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hanniesbrat · 2 days ago

Text

the boy is mine | k.mg

pet play w mingyu

pairing: kim mingyu x reader, reader’s best friend is yuqi! ((g)i-dle) also cheol lol

wc: 5.6k (can you believe i cut it down?)

genre: strangers -> fucking, smut, little cracky at some parts

synopsis: when one of your best friends (who also happens to be a frat bro), seungcheol, invites you to his halloween party, you hesitantly accept. you were never really the party type… but one guy, one of his new friends to be exact, might single handedly change that.

!other kinktober fics!

a/n: ......heyyyyy... no one hate me. i know im almost a whole month late ): prepping for the svt concert took more time than i anticipated, i live in america so... yeah all that happened, work got in the way, i had a lot of yap days with my wife @jenoslutie which has been so nice!! <3 and i JUST (literally today) got back from visiting my bestie @goblynnrockz for their birthday :p BUT in between all that, i managed to finish this bitch. (pun intended) ALL OF THAT BEING SAID, i really hope you guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. and if it seems like its eluding to there being a potential relationship between mc and gyu, well... maybe there will be in the future ;p

(P.S. you must picture long, wavy haired mingyu in this :3 more like the pic on the right. i just put the lolla pic bc it fits the vibe you CANNOT argue w that lol okay imma stop yapping now. ENJOY LUVLIES!!!!)

you weren’t the party type, but when one of your best friends, seungcheol, invited you to his frat’s halloween party with a nearly quivering bottom lip, you couldn’t say no.

“you have to let me bring whoever i want as my plus one.” you deadpanned while crossing your arms.

“so you’ll go?!” he nearly squealed.

you sighed before nodding with an annoyed, “yes.”

“fuck yeah!” he yelled before swooping you up in a big hug. you couldn’t help the laughter that erupted from your chest.

you loved when cheol got all giddy. it was such a silly contrast to his wide, strong build, and that’s always been so enduring yet hilarious to you. you didn’t think anyone else like him existed in real life.

until you met him.

“remind me again why you are dragging me to a party?” your best friend, yuqi, chuckled out from the passenger’s seat of your car.

you took the last right before reaching the house. “cheol asked nicely and… i’ve been needing an excuse to wear these boots,” you smiled, looking for a parking spot.

yuqi silently pointed to a spot on the street, and as you parked, she went on. “i just can’t help but wonder why cheol wanted you to go so bad like… he knows you’re not a partier.”

“he wants me to get out of my shell more.” you shrugged, getting out of the car.

“well you’re definitely out of your shell, fucking look at you. a full latex outfit and tits out? girl…” yuqi gawked at you for a moment.

dressing as blackcat was far out of your costume comfort zone. normally you went the horror route. billy the puppet, jennifer check (in the prom dress with the contacts, blood and all), freddy krueger, etc. so, wearing a latex set that left nothing to the imagination except for any ink you may have on your skin was out of character, but you wanted to spice it up this year.

“i think the little mask helps be feel a bit hidden,” you giggled seen as it’s a thin black eye mask, not hiding who is under it at all. yuqi jokingly scoffed and you then took the attention off yourself. “look at you, catwoman. you look devious with that whip,” you cooed, then took her hand in yours and gave her a spin on the sidewalk.

“oh stop it,” she blushed. “let’s get inside before it starts getting too crazy.”

you two walked in practically attached at the hip. you scanned the front room for cheol, yuqi doing the same. “ah! there he is,” she pointed toward the kitchen.

you looked over, immediately making eye contact with him. he waved you guys over to stand with him and some frat bro you didn’t recognize.

“y/n!” he greeted you with a bear hug, unfazed by your tits practically spilling from your top. “and yuqi! hey long time no see!” he said sweetly, giving her a side hug.

“hi! it’s good to see you, cheol,” she giggled.

“are you gonna introduce us?” you motioned to his friend beside him and smiled.

the friend smiled and reached a hand out, “hey, i’m chan! nice to meet you both.” after shaking both of your hands, a warm smile across his face, he turned around to finish concocting a drink for himself.

“you know we have a spare room. if you guys want, you can have some drinks! chan makes a mean lemon drop.” cheol offered you both.

yuqi got a devilish smile on her face, “don’t mind if i do, fred. one lemon drop, please, daphne!” she giggled leaning backwards on the counter next to chan, watching what he was doing over her shoulder. she faced forward after a moment and motioned her head toward you. “what about you miss latex?” she smirked giving you a once over. the girl wasn’t even drinking yet and she was already getting flirty. typical. (<3)

“don’t even let her answer that,” seungcheol quickly intervened. “make blackcat a drink, please. the pretty lady deserves it,” he grinned, wrapping an arm around you.

“well thank you, cheolie… but deserve it? for what?” you asked cutely, looking up at him.

“putting up with my bitchass. thank you for coming tonight. i’m glad you did,” he stated sweetly, giving you a kiss atop your head. you just leaned into him, silently telling him “you’re welcome” and “me too”.

“what’s up?” you look over at chan who’s finishing your drink up, and he’s got his phone between his ear and shoulder. “oh shit okay! we’ll be right out!” he hung up, sliding the phone in his pocket, then turned around handing you your drink. “pretty lady,” he smiled. “cheol lets go. that was vernon, they’re outside.” he said, patting cheol on the shoulder, making his way out of the kitchen hurriedly.

“okay! you two wait right here, i’ll be back.” seungcheol requested, then ran after chan.

“oh god,” you walked forward to the counter and turned so your back was leaning on it with yuqi. you two looked out from the kitchen, into the crowd of people that had seemingly gotten significantly larger since you’d arrived minutes ago. “they’ve all gotta be members of the mystery inc huh…” you trailed off.

“i wonder what poor guy they got to be scooby,” yuqi empathized.

“i bet it’s soonyoung.”

“be so fucking for real, y/n. he’s a fucking tiger every year,” yuqi said pointedly. she was right.

just then, the room got significantly more quiet meaning- oh those boys and their group entrances…

it was never anything elaborate, but they did have to make their presence known. cheol almost always walking in first as the rest of the boys followed.

you and yuqi made your way out of the kitchen to the living room, disregarding cheol’s words from earlier. you two managed to push toward the front of the swarm of people that were gathered near the door. shouts then could be heard from all over, praising the commitment of all the boys. first was cheol as fred, then chan as daphne walking alongside wonwoo as velma, and last but not least vernon as shaggy with… not soonyoung as scooby. “who the fuck is that?” you nearly drooled leaning over into yuqi’s ear.

“wonwoo?” she suggested.

“no, dumbass, obviously i know wonwoo… who’s scooby?” your voice dropping a cool octave or two in curiosity.

“i don’t know but… fuck is he fine,” she said bluntly.

you both had your eyes locked on him until yuqi’s gaze redirected to wonwoo… her main interest right now and always. “if you’ll excuse me,” she hummed, grazing a hand across your shoulder and handing you her whip as she strolled forward toward the tall boy wearing thicker framed glasses than normal.

you made your way back to the kitchen to wait for one of your friends to come back, knowing one of them would find their way to you.

or so you thought.

someone did definitely make their way to you, but it wasn’t cheol, yuqi, or even chan.

“i didn’t know blackcat carried around a whip,” scooby shot you a cheeky smile while reaching beside you on the counter for a drink.

you smiled, leaning your hip on the counter to face him. “she doesn’t, but cat woman does and she needed me to hold it for her.”

“well… i’m glad she needed you to because it gave me an excuse to talk to you.” you both chuckled, your face getting flushed. he turned, mirroring your position against the counter. “i’m mingyu. i just joined the frat,” he explained rather shy in comparison to his confident demeanor that he approached you with. it was charming.

“well hello mingyu,” you chuckled, chugging the rest of your lemon drop. “i’m y/n. i’m friends with cheol.”

“oh no way! you’re like… his best friend,” he laughs trying his drink. you giggled watching his face contort at the potency of the alcohol. “hey don’t laugh! bleh! but it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“it’s nice to meet you too,” you covered your mouth to snicker a bit more as if that makes it any less “mean”.

once he recovered a moment later, he sat his cup down and spoke up again. “you know, y/n, you make a beautiful blackcat,” he complimented, giving you a once over as respectfully as he could. from the minute he laid eyes on you when yuqi had walked way from you, he knew he had to talk to you. your little whip that didn’t go with your costume was his perfect excuse, and… you looked amazing. that could’ve even been enough of an excuse on its own.

your cheeks grew warm at the compliment with his demeanor and tone. it’d shifted to something more sensual than before. his eyes getting darker, but still soft.

“thank you,” you smiled before reaching up to play with one of his ears. “and you make an adorable puppy.”

his body stiffened, but it was so subtle you almost didn’t notice. you chose to ignore it, moving to his collar. “did minghao make this?” you asked, tilting your head admiring the well recreated scooby dog tag. you pulled on it a little, as if to test its durability, but really you wanted to see if this was doing something to the tall man before you. sure enough, you watched as he swallowed rather hard under your touch. you wouldn’t have noticed had you not been staring at his throat already.

“y-yeah he did. he’s really talented,” he said softly, slightly tilting his head back as you took your finger from the collar, and slowly traced it down his chest that was only covered by a thin, tight brown t-shirt.

“what’s the matter, scooby? cat got your tongue?” you asked in a very playful way, not wanting to come off too strong too fast as you were already mere centimeters away from his body now.

when he looked down at you, his eyes were pleading. desperate. like he was silently begging for you to do something more. he couldn’t find the words to answer your silly question. instead he sent his eyes to scan your face, lingering longer over your lips.

“gyu!” you both jumped back from each other. up pranced soonyoung, but he wasn’t a tiger. “and y/n? hey!” he gave you a hug and you squeezed him back.

“hey soonyoung!” you gathered your composure far quicker than mingyu who was still trying to comprehend what the fuck just happened. “a cowboy this year?” you motioned your hands to his costume.

“had to change it up,” he shrugged. “still got my date, though,” he grinned. you knew it was the stupid plastic skeleton he dragged along every year in the spirit of the holiday.

“well, wherever you set her down, i can imagine she goes way better with this outfit than the tiger onesie,” you both laugh.

“girl… a whip? i don’t think blackcat-“

“shutup, i know. it’s yuqi’s. she’s catwoman.” you deadpanned.

he put his hands up as if to surrender, “got it, no need to use it on me.” you two laughed together again.

mingyu wasn’t enjoying this conversation like you and soonyoung were, however.

he gently grabbed your wrist while patting soonyoung on the shoulder. “excuse us,” were the first words to come out of his mouth in the past couple minutes. it came out low and demanding, an extreme contrast from the state you had him in before soonyoung showed up.

you looked at soonyoung then shrugged your shoulders in confusion and blew him a quick kiss, whip in hand as mingyu pulled you away. “have fun!” he yelled after you both.

“mingyu, where the fuck are we going?” you finally ask as he's pulling you up the stairs.

“my room,” he states bluntly.

“your room? why didn’t you just get ready here then?” your genuine curiosity taking over.

mingyu stopped you both in front of his door. “except for cheol and chan, we all got ready at vernon’s,” he answered very matter of fact, then his eyebrows furrowed remembering what he was doing.

he opened his door, pulling you in with him. once he closed the door, he grabbed you and pushed you against it, hands cupping your face, instantly attacking your lips with his own. your hand naturally found its way to his long, wavy hair while your other rested on his chest. you slightly tugged at his hair, a groan escaping his lips. you smiled and chuckled against his mouth, knowing exactly how this was gonna end, despite his attempts at taking control of the situation.

he ignored your cockiness, moving a hand to the zipper of your top, toying with it just to be a dick. after about 10 seconds of that, you decided it was enough.

“why don’t you be a good puppy and unzip me already,” you pull on his hair hard enough to pull him away this time. his eyes desperately searched yours, not understanding, himself, why every time you called him that, it made him feel weak in his knees.

“o-okay,” he stuttered before unzipping your top the rest of the way. his mouth hung open at the way your tits broke free from the tight latex. “god..” he whispered. eyes still locked on your chest, he tried to speak, “c-can i please-”

“yes,” you breathed, not letting him finish his sentence, knowing exactly what he wanted.

mingyu wasted no time, latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, desperately sucking on the skin as if his life depended on it. a low groan escaped your lips as you finally dropped the whip on the floor, and moved that hand to his back, lightly scratching at him through the thin fabric of his shirt. he moaned against your chest, sending a chill down your spine.

“on your knees,” you demanded. he pulled away from your chest with a rather puzzled expression on his face. “don’t make me say it again,” and with that, he practically dropped to the floor, looking up at you with the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen. “good boy,” you praised, petting his head between his ears. you walked over to his bed, sitting yourself down at the edge of it.

“come,” you said gently. mingyu started to stand up. “nuh uh,” you stopped him. “on all fours.”

“i- but i-,” he tried to protest, stumbling over his words.

“crawl. or i’ll walk out that door right now,” you threatened.

he immediately got back on his knees, then bent forward, using his arms to help him crawl over to you. he didn’t break eye contact as he made his way to where you sat on his bed, your legs slightly opened. you leaned down, reaching in between your legs for his collar. you hooked two fingers underneath it and pulled him forward. he wrapped his arms around your waist, knees still planted on the floor as he looked at you longingly.

“what a good puppy,” you cooed, moving your hand from his collar to his hair along with your other hand. you petted him right next to his ears on either side of his head. he hummed, tilting his head to the side, you moving your hand so he could rest his face on it. you thought this was just gonna be a typical dom/sub dynamic, but you quickly started realizing that it was far more than that.

you leaned down giving him a soft kiss to his lips, making him crave more. he moved his hands up to your face, pulling you back down. you both hungrily attacked each others lips, breathing in every bit of the other. “what the fuck are you doing to me,” he growled between kisses. to be quite honest, you had no idea either. you didn’t even know this man, really.

“get on the bed,” you demanded, out of breath. he mumbled, “okay,” then stood up and sat in the middle of his bed. “lay down, obviously,” you deadpanned. he felt like an idiot as he laid himself down. he watched you with big eyes as you crawled up his body. you sat yourself on top of him and reached to hook your fingers under his collar again. you used it to pull him up to your level.

“take your stupid shirt off.” he fumbled with the hem of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. you ripped it from his hands and threw it across the room to god knows where. you pushed him back down, diving after his neck with your mouth. his back arched slightly from the bed as a whimper escaped his lips. as your teeth sunk into his skin, beginning to suck, his chest pressed against yours.

he knew it wasn’t physically possible for him to get closer to your body, but he could try. he was desperate. he craved your warmth. he craved you. a complete stranger. “y/n, please,” he whined.

“please what?” you whispered into his ear, then proceeded to kiss down his neck to his chest. all he could do was make pathetic little noises in response. “cmon, use your words like a good boy, huh?” you cooed looking up at him. you traced your fingers over his large pecs sending chills through his whole body.

“f-fuck,” he threw his head back into the pillow. “fuck me, y/n, please!” he panted, grabbing at the sheets beneath him.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you teased as you slipped a hand under his pants, grabbing him through his boxers. you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your mouth when you felt how big he was. he looked down at you with flushed cheeks, embarrassed at how easily he was being turned on by your words alone.

“i- i would love that, y/n,” his eyes were so desperate, so needy. “c-can i take my pants off?” god, he was so obedient. it excited you beyond your own comprehension. before you could even think about it, you hooked your fingers under the waistband of his pants and started shimmying them down his thick, muscular thighs.

“fuck,” you mumbled under your breath. the tent in his boxers was intimidating to say the least. you sat on his thighs as you pulled his cock out, admiring the way it grew even more at your direct touch. mingyu was panting like a bitch underneath you and you hadn't even started stroking him yet. “easy there, big boy,” you giggled at his uneasiness. as you started pumping him with one hand, you used the other to stabilize yourself above him.

a deep groan ripped from his throat as he screwed his eyes shut at the sensation. “does that feel good, puppy?” you asked innocently. mingyu whimpered and looked into your eyes again, mere inches away. he used all his extra strength to push his head up to capture your lips with his. this kiss was far deeper than the others. it felt… more intimate than before.

“please y/n i need you,” he whispered against your lips. honestly, you needed him too, so instead of continuing the torture any longer, you got off the bed to remove your top completely, and took your pants off. before getting back on top of him, you pulled his pants the rest of the way down, then stood at the edge of the bed, gawking.

this man’s body was godly. skin the perfect shade of gold, soft muscle curves, the slight glisten on his skin as the moonlight from the window reflects off of his sweat. and his face… fuck, his face. the way his eyes glisten with lust and need, his lips swollen and slightly parted as he’s nearly drooling, waiting for you to do something, and to top it all off, his puppy ears on his head with the collar on his neck making him all the more irresistible.

you climbed back on top of him, his eyes not leaving yours, whether you were looking back at him or not. he only looked away when you started grinding your soaked cunt against his cock. he watched intensely as your slick coated him from top to bottom, his tip leaking precum each time you slid forward. “ready for me to fuck you, gyu?” you nearly whined out, your hands firmly placed on his chest to balance yourself.

“b-been ready, mo-” he stopped himself. “fuuuck please, y/n, please.” he begged.

“what a good fucking boy you are. don’t even have to ask you to beg.” you lifted yourself, and as if there was a form of telepathy happening, he reached down to lift his cock straight up, ready for you to do nothing but line yourself up and sink down in him. however… you both knew that was going to be painful for you. your nails began to dig lightly into his chest as you slowly sunk yourself down on him. a long string of whimpers falling from your lips while he gripped your hips, helping you steady yourself as you now sat all the way down on his cock. you swiveled your hips a couple times before slowly lifting them and slamming back down onto him without warning. a gasp escaping your own lips.

“ah! Fuck!” mingyu cried out, throwing his head back into the pillows again. the grip he had on your hips only tightened.

you moved your hands to his neck, applying only slight pressure as you started moving up and down on his cock. his breathing became sporadic, and you could feel his veins on his neck starting to bulge under your fingers as you started to pick up your pace. “collar getting too tight?” you breathed.

“n-no,” mingyu choked out. “mmmph~ i like it,” his voice was hoarse, but soft. his hands finally moved from your hips to roam your body. he dragged them up your waist until he was cupping your tits. he started kneading the flesh, licking his lips as he watched your face start to contort with pleasure. you let go of his neck and put your hands on top of his, over your chest.

the scene was so beautiful before him, he was growing more and more impatient, needing to chase his high. you threw your head back crying out a “fuck!” as mingyu started meeting each bounce of yours with a sharp thrust.

“a-am i doing a good job?” he whined, “does it feel good?” all he wanted was your validation and praise.

“y-yes~ fuck- such a good boy for me,” you cooed as stable as possible. you brought a hand down and combed your fingers through his hair right below his puppy ears. his thrusts slowed and so did you. you hadn’t realized how much of the “fucking” was being done by him now instead of you. he hummed and closed his eyes while you ran your fingers through his hair again. both of your movements came to a complete stop. nothing but cockwarming and heavy breaths while you petted the pretty boy beneath you.

once he opened his eyes, you gave him a soft smile and he nestled his face into your hand. looking up at you with those puppy eyes, the next words that came out of his mouth were jarring to say the least. “w-will you sit on my face? please?” you could’ve sworn he batted his lashes too.

you giggled before teasing him, “are you seriously asking to pleasure me right now?”

“no im fucking begging, y/n please.” he whined.

“well, when you beg like such a good boy, how could i tell you no, hm?” you hummed before moving your hands to his headboard, climbing up his body, stabilizing yourself over his face.

he wasted no time trying to attack your core with his tongue, but you didn’t want to let him have it that easily. you moved a hand down to tug at his hair, pulling him off of you. “nuh uh. stick out your tongue,” you demanded.

“w-what?” his eyes were big with uncertainty.

“did i stutter? stick out your tongue and stay like a good puppy.” you spit at him, no patience left in your voice.

so, mingyu did just that. slowly but surely he opened his mouth wide, laying his tongue out for you like the good boy he was.

you lowered yourself back down onto his tongue, slowly moving your soaked cunt back and forth. he just looked up at you with such adoration in his eyes, but tongue out like an absolute idiot. it was driving you crazy.

mingyu was going arguably more crazy, though. he wanted to devour you. taste every single inch of you, and lap up every last drop of your arousal like there was no tomorrow.

you let out a whimper that drove him over the edge, and he couldn’t contain himself anymore. he brought his strong arms up, wrapping them around your thighs, locking you in place on his face. you gripped onto his bed frame tighter as he began to suck on your clit with such vigor, you almost came on the spot.

fuck he’s good at this.

he then started fucking his tongue in and out of you, using his own strength alone to bounce you up and down slightly on the muscle.

“mmph~ fuuuck~ mingyu please, don’t stop,” you pleaded, knuckles white from holding onto his headboard for dear life. who was he to deny you? he moved one of his hands from your thigh to the bundle of nerves above where his tongue was fucking in and out of you. as soon as he started rubbing gentle but fast circles on your clit, you knew you weren’t gonna last long. the familiar knot in your tummy forming far faster than you’d like to admit.

“p-puppy i’m c-close. gonna make me cum,” you half panted, half wailed.

he moved his mouth away to talk, fingers still working on your clit.

“cum for me please baby, cum all over my tongue,” his voice had dropped to a dangerously low tone. he went back to tongue fucking you and your grip on his headboard became so tight you thought you might break it.

“gyu! fuck! i’m- fuck!” a wave of pure euphoria flooded your whole body faster than you could comprehend. mingyu lapped up every last bit of cum dripping from your cunt.

“jesus christ,” you panted.

“okay y/n, all fours.”

“what?” you looked down at mingyu’s big brown eyes in complete shock.

“i- i’m sorry please can i fuck you on all fours?”

“mingyu i’m not worried about how you wanna fuck me-”

“then, please? can i? I’ve been a good boy…”

“you definitely have,” you reassured, moving a piece of his hair out of his face. “i just don’t know if i have the energy for that right now.”

“you don’t have to do anything, just- y/n just let me take care of you…” his voice was so soft and genuine. nothing like you were used to from a hookup.

“fine… then can i just lay on my back?” you both chuckled.

“whatever you want.”

once you guys repositioned yourselves, mingyu on top of you for the first time tonight, you couldn’t help but let your mind race. i could get used to this view… y/n stop it’s just a fucking hookup, you’ll only ever see him again in passing. but his voice… the way he’s speaking to me is so… sweet… so? he’s probably just fucking pussy whipped. and pussy whipped he was, but it wasn’t that simple.

“are you ready, baby?” his eyes scanning yours intently as if to catch any trace of uncertainty that may reside in your eyes.

“y-yes. at least i hope,” you giggled. a fangy smile gracing his face. fuck, his smile.

as mingyu started to push himself into you, you winced at the stretch. it was almost like he’d gotten bigger since you were on top of him earlier. “ah~ fuck gyu,” you whined.

“too much? do you want me to stop?”

“no, no please don’t stop,” you just gripped onto his arms and closed your eyes.

a couple seconds later and he finally bottomed out, causing both of you to let out a string of low moans as you both adjusted to the feeling of his rather fucking huge dick inside of you. (how else was i supposed to word that like c’mon now)

within a minute mingyu was drilling into you at an animalistic pace. the grip you had on his biceps probably close to breaking skin with your nails. your back arched at its limit. both of you sounding like you're in one of the most hardcore pornos ever filmed. the bed creaking, slamming into the wall… you get it.

the rest of the world had completely withered away at this point when suddenly…

BANG BANG BANG! “jesus christ, mingyu! that you in there?” seungcheol… fuck.

mingyu stilled all movement, “uhhh yeah… what do you want?” he dropped his head onto the pillow right next to your head. you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Sorry.. just uh… have you seen y/n?!” he yelled from the other side of the door. mingyu’s head shot up, both of you looking at each other with complete panic in your eyes.

“you could… you could say that i’ve seen her… yeah?” mingyu yelled back, wincing as he awaited his response.

when seuncheol didn’t answer right away, you decided to speak up. “hi cheol…” you said softly but loud enough for him to hear you.

“you’re fucking kidding,” seungcheol scoffed before walking away yelling, “you two fuckbirds have fun!”

you and mingyu just laid there for a second before bursting out laughing.

“okay that was embarrassing,” you covered your face.

“oh don’t act like you didn’t like it,” he grinned, leaning down to start kissing on your neck. “you think i can’t feel how much wetter you got?” he bucked his hips into you without warning, making you yelp. he just chuckled, lifting his head up to look at you again.

your mouth was hung open like an idiot, unsure of how to respond, actually embarrassed now.

“look who’s the tough guy now, huh?” he taunted, beginning to slowly pump in and out of you again. your eyes rolled back into your head and your hands reached for his hair. sensing that the puppy fun would be ending now, you tried to focus your vision enough to unclip the ears from his hair and throw them elsewhere in his room. “oh, are we done with those now?” he asked in such a bitchy tone, you could’ve slapped him back into his submissive state, but you were over the playing now.

“mingyu, just fuck me,” you panted now able to put your hands in his hair how you please.

“that’s no way to get what you want now, gorgeous.”

“mingyu, please just fuck me already!” you whined, wrapping your legs around his torso.

the groan that escaped his lips at that action was inhuman as he sped back up to his pace from before, however, far harder.

“fuck! Mingyu!” you cried out, unable to do or say anything else.

“what? wanted me to f-fuck you, no?” he teased, stopping to lift one of your legs over his shoulder, then removing your mask in one quick motion before pounding into you again. the new angle pushed you to your limit once again, far too fast for your own sanity. “let go for me again baby, i can feel it. you’re c-close aren’t you?” he cooed softly in contrast to his brutal movements. “touch yourself for me,” he breathed.

you moved a hand down to your clit, rubbing away at the bud while your other arm moved to his back, pulling his body closer to yours as you reached your high. the close proximity bringing his clingy self closer to his own breaking point.

now forehead to forehead, the knot in your stomach about to snap, you moved your other hand up to his back, fingertips lightly pressing into the skin. mingyu brought a hand to your neck, holding it gently, but firm as he railed into you for the last few times.

“-m cumming!” you cried, now digging your nails into his back.

“fuck!” he growled at the lovely sting of the scratches you were leaving. your cunt fluttering around his cock however was the final straw. “ah~ baby~” he groaned before crashing his lips into yours as his orgasm hit.

“so… you always have wipes conveniently available on your nightstand?” you giggled, curled up in his arms under his blankets.

“you know, it was actually pure luck,” he started. “cheol did a grocery run today and when he brought me my bag there were a couple of our toiletries and i was gonna go put them in the bathroom bu-”

“hey, gyu?” you looked up at him.

“yeah?”

“shhhhh…” you smiled, placing a soft kiss to his lips before laying your head back down on his chest.

he kissed the top of your head and whispered with a chuckle, “sorry. i talk too much.”

“uh uh just… sleepy,” you yawned.

how you two managed to tune out the party is beyond anyone’s guess. he didn’t have to run his fingers in your hair for a full minute before you knocked out, but he did anyway until he fell asleep himself.

tag list: @skzooluvr @jenoslutie @iluvhoshi @goblynnrockz @map0fthes0ul7 @unlikelysublimekryptonite @actuallynarii @glttrlix @ninigyuuu @starcandybby (i hope that was everyone! i feel like my list got messed up but hopefully it's right!)

#svt smut #kinktober #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #hanniesluvr

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aquaticmercy · 2 days ago

Text

The Catalyst

Summary : In this universe, you and Bucky are happy. In other universes, it might not be that simple.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, trauma, grief, cursing, non-sexual nudity. Lots of Angst. Fluff in the beginning and end. Multiversal Travel.

Word count : 8.9k

Note : This story is meant to resemble a What If? episode. It is an exploration of what would happen to you and Bucky if the other died. I will refer to the main universe (MCU) as Earth-616 because Marvel is stupid and has decided that it’s not earth-19999 anymore. The fic is inspired by the song of the same title by Linkin Park. Also, I hope this story makes sense? Enjoy!

Earth-616…

The bathroom was quiet, save for the soft gurgle of water and the occasional drip from the faucet.

Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, bare and bruised, watching you with a tired smile.

The gash on his forehead was deep, an angry red against his skin, and his chest was peppered with smaller cuts and scrapes, remnants of yet another mission gone south. You stood in front of him, tilting his chin to clean the wound.

“You’re lucky this didn’t need stitches,” you murmured, focusing on your work.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Bucky said lightly, though you could tell he was exhausted. “I’m practically indestructible.”

You glanced up, narrowing your eyes at him, not finding any solace in his self-deprecating humour today. “No, you’re not, James.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he gave you that lopsided, charming smile, the one that always made your heart flutter— even when you were mad at him.

“Alright, my love,” you closed the tap. “Bath’s ready.”

Bucky stood slowly, groaning as he stretched. Before you could move away, he pulled you back toward him.

“Come take a dip with me,” he murmured.

You looked up at him. “I drew this bath for you—”

“Please,” he interrupted.

You hesitated, only a moment, before nodding. “Alright,” you said. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for almost dying.”

He gave you a faint smile as you undressed.

The water enveloped you in warmth as you both sank into the tub. Bucky settled behind you, his legs bracketing yours, arms wrapping around your waist. You leaned back against his chest, your head resting beneath his chin.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Your fingers absentmindedly traced his metal arm, feeling the ridges of the plating.

You closed your eyes, but the memory of his bloodied face lingered in your mind. The fear you felt when he walked through the door earlier that day—bruised and battered but alive—still held onto you.

Bucky’s lips pressed softly to the back of your head, pulling you from your thoughts. “You’re quiet today,” he murmured, his voice soothing your worries

You swallowed hard, finger frozen on his arm. “You just really scared me tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, arms wrapping tighter around you.

“Just… be more careful, please?” you said quietly. “There’ve been too many close calls lately. If something happened to you…” Your voice cracked as you drew in a shaky breath. “If I lost you, I don’t think I’d know how to put myself back together.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, grip strengthening on you. “Don’t even think about it.”

You tilted your head back, resting on his collarbone. “I mean it, James,” you whispered. “You’re everything to me.”

“You’ll never lose me,” he said, his conviction absolute. “I’ll always come back to you, no matter what.”

“You’d fucking better,” tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you managed a small smile. “Or I’ll find a way to drag you back myself.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

“Good,” you said, snuggling closer to him. “Maybe that’ll keep you in line.”

He kissed the back of your head again. The water lapped gently around you, the warmth easing the knots in your muscles, soothing the subtle throb in your heart.

After everything you’ve both been through, you were just happy he was here— alive.

•

Somewhere in a distant reality…

In this universe, Bucky Barnes didn’t cry at your funeral.

The rain came down in unrelenting sheets, soaking through the black suit he wore, but Bucky didn’t shiver. He didn’t flinch when the first heavy shovelful of dirt struck your casket, the dull thud echoing in his ears like a death knell. He stood apart from the others, an immovable statue at the edge of the grave, his hands limp at his sides, trembling ever so slightly— His face might as well have been carved from stone.

The sound of weeping surrounded him—your friends, your teammates, people you had saved. Each sob seemed to pierce his skin, sharp as broken glass, but still, Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t cry.

Bucky didn’t cry when the ground swallowed you whole.

He didn’t cry when Pepper, eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears, rested a firm hand on his shoulder. He didn’t cry when Sam placed a folded flag in his hands, whispering, “She was a hero.” He didn’t cry when Clint, voice hoarse, muttered, “She saved so many lives.”

He didn’t cry when Tony, uncharacteristically subdued, raised a glass to your memory that night, his hand trembling just enough to make the liquid ripple, Bucky stayed silent. He stared at the drink in his hand until it blurred into nothing.

But when he sat in the shadows of his apartment later, something deep inside him twisted.

He couldn’t stop replaying your death in his mind. Your final words, whispered through cracked lips and choked breaths, were for him. “You’re going to be okay, James.”

You had died saving them— saving the world. You had grabbed the infinity stones away from Tony, you had snapped so he didn’t have to. You did it because you couldn’t let anyone else make the sacrifice— you did it because Morgan needed a father.

But Bucky needed you.

And you were gone.

He had no more tears to give. He had shed them in the days leading up to your funeral, in suffocating quiet of the aftermath. He had cried until there was nothing left inside, until grief turned into a cold, sharp knife that carved your initials into his chest and refused to let him rest.

So he didn’t cry anymore.

But when the world fell away—when the comforting murmurs of others faded and he was left alone in the silence of the apartment you had shared—something inside him broke.

Bucky didn’t cry anymore, but that didn’t stop him grieving.

Bucky grieved like a soldier.

It was disciplined, bordering on mechanical. He scrubbed your presence from the apartment with clinical detachment, packing your things with military precision. Your clothes disappeared into boxes he refused to label. Your toiletries vanished from the bathroom like they had never been there.

He didn’t touch the photos, though. He left them right where you’d placed them. He didn’t move the jacket you always left draped over the back of the chair, didn’t even bring himself to wash the cup you’d left on the counter.

At night, when the apartment grew unbearably still, he would sit in the dark and trace his fingers over the curve of your handwriting in the little notes you’d leave him—Don’t forget milk! He would fiddle with the frayed fabric of the worn shirt that still smelled faintly of your vanilla perfume. He held it in his hands for hours, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Every mission after that was a blur of adrenaline and violence. As soon as he got pardoned, he threw himself into the fight with reckless abandon, his mind a haze of desperation and anger, his body moving like a machine, like no part of him remained human.

He fought like a man trying to outrun himself.

He didn’t care if he made it back, didn’t care if he took a bullet—or fifty. Every blow he took was nothing compared to his own pain.

But nothing— none of the wounds, none of the cuts he sustained— brought him closer to you.

And when the fighting was done, in between missions when the world didn’t need him, he disappeared, abandoning your shared apartment because it made him think too much of you. He retreated to a remote cabin deep in the woods, a place so far removed from humanity where no one could find him.

No one, except for Stephen Strange.

—

It had been nearly six months since your death when Strange appeared on Bucky’s porch, his portal crackling in the fresh mountain air.

“Go away,” Bucky growled, not bothering to glance up from the knife he was sharpening. He had gone hunting again, determined not to rely on anyone else for his survival.

Strange ignored the warning, stepping through the glowing portal and onto the weathered wooden planks. His expression was grim, his tone desperate. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“What do you want?” Bucky’s voice was rough, his patience worn thin.

“It’s not about what I want,” Strange replied. “It’s what the multiverse needs.”

Bucky finally looked up, his blue eyes still sharp but exhausted. He’d been running on empty for months now. You weren’t there to steady him, to breathe life into the fragile space beneath his ribs when the nightmares were too much to bear. You weren’t there to wake up next to him. You weren’t there to pepper him with kisses when he thought he wasn’t good enough. You were gone.

“The multiverse can save itself,” he muttered, turning back to his blade.

Strange’s expression softened, but only slightly. “If it could, I wouldn’t be here.”

Bucky let out a scoff, his hands gripping the sharpening stone. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I wish I had,” Strange said quietly, his words landing like stones thrown into water.

The desperation in his voice made Bucky pause. He set the knife down with care, leaning back in his chair to glare at the sorcerer. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Strange wasn’t the type to hold back words, but even he seemed to hesitate. And then he said it—the name. Your name. The one Bucky hadn’t heard in weeks.

“Don’t,” Bucky snapped, feeling like an arrow had struck his chest.

Strange pressed on, undeterred. “A version of her exists in another universe. But she’s… no longer her.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

With a flick of his hand, Strange conjured an image: glowing strands of the multiverse weaving together, spinning until a vision appeared.

It was you—but… not you. Not his version of you.

Your face was twisted, your body cocooned in violent energy. Behind you, planets crumbled, swallowed by the raw power radiating from you.

Bucky reached out, his hand floating near the image that magic had willed into life.

He couldn’t fully grasp it—this alternate reality where you were alive, suffering, destroying. It didn’t make sense, how this could exist.

You were gone. You died in his arms.

The heart that beat for him— he felt it stop beneath his fingertips.

How could he possibly wrap his mind around this? That a fragment of your soul—some version of you—was out there, breathing, enduring.

Alive.

His throat tightened as he tried to speak, to force out even a single word, but he choked on his own tongue.

The multiverse. Or whatever Strange had called it. A few years ago, he’d have laughed it off as some nonsense, he wouldn’t’ve believed it. But after being snapped out of existence and then willed back into it by a handful of glowing galactic stones, Bucky Barnes, man out of time, knew better.

Now, he’d believe in absolutely anything. Especially if it meant he was believing in a world where you still existed.

“She’s become the Catalyst,” Strange said, his voice laced with dread. “A being of grief, capable of destroying entire worlds. If she’s not stopped, she’ll collapse the multiverse.”

Bucky stared at the image, his chest tightening. Was this really you, destroyer of worlds, of universes?

You couldn’t be capable of this.

You were kind, you were incapable of harming an innocent soul. He remembered the day a poisonous spider had wandered into the room. You refused to kill it, carefully guiding it out to the garage.

But now, as the memories came flooding back, doubt began to settle.

He had seen glimpses of another side of you, when you were alive. The fiery rage that consumed you after losing an old friend. The anger you brought into battle, wielded like an iron fist. It had been terrifying—a force of nature that no one could stand against. It was how you wielded the infinity stones long enough to do what needed to be done.

Now, looking at this image Strange had conjured, he wondered if that force had finally consumed you.

“You want me to go after her,” Bucky said flatly. He was certain of it.

“I want you to stop her.” Strange nodded. “Talk to her. You’re the only one she might listen to.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Strange’s gaze was unyielding. “Then you’re the only one who stands a chance at killing her.”

The words hit Bucky like a hammer to the chest. He turned away, gripping the porch railing until his knuckles went white. “I can’t lose her again.”

Strange stepped closer, his voice soft but resolute. “She would want you to do it.”

Bucky’s voice rose, his eyes filled with tears he would not let Strange see. “You don’t know her like I do.”

“No,” Strange admitted. “But I’ve seen what happens if no one stops her. Entire universes will fall. Countless souls will die. If you won’t do it for her, then do it for them.”

—

Bucky didn’t sleep that night. He sat on the edge of his bed, the room blanketed in suffocating silence, broken only by the occasional creak of his wooden single bedframe as he shifted nervously.

In his hands, his gun seemed to glow under the moonlight filtering through the window.

He turned it over and over, fingers brushing the worn grip, the faint scratch on the barrel— one he remembered you making during a standard recon mission. You had scratched it, accidentally catching it with your knife.

You apologised profusely, and he said it was no big deal.

He then teased you for being too attached to your weapons— how your knives had little personal inscriptions, how you had cared for it like it had a soul. He, on the other hand, said that he felt indifferent to his weapons— said he didn’t want to get too sentimental.

You laughed, saying he was too dramatic. "It's just a tool, James. You’re the one who decides what it’s for."

Now, he wasn’t so sure what he wanted to use it for.

Strange’s words looped in his mind like a broken record: You’re the only one who stands a chance at killing her.

The thought of pointing a gun at you made his heart drop.

He once promised to protect you, to be your safe haven. And now, a sorcerer had tasked him with destroying you in another universe. How could he ever make peace with that?

How could he pull the trigger on you?

But then another thought struck him: Strange was right. You would want him to.

You would forgive him if he had to kill you.

You always forgave him, no matter how many times he swore he didn’t deserve it, because you would understand that this needed to be done. If the situation were reversed, you’d do what needed to be done— because that’s who you were.

You were good— everything he aspired to be.

If you were alive, if you knew you had turned destructive— you would kill the Catalyst yourself.

As the hours dragged on, Bucky tried to think of another way, to fantasise a different ending for the sick story he existed in. What if there was a chance— however slim—to reach that version of you without violence? To pull you back from the brink and remind you who you were?

He knew he had to try, but he also knew what failure meant: countless lives lost, entire universes wiped from existence.

If he failed, this universe would be gone, along with all the memories of you. Along with your legacy.

Your sacrifice would be in vain.

He couldn’t let that happen.

The gun in his hands felt heavier now, the future hanging like a noose around his neck. The sun was just beginning to rise when he finally stood.

He had made his decision.

He didn’t bother to pack much—just his knife, the gun, and the dog tags he always carried, the ones you had once traced with your fingers when you thought he was asleep.

He knew he needed to do this mission.

Not for the world, not for the universe.

The multiverse could burn, for all he cared. He’s doing this because he knew you would want him to.

—

When Strange arrived at the cabin, the swirling portal casted an eerie light over his mostly empty living room.

Bucky’s face went grim. He didn’t say goodbye to the cabin, didn’t look back at the life he had built in solitude.

He never liked this cabin. Never liked this new life— he only went here because it was what you always wanted. You wanted to be away from the city, one with nature. You always wanted to build the rest of your life here. Back then, Bucky had agreed— but now it was just a reminder that he was living a hollow existence without you.

He stepped through the portal.

The overwhelming surge of energy as he entered the alternate universe was nothing compared to the pain his heart endured.

The world he had stepped into felt like the aftermath of a nightmare.

The sky was a sickly yellow, streaked with ash and smoke. The sun, barely visible through the haze, poured a dying light over the desolation below.

Buildings lay in ruins, their remains clawing at the sky. The ground was a wasteland of debris, littered with the wreckage of battles fought long before he arrived.

Ultron's remains were everywhere. His drones twisted, mangled, scattered across the landscape, half-buried in dirt or wedged into crumbling walls, some buried under concrete slab. Their empty eyes stared at nothing— stared at Bucky with emptiness.

Bucky adjusted his grip on his rifle and took a cautious step forward. The air was thick, stinging with the stench of burning metal and organic decay. He moved carefully, scanning his surroundings.

This wasn’t his world, but it was familiar enough for him to navigate through.

“Strange,” Bucky muttered under his breath, though the sorcerer had closed the portal. He pushed through, putting his Winter Soldier mask on “What the hell did you send me into?”

—

It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened. In this universe, Ultron had won, but not by slamming Sokovia into the Earth like an asteroid. Instead, his drone army had swept across the world, decimating everything in its path.

He found more evidence in a hollowed-out bunker near the remnants of what would have been Central Park. His name was scrawled across a rusted memorial wall alongside hundreds of others. His dog tags—this world’s version of them—hung from a nail driven into the cracked concrete.

Bucky stared at the tags for a long time. He could imagine the moment you had hung them there, your fingers shaking, your heart breaking.

This was the universe’s cruel twist: in this world, he had died in the battle against Ultron.

He had been the one ripped away from you.

The rest of the story came from whispers, fragments of information he gathered from the few survivors he encountered. Most were too broken, too terrified, to speak more than a few sentences, but they all spoke of one thing: the Catalyst.

“She wasn’t always like this,” one man had said, his voice trembling as he huddled in the corner of a makeshift shelter from scrap metal. “She used to be a hero. Fought against Ultron with everything she had. But when he killed Barnes—”

His breath hitched, knowing the mask obscured him from this civillian’s view.

“—She lost it. Hunted Ultron down, tore him apart with her bare hands. But then she… she took his parts. Built something with it.”

“Built what?” Bucky pressed, his stomach twisting.

“Armour. Weapons. Something stronger than anything the Avengers had. But it did something to her—got in her head, twisted her. She’s not human anymore. Not really. Just anger and grief and—and…”

“And power,” Bucky finished grimly.

The man nodded. “She destroyed Ultron. Destroyed his whole army. But she didn’t stop. She just kept tearing down everything in her path. Now she’s… she’s…. If you see her, you run. You don’t fight. You don’t talk. You run.”

—

That night, Bucky sat alone in the ruins of what would’ve been the Avengers tower. He stared at the fire he’d managed to build.

The image of you—this you, the Catalyst—was burned into his mind. He’d seen a glimpse of it through Strange’s portal, but now the reality of it was just starting to sink in.

You had always been so full of life, so determined to make the world a better place. How could you be the very thing tearing it apart in this universe? How could you let grief do this to you?

He clenched his fists. He should’ve gotten here earlier.

This version of him had failed you. He should’ve fought harder, been faster, or something. Maybe if he had been, you wouldn’t have had to face Ultron alone. Maybe you wouldn’t have—

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault.”

He knew he could not control what this universe’s version of him did. But the guilt ate him up anyway.

—

The next day, he found the first sign of you.

In the centre of the ruins stood a towering monument of burned metal, forged from the remains of Ultron’s drones. It was a grotesque structure, its sharp edges gleaming like shark teeth in the dim light.

He looked around, realising this would’ve been the Rockefeller Center— where he had taken you on a date, ice skating in the cold winter with Christmas lights surrounding you.

Bucky approached cautiously, his eyes narrowing as he studied the details. The surface of the monument was etched with symbols—some binary, some human words.

This wasn’t just a monument. It was a warning.

She’s close, he thought, gripping his rifle tighter.

The ground trembled beneath his feet. Suddenly, a low hum rose in the air. He turned sharply, his heart pounding as the shadows moved around him.

And then he saw you.

You descended from the sky like a vengeful god, clad in sleek, silver armour forged from Ultron’s technology. It clung to you like a second skin, pulsing with an unnatural light. Your eyes glowed with the same energy, and the air around you crackled with raw power.

For a moment, Bucky couldn’t breathe. It was you— but at the same time, it wasn’t. It was the face he loved, the lips that once kissed him goodnight, the eyes that soothed him after he woke up from one of his nightmares. Yet something was wrong. This wasn’t entirely the person that had been his world. This version of you was twisted— destruction incarnate.

But he could not stop the leap of joy his heart made. At least you were alive.

“You’ve come to stop me,” you said, not even lifting your eyes. Your voice echoed unnaturally. It was layered, as if a hundred versions of you were speaking at once.

Bucky stood his ground, heart pounding as you, —no, the Catalyst— stood still. The pieces of Ultron’s remnants shimmered with an almost ethereal glow, stitched together into a terrible masterpiece that trapped you like a tomb. Your face—once warm and full of life—burned with an inhuman intensity, flickering like a dying sun.

“I’ve come to bring you back,” Bucky replied, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. Slowly, he took off his mask.

Your expression flickered, just for a moment. As if he was a crack in the armour.

You recognised the voice.

“You’re— ,” you whispered, your voice layered and fractured, distorted by grief and the technology that had consumed you. Your eyes snapped up to meet his. “You came back to me.”

The words hit Bucky like a blow to the chest. I did, doll. He wanted to say. I will always come back.

But he knew this version of you wasn’t his, so he swallowed hard, keeping his rifle lowered.

You froze, your head tilting slightly as you studied him. You weren’t satisfied without an answer. “James?”

Bucky’s heart twisted. For a moment, he saw a glimmer of the person you had been, the love you had shared.

Kill me now, he thought, before I have to kill you.

But he knew the cost of that. He knew failing would mean he had failed you.

“I’m here to help,” he said softly.

You stepped closer, unsure whether to reach for him— a fragment of your old soul begging you to stop this madness — or strike him down— an instinct the Catalyst had developed. Your glowing eyes traced every inch of him, lingering on the scars lining his face, the haunted look in his eyes.

Your fingers twitched, and for a moment, you looked lost.

“You’re different,” you muttered to yourself. “The scars… the way you stand”

Realisation dawned, and with it, the fragile hope in your expression shattered. You took a step back, the electric storm around you surging to life again. “You’re not my James,” you hissed, your voice bitter.

Bucky didn’t flinch. “I’m not,” he admitted. “But I know what he meant to you. What you meant to him.”

“Why would someone else’s James come to me?” you demanded, your voice rising, the ground beneath you cracking with the force of your grief.

“Because I couldn’t save you in my world,” he said, his voice breaking. “But maybe I can save you here.”

For a moment, the storm faltered, the energy around you dimming. But then your eyebrows furrowed, hands curling into fist, your grief boiling over into fury.

“You think you can save me?” you snarled, your armour shifting as weapons emerged from its surface—cannons, blades, and glowing surges of energy. “You think you can take my pain away, make it disappear? You have no idea what I’ve done. What I’ve become.”

The first blast came without warning. Bucky barely had time to dive behind the concrete of a collapsed building as a searing beam of energy scorched the ground where he had stood.

“Don’t make me do this!” he shouted, rising from cover and firing a warning shot. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off your armour.

“You came here to kill me,” you spat, advancing the attack with terrifying precision. “Just like everyone else!”

“No!” Bucky’s voice cracked as he dodged another strike, rolling into a crouch and raising his hands. “I came here to stop this. To stop you.”

“And how do you think that ends?” you snapped, the storm of energy around you growing more volatile. “I know what I am. I’ve seen what I’ve done. There’s no stopping it.”

You lunged at him, your speed too quick for him to process. Bucky barely managed to block your strike, your armoured fist colliding with his vibranium arm in a deafening clash of metal. The force sent him skidding backward, but he held his ground.

“I know you’re still in there!” he shouted, his voice desperate. “I know you don’t want this!”

“I didn’t want any of this!” you screamed, unleashing a wave of energy that knocked him off his feet. “But he left me! He—he died, and I—” Your voice cracked, and for a brief moment, the storm flickered, your grief breaking through the madness.

Bucky scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving. “He wouldn’t want this,” he said, his voice softer now. “I don’t want this.”

Tears streamed down your face, glowing faintly as they fell. “I can’t stop,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “It’s too much. It’s too—”

The storm surged again, and Bucky knew he was losing you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, gripping his rifle tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

You raised your hands, energy crackling between your fingers, but instead of attacking, you froze. A look of clarity crossed your face—a moment of realisation.

Bucky lowered his rifle once again.

“You can’t let this happen again,” you said quietly.

Before Bucky could respond, you turned your gaze to the glowing core embedded in your armour—the source of your power.

“No,” Bucky said, stepping forward. “Don’t—”

“It has to end,” you interrupted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Promise me, James. Promise me you won’t let another version of me become this.”

“I can’t—”

“Promise me!”

His throat tightened, and he nodded. “I promise.”

A faint smile touched your lips, and then you placed your hand over the core. The energy around you flared brightly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

And then, a blinding light flashed before his eyes. You cried a violent shriek as you cast yourself into nothingness.

When the light faded, Bucky stood alone in the ruins, the air eerily still. Your body was nothing but ash, armour scattered across the ruins. The glowing core was shattered, its energy dissipating into nothing.

Bucky dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he stared at the spot where you had stood. He had lost you all over again.

He had failed you all over again.

—

Bucky stumbled through the portal Strange had opened for him, his body worn, his breaths shallow.

“It’s done,” Bucky said, his voice hoarse. He dropped a silver shoulder piece, a part of your armour—a fractured piece of the nightmare you had become—onto the floor of the Sanctum Sanctorum, in the space between them. “She’s gone.”

Strange nodded, but said nothing.

Bucky glared at him, his grief rapidly turning into anger. “You knew, didn’t you?” he growled, “You knew she went mad because she lost me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Strange met his eyes, “Because it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“That’s it?” Bucky demanded, his voice rising. “I’ve lost her twice now, Strange. Twice. And I—” His voice broke, and he turned away, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

No crying today. He’s grieved over you. He’s done.

No crying, Barnes, he insisted again.

“I wish it ended here,” Strange said quietly.

Bucky’s head snapped back sharply, his heart sinking deeper in the abyss it was already stuck in.

Strange hesitated, his hands clasped behind his back. “This wasn’t an anomaly,” he said finally. “In every universe I’ve observed, when you die, she becomes the Catalyst.”

He stumbled back a step, shaking his head. “That… that can’t be true.”

Strange’s gaze softened, but there was no comfort in his expression. “It is,” he said. “Her love for you is not only her greatest strength, but also her greatest weakness. Without you, her grief consumes her. It changes her.”

“So what?” Bucky spat bitterly. “You’re saying she’s doomed to destroy the multiverse?”

“No,” Strange said, his voice firm. “Not if you intervene.”

“You want me to… to do this again?” Bucky froze, his blood running cold. “To watch her die again?”

Strange’s silence was answer enough.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, raking his fingers through his hair, wanting to pull them out so badly. “How many times, Strange?”

“As many as it takes,” Strange replied solemnly. “If we don’t act, the Catalyst will dismantle the multiverse, piece by piece. She doesn’t stop at her own world. Her grief is a hunger—a need to destroy everything, to erase the pain.”

Bucky sank onto a nearby chair, burying his head in his hands. The thought of facing yet another version of you—of seeing your face twisted by grief again, of failing to save you again—was unbearable.

But what choice did he have?

“Are you ready for this, Sergeant Barnes?” Strange asked.

“No,” Bucky admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He lifted his head, his eyes red. “But I’ll do it anyway.”

—

Every time Bucky stepped through another portal, he braced himself for the inevitable. Some universes were barely recognizable—worlds where humanity had advanced far beyond what he’d known, some were distant worlds ruled by psychopathic overlords.

But in every one, you were the same. You met him. You fell in love with him— some evil villain decimated Earth, and this world’s version of Bucky perished in the fight.

When he was gone, your grief forged you into the Catalyst— destroyer of whatever force had destroyed earth, salvaging your victims’ weapons to make you more powerful.

Sometimes your armour was made from Ultron, like before. Other times, it was pieces of Thanos’ gauntlet, or the living metal of Ego the Living Planet. In one universe, you wielded the shattered fragments of Mjölnir.

You weren’t even close to worthy, but your grief was so powerful that you had bent enchanted Asgardian steel into submission.

Each encounter started the same way.

You mistook him for your James. There was always that flicker of hope in your eyes, that fragile moment where you thought he had come back to you.

But then you noticed the differences—the scars, the way he moved, the subtle sadness in his eyes.

And the hope turned to rage.

“Who are you?” you would demand, furious. “Why do you look like him?”

Bucky tried reasoning with you every time, pleading for you to stop, to let go of the grief that consumed you. But it never worked. The madness always took hold, and the fight always began.

In the end, you always destroyed yourself. It’s as if he was doomed to watch— doomed to be a captive audience to your death— over and over and over again.

—

The first time Bucky killed the Catalyst, it nearly broke him.

He had spent weeks, maybe months, tracking you in this icy universe. In this universe, Frost Giants took over. Bucky had been killed somewhere along the lines, and you took Loki’s staff and matters into your own hands.

When he saw you there, standing in a cloak of fur and leather, you radiated power.

And yet, behind the glowing eyes, he could still see you. The way you tilted your head when you studied him, the smallest flicker of hesitation before you struck.

He had prepared for this. Every movement, every breath, every strike was calculated, the result of months of relentless study. He’d learned how to predict the devastating surges of energy you unleashed, how to exploit the brief seconds when your guard faltered. You were stronger, faster, almost unstoppable—but almost wasn’t enough.

When he finally got to you, he only hesitated for a second before stabbing you.

No. What have I done?

A desperate wail tore from his throat as tears burned his eyes, spilling over like a shattered dam. He cried— for the first time in months— as he watched the light in your eyes fade.

Bucky knelt beside your dying body, whispering useless apologies as he cradled you in his arms. You looked up at him. You didn’t look at him with grief. Not anger. Not hatred. Maybe relief. Maybe love.

And then, as life drained from your eyes, the multiverse seemed to hold its breath.

You were gone.

Again.

He had finally convinced himself that he had to kill you. He could no longer endure your suffering. Every moment of your self-destruction had been nightmare fuel—your anguished cries, your desperate screams— It was unbearable. He loved you too deeply to continue watching you suffer.

Now, he was certain— ending your life, giving you a swift death,was the only way he could stomach this mission.

—

The Catalyst was powerful in every universe, but Bucky learned how to fight you better. Most times now, he was able to kill you, to put you out of your misery because he outmanoeuvred you, predicting your attacks like a ghost of every battle you’d ever had. Other times, he got there too late, and you destroyed yourself, unleashing a final burst of power so immense it annihilated your very existence.

Those times were harder.

Watching you choose to end it. Watching you fall apart in his arms, whispering words he couldn’t always hear.

Still, everytime, he took a piece of you.

He didn’t know why he reached out to gather the shattered remains of your armour. Sometimes it was a gauntlet, still glowing faintly with residual energy. A shard of the crystalline crown that marked your reign as the Catalyst. Sometimes it was Loki’s scepter.

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was guilt. He tucked the fragments into his pack and walked away, feeling like he had salvaged a part of you.

At first, he thought it was a way to remember you. The woman you had been, not the Catalyst you had become. But over time, the collection grew into a monument to his failure. Each weapon, each ruined piece of armour was a reminder of what it cost to keep going. To try and save you. To survive you. To kill you.

And still, he couldn’t stop.

The multiverse demanded it. The Catalyst always returned, more powerful, and Bucky would be there, each time, with the weight of a hundred battles on his shoulders and memories of the woman he loved. He’d fight. He’d win.

He’d lose you again.

And he’d carry another piece of you, knowing it would never be enough to make him whole.

So, over time, missions chipped away at him, piece by piece.

He didn’t smile anymore. He barely spoke, even when Strange tried to comfort him. His humanity felt like a distant memory, buried beneath the endless cycle of loss.

Once, in a rare moment of quiet, Strange tried to reason with him.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Barnes,” he said. “I’ve talked to Clint, Bruce, and Sam. They said they’d help.”

Bucky shook his head, his expression hollow. “It has to be me. I’m the only one she listens to. Even if it’s just for a second.”

Strange didn’t argue.

—

This time, he was so devastatingly close to saving you— it was the only time you had let him reason with you. The only time you had let him talk longer than a few seconds.

In this universe, you had taken the remains of Ronan the Accuser’s hammer, merging it with Kree technology to create an unstoppable weapon. You were a force of nature, cutting down armies and leaving entire planets in ruin.

Bucky fought you for hours, trying to get through because he saw a chance. His body was battered and broken by the end. But as he stood over you, your armour cracked and your face visible beneath your helmet, you looked up at him with tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice faint.

Bucky dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached for you. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “There’s still a chance—”

“You’re still my James, aren’t you?” you interrupted, your hand brushing his cheek. “You love me in every universe, the way I love you.”

“Don’t leave,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t leave me again.”

Your smile was soft, bittersweet. “I never really left, James. I’m always going to be a part of you.”

And then you were gone again, an agonising cry as you self-destructed.

He was alone again.

—

As long as there were universes to save, as long as there was a chance to save you, he would keep fighting—no matter the cost.

Today shouldn’t’ve been any different.

He stepped through the portal with his usual grim frown, expecting to face another version of you consumed by grief, transformed into the Catalyst.

But what he found instead… was peace.

The world was whole. The sky wasn’t scorched, cities still stood tall and bustling, and the air hummed with life. It felt… normal.

And then he saw you.

You were sitting at a small café on a sunlit street, your hair loose, a soft smile playing on your lips. There was no armour, no glowing energy, no storm of grief around you. You looked like the person he remembered—the person he had loved.

He died in this universe, too— he knew as much. You had his dog tags around your neck, carrying a piece of him everywhere.

It took time for him to piece together what had happened, but he eventually got it.

In this universe, Bucky had been the one who took the gauntlet from Tony. He had been the one who snapped the stones.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt something other than pain. He watched you laugh, the sound a beautiful melody he thought he’d forgotten.

In this universe… you were happy.

For days, Bucky stayed hidden in the shadows, watching you from a distance. It was wrong, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He followed you through your routines—your morning coffee, your walks through the park, the way you waved at the children playing by the water fountain.

You hadn’t become the Catalyst.

Strange was wrong, Bucky thought, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest. Not every version of you succumbed to grief. In this universe, you had found a way to move forward, to live.

And maybe… maybe he could, too.

The thought crept into his mind slowly. What if he stayed? What if he stepped into this world and introduced himself to you? Would you recognize something in him, a fragment of the love you had shared in another life? Could you fall for him again?

Could he be happy?

Could the two of you put the pieces back together again?

For the first time in years, Bucky allowed himself to dream of a life beyond grief and guilt. A life with you, as he once had.

He imagined walking up to you at that café, asking if he could join you. You’d be confused, maybe a little wary at first, but he’d win you over. He’d tell you about the man he used to be, the battles he’d fought, the people he’d lost. He’d tell you how much he loved you still. And you’d tell him about your James, how similar he was to him.

Maybe, in time, you’d fall in love with him again.

But then he saw Steve coming home from a mission.

It was a perfect day— the sun was warm, the breeze gentle, the streets alive with chatter. Bucky stood at a distance, watching you in the park, his heart full of hope, something he thought he’d never feel again.

And then Steve Rogers appeared.

He walked up to you with that shy confidence Bucky had known since they were kids. You stood when you saw him, your face lit up in a way that made Bucky’s stomach twist.

Steve pulled you into his arms, and you went willingly, laughing as he spun you around.

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs.

He watched as Steve kissed you, his hands cradling your face like you were the most precious thing in the world. And you kissed him back.

It wasn’t fair.

Bucky's knees nearly buckled, as he turned away. His chest caved in, feeling like his heart had been ripped out and crushed into a million little pieces. The fragile hope he'd clung to for the last couple of days was torn from him as quickly as it appeared.

Your laughter echoed faintly in his ears, a cruel reminder that chased him as he stumbled toward the portal Strange had opened. His head hung low, his shoulders slumped.

He was no soldier, no saviour—just a broken man, haunted by dreams that would never be his.

—

When Bucky returned, Strange's eyes lingered on him for too long.

Bucky wasn’t covered in bruises or cuts like he usually was, but somehow he looked…. worse. The exhaustion ran deeper this time, as if the scars were invisible. “You stayed longer than usual in this one,” Strange observed.

Bucky ignored his statement. “You were wrong,” he muttered instead. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground, unable to meet Strange’s. “She wasn’t The Catalyst in this one.”

Strange froze. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s happy here, after my death. W-with Steve.” He finally looked up, the emptiness in his eyes enough to make even Strange flinch. “She moved on, and she’s... she’s still… her.

Strange’s eyebrows softened. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his tone measured, regretful. “But this is the exception, the rule. The Catalyst is still out there.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, but it held no humour. Only defeat.

He ran a hand over his face before dragging his fingers through his hair. His shoulders slumped under the weight of this endless mission.“I…” he started, his voice strained. “I’m never... I’m never gonna be happy. Am I?”

Strange had no answer for him.

—

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed in Kamar Taj, staring at the collection of armour pieces he had gathered from the other universes. Each shard was a reminder of the battles he’d fought, the versions of you he had lost.

And now, he had been cursed with the knowledge that not every version of you that lost him succumbed to grief.

The knowledge that you were happy in that world. That you had found love again, and it wasn’t with him. That no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many universes he visited, it seemed there was no version of him that could have you.

It was cruel.

You had once told him he was the strongest person you knew, but in that moment, he felt like anything but. He had fought armies of aliens, faced death over and over again, but this… this was too much.

Bucky clenched his fists, his metal hand creaking under the pressure. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to let out the unbearable weight crushing his chest.

Instead, he picked up one of the shards of your armour—a jagged, glowing piece from an Ultron world. He held it in his hand, his reflection distorted in its surface.

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered, his voice cracking, insincere. “Even if it’s not with me.”

Bucky placed the shard on his shoulder, the first piece of the armour.

It felt right— like the power of a thousand suns starting to surge towards him.

He didn’t cry.

He never did anymore.

Because no matter how many universes he visited, how many battles he fought, how many versions of you he saved or lost, he knew one thing would never change:

You would never be his again.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you kissing Steve, your laughter echoing in his skull.

Why should they have happiness, when he was condemned to grieve for eternity?

Why should any universe be allowed to thrive, when his own existence was empty, meaningless?

He began by rearranging the pieces of your armour he had collected from the other universes. Each fragment gleamed with a faint, residual energy— remnants of the immense power you had wielded as the Catalyst. He spent weeks forging his own armour.

What started as just your shoulder pieces extended to more.

He reforged the chest piece a version of you got from the Kree, then a gauntlet you ripped off of Thanos when the Infinity Stones had been destroyed. It grew and grew until every piece of him was covered in fragments of you.

When the work was done, he stood before a mirror, clad in the armour of his own making. It was a haunting reflection of yours, humming with fragment stolen power. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him.

“That’s the point,” he muttered to himself, almost annoyed.

When the destruction started, the first universe fell quickly.

Bucky tore through its defences like a force of nature, his new armour amplifying his strength and speed. He dismantled its protectors—heroes and villains alike—efficiently. He left the cities in ruins, their skies dark with smoke, their people screaming in terror.

No one deserved peace when he couldn’t have it.

—

Stephen Strange felt the disturbance immediately. The multiverse’s fragile threads started to unravel as Bucky’s rampage spread across realities.

At first, Strange couldn’t believe it.

Bucky Barnes, the man who had fought so hard to save the multiverse, was now its greatest threat.

Strange had hoped that by guiding Bucky, he could break the cycle of grief and destruction. Instead, reversed it.

James Buchanan Barnes was now The Catalyst.

—

Strange arrived in a quiet, dimly lit apartment in yet another universe. The air was filled with the scent of coffee and rain, and the sound of your muffled sobs echoed through the space.

Yet another version of you sat on the floor, clutching a photograph of Bucky—your James—to your chest. In this universe, he was gone, just as Strange had calculated.

“Get out, Strange.” you demanded, your voice hoarse when Strange stepped through the portal into your living room. Your eyes were red and puffy, so utterly defeated.

Strange ignored the warning, stepping through the portal and onto the ceramic tiles of the apartment. His face was grim, his tone measured. He called your name to draw you out from the grief, even if only momentarily

“What do you want?” Your voice was raw, your patience long gone.

“It’s not about what I want. It’s what the multiverse needs.”

You finally looked up, your eyes sharp with exhaustion. You had been running on empty for months. You didn’t have Bucky here to hold you. To kiss you when you needed him to. To ground you in this existence. “The multiverse can save itself.”

Strange’s expression softened, but only slightly. “If it could, I wouldn’t be here.”

You scoffed, turning back to the photo of Bucky you cradled in your arms. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I wish I had,” Strange said quietly.

The desperation in his tone made you pause. You set the photo down and leaned back, staring at the sorcerer with narrowed eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Strange hesitated for a moment before speaking.

Then he said it: the beautiful name you haven’t heard in weeks— “it’s about Bucky.”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice a low growl.

Strange pressed on, unflinching. “A version of him exists in another universe. But he’s not who you remember.”

“What does that mean?”

Strange conjured an image with a flick of his hand, the glowing strands of the multiverse twisting together to form a vision. It was him—but not your James. His face was twisted in anguish, his body surrounded by a swirling storm of energy. Planets crumbled in the distance, consumed by the raw power emanating from him.

“He’s become the Catalyst,” Strange said, his voice heavy. “A being driven by grief, powerful enough to destroy entire worlds. If he’s not stopped, he’ll collapse the multiverse.”

You stared at the image, his chest tightening. It wasn’t possible. Bucky was gone. He was dead.

“You want me to go after him,” you said, your voice flat.

Strange shook his head. “I want you to stop him. Talk to him. You’re the only one he might listen to.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Strange’s gaze was unrelenting. “Then you’re the only one who stands a chance at killing him.”

—

In the vast expanse of the multiverse, the roles have reversed but the tragedy remained unchanged.

Somewhere, in a distant reality, Strange watched the threads of the timelines twist and tangle. He knew the truth, the one neither of you could see:

That as long as one of you lost the other, the cycle would never break.

•

Back in Earth-616…

After some playful back and forth splashing, you both decided it was time to get out of the bath.

You stepped out first, shivering from the cool tile beneath your feet, grabbing a towel. Bucky followed, water dripping from his hair onto his chest.

He took the towel from your hands and draped it around your shoulders. He wrapped the fabric tightly around you, as if he was protecting you from whatever evil may want to reach you.

Without warning, he pulled you into a hug. His lips brushed against your damp hair as you closed your eyes, sinking into the safety of his embrace.

After a while, you shifted in his arms, your hands finding another towel that hung from the wall behind him.

The corners of your lips tugged up in a playful smile as you began patting him dry, earning a soft chuckle from your supersoldier boyfriend. He didn’t stop you— he never could when you insisted on taking care of him.

So instead, he just watched you with that lovesick expression that made your heart do cartwheels.

Neither of you spoke; you didn’t need to. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, and your fingers traced patterns along the scars that marked his skin.

As much as you hated seeing him hurt, you knew that he was safe. And that’s all that mattered.

Because, in this universe, you were so blissfully unaware of the fragility of this peace, the fragility of your emotions. You remained unaware that in countless other universes, losing each other had broken you both. Unaware that in most other realities, there was no escape from the sadness that came with the death of one and not the other.

But in this one, none of that mattered. Because here, in this small bubble of love, you would keep each other grounded.

So as long as you both lived, you would stay blissfully unaware of the horrors your variants had to endure.

-end.

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xxsquiddkiddxx · 9 hours ago

Text

Heels ~ Viktor x Reader

Pronouns for reader: She/Her

Relationship type: Platonic, romantic feelings, slight enemies to lovers if you unfocus your eyes a bit

General Idea: Viktor used to hate the sound of those damn boots of hers, but now he's grown to find an odd sense of comfort in the noise. Along with... a series of other feelings.

Content Warnings: Fluff, swearing, Viktor being sassy, s1 Viktor, Takes place between S1E3~E4, Viktor's kinda down bad but in a denial way, Viktor also isn't good at realizing he has feelings for the reader, Jayce needs a 32hr nap

A/N: My Viktor headcanons got a LOT more love than I thought they would... so I decided to write some more Viktor XD

(Nobody's POV, but it's mostly told. through Viktor's thoughts)

~☆~

The lab was pretty much silent. The only sounds heard were the sounds of Viktor tinkering with a Hextech device and the occasional flipping of pages as (Y/N) read some notes that Jayce had written. It was late, definetly past midnight as the two worked.

"(Y/N)," Viktor says, breaking the silence. The girl's head pops up at the sound of her name. "Come here for a second? I need a second pair of hands."

"Be right there." She says, finishing the page she was on. She stands up and walks towards him, the sound of her boots hitting the tile as she walks.

Clack

Click

Clack

Viktor used to hate the sound of her boots. "Those damn boots are so annoying," He had complained to Jayce during the first week of (Y/N) working as a part-time assistant. "Click clack click clack, drives me insane!" He had mocked before sighing.

"Viktor... don't both your boots AND your cane make that noise as well?"Jayce had responded, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smile. This made Viktor at a loss for words.

"Well... It's annoying when she does it!" He had sassed back in response, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

That was 3 years ago. Now, he found a weird sense of comfort in hearing the sound of her boots hit the floor. He couldn't explain why, enjoyment of familiarity maybe?

"What's up?" (Y/N) says, standing behind Viktor. The smell of her perfume was almost overwhelming to him, overloading his senses. Which was weird, seeings as it must've been almost 13 hours since she'd last applied perfume. And that doesn't last long... was he delusional? Or maybe just tired? Whatever. It doesn't matter.

"Yeah, I just need you to hold this in place." Viktor says, not even looking up from what he's doing. He gestures to a little piece of metal he's holding. (Y/N) leans over Viktor and holds the piece in place as requested. The scientist trys his best to ignore the feeling of her closeness and the racing of his heart... holy crap was it warm in here? It must've been. Although it seemed strange to him that it was magically warm in here all of a sudden. This spirals him into a memory, a memory that took place a little less than a week prior to now.

Viktor sat at his desk, for once not to work on Hextech, but to run his hands through his hair and stay deep in thought.

"Viktor?" Jayce asked. "Are you OK? You haven't been as focused as you normally are today. Did something happen?"

"I think... I think there's something genuinely wrong with me." Viktor says. "Like... maybe I'm coming down with something?? I don't know." Viktor stands up, leaning on his cane slightly for support.

"Oh?" Jayce asks, raising an eyebrow. "Could you, uh, possibly elaborate on that?"

"Well, for one everytime Ms.(L/N) comes near me I about have a damn heart attack." Viktor says, his cane clacking softly on the floor as he paces. "Like yesterday, perfect example. She accidently brushed my hand when she was passing me a paper and I actually thought I was dying."

Jayce suppresses a smile, trying not to laugh. Was Viktor really getting THIS worked up... over a little crush? "Oh?" Jayce says, still suppressing a smile. "Is that it?"

"Whenever she's near me, I swear to the gods that I become hyperaware of... like... everything." Viktor says. "Like the room feels warmer, her perfume or her shampoo is ALL I can smell, I'm almost convinced I know every single speckle of color in her eyes... I think I might actually be going crazy." Viktor says, stopping his pacing. "I'm positive. I've actually hit the breaking point and am decending into insanity."

Jayce now can't help but laugh. Maybe it was his lack of sleep from working on Hextech for days on end, maybe it was the seriousness in Viktor's voice about his "decent to madness." Jayce's laughter came out as almost wheezes due to how hard he was laughing.

Viktor throws his hands up in exasperatedness. "Jayce!" Viktor scolds. "This ISN'T funny! There's-"

This just makes Jayce laugh more and more. "Yes it is, Viktor." Jayce manages to say through wheezes. He's holding onto the desk for support as he laughs. It gets to the point where passersby become mildly concerned for the scientist's wellbeing. "I assure you you're not decending to madness."

"Then what the hell is going on????" Viktor exclaims, collapsing into his chair.

"Relax you just have a little crush, it's fine." Jayce says, wiping the tears of laughter away as he tries to steady his breathing.

"Viktor?" The sound of his name snaps him out of the memory. "You good? I think I said your name like five times." (Y/N) says with a chuckle. Viktor shakes his head slightly.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." Viktor says, continuing what he was doing. He tried to ignore the slight shake in his hands, the side of his own hand pressed against Ms. (L/N)'s own hand. When he's done. He about throws the screwdriver down. "Thank you for your assistance." Viktor says, the weight off his shoulders earning a little sigh of relief.

"Was that all you needed?" (Y/N) asks.

"I'm pretty sure, yeah." Viktor says. (Y/N) hums in response, walking over to her desk. Click, clack, click, clack. Her boots echo in the room. She grabs her coat and walks towards Viktor again.

"I'm gonna head out then." She says. Click, clack, click, clack. The sound of her boots ring in Viktor's head, a haunting sound that he didn't actually mind having on replay in his brain. "You should too soon." She says, her voice kind and soft.

Viktor's stomach feels like it's about to leap out of his body. Even though it was scientifically impossible, he couldn't help but worry about it. "I will soon." He says, the softness in his voice actually shocking him. Normally he'd just lie out his teeth and sleep in the lab, or not sleep at all. However, when he said that he would... he truly meant it. His eyes move away from the project and to (Y/N). "I'm just gonna finish this little bit up."

(Y/N) smiles, it's tired and small, but it's still a smile nonetheless. Seeing her smile along made the corners of his lips feel like they were moving on their own. He suppresses a smile the best he can, but it still shows on his face. "Goodnight, Viktor." She says, her voice still soft. She didn't speak full volume, and that for some reason made Viktor's heart rate skyrocket.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)." He says, the same tone and volume as (Y/N). She turns and walks out of the room. Click, clack, click, clack. He listens to the sound of her shoes until they completely fade out.

"Relax you just have a little crush, it's fine."

Viktor didn't have a crush on (Y/N)... did he?

~☆~

For more fics: my masterlist

Feel free to request fics!!!

~Squeed

#hyperfixation #fanfic #fanfiction #arcane fanfiction #arcane #arcane leauge of legends #arcane lol #viktor #viktor arcane #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #viktor x you #viktor x reader #viktor fanfiction #i love my pretty princess

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mysterythief · 13 hours ago

Text

Anakin’s brain was trying to break through his eyes. He could feel the pressure pounding against his skin with each step he took away from his barracks.

His latest campaign at Akiva had been brutal. He and Rex had been awake for 82 hours, trying to stay on top of the constant flood of droids coming from the factory while they waited for Ahsoka and her team to shut it down.

Anakin hated to admit it, but he had taken some nasty blows throughout the campaign. A droideka had gotten a lucky shot in when Anakin was surrounded and blasted him in the back of his left leg (which consequently lead to him falling on his face and breaking his nose), a tactical droid managed to get the company into a trap where droids dropped boulders onto them (Anakin did manage to stop most of them, so the company came out alright, but he missed the one that hit him and Rex on the head. He did sleep for about 10 minutes after that, so that was a plus), and a stupid commando droid managed to shoot through his right arm, killing some of the wires connected to his nerves. He could feel jolts of electricity run up his arm whenever the dead ends accidentally hit each other, and he was unable to fully open or close his hand. And forget about his ring and pinky finger, they were absolutely fried. The surgery would take a day to repair the damage. Time Anakin didn’t have.

Kix was arguing with him even now as he and Anakin walked out of the barracks after they had carried Ahsoka and Rex into the bunks to rest and recover. Poor Snips had taken a nasty cut on her arm from Ventress and had inhaled far too much smoke from being caught in the factory after setting it on fire. It should have been him. He was her master after all. He should be able to protector her. And Rex was barely conscious after being awake for so long and taking that boulder to the head…and breaking his arm after tackling the droideka that had shot Anakin. They both deserved a couples days rest and some time in the bacta tank.

Anakin began removed the bandages from his head, right arm, and leg as Kix continued to scold him.

“Sir, this is insane! You’re clearly injured! Now is when you go to the med bay, NOT A COUNCIL MEETING!!”

“Relax Kix. I’m standing up and moving around. Which, in my book, is a win.” Anakin tried to give Kix his most convincing swagger smile. The one that typically managed to hide of all his pain.

Unfortunately, Kix knew him too well. And he had been there when the boulder had dropped on Anakin.

“Sir… with all due respect, you are a KRIFFIN IDIOT! You have a concussion, your right arm is in shambles and can’t hold a thing, you’ve lost a lot of blood from your left leg, which you are STILL limping on. And I’m fairly certain you have multiple broken ribs as well, but you woln’t sit still long enough to allow me to examine you!” Kix listed off with big dramatic gestures as he screamed whispered to Anakin.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. And probably true, but I don’t have time to figure that out right now Kix. If I’m late for one more council meeting, Mace is going to have my head. And if I walk fast enough, I’ll be there right on time! More or less…” Anakin whispered argued back.

“Sir, I’m sure you being in the med bay is a very valid reason to not be at the council meeting.” Kix had stopped and was looking at Anakin with concern.

Normally Kix, as the company medic, could overrule Anakin’s command. However, Anakin wasn’t in command at this moment. He was just a soldier reporting in, so Kix technically couldn’t stop him.

“Somebody has to inform the council of what happened on Akiva, and Ahsoka and Rex are both down. That leaves me.” Anakin hesitated a moment, looking at Kix’s concerned face, and knowing that Rex would yell at him the moment he woke up and found out Anakin hadn’t gone right to the med bay. He did have good men who cared about him. “But I promise that I’ll go to med bay immediately after the council meeting.” Anakin conceded.

Kix nodded his head, agreeing to the terms. “If you’re not there by 0300, I’m sending a squad to find you sir.”

“Fair enough.” Anakin held his left hand out in fairwell as he walked (limped) towards the council chambers.

***

Skywalker was late. Again.

True, his company had just arrived back from Akiva the hour before, but where other Jedi would immediately report in after a mission, Skywalker had a tendency to dillydally with his men afterwards.

Mace had hopped that after his last talk with Anakin that he would take these council meetings more seriously. Clearly that hope was in vain.

Mace turned to his friend and head of the Jedi Council, “We should begin the meeting Master Yoda. There are many important things to discuss with or without Skywalker’s report.”

“Indeed. Start, we should. Much to discuss, there is. Master Kenobi, faith, in Skywalker, you have?”

“I promise you, Anakin will be here Master,” Obi Wan said reassuringly, though he looked ready to sigh at his old apprentices antics.

“Very well. Begin, you will Master Mundi. Anxious, to hear about the Wookiees, I am.”

Anakin Skywalker quite literally stumbled into the council chambers partway through Master Mundi’s report. His shirt was rumpled, and his right arm was stained by some liquid.

“Apopoligies Masters,” he stated as he attempted an awkward bow with his left hand, his right hanging limply, and hobbled to side of the chambers.

Great, Mace thought, not only was Skywalker late, but he was drunk and had wine on his sleeves. It would have been better for him to not report at all, than to come in this state. Mace would have to have another talk with him later.

***

Obi Wan raised a quizzical eyebrow at Anakin and directed his gaze to his right arm, which was clearly leaking fluid. ‘Are you alright? Shouldn’t you be in med bay?’ His gaze asked.

‘I’m fine.’ Anakin’s glance replied, as he attempted to hide his right hand. Though he jolted slightly upon moving it.

‘If you’re fine, then why are you late? And why is your arm clearly broken? And you’ve done something to your leg that you’re limping. Kix really let you go like this?’ Obi Wan’s worry frown settled on his brow as his glaze slide over his old Padawan, checking if anything else was wrong or broken. He really should have had something stronger to drink before dealing with this.

‘I’m here aren’t I?’ Anakin’s shrug was his only response as he began purposefully ignoring his Master’s concerned gaze.

Definitely should have had something stronger to drink, Obi Wan thought.

***

Stay awake Anakin. You can do this, just STAY AWAKE!

His head was pounding through his skull with full force. He had managed to deflect Kix and Obi Wan, but Anakin was seriously ready to topple over. It was taking every ounce of his willpower just to stay upright. He hadn’t even noticed that his arm was leaking fluid again until Obi Wan had pointed it out. Hopefully he had moved his arm soon enough that no one else had notice the stain. Or that his whole body was jittering every now and again as random wires connected and sent jolts through his nervous system.

He just had to stay awake through this meeting, then he would make good on his promise to Kix and go to med bay.

Just stay awake.

***

“Skywalker, we’re ready for your report now” Mace stated. It was now 0400. The council had gone through 5 other reports that had taken 2 hours (though there was a little commotion outside the halls at 0300 that the temple guards had handled) and were ready to hear about the campaign on Akiva.

“Skywalker?” he questioned again when there was no response from the young knight.

“Anakin,” Obi Wan’s anxiety caught in his normally calm tone.

“Yes Masder. Sorri Masder,” the young man jolted at the sound of Obi Wan’s voice, though his whole body shook. “I was…loss in thougd.”

“Anakin… maybe you should,” Obi Wan began as he started to stand.

“Give my repord. Yes, yes I sould,” Anakin interjected. Glaring at Obi Wan as he wobbled to the center of the floor, even though it was clear as day to Mace that Anakin was drunk and Obi Wan was just trying to save some face.

Anakin shuttered as he began speaking, trying to hide his right arm behind him:

“The campin on Akia dook a few durnds, bud in the ened, we manade do brind don de droid faccori. Dis will allo…” Anakin’s left leg suddenly gave out from under him as his whole body shuttered again, flinging him forward.

“Anakin!” Obi Wan yelled, as he flung himself from his chair, barely managing to catch Anakin before his face hit into the marbled floor.

“Medic! I need a Medic NOW!!” Obi Wan uncharacteristically shouted out the doors of the council chamber.

“YOU SEE!!! THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON’T LISTEN TO THE DAMN MEDIC!!!” A clone medic wearing the colors of the 501 burst into the council chamber a stretcher, bandages, and some bacta patches at the ready, the temple guards standing in shock behind him.

“General Fisto, please hold General Skywalkers left leg steady. General Kenobi, please wrap this bandaged around his leg before it starts bleeding through again. I need to wrap these wires around his hand so he stops shocking his whole system until we can get him into surgery,” Kix said jumping into action.

“Kix?! Kix?! What happened? Why did he come here instead of med bay? How badly injured is he?” Obi Wan rapidly questioned as he wrapped Anakin’s leg. He could see that he had reopened a blaster wound and it was starting to bleed again.

“General Skywalker insisted that he had to be to the council meeting to report on the mission since Commander Tano and Captain Rex are both badly injured as well General Kenobi. You know how the General gets when he sets his mind to something.

I told him he had to be at med bay by 0300 or I’d send a squad after him. Well, he wasn’t in med bay at 0300 so the boys and I came looking for him, but these guards would let us in.” Kix talked fast as he wrapped Anakin’s right hand which had wires sticking out from every angle and fluid leaking from the gaping hole in his arm.

Mace finally noticed the 3 other clone troopers in 501 armor helping get supplies and the stretcher in place and immediately felt overwhelming guilty.

He had assumed the worst of Skywalker, believing him to be drunk, when in reality he was seriously injured. Enough so that it was amazing he had stay standing as long as he had.

“Rest, you should Skywalker. Your health, more important than the report, it is.” Master Yoda said as he walked over to the commotion, where a barely awake Skywalker lay.

“Yes, Masder.”

“Give the report, one of your men can, I’m sure.” Yoda continued. “Heal, you will.”

Obi Wan and Kit Fisto helped Kix and one of the clones lift Anakin carefully onto the stretcher.

“Appo and Fives, can you deliver the report to the council in Anakin’s place?” Obi Wan requested.

“Yes, sir!” The two clones saluted. Then both gently touched to stretcher where Anakin was laying. “Take care of yourself sir.”

“Master, I’d like to request permission to accompany Anakin to med bay.” Obi Wan asked Master Yoda.

“Go, you may. Run away from the medic, ensure he doesn’t,” Yoda gently laughed.

Mace grabbed Anakin’s left hand before Kix and Kenobi pulled him away on the stretcher. “Next time young Skywalker, go to med bay,” he counseled.

Anakin attempted to laugh as he was carted away. “If you insisd.”

Maybe it was alright for Skywalker to miss council meeting sometimes after all.

How many times do you think Anakin arrived a meeting, a call, or honestly anything important for his job swinging and stumbling and speaking weirdly, so everyone would just glare at him like "Showing up drunk is worse than not showing up at all", only for it to be that he's actually with a severe concussion; or dizzy from blood loss, or oxygen isn't reaching his brain or literally anything but drunk; in fact , Obi-Wan wishes he was drunk.

#did someone ask for whump?#ask and I will deliver #sometimes #maybe #if I feel like it #star wars #star wars the clone wars #anakin skywalker #anakin and obi wan #whump #star wars fanfiction #mysterythief writes #I didn’t really edit this so please forgive any dumb errors #help me come up with a title and I’ll put it on A03

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ffrederiks · 3 days ago

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Louisa & River's relationship means so much to me. I love how their friendship has slowly developed over the last two seasons. They're both not used to talking about their feelings, but they both try to take care about each other and don't hide from each other. And they are very important to each other. It kills me how in 4x01 River comes to Louisa to talk to her about how he's worried about his grandfather simply because he needs her there in that moment and because he trusts her. And Louisa allows herself to be more open and less reserved with River, she smiles a lot more when she's around him. I can't imagine what Louisa went through when she thought River was dead and she was convinced that like with Min it was her fault again.

"Tell me this is not happening again".

P. S.

I really wish I could be more active in the Slow Horses fandom because for the first time in months I have something that I feel excited about and interested in, but my physical and mental health have been killing me lately. But I'm really going to try to overcome that and make more content with these silly spies.

#river cartwright #louisa guy #jack lowden #rosalind eleazar #slow horses #slough house #mick herron #slowhorsesedit #louisa and river

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lucidbee · 1 day ago

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Please Don’t Kill My Boyfriend | Percy Jackson x Reader

Summary: Hermes is an overprotective father.

Word count: 942

Authors note: I wrote this at 2am and didn't proofread before posting, this is definitely not my best work. Please give me requests.

It was a simple quest all you had to do was kill a group of Echidna that were causing a little too much trouble. A three-day feat at most. When the quest wrapped up on the second day, Percy had the brilliant idea of staying back and relaxing on the way back to camp, instead of sleeping in an alleyway or in the forest with the remaining money we had, we rented two hotel rooms for the night. Grover demanded that he have his own room, stating he could no longer be so close to teenagers in love.

It started out completely innocent light kisses and words of devotion. It quickly turned into much more when the idea of making up for lost time came into your head. Camp was amazing but it definitely was strict on one thing. No campers of the opposite sex could be alone together. Percy and you had already gotten in trouble trying to sneak you into his cabin late at night, for this exact reason. It was one night of fun that would hopefully be enough to last for a whole summer. That was until a flash of blinding light blinded you both and in front of the bed stood your father. Hermes.

“You were tasked with killing a monster, not trying to impregnate my daughter,” Hermes angrily shouted, pulling Percy out of bed by his hair.

“I-I promise that wasn’t my attention sir,” Percy choked out trying to spare the God's wrath.

“Sure it wasn't, I’ve been alive for thousands of years boy, I have fathered hundreds of children, I am very much aware of what was about to take place in this hotel room,” Hermes growled, dropping Percy onto the floor. Who quickly went to put his pants that were on the floor back on.

“Dad please it wasn’t like that, we’re teenagers what did you expect to happen?” You called out from underneath the bed sheets.

“You can’t go around sleeping with the son of Posideon y/n.” “You just had to choose the one demi-god that danger follows the most, you could have dated a son of Demeter but nooo.”

“Take it up with Aphrodite if you don’t want me to love him, we weren’t doing anything wrong,” You cry out, holding the sheets close to yourself as you pick up your clothes from the floor.

“I am trying to protect you y/n, you’re life is dangerous enough as it is.” Hermes says in a more gentle tone, turning around for you to be able to get dressed.

“Percy is more than capable of protecting me father, he is the strongest demi-god to ever exist, he has saved Olympus multiple times.” You say while putting on your clothes.

“I still don’t like it, why don’t you take the vow of chastity? Hmm, doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Dad please.”

“I would never purposely put your daughter in harms way, I would flood the world to find her, I would cause earthquakes the world has never seen to avenged her, I love her sir.” Percy said coming to stand next to you.

Hermes turns to face you both with a defeated look on his face. “You wouldn’t stop seeing eachother even if I ordered you two huh?”

“Nope.”

“No, sir.”

“If you ever hurt my daughter fish boy I will hunt you down and destroy everything you love.”

“Of course sir, I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“Now come on get in the car im taking you both back to camp,” Hermes says walking to the hotel door.

You both awkwardly follow behind him; Percy followed you into the backseat of the cab, shutting the door behind him. “ Do you know how to please a woman, fish boy?” Hermes asked climbing into the front seat of the car.

“DAD” You scream out. Percys face is beat red and a stuttering mess.

“I just want to make sure he will make a good life partner for you, humans don’t understand the whole open relationship thing us Gods do,” Hermes says driving out of the hotel parking lot.

“Does he make you finish y/n? Sex life is very important in a relationship.”

“Dad please stop,” You beg.

“Is he a selfish lover? A son of Posideon would be selfish in bed, I don’t know why you didn’t choose Zeus’s son.”

“Please I beg of you stop”

“Yes Zeus is a horrible partner, but he atleast makes you finish,” Hermes continues on, ignoring your pleas.

You suffer through the longest car ride of your life. Both of your faces a permanent color of red by the end of it. Hermes wouldn’t let up for the whole car ride, asking you more and more embarrassing questions. Hermes stop at the border of the camp getting out of the cab to grab your bags out of the trunk.

“Remeber Percy, sex toys are your friend not your enemy,” Hermes says handing the bags off to Percy to carry.

“I-I will, sir,” Percy stutters out.

“And y/n rember to pray to me if he causes you any trouble, I’ll cause him the worst pain he has experienced yet,” Your father says taking you into a hug.

“Thanks Dad, I love you.”

Hermes gets back into the cab, driving off as you and Percy take hands walking back into camp.

“Well that was fun,” I say chuckling.

“It was definitely an experience I would not like to relive again,” Percy says laughing. Taking his first deep breath since your father appeared.

“Hey Percy?”

“Yeah,” He says turning to look at you.

“We forgot Grover at the hotel.”

“Shit.”

#percy jackson #pjo fandom #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine

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gwemmieee · 2 days ago

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Yeah. I have a big bone to pick with women who go out of their way to gatekeep someone out of our club. Most of them are cis and straight, but trans fems who do this unfortunately exist. That instance looks like some disgusting hypocrisy to me, because most baby trans fems really emotionally lean on the willingness of this community to emphasize that you are your gender and you are valid no matter how many steps you've already taken and been successful with. That is a crucial, supportive message, and suppressing it in any way is tantamount to pulling up the ladder behind you. Which, yeah, every community has its assholes who pull up ladders.

It is also a tough line to walk sometimes for women, because most of us have learned that there are certain ways we can't entirely just open up to most masculine folks and let them into our entire lives and every space. Not without a lot of pain. So we are incentivized to wait until someone makes it clear that they're safe, before they're let into our inner lives more. This function has caused me SO much strife, because before I was accepted as a woman, it kept me outside in the cold, alone, really close to an early grave, but now that I am fully living as a woman, and even before I was doing that, my efforts to ignore this function entirely and just let any masculine person into my heart, my inner world, and my safest spaces, have not always gone well, and sometimes those efforts have backfired, made me unsafe, and deeply traumatized me.

These days, the only conclusion I've been able to find is that women need to work on what we recognize as red and green flags, for who is safe. It's pretty easy to see that the average set of red and green flags you see most non-queer white women adhere to are... crap. Truly crap. Delusional, not based in reality, etc. And that sucks because it isolates them more and it gives them more excuse to be really shitty to people, or to gossip about them in ways that really aren't fair to them.

Earlier in my transition, I still had it internalized that I had had so much trouble because I wasn't good enough, because I didn't do enough, and that's why women didn't let me in. But I was literally running around freely saying out loud that I was genderfluid, that I had no concept of manhood and little concept of gender, that I thought it would be cool if I was born as a woman, that I wanted other pronouns to be used on me, that I could be pretty gay/queer, acting pretty gay/queer, openly rejecting most masculine behaviors and modes of thought, constantly openly celebrating femininity, experimenting with gender presentation... I was a very queer little dude. And I've only been able to recognize that in retrospect. Because nobody let me in. Trans fems may have let me in, but they weren't around much in the late 00s and early 10s. I never met one. But I did meet and usually deeply connect with countless fellow eggs, before any of us knew. In situations like mine, trans fems generally didn't even get to find themselves until a bisexual cis woman took it upon herself to date them as a perceived man, and then recognize their queerness and allow them to explore gender with her acceptance and assistance. Because being allowed into womanhood was so rare and taboo that it had to happen behind closed doors as part of a romantic relationship. I was aro/ace, and I unconsciously looked to get the same experience out of a platonic friendship, but all I got was led on. Told I was a close friend but still treated like a stray animal compared to their feminine friends. Not let in.

Meanwhile, cis women, and fem-raised queer folks who at the time universally saw themselves as, yknow proudly not quite men at least, universally treated me like a burly cis man deserving of none of their support or curiosity and all of their suspicion and gossip about how "he's creepy." Consistently. Until I finally came out as a woman in 2022. And that's so 100% on them. They went out of their way to not see me for who I was and just keep me out in the cold. So yeah. The state of gatekeeping of womanhood is *bad*. And in my experience, most of it comes from people who had/have easy access to unquestioned claims of womanhood, whether that's because they're AFAB or because their transition into womanhood was really fast and made them really conventionally attractive.

But what about trans fems? Well, we aren't perfect with our red and green flags, either. It's hard to be. Personally, I've noticed there is a small contingent (VERY small) of trans fems my age who operate more like the old world transsexuals in that they really are truscum gatekeepers, often also ableist, and borderline psychopathic in the level of emotional labor they expect from you as a friend vs. what they're willing to put up with in return. And that is very unfortunate. My early transition saw a lot of them genuinely help me as incredible new friends, but then hurt me badly and burn bridges for no good reason. And I feel that there is a bit of a schism in the trans fem community between elders who usually just want to stealth out--who look down on baby transes and cringe and don't help us, or even if they do talk to us and help, there is still a very clear line denominating their actual friends and community that we never get to cross into--and the rest of us who openly embrace being queer and not assimilating all the way. But, frankly? Most trans fems I've met are the most welcoming and least gatekeeping folks on the planet. Most are that latter, queerer camp. And we operate exactly the way that we should: we let anyone safe into our inner world, even if that safe person happens to be a man. And some of us STILL see that backfire. And so even we can't be completely carefree. But we can always learn and grow and get better and better at what we actually identify as red and green flags.

wait where are all the trans guys

Historical-anthropological research, especially the work taking place before the 21st century or outside the West, tends to focus entirely on transfeminized groups. So when reading these works it’s pretty natural to ask — wait, where are all the trans guys? This is a reasonable question with a few clear answers; this post is something quick I can point people to.

The central condition of transfeminized groups' absorption into feminist activism has been to accept a kind of symmetry with select TME groups through the understanding of trans femininity as "gender variance." Under this framework, transfeminized groups' social position can be understood as a consequence of gender variance and some abstract violation of cis norms; this was proposed by people like Susan Stryker and Emi Koyama [1], among others, and continues to structure trans inclusion today. It also fails when considering several basic aspects of these groups:

Transfeminized groups are associated with hyperspecific labor practices, most frequently sex work, but also hair styling, drag, makeup artistry, acting, and other forms of 'gender work.'

Metropolitan transfeminized groups appear in the archive as highly clustered and active groups connected with, but usually intensely split from, the masculine men they fucked.

Transfeminized groups become a kind of 'third gender' on an epistemic level; they are Known to wider society before and after “coming out” in a way that USAmerican transmasculinity has only recently vaguely approached.

Transfeminized groups are heavily clustered in labor practice, social organization, and epistemic position, although this is not universal -- certain strains of USAmerican transfemininity have become a bit more labor-agnostic in the last two decades, not-so-coincidentally alongside more general currents of gender-labor liberation. The messy strains of trans male identity recovered from the archive and from current practice tend to lack labor, social, and epistemic coherence. As Aaron Devor notes in FTM, his 1997 history of FTM men, trans men in the 20th century tended to transition out of cities and into the countryside, finding low-profile places they could exist in. These practices, and the earlier "female husband" practices described by Jen Manion, relied on the labor-agnostic nature of transitioned manhood in order to disappear from public life. Transfeminized groups, on the other hand, are categorically restricted from the main form of economic life historically available to women -- marriage. Their labor practices are heavily constrained and have almost always revolved around some form of 'gender work:' as Susan Stryker put it, you need to get people to pay you for being a trans woman. Transmasculinity pushes away feminized restrictions on labor; trans femininity is labor.

Because transfeminized identities are so often labor-identities, and because their specific brand of 'gender work' and hormonal/silicone/surgical embodiment usually requires both specialized training and community support, nearly every metropolitan center in the world developed highly centralized transfeminized groups over the course of the 20th century [2]. As Ochoa notes, this visibility is partially due to epistemic visibility (everyone knows what a trans is), partially due to group structure (people work and train each other), and partially due to the selectively visible demands of finding clients. Fledglings come in with a way of being that is always already visible to society, but changing the body to match and learning how to fully enact and slowly contest the third-gender labor-identity they've been given takes a lot of community support.

So as labor-identities, transfeminized groups tend to a level of labor/community/epistemic coherence that has no clear counterpart. The news archives we have of trans men (as seen in Manion) position them as singular and easily absorbed back into the female gestalt; the cisgender feminist/gayguy/AIDS researchers that form the bulk of historical-anthropological work saw them as unnecessary to their grand theories of gender; the communities themselves have been materially fractured and, for the groups that rise out of lesbian-feminist activism, only partially committed to their own existence. The result of all this is that there is no clear equivalent to the "transfeminized groups" of Jules-Gill Peterson; there is no symmetry to trannydom, and while additional work to unearth trans manhood in the archive remains extremely valuable, sometimes the necessary level of label-coherence and social existence just isn't there.

[1] Stryker, "My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage," Emi Koyama, "The Transfeminist Manifesto" [2] As seen in Namaste, Invisible Lives, Prieur, "Mema's House, Mexico City," Kulick, "Travesti," Newton, "Mother Camp," Ochoa, "Queen for a Day," Hegarty, "The Made-Up State," and plenty more. Most of these works came out in the late 80s and 90s due to a combination of the feminist "third gender" craze, the burgeoning field of masculinity studies, and AIDS.

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nausicaamusiclover20 · 2 days ago

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Where did you sleep last night?

The apartment feels colder than usual tonight. The silence between us has been stretching longer with each passing day, each unanswered message, each quiet evening. The kitchen light hums softly above me as I stand, alone, waiting for him to come home. His absence weighs heavily on my chest. I've tried to be patient, but tonight, I can't ignore it anymore. The doubts have been gnawing at me for weeks—where has he been? What's really going on? And where did he sleep last night?

The clock ticks steadily, each second stretching longer than the last. My eyes flicker between the time on my phone and the half-eaten dinner on the table, untouched. He promised he'd be home by eight. It's now well past midnight.

I try to calm my racing thoughts, but it's impossible. It feels like the more I wait, the worse it gets. Lately, James has been distant—too distant. At first, I told myself it was just work, that he was overwhelmed, that he just needed time. But the more he withdrew, the more I began to doubt myself.

Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe he's just busy.

But deep down, I know something's off. The way he avoids my questions, the late nights that stretch into hours, the messages he leaves unanswered, the strange looks he gives me when I ask about his day... None of it adds up. I can feel it in my gut. I just need him to be honest with me.

Finally, the door creaks open. My heart lurches. I don't know if it's out of relief, anger, or something else entirely.

James steps inside, his face tired, eyes shadowed from exhaustion. He doesn't meet my gaze, only kicks off his shoes and hangs his jacket by the door. I stay where I am, arms crossed tightly in front of me.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and strained, but it's the same monotone he's used for the past few weeks.

"Hey," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I try to keep my tone neutral, but there's a sharpness to it, a quiet tension hanging between us. He heads toward the kitchen to grab a drink, but I can't let him off the hook this time.

I watch him, the words I've been holding back suddenly rushing to the surface. I don't want to do this, but I have no choice. I need to know what's been happening.

"Where did you sleep last night?" The question slips out before I can stop myself. My voice sounds quieter than I intended, almost like a crack in the quiet we've been living in.

James freezes, his hand hovering over the fridge handle. The air between us thickens. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches. He doesn't turn to face me, but I know he's heard me.

"What do you mean?" he asks after a long pause, his voice betraying a hint of defensiveness.

The words catch in my throat, but I push through the fear that tightens around me. "I mean... where were you last night, James? I haven't seen you in hours. And don't say work. You've been saying that for weeks, but I don't believe it anymore. I just want to know the truth."

James finally turns to face me, but it's not the look I expect. There's something in his eyes—guilt? Frustration? He's not angry, but there's an unease that runs deep in him. His face softens, but the distance between us feels like an ocean.

"I'm just tired, Y/n. I've been working a lot. I told you, it's not what you think," he says, his voice flat.

But I can't shake the feeling that he's lying. My chest tightens, and I feel a knot in my stomach. He's been telling me the same thing for weeks—work, work, work. But I know him. I know when something is off.

"No," I say, my voice trembling, but I stand my ground. "It's not just work. It's something else. Something you're not telling me. What's really going on, James?" I take a step toward him, and he takes a step back. I don't care. I need to know. "Where did you sleep last night? Tell me."

The silence is thick now, suffocating. His eyes flicker, and for a moment, I think he might walk away, but instead, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. There's something in his face—something that makes my heart sink.

"I... I didn't sleep well. I was out of town, alright? I didn't think you'd notice," he says, his words stumbling out in a way that only deepens the pit in my stomach.

I shake my head, disbelief flooding through me. "Out of town? Since when? You didn't tell me. You didn't mention any of this to me, James."

His gaze hardens. He opens his mouth to speak, but I don't wait. I've had enough of the vague answers, the lies, the silence. "Don't lie to me," I snap, my voice sharp with a rawness I didn't know I had in me. My eyes burn with the weight of all the unspoken truths. "I know something's going on. You've been acting so distant, and I'm not going to let you keep lying to me like this."

James stares at me, stunned, but it's not the shock of someone caught in a lie. It's the shock of someone who knows they've been exposed, and yet still doesn't know how to fix it.

"I'm not lying, Y/n," he says, but his voice falters. There's a hesitation there. "I've just... I've been pulling away. I didn't know how to deal with everything. I didn't know how to talk to you about it."

Don't lie to me.

Those words echo in my mind. The truth is all I've been asking for. But instead, I've been given pieces—fragments of explanations that don't add up. And I can't keep pretending it's okay.

"No." I shake my head, stepping back. "You don't get to keep doing this. Don't say you didn't know how to talk to me. You've been avoiding me. You've been shutting me out." I take another step toward him, my voice rising in anger and hurt. "You lied to me, James. And I can't keep doing this anymore."

James's face softens with regret, but it's too little, too late. He steps forward, but I raise my hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"No," I say quietly, my heart heavy. "I can't do this. I need you to tell me the truth, James. I need you to be honest with me, or I don't know what's left of us."

There's a long silence. He looks at me, guilt and sorrow etched into every inch of his face, but I'm past being the one who waits for him to figure it out.

"I can't keep doing this alone," I whisper, a tear escaping despite my efforts to stay strong. "You've already pulled away from me. I don't know if there's anything left to save."

James stands there, his face pale, eyes filled with regret and guilt. But I can't look at him anymore. I can't be the one holding everything together when I'm falling apart.

"I need time," I whisper, turning toward the door. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

As I walk out of the room, I hear him call my name. But I won't stop. I can't stop. The questions still echo in my mind: Where did he sleep last night? And where do we go from here?

The door clicks shut behind me, and the silence in the apartment is unbearable.

#metallica #metallica oneshot #metallica fanfiction #metallica angst #jameshetfield #jameshetfieldxreader #jameshetfield one shot #jameshetfield x you #metallica x you #james hetfield angst #angst

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sockatoothewafflebird · 1 day ago

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u prolly have already but pls i want in depth yap abt caitvi in arc3 and how they heal :)

oh anon i have NOT yapped about how they heal. not in detail at least. so here we go. there's not a lot that hasn't been said about them, but i'd like to put my perspective into the ring just because. as an eldest sister and as a lesbian i can relate to vi in a lot of ways.

i think my main takeaway for caitvi in act 3 is how they're both human, in the ways they love and in the ways they fight. arcane is a show that respects its audience and trusts us to be able to read between the lines and i appreciate how you can see every little detail of the words they're not saying if you look close enough.

in The Scene especially you can see just how real theyre being... im not gonna dwell on it, but by the skin of my teeth and the bones in my knees they LOVE each other. you can see it so clearly.

caitlyn walks in on vi questioning everything she is. violet legit just let her sister slip from her fingers, again. i cannot tell you how many times i've felt guilty when my sister or brother are hurt or do something wrong, even if i had no part in it. i cannot imagine how much it would hurt to lose them and keep going only because of the possibility of finding them again, and then when i finally do find then they're ripped from my arms. and it happens more than once. i would be in the same place vi is. blaming herself for all of it. making the burden of protecting her sister all hers and no one else's. wondering whether or not she's doing the right thing at all. (cough coughh petra minecraft is that you)

as stressful as they can be sometimes they're my siblings and i'd do anytning for them. and with the kind of person vi is, for her that means punching whoever's in the way. doing whatever she can. she has a big heart and she's never lost it.

after caitlyn basically dumped her in the most entitled way possible vi had nothing left. no one to protect and nothing to fight for. so she fought just for the sake of fighting. after getting her family back and losing them again (holy ballsockets she was put through the wringer) all she had was cait even if cait hurt her. i think even if cait never did anytbing to make it up to her, she would have stayed, because vi needs an anchor.

caitlyn's hurt a lot of people directly or indirectly. she grew up priveleged and stayed that way, never truly seeing exactly how much pain people are going through until it's too late to turn back. caitlyn's arc is a very interesting one because she never says the words "i'm sorry". she never tells vi that what she did was wrong and that she wants to fix it. but she does things that prove her remorse.

caitlyn works with vi in the end of act 2. i think this is partially because she was already skeptical of ambessa from the start, and partially because she wanted to find a way to make it up to her. caitlyn doesn't fold as soon as vi calls her cupcake, that's not what the look is. The Look is her thinking, "wait, does she not hate me? why did she call me her term of endearment even after everything i've done?"

in act 3, caitlyn takes all the guards out of the prison, because she knew vi would try to rescue her sister. in the words of another post i forgot to save (deepest apologies to the op of that one), vi could have taken jinx and ran. caitlyn might have never seen her again and she let that happen anyway. and cait even went to the cell to check to see if her theory was true, and lo and behold it was. and vi failed at trying to save her sister. again.

what does caitlyn do? she tells vi that she relieved the prison of the guards because of her. all confident and sultry and commanding like she knows what she's doing.

and then when they're getting into it caitlyn frantically pulls away. she realizes that, yeah, she still needs to make things right. she tries to be honest, tell vi that she saw someone else, and vi just reassures her and keeps going. i think thisnis because 1) vi wants the cupcake, who wouldn't, and 2) she's... not exactly forgiving, that needs more work- but she's showing her appreciation for caitlyn here. caitlyn did something huge for her, she let her break a prisoner out which could have dire consequences for both of them.

i think vi just absolutely smothering cait is also a way to show that even though cait hurt her physically as well as emotionally, she's gone past that. if vi hadn't at least given some thought about cait's actions she would not let this happen, i don't think, unless she's super desperate. this proves that vi is starting to move on and cait is starting to revert back to that sputtering stuttering pinned-to-a-wall-flustered woman she was in season one- that's the woman vi fell in love with, after all... and that woman is battered and bruised and has plenty of sins to stone for. but that woman is not dead.

The Scene in the cell is both them being desperate and them showing their love for each other without words. caitlyn's hand lingers on vi's injury, maybe about to utter an apology, but vi cuts her off anyway. there's SO many little things here gaughehgjf.

and in the end of the show, when caitlyn looks into the hexgates in her family's archives, she looks because vi probably asked her to. vi wanted to be sure. she looked because she cares about vi. whether or not she'll tell vi about this is an interesting thought- i don't think she would. it would undermine jinx's sacrifice.

jinx walked away so she could move on. so piltover could move on. so zaun could move on. so vi could move on. and caitlyn telling vi that she's alive would ruin the steps they've taken towards healing.

i think vi's main problem was dedicating her life to her sister and nothing else. and caitlyn's was just her exploiting a broken system and mever recognizing her faults. vi starts to heal because now that her sister is truly gone to her, she can move away from the past and build her own future. and now that caitlyn's fully realized her mistakes she can take steps towards changing piltover for the better. GAHH i love complicated sapphics especially when there's sapphic joy after all the suffering....

this was all written in one sitting so apologies if it's messy, and i've sort of compiled some other ideas and theories i've seen in here too; but yeah, these are my thoughts on caitvi in season 2. i think they could've been fleshed out a bit more, but overall their relationship is legendary. i'll never stop loving them. caitvi supremacy people 💪

#arcane #arcane s2 #arcane season two #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane rants #arcane analysis #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn #vi arcane #vi #jinx arcane #jinx #caitvi #caitlyn x vi #vi x caitlyn #waffles word wall

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buddiebeginz · 23 hours ago

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Bummy stans truly believe that their ship that has maybe an hour of screen time collectively between 2 seasons has the bigger fandom. Yet if you go on tiktok Buddie edits are getting 20k+ likes. (You can see a post I made about that here. Where a bunch of Buddie TT's made right after 808 were up to 10/20k in a day.)

Journalists are also always eager to talk to Ryan, Oliver, and Tim about Buddie. They ask about it in basically every single interview now. B/T never got that kind of attention ever.

Bummys continue to play the victims making it seem like they've been the ones repeatedly attacked by us. Yet I've been around the 911 fandom for years and never seen the kind of toxicity, harassment, and drama that I have this year. If Buddie fans were always the problem this would be something well known in 911 fandom and likely in fandom spaces in general but it's not. It would also make sense that the show would want to distance themselves from our fandom if all we did was cause issues like harass the show and the actors (like Bummy's allege) but they don't. Most people involved with 911 have shown support for Buddie and us especially in the past two seasons when it's clear they've been working towards Buddie canon happening with ABC.

I'm not saying Buddie fans are totally innocent and never caused any issues because I know some have. But pretty much since 704 aired we've been having to deal with Bummy stans telling us that we were homophobic for not liking their ship. We've watched as the 911 News account was harassed and journalists were threatened with doxxing just for posting positive Buddie content. During Pride month there was repeated harassment towards Buddie fans for wanting to celebrate Eddie for being gay/demi. And lately Bummy's have been hurling a lot of hate towards Oliver because they blame him for their ship ending.

Bummy's talk all this trash about our ship and our fandom but the fact is they wish they had what we have. They wish Oliver talked about their ship like he does Buddie. They wish he posted pics of Lou constantly like he does Ryan. They wish b/t had the amount of screentime Buddie have had. They wish that b/t had the kind of scenes together that Buddie get to have. Almost all of Buck's most meaningful moments in s7 happened with Eddie not Tommy.

They also wish Tommy was Eddie in that they wish he looked like Lou but acted like Eddie. Look at some of the posts they make or their fics, where they talk about how much Tommy gets Buck or is there for him that was never how it was in canon. But you know who is there for Buck and who gets him better than anyone? Eddie.

Bummy's also talk about how important and beloved their ship is but it's not and never will be. Both Oliver and Tim have tried to make it as clear as possible in their interviews that b/t was supposed to be a stepping stone relationship for Buck. Tommy was never ever intended to be Buck's endgame love. That is Eddie. Buddie is the ground breaking ship and it will be something everyone will be talking about when it goes canon. People are literally starting to watch 911 for the first time during the hiatus now that they know Buddie canon is coming.

There is a part of me that feels the tiniest bit of empathy for these people because I know what it feels to lose a character and ship you love. But at the same time it's also hard to feel bad for a fandom that has been repeatedly abusive and continues to be and continues to insist Tommy is coming back even though every single thing is screaming how much that's not happening.

I just really hope that in these few months of break from the show we all have that they'll gain some perspective or at the least go follow Lou in some other project. It's been genuinely exhausting having to deal with this for over half a year now and I miss when we could just enjoy shipping Buddie in peace.

#buddie #911 buddie #911!

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orangetintedglasses · 1 day ago

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He have him the most playfully exasperated look he could muster, wishing he could nudge him a bit for that. 'Endearingly'. Ha-ha-- "I'm fine, promise, i-it's just a lot at once. You said it best, I'm, uh... a lot more sensitive to these things, thanks to whatever happened to me on the Home ship... but this is what we came here to do."

... thinking about it, they both had come out of that event a little different than they were going into it-- and had circumstances been a little different, Vash would've insisted that they stayed just a little longer, so they could talk to Luida and Brad about it. Gotten some insight, especially about Wolfwood's condition.

Kind of too late to be lamenting about that now, though.

Now they were on their own, and working on fixing... this. And this... it wasn't... a pretty sight, inside of that first red tank. The Plant inside was almost completely withered, almost shriveled; her face a gaunt and jagged mask compared to the soft and somewhat ethereal faces of her sisters alongside her. Spots like her cheeks and eyes, and around her mouth, were all sunken in, casting deep, dark shadows made even more harrowing by the ominous red glow of the tank.

She looked so much more... monstrous. Like a true alien, suspended and kept in captivity. Her expression, twisted into one of despair and pain, almost brightened when she saw them approach... but it quickly contorted again, as though just feeling was too much of a strain for her.

Vash's lips were pressed into a thin, grim line. That did not bode well.

"... I need you close, i-if you're okay with that. If they're scared, they might try and pull me in again... especially if I can't--" he stopped, rather abruptly, as the reality of the situation settled in his chest like icy water. He lifted his hands, and let them rest on the glass of the tank.

... the Dependent slowly, slowly lifted up one of hers...

"... if I can't save her. They might panic." he breathed out, and moved his hands to meets hers instead. Making her move more than necessary felt... cruel. If he couldn't save her, if-- if it was too late, and he didn't get here in time, the least he can do is... help lessen her distress.

Wolfwood offers Vash a slow blink in response, throwing in a soft, but cautious, smile for free. He knows that Vash is keeping his head up out of necessity and trying to push through the pain in the only way he knows how to do—with that damned smile. He'll excuse it this time though—Wolfwood has no idea how much agony affecting him is actually his. There's also the matter of needing to look strong just in case... anyone wants to take advantage of the weakness.

So, he slides his mask on as well, returning to the strong persona he needs to be for the both of them. Continuing to brace Vash, Wolfwood begins to move them towards the closest red Plant—he won't lie to himself, he is concerned with what he'll see in there.

With their third and fourth currently occupied, Wolfwood can speak a little louder—not much, but he has to compete with the whir of machinery. "Are you sure it's a good idea to do this? You already look like shit, Blondie. Endearingly."

There's a little niggling concern in the back of his head that Vash will drain himself dry and leave them in a vulnerable position—though, now, he has all the vials he needs to handle protecting him. Not that he wants to use them all, but he would if he has to.

(How many is he even...? Bah, not worth worrying about right now... even if he does feel like he's dying after taking two back to back. It's not that he thinks they're safe, but he'd assume if it's something to keep people like him alive it'd be something he could take multiple times... right?)

"Do you want me to stay with you, or watch our backs? Somethin' else? Don't wanna disrupt you or anythin'."

#curtains up ✧〗( ic )#unmade ✧〗( main verse )#he might get burned but he's in the game ✧〗mothwood ( forgivenpunishment )#( it's just plant juice what could go wrong!!! )#( *puts a tasteful folding screen up in front of Trimax!WW* )

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ourhomealien · 1 day ago

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Don't gatekeep feelings, please.

TLDR

I'm autistic and so I have a unique vocabulary, so bare with me please.

Hermitcraft to me is a community for all ages, that's what I expect of it. In the same way a child deserves and expects to be able to trust and learn from their parents without abuse or them being literal criminals. People are as bad as they want to be, and you can 100% grieve your expectations of them. Disappointment can hurt anyone. In the same way you invest your feelings into pets knowing they will die, and then grieving when they're gone, you can invest feelings and expectations into people you know about and that isn't childish or naive, it's human. Hermitcraft is in no way culpable for an individual's actions. The amount of distress caused by this VC's actions is widespread and not limited, in the same way an earthquake has aftershocks.

I'm genuinely grieving over iskall, The character and the community they built and the stims and autistic scripts I've built into myself because of them. I was shocked on Saturday, but at the same time, after reading that first line it didn't make sense to be any other hermit (I did not in any way predict this) at the time of reading nothing was confirmed so I felt that, innocent until proven guilty, was the way to go. My heart sank, I felt sick and I wanted to cry, I was on my way home from a long day at work and it was the first day of my hormone cycle at it's worst. The first thoughts I had were, 'no no please, it's not true, it's true, maybe it's the bullies again and he can't cope anymore'. Then the hermits started acting and I thought maybe he doesn't want to be affiliated anymore. But that didn't 100% add up. <33 to the good hermits for being amazing.

In my experience being autistic means 75% of my existence is made up of scripts I've adopted and will continue to adopt, from other people around me locally like my family, from movies, shows, and books growing up, to everything I've consumed information wise, this includes so many people, some that at one time were my hyperfixation, these scripts can be unlearnt, and I have another script that helps ('we don't do that here') but it's still a process and It's stressful and unpleasant.

VC was one of the only people I've subscribed to on twitch, I didn't even watch his live stream (they were way too stressful for me, the pay to win quality of his streams was really frustrating) I just subbed to support him. At least to me he had a 'victim' persona especially when it came to the other hermits and their success in comparison, and this translated to me the need to support him more. (He was a hermit for crying out loud, he was fine, I tell myself now), then I read the truth and the pay to win made sense because he Was showing favouritism, after reading K's statement before I was finished I knew M would be involved too and I just felt incredibly sad and heartbroken for them, no one deserves to be treated like that, and people except a certain level of human decency. I'm sorry that this happens and I'm so sad that it has.

He made me feel Grian was a bad sport and that Grian was wrong to be in videos with his friends because he was more popular, that Grian couldn't be sincere in his joy 'because he was always stealing the limelight' (I was 15 at the time and irl was tough and I had bigger problems going on, I loved C! Grian a lot) and didn't trust anyone, so I started to dislike CC! Grian a lot. (Again young n Major trust issues); I like Grian again now but felt uneasy for a long while.

VC always pops at the end of his videos when he says bye and I always watched to the end just because of it, and at a certain point I started associating popping with saying 'I love you' I did it to my family and it's been a part of my autistic script since late 2018. Others include (Hallo, Omega, of doom)

Iskall's Minecraft character is canonically non-binary/agender and in fanworks they use they/them pronouns and as someone who's a fan of mcyt, Minecraft and is gender q, that was a big deal for me to be canonically represented. They also inspired me to write incredibly niche and rare minecraft lore and head canon's for them (them being a villager/player hybrid); iskall's character is a separate entity but the association is horrifying now and that is extremely disappointing, it was the same with William Gold.

VC has made fun of people's differences and difficulties and has been generally rude at times under the guise of humour. He has laughed at people's trust in the creepest way, that even though I liked him I was scared and put off for days, I was so genuinely angry at him, because I felt humiliated. He knew who he was and laughed at our trust in him. That hurts and angers me even more now.

#WIP #hermitcraft #hermitcraft x #hermitcraft 10 #hermitcraft smp #hermitblr #trafficblr #hermitcraft season 10 #hermitcraft s10 #hermitcraft season ten #iskall situation #dealing with grief #grief #tw grief #grieving

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thetepes · 1 day ago

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Not to play devils advocate, but I feel like lilys opinion on the usage of the n word is valid. Regardless of someone’s race, I think it’s a little backwards to dictate what someone has to say about another races cultures just because they’re white (or not of that culture), differing opinions aren’t the end of the world and hers wasn’t inherently racist I fear the same goes for the anime thing too, I’m sorry but Japan DOES have of a loli problem, even if her wording was extreme

I’m not white myself (to be fair, not black/japanese either), not that I think it matters to what I can and can’t say about this but I don’t want you to assume I am white because I somewhat defended lily, which is someone I did NOT want to run defense to but maybe I’m too conservative for this space but I mean this in the most respectful way possible, it feels like some of you are reaching on some things just to paint her in a worse light, as if she wasn’t already famously bad 😭

(Feel free to correct me, I’m not trying to be intentionally ignorant for the sake of it I’m just tired of hearing of a lot of echo chambers about the issue without getting to WHY what she says is racist when I think like pretty reasonable??)

Anon, my friend, I do not know how to break this to you, but that is racist. I know you do not mean to be. I know you're trying your best to be as inoffensive as possible. I'm going to do my very best to answer you genuinely because you seem genuine.

Saying Japan has a Loli problem is like saying America has a child pageant problem. It's there. It's a problem, but it's not something floating on the surface everyone in Japan is aware of the magnitude of. It's a niche genre of ero fiction that comes up about as much to your every day Japanese person as child pageants in America.

In the 80's there was this loli boom that took place where it split off from your more typical bishōjo into lolicon. You would find stuff like Future Boy under that genre long before you'd find any ero.

It wasn't until an otaku named Tsutomu Miyazaki was arrested in the late 80s that the darker side of loli came to the awareness of your every day Japanese person. It was a popular genre so there was a LOT of hentai of it. He killed and murdered several little girls between the ages of I think 3 to 6 and it started a panic very similar to the Satanic Panic that happened in USAmerica. He had a massive collection of anime and hentai. I mean massive. From normal things you'd see in Walmart to stuff you could only buy from very specific websites online no normal person would even know about. It wasn't just Loli that was effected though it was all anime.

It's why Otaku culture was so repressed and shameful for a long time and it even killed the Loli boom because the style was associated with the killings. It wasn't until very recently that Otaku culture made a come back, but still Loli isn't making that come back because of the online opinion on Lolicon. It's gone from an art style to something a lot darker and I think that's where the communication sort of faulters? Because if you say to a Japanese person "you have a loli problem" they're going to think you're having a Satanic Panic moment at them.

At least that's been my experience.

This whole thing is why there was the Moe boom in the 2000's, it was an over correction on the part of artists. Trying desperately to get away from that label and people taking advantage of that as well to make slop.

The rise of the Lolita in Harajuku also muddied the water on this because there's an entire beautiful subculture there that branches into a thousand different expressions. "You have a loli problem!" What's the problem with girls in frilly dresses?

You as someone online, who is adept at being online, in critical spaces and animation/anime spaces have so much more exposure to this stuff than anyone on the daily in Japan.

The entire world has a porn problem. The entire world has a sexualizing little girls problem. To point at Japan and specifically repeatedly deem the entire country as having an issue with pedophilia is racist. To go out of your way to bring it up when you're not even discussing anime or Japan is racist. When your hate and ignorance for a place and it's people bleeds into everything you do

That is racism.

#lily orchard critical #It also effected horror because he had a massive collection of that too

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yellowhollyhock · 15 hours ago

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you know the hardest thing about 07 fanfic is getting around the gaping plot hole of 'your training ended a year ago and Master Splinter says you've stopped writing'

Like? What am I supposed to believe here? That Leo's gone for an extra year (twice as long as he's supposed to be gone), nobody goes looking for him, he stops writing, and nobody's reaction is 'Leo is either in serious danger or dead?' Everybody assumes he just decided not to come home?? And they're right???? Like we don't see much of Leo's personality but from what we do see, a year is a long time to just not write and not let anyone know he was gonna be late

That just doesn't. Make any sense.

So here's me trying to make sense of it

When Leo first left, Raph became the Nightwatcher (as per prequel comics). Mikey starts his Cowabunga Carl thing, with Donnie's help, and enjoys it a lot for a while. It's the only time he's getting out after all. Other than training, which is not going well without Leo. Donnie's not a very firm leader, barely wants to be doing it himself. Raph is checked out and short-fused. Master Splinter tries to intervene but that largely looks like scolding and isn't much help at all.

Mikey knows Raph is the Nightwatcher. In the beginning Donnie thought he must not be, because of an instance here or there where he was too harsh, too reckless, couldn't be their brother, he would never do that. Mikey responded by pointing out the good things and arguing over the debatable things and reminding Donnie of the trouble Raph can get himself into when he's fixed on a goal or acts from a place of anger. Donnie sees the schedules continue to line up and has to concede, but that leads to the question: what is Raph so angry about? And while they haven't come up with an answer, privately Donnie assumes it's at him (for not being the kind of leader Leo was).

Four months after Leo leaves, they're still training every morning and going out occasionally. Six months in, they still train most days. Master Splinter has asked them not to go out together because of how they treat each other during training. Mikey likes his job less and also clings to it more as it becomes the only way he's ever getting out. By the time Leo should be home in a month, while each of them still practice, training together is rare.

That's when they get a letter from Leo that he might be late, and isn't sure how late.

So he's a week late. Donnie is researching every boat and airplane that left from Japan (last known general location) trying to guess what's likely to have caused the delay and extrapolate where Leo might currently be.

Two weeks late. Mikey is planning such a big homecoming party that increases in intensity with every night Leo's not there. It might be tonight, we have to be ready. He's not taking gigs and Donnie's getting stressed about money.

Raph is being the Nightwatcher and only sees his brothers for a brief time in the evenings--and lately those evening have been all about Leo. He's watching them both worry themselves sick. He'd actually allowed himself to be excited for Leo to come home, imagined they could have a good time together if he had a chance to pull him aside and talk to him about the thing he hasn't talked to anyone about: Merryweather's death. It's his big brother he wants to tell and he can't explain the Nightwatcher to his family until he's had that conversation with Leo. They fought about it before Leo left and he needs him to understand.

But now he's getting angry. Where is he? Donnie expresses concern that Something Happened; Master Splinter insists they must stay calm and not give up hope.

Three weeks late. Donnie is now insisting Mikey get focused back on work. At this point Donnie is still being Mikey's driver, in the headset and on standby every time Mikey goes out. Mikey wants him to back off (I can do this myself) so that at least someone will be home to greet Leo since Mikey might not be (your fault for making me go to work). Donnie is really hurt by the implied 'don't need you anymore' and feels guilty (which somebody really should) that Mikey's the breadwinner for the whole family. Even more guilty now that he thinks his help was more for his pride than because Mikey ever needed him.

Then a letter from Leo. Sorry for not contacting you sooner, I'm safe and well, hope I didn't worry you. I'll be at least another month. Much shorter than his letters used to be; they're more worried than ever. And this time the return address is way off course from what they thought was his path home. What's going on?

Mikey wants to write to him. Everyone else points out they don't know where to send the letters. Donnie is back to obsessing over maps, train schedules, weather patterns, anything that might hint at an explanation. Between their jobs and worrying about Leo, Raph doesn't understand how either of his brothers can still stand upright.

He becomes more aggressive out in the streets. He's worried and confused and pretty steamed at Leo for giving them nothing to go by. And even more angry at who or what could have hurt him badly enough that he doesn't want to tell his family what's going on. He's quicker to hit and more hasty to decide who the bad guy is.

Donnie and Mikey see the change. Donnie starts openly criticizing the Nightwatcher every chance he gets (trying to get Raph to fess up or better yet stay home or at the very least see that he's going too far sometimes and needs to take a break). Mikey responds by doubling down on his defense and praise for the Nightwatcher (also wants Raph to confess and knows he won't when Don's talking like that, wildly hoping to be invited along, wanting to keep Raph safe but also eager himself to have a space to let out his own building anger).

And what's Mikey angry at? The fact that Master Splinter hasn't done anything. He's satisfied with Leo's explanation. Doesn't seem concerned, like Raph and Donnie are, that something went wrong. Master Splinter replies that the Ninja Tribunal is wise and at times unpredictable. They may have thought it right to extend Leonardo's training. Donnie points out that the return address for Leo's recent letters are not in Japan; did the Tribunal travel with him? Master Splinter doesn't have an answer and still insists on remaining calm and hopeful.

Now it's been two months, one week past the second time Leo was supposed to be home. Mikey plans a party again, this time with much less support from his frazzled, sleep-deprived brothers who are trying not to get their hopes up. Raph tries to keep Mikey from getting his hopes up either. That doesn't go over well.

After three months, they get another letter, another apology with no explanation, this time saying he has no idea when he'll come home, but don't worry, he's coming.

Raph has been seeing night after night what the world can be like. He's convinced something unspeakable happened or will happen to Leo, but he can't tell anyone that. He wants to go after him, but how is he supposed to find him? The best he can do for Leo is the same he did for Merryweather: be the hero they can't be anymore. Make people who are careless with others' lives Pay. And somehow he has to keep it from his family that he thinks Leo's gone gone, or might be soon; they couldn't take it. They don't know the world like he does. He can protect them from this, for a while.

Donnie thinks Leo must need help, and that's driving him crazy because he doesn't know how to reach him. But he's going to find a way. He starts planning and saving up for parts to build his mutant finding matrix thingy. After their argument he doesn't want to ask for Mikey's help paying, and it wouldn't be right since he's been really trying to let him be more independent. He finds a job. Mikey seems bothered, they talk and work out a better working relationship that allows Mikey more independence and pays each of them separately (Mikey of course making more because he's doing more). Now with the call line job supplementing that he's able to ease the burden on Mikey and April of providing for the family (he knows Casey's been worried about the kind of work April's been taking) and he can buy the parts he needs to find Leo, go after him and bring him home. He's going to fix this for everybody.

Six months after the first time Leo was supposed to come home, Mikey finally gives up hope. He's been secretly sending letters to different places he thinks Leo might be. He stops. He's hidden nightmares about what could happen to Leo for months. He stops asking for Raph or Donnie to go skateboarding with him, stops insisting on family nights every Saturday. He gets closer to Splinter, who he's seen a change in and knows, in spite of continued insistence to stay calm and not give up hope, Master Splinter gave up a while ago. Donnie says he's just getting old (he's been very worried about his health and is becoming more micromanager about it every day), but Mikey knows it's more than that. He sees the depression Splinter is hiding. Splinter doesn't notice the same in him.

Around that time, they finally get one more letter. Leo says that he's not going to be in a place where he can get paper or postage, so they also won't be hearing from him. He doesn't say anything about coming home.

Raph had thought Leo was dead; the letter makes him furious (he's been mourning in secret for nothing? Is Leo even in trouble or just decided not to come back?). Donnie is thrilled by it; not being able to send a letter actually might help him narrow down where Leo is, and they have a more recent return address now. He's about ready to pack up and go get him, something he assumes Raph will be on board with.

Well, Raph can't leave, and he can't tell his family why (they know why). He and Donnie have a screaming match. Raph wants to know how this return address is any different from the letters before, and why they didn't go then. Donnie brings up Raph not seeing Leo off at the airport when he first left. Raph asks if Donnie's even been training. Mikey suspects it got physical, but if it did they both hide the bruises well and they're not saying a thing.

Raph starts going straight to his room when he gets back in the early morning, and staying in his room until he can hear that the rest of them have gone to bed. Once in a while he'll come out to argue if he overhears something that sets him off.

Mikey would go with Donnie to get Leo, but Donnie says Raph's right, he'll have moved on by the time they get there, it's the same as every other return address. He just needs more time to figure out where Leo actually is.

Mikey is starting to think they've run out of time, but just like Raph, he doesn't want to say that.

Batnapping happens like eight months in. Master Splinter is deeply bothered by it, gets stricter, asks his sons not to go out until Leo gets home. Raph has to get sneakier. Mikey had to negotiate to keep his job (Donnie helps). At this point Donnie is the only one who almost never leaves the sewers; April tries to get him to her place as often as possible, usually finding that asking for help is most effective.

And that's how they all live for fourish months before Leo finally (unexpectedly) returns.

#tmnt #tmnt 2007 #just my headcanons

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