

All this is to say,

why doesn't the Xavior mansion have a stupid chairlift on the stairs Wolverine throws Xavier down

[morialoe17]

Finally have my thoughts processed and here's what I think about chapter 208 (SPOILERS)

While DER is an apocalyptic world, it hasn't reached its conclusion yet, right? Contributors are still continuing to add onto the world's lore and all

Then what if... because of Soleum possessing whatever amalgamation Daydream/Cheerful Research Institute made, the apocalypse arc finally kickstarts? Like, he ends up becoming the key to the start of it.

And if he didn't possess the current body he has now, maybe it would've taken longer to or would never happen in the first place?

What if "Ireum/Name" is actually only just a place holder, and Daydream, who knew nothing and only based their experiments from surface knowledge of the Luminous Church's beliefs, ended up tapping on dangerous territory and accidentally created a supposed 'Ireum-nim' through irregular/incorrect means--resulting to an anomaly and start the apocalypse. If this is the case, maybe this arc will start with the formal introduction to the cult and significant figure from it.

Who knows, maybe this would result in a conflict between the Luminous Church and Daydream, and the Bureau would end up doing the damage control. If the Bureau does interfere, I'd assume Hyunmu Team 1 would be leading it.

As for the end scene of the chapter, someone pointed out on twt to reread chapter 50.

Here's an excerpt from the two chapters:

Chapter 208:

The body bulges out.

The tattoo is falling off.

I disappear. The human body disintegrates.

The self that has realized the truth rejects the form of the human body. The body tries to return to its original form.

A strange. bizarre, composite image of something unknown burst out from within me.

Scales and horns, hooves, thorns, piercing ribs.

Chapter 50:

The staff member looked at me briefly, then reached over to the desk and picked up something.

A post-it note.

Have a good evening.

'So they're surprisingly sociable, huh?'

Soleum mentions in this chapter the similarity of him using a post-it-note to converse when he first met Jaekwan.

"Thank you."

I bowed politely. The entirely black-clad desk worker gave me a slight nod in retum and stepped back to sit down at their desk.

The shattered fragments of what appeared to be the medium of the Darkness, likely some kind of glass, sparkled on the broken floor.

In the reflection of the shards, I briefly noticed the shadow of the staff member's leg twist unnaturally. making their foot appear like a cloven hoof...

...and then retum to a normal human form.

With the way the worker was described, and how Soleum found it to be similar to him, it's as if this was intended to be significant--a foreshadowing.

Then, did Soleum meet his version of self from ch208 in ch50? That's the confusing part.

The thing is, some readers interpretation of what happened with Soleum's wish is that it transported him through time and space, while others think he just got teleported. Personally, I think it's the former.

Chapter 206:

"Anyway, even if I went further underground... the same office hallway kept repeating Itself...." "Was it the exact same hallway?" "Yes. Same office. The structure, even the scratches were the same, so it's the same place, but... just a bit...the time zone seemed different.

This was Soleum's conversation with J3 about his investigation about the Cheerful Research Institute.

I'm led to think that the time within that space is warped, and since that place was considered a darkness from how Brown could talk to Soleum, it was possible that a force allowed him to see and interact with this version of himself, albeit without him knowing it's actually him.

But with how confusing it is, it's hard to determine if that really is the case or something else entirely. We can only rely on the release of the next part to know...

[terriblefaun]

𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐊𝐨𝐨𝐤 - RAFE/READER

cw. mentions drink, drugs,rafe lowk being a lil softie in this chapter, jj angst, mentions r having a bad home life. SLOW BURN. more set up than story atp. lots of f word! from the uk i cant help it x

3.7k words. part 1/? (had to divide it up cos the whole thing was killing my phone! so lmk if u acc want the next one !! <3) also not proof read! love u xx

It was the third time that morning that JJ had brought it up. You hadn’t hung out properly for ages since you moved and still it was all he could go on about. Pope had been kind enough to jump in at one point, making sure to tell you that he didn't think of you any different. Which you had appreciated, but that was about as brave as anyone got when it came to standing up to JJ or defending you.

Without Kie here you were playing 3:1 and losing bad.

John B, shyly at first and then with a confidence that surprised you, agreed with his best friend. “You are a little different now that you live on the Eight, i mean, for one: you're late all the time-”

“-Cos it takes me forever to get here!”

“-And, like, that kook fit you always wear…”

“My uniform?” You huff, exasperated. It really was pointless to argue but for fuck sake, surely you’d put up with it for long enough? It was summer, you'd come to JB’s for a little escape, a little friendship and a cold beer, but you’ve been here two hours already and all anyone had talked about was that damn kook academy, how it was going to change you- how it had already changed Kie. Like that was the worst thing in the world. 

JJ opened his mouth to say something but you cut him off, “Can you just shut up? Please just fucking shut up about it already. You're going on and on and its driving me fucking crazy, J. Just stop.” 

It was clear this pissed him off, but his face softened from anger to offense, and then finally to a sarcastic smile. “Fine, whatever the princess wants.”

“Oh, you're such a p-” but you stopped yourself with a tired laugh. You didn't want to fight. Not again, not now. You were still exhausted from the last one - the one that ended with Kie crying and walking home alone, despite you going after her. You hadn't heard from her since. 

“What? Pogue? Is that what you were gonna say, huh? I’m such a fucking pogue!”

“Piece of shit, Jayj! I was gonna call you a fucking piece of shit! Cos you are! You can't just be happy for me can you-”

 “Happy?” JJ asks like you really are out of your mind,  like he can't even begin to imagine a silver lining to this situation. 

“Yeah, cos Kie’s finally getting along with her mom again, and for the first time in my life i don't have to worry about making rent payments or where the hell my mom is and i finally have a step dad that doesn't fucking hate me! Can you just think about that for a fucking minute, JJ, can you really not image why that might be of some relief to us? Huh?”

He doesn't say anything, which might actually be worse. 

Your eyes had started to sting with tears and you turned away from your friends to hold your face in your hands. It was hot to the touch and your head hurt. You really didn't want to start crying.

Pope and John B were sat quietly on the sofa like two kids waiting for the parents to stop arguing. Why weren't they saying anything? Is this really how they all felt- like you weren't theirs anymore? Like you had betrayed them somehow? 

You snivelled, sighed and turned to look JJ in the eyes. Despite the tugging at his heart, he refused back down.

 It pissed you off to see him still standing there with his shoulders squared and a hard look on his face. He was so far from the boy you were used to, the soft, funny one you had grown up and felt safe with. How do you even get back to that? Really, you knew the answer was to say sorry, but like hell that was gonna happen. Despite the fact you had nothing to apologise for, you were cursed with the same stubbornness as he was. You were two juuls in a pod, or whatever the saying was.

And then, a thought. A terrible, mean thought.

“You’re just jealous, that's it.”

There's a sudden look on JJ’s face that you've never seen before. It scares you almost enough to back down, but you stay tough.  He laughs.

“Such a fucking kook thing to say i mean, c’mon!” JJ gestures to Pope and JB like they're gonna agree with him- and if given the chance to talk, they might but you don't dare to look over, just in case. “Yeah. Of course I'm jealous of you, princess. Jesus Christ, man, you’re so self absorbed! You fit right in with those dickheads on figure eight, you know that? You and kie, you're right where you belong.”

“You’re such a dick.” You swallow down all that venom you had just a minute ago, it stings, makes your vision blur. 

“Cos’ i’m telling the truth?" He says, "Just go home YN, fuck off back to the eight already ‘cos we don't want you here.”

“JJ-” Finally someone chimed in, though you couldn’t tell who, probably Pope again, but it didn’t matter anyway, right now there was no one else in the world except for you and JJ.

“I don’t want you here.” He says again in a low voice. Then, turning away, mumbles something you probably weren't actually meant to hear. Something sarcastic about your dad, how proud he'd be of how you're turning out.

You gasp. A direct hit, one you never expected he'd go for. The boys look up at you, not having caught it themselves.

But you had heard it. J saw you hear it. And it hurt. And he saw that it hurt. And he didn't seem to mind. He had the sense to look guilty for a split second but then there was that stubbornness again, mean and cold.

You stood there with your mouth open for a minute. Half waiting for him to rush out an apology, to call a time out like this was just a game you could stop playing and forget all about, and you could go back to how things were supposed to be.

JJ said nothing.

Fine. You storm off, slamming the chateau doors behind you and heading straight for your bike. It's a little vintage thing with a basket and ribbons, and you feel just a little ridiculous as you cycle angrily away.  I’ll show you a fucking kook princess. 

 

 Grand exit now complete, the adrenaline of whatever the hell just went down finally wears off halfway through town. Collapsing onto the sidewalk, tangling with your bike as you go down, you let yourself cry.

Not entirely sure how long you let yourself fall apart but time starts moving again when a car pulls up in front of you. The window rolls down and you look up at the sound of Bunny Wailer’s Mellow Mood coming from the speaker. 

 “Need a ride?” The driver shouts over the music.

“Kiwi. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling!”

“Sorry. Don’t cry about it,” she smiles, i am sorry, and nods towards the passenger side, “get in.” 

The warmth of the midday sun had dried your tears pretty quick, but your eyes were red and puffy and gave you away. Oh, YN. Kie mumbles once you're inside, turning the radio down and leaning across to hug you.

“Don’t worry, it’s Jay that's made me cry, not you.” You choke out a wet laugh and pull your hoodie up over your face for a second. “I’ll be fine in a minute, really, i’ll be fine.”

She sighs decidedly, giving you a once over. "Nah, i know what you need.” 

You side eye her, unsure. "Kook party." She explains and you cringe. Sarah, a friend Kie had already made at the academy, had invited her and in turn she was inviting you. As if I'd wanna be there without you.

"C'mon. Big house, free booze, no JJ."

"OK. Sold."

Kiara’s bedroom is likely to be your favourite place on earth, though you never get to spend a lot of time there as it also happens to be one of her least favourites. You don't even know what it is that makes it so great, her bed is soft and plush but too small for two, so sleepovers are always spent uncomfortably squished between her, her plushies, and the wall. And the only CD’s she has are reggae, which you don't mind, and indie rock shit you've never heard of and can't stand.

Maybe it was just because her house was so totally not yours. Maybe that's why you liked it. 

You’re in front of her bathroom mirror, chewing on your bottom lip, brows furrowed and arms crossed when Sarah comes up behinds you to ask what you're thinking. “I think…. I need to go blonde.”

Her eyes light up, “Like Buffy Summers Blonde or-”

“-Baywatch blonde.”

“Baywatch blonde…” she repeated in a whisper, an excited smile on her face. “Dude, yeah. That'd be so hot.”

She let out an excited squeak, and that was that. The make over was immediate. You dyed your hair then and there in Kie's en suit. Then she picked out an outfit while Sarah did you make up. Pamela Anderson or...Jennifer Aniston? she had asked.

"Which ones more kook?" Aniston was decided upon, though with the bikini you'd borrowed from Kie and the short denim skirt and black cami you wore, you ended up a bit more Pamela anyway.

It's gonna be rager, said Sarah, It’s at Alice’s boyfriend’s friend’s beach house, or something like that. Kiara seemed to know all these people already, so you nodded and smiled and pretended you did too.

"I have to go home quick, you know, put a bag together, let my mom know i'm still alive."

"You want us to drop you off?" Sarah had asked, sweet as she was you could tell she wanted to stay playing dress up for a while longer, so you declined.

"Just text me the address, i'll meet you there."

 

To no surprise at all, your mom wasn’t home. You thought best not to leave a note or text her, lest she remember she had a daughter and suddenly decide to parent it. 

You went up to your room on the top floor and put together a bag. Perfume, lip gloss, $50, a rollie and some gum. The essentials. You dug out the half empty tequila bottle you and kie kept tucked away in your pj drawer, and poured out a shot for yourself. Then another. Cheers, you thought, to going full kook. 

9:15 PM and you were out the door, instantly regretting your choice to meet them at the party- having to cycle there on your bicycle in the worlds shortest denim skirt was not the most comfortable experience. But alas, you looked as good as you felt, and it might have been the tequila but you felt pretty fucking good. 

Kiwi where are you??

KIE!!!! im here. they have jello shots where r u

i cant fudnd u guys anyebere

KIARBRA!!!!!!!!!

You'd been at the party for little over an hour, far too drunk already but having a great time. Despite not yet having found Kie or Sarah. You had, however, recognised a few girls from the academy and most of them had recognised you too, despite your new hair and new found friendliness towards them, they knew you. 

Another half an hour of slurred compliments and dizzy dance moves and you begin to feel the alcohol wear off, a tragedy that must be remedied if you're to socialise with these people any longer. How much longer? Where the fuck was Kie?

You’re making your way through the kitchen towards the back yard in hopes of somewhere quiet to call your friend, when a figure steps out in front of you. “You look like a malibu and coke kinda girl, right?” 

He seems nice enough, towering over you but not making you feel trapped. He’s got a polo shirt on, clearly recently ironed, and a big drunk smile on his face. Am I a Malibu girl? You thought, that’s rum, right? What the hell, sure.

“How could you tell?” 

“Sweet girl like yourself, how could it be anything else?”

Sweet. That's something you haven't been called before. It makes you feel a bit soft in the middle, clearly a line, but working on you nonetheless. “Oh, I like you.”

His smile widens, eyes almost closed, and goes to speak again but is interrupted by another mystery boy before he can reply. “Is this guy bothering you?” He says, slow and deep with a cocky smile, one arm slung over the first guys shoulder. He looks at you, leans in close like he’s telling you a secret. “Sorry ‘bout my friend Top here, S’like a puppy, not been properly socialised yet.” 

“Hey thats- I was just offering the new girl a drink.” He says, holding up a red solo cup with what you assume is a malibu and coke inside. 

“Allow me.” Says the second guy, taking the cup from Top’s hand and offering it to you. 

“Thanks-” You laugh, half forgotten by the boys already. You look between them as they go back and forth with each other, a drunk scene clearly played many times before, and take a sip of your drink. God. Yeah, Definitely rum. 

"You shouldn't encourage them." A soft voice says. Where had he come from? had he been here the whole time?

"I'm sorry?"

"They're like strays," he explains, nodding towards the boys, "show 'em a bit of attention and they'll just keep coming back."

You turn to face him completely. He's gorgeous- clearly knows it too- but the spot lights of the kitchen make halos around him. He copies your movement and only then do you realise just how close he's standing.

“Rafe.” He offers after a long moment of you saying nothing. “Rafe Cameron.” 

You stop your drooling and straighten up.

“Cameron?”  Why did that sound familiar? A smug smile creeps onto his face and you watch it drop comically fast as you ask your next question. “Sarah's brother? Oh, shit, have you seen her?” You ask, looking around, but it’s Boy 1 that answers. 

“S’not here,” Top sighs, suddenly drawn back into the conversation. “Something about… baby turtles or something, i don't know.”

“You know my sister.” Rafe says to you, ignoring Top.

“Yeah, well, kind of. Not really. I was supposed to meet her here.” 

“Well…she’s not here,” Rafe tilts his head with a smile and watches you think. Great, so I've been ditched. Double ditched. Bitches. He thinks you look a little offended, but not altogether disappointed.  His little smile grows, plotting. “-but i can take care of you.”

You look up at him in all his 6’3 sun kissed glory. He’s standing close enough that you can smell his aftershave, the bitterness of whatever he’s been drinking, and the faintest smell of sunscreen applied hours ago. The thought of him putting on suncream at all makes you smile. You watch the way his shirt stretches around his bicep as he leans on the counter behind, the way his hand dwarfs the red solo cup it holds, the way his eyes blink slow and steady, lashes kissing his cheeks.

 “Yeah, I bet you can.”

“She said she likes me.” Top chimes in, previous Sarah related heartbreak forgotten. 

“Topper, you're drunk, just… go find Sarah.” Rafe says, grabbing him by the shoulders and pointing him in some other direction. Boy 2 is tugged along behind by some invisible string, and off they go looking for Sarah.

“Let me know if you find her!” You shout after them, Boy 1 turns, salutes in your vague direction, and then disappears in the crowd of other drunk polo shirt wearing kooks. 

Rafe turns to you, shrugging his shoulders with a smile that dimples his cheeks, “Looks like it's just us.”

You click your tongue. “I was actually on my way out.” Why am I playing hard to get? 

“Oh, you don't wanna do that.”

“No?” Tell me to stay and I will. 

“Nah,” he starts, drawing out the words quiet and slow, “You wanna stay here with me allll night.” 

Thank you. But instead you say, “Here? With you? All night?” is a voice thats sweetly mocking. The apples of your cheeks turn pink with a grin. You down the contents of the cup Top had given you, trying your best not to scrunch up your face, “Well you best get me another drink then.” 

He takes the cup from you without breaking eye contact. Was he always so intense with it? Paired with the barely visible but constant grin he’d had this entire time, you worried maybe he could read your mind. Your eyes shot down to his hands again. Please god don't be reading my mind. 

“I’ll be back in a minute. Don't go anywhere.” You look up at him through your lashes, giving him your best Jessica Rabbit, which seems to be working. 

“I’ll be right here.”

You turn to leave, pointing quick to the plastic cup, “-No Malibu!”

 The bathroom door was unlocked, which is why you surprised to find it occupied by three girls huddled around the counter. “Oh, sorry-” you turn to leave but have already caught their attention, one reaches out to you in a instant. 

“YN!” She slurs out, looking up at you through lidded eyes. It’s one of the girls youd danced with earlier- Lacey or Lexi or something. Whoever she is, theres a smile on her face that lets you know she’d totally wasted. Not just drunk either.

 “Did I see you talking to The Rafe Cameron out there?” She squeals, drawing the attention of the other two girls. A couple of ‘oh my gods’ are whispered as they huddle around you, desperate for more information.

“I Just-” 

“Is he a good kisser?”

“I Don’t-”

“Are you gonna hook up with him?”

You bark out a laugh. “Fuck, girls, I only just met him!”

“So? Are you?” They continue to pester, unfazed and looking up at you with shining, excitable eyes, like kids on christmas morning.  

You're smiling hard and trying to think of something to say. Fuck it, lets go with honesty. “Maybe, yeah.” 

They squeak again and they grab at you, pulling you towards the bathroom mirror. One girls hand goes straight to your hair, curling a single piece with her finger, neatening it up the best she can. Another reaches for her bag, the clatter of makeup can be heard as she fumbles. She comes at you then with a powder brush. They’re all talking over each other and it's hard to make out exactly what is being said by any of them. I knew a girl that slept with him once/i heard he cant get it up unless you call him mr cameron/really cos amy said- 

It’s then that you see the thin white lines of powder neatly waiting on the black marble counter. Ah, you think, well that makes sense. 

 Rafe is standing outside the bathroom when you open the door, he pushes himself off the wall casually like you haven't just kept him waiting entirely too long. His eyebrows raise as you step out with three girls following very close behind. They're all giggles and lazy grins and so are you. 

“...Are you high?” You bite your lip to keep from smiling.

Tsk tsk tsk. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you get high. I can't take you anywhere.” 

“I wish you would take me somewhere...” You say, confusing yourself, and then “isn't it so hot in here?”

“Right." He laughs, "Outside.” But he’s already reaching for your hand when he says this. He’s gentle, not like the girls in the bathroom had suggested. He’s leading you off towards the big patio doors, red plastic cups forgotten on a side table somewhere behind you. You plod along next to him, doing as you're told.

You couldn't even guess how long you'd been sat out in the garden with him. Forever, maybe. You mumble out a thank you, trying not to sound embarrassed. Mostly you just felt bad for him being on babysitting duty. If only Kie was here.

“S’fine. Happens to most people the first time they try blow.” You don't even attempt to protest, just laugh. Your cool girl exterior was screwed the second he had introduced himself. Your makeover had been great, blonde bombshell of your dreams, unfortunately you were still yourself underneath it all. Which isn't to say that you were insecure, or shy, just that you had always folded far too easily for a pretty face. And Rafe had a very pretty face. 

And to his credit, or maybe to yours, he didn’t seem any less interested in you now that you were both sobering up, significantly less cool and mysterious but still beautiful. 

You're lying on the grass when he asks, “So…are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

Ha! Looking up at him from where he stands over you, you smile sweetly, like you hadn't just spent ten minutes trying not to vomit on his shoes, like you're meeting him for the very first time, “YN.”

Rafe  repeats your name quietly to himself like he’s trying to figure something out. “Do I know you?”

You smile, “I don't think so. Not really.” to be fair, he and jj happened to rarely pick fights when you were around, and he was older than you by maybe two or three years, you weren't sure, so it's unlikely your paths would have crossed outside that.

“Mhm. not really, huh? Do I get a hint?”

“No.”

He sighs, thinking like you gave him a clue anyway. “You definitely live on the island?”

“All my life!” You say, accidentally playing along. Sobering, but not sober. 

“I don't know…” He bends down next to you, one hand reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, it lingers there and you try your best not to lean into it, fail miserably, and look up at him. “I think i’d remember this face.” 

You blush, he probably notices but you tilt your head back and close your eyes. Embarrassed, yes, playing it cool, maybe. You bite your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Apparently not.” 

He laughs. Damn, Definitely noticed the blush. “Seriously, how can I not have met you before?”

While this was fun, you were drunk. And when you were drunk there was always a silly voice in the back of your head telling you sad things. Right now it was telling you how disappointed  he was going to be when he found out who you were- or rather, what you were. A pogue. “I don't wanna play anymore.” 

“No?” He asks, a little condescending, like he was talking to a child, but there was something about it that you liked. You shake your head ever so slightly, no. 

“Want to go home?” The question surprises you. Were they your only options, play nicely or get sent home? No, you shake your head again. 

“So then do as you’re told.” He says softly, testing the waters. He stands, taking your hand and you let him pull you up with him. There's a moment where you're pressed against his chest, and he’s looking down at you, his eyes dark under the moonlight, where you think he might kiss you. And maybe he would have if you’d have been good. 

For the first time in your life you desperately want to be good. 

“Let’s go.” It seems you're being let off with a warning. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as Rafe leads you down the side of the house and into the front yard, unlocking his car. 

[kykyonthemoon]

Floating Floraletter

and why it will always be my favorite!!!

‼️ This post contains spoilers for Caleb’s 5 star memory. Read at your own discretion.

‼️ These are just a few words from my perspective after reading the card. I'm aware that each person might have different views, and I'd love to hear from yours too. Please do share your thoughts.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

❀ At first, when I read the title of the card “Floating Floraleter”, I was a bit confused. The “floating” part is quite clear because it refers to Caleb’s boat, Evol (which he uses to make the flowers and MC float). And “Floraleter”? It must be a combination of “floral” and “letter” but I don’t see any letter here. Turns out it’s in the card’s content. And it made me cry.

Since his time at the Academy in Skyhaven, Caleb wrote many letters to MC but didn’t send them. They were all very normal thoughts and reminders he had for her. Yet if she had received them during that time, it would mean that she would never be able to see him again.

Because all those letters were goodbyes that he wanted to say to MC, in case something unexpected happened and he couldn’t come back to her anymore.

All those letters reminded me of the Violet Evergarden episodes; when the mother asked Violet to write a letter to her daughter every year on her birthday because she couldn’t live anymore; or the letters without an address, stacked up at the post office… I felt like this part of the card, although only a few short lines, was enough to be my most favorite so far, because of the emotions it conveyed.

It wasn’t anything grand, it wasn’t anything big, or fancy. Just a few simple lines he sent back to the most important person in his life. It was enough, and sincere. That was all my heart needed.

❀ In addition to the letters that never reached MC, Caleb also kept her photos, and photos of both of them together. He kept them in the most important chip on his aircraft. So that when the time comes and he must go, her image will be the last thing he sees before leaving this world. 😌

❀ Loving a soldier, not only MC but also Caleb always have to face the possibility of never seeing each other again. Caleb states that he also wants to come back as much as MC wishes to see him again. Perhaps it is that small wish of both that makes them try every day, despite all the misunderstandings, the arguments, the distances... to finally truly return home - where each other is. They choose not to say goodbyes, but only hellos. So romantic yet painful at the same time. It makes me cherish peace more than ever, and at the same time remember that separation is inevitable in everyone's life. But if even the desolate land can still grow flowers and grass, then death is only temporary (as the church has taught me that).

❀ There are also some minor details that I probably won’t be able to name them all out here. I love the way MC trusts Caleb unconditionally. He tells her to jump, she does it without hesitation. Because she knows he will always catch her no matter what. I love the way they interact, tease, joke and caress each other. I also love the way MC appreciates him more, understands him and is more proactive with him. If in the previous cards (especially the normal ones) the way MC behaves didn't move me much, then in this card, she shows me the role of being Caleb’s trusted support. Although not much, it is a spark that I hope to see more of in the future.

Let me sum it up by what MC feels: 

I know that no matter what happens, I’m just like him. We always yearn for our home and long to return to each other’s side.

[lala-blahblah]

Hello, I am going to analyze your psyche about what your favorite version of Narumitsu/Wrightworth says about you and give you personalized therapy advice (JOKE!! This is a lighthearted fun jest and I don't really think everybody falls in these categories. So we are all going to be polite to eachother ok!!)

Elementary school aged Nick and Miles: If this is your favorite ship, you're really into the nineties/y2k aesthetic and you miss going to blockbuster. Also you are feeling untethered and like the last time things made sense was when you were young. You want to imagine that if you could turn back time and do things differently, you could stay blissful and happy forever. But you have this creeping feeling that no matter what you do, time is going to keep passing and you will lose touch with people and think of things you wish you could've said but never had a chance to and this is just going to be an endless cycle for the rest of forever. Some of that is true, yes. The best you can do is be honest with the people you know now about how much you care about them so that they can hold that with them always, no matter what happens.

pre-AA1/Feenie x Bratworth: If this is your favorite ship you are in college or most likely high school. The idea that you could find someone in school and them end up being your soulmate for life is really tender and special to you (because you are in high school and you would like to be loved Right Now Please because facing the change of adulthood without someone who loves you by your side scares you). You also find it difficult to care about adults and their adult problems (because you are in highschool) and honestly? That's so valid. Enjoy your time not thinking about them bc one day it will be all you think about. I fear that if you put too much pressure on yourself about finding the perfect relationship, you will miss out on the ephemeral joy of being with another person. Please give yourself grace and try to live in the moment.

Ace Attorney main trilogy Phoenix and Edgeworth: if this is your favorite ship, Edgeworth is your favorite character and you are really invested in his character arc and want to see it tied up neatly with him letting someone into his life. You like your stories to end with "And they all lived happily ever after", because you like the thought that things happen for a reason, and that if you care enough and try hard enough you can fix things. You probably like to think this because your own life has difficulties and you want to escape them for a little while. Things really do get better, but there are some things you may never get closure on. I am sorry, I know it's hard and it hurts. I am sending you my love

Seven year gap beanix and umm glasses edgeworth? (what is his nickname?): Ok even though this is one time period this actually falls into two parties. People either like this because of Phoenix being a new father to Trucy OR they like it because of Nick and Kristoph's toxic situationship love triangle, which is so deeply funny bc these groups have totally different vibes. So let's split these up:

Dad Phoenix: Phoenix is your favorite character and you want to see him suffer so that he can be cared for by Edgeworth for once. You also like seeing Phoenix do his best to love and care for Trucy despite the circumstances even though he isn't a perfect dad. It means a lot to you to see someone fail and still be loved and deemed worthy by someone. Did you perhaps experience gifted kid burnout in school and feel like you let everyone around you down? Be kind to yourself and examine how capitalism has shaped our worldview so that a "valuable" member of society is someone who holds a job of a certain caliber and earns a certain amount of money. We cannot all be held to the same standards. Do what you are able to do in your situation. Maybe that is fight for people in court. Maybe that is make music or art. Maybe that is being there for people you love. The world needs all of these things, but every person does not need to do it all.

Situationship Phoenix: Phoenix is your favorite character and you think he is owed a little sexiness after being denied love by everyone else in his life. You also want to punish Edgeworth a little bit, like you definitely have some beef against Edgeworth (understandable, although I love him he is frequently annoying) and making him jealous feels like you're serving justice on Phoenix's behalf. You probably lie awake at night and think about the sick comebacks you wish you had said to people who were jerks to you in the past. This very emotionally driven form of serving justice to these characters means that you too would have gotten your badge taken away if you were an attorney. You should probably examine the way you hold grudges and how you treat people you believe have wronged you.

Apollo justice games era Phoenix and Edgeworth: Ok I haven't played all of apollo justice yet I can't tell if there are different eras within Apollo justice, but probably if you like to imagine Nick and Miles are actively dating/flirting during the events of the first Apollo Justice game, you are living in denial that the events of the 7 year gap happened and you are sticking your fingers in your ear and going LALALALA I can't hear youuuu. You also think dads are kind of hot. You probably dislike running errands alone and prefer to have a buddy go with you. You have a small group of friends that you are really close with and you are secretly terrified of the thought of them leaving you. Pain is inevitable, and you must learn to accept this, but know also that joy is just as inevitable. You are stronger than you think.

Post Apollo Justice Phoenix and Edgeworth: If this is your favorite ship, you want everyone to be able to rest. You want to wrap up all the lawyers and everyone they love in a big blanket and let them all take a cozy nap together. You want all the drama to be done so that they can move in together and raise a child together and propose to each other and plan a wedding and be very sweet and kind to each other. Despite your best efforts, I sense that the expected social norms of a nuclear family structure are influencing your life choices. This is not a bad thing, to want these things! But does hitting these life milestones feel genuinely good, or good because you are achieving a goal and gaining approval from others? Close your eyes and imagine moments where you have felt joy. Make a pact with yourself to try and seek out these things more, regardless of whether they are what society expects of you.

[apple-onigiri]

I can't remember if Vaugarde mentions this or not. So it's entirely possible that I'm wrong on this.

Stars seem like an odd case of only being vaguely forgotten about. Multiple times, the party needs to be reminded about them, but they can still stay at the forefront of people's minds. Like with Isa wanting to watch the stars with Siffrin.

But here's the thing about that. I can't recall anyone in the game mentioning the days of the week.

With our world. We have the days of the week because of the stars and planets. With how astrologically minded the island was, it's hard to imagine they wouldn't have something similar. So, did days of the week suddenly vanish from people's minds?

the reason for not mentioning the days of the week in the game is probably because the plot takes place during a singular day and there's both no reason and no way for characters to state it on a way that's natural. they do have them, though, in the dubiously canon way the twitter qna allows, since, as stated there, the defeat-the-king day is a tuesday! [x] it's an interesting topic, though, let me place it on top of my examination table. but uh. this got long, apologies ~(￣▽￣'')~

i think specifically the stars were forgotten because they were an important part of life and culture for the islanders, perhaps to the point of always reminding people of the island. kind of in the vein of how, like it or not, if i say cherry blossom, you will proooobably think of japan

but if we put things into perspective, we kinda realize that, even if they can be appreciated visually, stars probably weren't crucial in any way to any other country other than the island (other than sailors; we don't know how the non-star-related navigational tool situation is looking like in that era, namely if they have compasses. ding). days of the week, however, are a big part of life that lets you organize and plan. not to mention, it begs the question of if months would disappear too, and, with years being divided into them, would the concept of the calendar itself fade? well. probably not, especially with the island getting [REDACTED] relatively recently - can you imagine adjusting to a world without division of time in just a decade?

not to mention, the concept of a week in some way, shape or form appeared throughout history independently and in different lengths. which, yeah, a week is completely arbitrary length-wise, nothing in the stars sets up its length to seven days specifically. it just so happened that seven is the one that stuck ig. prolly smth to do w/ the smallest sizable mysterious prime number that adds and multiplies weirdly, but whatever!!! that's not the topic rn

i did need a moment to realize you might've also meant the etymology of the names for the days of the week because a. my native language forgoes the celestial naming conventions entirely and has mostly numerical names for them b. in english they mostly come from the names of nordic gods (thor - thursday, freya - friday and such) with only a bit of a planetary mix from latin (saturday - saturn for example) and some celestial terms for sunday and mo(o)nday

but speaking of, and as you mentioned, it seems both english in part and french all the way use with planetary/celestial names, from latin. or you'd think! because those planets were named after gods, after all, not the other way around! and that terminology for the days of the week only spread alongside latin, which in turn spread because it was the language of the roman empire that swallowed up the whole mediterranean and beyond, alongside spreading its influence even further along its trade routes

and all this lands us in the same hell dimension as pondering if characters in your fantasy setting should be saying something simple as "bye" because it comes from "goodbye", which is in turn comes from a very christian "god be with ye". does fantasy france use the same names for weekdays and, if so, is there a fantasy roman pantheon to take those names from through fantasy latin? as i said, hell dimension

i personally think that, regardless of All This, even if the names did originate from cosmos-related vocabulary and/or the island, they might either get reconstructed from people's routines (mostly-numbers-style like slavic languages do, for example), or even stay the same after the island's disappearance anyway. this is because, just like how people in real life don't really think (or even know) about their origins, people in vaugarde and other countries probably also wouldn't actively think about it, so the cultural context wouldn't matter. this isn't to mention the possible shifts between languages that might've linguistically distanced them from the original islander ones even further

this was a fun ask!! thank you so much for sending it ^^

[heathersdesk]

Not Today, Satan

Get your wrench and hammer. We're taking this one apart for the Mormons who need to understand a couple things about trans people, tattoos, and something called degrees of magnitude.

Our friend Mr. Parmesan thought he ate with that one, and you might be tempted to think he did too. But he's making a false equivalency between this girl getting a Harry Potter sleeve tattoo and her support for trans people, including those who transition. His goal is to make her question her support for transitioning because if she can have buyer's remorse for body modifications like tattoos, then the choices of completely different people not even doing the things she's doing might also be ill advised.

It's a stupid argument, and the best way to show you the false equivalency here is to teach you something about tattoos. These are things I've learned because I like watching tattoo removal videos. You can learn a lot when you choose to be curious about people instead of instantly condemning them.

Tattoo removal is more expensive than a cover up or a blackout. What she has on her arm is a blackout. Let's talk about what that means.

She sat in a chair with an artist paying for them to cover up the entire sleeve tattoo with uniform, solid black ink. She spent a lot of money to have that done. This is not a rejection of body modification because you might regret it one day. This is someone who is still so fully committed to body modification, she did what was necessary, in terms of time and money, to cover that entire tattoo with solid black ink. She embraced a blackout so entirely, it almost begs every person who sees it to look at her and ask "What tf happened to you?!"

Do you think she wants to tell strangers she has a full sleeve Harry Potter tattoo? No! But she's committing to doing it by getting this done. It's a political statement to black out her arm like this. In a choice between waiting with the tattoos intact until she had the funds (if ever) for removal, which would far exceed the money she would need for the blackout, she chose the blackout. She chose to take something she cares about that much and put it skin deep. She was rejecting Rowling and her IP so completely, she did what was necessary not to have it visible showing on her skin anymore.

For this SAT "If, Then" that Mr. Parmesan created to have any teeth, she has to regret the blackout she chose for herself. She clearly doesn't. She's showing it off. And she doesn't get different options of how to respond to a tattoo than everyone else just because she's pro-trans/anti-Rowling. She gets the same options everyone else with Confederate flags and Nazi iconography gets. This is part of the tattoo experience that everyone signs up for when they get one, regardless of what they get, because how you want to present to the world can continue to change.

This is also small potatoes for what trans people go through. And this is where we talk about degrees of magnitude.

Tattoos are elective. The people who never get one don't have their lives drastically altered. The people who do get them generally don't have their lives drastically altered either. If it fits under some clothing, how would you know? And you'd be surprised who may or may not have tattoos in your ward. I've met people who got tattoos to commemorate the deaths of their children. It was something they needed to bring them peace with a life experience that is so astronomically beyond you and anyone else who could've objected, your Mormon Ads do not apply here. You couldn't be more out of place in judging someone for that than if you intruded into their hospital room the day it happened and started talking to them about tattoos. Some things just aren't yours to judge, and minding your own business is free.

No one ever died from getting a tattoo. No one ever died from getting a bad tattoo and regretting it. But there are a lot, A LOT, of queer people who are dead specifically from our community because of judgement they face from us. We have killed so many of our own queer people that it has become statistically significant. We have lost enough of them that those who wish for better, including in our faith community, will not be silent anymore We also have actual science to support that coming out and transitioning is the safest and healthiest way forward for our queer people to avoid that fate. Peer reviewed science that has been replicated time and again all over the world. This is what our people need. This is what will save them. There is no other solution that can or will exist. We've tried everything else as a species, let me assure you. Nothing else, including all of the shame you can muster in your misguided little body, is going to create a viable alternative to keeping trans people healthy and alive.

The decision to get (and potentially regret) an elective tattoo is in no way, shape, or form comparable to the life saving healthcare for trans people. Not in this country. Not in any country. There is no substitute for that care. And there is certainly no substitute for that care that will ever be achieved through snide indifference and hatred.

Frankly, I need you all to be smarter than this. Your God needs you to be smarter than this. Your Savior Jesus Christ needs YOU to be smarter than this.

Stop falling for the dumbest arguments conceived of by the human mind on the Internet for why you should be free to disdain trans people. They're in our stakes. They're in our wards. They might even be your friends and you just don't know it yet.

Be the best version of yourself you can be. That's what you want, right? That's your goal?

Consider carefully if these attitudes represent that to you and the God you serve. You're going to have to explain it to him one day. And I'm here to tell you: it gets easier to be good when you stop making exceptions for people along political lines, like the God you worship isn't going to throw those lines in hell where they belong at the first opportunity.

If you're failing a very easy portion of an open book test, then stop.

[maxdibert]

I just saw someone say “Snape ended up in the magic KKK because he got friendzoned.”

I’d really love to ask the people who parrot that narrative and actually believe it: how exactly do you "friendzone" someone who never asked you out? How do you send someone to the friendzone who has never shown even the slightest romantic interest in you? And what’s even funnier is that these are often the same people who push the idea that James and Severus were “rivals.” Like, how is a poor kid, with no financial resources and no gang of supportive best friends behind him, supposed to be a “rival” to a rich, well-connected pureblood boy with a famous last name, who’s constantly flanked by his mates and goes around bullying people for fun? Can someone please explain this to me? I’m genuinely trying to understand the mental gymnastics it takes to justify being an avid fan of an aristocratic abuser whose main target was someone at the very bottom of the social hierarchy. It's honestly getting pretty embarrassing.

Severus Snape was never “friendzoned,” because in order for that to happen, he would’ve had to express some kind of romantic love for Lily or confessed his feelings to her, which he never did. Lily didn’t cut ties with him because he liked her or because she didn’t reciprocate his feelings; she ended their friendship for reasons entirely unrelated to that. And Snape didn’t get angry, didn’t throw a tantrum, didn’t threaten her, and didn’t emotionally blackmail her. He accepted that she was ending the friendship and that was that. At what point does that resemble someone bitter about being “friendzoned”?

And then we get to the KKK comparison. I’m honestly exhausted by how people keep comparing Death Eaters to the KKK. Muggle-borns are not the equivalent of a racial minority. The equivalent of a racial minority in the wizarding world would be non-human beings, who are not only treated as slaves but are also entirely excluded from political, social, and economic power. They're used as servants, enslaved, looked down on, and seen as inherently inferior, even when they're autonomous, intelligent, and capable. And this treatment comes from both the Death Eaters and the supposed "good guys" in the story who, despite their moral high ground, still function as a privileged elite who don’t give a damn that their society is built on slavery and abuse of all non-human magical beings.

Let’s remember that the only one who actually calls this out is Hermione (who was raised by muggles, so of course she notices the red flags), and she’s mocked and dismissed as a joke for it. These “good guys” you’re idolizing just because they didn’t want Voldemort to establish a new regime on top of their own, are still a bunch of classist, elitist bigots. Because here’s the thing: racism only functions when there’s a visibly identifiable difference that people can discriminate against, and “blood status” isn’t visible. There isn’t a racist structure among wizards, because racism is tied to colonialism, and the only postcolonial dynamics in the wizarding world are between wizards and non-human beings.

Muggle-borns have always had access to the same education, social mobility, jobs, and positions of power as purebloods. There is zero structural discrimination against them. So no, this isn’t racism. It’s classism. Pure and simple.

Now, let’s break it down: a mixed-blood kid raised in poverty, with no support network, economically destitute, and abused by his parents, spends years being bullied by a group of boys led by the social elite, and he ends up drawn to a group of people who are far above him in the social hierarchy, but who tell him, unlike his abusers, that he matters. That he has a place with them. That he can be one of them. That he can finally feel safe, valued, admired. That he, who grew up in a slum, with an abusive father, who couldn’t even afford decent clothes, can finally dream of being someone.

And outside the rooms where these people promise him a better future, what does he face? Violence, bullying, constant abuse from the so-called “heroes.” He tells his best friend what’s happening to him, and she gaslights him, tells him he’s “obsessed.” And he’s the one you want to paint as a Nazi or a KKK member? Have any of you ever read a book about cults, extremist groups, or terrorist cells and looked at the kind of people they target? It’s never a coincidence that it’s always vulnerable youth from poor, unstable backgrounds. How do you not understand this painfully basic correlation?

A kid with nothing to his name, who’s been chewed up and spat out by everyone around him, who is told by one group “you’re scum” and by another “you belong with us”—his decision to go with the group that offers him safety and identity doesn’t make him a Nazi. It’s social logic, for fuck’s sake.

[tocara]

A reader, who doesn't believe in love and then they met Satoru.

Part 5.

They met again after a year and a half.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

A year and a half have passed.

Life moved—slowly, then all at once. You don’t feel like a completely different person, not exactly. But you’re not the same girl who once came home from a condo party aching over a stranger’s smile.

Now, it’s the day of the wedding. The venue glows with warmth, soft laughter, and the hum of music. People swirl past you in pastel dresses and well-fitted suits. You stand by the corner table, fingers grazing the rim of your glass, eyes scanning the crowd without making it obvious that you’re searching for anyone.

You’re not even sure if he’ll be here.

You haven’t dared to ask. Rina never brought him up again—not that she had reason to. You and Satoru only met once. A brief evening a long time ago. One gathering. One hug. That was it.

And yet, when he walks in—your heart clenches like it recognizes him before your mind can catch up.

Taller than you remembered. Maybe not in height, but in presence. Clean-cut in a navy suit, hands tucked casually in his pockets, expression unreadable for a second—until his mouth curves into that same familiar smile.

That smile.

It disarms you all over again.

“Hey,” he says.

You feel your thoughts scatter like loose pages in a gust of wind. But somehow, you manage to meet his eyes. Even if only for a moment.

“Hi,” you reply softly.

That’s all.

No grand reunion. No awkward stammering. Just one word. A fragile thread stretched between you.

And then the others see him. Like a spark has gone off in the room, Rina and the rest of the group swarm in with bright greetings, laughter, arms thrown around shoulders. He’s swept away before another word can be exchanged.

You step back, letting the tide of their reunion pull him away. You stand quietly at the edge, clutching your glass again, pretending not to listen—but your ears catch everything.

The laughter. The stories. The teasing.

“You know, for a while there, I thought you were going to beat Rina to the altar.” someone from the group says it.

He gives a half-smile, casual and unbothered. “Yeah, well. Life had other plans.”

“Wait, what happened?” someone asks. “Didn’t you guys hit five years or something?”

“Almost six,” he says. His voice is light, not bitter. Just final. “We broke up. It’s been… almost half a year now.”

Your world stops.

Those words—“We broke up. It’s been… almost half a year now.”—hit you like a slow-moving wave.

A fragile tremor cracking through something you’ve kept tightly sealed for far too long.

You’re still standing there. Still technically part of the group. But suddenly, you’re not really there.

The noise fades. The chatter dulls.

The wedding, the lights, the laughter—it all feels distant, like you’re watching it through water.

Six months.

That’s enough time for the world to change. Enough time for someone to leave. Enough time for someone else to move on.

But not for you.

Not when you never had anything to begin with. You have no right to feel this way. No reason for your chest to feel like it’s unraveling thread by thread.

But it does.

And the worst part?

You realize you want something.

For so long, you wanted nothing. You drifted through your days like a ghost in your own skin. You made peace, quietly, with being invisible. With letting things pass you by. You never chased anything. Never fought. Never even hoped.

Most days, you simply wished to disappear—softly, without hurting anyone. Without a sound. Just… gone.

But this?

This is the first time you’ve wanted something so badly it aches.

A terrifying, impossible kind of want.

You don’t even know what it means.

Is it love? Obsession? Just a cruel illusion tied to one night and a few gentle memories?

Maybe.

But for once, the weight of uncertainty isn’t enough to stop you.

You don’t expect anything. Not love in return. Not some sweeping, perfect moment.

You just want him to know.

That he made you feel something real. That he made you want to be more.

That somehow, with just one night and a smile that saw through the quiet shell of you, he changed something.

And even if it goes nowhere—

Even if it breaks you—

At least you won’t regret being silent.

Not this time.

[askgrantcurly]

Letter One - Expected Delivery 5/2/2025

Jimmy,

I know you’ve been expecting me to write and visit you while you’re in rehab, and when I dropped you off that is exactly what I intended on doing. I got home that day after sobbing in the lobby and it made me realize a few things. These are also some of the reasons why I didn’t… or couldn’t come.

I don’t think I was ready to see you change when we first got into a relationship.

I knew I wanted you more than anything, I still do, but I didn’t have faith that you could change, and that was wrong of me. I expected this to go exactly the way it always had. I am so sorry, Jim. You were putting in all this work and I treated you like a manipulator. I feel so stupid for letting myself get disillusioned by my own insecurity. You put forth effort and I shunned you for it.

Instead of talking to you I decided to talk for you and then get angry at you for things you never said- things you likely didn’t even mean. We are equally flawed; the only difference is that you’re honest about it, and I’m a coward.

I knew that something was wrong when your demeanor changed before the abortion appointment, and I was too selfish to address it.

I did want to have that baby with you. It kills me to think that you were changing your mind and I ignored every sign. You were trying to communicate the best way you knew how and my selfishness and acceptance made you feel like you couldn’t tell me directly. Sure, there is miscommunication on both sides, but I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about ME and MY mistakes. I put you in a position where you felt like being honest with me wasn’t practical. I’m so sorry, Jim. More than anything, I’m sorry about that.

I still think we made the right decision in the current situation we’re in, but in the future, when you want to- IF you want to, we can try again.

I love you. Completely, entirely, wholeheartedly, I love you.

There is no one else in this world that I would rather be with than you. I know you said in your letter that no one else compares to me, but the same thing can be said about you. No matter who I’m with, whether I’m dating them or just filling in the holes with some… quick emotionless fuck while I wait for you, no one will ever or has ever compared to you. You are the one for me and I refuse to give that up.

I think I put a lot of my self worth on sex, which isn’t your fault but has led me to look for that validation in other people

I slept with someone else… multiple people, actually, and I’m incredibly embarrassed about my actions. I hurt people I love because I needed validation more than I cared about them in the moment. God, I buried myself in other people’s affection because I didn’t have the attention I wanted from you- and I’m the one who wasn’t reaching out. None of it makes sense, even to me.

The first person, a close friend of ours, was for comfort and familiarity and I’m sick to my stomach over it. I thought I was clear about my intentions but I don’t think I cared in the moment if I wasn’t. I hurt her and that is something I have to live with now, even though we’re working through it. Things have changed now.

The rest were… god, for lack of better word, opportunistic. It became an impulse fueled by a desire to be cared for- cared about- and I never stopped to accept that the only person who feels right to me is you.

I don’t have feelings for any of the people I slept with. The sex, at least to me, was just sex and nothing else. In your last letter you brought up an unofficial obligation to each other and I have to agree. I felt like I was cheating on you the entire time and that made things messy.

You have every right to be mad at me. I NEED you to be angry with me because it means you still care about me. It’s weird, and a bit deranged, but it’s the truth.

I knew about Colt; I knew something would happen, and I’m not angry about it.

I’m not mad at you for sleeping with Colt under current circumstance. I understand why you did it, but it breaks my heart that it was such a bad experience for you… you don’t deserve to feel like that. I won’t let anyone touch you like that again. I don’t want anyone else to touch you, and I don’t want to touch anyone else. I just want it to be US.

One last thing…

[[ ILLEGIBLE ]]

Please don’t answer me until I pick you up. Really consider it.

Much love, Grant.