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sscieloz · 11 months ago

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New Year’s kiss

Huh Yunjin x best friend!reader

Synopsis: Yunjin isn’t sure of how she’ll tell you about her going back to Korea to debut, but as the deadline to present herself approaches, she doesn’t have much of a choice.

Warnings: dom!yunjin x sub!reader. a little angst and a little smut (rushed bc I rlly wanted to finish this and I won’t be able to tmr).

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: happy New Years! See you in 2024 ^^

“Your parents have outdone themselves, this year.” Yunjin says, opening the door to the balcony. The party’s going hard inside the penthouse, but she’s surprised to find you alone, staring at the bright lights of the city.

You give her a small smile, accepting the champagne she hands you. “You know they always go all out. It’s their thing, I guess. Partying.”

As your best friend, she’s fully aware of the pain in your voice. Part of herself wishes she didn’t have to add sadness to your night, too.

“But not yours.” She remarks, nudging you. You laugh, nodding. She knows you well.

“But not mine.” You confirm, drinking from the glass. “Which time is it right now, by the way?”

“We still have a few minutes before midnight.” Yunjin answers you, after looking at her phone to check for the time. Only ten minutes until midnight, she remarks. She has ten minutes to tell you the news.

The two of you stay in a comfortable silence after you hum in acknowledgment, one that only comes from knowing someone for so long. You can’t help but notice the way her grip on the glass tightens, aligned with deep breaths and a twitchy, uneasy posture. You let your best friend take her time, though, not pressuring her to answer. Part of you is already aware of what has her so hesitant, anyway.

Perhaps it’s best for her to not talk at all.

Yunjin breathes in, once, twice, before brushing your hair out of your neck, silently trying to get you to look at her. Leaning front to the balcony, you still pretend the city lights are the most interesting thing to ever exist, as if the girl besides you isn’t the only thing who’s ever had your complete attention.

“Y/n.” She calls, huffing in frustration when you only hum, still refusing to acknowledge her. “Y/n, would you please look at me?”

Unable to deny your best friend the simplest requests, you turn your body towards the red-haired. You take her in, fearing she’d go away with a blink: her plumpy lips, her rosy cheeks… her big, expressive eyes, looking at you with such hopelessness it nearly drives tears out of your own. She’s as hurt as you are, you know it as much.

Although, knowing that doesn’t keep you from blaming her.

“I-“ Yunjin struggles to have the words come out of her mouth, choking softly in her own saliva. Her breathing is erratic, and her nails have been deeply bitten, by now. Even though you feel like a cracked glass, threatening to shatter, you manage to grab your best friend’s hand, giving her strength to continue. You’re always caught in that loop, of selfishness and selfness, when it comes to her. The urge to comfort and protect Yunjin while wanting to shut her down, trying not to get yourself hurt. “Source Music called. They want me to be their trainee and debut in their new group, next year. I’ve finished reading the contract copy they sent this afternoon.”

Yunjin was nothing short of surprised once the company had reached out to her, talking about her performance in Project 48 and how they considered her to be a great fit for their upcoming group, Le Sserafim. It felt unreal; unbelievable and too good to be true— she had dreamt about receiving such a call for countless times, wondering when she’d be enough, and it was finally happening. Her agency was into the final steps of negotiation with the company, since the talks have been going nonstop for weeks now. They were starting to get impatient, demanding she flew back to Korea to adjust her contract’s final enclosures. She was supposed to be in Seoul for days now, but Yunjin refused to leave without properly addressing you, her best friend and most feverish supporter, first.

And she’s been trying so hard to talk to you, but the words disappear from her mind each time she intends on doing so. Her palms sweat, her mouth dries out, and she’s suddenly gasping for air, unsure of what to do. She just can’t disappoint you like that. She’s promised not to leave you too many times now.

“I-“ You stop yourself, reminding your brain to be gentle towards your best friend, who looks at you expectantly, like you’re the most precious gem in the world. For that reason, you force a smile to grow on your face. “That’s phenomenal, Jen. You’ll shine bright. It’s what you’re born to do, after all.”

She smiles, feeling the blush adorning her face. Even if she knows you’re not entirely sincere, it’s always nice to be praised by you. Yunjin has always found herself doing the silliest things, just to earn one of your proud smiles or encouragements. She quickly recomposes herself, though.

“Now be truthful. Say what you really mean.” She demands, fixing your hair. Her fingers brush your ear, and it’s hard not to shiver at her touches, always so delicate around you. Loving, caring. Just how she’s always been.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you allow your body to feel how Yunjin always makes you feel: like the fireworks are actually inside your stomach, erupting slowly. Now leaning back completely on the banister, you try your best to keep your voice from quivering. It’s the reason you bite your lip hard, looking up to the stars to prevent tears from streaming down your face.

“I know it’s selfish to say, but y-you just got back.” Your attempts do little to hide your fragile, faltering voice fail, the moment you open your eyes again. Yunjin is playing with her hands, not looking at you either. All in favor of keeping herself from touching you. “I-I thought you had warmed up to BU. You even said you were excited to be my roommate, despite the mess I always make.”

With her decision of enrolling later than most students, her belongings weren’t even fully unpacked, waiting for both girls to come back from winter break to be put into their places. And, despite being devastated about her decision of leaving the K-pop industry, you’ve been noticing how Yunjin has been smiling and engaging more with every passing week, slowly returning to her usual, bubbly self. It was subtle, but you were always there, giving her strength, and Yunjin was starting to enjoy the college experience.

Or so you thought.

Now, with her confession, you were beginning to overthink about how good of a friend you were. Sure, her revelation was something you had been expecting, over the last days; she’d been restless, jumpy—almost sneaky, wordlessly confirming something was wrong. However, hearing her actually say it was entirely different. Your heart hurt, already aching with her future absence, and your cries got stuck in your throat.

“Please, please don’t cry.” Yunjin mumbles, unable to keep herself from touching you. She pulls you close, caressing your hair as you hide your face in the crook of her neck, shoulders moving with your hiccups and cries. She feels so guilty: you’ve been best friends since kindergarten; she shouldn’t be one to bring you pain. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. But it’s my dream. I don’t think I’m ready to give up just yet.”

She’s completely right about that, the rational part of your brain knows so. You’re aware she’ll finally get what she’s worked so hard for, and be able to fulfill her passion.

The other part of your brain, however, can’t think past the loud bang inside your head, screaming mainly one thing: Yunjin will leave. Like all the others, she’ll leave you all alone. That’s the only thing you can think of, as you dampen her white tank top with your tears.

You lose track of time, embraced by her cozy arms, and soon your cries are reduced to whimpers. Brushing your nose, you detach yourself from Yunjin, still sniffling slightly.

“When do you leave?” You ask, so focused on the girl staring right at your soul you miss the start of the countdown.

“TEN!”

“On Monday.” She answers, face filled with sadness. She tries to reach out for you once again, but you move sideways.

“NINE!”

“You should’ve said something, anything, sooner.” Yunjin flinches at the sharpness of your tone, along with the way you bring your crossed arms to your chest, seeking protection.

“EIGHT!”

“I couldn’t. I swear, Y/n, I swear I tried so fucking hard to tell you, but every time I tried to it was just…” She’s breathless, representing exactly how she felt whenever she attempted to tell you she was going away.

“SEVEN!”

Yunjin takes two steps closer, trapping your frame between her arms on the balcony. Preventing you from running away, like you so desperately wanted.

“SIX!”

You sigh, defeated, interlocking your hands behind her neck. Her skin feels so familiar, yet completely foreign to you. You wonder how long will it take for you to forget her smell, her mannerisms. Her sweet accent, talking into your ear ever so sweetly. “Is it a good… firm, at least? Will they take good care of you?”

“FIVE!”

“They are, and they will.” She nods, tracing your arms with exquisite touches, almost as if she were afraid you’d push her and leave. “A respected and well-renowned company, I promise you.”

“FOUR!”

You hum, and she’s more than satisfied with your silence, this time— desperate to have even the tiniest bits of your approval.

“THREE!”

Yunjin stares into your eyes, suddenly self-aware of the (lack of) distance between you. She reads your body, looking for any signs of hesitation or discomfort. Instead, she only finds you looking at her behind your lashes, with a pouty gaze.

“TWO!”

“I’m really, truly sorry.” She says, tone serious and regretful, so upset to be hurting you.

“ONE!”

She leans in, brushing your lips. Bringing you in.

“I know.” You say, and nothing else.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The kiss you share is bittersweet, filled with melancholy and the promise of what you could’ve been, besides best friends. You love each other—always have, in all the ways one could possibly love someone. As best friends, as lovers… you’ve always welcomed Yunjin just as she is: a kind-hearted, caring, loving soul, so attentive towards others. You know the best act of love you could do is let her go, watching her fulfill her dream of being an idol. Still, you’re too flawed to do it that easily.

So you kiss her, soaking up as much of the girl as you can before she leaves. Your hands grip her jacket, bringing her even closer as you break the kiss, gasping for air. You clasp your foreheads together, not wanting to be parted from her, ever. You feel hot, and surely aren’t thinking clear in the slightest. Perhaps, that is the reason you drag her inside, carelessly bumping into the hundreds of guests until you reach your bedroom.

“Room, now.” You murmur, locking the door from inside. Her lips crash onto yours once again, pushing you onto your bed. She straddles your thighs rather harshly, separating and positioning herself in between them, hands everywhere, applying an overwhelming pressure.

None of you care about being patient, taking off your clothes and well aware of the lack of time there is for you to enjoy yourselves. Her mouth attacks your neck, nibbling and sucking on your skin with increasing pressure, letting herself go along with the sounds that come out of your mouth. Yunjin’s hands still haven’t let go of your thighs, pinching and gripping as her thumb brushes the inside of your skin, conscious of the heat it sends down your core. If all, she’s able to feel you shiver, biting your lip in anticipation. The reaction makes her laugh, her hot breath making itself home against your clavicle.

“No t-teasing.” You whine, jokingly trying to push her off you. Your pleads work, though, as she makes her way down your breasts, licking her lips with hunger.

“Be extra loud for the guests, Y/n.” She says, before latching herself onto your nipple. Her teeth graze through your skin, suckling and pinching your boobs to her liking. She blows on them gently, taking pleasure in the way your body was so responsive to her touches— your back arches, and lustrous moans evade your mouth within seconds. A doll, all hers.

Yunjin’s mouth wanders lower, then, leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach.

“How do you want to cum?” She stops briefly, staring at you with her big eyes, always so expressive, letting you choose.

“M’ want you to stay close, please.” You murmur, pushing her, so your lips can meet again. “Don’t be far.”

“So well-mannered.” She praises, pecking your jaw as her hand cups your cunt, still not where you want it the most. “Fingers it is, then.”

Before you can move your hips towards her hands —all hot, bothered and impatient to feel her inside of you, two of Yunjin’s fingers enter your cunt in a single motion, stretching your walls in ways only she could. You let a high cry, loudly just as you were told to be, as your head drops back, nearly colliding with the wall.

You feel complete, finally: with Yunjin’s marks displayed all over your body, the pressure you feel when she towers over you, yet holding you gently, spreading you out to her liking. And the way she just stares at you, with such lust in her eyes… it makes you feel so loved your heart aches, promptly reminding you she’s not yours at all, nor will she ever be.

You don’t even realize the tears streaming down your face until Yunjin hovers over, patiently kissing each one away. They’re salty reminders of the reality, one where you and her can’t coexist— at least not in the way you both want to: without being an ocean away from each other.

“You'll leave me.” You murmur, letting your voice falter as you distract with yourself sucking hickeys on her fair skin, marking her just as she’s done to you. “Just like the others, you’ll leave me. You promised not to, J. You fucking promised.”

And even though Yunjin kisses you sultrily instead of answering, you both know it’s the truth.

“Shh… It’s okay.” She soothes you, still keeping her fingers in and out of your cunt, now adding a third finger. You gasp, loving the new sensation, and she takes the moment of distraction to guide your wrist down your core, “Here.” She collects enough of your juices, bringing your hand up, all shiny and wet. She’s hypnotized, “Look at how soaked up you are. And it’s all for me, right?”

You nod, still letting a few hiccups escape from your mouth, feeling like you should be shy. Yet, you can’t, not with the way she sucks on your fingers so erotically, making sure they’re all clean before shoving her own inside your pussy again. “Always for you, Yunjin.”

“No.” She says, too fast. Kisses you sweetly, then, before begging. “Never call me that. It’s Jen, to you, Y/n. Just Jen.”

Jen. Just how it always has and will always be.

“Ok.” You murmur, letting go of thinking clearly as her fingers pluck in and out of cunt, so wet the noises echo through the room. She’s going so fast it burns, and it’s the most delicious sensation you’ve felt in so long.

“Say it, then.” She avoids your clit entirely, wanting to drag this moment for as long as possible. Yunjin knows she won’t have you like that, so pliable in her arms, ever again. So she savors it. “Say my name, Y/n.”

And you do, moaning her name multiple times. Her rhythm increases more than you thought possible, and as her thumb circles your clit, barely applying any pressure at all, you cum, letting out a high cry and whimpering her name, orgasm hitting deep in your body. It was already on fire, ever since the kiss you shared on the balcony, but now you truly felt as if you were going to explode.

You’re still clinging to Yunjin as your orgasm fades away, taking your time as the waves of pleasure wear off at their own pace. You stay tangled until all that’s left is the sounds of your breathing, steadying with each passing minute.

Once you’ve both cooled down, you grab your clothes, putting them on in silence. You’re not quite sure of what to say to her. Part of you wants to tell Yunjin of how you’re sure she’ll excel at being an idol— she’s already sweet, talented, and bright, so surely doing so in front of others won’t be an issue. However, you also want to scream in her face: she’s promised to not be like everyone; to be always by your side, present no matter what. Now she’s broken such a promise. It leaves you nauseous, feeling so conflicted.

Thankfully, Yunjin knows you too well. She speaks first, tone hesitant.

“I’m not letting you go, ok? I won’t.” It’s a promise, Yunjin’s determinate eyes announce so as she nods, almost as if to convince herself of the fact.

So you nod, too, even though you know it’s a lie. You’ll take whatever she gives you, always.

She knows you need time to process things. Yunjin is well aware of how you work, and for that reason, she goes for the door as soon as she finishes getting ready, too.

“Jen?” You call, making her freeze her hold on the door.

“Yes, my Y/n?”

“You know I’ll always cheer for you and for your success, right? No matter what.” You tell her, smiling weakly. It hurts, and it takes all of you not to push her back into the bed and fuck her brains over, until she was so fucked out the only thing left in her brain was the thought of staying home, with you.

You don’t, though. You know what’s best.

“Of course I do.” She says, quickly drying off her tears, too. “I love you.”

“And I love you more.” You complete the phrase, just as you’ve always done since elementary school.

And when Yunjin leaves, part of your heart goes with her, too.

You only notice the gift hanging on your bedside table in the morning, after waking up with your eyes all red and puffy from crying. It’s a necklace, beautiful and delicate, identical to the one you had found while thrifting at an antique store, weeks prior.

“I’m sorry, young lady, but this is much valuable to me. I don’t even know how it got on the selling pile in the first place. I can’t sell it to you.” The elder owner had told you, even after minutes of you begging for it.

Your hands felt empty without the heart locket, and it took Yunjin a whole afternoon of pampering and buying you gifts until you’d forgotten about it, no longer bearing a pout.

Now, said necklace sits beautifully in your hands, although it’s slightly different from when you took hold of it, at the shop. Instead of flat, it is now carved with your initial, at the front, and Yunjin’s, at the back.

Without any second thoughts, you grab your phone to text her, even though she’d only see it once her plane landed, in Seoul.

“Shine bright, always.” You text her, well aware she will.

#sol writes #kpop x y/n #kpop x you #kpop x reader #kpop smut #huh yunjin x reader #huh yunjin x you #huh yunjin smut #lesserafim x reader #lesserafim smut #lesserafim imagines #huh yunjin imagines

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sonotkari · 28 days ago

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On Top

Mo Jihye x Fem Reader

[ Synopsis ]

Jihye loves saving her favorites for last, and the strawberry on top of her shortcake was not an exception.

Fluff

[ Word Count ]

1.2k berry berry short

[ a/n ]

Yes I said I was gonna be on hiatus but ended up finishing this draft that's been collecting dust TT it's been a while since I actually did not run away from my drafts and the typical "written in a short period" so heads up (why do I always give heads up these days... oh well) See you guys, never /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\

To sweet souls who love strawberries, dis for u bae <3

Jihye took a bite of her strawberry shortcake with a satisfied hum, a small smile appearing in sight as you too, followed and took a piece of your chocolate cake, savoring the sweet taste spreading, satisfying your taste buds.

What felt like a forever-lasting week had finally come to an end, and you and Jihye had both been on a tight schedule for so long now, making it hard to find the time to spend some quality time together.

Upcoming tasks and projects every 2 days, and Jihye starting her part-time job at the newly opened cafe by your apartment, made it hard for you to match both timings.

When you were back from uni, Jihye was already off to work, and by the time she was home, you'd be already in your dreams. When Jihye woke up, you were already off to uni, and by the time you got home, she was off to work and it felt like a never-ending saga.

So it still feels almost unreal that you and Jihye were sitting comfortably at the corner of a small cafe, cakes, and cups of hot lattes served in front of two while chattering your hearts out, catching up on the things you had missed.

"Do you eat it first, or save it for last?"

You gazed up to see your girlfriend grinning at you as she let the fork sink in and cut a piece of the cake on her plate.

"Hm?? What are you referring to, Ji?"

"The strawberry on top, silly"

Your eyes shifted at the big red strawberry placed perfectly on Jihye's shortcake. You then remember a funny little memory of how you committed a bit of a harmless crime by stealing one of Jihye's strawberries back in high school, where the girl would drag you out to every cafe to "investigate" which had the most scrumptious cake in town.

Somehow, you were never fond of strawberry shortcakes. The cream was kinda too sweet, maybe even kinda mushy...? Not knowing specifically why you never got fond of the cake, you wouldn't even try and order it for yourself unless someone insists on giving you a piece.

But Jihye's strawberry shortcake?

The urge to see how she'd look shocked after taking that big red strawberry and how she'd pout like a half-crying puppy was just coming and you couldn't help but swiftly stab the poor berry and quickly take a bite while looking at Jihye, a wicked teasing smile creeping across your face as you do so.

It sank in well that you committed one heavy crime as soon as you saw her actually pout like a lost puppy who just got dumped in the streets. One typical story, but oh why you look at her face. As much as you found it adorable, it was heart-wrenching at the same time.

But it all soon wrapped up well at the end when Jihye had hummed happily, diddle daddling her way out of the cafe with the small white box in her hand, another perfect shortcake sitting inside which you bought for her to pay for the sin you just committed a while ago.

Recreating that same teasing smile, you raised your fork from the chocolate cake and smirked at Jihye.

"Is that an invitation?"

"Ah-"

Slowly pulling her plate closer, Jihye looked at you with a side longing stare before the both of you burst out giggles and chuckles. You endearingly took glances at your girlfriend happily munching her cake, trying to avoid the center where the so-called "perfect strawberry" was sitting.

Jihye had always saved her strawberry for last, every time she would have a shortcake. It doesn't only apply to that but mostly everything she eats, she saves favorites for last.

"Saving it for last makes the happy feeling last longer"

Just like a catchphrase, you remembered how Jihye used to always say that phrase every time you both would go eat, and you were there looking at the girl with her lips curved into a big big smile while savoring the last bit of her food.

As much as the girl was always good with her appetite for food, making it was also one of a million things she had skills with.

==========

That one time when Jihye had a pretty high fever and felt too unwell to do things, you stepped in for her and did the work around the house. You were capable of what you needed to do to take care of your poor sick girlfriend. Except for one small thing.

Cooking.

Your cooking method never changed since you started learning back when you were little.

No instructions, no recipe to follow, no measuring of any sort of kind, just imagination.

So it wasn't surprising when Jihye woke up to go and get a refill of water in her glass and saw you rushing here and there to the kitchen with a not-so-tidy table and sizzling noise coming from the pot (which is the not-good way of a sizzling sound)

"You doin' good there Y/nnie??"

"Oh- uhm, hi Ji...!!"

"Did your "imagination cooking tactics" not work this time??"

You were trying to make her a rice porridge and in some way (which Jihye will never know where, how, or why) you failed to do so. So now it was her turn to step in and do the mixing and stirring while you were by her side looking a bit guilty that you made Jihye do all that while she was sick.

"I'm not wife material at all"

"uh- what??"

A soft chuckle couldn't be helped to escape Jihye's lips seeing you sigh as you repeated your words.

"Y/n, you literally did everything you could for me today. If it wasn't for you I think I wouldn't even be here standing"

Jihye says so and takes a spoonful of hot rice porridge, giving it a few blows before carrying the spoon by your mouth as you gladly open up to taste the best porridge you've ever tasted (even this to was meant for Jihye herself) and at the same time wondering how that mess you made a while ago turned into this five star Michelin.

"Besides"

She murmurs, gently wiping off the corner of your mouth before smiling softly again.

"You're wife material to me and that's all that matters, no?"

==========

After some time of recalling nostalgic memories, you look up to see Jihye having her last bite of the cake, but one thing on her plate catches your eye.

"Really saving it for the very last huh??"

After Jihye took a bite, she looked down at the neatly preserved strawberry before smiling.

"Mhm. Saving it for last makes the happy feeling last longer"

She says so and takes the strawberry with her fork. But unexpectedly, she held out the fork in front of you. Taking turns looking at Jihye and the strawberry right in front of you confusingly, Jihye giggled at your questioning state before she spoke up.

"Giving my happiness to my dear girlfriend"

"Oh? I thought that was your most prized possession tho??"

You teasingly smirked a bit before outing a chuckle.

"Well, I guess I just love you so so much. So much more than the strawberry on top"

Somehow, you were never fond of strawberry shortcakes. But Jihye's strawberry shortcake? Specifically, the strawberry on top? Well, that might be your favorite one in the whole wide world.

I act. made a rice porridge and ate it while writing this lmao

#kariwrites_🦦#mo jihye #danielle marsh #jihye #danielle #newjeans danielle #danielle x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans fic #newjeans imagines

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joys-of-everyday · 1 year ago

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SJ and the Pitfalls of Toxic Masculinity

Liking women wasn’t shameful in the least, but treating a woman as your savior, shrinking into her embrace in search of self-confidence—Shen Qingqiu needed no one to tell him how incredibly shameful that was. So he would rather die than tell anyone, particularly not Yue Qingyuan.

- Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu Extra

Hot take: og!SQQ had toxic ideas about masculinity, and it ruined him.

SVSSS is all about the ✨Toxic Masculinity✨ but this seems to be more associated with SY than SJ??? So yeah, lets talk about SJ (my poor meow meow).

There’s actually some subtlety here, because talking about SJ and masculinity naturally involves an interplay between historical and modern views on masculinity in China, which is something that has developed over time and has influences from other cultures (e.g. the west and our views on masculinity). (Interesting thing if you haven't already come across it) I am… not qualified to read the subtleties here.

To note, SJ is coded as masculine… sort of. He’s the head of the scholarly peak, a master of the Four Arts, which is one facet of ideal masculinity in traditional Chinese values. (Fluttering a fan around was very gentleman-like. Although also, expressing your emotions through poetry and copious amounts of tears was very masculine back in the day. 'Traditional masculinity' has and always will be an elusive ideal.) But I get the feeling nowadays ‘scholarly’ has more feminine connotations than ‘martial’, albeit a slightly weaker one than in the west. Also, on the topic of toxic masculinity, certain groups of people Who Shall Not Be Named would like you to believe that Real Chinese Men are stoic warriors and ‘gayness is a western thing’ (my rage is unreal but we will not talk about that).

Anyway, broad strokes, broad strokes.

Arrogance and Insecurity

A big part of toxic masculinity is a need for social recognition, to be the ‘alpha male’ (not an ABO pun and on a side note I literally cannot take anyone talking about alpha males seriously now, for many reasons, but this is the funniest).

SJ is obsessed with his cultivation, but more pertinently, he is obsessed with his reputation. He demonstrates this in a few ways. Firstly, he works his ass off, which is not bad in itself, but he does this to the extent it is detrimental to his health (that grindset lol). Secondly, he projects a certain image with his actions and mannerisms: reading in order to seem intelligent, looking down at people to seem superior etc. Thirdly, he responds to any perceived slights of his ability with violence. (Fighting with LQG is an example, but also drawing a sword on SQH when he pointed out that he was reading an upside-down book.)

Now interestingly, the unanimous vibe that Cang Qiong seem to get from SQQ is that he is ‘arrogant’. When in truth, all of this is compensating for his insecurity.

Shen Qingqiu was overly suspicious, always feeling as if everyone was talking behind his back about how he was still incapable of forming a core, didn’t accept his position, wanted to sabotage him in secret, and so on and so forth.

- Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu Extra

Sadly, SJ is justified in being afraid of other people’s opinion. His comfort and security rely entirely on his status, which in turn rely on other people’s opinion of his competence. Of course he wants to get to the top – he’s been under other people’s power before, and suffered terribly as a result. Why should he not desperately defend what he has worked so hard for? Yet ultimately it works against him, because when he’s in serious trouble, he hasn’t been able to build the human connections he needs to get help.

The problem is with the system. The idea that having strength allows you to do whatever you want hurts not only the people regarded as inferior, but also creates a collective sense of anxiety for those who find themselves ‘at the top’. Anyone can be kicked down and treated like scum. Everyone is afraid.

Dominance and Bullying

The phrase ‘toxic masculinity is fragile’ quite often, but to elaborate, these kinds of rigid ideas of masculinity are by nature constantly under threat. Because any crack in the perfect shell is regarded as failure, it requires constant, aggressive maintenance, which takes the form of bullying the weak in order to elevate oneself.

SJ’s treatment of LBH is complicated, but here I want to draw attention to a different character – Ming Fan.

SQQ (SY) would have you know that MF is not a bad kid, other than the fact he’s a huge bully to LBH. And in part that comes from jealousy of NYY’s crush on him, but what allows it to happen is the way SJ runs the peak. It's interesting to note that so much of SJ's bullying of LBH happens through MF, whether it be giving him the faulty cultivation manual, giving him chores or physically assaulting him. In doing this, SJ creates a system that firmly establishes himself at the top, likely in order to give himself some semblance of security.

But ironically, this is the very system that SJ has suffered under his entire life, recreated to it's extreme on the peak that he controls. When he was completely under the power of others (QJL, LBH) he suffered. When other people were under his power, he inflicted suffering. He encouraged other people to do the same. Again, the whole thing is a scam! He is putting all of his energy into things that aren't helping him, things that ultimately bring him down.

Real Men Don’t Cry – the Dangers of Emotional Repression

SJ has many, very justifiable reasons in life to be upset and angry. The things he went through are both terrible and extremely unfair. Being angry at everything is not a healthy outlet for these feelings, but he hasn’t exactly been taught an alternative either. On the streets, tears would have gotten him absolutely nothing. Anger at least gave him energy to fight back.

And this destroys him. He is angry at the fact he had no one in his life who loved him, his talents were wasted because of QJL/WYZ, nobody takes his abilities seriously… and with no healthy way of expressing this, he goes onto bully LBH. LBH then returns to destroy him, literally. More subtly, he is unable to express his fear and anxiety in healthy ways, so acts standoff-ish and aggressive to his those around him. As his relationship with them deteriorates, his fear and anxiety increases. Feedback loops.

SJ puts on a mask of anger and stoicism to the point that everyone around him (including himself) is convinced that he is unrepentant and evil. Suppresses and suppresses until it breaks him, until he has nothing – not his comfort, nor status, nor the one that he truly cared for:

He had single-handedly facilitated Luo Binghe’s today, and now who had single-handedly created this outcome for him? Yue Qingyuan was never supposed to have an end like this. In order to come to a decades-late appointment, to fulfill a completely useless promise. A broken sword and a dead man. It shouldn’t be like this.

A Note on Ambivalent Sexism

It’s funny because I think there’s a fandom vibe that SJ was the secret feminist of SVSSS. Don’t get me wrong, I love this in fanfics. Badass feminist SJ all the way. But my honest opinion is that I don’t think that was the case.

More explicitly, I don’t think SJ took women seriously. NYY, for example. Certainly, SJ valued NYY. But the expression of this care involved doting on her, hiding his treatment of LBH from her, and not particularly pushing her to grow. And PIDW!NYY wasn’t implied to be the most mature of the lot. Okay, while we don’t know a lot about PIDW!NYY (narrator unreliable), it’s probably safe to say some distance from SJ helped her a lot.

Another point – the Qiu massacre. SJ killed the men, but not the women. And while this says more about his distaste for men, it also indicates (possibly - I will float this idea but I won't die on this hill) that he straight up doesn’t see any woman as an enemy, or capable of being a threat. Which is possibly a natural conclusion he’s drawn from his experiences (QHT was not very perceptive, or very threatening) but also inaccurate as a worldview.

And his attitude towards the women he sees as saviours? Has the same vibe as ‘it’s so embarrassing to be protected by a girl’.

Okay, so being doted on and not being killed are positives compared to being abused or murdered, but this kind of attitude is the opposite side of the same coin to ‘women are incompetent and inferior’. And when it comes to raising kids, not allowing them to grow can be extremely harmful as well. See e.g. Ambivalent sexism.

Although I do want to mention that I do not think SJ was like… actively misogynistic. I think he genuinely liked women more than men. The point is you can be sexist without realising it.

Conclusions

To conclude, SJ had ideas of success and self-worth associated with toxic masculinity which were instrumental in his downfall.

Masculinity doesn’t have to be toxic. While the Cang Qiong family aren’t exactly the healthiest bunch, YQY’s calm and patient leadership, LQG’s steadfast loyalty, LBH’s ability to cry like a maiden and still be the strongest… these are all traditionally masculine traits that can be very positive. These are also people who can have feminine traits and explore their gender identity without being prissy or weak.

It's the great tragedy of SJ that he had many positive characteristics. He was talented, intelligent, articulate, perceptive, loyal, and caring… under the right circumstances, he could have grown into a great person.

And maybe he still had that chance, right until the end.

#svsss #shen jiu #original shen qingqiu #svsss meta #having said i would disappear i have things to dislodge from my drafts

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 2 years ago

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jealousy, jealousy || I.N. x Reader

Summary: Watching the guy you have a huge crush on be a pretend couple with one of the prettiest girls you know for a photoshoot isn't the perfect way of spending your morning, that's for sure.

Who knows though, things might start looking up sooner than you'd expect.

Word count: 3.9k

Genres: college AU, fluff with a little angst, idiots to lovers (but only one of them is an idiot and it's not IN)

Warnings & Tags: reader has anxiety, reader is insecure, someone is verbally unpleasant towards the reader, kissing, Tzuyu from Twice is in this

series masterlist

A/N: So this is part one of my lil project for Stray Kids' anniversary! I've got three one-shots written so far, so I'm confident I'll be able to post the maknae line in the next few days, and then take a couple of days to finish the hyung line or post them as I write them, I'll see. I hope you'll like it!

For this one-shot, please do suspend your disbelief for the way the school work is described in this lol, think of it as an artistic rendition or as something out of one of those shojos that go wayyyy overboard.

The shoot is supposed to start at 10, which means you’re there at 8, and the second you walk through the door you’re already plagued with thoughts that you should have shown up half an hour ago. Even as you’re the only one from your team there, you feel the familiar lump forming in your throat. Your mind goes over everything that needs to be done, everything that can go wrong, everything that is likely to go wrong, and everything you’ll end up taking the blame for.

You force yourself to take a deep breath. You focus on the end of the shoot — supposed to be at noon, but likely to actually be at 2, and it should be around 3 by the time you finish cleaning up —, on how you’ll be able to get back to the quiet of your home afterwards, and on how the atmosphere here isn’t too bad, this early in the morning. You’re not the only one here, you’ve already met the tired eyes of a few of the other students who you suspect didn’t go home last night, but there is something light in the air. You saw the sun rising on the way over and the light is still gently pouring in through the windows.

What a shame this won’t last.

When the others start rolling in, you’ve set up your little corner, just the way you like it. Your lights, your mirrors, your brushes and products, right where they should be so that they’ll fall right under your fingers when you need them. It helps you breathe a little better, but the lump doesn’t go away. It’s alright; you’re used to it by now.

Nari’s the first one to walk in, which isn’t surprising considering she’s the one directing the shoot, and it’s her clothes that the ‘models’ are going to be wearing. That is to say, the students she’s recruited to model for her, just like she recruited you into doing the make-up for her. The two of you aren’t close, not even friends, but you’re good at your job and a bit of a pushover, which makes you the ideal target for that kind of things.

She waves at you with a tense smile, but you know it’s not meant for you, she’s just stressed out. She always is. Unlike you, though, she has a tendency of taking it out on others, and that explains at least half of the tension in your shoulders today.

You need to learn how to say no to people.

Tzuyu, from the dance program, enters next, looking unreal as always. You’ve worked with her a few times before, too. She’s a sweetheart and you know she’ll make your job easier.

The same can’t be said about the next person to make his way through the door, whose apparition you’ve been waiting for since you got here, embarrassingly glancing at the door every few minutes.

Yang Jeongin walks in like he owns the place.

To be fair, he kind of does. Also enrolled in the fashion course, he’s pretty much the go-to when it comes to getting male models. Hwang Hyunjin, from the dance programme, is the second one, mostly because he’s harder to get a hold of — and because, you’ve heard, his girlfriend is pretty scary.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he walks over to your spot. His coat is thrown casually over his shoulder, his walk confident, and stylish glasses that you know he doesn't need rest on the tip of his nose. He died his hair back to black recently, but you can see it’s still damaged from the light pink that was his previous color.

“We meet again,” Tzuyu chimes from her seat, grinning from ear to ear, and Jeongin smiles in response, his expression changing entirely the second he does.

“It’s great to see you, Jeongin,” Nari purrs as she approaches, before she sets her eyes on you. “Are you done with Tzuyu? We really need to get started here.”

You know you shouldn’t let her speak to you like that, you have no reason to, but all you can think about in the moment is to pacify her to ensure that she’ll leave you alone.

“I still need a few minutes with her,” you say, and Nari huffs in annoyance, before her attention is captured by a guy setting up the lights and she power walks over to him.

“Do you want me to tell her something?”

You shoot a surprised look at Jeongin, who’s staring at you with a frown on your face, and you immediately look away. You hope it looks like you’re just focusing back on Tzuyu, and not like your heart jumped up to your throat when you met his eyes.

“It’s fine,” you say, “I know how she gets on shoots. “Just sit down and I’ll be with you in a second.”

He nods slowly, eyes still on you as you busy yourself around Tzuyu, but the tension remains in his jaw, which you don’t miss. It gives you a pang in the chest — shit, you don’t like when people are displeased with you.

It also makes his jaw look really good.

Tzuyu leaves to go appease Nari as soon as you’re done with her, and you’re relieved when she’s dragged away to go put on her clothes.

That doesn’t last, though, because next thing you know you’re a few inches away from Jeongin’s perfect face, and he’s staring straight at you.

You swallow. Then you grab one of your brushes, and you get to work.

“No late night snacks this time?” you ask, half-teasing because the last time you’d worked with him, his face had been somewhat puffy from it.

A smile breaks on his face, and immediately there are flowers blooming in your chest. He can look so serious and unapproachable one second, but as soon as his lips curl and his eyes crease, he’s a whole other person.

“I didn’t want to make your work harder,” he replies. You feel yourself freezing, and then you turn away to grab another product, praying that you didn’t just stare dumbly at him for too long.

“You got started on your take on the modernized hanbok already?”

He hums in reply.

“I have one sketch. You?”

“I’m counting on the rush of adrenaline I’ll get the week before to finish it,” you admit.

You’re too focused to see the curiosity in his eyes when you say that. You do, however, notice him tilting his head, and you immediately correct him, fingers sliding along his jaw to pull him back in his correct place. As you do, you feel him swallowing, and you’re quick to remove your hand.

If you’d been looking, you’d have noticed his ears turning red.

“You were the first one here, though,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“Oh, yeah, that’s because I don’t want to let people down. I’m the only one who’ll get in trouble if I procrastinate too long.”

And even then, you won’t, you’ll just spend a horrible week telling yourself you’ll never do that again.

You inevitably will.

God, you’re so tired of living with yourself, sometimes.

“You should tell me if you need a last second model,” Jeongin mumbles. He’s careful not to move his lips, but you’ve perfected the art to understand that language over the years. The comment makes you laugh.

“You're always completely booked for shoots on the last week,” you grin. You yourself still give a few hours of your time here and there, though you don’t stick around very long. You know that Nari plans her shoots ahead partly for that reason. It’s kind of flattering, if you think about it.

Someone with her drive and her talent gets to have a shitty personality, you suppose.

“I’ll get Hyunjin to replace me.”

There goes your heart again. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that the only time you spend with him goes like that, because you’re too cowardly to approach him during class, and it’s not fair that invariably—

“Are you done soon?” Nari shouts from behind the screen she’s put up to make a corner into a changing room.

“Just a few minutes more!” you reply before focusing back on Jeongin. “I’ll think about it,” you tell him, though you know yourself well enough to be able to tell that you’re extremely unlikely to go through with it. Just the drafting of the text would take you hours, and actually sending it? The idea is laughable.

You really wish you were normal with that stuff.

“Don’t move, I’m almost done,” you say, and he goes still, and your heart’s hammering in your chest, but at least he’s no longer saying things you’re at risk of misconstruing.

As he closes his eyes to let you put on the finishing touches, though, you know you’re in for a long day.

“Jeongin, can you put your hand a little lower? Tzuyu, smile with your eyes please? Now tilt your head more to the right? More? Jeongin, look at the camera but like, from the side, from— Okay, two seconds for touch ups, and then we’ll need to get things done a little faster everyone, alright?”

Nari’s forcing herself to smile so much that you think she might cramp. You rush past her to get to Tzuyu and Jeongin, carefully touching up their make up where you need and adjusting a little for the light. You also pat Jeongin’s forehead to catch beads of sweat that formed under the artificial light, and he gives you a grateful nod as you do your best not to think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about.

“We’ll be done soon,” Tzuyu says cheerfully, but even she seems to be forcing her smile at this point. You don’t blame her for it. You do, however, think she’s not being very realistic about how much work they have left.

It’s 11.30 and they’re nowhere near done. The start of the shoot ran late because of Nari’s adjustments to the clothing. After that, there was a heated conversation between her and the photograph over the subject of filters, leading to the guy throwing his hands in the air and quitting on the spot, meaning she’s the only one there. You can tell she’s fuming, and though you have sympathy for that, you’re also pretty terrified of becoming the subject of her ire.

“You’re not messing him up, right?” she asks, glaring at you, and you jump away from Jeongin.

“Sorry,” you say automatically, even though you haven’t done anything wrong. “I’m all done.”

She looks at him critically, trying to find flaws in your work.

“He has a spot on the chin,” she says finally, “seriously, if you don’t get your shit together we’ll never—”

“You don’t speak to her like that,” Jeongin interrupts her, and his voice sounds sharp and cutting.

The air freezes in the room. You risk a glance in his direction. He’s staring straight at Nari, lips curved ever so slightly downwards in distaste.

He also does have a little spot on the chin.

Shit.

Nari’s staring at him, too. She’s paled, and her lower lip is shaking.

“Sorry,” she finally says, voice trembling. “Sorry, I’m j-just— We don’t have that long and— Sorry.”

She looks small and vulnerable, and your heart melts on the spot. You can’t help it.

“It’s okay,” you say, “just give me a second to fix it.”

Jeongin exhales slowly next to you, but you suspect it’s in annoyance, not in relief. Still, he leans towards you to give you better access to his face.

“You don’t have to placate her,” he mumbles, lips barely moving.

“I know,” you reply. “It’s just easier that way.”

He frowns, but doesn’t add anything. For a second, you almost tell him that you wish you could stand up for yourself, that the truth is your ‘freeze’ response strikes you every single time and you can’t figure out what to say, that if you could, you’d—

“All good?” Nari asks.

You give her a nod and, this time, she doesn’t say anything about Jeongin — or about Tzuyu, for that matter. So you walk back to your spot, and you watch as the shoot continues.

You don’t really like watching these. That’s generally true. You have friends who do, who think that ‘this is where the magic happens’, but you know all the magician’s tricks, and that leaves no actual magic for you. Still, you’re needed here. You suppose you could have quit on the spot after Nari’s outburst, but it’s— you can’t actually do that. So you’ll stick it out until the end, even if you’re not enjoying yourself.

And that is particularly true as Nari directs Jeongin to pull Tzuyu closer to him. As he does, neither of them questioning it because they’re used to it by now, you find yourself sucking in a discreet breath between your teeth. Jeongin’s hand seems large over Tzuyu’s shoulder, long, pale fingers gently brushing against the skin and for a second, you think about the electric feeling that would run through you if he ever—

Just thinking about it makes heat shoot through your entire body, and you swallow. At least no one’s looking at you.

Another direction from Nari, and Tzuyu puts her hand over Jeongin’s chest, shooting a bold grin at the camera.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Direction. They step away from each other, but Jeongin reaches out for her, and she delicately places her fingers into his open end, both of them longingly staring at their hands.

Your fingers dig into your arms.

Direction. Keeping Tzuyu’s hand in his, Jeongin brings it to his lips and they gaze into each other’s eyes. They look perfect together. They’re both stunning, and you know there��ve been whispers about them on campus already, in no small part because they’re often reunited for these shoots.

But God does it burn in your chest to look at them right now.

“We’re done!” Nari shouts at 1.50 pm. Behind her, the group that’s supposed to get the room at 2 is huffing and puffing, but you don’t think a fucking panzer could have gotten her to clear the space until she was happy with her work.

You should be relieved. You’re not. You won’t be until you’ve locked the door to your room behind you.

“Wanna get a drink to celebrate?” Tzuyu asks Jeongin. Her smile’s back to its usual brightness, now that the tension’s mostly gone.

You start picking up your stuff, but, embarrassingly, you’re very much focused on hearing his answer to that. You wish you wouldn’t be doing that, because that’s not any of your business, yet you can’t seem to help yourself right now.

You probably would have caught it if Nari didn’t stop by your side just then.

“Hey,” she says, “I am really sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have said that.”

The thing is, you’re pretty sure she meant it then, but now there’s a lightness to her voice that you find… annoying. It seems to you that she’s already moved on and expects you to do the same. Normally you would, but after having spent the last two hours watching the guy you have this stupid, hopeless crush on all over one of the prettiest girls you’ve ever seen, something in you just— snaps.

“I think you’ll have to find someone else next time,” you tell her with a polite smile. Her face falls, and you immediately feel guilty. You shouldn’t. Probably. Should you? Are you being mean? Are you doing something wrong? Does that make you a bad person?

“I— Okay,” she says, and this time her voice’s much softer. She looks down at her feet. “I get it. I know I’m not easy to— Yeah. I’m sorry.”

You thought standing up to her would feel good, that you’d feel Schadenfreude over this moment. This is the furthest thing from that. Actually, you only manage to bite back your own ‘I’m sorry’ at the last second.

“I just— this environment stresses me out,” you still say, speaking too fast. “It’s not really good or fun for me and—”

“Sure. Don’t worry about it.” A deep breath, and then Nari nods at you politely. “Well, I’ll get to cleaning up my stuff.”

And just as you’re replying “Same,” she’s spun around on her heels and started putting the clothes away.

You don’t know where that leaves the two of you, but that reaction makes the moment just a little easier on you.

You wonder, vaguely, if she did that on purpose. You don't linger on the thought though, and you go back to your own program, walking towards your little make-up station to start putting stuff away, getting everything back to its place in your bags. It’s something you slow at, just like you’re slow at setting them up, but it also helps you getting back to your normal self. With every object coming back to where they belong, you can breathe a little easier.

You still notice almost immediately the presence behind you, and you’re not particularly surprised to find Jeongin there. You give him a smile, and gesture at the chair.

“If you give me a second, I can get some of that off your face,” you say as you gesture to him. Camera make-up would look quite strange outside, and he’s been to enough of these things to know that at least as well as you do.

“I heard you told Nari off.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess you, uh, were right.”

That’s not all that happened there, but that will have to do.

When you glance at him, though, he doesn’t look happy about it, a frown barring his expression, and your fragile confidence immediately falters.

“Do you think that was a bad idea…?”

His eyes widen and he's quick to shake his head.

“No, not at all, you did good!” You can’t help but smile at the words. He’s younger than you, but somehow keeps behaving like he’s not. “I just like working with you.” He gives you a sheepish smile, lips pressed together.

“Sit down,” you say like your heart didn't skip a beat, “the least I can do is not let you go out like that.”

So he does, and even though you still have stuff out that you should be taking care of, you lean close to him and get to work once more.

There’ll be other shoots, of course, Nari isn’t the only one who requires your services. In fact, you’re surprised that he’d have thought of that at all. You know that it didn’t cross your mind, probably because you think these moments mostly as fueling your delusions.

The idea that Jeongin could actually enjoy spending time with you hadn’t even occurred to you.

Huh. That might say a thing or two about your self-confidence.

“So, you’re going out with Tzuyu after this?” you ask before your thoughts start running wild.

His eyes open.

“We’re going to get drinks, yeah,” he says, a cautious edge to his voice. “You should come with us, actually.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “I don’t know if she’d be very happy if I did that. Wouldn’t want to third wheel, you know.”

You hope you do a good job of keeping any bitterness out of your voice. You certainly try your best to appear nonchalant, like you’re merely doing small talk while you’re removing his make-up, even if you avoid meeting his eyes, knowing that it would

That might be why it takes you by surprise when Jeongin’s fingers wrap around your wrist, interrupting you. When you look at him, you find him staring at you with a surprisingly serious expression.

“You wouldn’t third wheel,” he says, which you certainly don’t think warrants all of that.

“It’s fine,” you reply, attempting to joke about it even as the breath is knocked out of your lungs, because you will not be caught dead misreading the situation for something it’s not, “if anything getting a date with Tzuyu is—”

Then, several things happen at once. The hand around your wrist pulls you forward and you stumble, just as his other hand shoots up to cup your face.

And then he’s kissing you.

His mouth is warm, his lips soft, his fingers carding through your hair, and suddenly you’ve lost your balance and you’re half sitting in his lap and any attempt at forming a coherent thought is swallowed by what is happening.

A very, very distant part of your brain is thankful for Nari’s screen, which has been moved to the make-up station to make place for the group that comes after you, but that is only a fleeting thought, because still, Jeongin’s kissing you. His hands are gentle, holding you like you’re a porcelain doll, but his lips are fierce, and you feel, briefly, his teeth grazing against your lower lip. His right hand travels from your wrist to your waist, and you’re pulled even closer to him, and now you’re pressed against his chest and all you can think about is how you want more of this.

When he moves away from you, you’re panting, breath short, and you can only stare at him with wide eyes.

“You wouldn’t be the one third-wheeling,” he says.

“What,” you say in response, ever the eloquent one.

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair while the other one remains on your hips, not quite squeezing, but not letting go of you either.

“I— thought I’d made it pretty obvious I was interested in you,” he mumbles.

Oh. Uh, yeah, about that…

“I, uh, I assumed it was just wishful thinking,” you admit under your breath. “I mean, we don’t really, uh, talk outside of these shoots.”

He sighs and puts his forehead against yours. Your noses brush, and you’re acutely aware of the fact that you would just have to move a little to kiss him again.

“I— always looked forward to seeing you,” he admits quietly, almost shyly, something you’d never thought you would see, “but you always looked like you wanted to run away when I came up to you in class, so I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, just— just shy, I think.”

It makes him grin, and you realize that seeing that specific look on his face makes you want to kiss him even more. If you were bolder, you would, especially right now, but you don’t think you can dare to just yet.

It’s fine, though, because he’s the one who kisses you, briefly, tenderly, and then he looks at you like you’re one of the world’s seven wonders.

“Want to go make Tzuyu feel like a third wheel?” he asks, rising an eyebrow.

You laugh, and you can’t know it, but his chest swells with pride when you do.

“And then I can take you on a proper date,” he offers. “If you’d like.”

‘If you’d like,’ he says, and you suspect that he knows exactly how much you’d like that, but you humor him because how could you not.

“I’d love that.”

this was my first time writing for IN and this made me realize that he's probably the member whose personality I'm least sure how to write, so I hope you enjoyed it still and I'll see you tomorrow for Seungmin's part! Any feedback, comment, reblogs or asks are extremely welcome, I may not be able to get to it right away because I'm working on the rest but I they're much appreciated ❤️

#stray kids #i.n.#yang jeongin #in x reader #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #jeongin fanfic #candywrites

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ziploc849 · 16 days ago

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Another wall of text on my thoughts for episodes 70-78, I’m gonna make a seperate post for 79 and 80 having listened to them already cause there is just. So much.

I wrote all of these notes after listening to the original episode, not any further, so enjoy my thought process though the last quarter of this season!!!

Ep 70: More death discussions, oh joy!! These are the episodes that make me the most uncomfortable, the ones that talk about the nature of death more than just the fact that it exists. I am curious where these books are coming from, if it’s not just Leitner’s involvement that makes them fucked up. Also Not-Sasha’s laptop having “authentication errors” definitely sounds accurate, even the technology can tell she’s not really her.

Ep 71: Another example of a story with a focus on claustrophobia. Most of the ones we’ve heard by now are from people who are very clearly scared/panicked by the occurance, but Karolina was suuuper chill about it all. Even not being afraid of death, as she mentioned. It feels strange to not be at least a bit perturbed by the idea of your own death, especially in such an untimely way. That’s coming from me though, who absolutely has a fear of death in some capacity, so I’m probably projecting a bit

Ep 72: Basira you better still be alive and not murdered by darkness demons or some shit you’re too cool. Also kindly what the fuck is this episode. I know there’s been some episodes to do with large amounts of meat or body parts, the room in the man upstairs, the teeth in thrown away. A part of me wants to say this is just a story about a crazy fucking murderer, but I am far to familiar with this fucking series by this point to think it’s just that. So seriously what is the fucking deal with all the meat. The link to the Tom Hahn in Killing Floor is interesting though much like Jon I have no clue what it means.

Ep 73: There are officially too many cults and I cannot keep track of them. Once again phobia themes!!! Darkness!!! Plus the idea that a space was much smaller in reality than it seemed while going through it, which sounds at least similar to a lot of the endless/infinite stuff we’ve seen before. I’m a little worried about Basira now, since like Jon mentioned being involved and in the know with these things in the way they are seems to offer some level of safety, at least more than if they’re not part of an official organization. Iirc Natalie was the weird girl who kept unscrewing the lightbulbs in that one episode, and Rayner was mentioned in Fathers Love?? I think??

74: Totally unexpected change of events, something fucked is in the tunnels!!! Never would’ve guessed!!!! Snarkiness aside though, this episode is interesting. Michael being there was confusing at first, but I’d wager a guess the drawings mentioned are fractals, or something similar, and he seems to like things that go on forever and fold in on themselves. The idea of the thing in the tunnels somehow removing and replacing the floor is interesting, I don’t know if we’ve seen things like that happen in places that are not somehow extradimensional or unreal in some way (like the spaces Michael likes so much). The fact that the person is taking files is also concerning, I would hope Jon would check to see if anything important is missing, or what was taken in general. Clues n such. Also we’re finally getting more confirmation that Not-Sasha is up to some sketchy shit!!!! Catch on Jon please god!!

75: Michael Crew what the hell have you become. The mention from Jon about wondering if the books take power from the people reading them instead of the other way around makes sense, but what does that mean for people like crew? People who died because of something to do with the book and are just. Inexplicably back? I can’t remember if there are other examples of something like this or if it’s just that there’s been so many books and so much death that it blends together. Basira really came through bringing the tapes, and it’s a much more satisfying goodbye to her character than just “fuck it I’m done buh bye”

Ep 76: Melanie King my beloved!!! I love that she and Jon are able to, for lack of a better term, infordump together lol. Hearing them literally finish each others sentences in the end talking about the research King was doing gave me a special kind of happiness lol. I do hope she doesn’t get murdered by ghosts in India though. Also she doesn’t recognize Not-Sasha!!!!! She knows she isn’t actual Sasha!!!! And now Jon has a real and true inkling of what’s going on. C’mon Jon you remember Graham from Across the Street, put the pieces together please god.

Ep 77: we have answers on whatever is up with Not-Sasha!! The Not-Them, apparently just one weird creature. Gertrude mentions “The Stranger”, which idk what it means but I know Mary Keay mentioned “The End”. I really don’t know what this could be about, but the way they talk about them like creatures or something is curious. Jon putting pieces together at the end even I hadn’t realized!!! Distortion and Strange Music both had Sasha’s voice. God I already knew the voice actor for Jon is fucking incredible but the panic and horror in his voice as he puts the pieces together of what Not-Sasha is, and what it must’ve done to actual Sasha? Phenomenal. But also I REALLY want Jon to clue the others in on what’s going on. They might not believe him right away and it might take a lot of explanation but there is real logic and evidence in what’s going on, they’ll pick up on that I assume

Ep 78: God the grief in Jon’s voice is awful. VA is too good. But also listening to the statement, hearing such explicit confirmation that the people attacked by the Not-Them are dead, not simply missing or lost, was so hard to hear Jon read. Just realizing that was probably the first time he got proper confirmation of it as well. Also god DAMN it he needs to tell Tim and Martin what the fuck is going on they can HELP. And maybe then he can get help from his friends instead of going through Michael’s fucking doors to escape the now unbound(???) Not-Them. Fucking wild

#magnus archives #the magnus archives #tma first listen #tma podcast #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #melanie king #tma ep 70 #tma ep 71 #tma ep 72 #tma ep 73 #tma ep 74 #tma ep 75 #tma ep 76 #tma ep 77 #tma ep 78

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weredoingeverythingwrong · 5 months ago

Text

Project 2025 is Terrifyingly Real

Project 2025 is Real!

Fear.

I have always had an undying love for the dystopian fiction novels that have long littered the YA genre and as I've gotten older, this has not changed. Books like Hunger Games, Divergent, The Uglies, Birthmarked, etc ruled the imagination of my adolescence as I pictured a world of such obvious dysfunction. The world in these books were always resolved by disruptive heroes working against the status quo. I stayed in suspense as I read the hero of my stories challenge their world order, fear made me grip my books as I read of the capture of my hero, and an uneasy relief as I finished the final chapter of the destruction of another morally bankrupt society so a new one could be built. This is what I lived for.

What I did not sign up for... is feeling the same fear and suspense and NONE of the relief, in my own reality. I have questioned the morals of society on several occasions, but never have I ever felt such an inescapable fear of the world as I do now. I know I am not the only one still carrying the anxiety that gripped the world in 2020 that never really went away, even when the masks and the social distance masks began to disappear.

**The lockdown changed the world. Here in the U.S, the change was obvious. Covid put the world on pause for really the first time in a long time, in a way society really hadn't endured in a long time, if ever. When the distractions of work, your social life, and the hustle and bustle of your existence are halted, you have no choice but to take an overview in a way it isn't practical to do when life is lifing. Many were fighting for their lives or watching family fight for their lives. What do I mean? I mean there were no distractions. There was nothing to do, but take stock of the life we live. It's no surprise that in the void of the well-placed distractions and propaganda, social justice issues and protests reached the level they did. This is also why I believe there was a need to return the American people back to their lives because they were paying too much attention. Black lives matter, the #metoo movement, and the rise of cancel culture began to become popular and movements that focused on action-based policies took ahold of Americans (I'll discuss this more thoroughly in another post.)

Four years later, we have learned so much. The misinformation age has reached fever pitch and the country has never been more divided. The division across race, gender, and class has never been stronger and internal biases reconfirmed by persuasive algorithms have brought us here. Here is the genocide of the Palestinian people, the attempted re-colonization of Ayiti, and the rise of the fascist regime of the United States. I am scared. Never has this life felt to unreal, and so much like the fictional worlds of my favorite books, but there is no chapter close or hero to await. It's just us.

Project 2025 is real. The rise of the white supremacist, christian regime and the crack down on democracy. If you have been paying attention, the agenda has been made clear.

The 1% will reap the rewards of their greed and the work force must oblige. There can be no dissent. Unions and protests are not acceptable and will be crushed with force. You will not be protected. You have no right to your body, your privacy, or your image. Your democratically-elected leader has no laws or consequences for their actions (If you haven't check out Sotomayer's dissent letter, here.)

We have long outgrown the needs of 17th century politics and the constitution has been exploited to fit the needs of the 21st century oligarchs.

The children of the future are being made illiterate, pushed away from formal education, and they are being taught even less. Laws are being repealed and allowing children more access to becoming part of the labor force. These are the future voters and citizens of this country will not be educated enough to organize, learn, or properly create community against a new status quo.

Come November even if we vote blue, we will just be pausing an inevitable coup of democracy.

This post may be a gasp of despair, but I still have hope for the people around me. I still believe we can prevail. I believe we can create a world that generations will learn about and can thrive.

We are doing everything wrong.

We can still make it right.

** Covid-19 is still very much a thing that was mishandled and was the very real plight of many. I have edited the post to reflect lock down instead of covid-19, for clarity and to not reduce covid-19 to a simple pause in life, when it was very real fatal pandemic for many.

#politics #afropessimism #marxism #us politics #biden #trump #democrats #republicans #covid 19 #dystopia

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drbased · 7 months ago

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i've been reading your symbolic states tag and i'm both fascinated and relieved. i too am trying to live more in the real world and less in my head. a spark was struck when i read that i should be looking forward to the work of living, rather than dreaming of the symbolic sense of achievement i want.

do you have any tips/advice on getting out of that state? i find myself slipping back to it after a few days/weeks. how did you get out of it permanently?

i also want to hear your thoughts on social media's impact on us with regards to the symbolic state. social media is a literal continuous symbolic state that we are now all expected to participate in. how might we do it without succumbing to living/thinking symbolically?

actually, i would go so far as to state that social media has contributed directly to the current boom and celebration of unreal/symbolic ideals.

thanks for sharing your thoughts on this.

Thank you so much for this message 💖

This is, in short, my process:

learn to recognise what makes you feel uncomfortable. mentally trace back to recognise what has made you feel sad, angry etc. The more specific and granular and embarrassing you can recognise as the source of your negative emotional response, the more you're learning about your actual self and not some idealised version of you.

from that, start getting to know yourself. once again, the more granular and specific you can get, the better. instead of thinking 'I am smart', recognise 'I have good analytical skills that I developed during childhood because of x experience' etc. this will help you to stop categorising yourself as a certain type of person and instead will help you to have a healthier relationship with the traits that make up who you are.

before doing an activity, is your mental picture of yourself in the first or third person? because if it's the latter, try imagining yourself in the first person. if this feels humiliating and embarrassing, and the activity seems boring, you've learned something about what you actually like doing. get used to recognising that picturing yourself in the third person is a warning sign. the more you recognise the warning signs, the more you learn about yourself, and the more you can act authentically.

with a better picture of who you are, you're better at recognising what you actually want in the moment. I specify in the moment, because it's very easy to categorise yourself - I spent over a decade doing things because 'drbased would like this activity', as if I'm forced to behave according to someone's OC character sheet of myself. For example, when doing art projects, I feel as if I'm supposed to do a specific design because 'that's the kind of design drbased likes' - which actually makes the activity the opposite of creativity because I leave myself no room for the spontaneity of the human spirit; everything I do has to fit into a category. Recognising that I can just exist in the moment and not as part of some wider narrative has helped me immensely

learn to trust yourself - or, at least, humour yourself until you trust yourself. learning to humour myself is where this all started. I took myself and my point of view seriously, and as such was finally able to stop being embarrassed at being a human being. I approach everything from my own point of view now, and it's wild that I finally understand that that's what being human, being alive, existing is all about.

and here's the big one - or, rather, one continuous and contiguous chain of small ones - I have to actually do what I want, moment to moment. Since I lost the ability to recognise myself as a human being existing in the chain of cause-and-effect, I have to re-establish my relationship with said cause-and-effect. I have to re-attach some neurons, and the best way to do that is with consistent behaviour. I feel something I want to do, I have to do it instantly. The more of a gap I leave, the harder I make it in the long run. I still feel the tug of obligation stopping me from doing what I want to do instantaneously, so this is a long, perhaps a life-long journey for me. but I want that, no matter how exhausting it can get, because every moment I get to show myself love and prove just how serious I am about mending my relationship with myself. One very existentially terrifying thing I've learned is that the medium is the message - the very fact that you're making these gestures to yourself is something that your brain registers. And the simple fact, is, reality feels a lot better when you're directly engaging with it. It's tough, but it's incredibly rewarding and makes life better - remember, you only ever exist in the moment - so thinking of yourself as anything other than in the moment is a form of death of the self. Reinforcing yourself as part of the chain of causality is telling yourself you're alive and want to live.

Make no mistake: I am not completely out of it. I seriously damaged my relationship with my own self-hood and I am sure that I will always be struggling with this for the rest of my life. But how I frame my response to life's struggles is entirely different now - I am making this decision to engage with what I once percieved as the humiliation of mundane life because I can now recognise that for better or for worse, I'm the one living it. I'm the one feeling the feelings and thinking the thoughts and doing the actions. I am the center of my entire perception of the universe, this life is literally my own. I used to think of myself as having some obligation/responsibility to other people and the universe itself - but now I recognise that responsibility is, like, an actual real thing, instead of just getting marks on a test. If I do something bad, that actually hurts real people; and likewise, doing something nice is good because real people benefit. The 'responsibility' comes once again from the equally comfortable and terrifying realisation of my place in the chain of cause-and-effect. As part of that chain, I may have caused irreparable damage to my psyche, but I'm not part of a narrative where I must seek to 'fix myself' - I'm just a human being, and I want to live the best life I can because feeling good feels good, and that's what I want for myself because I care about myself. If I have to spend the rest of my life constantly asking 'what do I actually want right now?' then so fucking be it - because the alternative is a low-level hell of depression and PDA.

I will talk about social media and symbolic states in a reblog of this another time. But I hope this helps - I'm getting better at writing down the stages of what I did to help myself, and it's incredibly gratifying, and the responses I get are validating.

#anon #symbolic states #wisdom posting

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years ago

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Chapter One

My little brain worm has wiggled in with another Lucien x Nesta idea despite my many other projects.

This fic is set a few months after canon ACOSF. Nesta has doubts about her mating bond and life in Velaris. She feels as if she's drowning but nobody notices - except Lucien. Lucien sees Nesta cutting out parts of herself to please the Night Court and is reminded of his mother. He offers Nesta a lifeline to be a neutral party to vent to and a travel companion.

The theme for this fic is Would That I by Hozier!

Tea poured from the spout of the porcelain teapot, filling the cup almost to the brim.

‘Sugar?’

Nesta’s eyes swept over the tray. ‘Lemon?’

‘I’m sure I can find one for you.’

Her eyes trailed the male as he stepped into the kitchen that wasn’t his to find lemon for her tea. It was a noisy evening. The wine had been broken out long ago as stories were traded over raucous laughter. Elain had been part of it until Lucien arrived late, during the third course, so she had slunk away into the safety of Azriel’s shadows rather than risk a conversation with him. The two wraiths were keeping an ear out of Nyx whilst he slept upstairs and Nesta had wanted to sneak upstairs out of the way before Lucien had occupied the chair beside her.

It had been months since the ordeal of the Blood Rite, months since Nyx was brought into this world through Nesta’s intervention, and months since the lavish mating ceremony that she had thought would fix everything. It hadn’t. With every day that passed, Nesta felt less and less like herself. She glanced over at Cassian who had one leg slung over the arm of a couch and his head was in Mor’s lap while she squeezed his cheeks together, both laughing. Everybody was laughing, even Azriel. And Nesta sat on the outskirts of a group she didn’t belong to, as always.

‘Found one,’ said Lucien, as he brandished a wedge of lemon at her.

The juice dribbled into her tea as he squeezed it, but his eyes were also on the group. A crease appeared between his brow but he did not pass a comment.

‘How was the Continent?’

‘Enjoyable. I was in Rask.’

‘I don’t know it, I’m afraid.’

Lucien seemed to come alive now that there was an opening in the conversation. ‘It’s obscenely wealthy – worse than here. Their army is vast and all have gilded armour. The actual country is beautiful too. It has deep mines filled with jewels. Palaces built into the clouds.’

‘And the people?’

‘Like any nation. Intelligence is valued in Rask. There is no king or queen, but instead an elected council of strategists and dreamers who strive for greatness. The people vote every decade and there are year-long campaigns for positions on the council.’

It sounded unreal to Nesta. A place where birth right or a marriage of opportunity was not the only way to climb high in society.

‘I wanted to go to the Continent,’ she shared. ‘Years ago, when I was dreaming of a life away from our cottage, before all of this.’

‘You still could go,’ said Lucien.

There were still uneasy relations between Prythian and the Continent due to the war that happened five centuries ago. They had poor opinions of mortals – and some nations had almost allied with Hybern again during the most recent war. Nesta knew it edged too close to Koschei as well for her to ever be allowed to go there.

‘I don’t think Cassian or Feyre would be happy for me to go there.’

A strange expression twisted Lucien’s features then he let out a sigh. He brought his cups to his lips, deep in thought.

Elain’s eyes flickered to the pair of them, worry rendering her silent as if Nesta was spilling all of her secrets to her unwanted mate.

‘Would you like a glass of wine like the others?’

Nesta shook her head quickly. ‘It’s better if I don’t drink.’

‘Who said that? You or somebody else?’

Nesta’s lips pursed. Many people. Mor. Amren. Cassian. Feyre. Rhys. They all had their opinion on her life.

‘It’s better if I don’t.’

‘Then how about a drop of honey in your tea?’

She let out a soft exhale. ‘Sugar is not good when I’m training. Lacks any real energy.’

Lucien’s fingers tightened around the spoon, poised to dollop a spoonful into his own cup to sweeten it. ‘You’re not training now. If you want it, say so.’ He blinked a few times then dropped his voice. ‘They don’t sound like your words, Nesta. If you want it, have it. It’s a bit of honey, for goodness’ sake.’

She gave a stiff nod. The tea did taste better with it, far sweeter as she preferred. It was the only sugar she was likely to get in the next few days besides. Weeks earlier, Cassian had steered her away from a decadent new bakery overlooking the Sidra where everything was fried or pumped with cream or rolled in sugar. She was still dreaming of it.

In silence, they sipped at the tea, letting snippets of the group’s conversation meet their ears. The high lord and lady were being their usual nauseating selves by managing to slip innuendos into every topic. Their hands pawed at each other regardless of the audience. Even after all the time that had passed, it still made Nesta uncomfortable to bear witness to it. She was becoming used to the highly charged comments that seemed to be a currency in Prythian, but others were not as sex-obsessed as her sister and her mate. There was a time and place for that impropriety – the living room with everybody looking on was not it.

This could not be her life forever. Before Lucien had sat beside her, it could not have been more apparent that Nesta still sat on the fringes of this group. She had sat alone with only a book for company while they clustered together near the open windows, chatting with an ease she didn’t possess after dinner. She had tried so hard to fit in – to be like them. Nesta attended every dinner but when they became a nightly ritual to eat, drink, chat, she began asking Cassian if they could have time as just the two of them. He wondered if she had argued with her sisters. The idea that Nesta wouldn’t want to spend every free evening with his family was unfathomable to him. She had only wanted his company sometimes, not all of them. Nesta stopped asking. And for her sisters, Nesta visited them whenever they requested. She cared for Nyx but he spent so much of his time with the wraiths so Feyre and Rhys could remain locked together as they ruled their court. Elain could only talk of gardening and Feyre could only gush about her baby or her mate.

If Nesta did not have Gwyn and Emerie, she would have been so lonely. It was their company that kept her standing. These last few weeks had felt like trying to hold together a crumbling building – but she felt as if she was the only one who saw the damage. Cassian didn’t seem to notice how muted she was. Nobody asked her about training. They didn’t ask about her friends. There was no expectation for Nesta to do anything now except be Cassian’s mate. And she hated herself for having no goals for the future. This could not be her life, night after night, sat on the edge of a group she didn’t belong to, trapped in Velaris. There had to be more to it.

Lucien settled his cup down on the small table in front of their couch. ‘I’m quite tired from my journey. It was nice to talk to you, Nesta. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you a lot previously.’

‘I was a viper before my mating.’

She had meant it as a jest, but part of Lucien’s expression fractured into something like pain. He nodded then made to say his goodbyes to the others.

‘I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve set up a room for you in the House of Wind while you’re here,’ Rhys said, a hand tangling in Feyre’s hair. ‘Nyx is cutting a tooth and he’ll keep you awake otherwise.’

Lucien shrugged to show he didn’t mind, but he added, ‘It’s not my house. Cassian, Nesta, if you don’t mind?’

‘No problem, Vanserra. You’re welcome to join training in the morning. The females can show you what they’ve been learning.’

‘Not for me, but thank you for the offer, Cassian.’

Rhys stood to winnow him. Nesta leapt to her feet too. ‘Can you take me too? I’m quite tired.’

It wasn’t unusual for Nesta to leave early. Often, she feigned tiredness or a late-night meeting in the library with Gwyn. She’d rather sit alone at home than sit alone here.

Cassian reached out his hand to summon his mate to him. He couldn’t stand up because Mor had her legs draped across him. Nesta pressed her wrath down and let him kiss her on the lips, even if she hated to do so in public. But he liked it. There was a lot that Nesta did to please her mate.

Rhys didn’t linger after winnowing them onto the roof. He gave a short goodbye before disappearing into the night. Lucien followed Nesta as she walked the lengthy corridors, peeling back doors to find which room had been designated for Lucien while he stayed a couple of nights in the City of Starlight. A plush room overlooking the city was his, complete with a desk and rug from Sangravah.

‘I hope it’s to your liking,’ she said.

Lucien’s fingers enclosed around her thin wrist. The heat from his skin sizzled like a brand against her own. Cassian would scent him on her when he came home.

‘How can you bear this?’ His voice was quiet, hurt.

Her brow furrowed at his question. Was he asking about the unbearably tender way his thumb stroked over her veins or her life in general?

‘What?’

‘This is your house, apparently. And I am a guest because the high lord decided it. Not you. Not your mate. How are you not angry, Nesta?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Do you like this? Any of this? You live in a fucking house you cannot escape from.’

‘The house is my friend.’

‘It is a house! You cannot leave without your mate allowing it. And still the high lord uses it for his official functions so it is not truly yours. He has put me in your home as a guest without your consent. None of these rooms were decorated by you. You own nothing here. You are a glorified prisoner.’

It should have made her angry. Her rage should have been a wild, violent thing but Lucien’s words had rattled around in her own head for weeks. She wanted a garden to potter around in when they had fair weather, a nook cut into the window to read her books in as the sun kissed her skin, a place for just her and Cassian that wasn’t a communal space. But in the last couple of weeks, she had wanted a space for her, without Cassian. She wanted a break from him sometimes. There was no joy to be found with him. Nesta no longer looked forward to him returning from lllyria – she dreaded it. Whenever their bodies weren’t slick with sweat from coupling, they had little to talk about. She listened to him speak of Illyria or Rhys, but she had nothing to share with him. He was with her when she trained, with her for dinners. The only time she had alone was when she was sent to work in the library or when she read – and Cassian didn’t care for books.

‘Do you even want to train?’

‘It makes Cassian happy when I do.’

‘And you?’ He stared at her in disbelief. ‘What joy do you get from it?’

Nesta tried to leave. He was throwing truths at her that she’d been trying so hard to ignore. That hand stayed clutching her wrist like an anchor that Lucien would not let go of.

‘Nesta Archeron, you changed your anatomy for that male after he made you march in the Illyrian mountains until you collapsed. They have torn out your claws and ripped out your fangs to make you more palatable. How can you not be angry when your mate has his head in another female’s lap? When he cannot even be bothered to say a proper goodbye because her legs hold him there. How are you not angry about the way he treats you?’

‘I am angry,’ she roared back, her rage flooding out of her in a wave she could not longer control. ‘I hate it. I hate all of it. I hate who I am – worse than before. I hate everything, Lucien. I feel like I am drowning and nobody can see.’

He gripped her other arm so he stood in front of her. ‘I see you. I see a female who is cutting out parts of herself to please others – and you will have nothing left, Nesta. Do not become my mother. What has Cassian changed for you? What has he altered in his life for you?’

‘Nothing. He has changed nothing. He has given up nothing. And I have given up everything for him.’

A sob broke out of her. She hated to cry, hated anybody else to bear witness to her pain, but Lucien wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him as she cried.

On the dawn of her mating ceremony, her stomach had been in knots. She’d wanted to call the whole thing off, but Elain and Feyre had convinced her that nerves were normal. If it was her wedding morning as a mortal, then she’d feel the same cold feet and reluctance so she had gone through with it. After, when Cassian danced with Mor and Feyre instead of her, she had cried on Gwyn’s shoulder. Nobody had noticed she was not even there for the final few hours. Emerie had told her that a mating ceremony was supposed to fill her with absolute joy – not dread – as she’d rubbed a hand along her spine. She had known a handful of people at the mating ceremony. They were all associates of Rhysand. Nesta had felt like a shiny trophy that was showed off by the Night Court; a prize that Cassian had finally won.

For weeks, Nesta’s mind played the same thing on a loop: not right, not right, not right.

Without Cassian, without the Night Court, Nesta had nothing. No money, no home. And she had lost her last home, lost the wealth that the High Lord of Spring had provided, lost her damn mortality due to the Night Court’s interventions. She had lost it once, lost it twice. There was no happiness here. Nesta couldn’t even say if she loved Cassian or the idea of him anymore. She could lose it all for a third time. Start again and try and find the happiness she deserved rather than the one she tried to give to everybody else by trading in the parts of her she had once liked.

‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’

Nesta managed to pry her head from Lucien’s chest. She hadn’t shared those words with any – not Gwyn or Emerie – and shouldn’t have admitted those things to Lucien. A mating bond was supposed to be a happy thing. They ought to have been happy. But maybe Lucien knew better than any how wrong a mating bond could be.

‘Tomorrow, why don’t we take a walk in the fresh air? Consider me a neutral party to your woes.’

‘I have to train tomorrow.’

‘Have to?’

It was almost a year since she began the rigorous daily schedule laid out by her sister in that terrible meeting. Wake up, eat, train, eat, go to the library, eat, rest, repeat. She had barely missed a day. There was little variance to her days. It had panicked Nesta once, to think of a life without that steady, predictable routine. Now, she loathed it. It was a monotony that was slowly killing her.

‘In my personal opinion, it is better to step out now rather than one hundred years down the line. You do not want to look back and think of how much time you gave to people who did not deserve it. Time is the one thing we can never have again.’

His words made sense, but it was terrifying to go against the grain once more.

‘Let’s say ten by the market. If you’re there, you’re there. If you’re not, I won’t be cross.’ Lucien finally released his hands from her body, and she felt suddenly cold without his warmth. ‘Nesta, do what is best for you. They surely will do the same for themselves.’

That night, she was unable to settle. Her mind churned with worries and possibilities. In the rare time that Nesta had ever expressed to Cassian the desire for more, he could not understand it. For him, Velaris was everything he needed. He was settled. He’d had five hundred years here and wanted five hundred more. That thought terrified Nesta. There was a whole world out there and she would never see it if she stayed here, confined to the secret city.

When Cassian came to bed, he stunk of wine. He lumbered through the doors with his heavy steps. If she had been asleep, the light streaming in from the open door and the noise would have woken her. Nesta forced out a breath to try and calm her before she snapped at him. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come crashing into their bedroom after drinking with Azriel or Mor, sometimes even Feyre and Rhys. It was fine for them to do such a thing. Of course, it was. She forced out another breath, trying to calm the waves of anger that had been coming more frequently recently.

A heavy arm landed on her, pinning her to the bed, then a wing. It had once been something she craved. Now, Nesta knew she had only wanted comfort. Cassian had provided release to her when all other opportunities were taken. His weight was too heavy, suffocating even. And as Nesta tried to sleep, two words rang out again in her mind: not right, not right, not right.

***

The quilt was slowly pulled from her body as Cassian attempted to wake her. Nesta had slept terribly, adrift with worries and stress. It had not been far off dawn when she had finally managed to close her eyes and sleep.

‘I drank half a brewery last night and even I’m up before you.’

‘You smell like it,’ she said, before she could jail it.

‘Someone woke up pissed today.’

Last night, Nesta had prepared reasons to excuse herself from training. They had ranged from feeling unwell, her cycle coming, having plans with Gwyn which would require her to race to the library and ask her friend to also not attend. All of them disintegrated. She didn't owe him - or anybody - a reason.

‘I’m not training today.’

Cassian folded his arms across his chest. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m not.’

Her mood was prickly already like she had been months ago. It didn’t matter how many times Nesta had cut off her spikes, they always grew back.

‘That’s not a reason.’

‘I need to be flown to Velaris this morning, please. Otherwise, I should begin taking the stairs.’

Cassian raised his brows, but did not say anything else. It almost disappointed Nesta because she had been hankering for an argument. That was their most effective way of discussion. When Nesta tried to breeze past him, Cassian stopped her. ‘Breakfast.’

Nesta was in that mood. It had been a long time since she had let herself feel that way. As they sat at the table for breakfast, the house deposited a bland bowl of porridge for her. It had become her staple breakfast. Occasionally, a handful of berries might appear in it too, but it was usually plain porridge with water – not even milk. She added a heaped spoon of sugar into her porridge, under Cassian’s watchful eye.

‘That much sugar is not good for you, Nes. You’ll have no energy.’

Nesta nodded, used to the lecture, and added another spoon of sugar because that mood meant she was ready for an argument.

‘I want sugar. Porridge is the most boring meal I could ever envision. At least some sugar makes it bearable.’

‘If you must sweeten it, try a mashed banana.’

‘If I must? Yes. I must, because it is my breakfast and my body, Cassian. You do not have authority over it.’

Cassian threw up his hands so Nesta knew the battle was already won. ‘Ask Az to take you to Velaris. I’m not dealing with you this morning.’

Another person in their house.

Nesta watched him leave, satisfied and angry all at once. A banana appeared on the table near her bowl. She frowned. ‘Don’t listen to him. I hate banana.’

The house reclaimed it.

Knocking on the bedroom that Azriel tended to sleep in was always intimidating. He never ever let Nesta see an inch of the room. He’d slip through the gap and stand in front of her, closing the door behind him or obscuring it was shadow. Her, Gwyn, and Emerie had once spent an evening wondering what nefarious things he might have inside of it to make him so secretive. Emerie was certain there was a body in there. Or several of them.

As expected, he quickly hid his room from view.

‘Please could you take me into the city?’

‘Where’s Cass?’

‘Not dealing with me this morning,’ she replied brightly. Not a single part of Nesta felt bad about irritating Cassian over breakfast either. ‘Can you?’

Azriel nodded. ‘I’ve just taken Lucien’s to Rhys. Do you need to go now?’

There was about forty minutes until Lucien’s suggested meeting time, but Nesta wanted out of this house. ‘You sound irritated about that.’

‘I’m not a delivery service,’ said Azriel.

Nesta gave a shrug of her left shoulder. ‘Then maybe I shouldn’t be forced to live in a house that I cannot enter or leave without assistance. And maybe Rhys shouldn’t invite people into my house who have the same issue as me.’

She clapped her hands together. The words were leaking out, words that she had spent months clipping and locking away so that she would be seen as nicer and softer and kinder and gentler. Nesta was sure the moment that Azriel came into contact with Cassian, the males would discuss how difficult she was that morning, because as soon as Nesta stopped being compliant to their every whim, she was difficult.

If Azriel was annoyed, he did not show it. Gently, he lifted her to his arms and flew her into the city. Flight still made her queasy. The sudden drop made her stomach lurch no matter how carefully an Illyrian flew. She was set down on a street where she could look up to the House of Wind cut from the mountain. ‘Should I collect you at a certain time or send Cass?’

‘I’ll figure something out. Thank you.’

Without lingering, Nesta turned on her heel to examine the streets that she rarely got to explore. It was a pretty city, undoubtedly, but a city did not feel like home to Nesta. Neither did a crumbling cottage in the woods. Home had existed for a brief number of months. It had been the manor provided by Tamlin that straddled the forest and society. Nesta had enjoyed stepping into civilisation as much as she had enjoyed taking a step back and savouring the peace and quiet that the grounds had allowed. She wasn’t likely to find that in the Night Court, although perhaps Illyria could provide that if the males weren’t so decidedly hateful towards females, and especially towards her. It would be a life of fear there. Nesta had stepped foot once in Illyria since the Blood Rite and it had almost sparked a war. None would listen to her pleas that she had not wanted to enter it, that reaching Ramiel hadn’t been a goal, but the only way for her friends to survive. She had needed to be whisked out of Windhaven as a mob grew. They claimed she had made the ground unhallowed. No, Illyria would never be home.

With every passing minute that Nesta had her own independence, she remembered how much she had loved it. Nobody barking orders at her. Nobody thrusting her into a hole that she didn’t fit through. No expectations, no judgements. Just her.

Although Nesta did not have her own bank account, she had access to Cassian’s, as his mate. Until it was time to meet Lucien, Nesta pottered amongst the shops, gazing wistfully at the items. If it was her own money then she’d have happily splurged on more, but she settled only for a notebook with a darling illustration on the cover. The market was busy so she kept to the edges, peering over shoulders or through the gaps of bodies at stalls. The rich scents of spices filled the air, making her long for the far-off places that she would never visit if her life remained this way.

‘You freed yourself of the shackles of the House of Wind then?’

Nesta rolled her eyes at the sight of Lucien’s grinning face. ‘You are a bad influence.’

‘I’m glad you’re here, all the same.’ Almost instinctively, Lucien moved towards her and placed a kiss on her cheek. It ought to have been nothing – she was used to such behaviour from mortal men though they tended to kiss a hand with quivering lips from the icy glares she would give them. Yet, Lucien’s touch kindled something in Nesta.

‘Have you eaten?’

‘I had porridge. Two spoons of sugar, much to Cassian’s annoyance.’

Lucien’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’ll cause a scandal. Sugar. Not training. Whatever next?’

Nesta rubbed her hands together with delight. ‘You see there is a recently opened bakery that my lovely mate forbade me from entering. He claimed there was no nutritional value in any of it. So, Lucien, I should like to stuff myself silly, if that’s quite alright?’

An arm was extended for her to take. ‘Have Illyrians never heard of eating food simply because it tastes good?’

‘If it’s not chopped from a dead animal, it’s not worth it.’

It was surprisingly easy to talk to Lucien Vanserra. Nesta could not help but think how well Elain would get on with him if she actually bothered to have a civil conversation rather than hiding, the wretch. He was well-mannered and personable, guiding her through the market while sharing details of his morning meeting with Rhysand. Nesta had to wonder if he shared it simply because he also had nobody else to talk to beyond Jurian and Vassa in the mortal lands.

The bakery was painted a navy blue with silver lettering broadcasting the name. As Nesta stared through the window, she made an audible groan.

‘There’s too much choice.’

‘Eat it all. We have time.’

Lucien led the way to a table tucked into an alcove, out of sight from prying eyes. The few customers had opted for tables outside in the sunshine, but he had joked that his eye would blind Nesta if the sun hit it at the wrong angle. She found that she liked his jokes. They tended to be at his own expense rather than hers.

For starters, they shared a pot of black tea with milk, a scone heaped with jam and cream that they cut in two and a slab of carrot cake.

‘Cheers,’ said Lucien, knocking the brim of his teacup to hers.

‘Not far from here is a tavern that I used to go to when I was the Night Court’s nightmare.’

‘And now you are their dream come true.’

Nesta grimaced then gulped down a mouthful of too-hot tea. ‘Not this morning.’

She explained how she had been happy to incite an argument with Cassian but he’d not quite risen to the bait, then had been brisk with Azriel. Lucien didn’t berate her for it or tell her to be grateful that they trained or who flew her. He just let out a soft, tinkering laugh. ‘If that’s how you feel, that’s how you feel. You shouldn’t have to constantly stamp on yourself.’

Nesta shook her head. ‘But I’m not a nice person, Lucien. After the Blood Rite, after what happened with Feyre and Nyx, I vowed to be better. I want to earn their love.’

Lucien made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. ‘Earn it? Fucking hell, Nesta, you saved the high lord, the high lady, and the heir. And you think somehow you have to earn their love?’

Before Nesta could speak, Lucien held up a hand. His brows had bunched together. ‘What have they done to earn yours?’

‘They gave me a home.’

‘After they tore down your apartment and evicted you from it.’

‘No, I mean after I left the mortal lands.’

‘Because they meddled in your life. Because Rhysand promised to have guards protect you, but when it came to it, they were not there and you went into the Cauldron.’

When it was put that way, the altruistic side of the Night Court was tinged more with necessity. Nesta swallowed against her dry throat. A small part of her had known that the only reason the Night Court had extended the branch of friendship to her was due to Feyre’s mating bond.

‘I wasn’t in a good place last year, Lucien. They helped me.’

‘They put you in that bad place, Nesta. They locked you in a house to keep you safe but trotted you out into danger when it suited them. You were taken to one of the most dangerous places in Prythian – the Bog of Oorid – so please forgive me when I say, it was not about your safety. It was about keeping you where they could see you.’

Urgh. Curse this male for striking at the truths that Nesta pretended not to see so that her anger didn’t seize control of her limbs.

‘I was fucking anything that walked.’

‘You weren’t fucking the right male, pardon my crude language. It wasn’t about the other males, it was the fact it wasn’t Cassian. If it isn’t true then why couldn’t you train with Azriel? Why couldn’t he be your chaperone? Why did they trap you with Cassian who has had his eyes on you since the moment he met you? Why did they never help you to train your magic?’

Nesta shoved the last wedge of carrot cake into her mouth, to give her a chance to think of rebuttals to all of Lucien’s very valid points. When she could think of nothing, Nesta said, ‘You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this.’

‘I have,’ he said swiftly. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night. I worried about you. You reminded me of my mother too much. It made my conscience restless.’

‘I was pissing their money away in taverns.’

‘And they are short of money.’

‘It’s not the point,’ Nesta said, sweeping her hand in the air. ‘It was not my money to spend.’

‘Except you fought in the war and told your story. Were you paid for those things?’

‘No.’

‘And now, you are paid?’

‘What should I be paid for? For exercising? No, Lucien. I use Cassian’s money.’

It all sounded ridiculous. It was as if she was holding up a sheet and Lucien was stabbing holes into it. Everything he said made sense so Nesta couldn’t understand why she was still trying to argue in support of the Inner Circle.

Lucien folded his fingers together, watching as the waitress took away their dirty plates with the promise of bringing macarons and biscuits for their next pot of tea.

‘So that I understand, you no longer have any income whatsoever. You are reliant on your mate’s money. You are reliant on your mate to come and go from your own house. You follow the same schedule every day with no room for deviation. because it might upset your mate if you want more.’

A bland smile was plastered on her face. ‘That sounds about right.’

‘How can you be happy with a life that is so…’

‘Shit.’

The male choked on his laugh. ‘I was going to say stagnant.’

‘It is shit, Lucien. I know that. I am so bored already and I have an eternity of it, of being Cassian’s pretty, docile mate. I am losing my mind in this city. I hate it. I hate it. We have already run out of conversation and we haven’t even been mated for a year. The only thing he talks about is Rhys or Mor or Feyre. I want to scream.’

‘Scream then.’

Her grey eyes scanned the quiet bakery. ‘What, here? Just scream?’

‘Why not?’ he teased.

‘You are insane.’

‘I’m not the one giving up on myself to please people that do not care.’

Their heated discussion was interrupted by their second course of desserts. In silence, Lucien poured a fresh cup of tea for them both that Nesta dunked a biscuit in so aggressively that tea spilt over the edge onto the pristine, white tablecloth.

‘I’m not giving up on myself,’ she muttered.

‘Where are your dreams, Nesta? This cannot be your forever.’

‘I know,’ she said with a desperate plea in her voice. ‘What would you have me do? Nobody liked me when I was a viper. You didn’t like me.’

‘I never disliked you. You terrified me, yes. I admired that unbending spirit, the fact that you didn’t care who you stood up for yourself against, whether it was mortal queens or Rhys or my father. They have smoothed all of your sharp edges. The moment that they find another thing that doesn’t fit their perfect ideal, they will remove that too. Nesta,’ he sighed, ‘get yourself out of here.’

‘But Cassian’s my mate and I can’t just give up on that.’

‘He is five hundred and unlikely to change his ways. Do you want to spend every evening watching him with his arm around Mor?’

‘No. I wanted to gouge their eyes out yesterday.’

‘Me too. I nearly asked them what they thought they were doing.’

The thought made Nesta smile. Maybe there was somebody else in her corner rather than her alone. ‘Whenever I raise the topic, I’m brushed away. They’re just friends. They’re like siblings. Do you see me giving Elain a foot massage? I don’t feel good enough for him, Lucien. I can never compare to Morrigan.’

A thumb brushed against her cheekbone. There was real hurt in Lucien’s expression. ‘You are worth ten of them.’

Once they had both hit a wall with the amount of sugar they could ingest, they took a laboured walk along the river’s edge. Nesta kept one hand on her protruding stomach. ‘I am so full.’

Lucien murmured in agreement.

They followed the curve of the river all the way until the outskirts of the city where they crossed over one of the final bridges still within the boundary of Velaris then began their return on the other side of the Sidra for a different view. Nesta shared with him that this city did not truly feel like a home. And how could it when it wasn’t a home she had chosen? Not even a damn pillowcase was chosen by her. Their trailing feet led them to the sprawling river estate belonging to the high lord and lady of the Night Court. They’d have to scrounge a return to the House of Wind that way. Somebody would have to winnow or fly them both. If it annoyed them then good, Nesta thought, it annoys me that I cannot get into my own house.

‘I’m off again tomorrow for a few days. There’s a place for you to accompany me – if you’d like it.’

‘Where?’

‘Dawn Court. It’s safe. Still Prythian.’

Her body gave an involuntary twist of worry. ‘Cassian wouldn't be happy with me going with another male.’

'We're just friends. Tell him that, just as he and Mor are just friends.'

'You play a dangerous game,' she warned. 'Cassian won't-'

‘Fuck Cassian. What do you want?’

‘What’s in the Dawn Court?’

‘Only one dreary meeting with their emissary who is about as old as Prythian itself. Beyond that, golden hills and white sands. Beautiful plants, the brightest minds, and I’m sure lots of bakeries.’ Lucien threw her a wink. ‘Please, consider it. If you have to lie that you want to be emissary again or it’s for Gwyneth’s research, do it. Get out anyway you can.’

She felt her lips twisting into a rare, true smile. ‘To the Dawn Court then.’

#lucien vanserra #nesta archeron #lucien x nesta #nesta x lucien #be consumed by the flame

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oatmealdaydreams · 10 months ago

Text

A Plot Hole and Reassurance

Ayy, another hurt/comfort fic because I have a problem. If ya want to be added or taken off the taglist, pls ask!

Pairing: Logince, gen

Trigger/Content Warning: insecurity, touch-starvation

Description: Logan doubts any and all creative merit he has. How could he be creative when he isn’t even Creativity? Roman doubts his own intelligence. How can he be smart when he struggles with basic logic? They both prove each other wrong in a wonderful brainstorming session, finally solving a plot hole the size of Thomas’ heart.

Extra: written for Day 5: Stroke of Genius of @loginceweek2024! And now to project on these poor men. Made myself cry, whoops. Relating to Roman as someone with a cognitive disorder.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[read under the cut]

How can one be creative without being Creativity, and how can one be smart when traditional smart things are hard for them?

Surely, Logan can’t be creative. He isn’t Creativity. He’s Logic. He knows math and science and the stars. He can calculate in multiple variations, speak certain phrases in a multitude of languages, and spit out random facts without any prompt to do so. He’s reasonable for Reason and Critical Thinking and Common Sense. He isn’t creative, no matter what the Others say. No matter what Thomas may believe, Logan is Logic. That’s it. No matter how much he wishes he could understand Roman’s realm a bit more… it’s fine. He doesn’t have to be creative to be important, right? Even if he’s a part of a person who relies more on his creative merits for a career. And, yeah, the Chemical Engineering degree didn’t get him anywhere.

But he still needs his Logic! Everyone needs some Logic. Isn’t that how humans function best, with thoughts and reasoning? It’s fine.

Even when he really needs some creativity of his own to help with a ridiculously-sized plot hole, which no one can seem to find a solution to.

“How did this happen, again?”

“I don’t know, specs. Isn’t that your realm, hm? Aren’t you Logic?”

“Your point being?”

“My point is you’re the one with solutions! You, out of everyone else, have this unique ability to whip up solutions to problems that no one else sees. You have this- this super power that I’d be a coward not to acknowledge. You’re smart beyond belief, Logan,” Roman’s eyes sparkle when he gushes about Logan, almost forgetting himself and where he is.

Logan rolls his eyes, a light blush forming from the compliments he’s still not used to hearing. Ever since the unforchunate events of the post-wedding meeting, they’d gone to each other and apologized for their past mistakes. They’d been trying to rebuild their bond, which included Roman letting Logan know just how much he appreciated him. Logan has been a lot more kind with his criticisms, trying to be less harsh and more understanding. He’s always been astounded by Roman’s creativity and the way he ropes certain things together, and it’d been about time he told the Prince that. And every time he hears it, the royal has a hard time believing him. It’s been made clear just how much Roman’s been hurt and tossed around and used, and Logan’s done being a part of the cause. Now, even when they disagree, Logan makes sure Roman knows he’ll support him. He has his back, and Roman has his.

“It’s intelligent,” Logan playfully corrects, a small smirk tugs at his lips. “And… I don’t always have solutions, Roman. I’m not a- well, I don’t have superpowers. That’s absurd. I’m only a part of a human, much less a super one.”

Roman pauses, showing a look of concern that confuses the nerd.

“What were you gonna say?”

“What?”

“You were saying something but cut yourself off. What were you gonna say, specs?”

“It’s irrelevant-”

“Logan.”

Logan stops, snapping his mouth shut. He glances away, avoiding Roman’s worried face. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that he has someone on his side. Too used to being ignored by everyone and silenced, it feels too unreal. Sometimes. He tenses, his shoulders scrunching themselves up. His jaw clenches, and Roman can’t stifle the noise of concern that slips out.

Roman sighs, “I don’t mean to scare you, cosmonaut. It just worried me.”

“...don’t laugh, please?”

“Of course not, cosmonaut. I won’t huff and puff any sound.”

Logan exhales a small laugh at the fairytale reference. He bites his lip for a moment, stopping once he realizes. He closes eyes, takes a breath, and looks at Roman.

“I meant to say that I’m… I’m not a robot. I don’t always have the answers to things, Roman.”

Logan’s voice is so unsure and soft and cautious that it makes Roman’s chest ache.

“I didn’t think you were, starlight. I’m sorry if I made it seem like I did. You amaze me with your intelligence, okay? That’s all I meant. You’re so intelligent and thoughtful, and you excel at all these smart things that I just don’t. I’m not really smart, and you always impress me with that brain of yours.”

Logan relaxes his shoulders and unclenches his jaw as he processes Roman’s words. It feels better, knowing he impresses Roman. Roman, who’s creativity rivals the greatest artists. I mean, objectively. Don’t tell Remus he said that.

However, it’s now Logan’s turn to look concerned as he processes the rest of his prince’s words. Roman smiles confused as he tilts his head at his detective.

“What is it, specs?”

“You aren’t smart?”

“Well, yeah, I know that.”

“No- Roman, why don’t you think you’re smart?”

“I mean, have you met me? I’m Creativity, specs, that doesn’t really account for a lot of brains. That’s your domain.”

“Roman, how can you not be smart? Who told you, you weren’t?”

“I- um, what?”

“Who told you? I apologize if I ever gave off that, uh, ‘vibe’, as you say-”

“What? No, you didn’t. It’s fine.”

“Ro.”

Roman rolls his eyes.

“...is it because of the whole ‘el príncipe es estúpido’ thing?”

“Whaaa, no. It’s not important, specs.”

“It is, because it’s you and you’re important.”

Roman stutters before shutting up, looking away and crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Roman.”

He huffs.

“My prince, please.”

Roman risks a glance at his astrophile, softening when he sees his unrestrained worry on his beautiful face. The pet name makes him blush and dissolve his stubbornness a bit. That goddamn voice when he says it. For f*ck’s sake, how can one person be so good at doing that- that? That thing he does when he’s worried and gentle and soft. Goddamnit.

Roman sighs, “...maybe.”

“My prince, I am sorry I hurt you like that. If I could time travel, I’d make sure I never started in the first place.”

“You’ve already apologized, specs.”

“I know, but I’ll say it again if it helps. And it’s still hurting you.”

Logan holds out his hands, and Roman lets him grab his own as he unfolds his arms. The touch surges warmth through his arms and burns a deep squishy part in his chest. He gasps for a moment, trying to get a hold of himself as the fire in his heart crackles brighter than it has in a long time. He wobbles a little bit, and Logan holds him tighter as he does. The detective frowns, worry increasing.

“It’s not just- just- how’d you get so warm?” Roman’s eyes haze over as Logan rubs soft circles on his knuckles.

“Oh, Roman. You poor, poor thing,” Logan mumbles, cupping one hand on his face.

Roman’s now-free hand grabs blindly for Logan’s arm, gripping it like a lifeline. Logan strokes his thumb lightly across his prince’s jaw, and it wobbles slightly. Roman’s eyes grow misty.

“My prince, how long has it been since someone last touched you?”

“I don’t- please,” the Prince whines as his eyes shut, unsure what he’s even begging for.

“Shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Logan cups Roman’s face with his other hand. Roman responds by melting and grabbing his other arm, trying to ground himself in the surreal reality that this is real, he’s really holding my face, he’s really there. Roman can only lean forward to set his forehead on Logan’s as he feels him shake and become unsteady.

After a few minutes, Roman finally attempts speaking again.

“I need… I can’t think when you do this.”

Logan nods, reluctantly letting go of Roman’s face. The knight in gold, white, and red whimpers at the loss of warmth. He forces himself to ease on Logan’s arms, opening his eyes but remains looking at the floor.

“It’s not just the whole… ‘el príncipe es estúpido’ thing. I guess I, well, I’m not very good with the basic logic things. I’m not- I don’t understand common sense or the most basic of smarts. Not like you do, not in any way, and I’m not smart. How can I be smart if I can’t understand those things?”

“Can I touch you again, my prince?”

Roman glances up to Logan’s eyes the best he can with their head so close, and he nods. He stumbles again when he feels all the burning warmth rush back as Logan cups his face again. He goes back to everything he did previously, and it just melts the poor royal. Logan can’t hold back his coo as Roman’s eyes flutter shut again.

“Just because you struggle with a lot of cognitive smarts doesn’t mean you aren’t smart. Far from it. It simply means that your intelligence comes from your creativity rather than your logic. I think it’s wonderful how smart you are, Roman. You’re so creative and know how to tie together certain things and sew up loopholes without batting a figurative eye. I’m astounded by your intelligence. You impress me more times than I can remember with your problem-solving when it comes to using your creative merits for more than storybooks.”

Roman is breathless by the time Logan ends, feeling unnoticed tears fall down his face and over Logan’s hands. Logan gently thumbs them away as Roman sniffles, crying harder.

“I don’t know if I can believe you, Lo,” he cries.

“That’s okay. I’ll be here to remind you until you do, my prince.”

“Even when I do?”

“If you want me, then yes.”

“I do, I do want you, Logan.”

Logan smiles kindly, pressing a light kiss to his companion’s nose. Roman gives a watery smile in return. The detective lets go of his face and holds out his arms slightly, separating from his prince for a second.

“Come here, my prince. Come let me hold you- oof.”

Roman rushes into his astrophile’s arms, feeling Logan wrap around him tightly. He cries still, burying his face into his companion’s chest. Logan rubs bigger circles on Roman’s shoulder blades. It makes his precious royal gasp and his breath hitch as he leans more into him.

“There you go. Just like that, my prince.”

It takes a while- both unsure how long- but eventually, the burning slowly eases to a vibrant warmth in Roman’s chest. Logan leans his head back to look at his knight.

“Feel any better, hm?”

“Mhm,” Roman feels hazy and wonderfully fuzzy as he relaxes and slumps against his fellow Side’s body.

“Good. You think we can try working out the plot hole now?”

“Mm, yeah. Just give me a minute, specs.”

“Okay,” he says as he kisses Roman's hair.

A few minutes later, and Roman finally comes to. He blinks, easing out of Logan’s embrace. He rubs his red-rimmed eyes, mentally noting to fix his makeup later. He notices some of it got on Logan, along with wet tear-spots and snot.

“Sorry for getting all my stuffs on you,” he speaks softly.

Logan looks down, huffing amused.

“It’s quite alright, Roman. I can always wash it.”

“But you’re always so clean, specs. What would you do if I ruined your reputation?” the Prince jokes.

Logan smirks playfully, “Then I guess I’d have to get you back.”

“And how would you do that?”

“Well, I can’t just tell you my secrets.”

“Logan, that’s not fair.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“No. No, I know that’s a trap, no.”

They both snicker at each other before calming down.

“Okay, now the plot hole?”

“Right. Well, it’s for the short story, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s see… so we come to the part where the protagonists are captured at the antagonists’ lair, and they know them already. So, how do they?”

Logan huffs, “I’m not very good with creativity, Roman.”

Roman gives him a weird look, but decides to brush it off for the time being.

“Well, how do people usually find out who you are without you telling them first?”

“If we look at history… usually, it’s because someone else told them.”

“Okay, what else?”

“I don’t know, Roman.”

“Well, neither do I! Come on, specs. Go deeper, keep thinking.”

Logan sighs, “Okay. Historically, it’s because someone who knows you already tells the other person without your knowledge. Like figuratively spilling a secret, if you want to go that far.”

Roman nods, “Okay, okay. How do we apply that to our main plotline?”

“Roman-”

“Specs.”

“Fine, if you insist so much. During wartime, there’s a trend of spies or double agents spreading country secrets.”

Roman’s eyes light up like spotlights as an idea forms.

“Oh my gosh, that’s it! Specs, you’re a genius.”

Logan blushes as he raises an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Do tell, Roman.”

“What if one of them were a mole, a spy in the ranks, a betrayer in their adventuring group? That’s how they know the protagonists and who they are. Oh, what if it’s the leader? I need my binder-”

Logan smiles as the plot holes gets resolved, glad he can help in any way. Roman summons his binder and a pen, flipping to the page they marked last session. He scribbles, excited as he writes, bursting and vibrating with creative energy.

“I’m glad it got sorted out, Roman.”

Roman’s smile is alike the Moon; bright, addictive to look at, and could be considered divine.

“If it wasn’t for your creative stroke of genius, it wouldn’t have been. I appreciate it, specs.”

Roman almost misses the small way Logan shrinks. The astrophile rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“I’m not Creativity, Roman. I can’t be creative.”

The aforementioned knight immediately looks up as he stops writing.

“And why not, faux serpent?”

“I’m not lying, Roman. I don’t have creativity. I’m Logic, not-”

“So? If I can be smart and sh*t, why can’t you be creative?”

“Because- because I’m just not.”

“Oh? Who said that I, a very not-logic-smart faucet, was smart but in my own way? The same logic applies to you, specs. You just proved you’re creative!”

“By what? Knowing historical facts?”

“Yes!”

“How is that creative, Roman?”

“It’s creative in your own way, Logan. You using your logic and facts to come up with a solution for a plot hole, that’s creative. That’s how.”

Logan scoffs in disbelief.

“Starlight, why don’t you believe me?”

“Because I can’t be creative! I’m not- that’s not how it works.”

“And why not? Why can’t you be creative?”

“Because I’m not you! I’m not Creativity. You and Remus have your own creative merits, and you know how to weave together irrelevant pilot points and make it make sense. You’re so impressive with how much intelligence and hard work it takes to do what you do, Roman. And I’m… I’m not you.”

Roman sets his pen and binder down on the nearest table, walking calmly towards his companion. He holds out his hands, just as Logan did for him, offering to hold his. Logan takes his hands silently, looking down at them rather than at Roman.

“Oh, starlight. You don’t have to be me to be creative. I appreciate all the praise, you know I do. You don’t have to be like me nor Remus. I mean, sometimes you two have frighteningly similar interests in subjects, which is just weird,” Roman jokes, squeezing his astrohphile’s hands, making him snort. “But you can still be creative, my dearest star. You helped me solve a horribly troublesome plot hole with that creative, wonderfully logical brain of yours. You’re just creative differently from Remus and I.”

Logan huffs, smiling slightly as he looks back up at Roman. Roman smiles back.

“I hate when you use my words against me,” he grumbles.

“Well, I guess you need to stop being right, then.”

“I thought I wasn’t right all the time, Roman. Admitting I’m right when you’re not, are you?”

“Hey- no, don’t you dare.”

“Don’t I dare do what?”

“No.”

They both break into laughter, yet again, and almost forget that they’re still holding hands.

“...can I hug you again, Roman?”

“I’ll do you better, specs. Let me finish the last bits of fixing this plot hole, and we’ll go cuddle and watch that crow documentary you wanted to see?”

Logan’s smile grows, “Okay.”

Roman plants a light kiss to his detective’s hand before he lets go and returns to his binder.

After he finishes writing, they do as promised. Roman summons away his pen and story binder, taking Logan by hand over to his room. He has a tv mounted on one of his walls, a remote on his bedside. He and Logan snap themselves into soft things and gather up on the bed, already summoning a few snacks and drinks. The Prince snaps, summoning a wipe and decides to clean the excess makeup off. They cuddle tightly together. Roman melts at how warm Logan is, and Logan feels reassured with Roman by his side. Roman clicks over to the crow documentary and presses play. As it starts, he leans his head against Logan’s shoulder. A small, fond smile tugs at the nerd’s lips.

They prove each other’s insecurities wrong and rest against each other for a while.

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @thegoldenduckie

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allandoflimbo · 1 year ago

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I C E P R I N C E S S 12

Pairings: Popular Girl!Reader x Outkast!Bucky

Explicit Content - Smut - NO MINORS

Summary:

Bucky Barnes is the quiet boy who gets picked on.

The Reader and her friends run with the popular crowd at Stark High.

As the Winter Ball approaches, she is partnered with Bucky Barnes for a class project. They grow close in an inadvertently secret friendship, which later turns into love.

Only catch is…she’s Steve Roger’s ex girlfriend, and before she was partnered up with Bucky, her friends had planned to use and turn Bucky into Stark High’s new it boy to try and get back at Steve; a disgusting bet.

Another catch: She’s a figure skater at the town’s arena every Tuesday and Thursday nights. Bucky works part time at the rink resurfacing the ice. The other doesn’t know.

Modern AU High School fic - later goes into adulthood.

M A S T E R P A G E - FULL SERIES

Warnings: This story will have a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lot of cursing, and a lot of sex. Oral, praise kink, body worship, overstimulation, etc. you know me. There will also be loss of virginity in this.

Please support your content creators and writers and leave a review.

P R E V I O U S C H A P T E R

You hear the birds before you open your eyes. Memories from last night wash over you the second you shift your arms. You feel the warm body laying next to yours.

This felt unreal.

Your eyes open slightly and you can see Bucky's back and the back of his head. A head of cute boyish dark brown hair.

You looked down, impressed that he managed to still keep his arm around you.

You didn't want to wake him up, but at the same time you both didn't want to call too much attention to yourselves in the house.

It's then that you remember that that means the girls know you didn't sleep in your room and the guys know he didn't sleep in his.

You sigh, deciding to think about that later and think about the now instead.

You felt a smile on your lips as you bury yourself more within the blankets. You moved up until your hands were against his back.

You fall back asleep for a little bit longer.

You don't know how long you're out for before you're awaken by the bed shifting up and down. You groan slightly as you stretch out your legs and toes.

Your eyes flicker open.

Bucky's sitting up on his side of the bed, but he was facing away from you.

He must've heard your little groan because he turns his head to look at you.

The second your eyes meet, a million butterflies escape into your tummy.

You can feel your cheeks burn.

He smiles at you.

He reaches over to place the phone he had been just using on the night stand.

"Hey," he says quietly. He stretches over to you and brushes one of your hair strands away from your shoulder, "sleep okay?"

You nod. You feel the tingles on your skin where he just touched you.

"Yeah. You?"

He lets out a small chuckle.

"Yeah." He says softly.

You keep eye contact as you make a grab for his hand that is still on your arm, and you take his hand, bring it to your lips, and kiss his knuckles there.

He keeps eyes contact with you the whole time.

Was this what high school sweethearts really were?

Was this both of you now?

You're convinced it has to be because you've never felt like this with anyone ever. Not even Steve.

He wasn't even close.

You felt like you were in a damn Taylor Swift song right now.

"So you like me." He says sweetly, pulling you away from your thoughts.

Both your eyes soften. He runs his thumb over your cheek.

"I do." You say.

"About last night—" he starts.

"It was perfect. Unexpected, but I'm glad it happened." You whisper.

"I'm glad it happened, too," he pulls his hand away from you and he fixes himself until he's laying on his side facing you. It's then that you notice he already has his boxers back on, "how are you feeling?" He asks.

"A little sore, but not bad."

"Good."

You move in closer to him until your hands are on his chest. He welcomes you, throwing his arm around your waist.

"I don't want to leave here yet. Can it just be us for a little bit?" You ask.

"I'd love to stay with you here," he takes in a deep breath, "but it is almost eleven AM. We're going to have to go down eventually."

"It's eleven?"

He hums a confirmation.

You lay for a few more minutes in comfortable silence.

"I'm going to need to run to the store. We can go just us together. Would give us some time alone." You say.

"Awww I'm honored. You only want to spend time with me." Bucky says, a playful tone in his voice.

"It's not that I don't want to spend time with my friends, it's just, we —we're something. I want to be with you. Not just in general, but today."

You feel a finger under your chin and you tilt it up to where it guides you.

He runs his lips over yours. It's languid and dances with your own sensually.

He pulls away.

"You're something else," he runs his hand over your face, "beautiful, gorgeous, sweet, smart." his eyes dart down to your lip.

His words are precious.

You lean up and kiss him again, this time letting your tongue run over his. You feel his hand drag down your neck, your arm, and eventually to your hip. He deepens your kiss, pulling your body closer to his. He pulls your bottom lip in between his and nibbles on you playfully. When he's done he opens up to you again, your tongues clashing together in a bruising kiss.

You pull back way too soon, he sighs, and you place soft kisses over his upper chest.

"When we get back home remind me to make your parents some of my famous jalapeño poppers."

Bucky laughs out loud.

"Jalapeño poppers?" He continues to laugh, turning onto his back until he's staring at the ceiling. You watch this beautiful boy fill with happiness, a hand running through his messy post-sex hair, "you're so silly, squirmy."

You snicker.

"Squirmy?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely." You put a hand to his chest, Mmm, hmm," he faces you again and leans in closer to you bringing his hand to your lower back and over the side of your thigh. It blew your mind how comfortable you both fell into this. It was so easy, so effortlessly beautiful. He leans his face closer to yours and bumps his nose against yours, "Kicky, too." He whispers.

You chuckle.

"Kicky?" You ask, playfully offended.

He nudged your nose with his again, also chuckling.

"Oh, yea." his eyes go down to your lips and his hand continues to venture it's way down your leg and behind your knee.

"Bucky..."

He gives you a look you recognize and you feel a sudden tension in the air.

"I'm really glad you're here." He says suddenly serious, "Not just right here right now, but in general," it's then that you feel him drag his fingers over the scar that no one else had ever seen but you, right on your upper inner thigh. You suddenly understand the meaning of his words and it has heavy tears brewing in your throat. He's glad you survived your accident and that you were both able to experience this, "Does it hurt?" He asks you sweetly.

"Sometimes." Your response is barely a whisper.

You both close your eyes as he brings your leg around his hip. He closes the distance between the both of you, kissing you the deepest you've ever been kissed.

You sigh against his lips, running your hand up the side of his face and to the back of his neck.

When he eventually pulls away from you, you feel cold. Like ice.

You needed him to keep warm.

"We should go down." You say.

—-

The second you both step into the kitchen, the talking quiets down. Everyone tries to keep attention to what they were previously doing, but the obvious glances and smiles are noticeable.

You feel yourself blushing as you make your way to the fridge for some orange juice.

You sneak behind Sam and he mumbles a quick sorry when he realizes he's in your way.

Bucky sits next to Sharon on the stool at the island. He picks at the grapes, grabbing a few and popping them in his mouth.

"I was worried when we didn't see you guys last night. It started to rain bad." Steve says from the couch.

"Yeah it got pretty bad." You say, still not making eye contact with anyone, pouring your juice in your glass.

Did they hear you guys?

You had both tried so hard to be quiet.

Bucky moves slightly in his seat and his eyes inadvertently meet Matt's across the room. He's sitting there next to Steve, a heavy and dark look in his eyes.

He looked pissed.

Bucky was getting tired of this guy and whatever problem he had with him.

Bucky looks away, resisting the urge to eye roll.

"We're running out in a bit. Gonna go grab some more drinks and shit, you down to come with us, Buck?" Sam asks as he leans back against the counter.

Bucky's eyes flicker to you and to Sam.

"Sure. When are you guys going?" He asks.

"In a few minutes. We can wait for you."

You clear your throat.

"Actually, me and Bucky were going to stop somewhere together first, if that's alright with you Bucky? I'll promise to have him back not too late for you guys to go then to the store." You say confidently.

Bucky smiles. He was genuinely curious for what you had in mind.

It's then that his eyes travel down your neck and he feels a heavy blush on his face.

"Okay, cool." Sam says.

You take a few sips of your OJ and turn for some toast. That's cut too soon, though, when you hear Carol call you.

"Come over here, we gotta show you something." Carol calls from the couch where she's shifting next to Matt and across from Steve. Once you sit down on her other side she leans forward to whisper in your ear, "did you see your neck?"

You're confused by her question.

"My neck?" You pull away to examine yourself, your eyes darting briefly to Steve who has an interesting look on his face. Carol giggles and brings you in again by your arm, "you have hickeys everywhere, girl."

——

You and Bucky both jump into your Jeep, but Bucky jumps into the drivers side and you in the passenger seat.

He starts your car and kicks on the heat to low.

It felt so intimate being with him like this, even though last night was the epitome of intimacy.

You text something to your mom as you pull out your phone, letting her know the trip is going well.

When you're done you place it on your lap and look out the window into the trees and cabin and then to Bucky.

He looked adorable as he kept pressing all kinds of buttons on your dashboard to regulate the air.

His jaw was sharp and his long lashes contrasted beautifully with his Ocean blues.

"So where are we going?" He asks.

"The pharmacy." You say, "for an AP student trying to get into goddamn Yale you're not very connecty-of-the-dotsy." You say playfully.

He gives you a funny look and chuckles.

"Offensive but cute," he puts on his seatbelt and puts the car in rear to back out of the parking space. The puts his right hand on the back of your seat and looks behind him as he does so, his left palm turning the wheel as he goes, "what are you talking about?"

"I need plan b, I'm not on birth control." you explain.

He finishes backing up and puts the car into drive.

He looks over at you for a second.

"Shit, right. Okay."

"And...we need to get condoms. I'm not going on birth control right now cuz of stuff I have going on in my eighteen year old body that pisses me off, so we're going to have to stick to the classic way for now."

The edges of Bucky's lips perk up.

"So, you're saying it'll happen again?" He asks.

You're a bit surprised at his question even though you know he means no harm and it's partially being teasing.

You reach for his right hand and hold it in yours.

He rubs your knuckles with his thumb.

"I'm your girl now. You're my boy. I think it's safe to say it'll happen again." You say.

He brings your hand to his lips and he leaves a kiss there.

He doesn't let go of your hand the entire car ride.

——

You both run to the car in a fit of giggles and laughter.

You rip the pink box open once you're in your seat.

Bucky hands you a water bottle and you take the pill.

"Head back to the cabin?" He asks as he turns the car back on.

"Actually —"

"I'm not going to anymore creepy churches, squirmy."

You giggle.

"It's not." You show him the way through the roads, "just take that first left onto Hollow Terrace and then you're see a bench on the side of the road, you can turn in there."

He follows your directions.

Hollow Terrace is a long road. Secluded and isolated; completely incased by large maple trees.

"You didn't bring me out here to kill me, did you?" He asks.

"Always." You reply quickly, tossing him a toothy grin, "right here!" You tell him once you see the bench.

He turns the car onto a gravel road. He drives for a few more hundred feet until the trees disappear and you're face to face with a guardrail. Behind that in the distances is a large body of water, a huge lake, and a mountain.

"An overlook?" He asks as he pulls up near the edge of the cliff.

"One of my favorite spots."

"You sure have a lot of favorite little spots around here." He whispers, looking out into the scenery, "it's beautiful."

You lean forward and leave a kiss on his shoulder.

You then lean down next to your feet and you pull out the plastic bag that you had brought from the cabin.

You hand him a foiled square.

"I made us sandwiches."

"I was wondering what that was!"

You smirk at him as you both open your own little squares.

"I come prepared." You say.

"Can I ask something?" He says, halting on his sandwich. You nod, "can we take the top off?" He motions to the top cover of your jeep.

You raise a brow at him and then look at the cover.

"Sure. I mean we'll be freezing on the ride back to the cabin, but yeah. We can take the doors down too. It's a bit heavy though. I'd have to help you. We can put them in the back. I have a cotton tarp so they don't scratch up."

"Let's do it." He doesn't even hesitate to hop out the car.

You both get the doors and cover off in about fifteen minutes.

"So what was your plan?" You ask him, hands on your hips.

He smiles at you and climbs into the front seat. He reaches his hand for you but on the passenger side.

"Come on." You follow his lead and before you can sit he stands up and places his hands on your waist. He picks you up easily and places you on the bar that runs down the middle of the car. He follows and sits next to you, "now we can eat." He says, reaching back for his sand which.

You're halfway down your second sandwich and you and Bucky have discussed everything from your childhood to your families. Bucky was still waiting to hear about his mother's status. You were both waiting on hearing back from the colleges you applied to.

You felt it was too early to still discuss if you should try to get colleges close to each other. It was a lot of pressure and this was only your second day together.

"Do you listen to Taylor Swift?" You ask him suddenly.

He chuckles.

"Uhm. Not a lot but I know some songs, I guess. Like the mainstream ones? I don't really listen to them on repeat, though," he takes a gulp of his water and looks at you, "why? You a fan?"

"I'm not a swiftie but there are songs I really like. I don't know why I brought it up honestly, I guess it's because I feel like what we're doing right now is just so..." you take a deep breath as you look up at the sky for words to explain what you were thinking.

"So...." Bucky mimics you, waiting for an answer.

"It's very, I was enchanted to meet you." Is the only explanation you can think of.

He doesn't say anything to that. You continue to eat until he's eventually finished and he wipes his mouth with a napkin.

"Mom wants to know what I'm up to right now." You say, looking down at your phone.

Bucky leans his right arm down on the car and places a kiss on the left shoulder.

"Tell her the truth."

You turn to him and smile.

"And what's that?"

He looks down at you and pushes your hair behind your ear.

"Your sitting on your car, eating sandwiches, looking at the mountains, and singing Taylor Swift lyrics," his gaze goes to your hair and he rolls the strands between his fingers, "with Bucky."

The words linger in the air until your eyes meet again.

You lean forward and kiss him softly.

"Okay." You say when you pull away.

He wasn't expecting you to actually listen to him, and the fact that you were telling your mother about him sent an excitement through him that he had never really felt before.

You don't know how long you both stay out there, but it's long enough to where Bucky needs to reach back and grab you an extra sweatshirt in your trunk. He helps you pull it on.

"You ready to go?" You ask him.

"Yeah, we should." He says.

You both get into your seats but he doesn't drive off and he doesn't turn the car on.

You wonder if he's feeling the same thing you are and if that's why.

"Bucky." You whisper hoarsely.

He turns to look at you and you don't realize he was holding in a deep breath. The second your eyes meet, he exhales through his nose.

Damnit, you were screwed for the rest of your life.

Without any hesitation you both meet halfway. You've got your hand in his hair and he's got his left hand on your side, pulling you closer to him. Your mouths kiss each other like it's the last time they ever will, even though you both know it's not. He groans against your lips, drinking your taste in. It's the whimper he leaves when his hand travels down your thigh that does it for you.

You don't waste even a second to sit on his lap, helping him push the seat back so you have room against the steering wheel.

"What if someone sees us?" He asks you, panting.

"No one ever comes here. Too many bears." You say before kissing him hard again, your chest flushed with his as you sit up and hover over him.

He's got his hands on your hips. Guiding you tight against him.

Your hands go down to your jeans and you start to unbutton them. He helps you take them off, along with your underwear, and then he's on you again.

He would never get tired of kissing you.

But something nags at him as he looks up at you and as he feels your core dragging against his zipper.

He cups your cheek.

"This isn't just physical to me. You know what right?" He says quietly.

"This isn't physical to me either." You tell him.

"Don't get me wrong. I love your body and I love expressing myself to you that way, but you're so much more than that to me."

"Yeah?"

"I like doing this with you because I think it's the best way to express how much I like you. Your eyes, your energy, your aura, your cute little nose, that sweet voice of yours, your personality, the way you get so passionate about the things you love, your hospitality. This feels good but it's so much more than pleasure."

"I feel the same way about you. And I know we're moving so fast, but it feels so right." You whisper.

He leans up and kisses you again.

You hastily unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper. Bucky let's out a long moan as you grab him and begin to stroke him.

He shifts his hips until he's in a better angle.

"Yes," he hisses through his teeth, looking down at your hand jerking him off, "mmmm."

Your tongues dance together as you continue to rub his dick.

You were learning so fast.

You quickly pull away to lick your hand and your return it down to him. Bucky moans when you kiss him again, tasting himself on your sweet tongue.

His own right hands goes for your center and he rubs your clit with his pointer finger.

You moan against his mouth.

You were so drunk on him. You were so ready. You were already on the brink.

You let your tongue travel down his neck as you sit yourself up a little more, thankful that you had taken down the door so your right foot could actually straddle him properly.

He reaches into his back pocket and grabs one of the condoms he had put in there. You watch as he slides it on.

You're impatient for his cock inside of you. You grab his shaft as you hover over him and you guide it, sliding down completely onto him.

You gasp.

"Oh, fuck." You whimper.

This was so much better this time.

"Shit," he grunts as you engulf his cock up and down.

You support your left hand on his right shoulder and your right goes to the seat next to his left shoulder, in a half sitting position.

You moan as you bounce over him.

This felt so different than the first time. The first time was great, but the pain had definitely been a distraction. This time there was only pleasure and the fact that you were connected and having sex.

You're having sex.

With Bucky. In a parked car.

This turns you on more than you realize and you throw your head back as the pleasure overwhelms you.

"Fuck. Fuck." You say over and over again. You suddenly wished you had more room to move. You gave him some slow rolls a you brought your pelvis down flushed against his, "God, Bucky." You could feel him deep inside your tummy, hitting you just right.

You were so close.

"That's it, baby girl. That's it." He groans. His hand goes to the back of your neck as he pulls you in for a wet kiss that is only tongue.

You were so filthy together.

"I'm so close." You cry, puckering your lips for added affect.

He runs his thumb over you top lip.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me?" You whimper and nod, increasing your speed, "I'm gonna cum for you too."

His words cause you to close your eyes and grunt.

"I'm cumming." You cry out in a plea.

You quicken your bounce, your mouth stuck in an open gasp as you ride out your orgasm.

He starts fucking up into you roughly.

He feels amazing. His jeans hitting your thighs feel amazing. His two hands grabbing your ass and driving you down feels amazing.

He cums into you with a heavy groan.

"I'm cumming so hard." He groans out through heavy moans as he continues to move you on him.

His comments triggers another orgasm out of you and you cling onto his neck for dear life.

Two minutes of panting and birds chirping pass by.

You're both sweating and giggling together as you fall onto him, your body feeling like jelly. He kisses your jaw and the side of your neck.

"I really like you. Incase you can't tell." You tell him, placing a kiss on his shoulder.

He laughs out loud.

"I really like you, too." You rub your hands over his chest.

"You're sure this doesn't feel too fast?"

He takes a few long seconds to reply. You know he's thinking of a proper response.

"I know I'm happy right now. We'll deal with each thing as it comes."

"Does that mean I can officially call you my boyfriend?"

"Thought that was a given," he chuckles, kissing you, "I'm your boy, Y/N. and you're my girl."

With that, you got dressed and Bucky zipped up his jeans and you both made your way back to the cabin just in time for food.

N E X T C H A P T E R

Tag list: @dinoswierdmom @sebsgirl71479 @wintasssoldier @melimelbean @steadygoopangelhairdo @prettywhenicry4 @bonkybarnes106 @undeadhoneydew @midnightvitality @ene-rene @ccmarvelxx @hanahkatexo @gr33nleo @missaprilt23 @lfaewrites @charmedbysarge @tilltheendofthelinepal9950 @buckybarnesandmarvel @ducks118 @lokisdrottning @kianamka @toadstools119 @adoringsebstan @troubledhemmings @buckybarnesandmarvel @charmedbysarge @buckybarnesandmarvel @redbarn1995 @chloe-skywalker

A/N: Enjoy the fluff while it lasts. - the angst bitch

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfiction #winter soldier fanfic

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anhed-nia · 5 months ago

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I just finished a barely-interrupted binge of all four seasons of this show, and now I hardly know what to do with myself. A while ago I began research for a project on true crime television, which brought me into contact with an unscripted show veteran who strongly recommended UnReal, a drama about a field producer on a Bachelor-like program who is both extremely good at her job, and extremely mentally ill. It was way better than whatever I expected. I don't watch a ton of TV--which is not a declaration of my superiority in any dimension, it's just that I need to spend most of my time on movies, and I'm kind of particular (not due to "good taste" necessarily, just particular). UnReal initially comes off like a regular old cable show--to me it looks more or less like a CW product or something, with no hint of auteurship like there is with Fargo or Better Call Saul or whatever else usually lures me to television--but the writing pulls absolutely zero punches and I could not take my eyes off it. There is an occasional lull where things are more predictably soapy and I'd think "OK, well that was nice while it lasted," and then as soon as my guard was down something legitimately shocking would happen and I'd be back in my seat, watching unblinkingly.

The show is based on actual experiences of co-creator Sarah Gertrude Shapiro, a one-time producer on The actual Bachelor, which I only found out after the fact but I was thinking all along, "This is so grotesque that I'm sure it (or something like it) really happens." UnReal's other mastermind is Marti Noxon, who has credits on a lot of dark and/or construably feminist shows that have met with more success (don't ask me, I thought Sharp Objects was OK and I've never been attracted to Buffy, I just can't handle anything Joss Whedon-flavored), and she seems to have a real knack for telling psychologically realistic stories of seriously disturbed women. Which I appreciate a lot. My main complaint about UnReal was just that I wanted MORE, of all of it. Parts of the core mythology are just so fascinating that I craved a deep dive into all the details and consequences that I guess was just not in the cards for something with a large cast and a ton of moving parts. I'll just have to luxuriate in the intrigue since this ended in 2018.

...On which note I'll say that I think UnReal is colored significantly by Trump-era anxiety in ways that are more and less obvious. The show's chief concerns are more generally about the contributions of reality TV and social media to a culture of widespread bullying, but there is definitely something more specific in there about living under the reign of an unapologetic rapist who validates and empowers rapists at large, and feeling like the only way to preserve yourself in that world is to become a predator yourself. But anyway, the one question that is still burning my brain is about the fact that some of the set dressing features Silver Saaremaeel and Kaya Saaremaeel's gothy webcomic Run Freak Run. Which I've never read, actually I specifically found out about it because of posters hanging on office walls in UnReal. I really want someone to tell me how a gothy webcomic made it into the scenery of a major Lifetime drama. My pathetic websleuthing skills have failed to turn up active accounts for either of the comic's creators, so if anyone has a line on this information, please let me know! Meanwhile, you can watch UnReal on Tubi, the king of streaming sites.

^^^ Run Freak Run

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quintiliusheartripper · 10 months ago

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I will say while i am intrigued by the recent expansion and willing to see it through to the end-

(probably because i dont have an attatchment to a commander character. Like me and velak have a commander and characters attatched but im super flexible with it since he doesn’t really play anymore and eod feels like the true end to it all. I use the main story as a like… marker for events in the world since theres a lot of places that one can explore thats more enriching interesting and personal. I can still use the wizard tower as a plot point for some things but im still seeing the commander being an anomaly who wasnt supposed to happen in a living fractal and its why the wizards didnt do anything this whole time untill something was actually directly attacking them. )

-i am disappointed by a lot and part of it is the way they are doing the releases especially when the expansion is full priced and unfinished when released

It really feels like a cop out and a excuse and im more interested in arenanets unannounced project ive been tracking for a while. “A well funded mmo established fantasy rpg with a focus on story” running on a unreal engine and with linux support and also talking about “guild wars 2 and beyond”in their hiring. Im hoping its a guild wars 3 but this expansion DEEPLY feels like how it felt just before EOD during LWS5 where resources were being cut from one place to be placed in another. Like its one fractured expansion per year until…when? The unannounced game that started production 2022/23 is released? I just hope they figure out a way to keep the game running for people if they move on to a gw3 but gw2 is n entirely different beast from gw1.

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razzle-zazzle · 2 months ago

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Whumptober Day 10: Blow to the Head

"I can't think straight"

1923 Words; Rewired AU

TW for discussions of injury and violence

AO3 ver

“What’s up with him?”

Morris froze, disgruntled expression replaced with something more along the lines of deer in headlights. Gisu imagined she must have looked the same, as three awful realizations hit her.

Realization One: Dion was in some part responsible for the deaths of several prominent psychics in recent months.

Realization Two: Raz didn’t know this.

Realization Three: There was no way Raz wouldn’t find out eventually.

Morris shot a desperate look to Gisu—she could almost feel him trying to project Do NOT tell him! through his concussion. But what else was Gisu supposed to do? She didn’t like this situation any more than he did! She was tired and sore and angry, still reeling from the gala, and it was too damn close to ass’o’clock in the morning—wait, what was Raz doing up at around… what was it, somewhere between two and three AM? He was still wearing his jammies, it looked like, but he was also wide awake and Gisu was too tired to think up her own explanation.

“Why are you even awake?” Gisu voiced her thought. Morris relaxed slightly in the corner of her vision, while Raz crossed his arms.

“You’re only questioning that now?” Raz summoned a levball to sit on, yawning slightly as he spoke. “The interns had a movie night.” He explained, sticking his tongue out. Even though he was pretty much a full agent in all but name, Raz was still only sixteen; this left him still living in the dorms with the interns and junior agents. “And you asked me to bring you your board.” He added.

Oh, shit, did Gisu wake him up? “Sorry.” She grimaced. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“And let me miss out on—” Raz started, looking the both of them up and down, “actually, what did happen? Nobody would tell me anything.”

As one, Gisu and Morris looked at each other. Though they were both out of their gala outfits and in jammies, cleaned up and mostly unscathed—the exhaustion was clear. There was bruising along Morris’ forehead, Gisu had asked Raz for her board, and Lizzie wasn’t even there in the room with them, which probably spoke volumes to Raz about how much everything at the gala had gone wrong.

“The automaton happened, that’s what.” Morris groused, “The robot that almost killed the senior agents.”

Raz winced, leaning back on his levball. “Is Lizzie…?” Suddenly, her absence seemed all the more ominous.

“She’ll live.” Morris reassured.

“She got stabbed.” Gisu said, at almost the same time. At Morris’ disgruntled look, she hurriedly added, “But Morris is right! She’ll live! She’s being transferred to Clay Ridge.”

Raz sighed. “That’s good. And you two…?”

Gisu snorted. “We got off easy.” She buried her face in her hands as the events of the gala played over in her mind again. “Fuck, when the party started I was trying to get that waitress’ number.” Her hands fell to her lap, and she stared at them, at scars well-known from lightning and her projects. She felt unreal, caught between exhaustion and panic.

It wasn’t the first time a mission had gone wrong, or one of them had been badly injured. It wouldn’t be the last, either.

But it was all still so fresh.

Cold blue eyes disappearing under empty red LEDs—

Lightning burning her fingertips the light burning her eyes—

An eruption of glittery ice, the crush of a crowd—

“Pooter,” Gisu started. She didn’t want to do this. She wanted to tell the kid in front of her to go back to bed—and then go to bed herself—so she could keep the second most awful part of the night hidden from him.

But even if Raz didn’t get into the debriefing, it’d go on the mission report. He would find out, no matter what Gisu did—so wasn’t it better, to break the news to him now? Didn’t he have a right to know what had happened to his brother?

(Even if Gisu still didn’t have the full picture herself—)

Raz deserved the truth. Even if it was awful.

“So, you know how Dion went missing four years ago?” Gisu asked, nervously tapping her fingers against her board.

“Gisu—” Morris hissed.

Raz’ eyebrows drew together, his shoulders drawing in. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Gisu took a breath. Right. She could do this. She could totally tell the sixteen year old kid in front of her, the one she’d known since he was ten, that when she took off the anti-psychic automaton’s mask she had seen the face of his missing older brother.

Morris’s jaw was clenched, like he wanted to interject. But he said nothing as Gisu bowled through, words spilling from her lips like a river of confession.

“When we knocked the automaton out I took off his hood and realized he wasn’t fully a machine and then I took off his mask and it was Dion’s face under there!” Gisu barely even breathed until it was all out there, hanging in the air between them.

Morris groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Raz stared at Gisu, brows furrowed as he tried to parse her words. Eventually, he spoke. “...what?”

“It was Dion.” Gisu repeated, wondering if maybe she should have just waited. But she was tired and sore and angry and she didn’t want to think things through anymore. She wanted to do something. She wanted to skate. She wanted to collapse into her bed and forget this night ever happened. “The robot assassin? I took his mask off. It was Dion.”

The words felt like a finality.

+=+=+=+=+

10:00 AM came way too soon.

At least, that’s how it felt to Gisu as she and Morris trudged into one of the conference rooms used for mission debriefings, dressed and clean and looking only marginally better than they had the night before. She glanced at Morris’ hands; he had them folded in his lap, staring straight ahead as they took their seats across the table.

Hollis was waiting for them, alongside Truman and Oleander. It was more and less than Gisu expected. After a moment of everyone settling in—Gisu settled her levboard in her lap—Truman called for things to begin.

Mission debriefings were all the same, pretty much; Morris and Gisu traded off talking as they explained the where, when, and what, from their initial mission plan and the gala’s opening to the moment the skylight shattered. If it wasn’t for his concussion, Gisu would have let Morris do the majority of the talking—except he was still concussed and also he hadn’t been conscious throughout all of it. Because Dion—the automaton—Maybe-Dion had sucker punched him with the hilt of his sword.

At that point, Gisu took up the description, trying her best to fill in the parts that Lizzie wasn’t there to say. She recounted, not quite as professionally as Hollis may have wanted but still cleanly enough to be understandable, the ice cocoon Lizzie had put together as a last-ditch effort, the loss of psychic power and the pressure it left in her head, the desperate scramble to keep the cyborg’s attention while not getting stabbed herself. She skipped over some details, but as long as the Heads and Oleander got the gist it was fine.

“So you electrified the android after Morris shot it?” Truman asked. “And that was when it went down.”

Morris nodded. “The problem was that it didn’t stay down.”

“You gave it a good enough fight to make the thing retreat.” Oleander commented. “It would have been nice if you’d taken it out, but you managed to hold it together in the heat of battle.” He nodded, already thinking of ways to try and counter the automaton’s ability to block psychic powers—which in and of itself wasn’t anything new; people had been trying to counter psychic abilities for decades.

“While it was down…” Gisu tugged at a lock of her hair, her other hand gripping the edge of her levboard, “I saw behind—I managed to take the mask off.”

“Mask?” Truman stroked at his beard. “Why would a robot wear a mask?”

“Cyborg.” Gisu corrected. At Truman’s look, she elaborated. “He had a human face beneath the mask. I saw it…” She had to take a breath, here, before she could speak further. Morris’ reaction had been bad enough—Raz’ had been even worse.

“You think you saw his face.” Morris muttered. Gisu shot him a look.

“If you saw his face, then we can identify him!” Oleander smacked his fist against the table. “We need a description, stat!”

Gisu swallowed. Morris glared at her from across the table. “I don’t believe she actually saw its face,” he said to Truman, “because it’s really not believable in the slight—”

“It was Dion!” Gisu blurted out.

“Wh—we don’t know that!” Morris interjected—

“I saw his face! What more proof do you need?” Gisu slammed her hands on the table. Morris leaned forwards, his voice starting to rise as he and Gisu really started to argue.

“It was a high-stress situation! You could have been projecting—”

“I know what I saw—”

“It’s been four years—”

“You are literally concussed, you don’t get to argue—”

“Agents, please!” Hollis cut through the argument, hands smacking the table as she stood up. Gisu and Morris shrank back, chastened, and Hollis turned to Gisu. “You’re absolutely certain of what you saw?”

Gisu’s hands curled into fists in her lap. She thought back to the previous night, to the moment where she shoved down the hood and pried off the mask. “Yes.” She knew what she saw. Four years and a different hairstyle couldn’t keep her from recognizing him. “He was even doing flips around the ballroom,” she added, her throat tightening. “And yet it didn’t feel like him at all—” She took a breath. She was not about to cry in front of Hollis and Truman and Oleander. She wasn’t! “Something happened to him.”

“That much is clear.” Truman commented. He and Hollis shared a look, mentally conversing with each other and Oleander. After a moment, he spoke.

“That’s enough, you two. Dismissed.”

Morris wasted no time in rolling out, and Gisu stood to follow him. The third time she’d shared what she’d seen that night, and it still felt no less raw. As Morris turned down the corner without a word, Gisu almost followed him—though what she even wanted, she didn’t know. It wasn’t like he was in the mood to talk to her.

Gisu briefly considered hunting down Raz to check in with him, but—well. Raz had made it pretty clear that he needed space. Sam and Adam were out on a mission, and until Norma tracked her and Morris down for answers Gisu didn’t think she’d be up to being pestered. Everyone else either had something to do, or didn’t need Gisu hanging around bringing the mood down—

Gisu turned towards the atrium. She wasn’t really in a state to go skating, but she couldn’t think of anything else to do; chances were that Otto was in the lab and Gisu was too wound up and exhausted to work on any of her projects. So skating it was, at least until her head cleared. If it ever would.

Ugh, this whole thing was such a mess—and not the kind that anyone, least of all Gisu, had any idea how to fix.

Raz was right. Some space would do Gisu a whole lot of good right now.

Maybe it’d even help the knot in her chest.

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